The Making Of A Gigolo (14) - Erica Bradford by Lubrican

   Foreword

   This is story number fourteen in a series of stories about how Bobby
Dalton was transformed, from a normal teenage 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.

   Additionally, there are a number of references in the plot of this story
to the musical "Brigadoon." If the reader is unfamiliar with that musical,
it might be worth taking time to review a description of the production
before or while reading this story.

   And if you ever get a chance to see the musical ...  do it.  It's a
great show.

   Bob

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

   1975 - November

   Chapter One

   November was another tumultuous month for Bobby and a number of the
women who loved him.

   The first thing that happened was that Betty and Matilda both missed
their periods.  They'd been having them together for as long as they'd been
having them.  When they realized what had happened, of course, they
discussed it.

   "What are we going to do?" asked Betty, who often, but not always,
deferred to Matilda.

   "We're going to have babies, stupid!" said Matilda, who was feeling ill.


   "What's Mamma going to say?" moaned Betty.

   "I don't know, and I don't want to know." Matilda sounded scared.

   "We have to tell her."

   "No we don't."

   "We can't hide it!  Not for long!" Betty's voice got loud.

   "Hush!" whispered Matilda.  "We can hide it for as long as possible."

   "I don't think that's a good idea, Tildy," whined Betty.

   "Well, I don't know what else to do."

   "We could talk to Bobby."

   "He warned us this would happen," sighed Matilda.  "He'll just yell at
us too."

   "How can he yell at us?" complained Betty.  "He's the one who GOT us
this way!  He's in as much trouble as WE are!"

   "Did anybody yell at him for getting all those OTHER women that way?"
insisted Matilda.  "Did Mamma yell at him for getting HER that way?"

   Had they sat back and listened to themselves, they might have laughed.
They were worried about something that had happened before.  They knew it
had happened before, with some of their sisters, and with their own mother.
It was highly unlikely that anyone in their own family would have a moral
basis for yelling at them.

   But, as so often happens, the youngest children in the family retained
some aspects of their childhood much longer than they should.

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

   Another thing that shook things up, at least to some degree, was when
Bobby got a call from Jill, who asked him to come to the house.

   "Sure," he said.  It wasn't at all unusual for him to spend time there,
both playing with his children, and making love to their mothers.

   When he got there, though, Jill looked very sober.

   "I need to talk to you," she said.

   "Talking is one of my talents," he joked.

   "Sal figured out that you're Steven's father."

   Bobby knew Jill had been going out on dates with her old employer.  He
approved, because he liked Sal.  He was afraid, though, that this meant Sal
had dumped her.

   "I'm sorry," he said quietly.  "Is there anything I can do?"

   "Yes," she frowned, "and no."

   He waited.  He knew she'd go on.

   "He asked me to marry him."

   It was only because it was unexpected that it took a moment for his face
to split into a wide grin.

   "That's fantastic, Jill!"

   She smiled weakly.  "It is, isn't it."

   "Of course it is!" he said.  He paused.  "Unless you don't want to
accept.  Is that the problem?"

   Her eyes widened.  "No!  That's not it.  I DO want to.  I think I love
him." Her eyes narrowed.  "No, I KNOW I love him."

   "So what's the problem?"

   "You're the problem," she said.

   He frowned.  "Look, Jill.  You know I love Steven, but I can't lay claim
to you.  Not because of him.  I thought you didn't think about me that way
anyway."

   "I don't think of you that way," she said.  "But if I tell Sal I'll
marry him, I can't see you anymore."

   Bobby stared at her.  He couldn't tell if she still wanted to see him
... or not.

   "What, exactly, are you worried about?" he asked.

   "I don't want to hurt your feelings," she said, looking uncomfortable.

   "You won't hurt my feelings," he said.  "Just tell me what you're
worried about."

   "I just did." She looked confused.

   He blinked.  "Could you be a little more specific about it?" he asked,
hopefully.

   "We've been lovers for years," she said.  "I love you, and I know you
love me.  But if I marry Sal ...  if I accept his proposal, I won't sleep
with you anymore.  That wouldn't be fair to Sal."

   "Of course not," said Bobby.  "I wouldn't have it any other way."

   "You wouldn't?"

   Then he got it.  She was worried that he'd feel like she broke up with
him, or something like that.  He took her hands in his.

   "Sweetie, I couldn't be happier that you found someone to love that way.
You have so much to give to a man, and you deserve so much.  Sal's a good
man.  I'll miss what we've shared, but I can't be unhappy about stopping.
Not if it means you get the kind of happiness you deserve."

   Tears filled her eyes and she rubbed at them with the heels of her
hands.

   "Oh, come on," he said.  "Don't cry.  You should be happy!"

   "I AM happy, you idiot!" she yipped, and leapt to hug him.  "Thank you
so much."

   "What are you thanking me for?" he said, trying to sound jovial.  "All I
did was knock you up and then refuse to marry you.  You should hate me."

   "I could never hate you," she said into his chest.  "I'll always love
you."

   "You save that for Sal," he said, disengaging from her.  This kind of
physical and emotional closeness had led to them dragging each other to bed
many times in the past.

   In his mind, though, Jill Trimble was already off limits.

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

   Two days later, he got a call from Renee.

   "Hi," he said.  "What's up?"

   "This is Renee Harqart," she said, formally.

   "I know that," he said.  "Is anything wrong?"

   "No!" she said, sounding frustrated.  "I said this is Renee HARQART,
Bobby ...  not Renee Zimmerman!"

   He still didn't get it.  "OK," he said, carefully.

   "I got my annulment decree from Nevada, you dope!" she yelled.

   "Wow!  That's great!" he yelled.

   "I want to celebrate," she said.  "Tonight ...  with you."

   "What time?" he asked, thinking she was throwing a party.  He'd been to
see both Renee and their son a number of times since Robert had been born.
She hadn't expressed any overt signs, however, that she wanted to sleep
with him, and he hadn't pressed it.  It wasn't hard for him to believe that
a woman who'd had a man's unplanned baby might not be interested in
continuing the activities that had created that baby.

   Renee was also thinking about their son, though in a different way.  She
was putting him down for the night around eight these days.  He'd started
to sleep through the night fairly regularly now.

   "Eight-thirty," she said.

   Bobby thought that was late to start a party, especially for a woman who
would have to be up the next morning around six, to get ready for children
to arrive at her childcare center.  But it was her celebration, so he
didn't say anything other than "I'll be there.  You want me to bring
anything?"

   "Just yourself," she said.

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

   Despite her denial that he needed to bring anything, Bobby wanted to
take something.  He knew she was nursing, so it couldn't be wine.  He also
knew she loved expensive cheeses, so he stopped at the new deli that had
opened up in town and asked for "something fancy." He knew he'd
misunderstood when he got to her house and there were no cars in the
driveway.

   She was waiting for him.  The door was standing open when he got to it.
She was hugging what looked like a flannel robe around her.

   "Hurry up!" she yipped.  "It's cold!"

   "You didn't have to stand in the door," he said, smiling.  "I know how
to get in."

   "I was too excited to just stand around," she said, pulling him inside
and closing the door.

   "I thought this was going to be a party," he said, extending the brick
of very expensive cheese.

   "It is," she said.  She lifted the package to her nose and inhaled
deeply.  "Mmmmmm, it smells delicious ...  but it can wait."

   She handed the cheese back to him.

   "Would you be a darling and put that in the fridge for me?  Then come to
my office."

   He grinned and headed to the kitchen.  When he entered the office, he
stopped short.  She was leaning backwards against the desk, her hands on
it, like they were helping to hold her up.  She wasn't wearing the robe any
longer.  She had taken it off to reveal something that was quite useless
for either keeping her warm or wearing to bed.  It held her breasts up, for
example, but did not cover them.  The panties matched, but were much
smaller than the smallest bikini.  Her breasts were swollen, milky white,
with very dark nipples, and he could see blue veins tracing all over them.

   "My, my," he sighed, drinking in her beauty.

   "I got this just for you," she said, almost shyly.

   "It's gorgeous."

   "I feel silly," she said.  There was yearning in her voice.

   "You shouldn't feel silly," he said.  "I hope you can run fast."

   "What?" She was confused.

   "I'm getting ready to chase you all over the house," he said, smiling.

   "You won't have to chase me very far." Her voice was husky.

   He didn't lurch toward her, though.  In fact, he stepped toward her very
slowly.  Her eyes were pinned to his, and her lips parted as her breathing
rate increased.  He stopped, almost touching her, but not quite.

   "This is what got you in trouble last time," he said softly.

   "I never wore anything like this for you before," she whispered.

   "You know what I mean." He let his eyes go down to take in her pillowy
breasts, then brought them back up to her face.  "That outfit could get you
in serious trouble tonight."

   "Why do you think I'm wearing it?"

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

   The alarm clock roused Renee, and she rolled toward it instinctively, to
shut it off, but ran into a soft/hard warm body.  An arm from that body
reached out, found the alarm clock, fumbled with it, and made it go silent.

   She let her arm come down on his body, and stroked him with her hand,
from his chest, to where his soft pubic hair started.  His stomach sucked
in and she knew she was tickling him.

   "Good morning," she said, kissing his right nipple.

   "I thought you finally cried uncle last night," he mumbled.

   "That was then.  This is now."

   In fact, she was satisfied.  He had been both urgent and thorough in his
lovemaking.  She'd lost count of her orgasms somewhere along number nine.
He'd given them to her with his fingers, and his mouth, and that
magnificent prick of his.  She hadn't been prepared for him to suck her
full breasts dry, though.  She'd been trying to figure out how to make her
breast pump work when she'd heard his car drive up, and had decided to just
live with the pain she knew would come later, until he was finished and she
could get up and figure it out.

   He hadn't finished and she hadn't had to figure it out.  The first thing
she thought about when his lips started her milk flowing was that she
should feel shame, but the ecstasy of him nursing was so electric that she
quit feeling like this was somehow perverted and just enjoyed it.  Her
first orgasm, in fact, had been just because of those feelings.

   Later, when there was no more milk to give, he'd sucked at her clitty,
like she might give milk there, too, and she'd crashed through two more
orgasms.  Then, before she could catch her breath, his prick was there,
filling her like she'd remembered so well.  It wasn't until two more
orgasms had wracked her body that he'd spoken.

   "Do you want me to pull out?"

   "No," she'd panted.  "I'm nursing.  I haven't had a period since I had
him."

   He'd spurted in her then.  He'd done it four more times during the
night, until, while her head flailed, her eyes had seen the clock, and seen
it was two in the morning.

   That was when she'd panted "No more ...  no more."

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

   She got out of bed, naked and unashamed.  The demi bra and panties were
on the floor, but she didn't bend over and pick them up.  She thought it
was odd that she felt more normal naked than when she had worn them.

   She pulled the covers off of him, half to tease him, and half because
she didn't know if he'd get up if he was still warm.  His morning erection
strained and she gawked.

   "You're not normal!" she yipped, staring at it.

   "There's a gorgeous naked woman standing in front of me," he said,
lifting his head.  "It doesn't get any more normal than this."

   She felt warmth in her belly, but clamped down on that.

   "I have to take a shower," she said.  "Children will be here in an
hour."

   She didn't think he'd join her, but he did.  They'd only showered
together once before.  Her objections were left unvoiced when he pressed
his lips against hers and stilled them.  With the water running over them
both, he lifted her like she was weightless, crushed her to the cold wall
of the stall, and let her down slowly.  His prick didn't catch, but it was
obvious what he wanted and, when he lifted her back up, she forced a hand
between them and helped.

   "The children," she panted.

   "This won't take long," he said in her ear.  "Last night was for you. 
This is for me."

   It may have been for him, but he didn't spurt until she moaned that she
was cumming, impaled with just her toes touching the floor of the stall as
he bounced her.

   Then he was all business, washing her, running his hands all over her
body, even between her legs, to wash himself off of her.

   "I'd love breakfast," he said, running his hands over her breasts, "but
those belong to Robert this morning."

   She didn't think it was possible, but when the first children arrived,
she was ready, Robert had been fed, and Bobby had gone out the front door,
trying to get away before arriving mothers could see him and cause her any
embarrassment.

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

   He didn't quite make it.

   He was in his car, with the engine running, when another car pulled into
the driveway.  He recognized it as belonging to Ted Brandywine, who was
married to his sister, Florence.  Thinking quickly, he shut his car off,
got out, and opened the trunk, to pull out the tool bag he kept there.

   Ted got out and waved at Bobby.  Then he got into the back of his car
and got his two year old daughter, Star, out of a car seat.  With Star in
his arms, he met Bobby, walking toward Renee's front door.

   "Did my sister finally get a job?" asked Bobby.  Flo was a stay-at-home
mother.

   "No, she's just sick, and I wanted her to be able to rest, so I'm
dropping Star off here for the day," answered Ted.  "Now that I've moved up
to the high school, my schedule gives me more time to cover for her like
this."

   "I hope it's nothing serious," said Bobby.  He visited his sister,
occasionally, but it had been a few weeks since he'd been to their house.

   "I think it's just a touch of the flu or something," said Ted.  "I'm not
supposed to tell anybody about it yet, but we think she's pregnant again,"
he continued.

   "That's great!" said Bobby, grinning.

   "You can't tell anybody!" cautioned Ted.  "She'd skin me alive.  Why she
wants to be all secretive about it is beyond me.  I think she might be
trying to wait until Christmas to announce it or something.  Who knows? 
Anyway, there might be some morning sickness mixed in with the flu.  I
don't think it's serious.  She just needs some rest, and this little lady
here is the nemesis of rest."

   He kissed his daughter on the cheek.

   "Hi, Unca Bobby," piped the little girl.  "Story?"

   Bobby sometimes read her stories from her huge pile of books when he
visited them.

   "Not right now, princess," said Bobby, smiling at her.  "I have to do
some work.  Maybe I'll come over and read to you tonight, or tomorrow, OK?"

   "O-tay," said the little girl.  She lost interest in him then, and
looked at the house like she somehow knew she was going to be left there.
She hugged Ted's neck tightly.

   They turned as the door opened and Renee stood, looking at them.  She
looked confused.

   "Morning, Renee," said Bobby, taking the initiative.  "I know it's
early, but I thought I could get to that sink that's been causing you
problems."

   "Oh!" she said.  She looked at Ted, probably to see if he was buying
this.  He was distracted with Star's diaper bag, and extra clothes, which
were threatening to fall from under his arm where he'd been carrying them.
"Good morning Ted," she said.  "Do I get the pleasure of Star's company
today?"

   "Please!" said Ted, pleading a little.  "Flo isn't feeling well and
needs to get some extra sleep."

   "No problem.  Bring her in." She turned to Bobby.  "Can you wait until I
get Star settled in, so Ted can get to work?"

   "Sure," said Bobby.

   Renee started the ritual of getting a child away from a parent that that
child doesn't want to let go of, luring her to play with something so she'd
be distracted enough not to notice the parent leaving.  Bobby looked on,
smiling.  She was pretty good at it, but Star saw Ted starting toward the
door and began crying.

   Bobby got down on his hands and knees, and put his face in front of
hers.

   "Tell you what, pumpkin," he said.  "Your daddy has to go teach school,
but I'll stay here and read you that story right now, OK?"

   Star sniffled, but stopped crying actively.  "O-tay," she said, somewhat
hesitantly.

   "Be right back," said Bobby.  "You pick a book while I'm gone, OK?"

   "O-tay," said the little girl, getting to her feet to trundle toward a
book shelf crammed with children's books.

   Bobby ushered Ted out the front door.

   "Thanks," said Ted.  "She's a daddy's girl all the way."

   He started to turn and then stopped.

   "Hey.  I just remembered.  There's a situation you might be able to help
with."

   "What's that?" asked Bobby.

   "You remember Mrs.  Abernathy?"

   Bobby grinned.  Mrs.  Abernathy had been the social studies teacher in
the high school when Bobby went to school there.  She was a formidable
harridan, and getting through her class had been considered to be one of
the rites of passage for all of the students.  She had also been the drama
coach in charge of all the school plays.  She was a superb teacher, though
that was unappreciated by her students.  Her demanding nature and stiff
grading practices had been the bane of many a teen.  On the other hand, in
her role as a director of musicals and plays, everybody loved her.  In that
role she relaxed a bit, though her standards were still quite high.  All
that meant was that the productions were well attended, and one of the
highlights of the culture in Granger.

   "Who could forget her?" asked Bobby.

   "Yeah," sighed Ted.  She'd been just as hard for teachers to get along
with as students.  "Well, she retired."

   "You're kidding," said Bobby.  He couldn't imagine Granger High without
Bernice Abernathy.

   "Nope," said Ted.  "They got a new woman in there this year.  She's
having some problems."

   "What kind of problems?"

   "Well, nobody else was willing to take on the drama stuff," said Ted. 
"Nobody wanted to try to fill those shoes.  So they stuck Erica, the new
teacher, with it.  The problem is that she doesn't have any experience in
that area.  She's kind of floundering."

   "So why don't some of the rest of you help her out?" asked Bobby.

   "Well," said Ted, turning a little pink.  "She's kind of ...  well, to
be honest ...  I guess you'd say she's drop dead gorgeous."

   "So?"

   "She's also one of those women's liberation types," said Ted.  "She's
kind of hard to get along with."

   "I don't understand," said Bobby.

   "You can't be around her and not notice her," said Ted.  "That's caused
some problems, because she takes offence at that.  And besides that, we've
had some staff get-togethers and there are some jealousy issues with some
of the wives.  It's complicated."

   "Sounds like it," said Bobby.  "I still don't see how I can help."

   "They're trying to get ready for a musical," said Ted.  "She was in the
teacher's lounge the other day, moaning about building sets, because she
doesn't know how to do that.  I thought maybe you could help in that area."

   "I'm no artist," said Bobby, remembering the ornate painting and
decoration of the sets at the Starlight Theater in Kansas City.

   "I was thinking about you just building the frames and putting the
canvas on them, or whatever it is they do," said Ted.  "I told her I'd
mention it to you.  Don't ask me why.  I didn't intend to open my mouth at
all.  She's a very unsettling woman."

   "OK," said Bobby.  "I can at least talk to her I guess.  Give her my
number."

   "Good deal," said Ted.  "And a whole lot of male teachers will thank you
for this."

   "I thought you said she was good looking," said Bobby, grinning.

   "I'm telling you, brother," sighed Ted.  "She's like one of those spiny
cactuses that's in bloom ...  really nice looking, but don't get to close,
or you're going to feel pain."

   "She'd better not be too abrasive," said Bobby.  "She's the one who
needs the help."

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

   Chapter Two

   The woman being discussed in front of Renee's child care center was, in
fact, really nice looking - by almost anyone's standards.

   Erica Bradford stood at five feet, four inches, which was fairly short.
That shortness was exaggerated by her breasts, which were, if not
monumental, at least startlingly impressive.  Above a waist kept narrow by
a daily regimen of one hundred sit-ups, as well as a number of other
callisthenic exercises, her breasts seemed so large as to make her look
like she might fall forward any minute.  Hips three inches smaller than her
thirty-eight inch bust managed to keep the perspective of her overall
appearance, but all that, perched on those short little legs of hers, also
made her look like an impossibly over-developed teenage girl.  A lush
growth of auburn hair, with golden highlights scattered throughout it, and
which fell to the middle of her back, only heightened the impression of
youth when she wore it in a long, flowing ponytail, which was common,
because it was easier to handle that way.

   In short, Erica would have been welcomed with open arms at any Playboy
club in the country, and she would have been a shoe-in for the centerfold
pages of at least one issue.

   Not that Erica Bradford would ever have considered setting foot in such
a bastion of rampant male sexism.  She characterized places like that as
brothels, when she was trying to be polite.  And though she had been unable
to participate in any bra burnings - her vast expanse of breast flesh
required that she wear a bra consistently - she would have gladly used a
match to set Hugh Hefner's mansion merrily aflame.

   That attitude was in part because of growing up as the women's
liberation movement began to take off and get noticed.  Her interest in
women's lib was engendered by the fact that her breasts began to develop
when she was twelve, and had blossomed to staggering maturity by the time
she was fifteen.  Nobody looked at her face.  Not even women.  Boys were
impossible.  Even her little brother leered at her.

   Not wearing makeup didn't help.  College was the same way.  Her
professors drooled as much as her male peers.  Girls even came onto her. 
She spent so much time avoiding sexual situations that it became habit.

   She'd expected her first job as a teacher to set her free ...  to allow
her to show that she was more than a pair of breasts.  She had naturally
gravitated toward social studies.  She wanted to explore - and correct -
certain social phenomenon, not the least of which was the sexism that
seemed to infuse every facet of society, American or otherwise.

   Where better to begin her task than with the teenagers who were forming
the sexual attitudes that would remain with them throughout life?  She'd
gotten a job at a big school in Chicago, and gone forth to slay dragons.

   It didn't take her long to rue the day she'd chosen to major in high
school social studies.  Her high school students acted like ...  high
school students.  The boys went glassy-eyed, if they were halfway polite,
and were transparently rude otherwise.  The girls hated her if they had
boyfriends in her class.  The female teachers shunned her, and the men were
as bad as the boys, staring at her.  Male heads went together often, while
the eyes in those heads glanced at her.  The men snickered as much as the
boys.

   Three years of that had been all she could force herself to stomach. 
Big city culture was too hard a nut to crack.  So she had gone in search of
someplace smaller, more provincial.  Not that she wanted something
backwards, or restrictive ...  just someplace where people might have a
little of that old fashioned politeness.  It didn't occur to her that there
was quite a bit of irony in a modern, hard-charging woman seeking out
someplace that was likely to retain old fashioned attitudes toward women as
well.

   Now, three months into her new job in Granger, Kansas, Erica had
experienced an epiphany of sorts.  She had come to the conclusion that boys
were boys, and men were men.

   Oh, they weren't as bald-faced about ogling her, that was true.  And at
least some of them - both boys and men - had the decency to blush when they
stared at her chest.  But the change in scenery, such as THAT was, didn't
seem to include a change in how males reacted to her.

   And then there was this drama nonsense!  She'd only had to see one or
two musicals in her own high school to understand that they were
predictably sexist.  The woman always swooned over the man, who called the
shots, and was forgiven his blunders and insensitivity, always in the name
of love.  She'd shunned that kind of crap after that.

   Still, it had been clearly stated that she would have to take on the
drama productions if she wanted the job.  And she had agreed to it, because
she just HAD to get out of Chicago.  And, by and large, she actually liked
Granger.  The pace was much slower.  People WERE more polite, with a few
exceptions, even if most people just ignored her.  That was fine with her.
She felt like being ignored might not be such a bad thing.

   Especially since her life threatened to be completely overwhelmed by the
latest development.

   That development was William, her little brother.  There wasn't supposed
to be a development involving her brother.  She had thought that was all
taken care of back in 1968.

   He had been seventeen in 1968, and she eighteen, when their parents were
killed in a car crash.  She had been preparing to go off to college, to
become a teacher.  Suddenly, she was her brother's guardian, and college
looked like it wasn't going to happen.

   He wasn't impressed with the idea that his older sister was in charge of
him.  His argument to get her to sign enlistment papers had seemed to solve
everything.  She got to go to college.  He went off to be in the Army,
after which he'd have money to start whatever kind of life he wanted to
when he got out.

   Neither of them thought that three years later he'd end up in a far off
foreign land, riddled with shrapnel and burned to the degree that it would
take literally years and dozens of surgeries to bring him as far back into
the real world as they could get him.  She was aware that he was injured,
having been notified by infrequently received letters some nurse or
volunteer had written for him.  She knew it was bad, and when he'd told her
not to visit him in the hospital, it had been easy for her to honor that
request.

   A month ago, though, another letter had come ...  one of the first she
had received at her little two bedroom frame house on Walnut street in
Granger, Kansas.  That letter said they had done all they could for him. 
He had a medical pension, but he needed a place to live.  He'd added that
he was in a wheelchair.

   She had agreed, of course.  There was no way to say "No," even had she
felt like it.  She knew things had been impossibly tough for him.  And he
was all the family she had left, not counting an uncle and aunt who lived
in North Dakota, and a few cousins, none of whom she had seen since she was
ten.

   Now, with all the other upheavals in her life, he was due to arrive on a
plane in Wichita in a week.  She hadn't been to Wichita yet, but that
didn't worry her.  She was a modern, capable woman.  What worried her was
that while she was in shape, she had no idea how much help he'd need to get
into the car and into the house.  She didn't know how much stuff he'd bring
with him, or whether it would all fit into her modern and stylish AMC
Pacer; the one thing she had splurged on, because she thought it announced
how forward thinking she was.

   But that was a week away.  Right now, she had a class to teach, and,
after school, play practice.  That was more than enough to deal with today.

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

   It was lunchtime when Ted Brandywine approached her.  He was one of the
few men she'd met who seemed not to become tongue tied around her.  It was
disconcerting talking to him, though.  He didn't stare at her breasts, but
he also had a tendency to look past her while he was talking to her.

   "I saw Bobby this morning," he said, without preamble.  "He said he'd be
happy to talk to you about building sets.  He doesn't know how much help he
can be in the art department, though."

   "I think that's OK," she said.  "Several of the kids insist they know
how to build sets and paint them.  I've just been so afraid they'll get
hurt.  There are all these saws, and tools, and sharp things involved in
all that.  All I really need is somebody I can trust to kind of keep an eye
on them, or direct them or something."

   Ted handed her a piece of paper.

   "Here's his number," he said, looking past her right ear.

   "Thank you, Ted," she said.

   "Sure." He turned to hurry away.

   "Ted?"

   He stopped, but only turned half way around.

   "How do you know this man?"

   "He's my brother-in-law," said Ted.  "He's a wizard at fixing just about
anything."

   "Oh," said Erica.  "OK."

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

   Bobby came in the house knowing his mother wasn't there, because her car
was gone.  He smelled food cooking and stuck his head in the kitchen. 
Matilda was standing at the stove with a spatula in her hand.  He walked
over and put his arms around her, cupping her breasts.

   "Smells good."

   "Stop that!" she said, almost angrily.  She pushed his hands off her
breasts.

   "Sorry," he said, stepping back.  "Tough day?"

   "Just don't touch me," she said, ignoring him.

   Bobby frowned and looked at his sister's back.  This wasn't like her at
all.  Usually, she was frisky when their mother wasn't around.  Both of
them were.

   "Where's Betty?" he asked.

   "Don't touch her either," said Matilda, her voice hard-edged.

   He knew her well enough to know she wouldn't talk until she calmed down,
whatever was bothering her.

   "OK," he said.  "Let me know when you want to talk about it.  You
cooking for me too, or just you?"

   "Just me," she said, still not looking at him.

   "No problem," he said.  "I'll get something when you're done."

   He went looking for Betty, and found her in the living room.  The TV was
on.

   "What's wrong with Matilda?" he asked.

   Betty looked up at him.  "Nothing," she said.  "Why?"

   "She just about bit my head off," he said.

   "Oh," she said and turned back to the TV.

   Bobby shook his head.  She was obviously off her feed too.  He was about
to go take a shower when her voice stopped him.

   "You have two phone messages," she said.

   "Who from?" he asked.

   "Misty and some woman I've never heard of," said Betty, still watching
the tube.

   It was the disinterested note in her voice that made alarm bells go off
in his head.  Both of the twins had been ecstatic about Misty, almost pests
when she was staying with them.  For her to say "Misty" in such a
lackluster voice was proof that something was really wrong.  He knew,
though, that neither of them would talk until they were ready, so he told
Betty the same thing he'd told Matilda.

   "Whenever you're ready to talk about it, let me know," he said.

   "What?" She looked over at him.

   "Whatever's bothering you right now," he said.

   "Nothing's bothering me," she said, but there was no heat in her voice
then either.

   "Whenever you're ready," he said, and then left.

   He went to the little table in the hallway where a pad of paper was
beside the phone.  One piece of paper just said "Misty" and listed a phone
number.  The other said "Erica Bradford" and had a local number below that.
He remembered Ted's discussion about the woman from that morning.

   He picked up the phone and called Erica's number.  There was no answer.
He looked at his watch.  It was six thirty.  School should be long over for
the day.  He left the paper there.  He'd try again later.  He decided to
wait until after his shower to call Misty.  Who knew what she wanted, but
he wanted to have the time to talk a while, if that was necessary.

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

   After he got out of the shower, the twins were in their room, with the
door closed, so he fixed something to eat and then called Misty.

   "Hey," he said, when she picked up the phone.

   "BOBBY!" she squealed loudly.  He held the phone away from his ear.

   "You don't have to yell," he said into the mouthpiece.

   "Sorry," she said, her voice lower.  "I need a favor ...  a huge favor."

   "If I can," he said.

   "There's an awards banquet in two weeks.  I got nominated for best new
artist.  I need an escort."

   "In Nashville?" he said, incredulously.

   "Of course," she said.  "Will you do it?"

   "I can't just come to Nashville," he said.

   "Of course you can," she said.  "I'll have the tickets ready for you,
and you can stay at my house.  I'll even pay you for your precious lost
work time."

   "Misty," he said.  "Be reasonable.  There have to be a hundred guys in
Nashville who'd love to have you on their arm at some fancy thing like
that."

   "Of course there are," said Misty.  "But I want you."

   "Come on, Misty."

   "No, YOU come on," she said.  "You practically robbed me of my virtue,
Bobby Dalton.  You owe me!  And besides, I want to create a mystery here.
Nobody will know who you are.  We won't tell them where you came from or
anything.  You'll just be the handsome stud on whose arm I drape my
delicate hand.  The photographers will eat it up.  I might even win,
Bobby!"

   "I didn't rob you of anything," he snorted.  "You hated me, and then
suddenly you didn't hate me, and then you had your way with me, and then
left me all alone." He tried to make his voice sound sad.

   "Don't give me that," she laughed.  "You've never been alone unless you
wanted to be.  Besides, if you're nice to me while you're here, I might
have my way with you again.  You never know."

   "You're serious," he said.

   "I most certainly am," she laughed.  "Come on.  It'll be fun.  Please?"

   "You really think this is a good idea?" he asked.  "You really want to
start rumors?"

   "Of course I do," she said.  "People will go crazy trying to figure out
who you are.  You don't have to stay long.  Just a couple of days.  Then
you can go back to your harem in Kansas."

   "I don't have a harem," he said.

   "Please, Bobby?  For me?"

   "I have to talk to Mamma about this."

   "You're a grown man, Bobby," she reminded him.

   "Yeah, but if I run off to Nashville without telling her first, I might
not have a place to live when I get back," he said.  "She already knows
what happened when you were here."

   "Oh?" Her voice was high.  "How did THAT happen?"

   "She's got radar or something," he said.  "She grilled me after you
left. If I went down there without talking about it with her first, she'd
be very disappointed."

   "Well, talk to her and make her feel good about this, and then you can
come down here and make me feel good too."

   "When did you turn into this kind of woman?" he asked, amazed at how
lightly she said that.

   "When I met you," she said firmly.  "Talk to your mamma and then call me
back.  You'd better call me back, Bobby!"

   "I will," he said.

   "Tonight, please," she said.  "I need to make plans."

   "OK," he said.

   He stared at the phone for fifteen seconds before hanging it up.

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

   He was thinking about Nashville so much that he would have forgotten to
try Erica Bradford again, but when he picked up Misty's number to take to
his room, Erica's was right under it.  He dialed it.

   "Hello?" came a female voice.

   "Mrs.  Bradford, this is Bobby Dalton."

   The immediate response was "It's Ms.  Bradford, not Mrs."

   "I'll try to remember that," said Bobby dryly.  "Ted said you need some
help."

   "Yes, I do.  The kids want to build the sets, but I think that's too
dangerous.  I need someone to supervise them."

   "I see," said Bobby, wondering what that might be like.

   "Can you come by the school tomorrow, around four-thirty?" she asked, as
if she assumed he was going to say yes.  "Just come in the front doors. 
Anybody can tell you where the auditorium is."

   "I went to school there," said Bobby.  "I know where it is."

   "Oh ...  of course.  Thank you, Mister Dalton."

   He was about to reply when he realized she had hung up.  It was the
first evidence he had to support Ted's assessment of this woman as "kind of
hard to get along with."

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

   If Bobby thought his mother was going to give him a hard time about
going to Nashville, he was mistaken.  To be fair, that was only because
Mirriam had no clue that Bobby would be staying WITH Misty while he was
there.  She just assumed he'd be put up in some hotel somewhere.  And,
while he was with Misty, all the world would be watching.  What could
possibly happen?

   "I think it's a fantastic opportunity," she said, after he had haltingly
described what Misty had asked him to do.  "You'll get to see interesting
places and meet famous people."

   To be fair again, it must be exposed that Mirriam had a somewhat
ulterior motive here.  She knew Bobby had been to Kansas City, and Wichita,
of course, but those places were cow towns by comparison with Nashville. 
She was quite sure that Bobby would be as out of place in a city like that,
as it was possible to be.  He would be overwhelmed.

   He would come back to Granger ...  where he would stay forever.

   It wasn't that she expected Bobby to run off somewhere.  It was just
that she knew if he did, she'd be lost.  She was quite capable of living
without him.  She just wouldn't want to.

   And so, it only took five minutes to accomplish what Bobby expected
would take hours of wrangling and pleading, to get his mother to give him
her blessing.

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

   Bobby walked into the auditorium the next afternoon to the sound of
barely controlled chaos.  A piano was playing, and three kids were standing
there looking at sheet music and singing.  Another group of about fifteen
kids were on the stage, milling around, while a woman who could only be
Erica Bradford, based on Ted's description of her, barked orders at them.
Another group of fifteen or twenty kids were sitting in the front seats of
the auditorium, talking.  Lights above the stage dimmed, changed to red,
then blue, then green, and then came back up brightly.

   The woman on stage turned her head toward the wings.

   "Mister Downs!  Stop playing with the lights!  That light board is an
expensive piece of equipment!"

   There was a banging sound from back stage.  The woman stepped to one
side and peered into the darkness.

   "Mister Thomas!  Put down that hammer!  I told you we're not building
sets until later!"

   Tanya Fielding, a teenager who worked part time at Renee's child care
center, and who had met Bobby a number of times there, was one of the kids
on the stage.  She saw him and waved.

   "Hey, Mister D," she called out.  That was her name for him.  He'd tried
to get her to call him Bobby, but she wouldn't.  "What are you doing here?
It's awesome to see you."

   "Hey, Tanya.  Mizz Bradford needs someone to watch over you guys and
make sure you don't cut off any fingers while you're building the sets,"
said Bobby, smiling.  He hit hard on the "Mizz." thinking to point out to
Erica Bradford just how silly it sounded.

   "That's not funny!" said the woman on stage, her voice strident.  Bobby
wasn't sure whether she was talking about what he had called her, or his
comment about cutting off fingers.  "Sit down.  I'll be with you in a
minute."

   Having dismissed him, she turned back to the kids.  She was trying to
get them to do some kind of dance.

   Bobby sat down in the fourth row of the seats, to one side, because all
the kids were sitting and talking in the middle.  A girl peered at him and
stood up to walk toward him.

   "Hey, you're that guy," she said.

   "Beg your pardon?"

   "You're that guy ...  the one who was with Misty Compton at the concert
over in Hutch.  You're him!"

   Bobby smiled.  He didn't know what else to do.

   The girl turned back toward her friends.

   "Hey, dudes!  This is that guy who was with that groovy Misty Compton!"

   Bobby had no idea what to expect.  When three more girls and a couple of
boys stood up and started toward him, he couldn't think of anything to do
except sit there.

   "Far out!" said one of the boys.  "You know Misty Compton?"

   "I spent a few days with her," said Bobby.

   "Man, that's bitchin'!" said the boy.  "She's tubular, man."

   "Yeah," said Bobby weakly, not quite sure what the boy meant.  "She's
pretty good," he guessed.

   "Good?  She's a sweet bong, man!" said the kid.

   "Harry!" said the girl who had originally come over to investigate
Bobby. "You sound so stupid using all that slang."

   "Get real, dudette," said the boy, grinning.  "That's the boss way to
talk.  I'm just with the plan, that's all."

   The girl ignored the boy, dismissing him in the same way Erica Bradford
had dismissed Bobby.  She turned back to Bobby.

   "Do you really know her?  What's she like?  She's sooo awesome!"

   "She's so pretty," sighed another of the girls.

   Bobby had no idea how to approach this conversation.

   "I like her," he said, tentatively.

   "Did you get to swap spit with her?" asked the boy who didn't seem to be
able to complete a sentence in anything that actually sounded like English.

   "That will be enough of that!" came a stentorian voice from the bottom
of the stage.  Erica Bradford was stalking toward them.

   "I'll thank you not to discuss your sexual escapades with the children!"
said Erica, her eyes pinned on Bobby.  The kids scattered like chaff in the
wind.

   Bobby stood up.  "I wasn't discussing anything with them," he said.

   "Come with me," ordered the woman.

   As Erica Bradford stalked back toward one side of the stage, where there
was a set of steps, her mind was chewing away.  This Bobby Dalton person
was obviously an ex jock type.  He had the look.  He was handsome and knew
it.  She knew the type.  She couldn't remember where his eyes had been,
because she was just too upset by everything right now, but no doubt they
had been on her breasts.  The way he had addressed Tanya ...  as if they
were friends ...  and that flippant, much too casual way he had suggested
he was there to save the day, because a woman couldn't possibly ensure the
safety of the children!  The gall of this man.  She didn't like him
already.

   But Erica Bradford was also pragmatic.  If this man had the skills, all
she had to do was keep an eye on him, while he kept an eye on the
volunteers.  She needed him.  This was driving her crazy.  She had no idea
what she was doing, and this production was going to be a complete
disaster. Mr.  Hornsby, the music teacher, who had promised to work with
the chorus and the kids who had solos, hadn't shown up at all, and seemed
to be avoiding her.  If this Bobby person could take some of the pressure
off of her, it was worth putting up with his smirks.

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

   Bobby had no idea where the woman was taking him.  He was even less
convinced, based on her attitude, that he belonged here, in this setting.
As he followed her, his eyes went to the back of her skirt.  She was
walking quickly, which made it look like two bowling balls had somehow been
attached to her backside, and were bouncing up and down as she stalked
along.

   She got to the stage and turned, but didn't address him.

   "CHILDREN!" she called out, like it was a line in the play and she was
trying to project.  "THAT'S ALL FOR TODAY.  BE HERE TOMORROW AT THE SAME
TIME, AND PLEASE TRY TO HAVE LEARNED YOUR LINES BY THEN!"

   She stood as the kids who had been lounging around came to life and got
up to leave.  They formed themselves into small clusters, which drifted
toward the back of the auditorium, noisily.  Then Erica turned her
attention to Bobby.

   "I don't know anything about building things," she said.  "Several of
the children claim to know about these things, but it would be a disaster
if any of them got hurt.  Can you supervise them and behave in a
professional manner at the same time?"

   Bobby's initial urge was to say "No," and then turn around and walk out.
He was reminded of Misty Compton, when he first met her.  She had been
spoiled, demanding, and a general pain in the ass.  At the same time, his
initial impressions of her had turned out to be a little skewed.  She'd
just been having an incredibly tough time when they met, and the stress of
that situation had caused her to act in ways that weren't really who she
was.

   He looked at Erica, whose face was pale.  She had worry lines, and they
were well established.

   "I don't know if I can help you or not," he decided to say.

   "What?  Why not?" Erica looked like she might start bouncing off walls
any second.

   "I've never built sets," he said.  "I've seen some, but I didn't examine
them to see how they were built.  I can teach you basic building skills ...
the kids too ...  but other than that, I don't know if I can do what you
want." He looked at the woman's face, to see her reaction to that.  She
just looked tense.  He looked around.  "Where are the other two men?" he
asked.

   She looked confused then.

   "What men?"

   "The ones you yelled at ...  something about the lights ...  and the one
you told to put a hammer down?"

   She blinked.

   "Those weren't men.  They were students," she said.

   Now Bobby looked confused.  "You called them 'Mister'," he said.

   "I was just being professional," she said.  "If we expect the children
to act like adults, we should address them appropriately."

   "But they're not adults," said Bobby, thinking of his twin sisters, who
were out of high school and still didn't seem like adults sometimes.

   "Yes," said Erica, "but we WANT them to be, so we address them as if
they were, and build an environment in which there is the expectation that
they will act like adults."

   "That isn't going to work," said Bobby.  What he was thinking was that
she addressed them as Mister ...  and probably Mizz ...  one minute, but
then called them children the next.  If that wasn't mixed signals ...  what
was?

   Erica almost snorted.  She should have expected a jock to tell her how
to do her job.  Men always thought they knew everything.

   "You let me worry about that," she said, as if she were talking to a six
year old.  "I just need you to build a village, and some boulders."

   "A village," said Bobby, his eyes widening.

   "Yes," said the woman.  "And boulders and some trees too.  Do you have
any idea how to make it look foggy on stage?  This production starts out
with two men being lost in the mist, and finding the village.  So I need
trees and mist and a village."

   "I don't know," said Bobby doubtfully.

   "Just like a man," thought Erica.  "Brag and strut and then, when
somebody tosses you a bit of a challenge ...  tuck tail and run!"

   "I thought Ted said you were a wizard at making things," she said
acidly.

   Bobby wanted to take her over his knee, but he didn't.

   "I REPAIR things," he said, as patiently as he could.  "I HAVE built a
few small projects, renovations and things like that ...  but not an entire
town."

   Erica had been hoping that this man would lighten her load.  It didn't
look quite like that would happen now.  But she didn't give up.

   "How about we go through the set notes.  I can tell you in more detail
what the audience needs to see."

   "Or think they see," said Bobby, remembering the sets of the musical
he'd taken Renee to.  Those had been mostly flat, but had been painted to
give the illusion of three dimensions.  Small things, such as a balcony and
some doors and windows had actually been three dimensional.  But even the
windmill Don Quixote had fought had just been a painting on a big flat
surface.  She wondered if this had been a mistake.  The man was arguing
with her already.

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

   Chapter Three

   Two hours later, Erica Bradford felt much better about some things ...
and much worse about others.  She felt better, because he was saying things
were possible.  She felt worse, because she didn't understand half of what
he was saying.

   Sitting with him and going over the set notes had revealed that she knew
even less about building things than she'd thought.  Luckily, the jock had
a brain in his head that was bigger than the walnut size she had assumed.

   First of all, he seemed to be able to understand the notes better than
she did.  It turned into something other than what she'd planned on, as
they sat there and he explained things to her ...  instead of her
explaining things to him.

   He started saying things like "I think we could do that." Then he'd say
something like "If we buttressed the primary studs with some ten gauge
wire, it would be stable as long as no one climbed on it." He used words
like "miter" and "ten penny nail" and other words and phrases that left a
big blank in Erica's mind when she tried to visualize them.  More and more
he said he would need this or that thing, something he always named, and
which she had no idea what actually was.  It made her feel hopeful and
ignorant at the same time.

   They had been talking for more than an hour when she realized that she
hadn't seen him ogle her ...  not once!  She was sure he had, and began to
watch him more closely as he continued to read and talk.  He was smiling
now, which puzzled her, because this sounded like an impossible amount of
work for a hundred people to do, much less one jock and a few children.

   He looked over at her frequently, telling her something, or asking if
she understood something else.  She always nodded, even though it sounded
like he was speaking a foreign language sometimes.  She wasn't about to
justify what she was sure his attitude about her was: that she was
helpless.

   As closely as she watched him, though, she never saw him look at her
breasts.

   She was having distinctly uncomfortable thoughts that maybe, as crazy as
it seemed, this huge, muscular man with those astonishingly blue eyes, and
that careless lock of black hair hanging on his forehead, might be ... 
homosexual ...  when he turned those eyes on her one more time.

   "You want to go get a bite to eat?" he asked.

   She realized his knee was touching her thigh, and jerked, instantly on
guard.

   "Let's get one thing straight right now, Mister Dalton.  I am NOT
available!" she said, almost harshly.

   Bobby leaned back, and his eyebrows rose.

   "I didn't intend to ask you for a ...  date," he said softly.  "I just
thought you might be hungry." His eyes narrowed as his eyebrows fell back
to their original location.  He looked at the papers spread out on the
table in front of them.  "We're about three quarters finished, I'd guess.
Maybe we should continue this later, when you aren't so ...  jumpy."

   "I'm not jumpy!" she yipped.

   "Yes ...  you are." He moved away from her, scooting his chair a few
inches.  "I know you're under a lot of stress, Mizz Bradford." Again he
emphasized the "Mizz." "I'll help you, but I have to tell you, I'm mostly
doing this for Ted, because he asked me to help you.  I'm not here to get
into your panties, OK?"

   She was astounded.  No man had ever talked to her like that!  No man had
ever been that direct with her ...  at least no man who WASN'T trying to
"get into her panties" as he had so boldly put it.  And those men were
simply crass and rude.  He had spoken rudely, but in a way that was more
forthright ...  than actually rude!  He hadn't said it snidely.  Well that
"Mizz" had been snide, but that was all, and she was used to that.  But the
rest of it had been said in a tone that was completely lacking sarcasm.  It
was like he was just doing what she had done ...  getting things straight.
He almost sounded like he was talking to ...  an equal!

   And he DID sound like he knew what he was talking about, in terms of the
sets.

   "All right," she said, somewhat stiffly.  Then her mouth followed that
with "Thank you," even though she didn't intend to say it.

   "No problem," he said, back to his casual self.

   He looked back at the set notes.  She stared at him, not knowing what to
think of him now.  He didn't quite fit the category she'd put him into. 
She was aware of that ...  that she'd put him in a category ...  and that
she probably shouldn't have.  She felt a slight twinge of guilt about that.


   "So," he said, still looking at the notes.  "You hungry or not?"

   She couldn't believe it.  It was like he'd already forgotten their tense
moment, and was ready to move on.  She felt the tension in her shoulders,
and relaxed those muscles intentionally.

   "Do you really think we can do this?" she asked, ignoring his question.

   "I think so," he said, simply.  "It will be a lot of work, and I'll have
some conditions ...  but I think so."

   "What conditions?" she asked, on guard again.

   "Are we going to finish this tonight?" he asked.  "Cause whether you're
hungry or not, I am, and I think better when I'm not hungry."

   "What conditions?!" she insisted.

   "Well," he said, looking at her face.  "The first one is that you and I
have to build the first set together."

   She blinked.

   "Why?" she asked.

   "Because I'm not necessarily always going to be able to be here," he
said, quite reasonably.  "And when I'm not, you'll have to supervise, so I
want to be sure you'll be able to do that.  Like you said, we don't want
any teenage fingers rolling across the stage."

   "I don't have time for that," she said.

   "Don't tell me you're going to make those poor kids rehearse all day
Saturday," he said, smiling.

   "Of course not," she said.

   "Then Saturday we turn you into a carpenter," he said, as if that were
settled.

   "But ..."

   "Now, I'm going to go get something to eat.  I really think it would be
a good idea to get this done," he said, picking up the notes.  "That will
be one thing that you don't have to worry about again.  Wouldn't that be
nice?"

   She was torn.  No matter what he said, if she went with him, he might
perceive it as a "date" and, if he did that, he might expect more.  Still
...  it WOULD be nice to know that something was well in hand in this
maddening project.

   "What other conditions?" she asked, stubbornly.

   "We'll discuss that over the best chicken fried steak this side of the
Mississippi," he said.

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

   She tried to resist.  She tried to be assertive.  She tried to adopt an
attitude that said they'd do things by HER rules, instead of his. 
Nonetheless, she somehow ended up being put into her car, and being told
"Just follow me.  It's not far."

   And, somewhat to her dismay, she DID follow his car.  He parked in front
of a little hole-in-the-wall called "The Wagonwheel." She'd seen it before,
but had never been in.  It looked like a greasy spoon.  She didn't eat out
much.  Eating out meant going into places alone, and men hit on her when
she did that, unless it was in one of the national chains, which were
singularly absent in Granger.

   He got out and waited for her.  She realized she was sitting in the
middle of the street, and pulled into a parking space several down from
his. With a great deal of ambivalence, she got out.  She'd brought only a
light jacket, having planned on going straight home after play practice. 
As she shrugged into it, she looked down.  Her nipples were showing in the
cool air.  She'd learned a long time ago that there wasn't a bra made that
would disguise them in conditions like this.  She pulled her jacket over
her chest and walked toward the man waiting for her.

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

   It didn't smell like a greasy spoon.  In fact, the minute she stepped
in, frowning because Bobby Dalton held the door for her, like she was
helpless, her stomach growled.  It smelled delicious.

   A rather large balding man in a stained white apron looked over and his
face lit up.  Erica was in the process of classifying him as just another
man who couldn't keep his eyes off her chest when he called out: "Bobby!"

   She looked at her companion, who was grinning at the cook.

   "Hey, Sal, how they hangin'?"

   "I owe you, my friend," said Sal.  "In fact, whatever you want is on the
house tonight."

   "Wow," said Bobby.  "To what do I owe the honor?"

   "Jill told me what you said," said the man.  He seemed to blush.  "About
us, I mean."

   "I take it that things are working out?" Bobby grinned.

   That kitchen was either very hot, or he was blushing harder.

   "I can't thank you enough, Bobby," he said.  "I mean that.  You could
have had her, but you let me ..." He seemed to see Erica for the first
time, and, if possible, turned even darker.  "Damn, Bobby.  Just thanks ...
OK?"

   Bobby laughed.  "She never wanted me, Sal," he said.  "And you have
nothing to thank me for.  You're just irresistible, that's all."

   Erica watched in disbelief as the fat, balding cook in the stained apron
seemed to almost inflate with what looked astonishingly like pride.  She
was distracted by a teenage girl in a waitress uniform.

   "Hey, Bobby!" she chirped.  "It's always good to see my best tipper."

   "Hi Charlotte," said Bobby.  "We need a quiet table, and two of Sal's
best chicken fried steaks."

   Erica's head snapped toward him.  Now he was ordering for her?!

   "Wait just a minute!" she said.

   Bobby glanced at her.  "Trust me," he said.  "You aren't one of those
vegetarian people are you?"

   "No, but ..."

   "Well then just trust me.  I won't steer you wrong."

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

   Erica leaned back and groaned.  She'd eaten too much.  She NEVER ate
like that!  But it had been SO delicious, and when she was full there was
only a little bit left, and they were almost done discussing the set notes,
so she just kept taking little impossibly luscious bites until, somehow,
her plate was bare.

   Of course maybe that's because they were interrupted, which gave her
time for things to settle.  That was another thing that had left her
slightly stunned.  A very good looking woman had come into the diner.  She
had honey blond hair, and the kind of figure Erica wished she had, instead
of her own top-heavy appearance.  That woman had gone behind the counter
and kissed the cook.  And it hadn't been just any old "hello" kiss either.
The woman had put her heart into that kiss, and the poor cook had turned
almost maroon again.

   Bobby had seen her staring.

   "That's Jill," he said.  "They're engaged, but I don't know if he got
her a ring yet.  I haven't talked to either of them recently."

   "You talked to him when we came in here!" objected Erica.

   "Well, yeah, but I didn't want to ask him if he'd bought her a ring ...
you know ...  in case he hadn't."

   "SHE is going to marry HIM?" Erica was astonished.

   "Oh yeah," said Bobby, smiling.  "They're nuts for each other."

   "Is that the woman he was talking about?  When we came in, I mean?"

   "Yup," said Bobby.  He went back to his meal.

   "He said you could have had her ..." Erica stopped.  This was gossip. 
She didn't do that.  And it was none of her business anyway.

   "We went out a few times," said Bobby, trying to make it sound like it
had been a normal, ordinary relationship.  "But I wasn't the man for her.
She told me she was interested in Sal.  I knew Sal was sweet on her, and I
told her to grab him."

   That also made Erica's head swim.  This woman was beautiful!  Men didn't
go around telling beautiful women to "grab" another man!  That was insane!
And Bobby didn't sound hurt at all!  He actually sounded like he cared what
that woman felt ...  cared more about what was good for her than for him.

   She was also a little puzzled, because if this odd man she was with had
been interested in that woman, that meant he was a normal man.  Any normal
man would be interested in Jill.  And, logically, that meant that when
they'd met, he'd have assessed her qualities too.  Men always did.  And
yet, he had not only shown no interest ...  he had actually TOLD her he
wasn't interested.

   She didn't like the way that made her feel.  It confused her.  She was
used to pushing men away ...  not watching them pull back voluntarily.

   Then Jill had come over, beaming at them both, and sat for a short
while, asking that they forgive her for interrupting.  She had held out her
left hand, waving it in front of Bobby's face, to show him that Sal had,
indeed, asked her to marry him.  And Bobby's reaction to THAT had been pure
joy, by everything Erica could see.

   "Thank you," said Jill, even though Bobby hadn't said a word.

   "I'm happy for you," said Bobby.

   Erica heard the words, and the tone of voice.  It was obvious that he
WAS happy for her.  The world just didn't work that way!

   It only got worse.

   "I know," said Jill.  "That's why I'll always love you." Then she
blinked and blushed and looked at Erica.  "I'm SO sorry!" she gushed.  "I
shouldn't have said that!" She looked at Bobby.  "I'm always doing things
like that, it seems," she sighed.

   "It's no problem," said Bobby.  "I should have introduced Erica sooner.
She's the drama teacher at the high school.  I'm helping out with one of
the productions."

   Erica wanted to correct him.  She was the social studies teacher - NOT
the drama teacher.  But she was so shocked by what she'd witnessed that she
couldn't make her mouth work.

   "Really?!" said Jill, no longer embarrassed.  "We usually do the
publicity shots for the school shows.  I'm Jill.  I work at Brown
Photography.  I hope you have us work with you too.  We love doing those
shots.  The kids are always so much fun."

   She got up.

   "I'm sorry for interrupting you, but I just had to show Bobby.  Please
excuse me.  I'll let you two get back to work." Her eyes went to the notes
in Bobby's hands.  She looked at Bobby again, and Erica saw something in
her eyes that she would remember later, and for years to come.  What she
saw was eyes that were about to cry, and eyes that were filled with emotion
for the man she was looking at.  "Thank you, Bobby," she said.  "For
everything.  I mean that."

   Bobby just grinned.

   "The pleasure was all mine.  Sal's an exceptionally lucky man."

   Jill's face transformed, and her emotion changed instantly.

   "He IS!" she agreed, laughing.

   Then she hurried away.  She didn't go back to the man she was going to
marry.  She just waved, blew him a kiss, and left the diner.

   Bobby had gone back to their discussion as if there had been no
interruption at all.  There had obviously been some kind of very close
attraction between that woman and the man sitting beside her.  It didn't
make any sense, based on what she'd just seen, but she didn't have time to
think about that, because he was talking about the sets again.

   He was making a list of all the things they'd have to build.

   "Where are we going to put all this stuff when it isn't being used?" he
asked, looking at the list.

   "I guess it will have to be carried off stage and put somewhere," said
Erica.

   "Some of this is going to be pretty heavy," he said, frowning.  "Maybe
we can put it on wheels or something.  I'll figure something out."

   "Do you REALLY think we can do this?" asked Erica.  It all seemed like
too much to her.  There would be four large sets that made up the village.
It would take that many sets to make the New York City scene too.  Then
there were three large sets each needed for the McLaren home and Mr. 
Lundie's house.  On top of that there were forest and hillside scenes too.
She didn't see how it could possibly work.

   "It has to be possible," he said.  "You aren't the first person to put
this show on.  Just think of how many people have done this before."

   She hadn't thought of that.  It was so practical and logical.  He was
right.  This HAD been done, probably thousands of times, in thousands of
schools.  She couldn't take the stress, and just decided to believe he was
right.  That only left one thing to discuss ...  the thing that hadn't been
brought up, but was really what had gotten her in this diner in the first
place.

   "You never told me the rest of your ...  conditions," she said.

   "Oh," he said, looking surprised.  "I want you to trust me, and let me
do this the way I think will work best."

   He stopped, as if he had just read that off a list.

   "That's it?" Erica was dumbfounded.  Despite everything that had
happened, she'd half expected him to make his contribution contingent on
some kind of future ...  date.  They had chatted, just a little bit, during
the first part of the meal.  He'd found out, somehow, where she came from,
and she'd found out he wasn't married.  She still couldn't remember how
that had come up, but it had.

   "Well, I'm not all that crazy about calling the kids mister and miss
whoever-they-are," he said.  "This should be fun ...  for all of us.  Isn't
that the whole point?  Does it have to be so stiff and formal?"

   Erica felt the first sensation of true hope that she'd felt since this
whole musical debacle had started.  She'd already decided he knew way more
about this than she did, and that whatever he wanted to do would probably
be the best way to go about things anyway.  His only other condition was
for her to learn how to build things, which didn't bother her.  She was
always interested in learning how to do things men usually reserved for
themselves.  If he wanted to call the children by their first names ... 
she could live with that.

   "As long as it's only in the auditorium," she said, driving a hard
bargain.

   "And can I please call you Erica?" he asked.  There was no sarcasm this
time either.

   "I'll think about that," she said.

   "OK," he said.  "Was I wrong about the chicken fried steak?"

   Her mind jerked a little bit.  He'd changed subjects so quickly.

   "You were correct," she admitted.  Her hands went to her over-filled
stomach.  "But I won't have to eat for days."

   "Got to keep your strength up," said Bobby, grinning.  "I'm going to
work you hard Saturday."

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

   Erica Bradford lay in bed, staring at the ceiling she couldn't see,
because it was dark.  She wasn't sleepy.  Once the panic had abated, now
that Bobby Dalton had agreed to handle the sets ...  and seemed capable of
doing that ...  she could concentrate on lines.  If the music teacher would
show up, he'd lift that problem off her shoulders.  She might actually be
able to pull this off.

   What was bothering her right now, though, was the last thing he had said
to her before they stood up, left the diner and went their separate ways.

   Bobby's comment about working her hard Saturday had stuck in her mind.
She was at first ashamed, and then mildly horrified, when she realized
there were two ways to interpret that comment.  Not that HE would have
thought of that the same way her unruly mind had thought of that.  He had
no way of knowing that she'd seen an underground movie called "The
Substitute." Her girlfriends in college had come up with the reel of tape,
and a projector to show it on.  They'd put a sheet up on the wall and, in
fits of giggles, watched the horrible thing.

   That movie had been a turning point in Erica Bradford's life.  It was a
"blue" movie, and her friends had gotten it because they were all going to
be teachers, and it was about a teacher.  As the ridiculous plot had
unfolded, and the woman in the "starring role" had become naked, again and
again, to have man after man crawl between her legs and fill her full of
horrifyingly long and stiff penises, Erica had almost gotten ill.  All she
had seen were sexist portrayals of men dominating the woman, who was a
substitute teacher in the plot.  The principal had made her have sex with
him to get her job.  The janitor had all but raped her in her classroom.  A
male teacher had taken her from behind in the teacher's lounge, while she
was bent over a couch, and rutted into her like she was an animal.  Then
there was the final scene in which three men all took her, one after
another, and she begged for it like the slut she had to be to make a movie
like that.

   One of those men, while taking his turn, had said "Work it, baby ... 
work it hard!"

   She shuddered as she remembered the grainy pictures of all those
penises, pulling out of that woman, to spurt their nasty seed all over her
body.  The slut had used her mouth on them.  It had been disgusting.  She
had been familiar with such things, of course.  It was impossible to avoid
learning about such perversions as a girl growing up burdened with mammoth
breasts.

   She shuddered again, but this time she admitted what really caused it.
With shame that almost made her cry out, her hand betrayed her and slid
across her pajamas to dip into the bottoms.

   That movie had horrified her most of all because it had excited her. 
She'd been both ashamed and personally mortified when she'd realized that
she was just as excited by that horrible filth as all her empty-headed
friends, who giggled and laughed and said things like "Don't you wish that
was YOU?!"

   She had managed not to think about that movie for years, and one simple
comment by one simple man had brought it all back.  She couldn't remember
the faces of the men in the movie any more.  They had tormented her for
over a year, whenever she thought about it and had to do what she was doing
now.

   She did cry out, in shame and anger, as her body betrayed her and the
orgasm she didn't want to have washed over her anyway.  She might have
plagued by the faces of the men in that grainy 8mm blue movie before, but
that wasn't the problem now.  The problem now was that as her traitorous
imagination put her in that slut's place, in that awful movie, the man who
had her bent over that couch had a new face.

   In her mind, as her orgasm sent streaks of forbidden pleasure through
her body, she saw a face with blue eyes, under a black lock of hair that
fell on his forehead.

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

   On Saturday morning, Erica approached the school with no little
trepidation.  That was because she had been bothered for two more nights by
thoughts of Bobby Dalton.  She couldn't understand why he kept popping back
into her mind, when the lights were off and she was trying to go to sleep.

   In addition to that, when she'd tried to select clothes in which to
build sets, she couldn't find anything suitable in her closet.  Skirts and
blouses wouldn't work.  All of her slacks were too good to risk ruining -
she assumed that this building business would be messy - and she had
nothing really informal to wear.  She was a teacher.  She had teacher's
clothing.

   Mr.  Hornsby had finally started showing up for practice, so Friday
evening she told him the kids were all his for the evening and went to look
for new clothes in which to become a builder.

   Her choices in Granger were somewhat limited.  There was the five and
dime, which didn't seem likely to have work clothes.  She finally decided
that the farm store was the best place and went there.  She felt lost
immediately as she walked in.  She saw all kinds of things she couldn't
identify a use for.  The place had an odd smell to it.  It wasn't
unpleasant, it was just something she'd never smelled before.

   A young man approached her and she saw in his eyes what she was used to,
as they slid all over her body.

   "Can I help you?" he asked.

   She knew what he wanted to "help her" with and her impatience surfaced
immediately.

   "I need some work clothes," she said sharply.

   "Overalls, coveralls or pants and shirt sets?" he asked.

   She pictured overalls in her mind.  The thought of wearing them seemed
ludicrous.  She didn't know what coveralls were, but if they covered all
... that was what she was looking for.

   "Coveralls," she said confidently.

   He took her to an aisle that had what seemed like acres of shelves piled
high with different colored lumps of folded cloth on them.  Then he turned
around and walked away.

   She stood, bewildered by the choices.  She had no idea what size to get.
She picked up a tan lump of cloth and it unfolded into something that was
obviously too tall for her.  It was pants and shirt all rolled into one,
and she'd never seen anything like that before.  She tried to figure out
how to fold it back up.  When she was done it was twice as thick as it had
been before.

   She was holding up her third set when the young man came back.

   "Are you finding what you need?" he asked, mostly politely.

   "I don't know what size I am," she muttered automatically.

   "Well, I'd guess your legs need a double short," he said.  "The rest of
you looks more like you're in the medium range." He looked her up and down
again.  "Except your arms are short too.  I don't know.  I could measure
you.  That might help."

   Her head jerked around.  He was being impertinent.

   "That will not be necessary!" she barked.  Why did men always think they
could get away with such crude behavior.  "Where are the mediums?"

   He took her five feet further down the aisle.  He reached for a set and,
with an expert flip of his wrists, snapped it open.  He turned around and
pressed it against her front.

   His hands were at her shoulders, to be honest, but Erica felt the cloth
pressing against her breasts and was incensed.  Before she could put the
man in his place for assaulting her, though, he said "Too small," and
turned back around.  He reached for another set.  "Maybe a large/short," he
said, flipping the set in his hands open.

   "I don't need your help!" she said stridently.

   "Jeesh, lady," said the young man.  "Soreeee." He looked at her like
she'd sprouted a third eye and extended the coveralls.  "I'll just go and
leave you alone now."

   "Thank you!" she said stiffly.

   When he was gone she put the pair back that he'd selected, just because
HE had selected them.  She picked up another set from the next stack and
went to the register, where a bored high school-aged girl Erica didn't know
rang them up.

   She was so frustrated when she got home that she didn't try them on. 
She took a bubble bath instead.

   Then, when she got up Saturday morning and put them on, she found that
the legs were four inches too long, and the sleeves were at least that much
too long.  She rolled the legs up, making cuffs, and then did the same
thing with the arms.  It looked ridiculous, but it was all she could do.

   She picked her sturdiest bra and put it on.  The panties she chose
didn't match, but no one would know.  Then she struggled into the suit and
zipped it closed.  It was awfully bulky.  She felt a little like when she
was a little girl, and her mother bundled her up so much to go outside that
she could hardly move once she got there.

   Now, as she approached the school in the nippy air, she decided it was
good that the thing was bulky.  She was toasty warm.  She went inside, and
to the auditorium, where she heard banging noises.  Bobby was already there
and was sorting through lumber.

   "Oh," she said, as she came around a curtain and saw him.  "You're here
already."

   "I am," he said, looking down the edge of a board as if his eyes could
measure now long it was, or something.  "Ready to learn new skills?"

   "Ready," she said.

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

   Chapter Four

   Instead of starting to work immediately, Bobby quit looking at the wood
and turned his eyes on her.

   "That's a winter coverall," he said.

   "Well, of course," she said.  "It's winter."

   "But we're working inside.  That's going to get awfully warm."

   "I'll be fine, thank you," she said, peevishly.  "Let's get to work.  I
don't want to spend all day here."

   "OK.  I thought we'd start with the trees for the mist," said Bobby. 
"That will teach you how to do miters and joinery, and help you understand
bracing."

   "OK," she said.

   He started right in, showing her lumber, which seemed to come in a
bewildering number of sizes.  All they were building for the trees was a
basic frame.  The trunk and foliage would be done on cardboard, which would
be tacked to the frame.  So all they had to do was come up with a design
that would be stable, with the cardboard on it, and then build that.

   Within fifteen minutes, Erica was sweating heavily inside her coveralls,
and she could feel runnels of sweat rolling down her chest, between her
breasts.  She pulled the zipper down as far as she could without showing
her bra, and that helped a little, but she was still horribly
uncomfortable.

   The saws he taught her to use threw tiny bits of wood up into the air.
It covered everything, including her coverall and face, where it stuck to
her sweaty skin.  Soon she was doing all the cutting, and running back and
forth, as he told her what size lumber was needed, and what dimensions to
cut it into.  Then he was showing her how to use various techniques to
fasten the wood together.  Right now they were making a branch.  She was
holding a one by two up against a one by four, while Bobby prepared to nail
them together.

   "Hot in here," said Bobby.

   Then, to her amazement, he pulled his T shirt up and over his head,
exposing his bare chest to her.

   "What are you doing?" she asked.

   "I'd forgotten how good the boiler is in this old school," he said,
picking up his hammer.  "Now, for this we want to use a six-d nail, because
that's going to go all the way through and let us bend it over on the other
side.  That will keep this from pulling apart as it is moved around.

   She'd been about to tell him to put his shirt back on, and that it was
totally inappropriate for him to expose himself like that, but he went on
with things so quickly that the opportunity passed.  She wasn't a prude,
but it just seemed entirely too relaxed to just take his shirt off like
that.  Then what he had said registered in her mind.

   "Wait.  Didn't you call that a six penny nail before?"

   "Mm hmm," said Bobby, who had seven or eight nails sticking out of his
mouth between his closed lips.

   "But that's not what you called it just now," she said.

   He took the nails out of his mouth.

   "Six-d means the same thing," he said.  "The 'd' stands for denarius,
which was an old roman coin that looked a lot like an English penny.  A
long time ago, when blacksmiths made all the nails, it cost six pennies, or
six-d, to have a blacksmith make you a hundred nails two inches long.  So
they called them six penny or six-d nails.  I guess it just stuck, `cause
that's still what we call them."

   "Fascinating," she said, reaching with one hand to pull the heavy
coverall front back and forth, trying to get some cool air inside it.

   "You're awfully flushed," he said.  "Are you OK?"

   "It's just hot," she said.  It almost killed her, but she went on.  "I
guess you were right about this being too thick to work in indoors."

   "Take it off," he said simply.

   "I can't," she said.

   "Sure you can," he said.  "It comes off the same way it went on."

   Now she was embarrassed.  "I just can't," she insisted.

   "You're going to get heat stroke if you stay in here much longer," he
said.

   "I don't have anything on under it!" she finally barked.

   Erica stared at him.  She was prepared for him to say something like
"Well, so much the better," and leer at her.

   "Oh," he said.  "Did you bring any other clothes, by chance?"

   "I don't have anything else to wear while doing something like this,"
she said.

   "Well, we have to do something," he said frowning.  "You can't keep
wearing that." He appeared to be thinking.  "Hang on a minute."

   He put the hammer and nails down and then pulled his T shirt back on. 
Then he went out the door off the stage that went to the hallway between
the band room and auditorium.

   He was back in a short time, with something in his hands.

   "I had an extra pair of jeans in the truck," he said.  "We'll have to
roll the legs up, but they should fit you OK."

   "I can't wear your clothes!" said Erica.

   "Why not?" he asked.  "You need something that won't cook you, and I
have these."

   "What about a shirt?" she asked.

   He pulled his T shirt off and extended it to her.

   "But you were just wearing that!" she moaned.

   "I guess you could go back home and change into something else," he
said.

   Erica felt frustration eating at her again.  She didn't want to look
incompetent in front of this stupid man.  Hadn't she just TOLD him she
didn't have anything to wear while building sets?

   "Oh all right!" she said, snatching the pants from his hand.

   "You can change behind the curtain," he said, still holding out the
shirt.

   "I'm not changing my clothes with you here!" she snorted.

   "Can I ask you a question?" Bobby was staring at her.

   "All right."

   "I know you're beautiful and all that," he said calmly.  "And I'm sure
that men pay a lot of attention to you, but why is it that you seem to
think that all I'm interested in is having sex with you?"

   She was speechless.  Her mouth sagged open and she stared back at him.
Her speechlessness only lasted a few seconds though, as her mind groped
with the boldness of his comment.  She wanted to lash out at him.  At the
same time, her mind perceived this as an opportunity, of sorts.  Here was a
man ...  a good looking man ...  a good looking man who was not wearing a
shirt, and was showing her all those rippling muscles on his chest, arms
and back.  He represented everything she had trained herself to dislike
about men.  She didn't take the time to think about the fact that he hadn't
ACTED like all the men she was so disgusted with, or that he hadn't
actually come on to her in any way that was identifiable.  He just
represented that class of human beings that frustrated her so much.

   So her mind settled on telling at least one member of the sex that
thought it was the dominant sex, exactly how she felt about all that.

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

   Depending on your perspective, the next twenty minutes was one of two
things.  It was either a triumph for women's liberation, in which a strong,
vibrant and capable woman put a member of the domineering gender in his
place, or a twenty minute whine about how unfair everything was for Erica
Bradford ...  and by extension ...  other women.

   She paced and railed about the whole litany of complaints that women
had, concerning the way men treated them and the way society hobbled them,
limiting their options and stifling creativity.  She ranted about how men
made women into sexual objects, dehumanizing them in the process.  She
wailed about historical examples of how women were beaten down ...  land
ownership rights ...  voting rights ...  less pay for the same work a man
did.

   Finally, out of breath, sweating profusely and feeling faint, she slowly
stumbled to a stop.  Bobby had stood there the entire time, not saying a
word.  He didn't flex the muscles in his bare chest to try to impress her.
His face didn't take on the smirk she expected.  His lips didn't smile in
that snide way that meant "This bitch is nuts, but I'll humor her." That
face seemed to suddenly be at the end of a long tunnel.  Then it seemed to
begin to melt, and she leaned forward, trying to focus, because her eyes
didn't seem to be working any more.

   As Erica Bradford's seriously overheated body began to shut down, that
little lean proved to be more than her failing muscles could deal with. 
She teetered, on the balls of her feet and then, as her brain finally gave
up and moved into unconsciousness and everything went black, she tipped and
fell forward.

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

   Consciousness returned in a way that felt like a dream.  She knew she
was awake.  It was dark, but that was all right, because she knew her eyes
were closed.  There was a booming sound ...  an almost irritating sound,
because she knew that sound was trying to get her attention and she didn't
want to wake up from this dream.  She felt perfectly comfortable, floating
in ...  what?  She was floating in something, because she was wet.  She
decided she was lying on a beach somewhere, because she could feel the surf
breaking over her as it ran up the beach.  It felt good ...  cool and
refreshing.

   The sound wouldn't go away.  Something was pressing against her lips,
and she tried to turn her head.  The sound moderated, and she realized it
was a voice.  It was calling her name!

   "Erica!"

   "Erica!"

   It was too insistent.  It wasn't going to go away, so she opened her
eyes.  She closed them again, because they weren't working.  Everything
looked misty and insubstantial.

   "Drink this, Erica!" came the voice.

   The thing pressed her lips again and she felt water trickle into her
mouth.  She wanted to spit it out.  It was salt water.  You didn't drink
salt water.

   "DRINK!" came a command that had the tinge of panic in it.

   The beach suddenly rose beneath her head and her chin was tucked onto
her chest.

   "Drink this!" came the urgent command again.

   Her mind suggested that if she did as she was told, maybe the irritating
voice would go away, so she opened her lips.  Water trickled into her mouth
again.  It wasn't salty, so she swallowed.

   "Good," came the voice again.  "Drink more."

   She did, and her vision improved.  The blur in front of her became the
image of a man.  She knew this man.  What was his name?  She thought hard
as the man gave her more sips of water.  Each sip seemed to clear her mind
a little more.  It was almost like magic and soon she wanted to drink more
just so she could think more clearly.

   "I was about to call an ambulance," said the man.  "Keep drinking."

   "Bobby!" she mumbled, inordinately proud that she'd finally dredged up
the name she'd been seeking so desperately.

   "I'm here," he said.  "You passed out.  I think you had heat stroke. 
Drink more water and I'll take you to the hospital."

   Something deep in her brain whispered to her that she needed to be
strong.  "I'm OK," she said, in response.  She didn't feel OK.  She felt
weak as a kitten.  The water sliding down her throat had felt so good, and
she remembered how it helped her think better.  "More water," she said.

   It took fifteen minutes, though Erica wasn't aware of the passage of
time, before she was thinking more or less normally.  He kept feeding her
little sips of water, encouraging her to keep drinking.  Eventually she
felt silly lying on the floor of the stage, on a Saturday morning, and
asked him to help her sit up.

   As soon he did, the first thing she saw were her bare legs.

   Her mind jolted.  She was wearing that dreadful coverall thing ... 
wasn't she?  She blinked.  Her eyes went up her legs to her white panties
...  and then to the bra that encased her hated breasts, just below her
chin.

   "I'm NAKED!" she gasped.

   "I had to get you out of those coveralls," said Bobby, one hand on her
back, and the other gripping her elbow.  "You were cooking in there, and
you lost too many fluids without replacing them.  You should probably go to
the hospital and get checked out."

   "You took my CLOTHES OFF?!" Her voice went from low to high in that one
sentence.

   "I had to cool you down," he said patiently.  "I also poured cool water
all over you.  Heat stroke is very dangerous, Erica."

   She looked at her breasts again.  Her bra was, in fact, soaking wet. 
Now she saw drops of water all over her bare skin.  Her panties were almost
transparent and she could see the fine mesh of hairs pushing against them
through the cloth.

   She looked up at the man who had stripped her.  His blue eyes weren't on
the deep cleavage her bra exposed.  Nor were they on her transparent
panties.  They were staring at her face and there was the unmistakable
glint of worry in them.  His eyes were SO blue!  They reminded her of the
feeling she'd had when she first came awake and thought she was lying on a
beach by the ocean.  She felt a pinprick of something, poking at her
conscience.  A thought floated to the surface of her mind.  It was a
somewhat foreign thought, because it was the kind of thought she hadn't had
for a long time.  It was her brain, suggesting that perhaps ...  just maybe
...  she had met a man who wasn't like all other men ...  a man who was ...
just maybe ...  a nice guy.

   "Help me get dressed please," she said softly.

   "Sure," he said.  "You want me to get you a towel from the locker room?"

   "No," she said, feeling the urge to cover her breasts with her hands. 
"Just help me get dressed."

   She felt like a little girl being dressed by her mother as he told her
to put her hands up and then pulled his T shirt down over them, and over
her wet hair.  The folds of the shirt stuck to her wet skin and he had to
tug here and there to get it to go on down.  She felt his fingers brush her
in a dozen places as he pulled the shirt into place.  When his fingers
brushed the sides of her breasts, she looked at his face.  He was frowning
slightly and had the look of someone intent on doing a good job at
something.

   "Can you stand up yet?" he asked, when the shirt was on.

   "I think so," she said.

   A part of her mind rebelled at the thought that a man had to help her
stand, but another part whispered "Shut up.  I NEED this help!" As she
stood, she saw that she had been lying in a pool of water.  He must have
used gallons to cool off her overheated body.  She had an errant thought
that she'd have to get a mop.  Then she became aware that she was standing
in front of Bobby in just a T shirt and panties ...  wet panties at that.
He was still holding onto her.  He had taken both her hands in his and
pulled her up, and his fingers still gripped her hands tightly, as if he
was prepared to try to keep her from going back down again.

   "I think I'm OK," she said, taking a tentative step sideways, to balance
her weight on feet that were spread.

   He let go gradually, finally loosing her hands entirely, but he stayed
there, slightly crouched, looking alert, as if he expected her to crumple
again and intended to catch her as she fell.

   "I'm OK," she said.

   He moved away from her, to bend over and pick up the pants he'd offered
her before.  They were lying on a dry part of the floor.

   "Come over here where it's dry," he said, holding his hand out.

   She had no idea why she did it, but she reached for that hand and let
him "escort" her five feet to a dry spot.

   "Put your hands on my shoulders," he said, kneeling in front of her.

   She felt like the world had turned upside down as she did what he said.
His face was right in front of her wet panties, but he wasn't looking
there. He was looking at her feet as he arranged the pants for her to be
able to step into them.

   "Lift your left foot," he ordered.

   She did and he pulled the pants leg all the way over her foot, bunching
that leg around her calf.

   "Now the right," he said.

   His body took her weight as she stood on the other foot.  She felt the
impossibly hard muscles in his shoulders under her hands.  His sweaty skin
felt warm and almost slippery to her fingers, and she squeezed to make sure
she didn't lose her grip.

   He pulled the pants to her thighs and then stood up and moved behind
her. She felt his hands on her waist.

   "You can do the rest," he said.

   She leaned forward and her fingers pulled.  She had to wiggle her hips
to get the dry cloth over the wet panties, but his hands stabilized her
while she did that.  The waist was too big, but the pants were tight on her
hips and she was quite sure they wouldn't sag down.

   "OK," she said.  His hands left her waist instantly.

   "You really should get checked out," he said, walking around her.

   "I actually feel pretty good now," she said, surprised that that was
true.

   He reached out and put his hand on her forehead, like he was feeling for
a fever.

   "That doesn't work, you know," she said, half smiling.

   "Well, you don't feel as hot as you used to," he said.  "That's a good
thing, whether it works or not."

   "Thank you," she said.

   "I really only had my own interest at heart," said Bobby, his face
serious.  "I didn't want to be in the paper for killing the drama teacher."

   "Social studies," she said instantly.

   He tilted his head and she felt like she was being examined in a way
that would end up with him seeing into her very core.

   "I think maybe you ARE better," he said.  "You're acting all defensive
again."

   "I am not!" she said.

   "There we go," he said, stepping back.  "THAT's the uptight Erica
Bradford I know and love.  Good.  I was really worried about you."

   "What are you TALKING about?" she asked, as her mind tried to grapple
with the words he had spoken.  Taken in context, they were obviously
critical.  But the tone of voice held real relief in it.  She knew, in that
instant, that he really HAD been worried ...  and that it had had nothing
to do with being blamed for anything that happened to her.  It was as if
... he liked her!

   "Nothing," he said.  "We should probably call it a day.  You need to get
something to eat and some rest, and you need more fluids if you're not
going to go get checked out."

   Erica looked at her watch.  It was eleven-thirty.  Where on Earth had
the time gone?

   "We need to get this work done," she objected.  "We're behind schedule
already."

   He looked around.  There was a folding metal chair sitting against one
wall and he went and got it.  He set it next to her.

   "You told me what you think about things, just before you passed out. 
It's my turn now.  Sit down."

   Her natural urge was to say "You can't tell me what to do!" but she
stifled that.  Bobby Dalton's classification had changed.  He was no longer
firmly in the enemy camp.  Now he was something of an anomaly ...  perhaps
a new and interesting kind of man that needed to be examined, like any new
species that is discovered.  She sat.  She surveyed the man standing in
front of her, wearing only jeans and boots.  She could see those muscles
she'd felt before, lying on long cords between his shoulders and neck.  His
chest was well muscled too, and his stomach flat.  She was irritated to
feel her stomach do a little flip flop, and attributed it to her collapse.

   "OK," he said.  "Here's the deal.  I know you're a talented and capable
woman, and that you have a brain.  I can't do anything about the fact that
women didn't get to vote as soon as they should have been able to vote.  I
can't do anything about any of the injustices that women have suffered.  I
also can't do anything about the fact that I'm a man ...  male.  That means
I'm going to notice you as a woman.  It's just biological.  You're good
looking and that's just a fact.  But I CAN control my biological urges, and
I'll do that, because that's what you want me to do."

   He stopped for a second, as if he were waiting for her to respond.  She
had nothing to say, though, because her mind was whirling all around what
he'd just said.  If he'd waited longer, she might have been able to mount a
response, but he didn't.

   "You're better off than women in the past.  That's just my opinion, but
it's how I feel.  You're intelligent and well schooled.  You have a good
job.  You've been given the opportunity to teach kids ...  to mold them ...
and now you've been given the opportunity to try this drama stuff, and show
what you can do.  I'm perfectly willing to help you succeed at that.  I
WANT you to succeed, just like I'd want anybody I try to help do something
succeed.  My own pride has nothing to do with that.  I try to do the best
job I can at anything I attempt, whether it's for a woman or a man, and
whether I'll ever get any credit for it or not.  I like trying different
things and I like meeting different people."

   He frowned.

   "This pride you have inside you ...  this drive to show how independent
you are, and how you don't need men for anything ...  it limits you.  It
doesn't set you free.  It shackles you, because it takes half the
population that you can get help from and learn from, and pulls it out of
the equation.  I understand why you feel the way you do.  I'm just saying
that it's not helping you as much as you think it is."

   He paused again, and this time her response came automatically, from
habit.

   "I DON'T need a man to do things for me!" she insisted.

   "You don't need a man to do SOME things for you," he corrected her. 
"Right now you don't know how to build sets.  I guess you could find some
female drama teacher from some other town and have HER teach you this
stuff, but I'm here, right now, and I'm willing to help you.  You DO need
some help.  I'm not trying to dominate you.  I'm trying to HELP you."

   Erica sat there.  Her mind was whirling again.  Plain logic told her
what he'd said was perfectly true.  She felt the urge to argue with him ...
but she had nothing to argue about.  She didn't like that feeling.  She
realized her chin was jutting out, and that she was pouting.  That didn't
fit with her image of herself and she didn't like that either.

   "And another thing," he said.  "Since we're clearing the air, you jump
to some conclusions about people that may not be true.  That means you're
working off of bad information and that never helps."

   "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice defensive.

   "When I first met you, you made it clear within the first ten minutes
that you were not 'available.' Then, when you collapsed, I had to cool you
down," he said.  "Heat injuries can actually kill people.  When you woke up
and found out I had taken your coveralls off, you thought that had sexual
overtones, didn't you." It wasn't a question.

   "What was I supposed to think?" she asked, still defensive.

   "Have I ever suggested anything sexual to you?" he asked.

   She felt trapped for some reason, but she had to answer.  "No."

   "Have I ever hit on you, or asked you for a date, or tried to grope
you?"

   "I SAID no!" she said petulantly.

   He crossed his arms.  "So why did you decide, when you first met me,
that all I was interested in was sex?  And why, when I helped you cool
down, did you assume I had sex in mind then too?"

   The feeling of being trapped got stronger.

   "In my experience, men are always interested in sex," she said.

   "We already talked about that," he said.  "That's the biological urge I
was talking about.  But why did you assume I'd do something about it?"

   She felt frustrated.  "Because men act that way all the time.  They
undress me with their eyes and stare at me," she said.

   "That's only because you're drop dead gorgeous," he said.  "That's the
biological response I was talking about.  It's normal!  That doesn't mean
that every man you interact with is thinking about hitting you over the
head with a club and dragging you back to his cave."

   "But I don't WANT them to think of me sexually!" she said.

   He seemed to think for a minute.

   "OK," he said, finally.  "Let me ask you this.  If we were driving down
the street together, and we saw smoke coming from a house, what would you
do?"

   "Call the fire department," she said.

   "What if it's just somebody cooking some steaks on the grill in the back
yard?"

   "How am I supposed to know that?" she asked, plaintively.

   "You have to investigate," he said.  "You need more information before
you can make a decision about what to do.  Or, you just drive on by and
figure it's somebody else's problem."

   "That wouldn't be right," she said.

   "I agree, but you COULD do that."

   "OK ...  so?"

   "You are like that smoke, coming from a house," he said.

   "What?!"

   "You obviously know that you have larger breasts than most women," he
said, as if he were commenting on the color of the shirt she was wearing.

   She bristled.

   "Calm down and hear me out," he barked.  "You are different.  You catch
the eye.  The biological urge asserts itself.  A man is just naturally
going to see if there are flames, behind that smoke."

   "You're calling my breasts smoke?!" she yipped.

   "It's the same thing," he said.  "They draw attention, and men want more
information.  Maybe they look at your finger to see if you're wearing a
wedding band.  Or maybe they try to strike up a conversation to see what
kind of attitude you have, and whether it's friendly or not.  Some of them
take a look and then drive on by, because they don't want to get involved,
or they assume you're out of their class or whatever.  The point is that
it's normal for you to draw attention.  You can't blame a man for
noticing."

   "I can blame them for being ignorant and sexist!" she insisted.

   "Sure.  If that's what they really are," he said.  "But maybe they're
not.  Just like if you'd have called the fire department, and they rushed
out, and there was Ernie cooking a porterhouse on the grill.  They'd be
upset, because you jumped to a conclusion that wasn't true, and caused a
lot of furor and expense that wasn't necessary.  You didn't help anybody by
jumping to that conclusion."

   "But if it WAS a fire, then I helped somebody," she insisted.

   "That's true," he said.

   He didn't say anything else, and that's what confused Erica.  He was
looking at things in such an odd way that she couldn't help but be
interested in it.  He wasn't just arguing with her, saying men weren't
pigs. He used logic and that was hard to just ignore.  And he agreed with
her sometimes.  It was very confusing.

   "What do you want?" she finally asked.

   "I want to be friends," he said.

   She blinked.  As hard as she tried, she could never remember a man
saying that to her.  It was something SO different, based on her
experience, that it was like seeing some new flower for the first time. 
Her mind went back to some of the things he'd said.  Like that she was drop
dead gorgeous ...  and that she had huge breasts.

   "But you said you noticed my breasts," she said.

   "Yes.  I noticed all of you," he admitted.  "I'm no different than any
other man.  I have the biological urge too."

   "Friends don't do that," she said.

   "I have lots of women friends," he said.  "Most of them are beautiful,
in one way or another and I notice all of them."

   The first thing Erica thought about was Jill, who had approached them in
the diner.  She was undeniably beautiful and she obviously liked Bobby a
lot.  Bobby had said they went out a few times, so that kind of
relationship - friendship - didn't seem all that impossible to her.

   Had Erica Bradford asked one simple question, that day, things might
have progressed in an entirely different direction than how they eventually
ended up.  That question was "Do you have sex with all your female
friends?"

   But it never occurred to her to ask such a bold question.

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

   Chapter Five

   Erica had too much to think about to ask many more questions.  So she
suggested they get back to work instead.  He had again expressed concern
about having a doctor look her over, but she dismissed that idea, saying
she felt fine and they were already too far behind.

   Over the next four hours, they built five frames for the "forest" that
was needed, and another long, low frame that would become boulders.  Those
frames looked odd to her, but when he cut a piece of cardboard and drew
branches on it, and irregular shapes that would be painted in shades of
green, and then tacked it onto one of the struts coming off a "trunk," she
could see that, from out in the audience, it would look much better.

   And, as they built, they talked.  A lot of it was about how to put
things together, and what materials to use.  He compared what they were
doing to what would be needed to make the other sets, and how different
techniques would be used for that.  Other talk was about a mish-mash of
other things that settled into a conversation such as friends might have.
Eventually she felt the need, for some reason, to justify her stance about
women's liberation.  He wasn't obsequious in his comments.  He said what he
thought, and they argued about some things.  At the same time, whenever she
said something he thought was correct, he didn't mind agreeing with her
either.

   It was inevitable that they touched each other during the process.  Most
often it was their hands that touched, or shoulders, as they stood side by
side, or knelt to pound nails.  He stood with her to teach her how to use
each power tool, and insisted that she follow rigid safety rules.  His
fingers on her elbow or wrist were distracting at first, but eventually she
stopped noticing that.  To her chagrin, she couldn't stop noticing his
sweat slickened chest.  Even in the much lighter borrowed clothing she was
wearing, she continued to sweat, and he insisted that she keep drinking
water until she had to leave the stage to go to the bathroom.  She was
astonished when she returned and he said that was a good sign, and that it
showed her body had recovered from her ordeal.  He was willing to talk
about things that she had thought were totally inappropriate ...  but which
made sense when she thought about it.  She eventually gave up trying to
catch him looking at her breasts.  She knew he did it, somehow - he'd
admitted it - but she could never catch him at it.

   The primary thought in her mind, when they finally put the tools away
and prepared to leave the school was that she felt pride that she used all
the tools without hurting herself.

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

   "That was a good start," he said as they went outside.  She had offered
to give him his clothes back, and put on her coveralls again, but he'd told
her to just bring them back the next time they got together.  He put his
jacket on over his bare chest before they left the school.

   "It was a good start," she said, feeling inordinately proud of herself.

   "I think we'll do fine," he said.

   She thought about his use of "we" and decided that it WAS a partnership,
of sorts.

   "Thank you," she said suddenly.

   "No problem."

   "I mean for everything," she said, thinking about waking up half naked,
soaked in water that he'd poured on her to cool her off.

   "Friends take care of each other," he said carelessly.

   "It's going to take some getting used to," she said, only half joking.
"This having a friend who is a man thing," she added.

   "There are probably at least two or three more men out there who could
be friends with you," he said.

   She looked at him to see if he was smiling ...  joking ...  but his eyes
were on the parking lot, where they were headed.  She realized she liked
this not having to be on guard all the time around a man.  It was very
refreshing to be around a man who said what he thought and didn't play all
those stupid sexual games.

   "I learned a lot today," she said.

   "Good." He looked at her and this time he did smile.  "We might get this
done with you only losing one finger ...  two at the very most."

   "You're saying I have a lot left to learn," she said.  Somehow that
didn't bother her as much as she thought it would.

   "Of course you do," he said.  "But you'll pick it up.  You're smarter
than the average bear."

   She remembered the things he had said about how the flats for the
buildings would be built much differently than the trees had been.

   "Are you busy tomorrow?" she asked, suddenly.

   He looked at her and, somehow, she KNEW he was thinking about whether
she was asking him for a date or not.  The bright light that went off in
her head at that second did more to expose her preconceptions and
stereotypes of men than anything he had said.  Before this instant in time,
if a man had asked her that question, she would have thought he wanted sex.
And yet what she wanted to ask him had nothing whatsoever to do with that.
She felt suddenly ashamed that she always assumed men wanted sex.

   "It's not for a date!" she blurted.

   He shook his head and grinned.

   "I just thought we could start on the flats for the village, and I could
learn that too," she said weakly.

   "Be happy to," he said.  "Just call me when you're ready."

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

   When Bobby got home, his mother was banging pots and pans around in the
kitchen.

   "What's wrong?" he asked, instinctively knowing she was upset about
something.

   "Your sisters are driving me crazy!" she snarled.  "They're acting
impossible."

   "Matilda's had a burr under her saddle all week," he said.  "Maybe they
had a fight about something."

   "They never fight," said Mirriam.  "You know that."

   "There's always a first time," he said.

   "Well," said Mirriam darkly, "if they keep this up much longer, I'm
going to have to do something."

   "I'll talk to them," he said.

   "You do that," she said, banging another pot.  "And tell them they're
not too old to spank!"

   Bobby grinned, and went in search of the twins.

   He found Betty in their room.  She was lying on the bed staring at the
ceiling.  An open book was on the bed beside her.

   "Where's Matilda?" he asked, looking around.

   "I think she went for a walk," said Betty.  "She said something about
our tree house."

   "It's freezing cold out there!" said Bobby.

   "Yeah," she said, disinterestedly.

   "When are you going to tell me what's going on?" he asked.

   "I don't know," she said.  She looked startled and suddenly much more
alert.  "Nothing's wrong," she lied.

   "Mamma's about to go find a switch to take to the both of you," he said.
"You need to talk to either her or me about whatever's got you two all
messed up."

   "I SAID nothing is wrong!" she objected.  She sounded almost scared,
though, rather than angry.

   "Yeah, well ..." he said.  "I'm not buying that, and neither is Mamma,
so you two had better decide what you're going to do, cause you're making
life miserable for Mamma."

   He left before she could respond.

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

   Erica opened her eyes wide in the dark and gasped.  The dream had been
so vivid!  So real!  She rolled over and looked at the glow of the alarm
clock.  She couldn't remember the last time a dream had awakened her in the
middle of the night.  She rolled back and lay there, remembering the dream.

   She had been in the forest, the one they built together.  The trees
looked so lifelike, but she knew they were just props.  He was there too.
Her hands had been sliding all over his chest, her fingers flexing as they
slid over rippling muscles.  He felt so different than when she touched her
own soft body.  She knew he had touched her too.  She knew he had touched
her breasts, but she couldn't remember that part of the dream ...  what
that had felt like.

   Her hands came up to those breasts, on the outside of her pajamas.  They
felt so soft under her hands after the remembered hardness of his chest in
her dream.  Had it felt like this when he touched them?  She couldn't
remember!

   She felt the shame wash over her as the need arose in her body.  She
willed her hands to stay on her breasts, but her right hand betrayed her
and slid down her body, to go inside her pajama bottoms.  She gasped with
need as her finger hit slippery skin and then slid into her vulva.  Her
need drove her to sink that finger into her body, something she tried not
to do.  When she was younger, she had inserted tampons into that slot,
exulting in the fact that she had destroyed her virginity by doing so.  No
man would "take" her virginity, and she celebrated that each month her body
reminded her she was a woman.  She resisted using her finger to be a male
surrogate too, but this time she needed it.

   Her other hand stayed on her breast, and rubbed and squeezed.  That was
something she'd never done before.  She never touched her hated breasts. 
Now, as her hand bumped into a hardened nipple, she felt zings of pleasure.
As her right middle finger jabbed into her vagina, the fingers of her other
hand found and squeezed that nipple tentatively.  Her body's reaction to
that would have shocked her, but she had no time to be shocked as an orgasm
wracked her body, stronger than any she'd ever had before.  Always before,
as soon as she felt those tingles of pleasure ...  as soon as she was sure
it was enough to take away the yearning, she pulled her fingers away from
between her legs.  She had never let them stay there to extend the pleasure
which she felt so guilty about having.

   This time, though, her fingers continued to prod and squeeze and she
wrung every bit of exquisite feeling out of the remnants of her dream.

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

   The first thing Erica thought of when she saw Bobby the next day, was
her dream.  She'd gone back to the farm store, after leaving the school
Saturday, and had bought a pair of jeans and a checkered work shirt.  She
tried both on at the store.  A wide leather belt was added, since she
couldn't find any jeans that fit both her hips and her waist at the same
time.

   She was wearing those now, as she walked onto the stage.

   "I haven't had time to wash your clothes yet," she said.

   "You don't have to.  I can do that," he said.  "I wash all my own
clothes."

   Erica added that to the list in her mind that was rapidly becoming quite
long ...  the list of things about Bobby Dalton that were very different
from other men she knew.  Now she added that, despite the fact that he
lived with his mother, he didn't ask her to do his laundry, but did it
himself.

   "Well, you'll have to do it later then," she said.  "I left them at my
house."

   "OK."

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

   Four hours later Erica was feeling positively buoyant.  Bobby had
designed a double sided flat that was on wheels.  One side would have part
of the village on it, and the other side would be part of the New York City
scene.  With four of these, both scenes were covered.  Three more just like
it would be Ludie's house on one side, the McLaren house on the other. 
Scene changes would only require that the set be turned a hundred and
eighty degrees.  When attached to each other with metal pins, the sets
would stand alone.  The only problem was that it took two strong people to
hold one upright, while another panel was attached.  It was Erica who
solved that problem.

   A myriad of ropes hanging from long struts and beams above the stage
provided the answer.  Each rope went through a pulley, then to a crank in a
long row of cranks back stage.  A flat could be attached to a rope, which
would hold it upright with just one person operating the crank.  As they
were rolled around, the rope could be tightened or loosened as needed.

   That first set was almost completely done, in terms of the frame.  It
would still have to be covered with canvas and painted.  Bobby had
suggested she contact the art teacher, to see if there might be any help
for the painting from that area.

   They still had four more double sided sets to build, but as far as Erica
was concerned, astonishing progress had been made and she no longer felt
like this was a hopeless enterprise.

   What seemed just as important, somehow, was that Bobby Dalton had
started teasing her.  It wasn't overboard or even obvious.  It was in
little things he said, about all kinds of things.  She remembered teasing
from her youth.  There was the cruel kind, like when girls whispered "cow"
or "mooooo" as she walked by and then laughed.  But there was the fun kind,
between friends ...  that easy way of kidding around that was more intimate
than hurtful, even though the same words might be used.

   Not that Bobby had called her a cow, or made lowing noises.  He had been
holding up their first set while she attached a length of rope from one end
of the top to another.  The rope from the crank would be tied to that.  The
horizontal rope was attached by simply tying a knot in each end, and then
driving a sixteen penny nail through the knot into the top edge of the
frame.  She climbed a ladder and drove the first nail.  Then she had to
move the ladder to the other end and do the same thing there.  She'd
forgotten the hammer, though.  For reasons she couldn't explain, she'd
walked between Bobby and the flat, which was leaning slightly while he
stood, arms raised and pushed against it.  Her short stature had made it
easy to clear his arms with her head.  She didn't even have to duck.  But
she'd turned sideways to go past him and the tips of her breasts dragged
along his stomach, between his ribs and his navel.

   "You need to tame those things, before they hurt somebody," he said.

   She had stopped and turned to stare at him.  He had simply grinned, to
show he meant no harm.  Instead of being offended, though, she teased back.

   "I'm not the one with the unruly biological urges that need to be
controlled!" She smiled sweetly back at his grin, and then got the hammer
went past him on the inside again, going slowly and making sure that her
breasts didn't touch him again.  She looked up to see him looking down,
right at the tips of her breasts.

   It was the first time she caught him looking.

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

   The next week went much better for Erica.  The kids were ecstatic about
the progress that had been made on the sets.  Bobby seemed to have a
special ability to be able to get them to behave and do what they were
supposed to do, at least in-so-far as the work they did on the sets.  While
one group of kids worked on another roll-around flat, another unrolled and
tacked the canvas to the one she and Bobby had made.  Her idea with the
rope was proven to work flawlessly when it was time to turn the flat over
and do the other side.  Jessy Walters cranked the flat upright, and then
let it gently down, where the kids attacked the bare side.

   Tabitha Jenkins, the head cheerleader, astonished Erica by showing up on
Tuesday and offering to paint sets.  Erica thought cheerleading was a
demeaning occupation, and that girls who entered into it were generally
brainless and useless.  But Tabitha turned out to be an artist too.  She
leafed through the set photographs and soon she was drawing with chalk on
the canvas surfaces of the first flat, making it into a huge paint by
number project.

   As the week passed, three of the four double sided flats were built and
the first one was more than half painted.  Erica had what seemed like all
the time in the world to work with the actors on their lines.  She saw
Bobby, but both of them were busy most of the time, and there was little
talking between them.

   On Thursday night, though, he came to find her.  She was working on
lines with Jessica Flapton, the girl who had recognized and then approached
Bobby on that first day and asked him if he knew Misty Compton, the singer.

   "I've got a thing this weekend," he said.  "I have to fly over to
Nashville tomorrow.  I won't be back until Monday."

   Erica knew enough about him to know that his usual work was always in
and around Granger.

   "A thing?" she asked.

   "I have to go to an awards banquet," he said.  "It's a favor for a
friend."

   Jessica perked up.  "Is that for the CMA awards?!"

   Bobby's face took on a darker flush.

   "I'm not supposed to say," he said.

   "You're going with Misty, aren't you!" she whispered excitedly.  "She's
up for best new artist and you're going to Opryland with Misty Compton!"

   Bobby looked around.

   "It's supposed to be a secret, Jessica," he warned.  "Nobody is supposed
to know who I am, OK?" He reached out and took her elbow.  "And you need to
keep quiet about it, you hear me?"

   Her eyes lit up and Jessica crossed her heart with one finger.  Then she
pantomimed closing a zipper across her lips and followed that up with
motions of turning a key on her lips and throwing it away.

   She promptly turned and ran, shouting "Christy!  Ronnie!  Just WAIT
until you hear THIS!"

   Bobby moaned, as Erica looked at him curiously.  He looked at her.  "It
really IS supposed to be a secret.  She wanted an escort that nobody would
know, so that no rumors about anything could get started."

   "I have no idea what you're talking about," said Erica.

   "She sang at some concerts at the Harvest Festival over in Hutch," said
Bobby.  "I was kind of her gofer.  She might win an award at the Country
Music Association awards thing and she asked me to come down there and be
mysterious."

   "Is this one of your beautiful friends?" asked Erica.

   "She is," said Bobby.

   Something occurred to Erica just then.

   "Speaking of friendship ...  I need a favor."

   "Name it," he said.

   "Tuesday," she said.  "My brother is coming to live with me.  He was
injured in the war and he's disabled.  I have to pick him up in Wichita, at
the airport.  I know he's in a wheelchair, and he's probably bringing stuff
with him.  I'm not sure I can fit all that much in my car."

   "You want me to pick him up?" asked Bobby.

   "Well ...  no, that's not what I was thinking.  I mean I'll go too, but
I know you have a truck, and I thought I could put him in my car and you
could carry all the stuff."

   "Sure, I'll go," said Bobby.  "But I have an idea that might avoid
having to take two cars.  Let me look into it.  I'll see you Monday night
here, right?"

   "Oh yes," she sighed.  "It seems like this is my second home now."

   "OK, we can finalize plans then."

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

   Bobby got off his first plane ride and finally relaxed.  It had been
fun, but it had also been disturbing.  He was used to being in control of
his own destiny, and while it was fascinating to peer out the little window
at the world slowly crawling by so far under him, he couldn't help but
think about how heavy the plane was, and how unlikely it seemed that
something that heavy could stay in the air.

   He had waited for Misty at an airport, holding a sign with her name on
it, so he looked for something like that here as he walked out of the door
that led to the tarmac below.  What he saw was an excited gaggle of people,
clustered around Misty.  He had to shove his way through the crowd.  People
almost snarled at him while he did so.

   She saw him and waved, at which point everyone turned and the crowd
parted like the Red Sea in the story in Exodus.  A flashbulb went off.

   "Thanks so much, folks!" called out Misty.  "I have to go now!"

   Fifteen seconds later Bobby was wincing at the grip she had on his elbow
as she hurried him along.  People were following them.

   "I'll have somebody come get your luggage," she said under her breath.
"We have to get out of here."

   "Why in the world did you come for me yourself?" he asked.

   She glanced up at him.  "I couldn't wait to see you," she said.  "I
didn't count on people recognizing me."

   They ended up running across the parking lot as she frantically tried to
remember where her car was parked.  People were still following, though
they weren't running.  In the car, out on the highway, Misty relaxed.

   "Hi!" she said, her voice bubbly.  "I'm sooooo glad you came."

   "You've been waiting all this time to put me through what you went
through?" he asked, smiling.

   "What?" she turned puzzled eyes on him.

   "You'll notice that I just got here and I have no luggage," he said.

   "Oh that," she said, as if it didn't matter.  "I told you, I'll have
somebody come get your stuff.  I just wanted to get out of there before
people started getting too weird."

   "I still think you could have gotten any of a hundred guys to take you
to this thing," he said.

   "Yes," she agreed.  "But I don't want to do with them what I want to do
with you."

   "What's that?" he asked, grinning.

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

   She took him straight to her house, which was in a nice neighborhood and
looked very fancy to him.

   "My mother is visiting friends," she said, as she unlocked the door and
took him in.  "You'll get to meet her later."

   "That's nice," he said.

   She turned and threw herself in his arms.  Their first kiss lasted a
full minute.  When they finally pulled their lips apart, she sighed.

   "It's a lot better than nice," she said.  "I needed her gone."

   Ten minutes later Bobby knew why Misty needed her mother gone when they
got there.  That's because she was naked, straining up at him as he
socketed his prick deep in her pussy.

   "Ohhhhh fuck, Bobby, I've needed this sooooo much," she moaned.

   "You still have that potty mouth, I see," he said, thrusting forward. 
He felt the tip of his prick push at her cervix and she whined, straining
against him.

   "Suck my nipples," she panted.  "I love it so much when you suck my
nipples."

   He did, and her pussy muscles rippled around his cock as she came hard.
He kept plowing her furrow for a few minutes and then went deep to circle.

   "Oh shit yes!" she gasped.  "Ohhhhh I loooove that!"

   Three orgasms later he was languidly stroking her.  He was right on the
edge, and wanted to keep going as long as she did.  She was panting hard,
catching her breath from her last cum.

   "I went ...  on the pill ...  for this," she panted.

   "Good," he huffed, kissing her.  "I love cumming in you."

   "I love it to," she whined.  "Cum in me, Bobby.  Make me all wet
inside."

   He did, going deep and feeling the tip of his prick punishing her cervix
again as spurt after spurt of his rich, thick semen jetted into her womb.

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

   She was finally satisfied after two hours, eight orgasms and welcoming
two loads of what Bobby's balls propelled through his prick.  She went from
manic to simply elated, as she told him about the plans for the weekend. 
She wanted to show him everything.

   He met her mother, Madge, who looked him up and down thoroughly.

   "I've heard a lot about you," said the woman, her face stern.

   "I hope it was all good," he said.

   "Too good," snorted the woman.  "You ain't one of them gold diggers are
you?"

   Bobby smiled.  "No Ma'am," he said.  "It wouldn't matter anyway.  She
won't have me."

   Misty grinned.

   "Well you shore couldn't tell that by how she acted before you got
here," said Madge.

   "Mother!" scolded Misty.

   "It's high time you thought about getting hitched, girl," said her
mother right back.

   "We've talked about this a hundred times, Mom.  I'm married to my career
right now.  I'm finally taking off."

   "Well it's gonna be mighty lonesome when you land, if you don't have a
man around," said Madge.

   "Anyway," said Misty, waving a hand.  "Bobby has a dozen girlfriends
back home in Kansas."

   Madge looked Bobby up and down again.  "Them's the worst kind.  Yore
daddy was like that ...  a pretty man with his hand up a dozen skirts.  He
plumb stole my heart, even though I knew that hand of his would stay busy."

   "Daddy never cheated on you one time Mamma, and you know it!" said
Misty.

   "Only because your grandpaw showed him the business end of a double
barrel twelve gauge," said Madge.  She smiled, a tight little smile.

   "Well," said Misty firmly, "I like Bobby just fine, but he hasn't stolen
my heart, so you just leave that old shotgun in the closet.  He's here just
to shake up the press a little bit, and so none of those gold diggers
you're so scared of latch onto me."

   Madge looked at Bobby.  "She's a mite willful, ain't she."

   Bobby grinned.  "I knew that within ten minutes of meeting her."

   He got slapped on the arm for that, and then Misty took him sightseeing.
He made their first stop the airport again, and went in for his luggage
himself, while she stayed in the car.

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

   Chapter Six

   The weekend flew by.  There never seemed to be enough time to do
anything they set out to do, with the possible exception of making love. 
In fact, that was why there was not enough time to do the other things on
her list.  She was forever reaching for the front of his pants, putting her
mouth by his ear, and murmuring "I'm horny."

   She came to his room that night, cautioning him that they had to be
quiet so her mother didn't hear and come to investigate, and then made
enough noise to wake the neighbors.  Madge didn't show up, with or without
her father's shotgun, and Misty got fertilized two more times before she
went back to her room.

   She only had half a day with him on Saturday, because of all the things
she had to do to get ready for the CMAs.  She couldn't take him with her
for that kind of thing, because too many people would see him and want to
know things about him.

   While Misty was gone, he spent time with Madge, who was making jams and
jellies to put up for the winter.  Bobby had done plenty of that while
growing up and worked alongside her.

   "You sweet on her?" asked the woman at one point.

   "It's not like that," he said.  "It's hard to explain."

   "You're the one that made a woman of her, ain't you," said Madge,
looking steadily at the pot of strawberries she was stirring on the stove.
"She left here a girl and came back a woman.  A mother can tell, you know."

   "We like each other a lot," he said, trying not to answer the question.

   She sighed.  "I don't understand younguns these days," she said.

   "I'm not sure we understand ourselves," he said softly.

   Madge changed the subject then.  When the jams and jellies were all put
in jars and sealed, she excused herself to go get ready for the award
banquet herself.

   The awards themselves were grueling for Bobby.  Everyone was intensely
interested in him.  Misty had told no one who the man was escorting her to
the awards banquet.  There was a lot of interest in the fact that she was
on a man's arm, and her mother was right behind them too, on the red
carpet. Misty refused to say anything at all about him ...  not even his
first name.  She'd forgotten that there was a seating chart, but that
wouldn't become important until later.

   As one of the nominees, she was high profile from the time they got
there, until someone else got the award.  After that people seemed less
interested in who she was with.

   Afterwards, her mother said "You two go on and have fun.  I'll take one
of them taxi cabs that we couldn't afford before you got so well known."

   "You can come with us, Mom," said Misty.

   "I'm tired.  I'm goin' home and to bed.  I wish we could get a little
good corn likker in this town."

   "Well, you can't, and you don't need any anyway," scolded Misty.  "We'll
see you later."

   "I ain't waitin' up for you," warned Madge.  "An' don't wake me up
neither.  I'll see you in the mornin'."

   As they drove away from the Opry House Bobby tried to comfort Misty.

   "It's OK," she said.  "I'd like to have won and all, but things are
already crazy enough.  I'm in the middle of recording my second album. 
You'd be surprised how much time that takes.  I'm going to use two of
Jasper's songs on it."

   "He'll be crazy proud," said Bobby.

   "I know.  I called him and told him about it.  He's coming down here
next month to sign papers and all that."

   "Well everybody in Hutch thinks you should have won," said Bobby.  "Me
too."

   "Aren't you sweet," she said.  "That makes me horny."

   "You're always horny," he laughed.  "You do need a full time man, you
know.  Your mamma is right about that."

   "Oh, he'll come along one of these days," said Misty.  "Until then, I
want you to take care of me."

   "I can't stay here," he said.

   "I know," she said, her voice easy.  "But while you're here, I'm gonna
get my money's worth."

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

   She took him to a bluff that overlooked the city.  Still dressed in her
fine gown, and him in the tux Felicity had chosen for him to wear to this
event, she demanded that he give her an orgasm and spurt in her.  They made
out in the back seat like teenagers, laughing at how hard it was for grown
people to have sex in the back seat of a car.

   Then, back home, she came to his room naked again.  She spent the whole
night there with him.  They got very little sleep.  He worked her over with
his fingers and mouth first, and then she rode him, gyrating wildly on top
of him and moaning about how much she loved doing this with him.

   In between times, she lay with her head on his shoulder.

   "I wrote four songs of my own for the new album," she said.

   "I bet they're good."

   "One of them is about you," she said, turning her face up to look into
his eyes.

   "I'm honored."

   "It's actually about us...when we met," she said.

   "You getting soft on me?" he asked.

   "No," she said.  "I know what I want to do, and I know we're not right
for each other.  Not now.  If you're not married in four or five years,
though, you better watch out."

   "You think I'll be married in four or five years?" he asked.

   "If there's a single woman in Granger with any brains in her head, you
will be," said the woman in his arms.

   "Well, I'm not married yet," he said, levering himself up.  He crawled
between Misty's legs, which sprang open as if of their own accord.  She
reached for him.

   "Make it last a long time this time," she whispered.

   He did.

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

   She took him to the airport on Sunday.  She wanted him one last time in
the parking lot, but Bobby convinced her it wasn't a good idea.

   "Will you come with Jasper when he comes?" she asked, her arms around
his neck.

   "If I can work it," he said.

   "You can work it," she laughed.  "I know you love this."

   "I do," he said, seriously.  "I just don't want YOU to love it too
much."

   "You are SO sweet," she purred, kissing the corner of his mouth.  "You
know that makes me want you even more."

   "Say goodbye to your mother," he said.

   She kissed him on the lips.  "My mother told me to do that to you for
her, just before you left."

   "She told you to kiss me on the lips?" he asked, surprised.

   "She said she thought you might object if she did it herself," said
Misty, smiling.

   "Your mother?" he asked.

   "She likes you," said Misty.  "She would never have let you stay in her
house if she didn't."

   "I just met her!" said Bobby.

   "I really did tell her a lot about you," said Misty.  "Now, go on.  Get
out!  If you're going to leave me all horny and alone, I'm kicking you
out."

   He got out and got his bags from the trunk.  She had crawled across the
seat and was half hanging out of the passenger window when he started
toward the terminal.

   "Come see me with Jasper," she said.

   He grinned.

   "OK."

   "GOODY!" she yelled.

   He walked over and gave her a last peck on the lips.

   "You just keep taking those pills," he whispered.

   "Oh I will," she said.  "This is SO much more fun when I don't have to
worry."

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

   Misty was not sad on her way out of the airport.  She loved being with
Bobby ...  both as a friend, and especially as a lover.  But she had work
to do too, and if he was around, she wouldn't be interested in doing it.

   She hummed to herself as she drove away, thinking only briefly about
how, in another month, he would come back.  That would do.  That would do
just fine.  Then, later, she could go to visit them.  It would all work
out. Everything was working out.

   What Misty Compton did NOT think about was the warning that had come
with her packet of birth control pills.  That warning, in tiny letters,
said: "Chemical birth control is not 100% effective.  It is recommended
that secondary methods of prophylactic protection be used in conjunction
with this product."
Deep inside Misty's body, the egg that wasn't supposed to be near the
end of its journey down her right fallopian tube proved that warning was
correct.  The egg was surrounded by tens of thousands of the strongest,
healthiest sperm cells she had welcomed into her body over the last
forty-eight hours.  It didn't stand a chance.  As she hummed and drove, one
sperm cell wiggled its way through the cell wall of the egg.  For a brief
second only its tiny tail waved frantically outside the cell.  Then that
too was sucked inside as the egg welcomed the sperm and fertilization took

place.

   Misty Compton had left home a perfectly healthy, non-pregnant young
woman, to go to the airport.  It was the height of irony that the man who
made her pregnant refused to make love to her on that trip, and that,
despite that, she was already a mother-to-be when she parked her car in the
garage, and went in to see the baby's grandmother.

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

   Bobby had left his car at the Wichita airport.  It had been a good
weekend, as far as he was concerned.  He'd had a good time with Misty and
flown for the first and second times.  Now, though, as his body came back
to Kansas, his mind came back too.  He remembered Erica's request for him
to help pick up her brother.  Before going home, he made a stop with that
in mind.

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

   Monday evening, when he got to the high school, he was amazed at how far
along the sets were.  He found Erica working with a group of boys who were
villagers and were supposed to look like they were playing bagpipes. 
Someone had made up something that, from a distance, might appear to be a
set of bagpipes and she was coaching them on how to hold the bizarre
looking things.

   "Wow," said Bobby.  "If this is what happens when I leave, I should
leave more often."

   "They're so excited," said an obviously upbeat Erica.  "They all wanted
to work on Saturday and some of the painters came in yesterday too.  We are
officially on schedule!"

   "Great," said Bobby.  He reached for her hand and held it up in front of
his face.  "One ...  two ...  three ...  four ..."

   She jerked her hand back.  "I have all five, thank you very much!" she
said.  "So does everybody else!"

   "I didn't doubt it for a second," he said.

   Erica yawned, and covered her mouth.

   "I need sleep," she moaned.  "This working every night is getting old."

   "That reminds me," said Bobby.  "I got it all arranged to go get your
brother.  I have a car that will carry us all.  You can nap in the car on
the way tomorrow.  It's a nice car."

   "That's wonderful!" said Erica.  "I can't wait to see him."

   "When do I need to pick you up?" he asked.

   "His plane gets here at one in the afternoon.  I've got a substitute
lined up for all day," she said.  "We should be back in time for play
practice.  I hope he wants to come watch that."

   "He's in a wheelchair?" asked Bobby, looking around.  There was only one
entrance he could think of that didn't have a step before the door.

   "Yes," she said.  "Other than that, I don't know anything about his
condition.  He wouldn't tell me anything."

   "We'll manage," said Bobby.

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

   William Bradford, Erica's brother, had not told her his condition for
several reasons.  He had told her not to come see him during his
recuperation for many of the same reasons.  Primary among them was the fact
that he was sick to death of the pity he saw in every pair of eyes that
looked at him.

   It didn't matter if it was strangers, who were at Walter Reed for some
business or other, or the doctors and nurses that gave him his care.  All
of them were horrified when they looked at William.

   Napalm in the Vietnam war had several uses, one of which was clearing
landing zones for helicopters.  Napalm generates temperatures of eight
hundred to twelve hundred degrees Celsius which is capable of reducing
average vegetation to ash quite quickly.

   It's not good for human beings either.

   Will, as he was known to his buddies in his infantry unit, had learned
to love napalm when he got to Vietnam at the tender age of twenty.  It not
only cleared landing zones, it killed the Viet Cong who were trying to kill
him.  On his last patrol, though, he got to know napalm much better than he
wanted to.

   He was walking point, fifty yards out, with Josh Turner behind him and
to one side, where he shouldn't have been.  He and Josh were best friends,
though, and Josh didn't want him out there alone.

   It started when the patrol was hit with an ambush.  Will took an AK-47
round through his left wrist before he hit the ground.  Then Josh, ten or
twelve meters away from Will, stood up to throw a grenade.  A small, black
hole appeared almost as if by magic right in the middle of his forehead,
and the grenade he held in his hand dropped as his body jerked backwards
and flopped lifelessly to the ground.  Will took significant amounts of
shrapnel all down his left side.  Only his flack jacket and the riddled
left arm that was holding his helmet down over his head, saved his life.

   It was obvious to the Lieutenant that they were in deep shit as he
ordered the American unit to fall back.  Of course it had already gone to
shit for Will, who lay there in incredible pain, yelling weakly for a
medic. Nobody seemed to be able to hear him as he lay, staring up at a
surprisingly beautiful cloud-filled sky.

   But he heard the radio operator scream "DANGER CLOSE!" and he knew that
meant they were calling in fire support.  That phrase meant they were
calling it in right on top of themselves.

   That's when he got really scared.

   That was because Will Bradford could hear the alien chatter of the VC
yelling to each other, and because he couldn't dig in.  He couldn't even
scrape a depression in the grassy soil, to lower his profile even a few
inches.  Panic shot him full of adrenaline and he rolled toward Josh's
body, rolling up and over it and using his momentum to pull Josh on top of
him.

   The Air Force chose napalm to solve the problem.

   Will heard the unmistakable roar of an F-4 and the shooting from the VC
side stopped suddenly.  It wasn't quiet, though, as the Phantom screeched
overhead.  Will didn't see the twin dark pods detach from the hard points
on the wings, but he did see them cross his line of vision ...  just before
the world went a peculiar vibrant shade of mixed orange, red, yellow and
white.

   He couldn't breathe, as all the available oxygen in the air was sucked
into the fireball.  He was deafened by the initial blast.  He would always
remember Josh Turner as the man who had ruined him ...  and who had saved
his life within the same ten minute time span.  Josh's body took the
majority of the splashes of flaming gel, but the side of Will's body that
was exposed got a liberal dose.

   He was hoarse from screaming before he lost consciousness, which only
took about twenty seconds.

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

   Nobody liked counting the shriveled black lumps that had been human
beings at one time, but it had to be done.  And, of course, you wanted to
find your own.  That's how Will, still mostly covered by what was left of
Josh Turner, was found.  They had a perfectly good landing zone right next
to him, so they called in medevac.

   Will regained consciousness some twenty hours after they brought him in.
Within minutes, he wished he had died.  He had been wishing that, off and
on, for the last three years.

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

   When Erica looked out her window and saw the car, her eyes widened with
shock.  She didn't know it was a 1965 Bentley Flying Spur, but she knew it
was gorgeous ...  and expensive ...  and rare ...  and a host of other
adjectives.  She blinked as Bobby got out and started toward the house.

   "Where did you get that?!" she gasped as she opened the door.

   "I have a friend, and explained things, and she let me borrow it," he
said.  "It's big enough for a wheelchair and some luggage, and will be
comfortable to ride in."

   "That's amazing," she sighed.  "It's beautiful."

   "You ready?" he asked.

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

   Erica was excited.  She thought she was ready.  She knew she'd recognize
her little brother in an instant, even with the wheelchair.  She was wrong,
and it hit her hard when the thing in the wheelchair was pushed into the
receiving area at the airport.

   The figure in the chair had more alien than human components to its
look. It was almost like some cartoon character that had been drawn and
then brought to life.  The head had hair on it.  The right side looked
almost normal.  Below the hair on the left side, however, there was no ear,
just the thick crisscrossing lines of tense, hard skin that signal a burn
victim to anyone who sees it.  The left arm was covered by the sleeve of a
shirt, but the end of the sleeve was pinned closed, where a hand should
have protruded from it.  The left leg was truncated just below the knee,
with the pants leg covering that knee folded under it.  The stewardess
pushing the wheelchair looked grim.

   Erica didn't know what to do.  She was completely helpless in the face
of the truth of the matter.  She felt like she might throw up any second.

   Bobby heard her gasp and saw the blood drain from her face.  He strode
forward and stood in front of the wheelchair.

   "You must be William," said Bobby, before looking at the stewardess. 
"I'll take him from here." She looked grateful.  "Thanks," he added.

   "You're welcome," she said faintly and turned around to go back the way
she'd come.

   "Who are you?" asked the man in the wheelchair.

   "I came with Erica to help pick you up," said Bobby.

   "Where is she?"

   He turned his head slightly, as if he had a stiff neck and had to be
careful not to move it too far, to avoid the pain.  In reality, that was as
far as the tight skin on his left neck would stretch.

   "I think she's trying to recover from seeing you," said Bobby.  "I don't
think she was quite ready for this."

   "Nobody ever is," said William Bradford, a hard edge in his voice.

   "You ready to see some of Kansas, and your new home?" asked Bobby.  He
was at something of a loss for words too.

   "As ready as I'll ever be." That hard edge was still in his voice.  "Is
Kansas ready for me?"

   "Probably not," said Bobby, stepping behind the chair to push.  "But
we'll all get used to each other."

   Oddly, for Will, his reception went better than he'd thought it would.
At least as far as the strange man pushing him toward the woman he
recognized instantly as his sister.  Couldn't miss those knockers ...  just
like nobody could miss his face.  But the man pushing him hadn't choked and
sobbed and gushed pity.  He'd been refreshingly honest, at least so far.

   Erica got things back to normal, though.  She did all the choking and
sobbing and gushing.

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

   Chapter Seven

   Bobby had to drive, of course.  He was responsible for the car, and
Erica probably couldn't have driven anyway, in the condition she was in. 
She sat stiffly in the passenger seat, still in shock, and paying no
attention to William, who was in the back seat.  Bobby felt compelled,
therefore, to ...  chat.

   Over the hour and fifteen minutes it took them to get out of the airport
and to Erica's driveway, Bobby learned quite a bit about William Bradford.
He preferred "Will" to "William." He wasn't in any more pain than he
usually was.  He had no plans for his future.  The VA Hospital in either
Wichita or Topeka would take on his future medical needs, which Will hoped
were few.  He hated hospitals, having spent the last three years of his
life in them.

   Bobby, and a still weeping Erica, learned that he'd lost the leg early
on, before he'd even regained consciousness from his initial injuries.  The
hand had gone a month later.  Physically, the vast majority of his
treatment since then, had been all about the burns.  He'd had dozens of
skin graft surgeries.  There had also been additional surgery on his leg as
they tried to get him to wear a prosthesis.  He didn't see the point.  Even
if he could walk, he still couldn't work, and he was used to the chair now.
They were talking about some contraption to take the place of his left
hand, so he could grip the left wheel of his chair and get around a little
better.  They kept insisting it wouldn't be necessary if he'd just accept a
prosthesis for his leg.

   Of course, there was a lot that Bobby and Erica didn't learn on that
ride too.  They would find that out over a long period of time, but they
didn't know it when they got him out of the car and into his chair at his
new home.

   He was angry.  He was both mad at the world in general, and at specific
portions of that world in particular.  He was mad at the medics who had
saved him on the battlefield.  He was mad at the surgeons who had brought
him back from the brink of death since then.  He was mad at the Air Force.
He was mad at anybody who felt sorry for him.  He was mad at himself for
not having the courage to take his own life.  Most of all he was mad that
they were giving up on Vietnam.  His ruined life, and the lives of all
those men he had called friends, had been wasted ...  ruined for nothing
... and that made him maddest of all.

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

   The first problem was getting him into the house.  No one had thought
about the chair, and how the steps to the front and rear doors posed an
immediate problem.  Bobby's muscles overcame that immediate problem.

   "I'll build you a ramp," he said to Erica, who was no longer crying, but
who looked completely lost as she stood and watched the man who couldn't
possibly be her little brother being pulled up the steps backwards.

   "I don't plan on going anywhere," said Will.

   "Yeah," said Bobby as he backed up to the door.  He reached back and
tried to turn the knob.  It was locked.

   "Erica?" he called.

   Her eyes snapped up to his face from the face they'd been staring at.

   "Key?" he prompted.

   "Oh!" she blurted.  "Of course."

   "You're the only person in town I know who locks her door," said Bobby,
trying to lighten the mood a little.

   "Of course I lock my door," said Erica, looking confused.

   "I forgot," said Bobby.  "You came here from Chicago, where everybody
has to lock their doors." Bobby leaned down to speak into Will's right ear.
"I'm glad you're here.  Now maybe she won't be so scared of the boogey
man."

   Will lifted his chin a little.

   "No problem," he said.  "The boogey man is scared of me.  Everybody is
scared of me."

   "I'm not," said Bobby.  "I think I could take you."

   Will grunted.  Erica got her keys out, opened the door, and they all
went inside.  Bobby pushed Will's chair into the living room.

   "Give me a second with your sister," he said, leaning over to speak to
Will.

   He turned and took an unresisting Erica's elbow, taking her to where he
thought the kitchen might be.  It turned out to be the dining room, but the
kitchen was further on, through a swinging door.  In the kitchen he faced
her.

   "Get a grip, Erica," he said, his voice low.  "He needs you."

   "I can't," she whispered.  "I didn't know!"

   "Well, now you do," said Bobby urgently.  "He's still your brother. 
He's the same person inside that he always was."

   "I can't," she moaned, looking down.

   Bobby knew he had to do something to break her out of her almost
catatonic state.  He would never be able to explain why he chose to do what
he did, but it worked.  He reached out and squeezed her breasts with his
hands.  His fingers seemed to flow as he pulled on them, until his
fingertips were on the tips of her breasts.  They squeezed, seeking to find
her nipples through her shirt and bra.

   She drew in breath harshly, and held it, as her round, amazed eyes
looked at his hands, and then rose to fix on his face.  Her jaw went slack
for a few seconds.  Then her eyes cleared and she jerked backwards, as her
hands slapped at his.

   "What are you DOING?!" she gasped.

   "Now that I have your attention," said Bobby, as he dropped his hands to
his sides, "you have to go in there.  You have to talk to him.  You have to
start this relationship.  I don't care how hard it is for you ...  he's
here and he needs you."

   "You touched me!" she said.

   "OK, you're shocked," said Bobby.  "I touched you and it shocked you,
but there is no harm done and you can go on with your life.  He shocks you
too.  You have to go on with him as well.  He's your brother, Erica ... 
he's your blood.  Where is that independent, capable woman I like so much?
You have to get a grip!"

   "Get out!" she snarled.

   "OK," he said.  "I'll get started on the ramp.  You go talk to your
brother."

   "Get out!" she said again.

   He turned and left.  She heard him speak to the husk in the wheelchair
in her living room, and then she heard the front door close.  Almost
immediately, she regretted throwing him out.

   That left her alone with her brother.

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

   "Billy?" Her voice had a catch in it.

   "I knew this was a bad idea," said the voice of her brother.  It came
from the thing in the wheelchair, though, and she couldn't make that work
in her head.  That voice was disappointed, though ...  disappointed in her
...  and that registered.

   "I just need some time," she said weakly.

   "I'll never look human again, Erica," he said harshly.  "I'll never walk
again, or work, or anything, but I DON'T want your pity!"

   That stung.  What else was she supposed to do?  How else was she
supposed to feel?  He was a wreck!  He was all but helpless!

   Old habits die hard.  Sometimes that's not such a bad thing, though. 
She had been a dyed in the wool feminist when he'd become her ward, and
they had often raged at each other as he acted like the men she was so
disgusted with, and she acted like a bitch, as far as he was concerned. 
Still, when all was said and done ...  they had been all each other had,
and they always made peace.  They didn't agree on things ...  but they
still loved each other, and they always made peace.

   That old habit ...  of being able to rage at each other ...  served to
get them past that intolerable moment when neither knew how to move
forward. She took offense at his attitude ...  that he was pushing her
away. He ranted about how he couldn't stand the pity, including hers.  She
railed that he was helpless, and he promptly proved what he could do.  He
lurched up out of the chair, leaning heavily on his right hand while he
pushed with the stump of his left, and hopped in a circle around her.  He
was good at hopping.  He'd done that thousands of times.  He ended up back
in his chair, looking up at her out of that half twisted, half normal face.

   Her initial horror of the scarecrow looking thing that flapped its arms
as it hopped around her was mitigated by the voice of her little brother in
that scarecrow image.

   Then, as he sat again, staring at her, she was struck by the fact that
both of his eyes looked the same.  The one staring at her from the dead
mask on the left of his head was just as brown and alive, as the one on the
normal side.  And his attitude ...  his voice ...  his personality ...  it
was all familiar.  His psyche had been damaged, that was clear, but it was
still Billy.

   "DON'T FUCKING CALL ME BILLY!" he screamed.  His voice fell.  "Billy is
dead."

   "YOU'RE NOT DEAD!" she screamed back.  "YOU'RE MY BABY BROTHER, NO
MATTER WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU!"

   That simple shouted sentence created the tiny, almost insignificant
crack that would widen over the weeks to come.  It would create a place
where her love, when she learned how to show it to him, would seep in and
soften the hard crust that was all that was left of Billy Bradford.

   It would take time, to be sure.  He would complain constantly about her
characterization of him as her "baby" brother.  He would carp constantly
about her continued use of "Billy," instead of the name he now preferred.
On her side, she clung to "Billy" as the only thing she had left of the boy
she remembered.  She knew he wasn't a baby, but she felt maternal instincts
for the first time in her life as she adjusted to his visage, and it began
to horrify her a little less.  That took time too, and I get ahead of the
story here for just a moment, but you need to know that, like creeping
lava, that cannot be stopped by anything except solid rock, the parts of
the old relationship that had borne them up when their parents were lost,
started to bear the weight of this trouble too.  In this new life they were
both embroiled in, almost nothing was the same as it had been ...  except
that they only had each other again.

   In short, Will's arrival in Erica's house changed everything in both
their lives.

   That first shouted communication lasted almost three hours, and wore
them both out.  Very slowly the decibel range they were "talking" in went
from in the hundreds, to the high eighties, and then inevitably lower as
their passion faded along with their energy levels.  Little things helped
to deescalate the anger and frustration.  At times, all she could see was
his right side, in profile.  He looked like Billy then, grown and changed,
but still Billy.  From his vantage point, she acted just like his older
sister had when he had wanted to join the Army.  That was something
familiar, in a world that hadn't had anything familiar in it - except pain
- for a long time.

   They were actually talking in normal voices when there was a clatter
outside.  Erica went to the window and saw a pile of boards on the front
lawn.  Her eyes went to the street, where Bobby Dalton was getting more
lumber out of the back of a rusty old pickup truck.  Her mind tilted for a
second.  He had said he was going to build a wheelchair ramp.  But she had
thrown him out after he had ...  groped her.

   She blinked as the feel of his hands on her breasts suddenly came back
to her.  She had stared at his hands as they had done that ...  and part of
her anger had been not at him, but at the completely unwelcome twinges of
something sweet as his fingertips had squeezed her hated breasts.  She had
been horrified that she could feel anything but disgust, both at him and
the situation she was in.

   The memory of that made her angry again, and she opened the door, to
walk out on the porch.  She waited until he trudged across the lawn with an
armful of boards and dropped them in a heap.

   "I told you to leave," she said, her voice tense.

   "I did," he said, looking at her.

   "I meant forever," she said stubbornly.

   "I know," he said.  "I'll leave again after I get this done."

   "I don't WANT that done!" she yelled.

   "Yes you do," he said calmly.  "You're mad at me right now, but you'll
be glad you have this someday."

   She was surprised to feel the back of her shirt being tugged hard.

   "Come back inside and leave the man alone," said her brother.  He had
gotten his wheelchair right behind her.

   "He touched me!" she snarled.

   "Where?" asked Will.

   Her hands went to cover the tips of her breasts automatically.  Her mind
wasn't in tune with them, though.

   "It doesn't matter," she said.  "I won't put up with that from any man!"

   "He touched your knockers?" Will's voice sounded amused.  "Well good for
him.  I'm almost jealous."

   "THEY'RE NOT KNOCKERS!" she yelled at him.  She realized that the
neighbors had probably heard her yell that, and her voice dropped.  "You
know better than to say things like that, Billy Bradford!  You know how I
feel about that kind of thing."

   "He's building a wheelchair ramp, right?" asked Will.

   "Yes, but that doesn't mean he can assault me!"

   "I'll straighten him out on that ...  later ...  AFTER he builds the
ramp.  We need the ramp, Erica."

   What struck Erica the most about all that was that her little brother
... this husk of a man ...  sounded like he really believed he could
"straighten out" Bobby Dalton.  And he had a point.  She had watched Bobby
pull her brother up the stairs in his chair.  Bobby had made it look like
Billy weighed nothing at all, but she knew better than that.  She knew it
would be a major exercise for her to get him up or down the steps.  They
did need the ramp.

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

   She fixed dinner.  His diet was unrestricted, though he couldn't open
his mouth as widely as a normal person.  He had to eat in smaller bites,
because of that.  She had to cut up his food for him but, once that was
done, he did fine by himself.

   After all the yelling they had done, it seemed eerily quiet in the
dining room, where his chair would fit under the table edge.  There was the
sound of hammering outside, and of an electric saw, occasionally.  Bobby
had knocked on the door, asking to plug in an extension cord.  Erica had
been obstinate, telling him he couldn't come in, but Will overruled her.

   "She's got a thing about her tits," he said out loud.  "She's got the
best pair in the county, but she hates 'em, and she hates any man who likes
'em."

   Erica had screamed at them both again at that point.  Bobby had just
walked in, plugged in the cord, and walked back out.  She had gone to start
supper just to get away from both of them, and to be alone with her shame
and anger.  They had said very little to each other since then.

   "You OK now?" Will suddenly asked.

   "No." Erica was confused.  How could she be OK again after something
like that?

   "That guy out there ...  how much is he going to charge us for this
ramp?"

   "I don't know!" she yipped.  "I didn't think of that!"

   "I'll go ask him."

   "No!" she barked.

   "ERICA!" he shouted, shocking her.

   He put his fork down.

   "I know I'm helpless," he said, his voice cold.  "But not completely.  I
can talk to people, if they can stand to look at me.  That guy can.  He's
the first person who's treated me halfway normal since I left the hospital.
You don't like him.  OK.  That's fine.  I can talk to him.  Just tell me
how much you can afford so I know if he should finish it or not."

   "I'll talk to him," insisted Erica.

   "Will you stop being so pigheaded?" he asked loudly.  "Let me do what I
CAN do!"

   She almost shouted back at him, but something in her mind recognized how
important this little thing was to him.

   "Fine!" she said, her voice surly.

   "Just get me out on the porch and then come back in here," he said.

   Again she felt anger at being told what to do, and she hesitated.  He
was up and hopping into the living room before her astonished body could
react.

   "WAIT!" she yelped, lurching out of her chair to move to the wheelchair
and grab it.  He already had the front door open by the time she got the
chair moving, and was out on the front porch by the time she got there.  He
hopped down one step, his arms out for balance, and then sat down on the
porch.

   "Hey, dude!" he called out to Bobby.

   Bobby looked up and his eyes flickered from the man sitting there, to
the door, where Erica was trying to push the chair out on the porch. 
Something interesting must have happened inside.

   "What's up?" he asked, walking over to stand in front of Will.

   "How much is all this going to cost?" he asked.

   "BILLY!" snapped Erica, finally getting the chair through the doorway
and onto the porch.

   "Go back inside, sis," said Will, staring up at Bobby.

   "I will NOT!" she yelled.96

   "If she stays out here, bothering us men," said Will, casually to Bobby,
"I want you to grab her tits again, OK?"

   That comment, in this situation, seemed very funny to Bobby, and he
grinned.  It did what Will had intended though, and Erica stomped back
inside the house, yelling at them both.

   It got quiet again.

   "How much?" asked Will.

   Bobby looked at his watch.  "I hadn't thought much about that," he said.

   "Well think about it," said Will.  "She doesn't have a lot of money."

   Bobby surveyed the man.  "Sometimes I do favors for people," he said.

   "I don't want charity," said Will instantly.

   "All right," said Bobby.  "I usually charge six bucks an hour.  Seeing
as how I offended your sister, I won't charge that much for this job."

   "What was that all about, anyway?" asked Will.

   "She was in shock.  She wasn't thinking.  I had to do something to shake
her out of it.  I thought that might do it."

   There was a barking sound from the throat of the mess sitting on the
porch.  It was followed by a soft "Wow." He looked up at Bobby.  b "That's
the first time I've laughed in ...  I can't remember how long."

   "Somehow, I didn't think you'd be amused by my groping your sister,"
said Bobby.

   "You two been dating?" asked Will.

   Now it was Bobby who chuckled.  "Not hardly," he said.  He went on to
explain how he knew Erica, and the extent of their relationship.

   "Interesting," said Will.  "She's so hardheaded about all that women's
liberation crap that I'm surprised she asked for help at all."

   "She was in a bind," said Bobby.  "Just seemed neighborly to help out."

   "I know how she can be," said Will.  "You're a very patient man if
you're doing this for something other than the usual."

   Bobby knew exactly what Will was talking about.  "The usual" motivation
for something like that would be for purposes of getting Erica into bed. 
There didn't seem to be much to say, though, so he remained silent.

   "So, I need to be able to go back in there and tell her we can afford
this," said Will.

   "You can afford it," said Bobby.

   "No charity," warned Will.

   "How about if I offer you the same kind of help I'd offer any other
neighbor," said Bobby.  "That OK?"

   "There won't be much I can do to repay the kindness," said Will.

   "You never know," said Bobby.  "You never know."

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

   Erica went to the window and looked out.  It was the same place she had
peeked at her brother talking to him earlier, while he sat on the porch. 
She hadn't been able to hear them, but she'd watched.  There was no
tenseness in either of them.  They had just talked.

   Bobby was gone now.  It was getting dark.  She could already see the
design of the ramp.  It would come off of the driveway, slanting slowly up
and then make a turn to come onto the porch beside the stairs.  There was a
railing in the way right now, but even with her limited building
experience, she knew that wouldn't be a problem.  A post could be put in
where the railing was cut open to make a place for the chair to come
through.

   Billy ...  Will ...  was in bed already.  She was trying to change her
habit ...  to call him Will, as he had demanded ...  but it was hard.  She
stood, looking out into the darkening sky and then went out on the porch in
the barely cool night air.  She went down on the grass to examine the work
Bobby had done.  She saw immediately that the way things were put together
was different than what he had showed her.  There were lots of
crisscrossing struts that she now knew would support great weight.

   She was still furious with him.  She had trusted him and he had violated
that trust.  She had made allowances for the teasing.  He had only done
that once, and she could live with that, because he wasn't the slavering
satyr she had expected him to be.  But this ...  this was too much.

   She had an idea why he had done it, but there were other ways that that.
Just thinking about it made her feel tingles.  She snorted.  Her body was
betraying her principles more and more often.  She needed to be stronger.
She had ideals ...  important ideals ...  and she needed to remain above
base instincts that had caused women to be downtrodden for centuries.  In
the next second she was remembering how that brief feel of his fingers felt
so similar to what she had been doing ...  at night ...  alone in bed.

   She shuddered.  She had to stop thinking about that!

   She turned and went back into the house.  She would read tonight, until
she got so tired she'd go right to sleep.  She would submerse herself in a
good book, and those urges would be held at bay.  Then tomorrow she'd go
back to work, and everything would get back to normal again.

   She now knew that Billy ...  WILL! ...  would be OK on his own, here at
the house.  He could get around, and there was food he could eat with a
minimum of preparation.  He took care of his own toilet.  He could even
dress himself one-handed.  She was actually amazed at what he could do for
himself, all things considered.

   Since she was going straight to bed, she didn't turn on any lights when
she went in.  Her eyes had adapted to the dim light outdoors, and it was
only slightly darker inside.  It was her newly awakened maternal instincts
that made her want to check in on him ...  look at him and know he was all
right.  She pushed the door open to see him lying there on the bed she had
gotten for him when she first found out he was coming home.

   He gasped, and she froze.  She had been about to turn away.  Was he
having a nightmare?  She could easily understand how that might happen -
frequently.  She stepped into the room.  He was lying on top of the covers.
It wasn't until she got closer that she could see the movement.  It was at
his groin.  She didn't understand, at first, and took another step closer.

   Then understanding flooded her as he gasped again.  His right hand was
rising and falling furiously in the dark.  When he breathed, it was ragged,
and he held his breath a lot.

   She gasped herself, and his head turned toward her as his body rolled
slightly.  She saw the whites of his eyes.

   "Shit!" he said softly.

   "I'm sorry!" she whispered.  "I just wanted to check on you."

   She fled, closing the door firmly behind her, and ran to her own room.
There she paced for a few minutes, willing her speeding heart to slow down
and her own ragged breaths to calm to normal.  She was repulsed ...  wasn't
she?  She didn't exactly FEEL repulsed.  She thought she should.  But that
poor boy, in his ravaged body ...  what pleasure did he have?  How could
something so simple be wrong?

   "Of course it's wrong!" part of her brain yelled.

   "You do it yourself!" crowed another part.

   She turned on her reading light and got her book.  She stolidly put on
her pajamas, leaving her bra and panties on, something she had never done
before.

   She looked at the pages ...  forced herself to read the words.  They
didn't make any sense.

   "Everybody does that!" she told herself.

   Bobby Dalton popped into her mind, unbidden and unwelcome.  Did HE do
that?  Was he doing that right now, in some dark room across town?  Was HIS
hand flashing back and forth along a stiff column of flesh?

   She didn't want to think about that.  She closed her eyes tightly, but
that didn't help.  Her hand easily defeated the extra layers of clothes she
had worn to bed, and a long finger slid between wet pussy lips.  She
groaned and pressed hard on the bump.  Her other hand went to her breast.
To her horror, with the bra on, it felt just like Bobby's fingers had felt
as they squeezed and closed until they had been centered on her sensitive
nipples.

   Her orgasm left her weak and ashamed, because through it all, she had
been unable to keep Bobby Dalton ...  and her own brother ...  out of her
mind.

   She dreamed again that night.  This dream didn't waken her, but the
memories of it were there in the morning.  In the dream she was watching
her brother, sitting on the porch, talking to Bobby.  Everything was
exactly the same as when she had actually watched them ...  except for one
thing.  Both of them were masturbating.  Both had huge, misshapen cudgels
for a penis, feet long and as thick as a normal man's leg.  Somehow each
one's right hand was big enough to stroke those immense penises, and they
did so while they talked, as if it were the most normal thing in the world
to do.

   That's all she could remember, as her eyes opened.  She hadn't slept
well and she still felt tired.  Her mouth felt like it had cotton in it. 
She crawled out of bed and brushed her teeth first.  Then she took off her
pajamas.  She took her bra and panties off too, to exchange for clean ones.
Her nipples tingled as she dropped them into the clean bra, and she
frowned.

   Billy's door was still closed and she didn't bother him, unable to face
him this morning.  She didn't think about the irony that she was perfectly
willing to look at his ravaged face, but unable to deal with the fact that
he had normal needs.

   After a glass of milk and a peanut butter sandwich, she hurried off to
school.

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

   Chapter Eight

   The routine of classes calmed her down.  Her interaction with Mr. 
Hornsby, on the musical, had made her a little less of a mystery to him,
and she had been so happy that he was doing his part that her expected
bitchiness had never really surfaced.  That led to a very subtle change in
the way she was treated in the teacher's lounge, because practically
everyone had asked him what the dragon lady was like, and all had been told
the same thing: "Not all that bad, actually.  She's trying hard."

   In reality, the only real change was that other teachers gave her a
small smile now, instead of a blank face, and a few nodded as they passed
her in a hallway or the lounge.  Just that small change made the day more
pleasant for all of them, though.

   Then, after school, when she saw that one whole flat was completely
painted and ready for the show, she felt even better.

   Her feeling of progress and good will, however, vanished as she saw
Bobby saunter into the auditorium.  Most of the kids called out to him and
he stopped to talk to a small cluster of them.  She was discomfited by his
mere appearance.  She had assumed that after being run off from her house,
he wouldn't show up here either.  Had she heard the actual conversation
going on she would have been furious.

   "Hey, Mister D," said Tiffany.  "How they hangin'?"

   "Low and slow, Tiff," said Bobby.  He was trying to learn the lingo
these kids spoke.  He wasn't always sure he was saying the right thing, but
when he messed up the kids usually just laughed and had a good time with
it.

   "Where were you last night?" asked a boy named Jeremiah.  "We got the
storefront set done.  It's so bad, I'm freakin' out about it."

   "I had something else to do," said Bobby.  "How's Mizz Bradford today?
She seem upset about anything?"

   "She's cool," said Linda Tarmigan.  "She hasn't been trippin' or giving
people the hairy eyeball or anything."

   "Good," sighed Bobby.  "We had a little argument last night and I was
hoping she didn't take it out on you guys."

   "Ooooo," said Tiffany, looking excited.  "Are you sniffing around her
now, Mister D?"

   "Not hardly," laughed Bobby.  "Not my type."

   "Yeah," said Jeremiah.  "She's foxy, but she ain't with it, you know?"

   "I know," said Bobby, grinning.  "I'd better get on down there and get
to work."

   "Cool," said Jeremiah.  "Check you later."

   Bobby went on to the stage.  Erica was waiting for him there.

   "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice cold.

   "I was going to work on sets," he said, looking at her warily.

   "We need to talk," she said.

   "OK."

   She took him outside the double stage doors at the back of the stage. 
It was cool outside and she crossed her arms under her breasts.  It only
put them on display, but she didn't think about that.  The cool air also
activated her nipples.  Bobby was aware of all this in his peripheral
vision, but didn't look there.

   "Why did you touch me like that last night?" she asked bluntly.

   "It was either that or slap you," he said calmly.  "I elected for that."

   "You thought about slapping me?" Her voice went up a notch.

   "Erica, you were freaking out.  You weren't any good to him that way. 
He's depending on you now, and that started last night, whether you were
ready or not.  I had to get your attention.  It worked ...  didn't it?"

   "That will never happen again," she said stridently.  "Do not touch me
again.  Do we understand each other?"

   "I understand you," he said.  "I don't think you understand me, but
that's not really important."

   "Why do you say that?" she asked, still spoiling for a fight.  "What
don't I understand about you?"

   "Look," he said.  "We're getting along OK.  Let's just leave it at that.
We've got work to do inside, and while I don't mind having this
conversation, the work inside isn't getting done."

   "They got a lot done last night, and we weren't here then," objected
Erica.

   "Do you want me to stay or leave?" he asked.  "Just tell me which one.
It makes no difference to me."

   Erica felt a stab of rejection, and shook it off.  She had put him in
his place.  There would be no more ...  trouble.  The practical part of her
knew she needed him here.

   "Stay," she said.

   He turned around and went into the building, leaving her outside alone.

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

   Erica didn't know what to do.  The rest of the evening had gone so
routinely, after she ...  corrected Bobby, that it had almost seemed like
nothing had happened.  Then, when she got home, she saw that Bobby had
apparently spent more time on the ramp, because it was much further along.

   Will was awake and in good spirits.  She'd been a little worried that
he'd get bored, with nothing to do all day.  It turned out he had gone out
and sat on the porch and talked to Bobby while he worked.

   "I don't know why you don't like him," Will said, as they ate a late
supper together.  "Of all the people I've met since I went into the
hospital, he seems the most genuine to me."

   "Let's talk about something else," said Erica.  The fact was, she didn't
HAVE a good reason for not liking Bobby Dalton.  Except that he was a man
...  and had touched her breasts.

   "Why?" asked Will.  "Why should we talk about something else?  You
finally meet a decent kind of guy and you shove him away.  When are you
going to wise up, sis?"

   "Let's not go into this again," sighed Erica.  "I've done fine while you
were gone.  I'm perfectly capable of being successful without a man to try
and take the credit for it.  I don't need a man to succeed in life."

   "OK," said her brother, "but I can think of one way you'd be a lot
happier, and it kind of requires a member of the opposite sex." The right
side of his face smiled.  It looked ghastly, because the left side stayed
rigidly calm.

   "The last place in the world I need to get information like that from is
my baby brother," she said.

   "I'm not so sure about that," he said.  "I lost my virginity in high
school, and then when I joined the Army ...  well all that stuff they say
about women liking a man in uniform ...  it's true." He stared at her. 
"Unless I've lost all ability to figure things out, I bet you're still a
virgin, Erica."

   She blushed.  "If you think I'm going to discuss the status of my hymen
with my little brother, you're sadly mistaken," she said uncomfortably.

   "I'm not a baby any more, Sis," he said softly.  "And you're getting
older too.  Don't throw your life away because you bought in to some
frustrated woman's idea that the world would be better off without men in
it."

   "It's not like that, Billy!" she said.  She stopped.  "Will," she
corrected.  "I'm still not used to calling you that.  But the point isn't
that I want all men to disappear.  I just want to be able to be everything
that I CAN be, and not have to beg a man to do it."

   "I get it," said Will.  "Maybe you should join the Army.  I met lots of
women in the Army who are doing the same things as men, and getting paid
the same too."

   "I don't think so," said Erica.  "Look what the Army did to you."

   "Bad luck," said Will shortly.  "That's all."

   They had let it lie there.  They had watched TV together for a while,
and he fell asleep in his chair.  She didn't know whether to wake him up
and tell him to go to bed or not.  He'd be more comfortable in bed.  It
occurred to her that he might not be comfortable anywhere.  He still took
pain medicine, though he didn't talk about what kind of pain he was in.

   She couldn't just leave him there, though.  She needed to get to bed
herself, though she wasn't looking forward to that.  The thoughts she
couldn't seem to keep out of her head, lately, were disturbing.

   She sighed and decided to take a shower before she woke him up.

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

   Erica got out of the shower and dried off.  Her reflection in the mirror
caught her eye.  Her breasts till looked bloated and huge, of course.  She
wished there was a way to have about half of them removed.  The rest of her
looked more or less normal, at least in her own opinion.  She shivered as
the moisture evaporated off her skin, and watched as her nipples elongated
and tingled.  The urge to squeeze them was almost physical, but she
resisted it.  She shrugged into her bathrobe and ran a comb through her
hair.  Keeping it in a shag made it easy to take care of.  She didn't spend
hurs on it, like a lot of other women.  She didn't care if men were
impressed, and she certainly didn't want to encourage them to look at her.

   Will was still slumped in his chair, snoring slightly, when she went to
get him.  She pushed him to his room and shook his shoulder.

   "Time to go to bed," she said softly.

   He jerked awake and his whole body went tense, staying that way for a
few seconds and then slowly relaxing.

   "OK," he mumbled.

   "You want me to help you get undressed?"

   "No," he said.  "That's the last thing I need right now."

   Erica stood up.  That seemed like an odd kind of thing to say.  He
leaned forward, gripping the arm of the chair with his right hand, and
lifting his left arm to point it down in that curious way that put the
stump of his wrist on the left armrest.  She winced as he pushed and stood
to hop in short little jumps, not really going anywhere, but just keeping
his balance.  His body turned and he sat on the edge of the bed.  His brown
eyes surveyed her.

   "I'm sorry about last night," he said.

   Erica blushed.  There was only one thing he could be talking about, and
that was her walking in on him while he masturbated.

   "I should have knocked," she said.  "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

   "Oh, you didn't embarrass me," he said.

   She looked surprised.

   "There was a nurse ...  while I was in the burn unit," he said.  "She
sat and talked to me.  They assigned nurses to do that sometimes, if they
thought the patient was suicidal.  It was supposed to make us feel like
they cared about us, and that it didn't matter that we were grotesque to
look at.  She felt sorry for me.  Anyway, one night we got to talking about
my old girlfriends and her old boyfriends, and she ended up jerking me off.
It got to be a kind of going to bed ritual for us.  She even found another
nurse to take over for her when she got reassigned."

   Erica couldn't believe what she was hearing.  Her little brother being
...  serviced ...  by women?!  She wanted to be outraged, but the image of
a man - it wasn't Will ...  it was just a faceless man - all bandaged up
and helpless, stuck in a strange place and in pain, was firmly in her head.
And the woman bent over that man, using her hand to please him, wasn't some
sexual slave.  She was simply making him feel a little better, in very
difficult circumstances.  She couldn't see it any differently in her mind.
Had someone told her a story like that before Will came home, she was quite
sure she would have been outraged that a woman would debase herself like
that.  But, seeing Will, and hearing about his horrible return from the
gates of death, enabled her to see that woman in a completely different
light.

   "It was about the only thing about the hospital that was good," said
Will.  "I really miss it."

   There was another twist in the fabric of reality as he spoke those
words. It was almost as if Erica was outside of her body, floating in the
air, looking interestedly on, to see what her body would do.  The floating
Erica heard a man saying "I really miss a woman servicing me," and knew
what her body should do.  Her body should stiffen and she should deliver a
lecture about how men objectified women, reducing them to a vagina, or in
this case, a hand, that was destined to please the man.  That was wrong! 
It enslaved women!

   The floating Erica, though, was surprised at what the mind in her body
did.  That mind heard those words delivered in a wistful, yearning kind of
way that really said "I miss the closeness those women shared with me, when
they could have walked away and left me alone and frustrated."

   She blinked.  What was she doing?  There was no "closeness" involved
when a woman masturbated a man.  That was foolishness.  It was all just raw
emotion, and bodily functions.  Instinct.  That's what it was.  It was what
animals did.  Humans were on a higher plane, and should be above that
nonsense.

   "None of those nurses looked like you, though," said Will, his eyes
glinting.

   Erica was jerked back to reality.

   "What?"

   "Nothing," he said.  "I just wanted to apologize, because I was afraid I
had disappointed you."

   Among the roiling emotions that were bouncing all over Erica Bradford's
body, the ones associated with that maternal instinct surfaced and shouted
for order, telling all other thoughts to go away.

   "You could never disappoint me," she said, as tears made her vision
blurry.  "I love you.  I'll always love you.  It doesn't matter how you
look, or any of that.  You're my brother and I love you."

   "Thanks," he said.  "I'm sorry about that shot about your virginity at
supper."

   "It wasn't a shot," she said.  "For your information I AM still a
virgin, and I don't see anything wrong with that."

   "Wow," he sighed.

   "What's wrong with that?" she asked.

   "Nothing," he said.  "Like you said, I'm the last person you should
listen to about your sex life."

   "What about my sex life?" she asked.  She felt foolish immediately,
seeing as how she didn't HAVE a sex life.  Not with anything other than her
fingers, anyway.

   "I thought you didn't want to talk about this kind of thing," he said.

   "I don't," she responded.

   "OK, then," he said.  The right side of his face smiled.  "I'm going to
bed now.  That means I'm going to take off my clothes.  Ever since those
nurses gave me those ...  um ...  treatments ...  it's kind of become a
habit, I guess.  So you should probably leave now, before I take my pants
off, cause if you stay you're going to see way more than you want to."

   Erica felt the heat of the blood that infused her skin over her upper
chest and then crept up her throat to her cheeks, going even higher until
her forehead felt hot.  She turned and left.

   "You want me to get the light?" she asked, stopping with her back to
him.

   "Please."

   She flipped the switch, closed the door, and went to her room.

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

   She sat on the edge of her bed, her hands in her lap.  If she went to
bed now, she knew she'd rub.  Will was doing that, in his room.  He was
doing it right now, probably.  Her nipples itched and wanted to be squeezed
and pulled.

   She knew better than to try to read in bed.  She didn't even want to
take her robe off and put her pajamas on, because her breasts would be bare
for a few seconds, and she didn't think she'd be able to resist touching
her nipples.  That would lead to more.  She stood, picked up her book and
started to the living room, to sit upright in a chair, where maybe she
could pay attention to the pages.

   She flipped the light off and stood, letting her eyes adjust to the
darkness.  Then, stepping into the hallway, she started tiptoeing to the
living room.  Her feet stopped in front of Will's door and she couldn't
seem to make them keep going.  She also lost the internal battle to keep
her right hand off of his doorknob, and felt almost consumed with shame as
it turned the knob slowly ...  silently.  She didn't understand what was
happening to her.  This ...  urge inside her ...  it was something she had
never felt before and it was something that made her hand tremble as it
controlled her.

   She managed to stand there, with the door open only two inches, for what
seemed like ten minutes.  She felt a tiny spark of hope that she had gained
control, when she heard him moan.  The door was suddenly open eighteen more
inches before she realized her arm had pushed it there.

   She felt a stab of almost hysteria as she looked at the bed, with the
dark lump of her brother on it, and realized she couldn't see anything. 
Instead of feeling relief that this was all futile, she felt the
overwhelming urge to go closer ...  until she COULD see something.

   "If you're going to watch, you may as well come on in." One of the
things she thought of first was that her brother's voice sounded so normal,
just as she remembered it, perhaps with a bit of maturity added.  That
conflicted with the shame of being caught spying on him.

   "I wasn't watching," she blurted.  "You sounded like you were in pain."

   "I am in pain," he said.  "That's one of the reasons I do this."

   That didn't make any sense to her and she stood there, not knowing what
to do.

   "Are you coming in?"

   "I don't know." She felt sudden relief at voicing her inability to make
a sensible decision.  It felt so good to just admit that she had no idea
what was happening.

   "I don't mind," he said.

   That didn't make any sense either.  The rational part of her mind let
her curiosity be piqued.  She stepped into the room, but didn't turn on the
light.

   "How can you not mind?" she asked.

   He was silent for a few seconds.

   "It's complicated, I guess.  I'd tell you, but I don't think you'd like
it.  I know what you said about loving me and all that, but I still think
you might be a little ...  disappointed."

   "I don't understand." That felt pretty good too, because she DIDN'T
understand ...  not only what he was saying, but what she was feeling.

   He moved on the bed, and she imagined that he was rolling to face her.
She wondered if he was naked or not.  That bothered her a little.

   "You said you're still a virgin," he said.  "But haven't you ever been
really horny before?  Like maybe when you were with a certain guy?"

   "I've felt things," she said.  "But usually the guy was being such a
jerk that it wasn't something I wanted to explore."

   "How about when you looked at some guy you didn't know, who wasn't a
jerk yet?" he asked.

   Bobby Dalton immediately popped into her mind.  She didn't like that at
all, because she wanted to believe he was a jerk too.  The problem there
was that he kept acting like a not-jerk.

   "No," she lied.

   He sighed.  "I guess guys are different," he said.  "I can look at a
woman I don't know and get excited."

   That fit with the "men are pigs" mantra that Erica had learned when she
was about fifteen, and had almost religiously believed ever since.  The
problem with THAT was that there was no way she could think of her little
brother as a pig.  Another crack appeared in her feminist armor.  If Will
wasn't a pig ...  that meant it was possible for other men to not be pigs
too.

   "I thought about that a lot while I was in the hospital," he went on. 
"I thought a lot about you, and all that stuff you believe, and whether I
should feel guilty about getting boners for women I didn't even know."

   That made Erica feel a rush of something like gratitude.  She firmly
believed in her feminist principles, and one of her goals was to teach men
to believe in them too.  That Will had picked up some of her wisdom made
her feel good.

   "I even talked about it with one of the nurses," he said.  "I asked her
if she felt like I was exploiting her."

   "What did she say?" asked Erica, unable to suppress her curiosity.

   "She said she was doing it because she wanted to do it ...  to make me
feel good."

   "I don't get that," sighed Erica.  She had heard something of the same
argument about women who posed for pornographic magazines - that they were
doing it because they liked it, or that it was just a job.  She didn't buy
that.  A woman could earn money in ways that didn't depend on her sex or
her looks.  She believed they were being exploited, and just didn't know
it.

   "I didn't either," said Will in the darkness.  "I mean she didn't even
know me.  And she was married too."

   "No!" gasped Erica.  "She cheated on her husband with you?!"

   "She said it wasn't cheating.  She was talking about how she loved him,
and that the only reason she was doing that for me was because I deserved
it.  She said more, but I was about to ...  um ...  finish, I guess ... 
and it was hard to pay attention."

   "I don't care what she said," snorted Erica, taking a step closer to the
bed.  "Doing that with some other man is cheating."

   "I do remember another time when she was doing it again.  She said that
was all she could do ...  that she couldn't kiss me, because that would be
cheating."

   "Sounds to me like she was confused about things," said Erica.

   "Yeah, but she made me feel so good, Erica.  I think maybe she kept me
from going crazy."

   "That's a little much, don't you think?  I mean it's just a bodily
function, after all."

   "I'm not talking about her jerking me off," said Will.  "Well, I guess I
am, but it was way more than that.  When she did that, I wasn't alone any
more.  I was still sick, and in pain, but there was this person in my life
who cared about me and wanted me to feel good, even if it only lasted a few
minutes.  She wasn't in love with me.  I knew that.  I think maybe I fell a
little bit in love with her.  I'm not so sure about that.  I'm not sure
what being in love feels like.  But back then I was pretty sure I'd NEVER
get to feel what it was like, and what she offered me was like cool water
after that napalm got on me.  I'm serious, Erica, just knowing she'd do
just that little bit for me, just because she cared ...  it kept me from
giving up."

   The emotion in his voice convinced his sister that he believed all this
was true.  She wasn't so sure, but he believed it.  She'd had orgasms, even
though she'd fought them, and they were nice, even if they were taboo, but
they didn't set her free from her troubles.  If anything, they made her
feel worse, later on.

   "I miss that," he said again, his voice still wistful.  "I'll never get
to feel that kind of closeness again."

   "Of course you will," she said automatically, taking another step
forward.  In the dark it was safe to be closer to him, and she heard the
ache of pain in his voice for his loss.  It was so safe that she sat on the
edge of his bed.  Her hand naturally went to convey comfort, but her
fingers fell on scarred, lumpy tissue.  She was touching his left shoulder.
She couldn't help but feel the end of his stump, where her buttocks
pressed, trapping it between them and his side.  She clamped down on her
emotions, keeping from jerking her fingers away from that awful skin.  It
was her brother's skin.  She loved him, which meant she had to love that
skin too.

   "Don't try to bullshit a bullshitter," he said.  "You and I both know no
woman will ever look at me.  Not without wanting to throw up."

   "I love you," she said.  She couldn't believe the depth of the emotion
that surged through her as she realized that was true.  Will was the one
man she could love completely.  "If I love you, some other woman can love
you too."

   "You're my sister," he sighed.  "You have to love me."

   "Those nurses," she said.  "They loved you too ...  in a way."

   He was silent at first.  Then he whispered.  "Yes, that's true.  I
didn't believe that at first.  I thought they only felt pity for me, but I
knew better later."

   "So don't give up now," she said.

   "All I know is that it's a lot more fun when somebody else does it for
you," he said.

   She felt him move.  Her eyes had become fully adjusted to the dark now,
and the little bit of light coming in through the windows let her see him.
She turned her head to see he was, in fact, naked.  His right hand was
moving at his groin.

   "I'm sorry," he said, pain in his voice.  "I can't help it."

   "It's OK," she whispered.

   "No, it's not," he moaned.  "You don't understand."

   "Help me understand," she said, feeling like she was in a dream.  She
was sitting next to her brother, who was masturbating, and ...  she really
didn't mind.  It was the sole pleasure he had left in life.  How could she
object?

   "You'd hate me," he groaned.

   "I love you," she said.  "I already told you that."

   His hand flew away from his penis, to slap down on the bed.  He was
panting slightly.  She resisted the urge to look directly at his penis.

   "I just got here," he said, his voice raspy.  "I thought I'd hate it,
like I hate everything else ...  but that's not true." He paused.  "I don't
want to screw it up."

   "Will you STOP that?!" she said, her voice rising.  "You're here. 
You're going to stay here forever, with me.  We can overcome any problem
you have." She felt stupid for saying that.  He had problems that obviously
couldn't be overcome, no matter how much she ...  or he ...  wished it.

   "Aren't you ever going to get married?"

   She snorted.  "I don't need a man to be complete."

   "What about kids?" His voice sounded curiously intense.

   "Children tie a woman down," she said, her memorized response to that
question coming forward automatically.  "A woman has to give up the best
years of her life to take care of children.  And for what?  So some man can
say 'See what I did?', all proud that he was the alpha male who tagged that
particular mare.  I don't think so!  Why would I want to do that?"

   "So our name could go on?" His voice was soft.  "Mom and Dad are gone.
You and I are all that's left, and I'm obviously not ever going to be a
father."

   Erica sat.  She'd gone through a phase in her life when she had wanted
to hyphenate her name.  Instead of Erica Bradford, she had wanted to write
it Erica Mayes-Bradford, because her mother's maiden name was Mayes.  She
thought it was unfair that her father got all the credit.  That lasted only
as long as it took her mother to remind her that Mayes was her
grandfather's name, and that all names were paternal, in one way or
another. That had made Erica more angry than ever.  Men got everything ...
even names.

   She'd worked past that, over time, and had decided that names didn't
mean anything at all.  They were just tags to tell people apart.  Now,
though, as she heard that same haunting loss in her brother's voice, she
thought about her last name.  She had eventually come to realize that her
father was a good man ...  as good as any man could be, anyway.  Her
grandfather had died when she was eight, but all she could remember about
him were his delightful hugs, and the wonderful stories he told her, and
sitting on his lap while he read books to her.  She had decided, when she
was sixteen, that the reason she remembered almost nothing about her
grandmother was probably because the poor woman had probably always been in
the kitchen, or the laundry, slaving away to make life comfortable for the
men in the family.  Her mother had also destroyed that notion.  Erica had
wanted to know about her grandmother's accomplishments, thinking to write a
paper about them for school.  Her mother's response was that Erica's
grandmother had run off with a traveling salesman, and they didn't like to
talk about her.

   "Why is that so important?" she asked.  "It's just a name ...  some
letters strung together."

   "Don't you want to be remembered?" asked Will.  "Don't you want someone,
some day, to say `Remember Erica?  She was great, wasn't she?  I wish she
was still here'."

   That was a foreign concept, at first.  Erica was seeking approval now
... here ...  in the present.  She wanted people to acknowledge her
accomplishments while she was still alive.

   "When I think of Mom and Dad," said Will, in the dark, "I can't help but
remember Mom's meatloaf, that she was never satisfied with, even though
everyone she made was delicious ...  and the way Dad used to never be able
to find a screwdriver, when he owned fifty of the things.  I want somebody
to remember something like that about me some day, don't you?"

   "I don't know," she said, feeling suddenly empty.  "I try not to think
about Mom and Dad.  It hurts too much."

   "I wish they were still here," he said softly.

   "Me too," she agreed, tears coming into her eyes.

   "That's what I'm talking about," he said, his voice barely a whisper. 
"I'll never have kids who will wish I was there.  You can, though.  You can
have babies who grow up to cry for their mother, and make you Mother's Day
cards, and get in fights with you about cleaning their rooms.  That's LIFE,
Erica," he said intensely.  "I can't have it, but YOU can.  I just don't
understand how you can throw that all away for some idea that you're as
good as a man.  OK, you ARE as good as a man.  But what does that get you?"

   "Respect!" she said instantly, as her memory provided the stock answer.

   "And what does respect get you?" he asked.

   She had no answer for that.  That wasn't part of the argument.

   "I'd take kids over respect any day," he said.  He barked that odd sound
that meant he was laughing.  "That didn't come out quite right," he said.

   For Erica, the odd thing was that, while she didn't feel those drives
herself, the way he explained them made it possible for her to empathize
with HIS need for them.  His desire made sense to her, even though she
couldn't put herself in that picture.  She ached for him, down deep inside.
She wanted to go find a woman and make her magically love him, so that he
could have that dream.  Her mind envisioned a blind woman, who wouldn't be
horrified by looking at his half burned face.  Her mouth said it before she
had time to think about it.

   "Maybe we can find you a blind woman to be your girlfriend."

   Her mind caught up with her mouth, and she was horrified that she'd been
so casually cruel.  He didn't cry out, though.  Instead his right hand came
and pressed on top of hers, which was still lying on the destroyed skin of
his left shoulder.

   "Feel that skin under your hand?" he asked, his voice low.  "Blind
people see with their fingers."

   "I don't know why I said that," she moaned.  "I'm sorry."

   "You said it because you're trying to make me feel better," he said.  "I
appreciate it, but I'm fully aware of the reality of my life.  You don't
have to do that."

   "I can't help it," she said.  "I love you."

   "I know." He was quiet.  "That's why I can't tell you ...  some things.
You're all I have left.  If you threw me out I'd just curl up and die."

   "Are we back to that?" she moaned.  "You know I'll never throw you out.
Just tell me what's bothering you.  Get if off your chest and it will be
over, and you won't have to worry about it anymore."

   He was quiet for another minute, but she sensed he was working up to it,
so she stayed quiet too, just leaving her hand on his shoulder.

   "Do you know how old I was when I first started jerking off?" he asked.

   "Of course not," she said.

   "Fourteen," he said.

   "OK, so?"

   "That was in 1969."

   She didn't understand, and impatience nipped at her.

   "Would you just get on with it?"

   "It was pretty hard for a boy to get hold of a Playboy back then," he
said.  "Dad didn't have any."

   "Of course not," said Erica, feeling the urge to chastise him for even
wanting to look at trash like that, that dehumanized women.

   "But I was really interested in seeing what a naked woman looked like,"
he said.

   She sighed.  "OK, I can live with that.  That can't have been bothering
you all this time."

   "I mean I REALLY wanted to see a naked woman," he said.  "And the only
woman around I could do that with ...  was ...  you." The last word was a
whisper she could barely hear.

   "Me?" Her mind jangled.  "I was never naked around you.  What are you
talking about?"

   "I ...  um ...  well ...  I sort of ...  made a hole in the wall ... 
between our rooms."

   "What are you talking about?" she said.  "I never saw any hole."

   "You remember that frame you had on the wall?" he asked.  "The one Dad
made for you, that had all your ribbons in it?"

   She did.  She still had that frame.  It was two pieces of glass, that
sandwiched the ribbons she had consistently won at the science fairs in
school.  She was proud of those ribbons, because they showed she was as
good as any of the boys ...  better than most, in fact.  It had been made
so that ribbons could be added to it by taking the back pane of glass off.

   "Yes," she said.  "What does that have to do with this?"

   "I drilled the hole so I could see through the glass between two of the
ribbons," he said.  "It went into my closet."

   "You spied on me?!" Her voice went up an octave.

   "I didn't mean to," he said, his voice miserable.

   "How could you drill a hole in the wall and not mean to spy?" she asked,
her voice rough.

   "I mean I only meant to do it once," he said.  "Honest.  I just wanted
to see a real woman naked ...  just once.  I didn't think I'd ..." His
voice trailed off.

   "Think you'd what?" she asked, automatically.

   "You were so beautiful," he sighed.

   "I was FIFTEEN, Billy!"

   "That didn't matter," he said instantly.  "You looked grown up to me. 
You were better than any Playboy I'd ever seen."

   There were a multitude of thoughts that assailed Erica's brain, about
then.  One of them wiggled its way to the surface and claimed first shot.
It wasn't the one that would have done that if she'd had time to think.

   "I thought you said you couldn't get a Playboy," she accused.

   "I SAW them," he said.  "But only briefly, when one of my friends got
one and we looked at it.  I couldn't really stare at it ...  you know
really SEE."

   The next thought that claimed prominence was about just what, exactly,
he'd seen.

   "What, exactly, did you see?" she asked.

   "Everything," he sighed.

   That didn't really satisfy her.

   "You saw this ...  everything ...  just one time?"

   He was silent again for a while.

   "No.  I peeked again."

   "How many times?" her voice had a dangerous edge to it now.

   "You WANTED me to tell you this!" he said.

   "How many times, Billy?" she insisted.

   "I don't know," he tried.

   "HOW MANY TIMES?" she yelled.

   "EVERY NIGHT UNTIL OUR FOLKS DIED!" he yelled back.

   There was a shocked silence in the room.  He had watched her ... 
through a tiny hole ...  for years!

   "I was addicted," he moaned.  "I couldn't believe how beautiful you
were. You danced and sang sometimes.  I didn't only watch you when you were
naked, like after a shower or something.  I watched you any time I could,
because you were my ideal woman.  Other girls paled by comparison.  I
couldn't HELP it, Erica!"

   She realized her hand was still on his skin.  She tensed, to take it
away, but the pain in his admission stayed her hand.  She had insisted,
after all.  She felt disgusted.  Then she felt betrayed.  His skin felt hot
under her hand, and she imagined it burning.  She jerked her hand away
then, horrified that she could think of that at this moment, as if she was
making the napalm into some kind of punishment for what he'd done.

   "Please don't hate me," his voice pled.

   Her hand slapped back down onto his chest, a few inches from where it
had been.  He grunted and she knew she had caused him pain.  Her little
finger was across the line that the body on top of him had made, when it
took the brunt of the napalm that had not burned his right side.  That
skin, under her little finger, was smooth and soft.  The skin under the
rest of her hand was bumpy, lined, hard, almost plastic feeling.  She
shuddered.

   "Please," he begged.  "I couldn't help it.  You were so beautiful.  I
loved you and I hated myself for peeking, but I couldn't not do it."

   Disgust and betrayal gave way to another emotion that threatened to make
her puke.

   "Did you ever let any of your little friends peek?" she asked, her voice
raspy with emotion.

   "No!" He sounded genuinely horrified at the thought.  "I could never
have done that!  I loved you.  I adored you.  Even on the worst day I knew
I'd get to look at you, even if it was only a glimpse, and everything would
be better.  You were pure and sweet.  I hated myself for doing what I did,
but I had to do it.  I think I would have gone crazy if I'd have had to
stop."

   "You did stop," she pointed out.  "When you joined the Army."

   "I bought every dirty magazine I could get my hands on," he said softly.
"I tried beating off to those pictures.  They were OK, but I always thought
of ...." He stopped.

   Erica's mind whirled as she finally got it.

   "Me?" she whispered.

   "I didn't mean to say that," he said.

   "You masturbated while you peeked at me?" Her voice quavered.

   "You were so beautiful," he whined.

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

   Chapter Nine

   Erica lay in bed.  She wasn't sleepy and, for once, she wasn't horny. 
She had gotten up and just left her brother.  His last word: "Please" rang
in her head.

   Her mind had calmed, while she lay there, unable to sleep, still in her
robe.  Her anger had faded to a dull ache that, while she didn't realize
it, was associated with her general wish that things hadn't happened the
way they had.

   It wasn't just her brother.  She wished her parents hadn't died.  She
wished Billy - Will, she reminded herself - hadn't been disfigured.  She
wished she had been able to make it work in Chicago.  For all her
high-minded ideals, she had little to show for them.  Her father had helped
her with all the projects she had won ribbons for.  Men had helped her
learn the skills to teach.

   The thing that seemed to shout her defeat, as a woman, was that her own
little brother had thought sexual things as he spied on her.  But she was
also acutely aware that he wasn't proud of what he'd done.  He didn't boast
about it or make fun of her.  The pain in his voice had had nothing to do
with his broken body.  He knew he had hurt her by admitting the truth.

   Why had he done that?  She thought about that for a while.  He hadn't
had to admit that.  He had risked, at least as far as HE was concerned,
being thrown out of her house.  That was ridiculous.  It wasn't HER house.
It was THEIR house.  They were family.  They were all that were left of the
Bradfords.

   Her mind jarred to a stop.  That was true!  All their other relatives
were from her mother's side.  When Will died ...  there would be no more
men ...  or women ...  who called themselves by that name.

   Now she glimpsed the pain and longing she had heard when he talked about
that too.  It wasn't that strong in her, but she began to understand it. 
He had lost everything when the war had taken his body.  He had life left,
but nothing to look forward to.  Not in terms of children ...  and carrying
on the family name.

   She realized, for the first time, that his physical injury was the least
of his problems.  Without dreams ...  plans ...  how could any human being,
man OR woman, look forward to life?  She had walked out on him ...  left
him there alone.

   She got up without thinking.  The lights were off, but she didn't need
them.  She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, and the glowing dial
with the short hand just past the three and the long hand at the five.  It
didn't matter.  She had to do this now.  She could never sleep if she
didn't.

   She went to his room and opened the door, not trying to be quiet.

   "Will?" she said, her voice almost at a normal pitch.

   "Yes?" He was still awake too.  His voice sounded dull.

   She went to the bed and sat down on the edge again.  He was under the
covers now, but his head and shoulders were above them.  She leaned, to
place one hand on the smooth, soft skin of his right shoulder, and the
other on the hard ruined skin of his left.  She put her face right in front
of his, and in her mind's eye she saw the line that separated the two
halves of his face.

   "I love you," she whispered.  "We're family.  That's all that matters."

   His sob almost broke her heart and she hugged him.  Her face came down
on the ruined neck, but she didn't recoil.  That was part of him too, now.
The ruined lump that had been his left ear was still his left ear and she
kissed it.  Then she turned his head and kissed his good cheek as his
relief found exit from his body through sobs.

   "I'll try to stop," he moaned, as his right hand came to her hair and
stroked it.

   "You don't have to," she said.  "It's OK.  It's not hurting anything."

   She had to hold him for fifteen more minutes before he could stop
crying. Then, and only then, did she feel like she could go back to her
room.

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

   When you enter a phase where you examine your life and reevaluate your
goals, there can be a number of outcomes.  You can decide that you've been
a failure, and that it's no use trying any longer.  You can decide that you
haven't done as well as you wished, and try harder.  You can decide that
things haven't gone like you wanted them to, and alter your goals, to see
if new ones might be reachable.  You can decide that it's someone else's
fault that you aren't where you wanted to be.  You can celebrate your
successes, and ignore your failures.  There are many other possible
outcomes, but you get the idea.  It's complicated.

   It is the complicated nature of human beings, though, that makes them so
interesting.  Any given wild animal can be watched, and very little happens
that will surprise the experienced observer.  But no matter how long you
study humans, you never quite know what to expect.

   For Erica Bradford, as she went to school the next day, it was as if her
life was a box that had been turned upside down and shaken.  It still had
all the parts and pieces in it ...  they were just rearranged a bit. 
Thankfully, nothing had been broken, though some things were a little the
worse for the wear.

   Though it didn't show on the surface - not right away, at least - there
had been changes in the way she thought about things.  Her brother was an
example.  After leaving him, and knowing that he was no longer afraid, she
had more or less decided that if she loved him - and she did - then she
would just accept him as he was.  That meant she didn't have to worry about
what he did in his dark room any more.  It didn't matter what he did.  She
loved him.  Period.

   Not worrying about something frees the soul, somehow.  That part DID
show as Erica walked into the school.  There was a smile on her face, and
when a teacher nodded at her, she said "Good morning, George." It was a
simple thing, really, but it was a simple thing George Turner had never
seen this woman do before.  She didn't flirt, or look back at him, as men
sometimes hope a beautiful woman will do, and he instinctively understood
she was just being friendly.  His image of this woman underwent a subtle
shift from "Ice queen bitch, with a cob stuck up her ass" to ...  well
something a little softer.

   That improved attitude interested her students as well, which led them
to actually listen to her, at least for a few more sentences than they
usually did.

   When she sat down next to Ted Brandywine at lunch, he still stiffened.
Then, trying to be polite, he said "I saw Bobby, the other day.  He said
something about your brother coming to live with you."

   "Yes," said Erica.  "It's sad, really, but we're going to try to make it
better."

   "Sad?" Ted looked confused.

   "About his physical condition," said Erica.

   "I'm sorry," said Ted, regretting saying anything at all.  "Bobby didn't
say anything about there being anything wrong."

   "Oh," said Erica, her eyebrows rising.  "He was badly injured in the
war. Very badly."

   "That's too bad," said Ted.  "Do you need anything ...  any help, I
mean?" He almost groaned.  Offering to help this woman was an invitation
for a lecture on how women didn't need a man to make things work.

   "Bobby's building us a wheelchair ramp," said Erica, looking at her
plate like she was trying to figure out what the food items actually were.
"I think we'll be OK after that.  I need to think of some way to give him
something to do, though.  Right now he's just sitting at home.  I'd be
bored to death."

   "Yeah," said Ted, amazed that she was acting just like anybody else. 
"I'll think about that," he hazarded.

   "Good," she said.  "By the way, thanks for talking to Bobby about the
sets.  He's been very helpful."

   "You're welcome," said Ted weakly.  He'd watched the Twilight Zone on TV
just last night, and was wondering if maybe he had entered it.

   That feeling persisted as lunch continued without a single lecture.

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

   Erica's thoughts about Bobby Dalton were not quite as cut and dried as
they were when it came to her brother.  Bobby was NOT her brother, and she
didn't love him.  He was a problem, in so far as he plagued her dreams, and
she couldn't get him out of her mind when she lay down in bed.  Well,
except for last night, anyway.  It hadn't been a problem then.

   So when, after school, she saw him in the auditorium, already working
with two girls on one of the double sided sets, her feelings were somewhat
complicated.  Part of what complicated them was that there were four boys
there too.  But they were watching, while the girls wielded hammers.  Bobby
wasn't doing the work.  He was supervising the girls.  As she approached,
she saw that Melody Murcheson was trying to pound a nail, but it kept
bending.  Bobby patiently showed her now to use the claws on the hammer to
straighten it, and then told her why the nail was bending, and how to hit
it so it wouldn't bend.

   "I can't do this," Melody complained.

   "Sure you can," said Bobby.  "Look at Carla.  She's doing fine."

   Melody frowned and then tried again.  The nail went home firmly.

   "I did it!" she said excitedly.

   "Now do five more," said Bobby, pulling a pencil from his pocket. 
"Right here ..." He drew an X on the wood.  "And here ...  and here ..." He
drew four more Xs.

   "OK," said Melody happily.

   Bobby turned around and saw Erica.

   "If you don't need me here, I'm almost done with the ramp.  I might be
able to get it done tonight."

   With a peculiar feeling, Erica said: "There's no hurry.  I don't know
where I'd take him anyway."

   Bobby looked surprised, but not for long.

   "I have an idea about that too ...  if you're interested."

   She waited for him to go on.

   "I have a friend, also in a wheelchair, not quite as bad as Will, but
similar.  I thought the two of them might have enough in common to ...  I
don't know ...  socialize, I guess?"

   "And what am I supposed to do while they ...  socialize?" she asked.

   "Jake is married," said Bobby.  "Tilly, his wife, is about your age. 
She's a nice woman, and you need to get out and meet people anyway."

   "And why is that?" she asked archly.

   "Because nobody I mention you to knows you," he said.  "And Will needs
to get out too.  If he's going to live here, he needs to know folks."

   "He's not going to want to meet people, Bobby.  You know that."

   "People are going to find out about him sooner or later," said Bobby. 
"Sure, they'll be all weird when they first meet him, but they'll get used
to it eventually.  He can't just hide in the house for the rest of his
life."

   "I'll talk to him about it," said Erica.

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

   Nashville, Tennessee is just like any other town a week into December.
There were decorations up everywhere, and Christmas music playing. 
Commerce flew along as people shopped for just the right presents. 
Everybody was excited.

   Everybody, that is, except one up and coming music star.

   Misty Compton sat on the toilet, staring at the shower curtain.  She
didn't know what to do.  She was officially two weeks late.  Late wasn't
the right word any more, really.  She had skipped a period.  She stared at
the packet of pills in her hand.  She'd taken them religiously, had started
them as soon as Bobby had said he'd come to Nashville for the awards
ceremony.

   She couldn't be pregnant.  She was on the pill!

   She didn't need this.  If she was pregnant, her mother would be furious
with her.  People would talk.  They might quit coming to hear her sing. 
And this was on top of that damn reporter, who had actually BOUGHT the
seating chart for the awards banquet from the organizers.  They'd sold it
for three thousand dollars!

   And on that seating chart were the words "Bobby Dalton" ...  right next
to the words "Misty Compton".

   It had splashed on the news, but as far as she could tell, only the TV
stations in Nashville had carried it.  It was only interesting on a
regional basis.  Part of her wanted to feel proud that anybody would even
care, much less pay three thousand dollars to find out who he was.

   She sighed.  That was the good part.  They had his name, but they didn't
know where he came from.  She had weathered the initial storm when his name
broke.  Her answer to every shouted "Who is Bobby Dalton?" had been "Just a
friend, thank you." Eventually they had lost interest.

   That might change when her belly started to swell.

   If she was actually pregnant.

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

   December in the Bradford residence was a more sedate kind of existence.
The ramp had been finished, but Erica still hadn't taken Will anywhere.  He
said he wasn't bored, though she knew he was just watching soap operas on
TV, which would have driven her insane.

   He had asked for a card table, and a jigsaw puzzle.  The first one she
got him was five hundred pieces, and he put it together while she was at
school one day.  She got him a thousand piece puzzle next.  That one took
him a couple of days, but he said he wasn't pushing it.

   Tonight she intended to shake up his world.  She had mentioned his
interest in puzzles in the teacher's lounge, and Shirley Henderson had said
she had a whole stack of them left over from when she and her husband had
been heavily into doing them.  Shirley said Erica was welcome to them. 
Four of them turned out to be five thousand piece puzzles.  Not only that,
they were hard ones.  There were two seascapes, with sailboats in them,
which were hard enough, at least as far as Erica was concerned.  But the
one of a table covered in gold coins was the one that got her excited. 
That one and another table piled high with various kinds and colors of dice
cubes.  They both looked completely impossible to Erica.  She knew that
Will would be intrigued.

   She waited until after dinner to show him.

   "Wow!" he said, looking at the boxes.  "This is incredible."

   "Do you like them?" she asked anxiously.  "I mean they look really hard
to me."

   "They're perfect," he said.  "At last, a real challenge."

   "Ohhhh good," sighed Erica.  "I so wanted you to be happy."

   He twisted in his chair, to look at her.

   "You've always made me happy," he said.  "I can't believe how lucky I
am."

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

   Later, after they had worked on the first puzzle together, spending two
hours and only just getting the border done, as she lay in bed, those words
came back to Erica.  She marveled that Will could consider himself lucky in
any way.  If that had happened to her, she'd just give up and die.  She
knew that ...  could feel it in her bones.  But he was adapting ... 
finding joy in life wherever he could.

   She closed her eyes.  She was used to what would happen now.  That was
another thing that had subtly altered inside her after her long night of
epiphany a few weeks ago.  She had fought the feelings as her body betrayed
her.  And she had fought the image of Bobby Dalton in her mind, in the
dark, as her hands sought her nipples, and between her legs.  After
adjusting to her brother's nocturnal ...  relaxation ...  she had also
decided to stop worrying about her own desires.  It didn't do any good
anyway.  As hard as she tried, she still got horny, and as hard as she
tried, she still couldn't keep that bare glistening chest from her mind. 
He would never know she thought about him ...  so what was the harm?

   And, as she stopped feeling guilty about it ...  she began to enjoy it.

   Now, as she had done for over a week, she just enjoyed the buildup,
knowing that in a few minutes, the streaks of pleasure would suffuse her
body, and she'd be able to go to sleep.

   It was a good orgasm, at least as far as she was concerned.  She felt
good ...  relaxed ...  comfortable.

   Her thoughts went to Will.  She could imagine him peering through a tiny
hole in the wall, his hand moving at his groin, and it didn't make her mad
any more.  Knowing he had done that for years, and that he had never let
on, and she had never had the slightest inkling, made it all seem surreal
to her.

   She wondered if his release tonight had been as good as hers.  She hoped
so.  He deserved that.  She lay on top of her bed, her robe open and legs
still spread, and her fingers idly stroked her labia.  She stared at the
wall that separated her from her brother.

   Suddenly, her eyes opened wide and she froze.  What if he'd done it
again?

   She peered at the wall, which had a complicated patterned wallpaper on
it.  There could be a hole there, and she'd never know it.  She got up and
went to the wall.  Then, tying her robe around her, she padded barefoot to
his room.  She knocked, this time, and then opened the door.  He was still
in his clothes, lying back on the bed and reading, one handed.  He looked
over at her with a question on the right side of his face.

   She stopped, feeling suddenly foolish.

   "What?" he asked.

   "Nothing," she said.

   "Come on," he said, putting the book down.

   "It's stupid," she said.  "I feel stupid."

   "Why?" he asked.

   He'd told her his secret.  He'd exposed his soft, white underbelly to
her and she could have ripped it open.

   "I suddenly got scared that you'd drilled another hole in the wall," she
said, flushing dark red.

   "That's not stupid," he said.

   She blinked.

   "Sure it is," she said.

   "Not at all," he said.  "I wish I'd thought of that."

   "WILL!" she gasped.

   Now the right corner of his mouth went up.

   "You're still beautiful, Sis.  Even more now than you were then."

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

   Erica Bradford had heard men tell her she was beautiful before.  When
that had happened in the past, she had heard something in their voices ...
something that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.  There was
a quality to those men's voices that had sounded greedy somehow, an oily
kind of tone that made her feel like she needed to take a shower.  Part of
it may have been their eyes, which were invariably fastened on her chest.
She remembered that tone well.  It was the tone of pure lust.  She
remembered only too well how that had made her feel.

   What shocked her now, was the fact that that tone was completely absent
from Will's voice.  And his eyes were on her face ...  not her breasts.  It
wasn't the hairs on the back of her neck that stood up now.

   It was the nipples under her robe.

   "You really mean that," she said, with awe in her voice.

   His smile disappeared.

   "I'm sorry," he said.  "That was crude."

   "No it wasn't," she said, feeling excitement in her gut.  "You meant
that as a real compliment."

   "Well sure," he said, sounding very tentative.

   Erica had another epiphany, at that moment.  That Will felt some kind of
desire for her was clear.  She had adjusted to that already.  She had
thought it was strange that he'd fix that desire on his sister, instead of
some girl outside the family, but his explanation for that had made sense
too.  He might get a glimpse of her, whereas other girls were beyond his
sight.  But the difference was that he loved her.  It wasn't just lust at
work in his mind.  He cared about her.  He didn't want to just rape her and
then stalk off to find another woman to do the same thing with.

   He had watched her for years ...  soothing his urges with his eye
pressed to a hole in a wall.  He had felt properly bad about it.  She had
forgiven him for it.

   But he still felt the same way.

   Instead of revulsion, she felt something she usually only felt in her
bed, when Bobby Dalton's chest swam into her mind and wouldn't leave. 
Will's face was ruined, not like the handsome face of the man who plagued
her dreams.  But Will loved her.  The surge of emotion she felt made her
knees weak.  She went to the bed and sat down on the edge.

   "Are you OK?" asked Will, concern in his voice.  "You know I won't do
that again ...  don't you?" He shifted to roll toward her.  "I know how
much that hurt you.  You don't have to worry."

   She looked down at the only man she loved ...  truly loved, and the only
man she trusted too.

   "You don't have to," she said softly.

   He misunderstood.

   "I'm trying hard to stop thinking about you," he said.

   "That's not what I meant," she said.  "Have you ...  done that? 
Tonight?"

   He could still blush.

   "No," he said.  "I've been trying not to do it so much."

   "Why?" she asked.  "I know it relaxes you."

   "I know," he said.  "But I also know you don't like it.  You've been
really nice about it, and I love you for that, but I know how you really
feel."

   "Maybe not," she said softly.

   He looked confused.

   "Do you want to do that?" she asked.

   The right side of his face took on a look of anguish.

   "You do, don't you.  It's OK.  I told you it was OK, Will."

   "I know," he moaned.  "But I know how you really feel."

   "I've been thinking about that," she said.  "All those years of you
hiding in that closet, peeking at me and jerking off."

   "I told you I was sorry," he moaned.

   "I know," she said.  "And I believe you.  But it helped you too.  You
didn't go out and attack some poor girl because you were horny.  You just
looked at me.  Isn't that right?"

   He nodded, and a tear ran from his right eye.

   She reached and wiped it away with her left thumb.

   "I told you I wasn't mad, and I'm not," she said.  "Would you think I
was a slut if I let you ...  see me again?"

   "What?" He was clearly confused now.

   "I said you didn't have to drill a hole in the wall," she said.  "I love
you too, and I want you to be as happy as you CAN be," she said.  "I
thought you might want to see me again ...  like you used to."

   "Naked?" His voice was barely a whisper.

   She nodded.

   His right eye went round, and his mouth sagged open until the tight skin
on the left side stopped it.

   "But I don't want you to think I'm a slut," she said, "like those women
in Playboy."

   "You're anything but a slut," said Will.  She could hear his firm belief
in that too.  "But I don't understand.  Why would you do that?"

   "I told you.  I want you to be happy."

   "To be perfectly honest, I can be happy just remembering," he said. 
"You don't have to do that."

   "Do you want to see me or not?" she asked.

   It was quiet for a long time.

   "Yes." Another tear rolled down his right cheek.  She wiped that one
away too.  She stood up.

   "Why don't you get ready, and I'll go comb my hair."

   "Why?" he asked.  "It looks perfect right now."

   She smiled.  "I didn't think you'd want to get undressed in front of
me."

   "You've seen my face," he said.  "The rest of me isn't much worse."

   "OK," she said.

   She didn't know what to do.  She'd never done anything like this in her
entire life.  Part of her mind was screaming at her that this was crazy, as
insane as it was possible to get, and told her to flee.

   She didn't, though, because as he leaned against the bed, and his body
became visible, her belief firmed that if any man deserved a little
happiness in life, it was this one.  His body was so ravaged, and it would
always be ravaged.  He deserved this, even if she was exploiting her own
body to give it to him.

   It turned out he WAS a little shy.  When he got to his underwear he
stopped.

   "I'm ...  um ...  already stiff," he said.

   "I'll take that as a compliment," she said.  She was amazed to find
that, in this situation, it FELT like a compliment.

   "I can't believe this," he sighed, getting onto the bed.

   "Me either," she said.  It caused her to giggle.

   "Have you been drinking?" he asked.

   "No."

   "Cause if you've been drinking, you're not going to like this tomorrow,"
he suggested.

   "You know I don't drink, Will."

   He finally pushed his shorts down.  It was a first for them both.  Other
women had seen his penis, but not like this.  As for Erica, it was the
first she had ever seen at all in real life.  She was immediately amazed
that it looked just like the ones in that terrible movie her girlfriends
had shrieked over.  She had expected it to be different, because he was
different.  She watched as his hand went around it.  It looked like he was
squeezing it.

   She started as she realized he was ready.  As if she was in a dream, she
let her fingers go to the knot on the belt of her robe.  It came undone,
and the robe started to spread.  Her hand automatically pressed to keep it
closed.

   "Ohhhhh." His moan sounded painful to her ears.

   For some reason she closed her eyes, as the fingers holding her robe
closed slid to grasp an edge, and her other hand joined it.  She felt the
cool air flood against the front of her body as she held the robe open. 
Her nipples almost ached and demanded to be squeezed.

   She couldn't do that, but she opened her eyes at his long, drawn out
sigh.  There was so much contentment in that sigh.  He was staring straight
at her breasts.  Then his eyes seemed to bounce up and down, in time with
his hand, as it began to jerk up and down so furiously that she was sure he
must be hurting himself.

   "Ahhhhhhhhh," he groaned.

   She stood there, holding her robe open, feeling somewhat silly at first,
but the sounds he made soon convinced her there was nothing silly going on
in any way, shape, or form.

   "Ohhhh Errrricaaaa," he groaned.

   The fountain of white that leapt from the tip of his penis shocked her.
In that old movie, there had been spurts of something that looked white,
and made drops appear on that woman's abdomen, or back ...  even on her
face.  But THIS was a thick stream that shot into the air, then fell back
to lay like a string across his wrist and part of his stomach.  Then
another string shot up, a little shorter than the first, and suddenly she
couldn't see any more as his good leg pulled up, and the stump of his
amputated leg stuck straight out, almost like some huge and grotesque penis
that had suddenly taken the place of his real one.

   Now the sounds he made sounded piteous and his ragged breath almost
scared her.  She had gone two steps closer, dropping the edges of the robe,
before she realized she was even moving.

   "Will?" she said, concern in her voice.

   His ravaged face lifted.  His eyes were wide open.

   "Are you OK, Honey?"

   "Oh damn," he sighed.  "You have no idea how OK I am."

   Relief flooded her.  His eyes dropped and she realized her breasts were
holding her robe apart.  He licked his lips, which required him to run his
tongue in a circle to cover both good flesh and bad.

   "Thank you," he panted.

   The sudden need inside her was so strong that she barely kept her hand
from darting between her legs.

   "I have to go now!" she said, and realized she was out of breath for
some reason.

   She didn't even make it back to her room.  Instead, leaning against the
wall, she masturbated, the fingers of her right hand flashing between her
thighs, as the fingers of her left hand tortured her nipples.  As she came,
her knees gave way, and her butt slid down the wall, until she was sitting
on the floor, her knees wide open, her fingers extending the pleasure
between her thighs.

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

   Chapter Ten

   The next morning, Erica's feelings were complicated.

   She left for work without looking in on Will.  Some of that was because
of the embarrassment she felt.  What had happened the night before had been
a huge step for her to take, feminist or not.  She thought about it as a
step SHE had taken, even though he was intimately involved.  His position
had already been established, years ago, and she was the one who had done
something out of character with who she thought of herself as being.  Going
to school was a normal part of her routine, and she wanted to feel more ...
normal.

   Another part of it was because a little piece of her wanted to go into
his room and do it again.  She wasn't stupid, even when she tried to reject
obvious facts.  She knew she had enjoyed what had happened and that
bothered her, because she wasn't sure whether it was his pleasure ...  or
hers ...  that made her want to repeat it.  She told herself she had done
something for him ...  because she loved him ...  and because he deserved
what happiness she could provide.

   But she had enjoyed it too, and that shocked her.  The pleasure she had
felt went far beyond "just doing something for Will."

   The routine of classes settled her emotions initially.  Then, at one
point, a boy in her class was staring at her breasts.  That didn't surprise
her.  What surprised her was that she didn't feel the urge to pull him
aside and give him a tongue lashing about objectifying women.  Instead, she
thought of Will.  There hadn't been any feeling that she was being
objectified while he stared at her.  She had perceived only adoration and
appreciation for her femininity.

   She was thinking about that during a break in classes, when it occurred
to her that the women who let men see their pictures in magazines thought
they were doing the same thing.  That she had done it in person, rather
than on a printed page, only made her think of strip clubs, where women
exposed themselves for the lustful gratification of the men watching.  She
was so distracted by this conundrum - that she had behaved like a common
stripper and had not felt objectified - that a girl in her next class had
to raise her hand and ask "Are we going to start class?"

   She remained unsettled until after school let out.  She looked forward
then to the musical practice, because she thought it would take her mind
off of what was bothering her.  That only lasted as long as it took her to
see Bobby Dalton, working with two girls and a boy on fastening sheets of
cardboard to the tree frames they had made.  Bobby's smile, and his easy
banter with the kids, who obviously thought he was "cool," or "boss," or
"groovy," or whatever other word was in vogue, brought about the completely
unexpected and unwelcome image in her mind of her exposing herself to him
too.  She told herself that the only reason that had popped into her head
was because she wondered whether his reaction would be anything like
Will's.

   Then she blushed furiously, chastised herself for losing control of her
thoughts, and threw herself into practice.  The problem was that she kept
finding herself looking for Bobby.  She noticed it when she couldn't see
him and moved until she could.  When she realized she'd done that, it
bothered her a lot.

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

   Attraction between members of the opposite sex (or the same sex for
those of you who are gay or lesbian, for that matter) is something that has
been studied thousands of times, but rarely published.  That's because
nobody really understands it yet.  It defies logic.

   You WILL find articles about how the biological urge causes us to
evaluate others as potential partners.  They say we do it all the time ...
literally.  Every person you meet gets evaluated almost instantly,
according to scientists.  What they can't tell you is how that evaluation
works.

   They know that some potential mates are discarded immediately. 
Sometimes the reason is obvious, but quite often it is not.  What is even
more curious are the ones who are NOT discarded.  When that happens, there
is ...  interest ...  on some level.  For the sake of argument, let's
identify four basic levels.

   1.  "I want you right now!"

   2.  "I want to know LOTS more about you, and I want to start learning it
right now!"

   3.  "I like being around you, but I don't really see you as somebody I'm
going to hop into bed with."

   4.  "Get lost, turkey!"

   There are many more levels of interest, but the odd thing there is that
people don't react to their levels of interest the same way every time they
meet a potential mate.

   Take, for example, a man and woman who are in the same work environment.
Let's say she is attracted to him.  In our hypothetical work environment,
she's not likely to pursue a level one relationship.  Level two is much
more likely, but may be delayed until later, after work.  But have those
same two people meet in a bar instead of at work, with some alcohol thrown
in, and level one becomes the first choice instead of the second.  Same
people ... different processing of interest.

   Why the difference?  Scientists will argue about that for fifty more
years.

   This all matters because another thing the scientists all agree on is
that we start establishing levels of attraction, or our sexual filtering
system, when we enter puberty ...  sometimes even before that.  It all
depends on when certain hormones begin to be produced and start racing
through our bloodstreams.  That's complicated too, and takes many people
almost a decade for the hormones to level out and for that filtering system
to result in a match that they're willing to really go for.  There are lots
of missteps along the way.  We learn from those missteps.  It's really just
part of the maturation process, which is also not understood by scientists.

   What REALLY complicates all this is that you might bump into what could
be level one people dozens of times ...  just not in the right
circumstances.  Maybe you're sick that day, and not paying attention. 
Maybe you're already in another relationship with a level two person who
might make it to level one.  Maybe you have a pet peeve that puts what
would normally be a level one candidate into a level three position.

   Now throw in another concept ...  that we all go around with
semi-invisible signs that sometimes say "I want to be in a level one (or
two) relationship with YOU!"

   As I said, it's complicated.

   Now, if you're wondering why the author went off on a tangent ... 
here's the reason.

   Erica Bradford adopted certain principles when she was in her early teen
years.  They were feminist principles.  As a result, her sorting mechanism
was shoved into a dark corner.  It never developed, because she wasn't
looking for a mate.  In fact, she was actively avoiding potential mates. 
Whenever she felt something that, in another girl, might start a level two
relationship, she didn't understand those feelings of attraction, so she
made it a habit to avoid the boy that caused them.

   She avoided being "objectified" by the boys in high school.  If a boy
looked at her breasts, he was level four.  And, boys being boys ...  they
ALL looked at her breasts.

   In college, she continued that, which was made easier by the simple fact
that she was working on becoming independent of the need for a man to "take
care of her," which to her meant "enslave her." She saw herself as a modern
woman who was going to change the sexist attitudes of the society in which
she was born.

   Which brings us to what we'll call level five in men: "Fuck you, bitch!"

   Erica had been pretty consistently on level five of the men she met when
she left college and began teaching in Chicago.

   So, instead of spending a decade refining her sorting system, Erica
suppressed the feelings her hormones were trying to get her to pay
attention to.  She got virtually no experience at dealing with attraction.
She was basically stuck with only levels three and four of our hypothetical
list.

   But nature is stronger than most of us will admit.  She will be denied
only so long.  Given the slightest crack in armor such as Erica Bradford
had built around her, one of Mother Nature's tendrils will sneak through it
and take root.  No manmade (OK, wo-manmade) armor can withstand that force
of nature.

   Which brings us full circle back to Erica, as she kept sneaking glances
at Bobby Dalton on the stage of the Granger High School auditorium.

   She didn't understand why she was doing that.  She didn't understand why
the image of his naked chest kept coming to her unbidden, in the dark, in
her room.  She didn't understand the tingling in her nipples and the
irresistible urge to masturbate.  She didn't understand why she was so
eager to get back home, where Will was, and where something exciting might
happen when he went to bed that night.  She didn't understand any of the
attractions that were battering at her, because her sorting system had
rusted solid from disuse.

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

   When she got home from school, things only got more confused.  Will was
watching TV, and he acknowledged her arrival, asking how her day had been.
He acted as if nothing had happened, which made Erica's world tilt a
little, and made her feel like she might slide sideways if she didn't
compensate.

   Then, throughout supper, he still didn't bring it up.  She was on pins
and needles, because she was no longer sure how he felt about what had
happened.  She knew how SHE felt.  Though she hadn't analyzed it, she was
the kind of person who made a decision and then just stuck with it.  If
"that" was what she had decided to do ...  it had to be the right thing ...
didn't it?

   But he wasn't looking at her ...  and he wasn't talking about it.  Did
that mean he regretted it?  Did that mean he didn't want to see her again?
It made her jumpy.

   Erica finished the dishes after dinner that night, but only because she
made herself do that.  She was jittery.  She didn't know what to do.  It
was only eight, too soon for bedtime.  But her nipples were torturing her.
She had never needed to rub this early.  Finally she couldn't take it any
longer.

   Will was watching TV again when she walked into the room.

   "We have to talk," she said.

   He looked up.  "I know," he said softly.  "I just didn't know what to
say."

   "Just say whatever you feel," she moaned.  "If you're sorry, then just
say it."

   "I didn't mean to make you mad," he said.  "I really do love you."

   "I'm not mad," she said, confused.  "Why did you think I was mad?"

   "You just ran out," he said.  "Like you couldn't stand to be there
anymore."

   "No!" she yelped.  "That wasn't it!  I had to ..." She couldn't say it
in front of her brother.  She thought that was interesting ...  that she
could show him her body, but couldn't admit she did the same thing she had
just watched him do.  "It wasn't because of what you did."

   She blinked.  That wasn't entirely true.

   "I mean what you did didn't bother me.  I just got excited and ...  um
...  I just had to leave."

   "You're really not pissed off at me?"

   She went to him and got on her knees beside the chair.  Her hand went to
his chest.

   "No, Billy," she said, her face close to his.  "I told you.  I love you.
I'll always love you.  I wasn't mad.  I'm not mad now.  I did that for you.
I did it because you deserve some happiness.  I'll always want to make you
happy."

   His eyes took on a wet look.

   "Does that mean you might ...  do that again someday?" he asked.  There
was a note of longing in his voice that made her want to giggle.

   "I'll do it whenever you want me to," she said.

   "You're kidding!" he gasped.

   "No," she said.

   "Wow."

   "Do you want me to do it again tonight?" she asked.

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

   She told him to go get ready, and that she would do the same.  She
didn't have any experience at being seductive, and didn't know how to go
about that, so she just stripped naked and put on her robe again.  That had
seemed to be OK the night before.

   When she got to his room, his readiness was evident.  He was lying on
top of his bed, naked, and his penis was standing up, though leaning to one
side a little.  He wasn't touching it this time, and she could see it
better than before.  As she walked around the bed, she peered at it, and
took in the full looking sack that was below that long, bumpy looking
thing.

   His eyes followed her, but neither of them said anything.

   For lack of anything else to do, Erica just opened the robe again.  She
had the sudden image in her mind of a man in a trench coat, flashing people
who walked by.  It caused her to open the robe wider and shrug her
shoulders.  The robe slid off her shoulders and down her arms.  She caught
it with one hand, and let it hang.

   She didn't know how to stand.  She had seen models walk and strut, but
of course she'd never practiced something like that.  Just standing there,
though, seemed stilted somehow.

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

   "You don't have to do anything else," he sighed, his eyes drinking her
in.

   "I feel stupid," she said.

   "You're so beautiful," he sighed.  He still hadn't grabbed his penis.

   "Aren't you going to ...  um ...  do it?" she asked.

   "In a minute," he said.  "You have no idea how many times I dreamed
about something like this when I was in the Army."

   "About me?" She felt a little flutter in her belly.

   "Yes," he said.  "Do you remember Beth Gardner from school?"

   "You took her out a few times," said Erica.

   "Yes.  Well we kind of necked a little, and one night she said she'd
jerk me off if I wanted her to.  Of course I said yes.  She wouldn't take
her top off, though.  As she did it, I laid my head back on the seat of the
car and closed my eyes.  It was like I was peeking at you.  You were there,
in the car with me."

   Erica's nipples screamed for attention.  Her left hand had the robe
still hanging from it, and her right hand came up without conscious thought
to squeeze her right nipple.  The explosion of sweet shooting jets of joy
made her drop the robe so she could squeeze the other one too.  Then she
realized what she was doing, right in front of her brother, and dropped her
hands back to her sides.

   "Don't stop!" he gasped, reaching for his prick, finally.

   She blushed.  "But it's nasty."

   "I could never think of any girl but you," he panted.  "On all those
dates, I kept thinking of you.  I liked the girls, sometimes, but even then
you were still in my head.  In the hospital ...  when the nurses did this
for me..." His hand started pumping.  "I thought about you."

   Her hands came back up.  She couldn't stop them, but at least she could
keep from squeezing her nipples right in front of him.  She rubbed her
hands across her breasts, mashing them and moving the heavy globes around
on her chest.

   "Yes," he hissed.  "Do that some more."

   "Why?" she cried.

   "Because I always wanted to touch them," he moaned.

   "That's horrible, Billy," she squealed.

   "I know," he wailed.  "I couldn't help it." His hand whipped now, so
fast she just knew it had to hurt.  "I couldn't help this either!" he
gasped.

   Again she saw the long ropes of white sperm arching into the air.  His
hand was still moving at a blur, though, and these ropes went everywhere,
getting on his chest and thighs, and the bed itself.  His right arm
sparkled with droplets of white as he groaned.  He didn't curl up this
time. Instead his hips lifted up off the bed a little and he grunted.  His
hand suddenly stopped, down low, with the head of his penis exposed, and a
shot of white popped out of it.  Then his hand went up and came back down
to stop again, and another lump of white jetted into the air.  He did that
three more times, each time lifting his hips to meet his hand as it came
down and froze.  He huffed a grunt each time too, as if his voice could
summon the white stuff from inside his body.

   Erica abandoned her own rubbing and her fingers pinched and pulled at
her stiff nipples.  She pulled her breasts apart, as if she were trying to
split her body in half, and pinched harder as her breasts tried to snap
back together.  She'd never had an orgasm before without touching between
her legs and, to be honest, this feeling, if it even WAS an orgasm, wasn't
as intense.  But it was exquisite, and it made her pussy cramp.  She felt a
flood of heat in her vaginal canal and knew she was getting wet.  Her body
had betrayed her that way before, producing slippery fluids as she
shamefully rubbed.  It had never been like this, though.  She felt a line
run down her inner thigh as the fluid dripped out of her.

   She stood there in shock, as she realized she had had an orgasm right in
front of her brother.

   "Ohhhh, Erica," he panted.  "That was so good."

   Her feelings intensified as she realized he didn't think badly of her
for having her own sexual pleasure.  Her world tilted a little further as
she rationalized that all she had done was the same thing he had.  The
intense flush on her face and upper chest began to fade.  She realized she
was still pulling at her nipples, and released them.  Her breasts bounded
back together, bouncing off of each other and then reassuming their firm,
thrusting appearance.  She looked down to see her nipples were almost
purple, instead of their normal pink.  They were extended almost an inch.
They didn't itch anymore, though, and she sighed with relief.

   "Thank you, Sis," he sighed.  "I really needed that."

   She almost said "I did too," but kept that inside.  "I'm glad," she said
instead.  Her eyes went to his semen.  It was everywhere.  "You're all
messy," she said.  "Stay right there.  I'll get a washcloth."

   She completely missed the irony of telling him to remain where he was,
when it was a major effort for him to go almost anywhere.  It wasn't until
she was actually in the bathroom, running the water to get it warm, that
she realized she'd left her robe on the floor in his room, and was running
around naked.  It felt completely abnormal, but there wasn't anything she
could do about it.  She felt the wetness between her legs and used the
washcloth to wipe at that first.  Then she got it wet and wrung it out
several times, delaying walking back into his room naked.  She dabbed
between her legs again, pressing hard to wipe herself clean, and then had
to rinse out the washcloth yet again.  Ten minutes had gone by before she
went back to him.

   He was, of course, still lying there, with his eyes closed, looking
relaxed.  He looked so peaceful that, when he opened his eyes and reached
for the cloth in her hand, she shook her head.

   "You just lie there and relax.  I'll do it."

   She was immediately sorry she'd said it, as she looked at the drops and
stripes of white on his body and realized she might have to touch it.  She
clamped down on her emotions, though, and used the warm cloth to swab at
the spots.  She lifted his hand and held it up while she cleaned his arm.
Some of what was on his hand got on her fingers, but she ignored that,
initially.  When his arm and hand were clean, she used the cloth on those
fingers.  Then she did his abdomen, sweeping the cloth toward his penis,
which lay there, shriveled and short, just a brown lump of tubular flesh
now.  She went around that to do his legs.  She looked at the stump of his
left leg, for the first time, really.  It had been amputated just below the
knee.  The skin on the end was smooth and pink, which looked odd because it
changed to that flaming red lumpy looking thick appearance on the outside.
The napalm had only burned the outside of that leg.  He had lost it because
of the shrapnel.

   She dabbed at the bedspread, but it seemed to smear more than clean. 
Finally, she looked at his groin.  The stuff was in the brown hair that
spouted from the base of his penis, and partially covered his testicles. 
It was her first close-up look at a man's sexual organ.  Shame made her
want to look away, but curiosity was stronger.

   At first, she just tried to swab all over that area, like she had rubbed
her palms over her own breasts, earlier.  His throat issued something
between a moan and a choke.

   "Am I hurting you?" she asked anxiously.

   "No," he sighed.  "I just can't believe you're touching it."

   "Do you want me to stop?" she asked, not sure how to interpret what he'd
just said.

   "In about ten years," he sighed again.

   "Billy!" she yipped, as she finally realized he WANTED her to touch it.

   "I can't help it," he whined.

   "You can't help anything, it seems," she chided gently.

   "It just feels so good," he said.

   "This?" she asked, rubbing the cloth all over his groin.

   "Yes!" he groaned.

   She realized, suddenly, that his penis looked more substantial somehow.
It was longer than it had been when she'd started, and less wrinkled
looking.  With a start she realized it was actually getting hard again ...
right in front of her eyes!

   She spread out the cloth out on his right thigh and put her hand flat on
it.  Then she tried to move the whole thing, so that the cloth would remain
between her hand and his penis, which, for some reason, she wanted to see
what felt like ...  with the cloth between her skin and his, of course.

   The cloth moved up his thigh to his balls, and bunched there.  Before
she knew it, her hand slid off the cloth and was lying on the bottom of his
penis.  Her first impression was shock at how warm it felt.

   "Ohhhhh fuck," he groaned.

   She sensed the approval in his voice, even though the word was vulgar
and suggested something else.  Instead of jerking her hand away, she let it
lie there.

   "Is this OK?" she asked, wanting more information.

   "Please don't stop," he answered.

   "This is SO wrong," she moaned as her traitorous fingers bent, to wrap
around the half hard thing.

   "I don't care," he panted.  "Please don't stop, Erica."

   "I can't believe I'm doing this!" she said, mostly to herself as she
felt it get even harder in her hand.  It was soft in a way that wasn't like
anything else she'd ever felt.  It had the consistency of very firm
gelatin, but wouldn't break apart like that.  Her hand squeezed, and she
remembered him squeezing it.  The sound he made was exactly like the sound
he'd made when his hand did this.

   Soon it wasn't soft any more.  Not on the inside.  Her hand just
naturally slid up and down the column, just as his had.

   "Ohhhh yesssss," he hissed.  "You don't know how good that feels, Sis."

   He was right.  She didn't know how good it felt.  But he was telling
her, and the appreciation in his voice spurred her on.  It had looked so
easy when he did it, but it wasn't easy for her at all.  Moving her hand in
that way used her muscles in ways she'd never used them before.  Her palm
seemed to catch at the tight skin and drag.  She stopped to get it wet with
the washcloth again, and her hand slid more smoothly on it then.

   "Oh thank you," he whispered, beginning to pant.

   "You're welcome," she said automatically, frowning at the thing in her
hand.  She'd been doing this for what seemed like ten or fifteen minutes,
but it wasn't spurting for her, like it spurted for him.

   "What's wrong?" she asked.

   "Nothing," he panted.

   "It's not spurting," she complained.  She was doing this to make him
happy, but obviously she wasn't doing it right.

   "It has to be done just right," he gasped.  "But what you're doing feels
soooo good."

   She went on, but her hand got tired, and the muscles in her forearm did
too.  She finally had to stop.

   "You'll have to do it," she said sadly.  "It's not working."

   His hand came to his penis and began stroking.

   "Stand up," he said.  She had been kneeling beside the bed.

   She did and his eyes roamed over her breasts.

   "They're so beautiful," he panted.  She knew he was talking about her
breasts.

   "I hate them," she said.

   "Why?" he cried.  "They're so perfect!"

   "They're huge," she said.  "Men stare at them."

   "Of course they do," he said, his hand slowing a little.

   "Why?" she asked.  "You obviously love them.  Why is that?"

   "I don't know," he panted.  "I can't really explain it.  I just love
looking at them.  They look so soft.  One time I almost asked you to teach
me to dance, just so I could feel them against me."

   "That's silly," she said.

   "Maybe," he panted.  "But looking at them always makes me want to do
this.  I'm sorry, but I just love looking at them."

   "You're different," she said, confused in her mind because that was
true. She didn't feel the revulsion when her brother looked at them.  He
was doing it right now, and all it made her feel like was squeezing her
nipples again.

   "You liked it when I did this," she said, bringing her fingers to her
nipples, which had faded back to just largish bumps on the tips of her
breast flesh, "didn't you." She pulled at her nipples.

   "Yessss," he hissed.

   "I don't understand that," she moaned, pulling harder.  She knew that if
she kept doing this she'd have another orgasm in front of her brother.

   "I don't either," he said.  "I've always wanted to touch them.  Maybe
that's it.  Maybe seeing you do it is almost like me doing it."

   He was flushed now, at least the normal part of his face.  The other
half ...  the mask, as she thought of it ...  was always dark red.

   "I'm gonna cum!" he gasped.

   She would never know why she did it.  It didn't make any sense at all to
lean over and dangle her breast above his flashing hand.  And it made even
less sense, when his hand went down and stayed there, to lower the tip of
her body to touch the tip of his.  The result, however, was something that
would change her life forever.

   His hot semen gushed forth and inundated the nipple she had just been
squeezing.  The heat of that transfer ...  from inside his balls to coating
her nipple ...  was like an electric shock to her whole body.  In later
years she would learn that any time she wanted to have an orgasm, all she
had to do was squeeze and torture her nipples.  She had some inkling of
that now, and this feeling was very similar to it.  Her fingers came back
to her breast and she held it, manipulating the nipple, rubbing it over the
tip of his penis as it spurted again.  His hand came up, hit her flesh and
flashed back down, making another spurt come out.  Instinctively, she
switched breasts, and let him paint her other nipple too.  Then, mindless
of what her fingers were touching, she stood back up and tried to squeeze
her nipples.

   The slippery coating defied her grasping fingertips, and reduced them to
what amounted to masturbating the long stiff tips.  The orgasm that
produced ripped a groan from her throat, and her knees went so weak that
she had to sit on the edge of the bed or fall down.  She felt his arm move
against her back, and a stripe of heat landed on her skin.  What, if she'd
have had time to think about it, would have been disgusting, now seemed
like a caress his body delivered to her.

   There was just that one stripe on her back, before his balls were empty,
but she sat, trying to squeeze her nipples, extending the explosion of
pleasure that was somehow mysteriously connected to the sexual opening
between her legs.  Her right hand fell and her legs opened to let her long
middle finger plunge into her body before she even knew what she was doing.
A tiny part of her brain screamed at her to stop doing this in front of
him, but her back was to him and she pretended his eyes were closed as
well, as she finished herself off with a finger that was slippery from much
more than her own juices.

   She would have fled again, except that she was just too weak to move.

   Eventually she tried to apologize.  His objections were vociferous.

   "You want me to feel good," he said.  "I want you to feel good too!"

   Like a fourteen year old virgin on her first date where a boy got his
hand in her pants, Erica Bradford let her brother talk her into believing
that nothing wrong had happened.

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

   That night established a pattern in the lives of the Bradford siblings.
There was almost an assumption that this would become the bedtime routine
in the house.

   For the next five days Erica went to school feeling like someone should
be able to just look at her and know what she was doing at home, at night,
with her brother.  And each day, no one noticed a thing and she relaxed. 
Then, after school, she saw Bobby, and her sorting mechanism started
yelling to her unconscious brain that he was a level one.  He was always
smiling, always friendly to the kids and to her.  Once in a very long while
his eyes dipped to take in the thrust of her breasts, but they never
lingered long.

   Her nipples stiffened each time that happened, and at other times that
didn't make any sense to her.  Once, when he was bent over, picking up a
board, her view of the tight jeans stretched over his backside brought
stabs of "Squeeeeze me!" from the tips of her breasts.  She thought it was
insane.

   She was always eager to get home after play practice.  Twice she
masturbated Will before supper, unable to wait to find release as she tried
to learn how to make him spurt.  That specialized skill eluded her, though,
and he always had to finish it himself.  He didn't care.  He'd tell her
when he was coming, and she'd put her nipples where his slick offering
would cover them.  Then she masturbated too.  By the third day, she no
longer cared if he saw her sliding one of her spermy fingers into her sex.

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

   Chapter Eleven

   The second Friday in December was the last day of school until after the
Christmas vacation.  The kids would not return until the third of January.
It was stressful for Erica, because the performances were scheduled for the
third week in January and the sets were not done yet.  The ones that were
finished were so beautiful they made her heart ache.  Tabitha Jenkins had
become the de facto supervisor of the finishing of the artwork on the sets.
Not only did she draw out the scenes on the flats, and number them for
painting, she taught other kids how to do the painting itself, blending
things together, where needed, to achieve one effect, and other techniques
that brought the flats to breathtaking life, at least to Erica's eyes.

   Another problem was that the kids knew their lines, for the most part,
but most of them delivered them in a flat, emotionless way that made it
obvious that some memorized speech was being given.  Erica had no idea how
to get the emotion that was needed out of the kids, and was also afraid
they'd forget what they DID know over the break.

   As a result, she was a bundle of nerves when she talked to Bobby that
night.  She shared her concerns with him and almost got angry when he said
"It will all work out." What stopped her rage was what he said next. 
"You're doing a fantastic job.  I know you'll pull it all together."

   "How?" she moaned.  "Only five frames are done.  There are two whole
sets left to build!"

   "I've got time," he said.  "You and I could build one tomorrow."

   "But all four sides have to be painted," she objected.  "And when the
kids come back, we need them to be working on roles, not sets."

   "We've got more than two weeks left before the kids come back," he said.
"We can get it done in that time."

   "Really?" She felt hope.

   "Sure," he said.  "With Granger's number one women's libber and number
one handyman working together, we can do anything."

   Ordinarily, Erica would have bristled at the slang name he had called
her, but her relief at wanting to believe him kept her mouth closed.

   "OK," she said.  "Do you really have the time?" she asked.

   "I've got enough time to do this," he said, sweeping his arm around. 
"We can work a little faster without the kids being here," he said. 
"Explaining things to them, and correcting their mistakes takes a lot of
time.  To be honest I'd rather do it myself than supervise them, but that's
what you wanted, so that's what I've been doing."

   "You know what you just did, don't you?" she asked, her ingrained
feminist beliefs surging to the surface.  "You just said that only a man
can do something the right way."

   "Not even close," he argued.  "What I said is that I can do it faster.
They've done a great job on this stuff.  It just took longer, that's all."

   "But you think you can do it better," she insisted.

   "Yes," he said.  "But isn't that just the truth?  I have more experience
than these kids.  My skills are better developed.  Put me in a room of some
men ...  and about half a dozen women I can think of ...  and I wouldn't be
able to say that anymore."

   Erica hated it when he won an argument like this.  And she knew he had
just won the argument.  She couldn't deny his reasoning.  And he'd even
included women in his list of people who were just as good at this kind of
thing as he was.

   "How's Will doing?" he suddenly asked, breaking her train of thought.

   "Wonderful," she said.

   "Really?" He looked surprised.

   "He's adjusting very well," she said carefully.

   "Did you talk to him about meeting Jake?"

   "Not yet," she said.  "It's only been a couple of weeks."

   "I mentioned it to Jake and Tilly, and they'd be thrilled to have you
guys over during the holidays."

   "I'll talk to him tonight," she said, more to get him off her case than
really meaning it.

   "Great," he said.  "You can tell me what he thinks tomorrow, and I can
take you over to meet them during a break."

   She sighed, realizing he'd painted her into another corner.

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

   That night, as Erica lovingly stroked her brother's stiff penis, she
thought of Bobby.  That reminded her of his offer.

   "Bobby said to say hi," she said.

   If Will thought that was an odd thing for a woman to say while she was
masturbating her brother, he didn't say so.

   "He wants to introduce you to another disabled man."

   "Why?" asked her brother.

   Their masturbatory session, this night, was a bit more relaxed.  The
frantic urge to reach a climax wasn't there, and both of them were just
enjoying being naked together and the touching that was going on.

   "This man is in a wheelchair too," she said.  "Bobby thinks that the two
of you could be friends."

   "Is he a vet?" asked Will.

   "Bobby didn't say," she said.

   "I don't know," said Will doubtfully.  "You know how people look at me."

   "I know how they look at me too," she said, abandoning his penis and
standing to dangle her breasts over his face.  "I have to put up with it,
and you can't hide in this house forever."

   His hand came up and caressed the side of her breast.  It was the first
time he'd ever touched her, and she froze.

   "So beautiful," he whispered.  "They make me wish I was a baby, and you
were my mommy."

   Her mind jangled and she stood back up.

   "Pay attention here," she said, putting her hands on her hips.

   "I am," he said, staring at her breasts.

   "I'm going to take you to see these people," she said, as a surge of big
sisterly bossiness bubbled up to the surface of her thoughts.

   "People?" he asked.

   "He's married," she said.

   "Somebody married a cripple?" he asked.  She could hear the disbelief in
his voice.

   She went back to her knees and reached for his penis.

   "You never believed a woman would do this for you again ...  did you!"

   He groaned as she stroked him rapidly.  "Nooo."

   "I love you.  I love you enough to do this for you.  Why couldn't some
other woman love another man like you enough to do it for him too?"

   Her hand stopped moving, though she didn't let go.

   "OK, OK, just don't stop!" he moaned.

   "You'll go then?"

   "Yes," he said.  "Now will you keep going?"

   "Men!" she spat.  "All they think about is sex."

   By the time he had to take over for her, to finish, her fingers were
already pulling at the loose skin at the opening of her sex.  She continued
to do that as she stood and put her nipple over the tip of his penis.

   They groaned their release together.

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

   She had another dream that night.  It didn't wake her, but she
remembered it vividly when she woke up the next morning.  In the dream she
was on her knees, stroking the penis in front of her.  Her breasts were
naked and lying on the edge of the bed, beside the hip above which her hand
slid up and down the rigid column of man flesh.  She was smiling in her
dream, waiting for that man flesh to fountain its warm offering, so she
could have another glorious orgasm.  In her dream, she was able to make it
spurt all by herself.  She heard the groan that signaled it was about to
happen and rose, to rub her tingling nipple over the shiny head of the
penis that would make her feel so good any second now.  Then, as it spurted
and she felt the thrills, she looked up at the face of the man on the bed.

   That face was Bobby Dalton's

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

   The dream was still vivid in her mind as she entered the school.  It was
eerily quiet in the halls.  She'd had to get a key, since no one else would
be in the building during the vacation.  Even in Granger they locked the
school at night.  She left the door unlocked, so that Bobby could get in
when he got there.  It wasn't until she approached the auditorium doors
that she heard the banging of a nail being driven home, and knew the man
whose face had been in her dream was already there.  She felt flutters in
her belly at the thought of seeing it again, this time for real.

   All this turmoil confused her.  Bobby had asked to be her friend.  That
alone had been odd and somewhat mysterious, because he had acted just like
that ...  a friend.  Other than the few times his eyes fell on her breasts,
there was no indication at all that he had any sexual thoughts about her.
Why, then, did she have them about him?

   She was wearing what she thought of as her "work clothes," and rather
than engaging Bobby in conversation, she just walked in and asked what
needed to be done.  He greeted her and put her to work using the radial arm
saw to cut the two by fours that would be nailed together to make the two
sides of the frame he didn't already have laid out on the floor.  He was
working on a forty-five degree brace in one corner, and told her the
lengths needed from memory.

   She struggled with the sixteen feet long two by fours and laid three of
them out on the table of the saw, automatically checking it to see if they
were straight and un-warped.  One of the boards she'd picked up had an
eight twist in it and she took it back to the shelf to pick another.  She
glanced at Bobby, who was on his hands and knees, measuring something with
a tape measure.  The jeans he was wearing were tight over his backside and
she caught herself standing there, staring at it.

   Flustered, she turned away and the end of the board she was carrying ran
into one of the tree sets.  She stopped to make sure she hadn't damaged
anything, and then went back to the saw.  They were using forty-five degree
miter joints at the corners.  Then bracing was put in each corner on the
inside, using half laps that had to be cut and chiseled by hand, but which
ended up making the frame the same thickness all the way around.  Vertical
struts or studs, as Bobby called them, were butt joined to the top and
bottom of the frame so that, when canvas was stretched over it, there would
be some support behind the canvas.  Bobby had chosen to use dowels on the
ends of those studs, instead of flat metal pieces, which would have had to
lay on top of the wood, unless more time consuming chisel work was done to
keep them from being what Bobby called "proud," which meant sticking up
above the surface of the wood.

   What that meant was that the frame pieces had to be cut first and laid
out to make sure everything fit, because once the bottom of the frame was
attached and the glue in the dowel holes set, it wasn't coming apart again.
Bobby called it "dry fitting."

   She needed three eight foot long boards, with forty-five degree miters
on each end.  To save time, Erica lined up the two sixteen footers and,
using a measuring tape, calculated where to cut them in the middle with
them laid side by side so that she'd only have to make one pull of the saw
to end up with four eight foot boards, each already having a forty-five
degree miter on one end.  She thought she was being clever because she'd
seen Bobby do this, but he hadn't explained it to her.

   The problem was that the saw table was only four feet long and there was
enough of each board hanging off of it that the boards wanted to tip.  She
had to press down on them and push them against the fence to keep them in
place.  She reached for the switch and turned on the motor and then reached
for the handle that would pull the motor and saw blade across the boards.

   Strong hands suddenly clamped onto her waist and pulled her backwards.
She yelped in surprise and the boards tipped.  Her back ran into what felt
like a brick wall that had padding on it.  A hand left her waist and
reached to flip the motor switch off.

   She turned, feeling the hand on the left side of her waist slide across
her back and stared into blue eyes that were only inches from her own.

   "What are you doing?!" she tried to demand.

   "Saving your fingers," he said.  She could smell his breath.  It smelled
like syrup to her.

   "What are you talking about!?" she said.

   He had her turn around.

   "Set it up again," he said.

   "I already HAD it set up," she complained.

   "Just set it up again."

   She did.  She hadn't taken the time to make a pencil mark where the
actual cuts would be made.  She'd just held everything in place and used
the tape to get it where she wanted it.  She did that again.

   "OK," she said, her voice tight.

   "Don't move," he said.

   He went around behind the saw and turned the crank that she knew raised
and lowered the motor, and the saw blade with it.  Then he came back around
the saw.

   "Watch," he said, standing next to her.

   He reached for the handle and pulled the motor towards them.  The blade
was much too high to cut the boards, and slid over them.  To her horror it
also slid over the tips of two of the fingers on the hand she was holding
the boards against the fence with.

   "But it didn't look like that would happen!" she gasped.

   "Now set it up and use a combination square to make a line, like I
showed you," he ordered.

   She was shaken by what she'd just seen, so didn't argue with him.

   "Good," he said, as she did the calculations again to cut both boards in
the right place with just one cut.  "Now the line."

   She used the square and a pencil to draw the diagonal line across both
boards and then put them back up against the fence.  The only way she could
get the boards to lie flat was with her fingertips across the line she had
just drawn.

   "When you're going to cut long stock like that," he said.  "Ask for
help, OK?"

   He went to the ends of the boards and held them up so she could move her
fingers to one side of the line.  Gritting her teeth she turned on the saw
and made the cut.  It was suddenly quiet as she turned the saw off.

   "Thank you," she said.

   "Sorry I had to break my word," he said.

   "What?"

   "I had to touch you.  You told me never to touch you again."

   She examined his voice and his face, because she thought he must be
making fun of her, but he was completely serious.

   "That's not what I meant," she said.

   "It's what you said," he responded.

   "You touched my BREASTS last time, not my waist!"

   "I'm sorry about that too," he said.  "I should have thought of
something else."

   She remembered what he'd said, back then, about whether he should have
slapped her instead.  She knew he'd been right.  She HAD been freaked out
about Will, and he HAD made her face that.

   "I might have overreacted a little bit," she said.

   "Well anyway, I promised, and I'm sorry I broke it."

   "Oh for Pete's SAKE, Bobby!" she snapped.  "You saved my fingers!  And I
was only talking about touching me sexually anyway!"

   "I didn't touch you sexually," he said.  "I just got your attention."

   He said it so calmly that it just seemed funny to her ...  that he'd say
touching her breasts wasn't sexual.  She'd only been touching them herself
for a few weeks ...  at least in this new way she was doing it ...  and it
was completely sexual.  All the stress and confusion, and pent up emotions
she had been dealing with recently finally found an outlet and she started
laughing.  She felt stupid, but couldn't stop.  Eventually she got dizzy
and had to sit down on the floor.

   He stood there, looking down at her, with a silly grin on his face.  It
was the kind of grin that people can't help, when someone else is laughing
that hard, even if they don't see what's so funny.

   She finally got a deep breath, and got her laughter under control.

   "You sure got my attention," she giggled, and then was laughing again,
and ended up rolling on the floor.

   He still stood there, until her laughter finally died away.  Then he
simply held out a hand.  She gripped it and felt like she was weightless as
he pulled her up.

   "You feel better now?" he asked, looking at her curiously.

   "I do," she said, smiling.  "I really do."

   "Someday you'll have to share what was so funny with me," he said.

   "You're what's so funny," she said.  "You're the strangest man I've ever
met.  You're nothing like I thought you'd be the first time I saw you."

   "And that's funny?"

   "It's too complicated to go into right now," she said.

   "Well, I'm glad that meeting me has given you a good laugh," he said. 
"Laughter is good for you."

   "See what I mean?" she sighed.  "Most men would be furious if a woman
laughed at them."

   "I guess I'm not most men," said Bobby.  The words came easily to his
tongue.  He had said them to many more women than Erica Bradford.

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

   They made good progress for the next two hours, and got one whole frame
completely done.  When the stress had exited her body through that
laughter, Erica had been glad to feel it go.  She still didn't understand
why she got so worked up around Bobby, but once she was relaxed, and paying
attention to the work, it didn't seem so bad anymore and she enjoyed that
feeling of being at ease.

   "Time for a break," announced Bobby.  "Did you talk to Will about Tilly
and Jake?"

   "I did.  He'd be happy to meet them," she lied.

   "Somehow I doubt that's quite how he put it," said Bobby, "but that's
OK, because I really think it will be good for him.  I told them I might
bring you over today."

   "OK then," she said dusting off her clothing.  "They're going to have to
take me like I am."

   "Perfect.  You'll have to take them like they are too," he said.

   She relocked the front door and Bobby took her to his car.  He didn't
hold the door open for her, just going to his own door instead.  She
noticed things like that, and she appreciated him not coddling her.  He
drove her to a neat little bungalow with a picket fence around it.  Though
the garden was brown and dead looking now, Erica could see evidence that it
was carefully tended in warmer weather.

   They were met by a woman who was a little older than Bobby, who had her
brown hair in a bun and an apron on.  She smiled with both her eyes and her
mouth and kissed Bobby on the cheek before expressing her delight that
Erica had come to meet them.

   Bobby was immediately besieged by two children, a boy who looked to be
eight or nine, and who had black hair that was cut short, and a little girl
of about three or four.

   "Unca BOBBY!" squealed the girl as he scooped her up into his arms.  She
hugged his neck tightly and rained kisses on his cheek.  The boy stood,
shifting from foot to foot, staring at Erica.  Even at eight he was looking
at her chest.  That didn't last long, though.  As Bobby put the girl down,
the boy grabbed his hand.

   "I have a new model almost done!" he said excitedly.  "Come on!  You
have to see it!"

   Erica found herself left alone with Tilly, who was looking after the
children and, apparently, her brother.  The woman turned.

   "Come on," she said, as if they were already old friends.  "I'll take
you to meet Jake."

   If she hadn't had so much exposure to her brother, Erica was sure she
would have embarrassed herself when she met Jake Johnson.  He was missing
one arm completely, and the leg on that side had been badly mangled.  Even
the pants covering that leg couldn't hide how twisted it was.  His face,
though, was quite normal, with a bushy brown moustache and a wide smile. 
Erica noticed he looked at her face, instead of elsewhere.

   She looked at his face too, instead of his disability.  It only seemed
polite.

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

   They ate lunch with the Johnsons, and Erica learned that the boy's name
was David, and that he was eight.  Meredith, the girl, was four.  Erica
couldn't help but think about the fact that a man in this condition had
somehow been able to impregnate his wife, not once, but twice, and that
made her feel quite good for Will's sake.  She knew it would take a very
special woman to accept Will the way he was, but this couple proved it
could happen.  It was at least cause for some measure of hope.

   Then it was back to the school, to work on the last remaining flat. 
They had just started when there was pounding on the double steel doors
that led out of the stage and onto the driveway outside the back of the
auditorium.  Erica went to see who was there.  It was Tabitha Jenkins.

   "What are you doing here?" asked Erica.

   "Mister D said you guys would be working on sets," said the girl,
peering past Erica.  "I don't have anything better to do, so I thought I
could maybe do some painting."

   "That would be wonderful!" sighed Erica.  It seemed as if she was being
given a number of gifts this first Christmas she was in Granger.

   "Is he here?" asked Tabitha, still leaning to see past Erica.

   Erica had seen and heard what was in Tabitha's tone of voice before. 
She had heard that spark of excitement and interest in a hundred high
school girls' voices as they asked about a particular boy ...  or man.  It
had always made her impatient.

   "Don't tell me you have a crush on him," sighed Erica.

   Tabitha got very suddenly very alert, and leaned back.

   "Of course not!" she said.  "He's old!"

   Erica's eyes narrowed as she saw the complex behavior of this teenage
girl.  That she was infatuated with Bobby was obvious, at least to Erica.
But now she was trying to deny that.  Tabitha was a senior, almost, if not
already eighteen.  Bobby was single.  He was, in fact, eight or ten years
older than Tabitha, but a relationship between a man and woman like that
wasn't unheard of.  Why, then, was this girl trying to deny the attraction?
Obviously there was some kind of social conditioning that caused Tabitha to
feel like it wasn't all right for her to BE infatuated with an older man.
Erica agreed.  A young, inexperienced girl didn't stand a chance going up
against an older, predatory man.

   Erica blinked.  Bobby wasn't predatory.  She felt uncomfortable that
she'd dropped him back into that category.

   "He's here," she said, standing back.  "Come on in, but don't make a
fool of yourself.  He really IS too old for you, you know."

   Tabitha had the grace to look embarrassed, but tried to cover that up
too by saying "Of course.  He's just cool, that's all."

   Erica knew that Tabitha didn't need any help to get started on her work.
There was plenty to be done, and the girl would be fine on her own.  Erica
went back to help Bobby finish the last flat frame.

   Ten minutes later Erica made the last very careful cuts and delivered
the pieces to Bobby.  She bent over to put them on the floor next to him
and then stood up, bending backwards to stretch her back.  That was another
thing about her huge breasts that she hated.  Their weight made her back
hurt if she bent over for too long.  She looked over to where Tabitha had
started working on the trees.  She had positioned them so that she could
look past them at where Erica and Bobby were working.  Erica wanted to
laugh at the girl's transparency, but didn't.  She decided to go talk to
this foolish girl and, hopefully, educate her on the sense of being
liberated from men.

   When she got there, she stopped and stared.  Tabitha had taken a sponge
and cut it into the shape of a leaf.  She was dabbing the sponge all over
the round portion of the cardboard that was supposed to represent the mass
of foliage on the tree.  She was using three different colors of green, and
the effect was astonishing.  Erica walked farther away and looked from a
distance.  The tree looked amazingly real.

   "Where did you get that idea?" she asked, walking back to the girl.

   "It just seemed like it would be easier to do this than paint them all
by hand," said Tabitha, continuing to dab here and there.

   "Well it's brilliant," said Erica, "and it looks fantastic."

   "Thanks," said the girl.

   "Can I ask you a serious question?"

   "Sure," said Tabitha.

   "Why are you a cheerleader?"

   Tabitha looked at the teacher.

   "I know you're all hot on women's liberation and all that," she said. 
"But I think that's just not very hip."

   "Explain it to me," said Erica.  "You're obviously a bright and talented
girl ...  young woman.  You could have a career in art if you wanted to."

   "I do want to," said Tabitha.  "I'm going to go to college and get an
art degree."

   "So why do you flaunt your body in front of men as a cheerleader?" asked
Erica.  For perhaps the first time in her life she was actually interested
in the answer she'd get.  Before this, she had simply dismissed women who
did things like that as deluded simpletons.

   "I like it," said Tabitha.  "It's fun."

   "That's what I don't get," moaned Erica.  "You KNOW what those men are
thinking about when they look at you."

   "Sure," chirped the teenager.  She nodded and her long, blond pony tail
bobbed.  "I know.  That's part of the fun."

   "I really don't get that," said Erica.  "Men look at me and I hate it."

   "Well that's something I don't understand," said the girl.  "I mean
you've got the bitchinest body of any woman I ever saw.  I'd kill to have
your body, but you're all uptight about it."

   "But all those men want is sex!" moaned Erica.

   "Maybe," said Tabitha.  "That doesn't mean they're going to get it,
though.  I'm not going to develop round heels, but it makes me feel good
that they want me.  But it's not just that that makes me love cheerleading.
I mean I really think we build pep too.  There's something about getting a
crowd all worked up that makes me feel like I have power or something.  And
the boys love it.  The crowd gets them going and they do better."

   "You know you're debasing yourself when you use your body to get
attention," said Erica.

   "Come ON, Ms.  Bradford," sighed the girl.  "Get WITH it!  This is the
seventies, not the stone age.  I know all about how women were put down in
the past and all that, but it's not that way now.  I mean my mother never
even THOUGHT about going to college, but I already have my acceptance
letter and I got a scholarship too.  I don't have to get married right out
of high school, like my mother did, just to get by.  I can pick and choose
what man I want to end up with.  You can too.  I just don't see why you're
so anti-man."

   "I'm not anti-man," argued Erica.  "I'm pro-woman.  There's a
difference."

   "Well I don't see it.  Take Mister D over there for instance.  He's
killer cute, even if he is old.  I love it when he looks at me.  I feel all
wiggly inside, and all grown up somehow.  And when he talks to me, it's
just like we've known each other all our lives.  I like being around him. I
wish he was younger.  When I'm around him I just want to yell sock it to
me!"

   She blushed.

   "I didn't mean that.  Not like it sounded.  But I've seen how you look
at him too.  You know what I'm talking about.  But all this women's lib
stuff makes you fight with him.  It's counterproductive ...  you know? 
Here's this smokin' guy, and you're killer gorgeous, but you don't dig it.
It just seems like a waste to me."

   Erica decided to ignore part of the girl's comment.  Erica was quite
sure that she never looked at Bobby with anything other than professional
detachment.

   "I don't need a man to be fulfilled," insisted Erica.

   "Well," said the cheerleader, starting to put new leaves on the
cardboard again, "I don't know about you, but someday I want to have kids,
and the last time I heard anything about it, you sort of had to have a guy
to do that with."

   "So you want to get married, and have children, and give up your career
and depend on some man?" Erica thought maybe THAT would get through to this
stubborn girl.

   "Sometimes I think about getting married." She paused, and seemed to
reflect.  "It's kind of like in Brigadoon, when Fiona says she'll get
married when she meets somebody who makes her think about getting married."


   She tapped another dozen leaves onto the cardboard tree while Erica
tried to come up with an argument against that, and couldn't.

   "Yeah, I suppose marriage would be OK," continued Tabitha.  She changed
colors and kept dabbing.  "But it's not required.  Not anymore.  My mother
would scream if she ever heard me say that, but the fact is I know maybe
three of four women right here in Granger who aren't married and had kids,
and they didn't have to give up their careers to do it.  I don't have to
tie myself to a man to have a good life.  Not that I'm against that,
especially if he turns out to be anything like Mister D."

   "Be careful," cautioned Erica.  "I haven't met many men like Bobby."

   "I know," said Tabitha.  "That's why he's so cool.  There are probably a
hundred boys who'd love to get in my panties, but they don't have a chance.
And there he is, the only man I've seen that I'd do something really stupid
with ...  and he behaves himself.  Life isn't fair, you know?"

   "He IS too old for you," moaned Erica, feeling shocked that this young
girl would be so frank about how she felt.  It was ironic she didn't think
about how liberated Tabitha was, to be able to admit she wanted something
like that ...  right out loud ...  and to an authority figure at that!

   "I know," said the girl.  "But you can dream, right?  I'm copasetic with
that."

   Erica went back to work, wondering if she could call her life copasetic
... and if she could ... was that a good thing?

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

   Chapter Twelve

   They only worked as long as it took to finish the second frame.  Tabitha
said she'd come back and help them cover the two new frames with canvas and
get the scenes drawn on them.  Then, with typical teenage superiority, she
said she'd teach them how to paint, if they wanted to learn.

   Bobby smiled and Erica saw the flush that appeared on Tabitha's face as
she got attention from the man she was almost willing to "do something
stupid with."

   On her way home she had a lot to think about.  Most of it centered on
her conversation with Tabitha, who wasn't nearly as bubble-headed as Erica
had thought she might be.  Her comments on marriage were hard to argue
with, since they were conditional.  IF she met the right man, and IF that
man made her think about marriage ...  she'd think about marriage.  How
could you argue about that?

   To Erica's way of thinking, the musical she was working so hard to make
a success pointed out many of the problems with traditional romance and
marriage.  Take Jean, for instance.  There she was, at the beginning of her
adult life, with all her choices still available to her.  And what did she
do?  She threw all her choices away.  She married a man who didn't want to
get married, while another man was willing to destroy Brigadoon because he
couldn't have her.  And Fiona.  She was crazy about a man she argued with
about everything!  That was typical.  The message was that, for a woman to
be happy, she had to agree with the man.  It was nonsense.  And Tommy,
engaged to Jane, back in New York, goes and falls in love with Fiona!  That
was typical of a man ...  never satisfied ...  always selfish ...  acting
like an alley cat ...  breaking women's hearts right and left.

   She felt much better when she pulled into the driveway, and prepared to
go inside and share her day with Will.

   That was because she could stop thinking about all this, and concentrate
on dinner ...  and then her brother.  She felt relieved that, within an
hour or two, the other thoughts that had kept intruding on her
introspection about her discussion with Tabitha would be banished by what
she was doing with Will.

   Those other thoughts had been about how different she wanted to think
she was from Tabitha, who was willing to trust the winds of fate, and reach
for little pleasures where she could find them.  Erica wanted to think she
was in control of her own fate.

   But her real frustration was that those other thoughts had also included
the "killer cute" and "smokin'" man that made Tabitha get "all wiggly
inside" when he looked at her.

   Those thoughts were disturbing to Erica, because she was beginning to
recognize that "wiggly" feeling in herself ...  when Bobby Dalton looked at
her too.

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

   Will had finished one of the 5000 piece puzzles that day.  He said he
wasn't bored, but he was obviously glad to see Erica, and it wasn't
dependent on what they'd do later, in his bedroom.  He talked to her while
she got dinner ready, and she told him about her conversation with Tabitha.

   "I know what she's talking about," said Will.  "When I looked at a girl,
and she smiled at me, it made me feel fabulous."

   "Well, whoever that girl was, she probably wasn't thinking about having
sex with you," said Erica.

   "Yeah, I know that now," said Will.  "But back then, it was really fun
to daydream about what might happen.  Then I came home and peeked at you
and thought about what might happen some more." He grinned.

   "Did you ever think about getting married?" asked Erica.

   "Only in a vague sense," he said.  "None of the girls I knew made me
think about that.  You did, but not them."

   "You can't marry your sister," she chided.

   "I know that," he said.  "But I imagined being married to someone like
you."

   "That's sweet."

   "I spied on you, Erica," he reminded her.

   "I know.  I've forgiven you for that."

   "And I know that," he said.  "You know I love you so much, and that's
part of why I do.  I was so afraid you'd hate me forever if you ever found
out."

   "Well I don't hate you, and I never could, so that's settled," she said.
"Now stop talking like that.  You're making me horny."

   She stopped, the spoon she had been about to use suspended above the pan
on the stove.  She froze like that because she had just used the word
"horny," at least as it related to her own feelings, for the first time in
her life.  She WAS horny!  That feeling in her nipples, and lower down too
...  it meant she was horny!

   She turned around to see her brother's right hand in his lap, rubbing
gently ...  just pressing here, and moving there.  He was looking just
looking at her.

   "I like it when you're horny," he said.  His eyes slid from her face ...
lower.

   The wild impulse to take her blouse and bra off, and stand in front of
him made her feel almost dizzy.  She realized suddenly that her fingers had
gone to the top button of her blouse, unconsciously.

   "Are you really hungry right now?" she asked, her voice husky.

   "Not really," he said.

   "Me either," she said.  She turned around to turn the burner off under
the pot.

   By the time she turned back, he had already turned his chair and had
dragged himself almost to the door.

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

   She couldn't believe she was doing what she was doing.  She had
unbuttoned two buttons of her blouse, and then pulled them apart to expose
her upper chest and the edges of her bra.  Then her hands had gone to cup
her breasts, and lift them.

   "You want to see these, don't you?" she had said.

   "Yes," Will had said, his voice low.  "You know I do."

   She had unbuttoned the rest of her blouse, and let it hang.  After a few
seconds she had pulled the sides apart, to expose her bra-encased chest to
him.

   She was doing what amounted to a striptease for her brother.

   That was part of what she couldn't believe.  The other part was that she
was enjoying the way teasing her little brother made her feel, as his eyes
followed her every movement.  His appreciation was palpable.  She knew he
expected something perilously close to "sex" from her.  What she couldn't
believe was how excited that made her feel.  The fleeting image of her,
wearing a cheerleader's outfit, popped into her mind and was then chased
away.

   When she got down to just her bra and panties, ten minutes had gone by.
Will hadn't complained.  He moved in his chair, but he didn't urge her to
hurry up.

   "Let's get you on the bed," she said.

   He cooperated, using his one hand to help her get his clothes off.  He
was hard as stone when she bared his penis.  She felt an almost cramp in
her loins as she acknowledged she was responsible for this erection.  It
was almost as if she had waved some magic wand and uttered an incantation.

   Once he was on the bed, she let herself enjoy teasing him some more. 
She undid her bra, but kept the cups covering her.  Then, in fractions of
an inch, she let it slide off her mounds.  He hissed when her nipples
finally came into view.  Some instinct made her go to the bed and lean over
to put her breasts above his face.  That instinct made her shake her
shoulders, so that her breasts wobbled as she lowered them, until his face
slid between them.  She dragged them back and forth, feeling the nipples
slide over his mouth and nose.

   He was making little noises.  "Uh ...  uh ...  mmm ...  ohhh."

   She stepped back to lower her panties.  She had been completely naked
with him before, and he had seen her ...  down there ...  as her finger
slid into her slippery channel.  But she had never "displayed" that part of
her body to him.  Now, the urge to use her body to make him ...  wiggle ...
continued.

   "You know what seeing you like this makes me want to do?" she asked.

   "No," he gasped.  His hand was fluttering by his side, and she knew,
somehow, that he was resisting the urge to play with himself.

   "It makes me want to do this," she said.

   She put her right hand on her belly and moved it down, pointing her
fingers so that they combed her fluffy pubic hair.  She spread her feet
apart and curled all but her middle finger ...  her "cussing finger," as
she thought of it.  She watched his eyes follow that finger as she pushed
it lower, between slippery folds of skin ...  and into her sex.

   "Ohhhh fuck, Erica," moaned Will.

   "You make me feel nasty," she whispered.

   His hand lost the battle, and went to his prick.  He was jerking
furiously on it within seconds.

   She wished she had three hands ...  two to pull at her itching nipples,
and one to keep doing what her finger was doing between her legs.  She
didn't touch him, this time.  She was unconsciously trying to see if she
could inflame him enough for him to finish just by watching her.  She'd
forgotten that that was how they started this in the first place ...  that
she'd already done that on many occasions, most of which she wasn't even
aware of.

   She spread her feet further and alternated squeezing and pulling her
nipples with one hand, while she masturbated furiously with the other.  She
was aware there was a place that zinged, where the base of her finger was.
She was aware that was her clitoris, but she hadn't been doing this long
enough to realize she could center her attention there.  To her,
"masturbating" just meant rubbing like this, and touching everything.  And
the finger inside her felt wonderful.  It was a case of "It doesn't feel
broken, so I'm not going to fix it."

   When she heard the sounds that told her he was about to cum, she quickly
got into position.  This time, also on pure instinct, when his slippery
warm stuff started spurting, she rubbed her breasts all over his groin,
instead of trying to squeeze her nipples.  It wasn't as electric, but she
somehow knew he would like that.  He did.  It was obvious, and she ended up
rubbing her breasts clear up to his chest.

   For whatever reason, she didn't feel like kissing him on the lips.  Some
of that may have been because half his lips were cold and hard and scarred.
Some of it may have been because kisses had always seemed so intimate to
her ...  the sharing of mouths and even tongues.  Maybe it was because you
just didn't kiss your brother on the lips, even if that flew in the face of
the other things they were doing, and made no sense at all, under the
circumstances.

   But she did feel the urge to press her lips to his forehead and cheeks
and eyes, everywhere EXCEPT his lips, even on the scarred flesh of the left
side of his face.  She did that while he finished, and while she dragged
her breasts over his left shoulder and chest.

   They were a mess when they finally stopped.  She went to get a
washcloth, and cleaned him up first, still naked.

   "I'm going to take a quick shower, and then finish supper," she said.

   "I love you so much," he replied.

   "I know," she said.  "I love you too.  I'm glad we do this."

   She hadn't cum while she teased her brother.  She'd never masturbated in
the shower.  Since she had done so many other things lately she'd never
done before, doing so now didn't seem to be a problem.

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

   The next day Erica wheeled Will down their new ramp for the first time
since he'd gotten to Granger.  He hopped, to get into the car.  His chair
folded, and she was strong enough to lift it into the back seat of her four
door sedan.

   Their welcome at the Johnson house was somewhat turbulent.  There was a
ramp, not surprisingly just like theirs, that led to the small porch. 
There were a lot of emotions running rampant, and it was in both families.
Will's emotions, about confronting strangers, will be easily understood by
most readers without further comment.  Erica's emotions were based on
apprehension about wanting this to be something positive, and fearing it
could all go wrong.  If it did, she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to get
him out of the house again.

   The other part of the equation was the Johnsons.  You might think that
having a disabled person as a husband and father, and being around him all
the time, would make seeing another disabled person no big deal.  But while
there were similarities between Will and Jake, there were also huge
differences.  Age was one.  Jake was twice Will's age.  Will's burns were
another.  While David and Meredith didn't give a single glance to Will's
missing leg or hand, they stared at his face.  Tilly's heart went out to
him, because she knew how hard it was for a man in his condition to have
hope.  Jake's emotions were somewhat more complicated.  When he met Will,
he felt both awe that Will could have survived his injuries at all, and
gratitude that his own injuries were as "light," in his mind, as they had
been.

   The inevitable tension passed, though.  Tilly instructed her children
not to stare, because it wasn't polite.  Then she had to bark at David for
asking point blank "What happened to you?" Will, in a shaky voice, gave the
kids a sanitized version, saying there had been an explosion, and that he'd
gotten burned.

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

   Five hours later, Erica and Tilly both knew they had established the
beginnings of a friendship that might be as important as either of them had
ever had before.  They had left the men in the living room to talk between
themselves, and had sat in the kitchen, sharing stories and emotions that
few other people could really understand.  The fact that Tilly espoused
none of the ideals of the women's liberation movement didn't seem important
to Erica.  Tilly was caring for a man who deserved to be cared for.  It was
a worthy pursuit.

   At one point Erica mentioned how lucky Jake was that a woman would stay
with him like that.

   "I loved him before this happened," Tilly had said.  "I didn't want to
stop loving him, because I knew I'd never forgive myself.  So I just kept
loving him."

   "Still, it must have been hard," said Erica, remembering her own horror
at seeing her brother for the first time.  Tilly had to have felt something
like that, when they brought her broken husband home to her the first time.

   "We had some help along the way," said Tilly, thinking about Bobby.

   "I wish there was some way for Will to find a woman like you."

   "To be completely honest, I don't think I would have been interested in
Jake if I'd met him after the accident." She said it bluntly.

   "I know," said Erica.  "But if a woman could only get to know him ... 
like I know him ..."

   "Don't give up hope," Tilly said.  "I know Jake is telling your brother
the same thing right now.  Jake gave up hope, but then ...  well, he found
out there can always be hope."

   "Your children?" asked Erica.  She had figured out that both children
had been born AFTER Jakes disfigurement.

   "Yes," said Tilly.  That was as far as she was willing to go, though. 
"Should we go take them some cake?" she asked, changing the subject.

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

   In the other room, where the men were, there was a similar exchange of
emotion, though it was much stronger than most would have suspected.

   For the first time since his injuries were inflicted on him, Will found
someone he could talk to about it ...  and who understood.  The fact that
Jake's injuries had been in a mining accident, or that he hadn't been to
war, didn't matter really.  He listened as Will was finally able to tell
someone exactly what had happened, and how it had made him feel.  Will was
a little less angry at the world, as he was able to vomit up a significant
amount of the rage that had built up inside him.  Jake encouraged him,
knowing that it would help.  He hadn't told Tilly how he really felt about
the world until after Bobby had come into their lives.  Only when he had
known, deep down, that she'd never leave him, had he felt like he could be
completely honest with her.

   Once the anger and frustration was spewed, their talk drifted to things
that more normal men would talk about.  Will, too, knew that Jake's
children had been born after his accident, and that intrigued him.

   "If it's not too personal," he ventured, "how does a man go about
getting his wife pregnant ...  when he's like us?"

   A subject like this might offend most men, but to men who had shared
such intimate feelings as these two had discussed for the last couple of
hours, talking about sex was light conversation.  Jake described how such a
thing could be done.  He too left it at that, letting Will believe that
David and Meredith had come from Jake's ravaged body, instead of the truth.
That was partly because it was nobody else's business, in Jake's mind, how
Tilly actually got pregnant.  But the bigger part was that he wanted Will
to think it was possible.  From Jake's perspective, while Will might never
meet a woman who would be willing to lie with him, if he ever did, he
wanted Will to be ready for it.

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

   On the twentieth of December, Bobby parked in front of Prudence and
Constance's house and knocked on the door.  Constance was ready to go. 
Prudence kissed them both on the lips and told them to be careful, because
snow was in the forecast.

   They hadn't seen each other for a while, so they spent the hours on the
road to Kansas City catching up.  Constance told him about her job, and he
talked about the musical he was helping with.

   They had always had the unique capacity to be together without saying
anything for long stretches, and for that not to be awkward, and that
happened for a while, at one point.  It was Constance who broke that
silence.

   "I still miss him," she said softly.

   "I know," he said.  "You always will."

   "I feel like that's holding me back," she said.

   "You met somebody interesting?" he asked.

   "No," she said.  "Not like you're thinking.  But I feel like I'm just
walking around in circles.  I need to move on."

   "I agree," he said.

   "Thank you," she sighed.  "I feel guilty about wanting to move on."

   "Tim loved you more than life itself," said Bobby.  "I know he'd want
you to be happy, even if it means you end up with another man."

   "It's a little premature to think about THAT," said Constance.

   "Why?" he asked.  "You're as beautiful as ever.  You're still young."

   "And you still have that silver tongue that made me want to kiss you,"
she said.  She was quiet for another minute or two.  "That seems like it
was decades ago."

   "Well, any time you want another kiss," he said, "feel free to tell me.
I liked kissing you too, even if it is ancient history." He grinned.

   He took her to the Nutcracker.  It was her first opera and it wasn't
anything like she'd imagined it would be.  She'd accepted primarily because
she liked being with Bobby, but when it was over she was ebullient in her
praise.  They had held hands for the whole event, which was probably good,
because there were times when she wanted to lean forward and grip the
seatback in front of her because of the overflowing emotions that the music
caused in her.

   The production ended late, and they started back in the dark.  They
talked about the show for a while, and then Constance lay down, curling up
to fall asleep, her head on Bobby's lap.

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

   There was other emotion that raced through female bodies, the evening of
the twentieth of December that year.  That happened in the farmhouse that
was the Dalton residence.

   It happened at an unlikely time ...  dinner time, and it happened
without warning, at least to the twins.  It was in the middle of the meal
when, without prelude, Mirriam spoke.

   "When were you two planning on telling me you're pregnant?" she asked.
Her tone of voice was as if she'd asked if there were any more beans in the
bowl.

   Twin faces showed twin shock, in twin fashion.

   "Did you think I wouldn't know?" asked Mirriam, reaching to cut up
Theodore's meat so he could fork it into his mouth.

   "Mamma ..." said Matilda, weakly.  She was at a complete loss for words.

   "How far along are you?" asked Mirriam, her voice still neutral.

   She waited, letting the silence stretch, making them say something to
fill the void.  Betty was the first to break.

   "Two months," she almost whispered.

   "And you haven't been to the doctor?" Mirriam's voice took on more of an
edge.

   "No." It was delivered in stereo.

   "You two work with babies," said their mother.  "You know how important
prenatal care is."

   "Yes, Mamma." That was also said in tandem.

   "Who is the father?" asked Mirriam.  She couldn't explain it, but she
had a gut feeling that it was the same man.  Perhaps it was the fact that
both of them apparently got pregnant in the same timeframe.

   When their eyes went to Theodore, Mirriam's other hunch was validated.
If it was the same man, and if it happened at the same time ...  well, she
knew when they were dating ...  and when they weren't.  And there was
plenty of history that had repeated itself.

   "Did you do this on purpose?" she asked, not requiring them to admit to
the man responsibility for their condition.

   "No!" That, again was said at the same time, in the same tone of voice.

   "Would you two PLEASE stop doing that?" Mirriam frowned.  "It's
distracting!"

   "OK, Mamma," they said together.

   Mirriam went on helping Theodore, who had picked up the electric
atmosphere in the room, and was looking around, like he was trying to
figure out what was happening.

   "What are you going to do?" asked Mirriam.

   Neither girl said anything.

   "How could you have been so stupid?" she asked, her voice rising for the
first time.

   Theodore stiffened, and his face wrinkled up.  He knew that tone of
voice, and he didn't like it.  Mirriam saw it, and made herself calm down.

   "It's OK, darling," she cooed to the little boy, stroking his head.  He
relaxed.  She turned to her daughters.  "All you had to do was ask me to
put you on the pill."

   Their mother had just used language that suggested she could ...  and
should ...  still exercise parental control over them.  That the twins, who
would be twenty in a little over a month, didn't resent that, would have
been interesting to a social scientist.  The fact was, though, that they
still felt like their mother's little girls sometimes.

   Again Mirriam made them respond, by letting the silence linger.

   "We couldn't just come to you and ask for that," said Matilda, finally.

   "Why not?" asked Mirriam.  "You certainly had plenty of reason to know
what can happen when you let a man between your legs."

   "Mamma!" said Betty, who was shocked for some reason.

   "I suppose you want to stay here, and live with me," said Mirriam, her
voice rough again.

   Both girls blinked.  It was almost eerie how tears filled both sets of
eyes at the same time.

   "It's just like youngsters to think they can go do something stupid, and
that Mamma will bail them out!" she barked.  Her anger was generalized,
spread over both girls, and Bobby, and herself for not paying more
attention.  She had failed to learn from history too.

   There was a spark of independence in Matilda, and her mother's obvious
condemnation brought it out.

   "Did YOU do something stupid too, Mamma?" she asked.  "Are YOU sorry he
got you pregnant too?"

   Mirriam saw Matilda's eyes go to Theodore again, and she felt her
stomach clench up.  Matilda's phrasing made it clear she knew who
Theodore's father was.  Of them all, she had hoped the twins hadn't figured
it out.  Obviously she had been wrong.  She still didn't know they had seen
Bobby on top of their mother, plunging the same penis into her that had
made them both pregnant.

   Mirriam was pragmatic.  That was what had helped her survive on the
farm. She shook her head.

   "No, I'm not sorry," she said.  She looked at Theodore and leaned over
to kiss him.  "I'll never be sorry," she added.

   "I don't want to be sorry either," said Matilda.

   "Me neither," said Betty.

   Mirriam sighed.  At least they hadn't said it at the same time.

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

   His mother was waiting up for him when he got home.  That, in itself,
was unusual these days.  The look on her face told him she wasn't happy.

   "What's wrong?" he asked.

   "I found out why the twins have been acting like they have the vapors,"
she said.

   He relaxed.  That didn't have anything to do with him.

   "And?" he asked, falling into the pit he still didn't know was there.

   "They're pregnant ...  Robert Jordan!" she snapped.

   Bobby was also pragmatic.

   "Both of them?" he asked.

   "Don't you try and sound surprised!" she said.

   "I thought they were on the pill," he said.

   "Did you ASK them if they were on the pill?"

   "We talked about it ...  how they needed it," he said, looking confused.
"Then one night Betty said it was OK to ...  well, you know ...  and so I
thought ..."

   "You didn't think, Bobby," said his mother, standing up.  "You didn't
think when you got the rest of them pregnant either!"

   "I didn't get Flo pregnant," he complained.  "And Suzie.  I don't even
do it with Suzie."

   "Well thank goodness for THAT!" moaned Mirriam, theatrically.  "It's
nice to know that ONE of my daughters can resist a man!"

   "Come on, Mamma," he said, taking a step toward her.  She held up her
hands and stepped away from him.

   "Don't you come over here and try to sweet talk me," she said.  "That's
not going to work tonight.  At least with the others they had prospects for
marriage.  The twins don't.  I knew this ...  this ...  this hunger inside
you would cause trouble.  I saw it in Joe, and I couldn't resist him.  I
knew it was in you too, when I couldn't resist you.  Bobby, you HAVE to
stop!  I love you.  I couldn't bear it if something happened to you, like
it did to him."

   Her eyes teared up, and she didn't see him move toward her again until
it was too late.  She stiffened and resisted, but his arms were too strong.

   "I don't know how to stop, Mamma," he said into her hair.  "It just
happens.  I know I'm like Joe, sometimes, but I'm different too.  I don't
go where a man might take killing offense.  Sometimes I help women, Mamma.
I know that's no excuse, but I know that happens sometimes."

   His arms were just holding her, and she relaxed, finally.

   "You're going to have to help them," she said.  "The twins, I mean."

   "I will, Mamma," he said.  "You know I will."

   "You need to stop doing this, Bobby," she moaned into his chest.  "You
need to find one woman to cleave to."

   "I hope I do find her," said Bobby.  "I haven't yet ...  but I hope I
do."

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

   Mirriam had pushed him away, finally, and told him to go to bed.  She
told him the twins were already in bed asleep, and to be quiet.

   She was wrong.  They had waited up too.

   They'd had three hours to sit on Bobby's bed, the bed they both decided
they got pregnant in, and talk about things since they had come out into
the open.

   Their initial anger at Bobby, for getting them pregnant, and at
themselves, which they had also taken out on Bobby, and their mother, to
some degree, faded.  That simple "conversation" with their mother had
altered the way they looked at things.  They had gone from "I'm pregnant,
and I have to hide it," to "I'm going to have a baby!" That their future in
this house was no longer a big blank question mark helped too.

   Now their natural progression of emotional involvement with their
pregnant bodies moved into another phase.  They were both excited, about
this new thing they were going to do, and scared to death.  Their
relationship with their mother was still strained.  That strain would fade
away in the coming days, and life would become much less tense for them
then, but right now, the only real emotional anchor they had to deal with
the fear they felt was the man who had gotten them into the situation they
were fearful about.

   So they waited for Bobby while they talked.

   When he got there, he faced a range of emotions that covered the whole
spectrum, though most of it was fleeting, such as the anger and blame. 
What they needed was to feel loved and secure.  Of all the emotions thrown
at him when he walked into his room, he preferred making them feel loved
and secure too, so it worked out.

   They didn't make love that night, but both women slept naked with him,
pressing their pregnant bellies to his sides, their arms draped over him
and touching each other.

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

   Chapter Thirteen

   New Year's Eve of 1976 was celebrated much like it was anywhere else in
the country.  There were parties and gatherings that weren't called
parties, but which had a party atmosphere to them.

   One such was at Tilly and Jake Johnson's house.  There were only four
people there, the other two being Erica and Will, but it was still a
celebration.  The kids were in bed, and the TV was on, but turned down. 
They hadn't so much eaten a meal as snacked all evening, having a sandwich
here, or some chips there.  Tilly was taking sips of white wine, which Will
enjoyed too.  Erica and Jake were drinking Dr.  Pepper.

   They were playing cards, which made it interesting, because it was
spades and it was men against women.  Both men only had one hand to play
with, and a simple code had been developed so that the woman sitting next
to each man could pluck a card from the man's hand and put it on the table.
The women were losing, and as the night progressed, they started plucking
the wrong cards more and more often.

   "Ohhh, Jake, I'm so sorry," said Erica, as she pulled the ace of spades
from his hand to play on a heart's trick.  "I thought you said you had a
heart."

   "I DO have a heart, woman," he growled.  "Is there something about being
in the women's liberation movement that requires you to harass men?"

   "Not that I'm aware of," said Erica sweetly, as she put the ace back in
his hand and pulled another wrong card, showing them he had the jack of
diamonds.  "Oops."

   "We may as well just let them have the game," sighed Jake.  The men were
a hundred and fifty points ahead with a score of three hundred sixty.

   "Don't you LET us win!" snapped Erica.  She blushed as she realized what
she'd said, and the tone of voice she'd said it in.

   "Don't have to let you win," said Jake, unruffled.  "You're going to
cheat to win anyway."

   "Jake!" said Tilly sharply.  "These are our guests!"

   "You're no better," he groused.  "Both of you, preying on poor old
crippled men.  You should be ashamed of yourselves." He tried to look hurt.

   "I'm not old," said Will.  "And I think we can beat them even if they
cheat."

   It went on like that, until Will's prediction was proven.

   Tilly packed up the cards as Erica tried to add the points incorrectly,
so that the game wouldn't officially be over.

   "And they let you teach school?" asked Jake, grinning.

   It was only fifteen minutes until midnight, at that point, so they
didn't start another game, sitting down in the living room to wait for the
clock to strike, and for the new year to be official.

   "So how is the play coming?" asked Tilly.

   Erica smiled.

   "It's mostly OK," she said.  "Bobby and a cheerleader and I got all the
sets finished, so that when the kids come back we can start doing full
walkthroughs, with sets and props and all that.  My real concern is that
the kids will have forgotten their lines over Christmas, and that they
won't grasp the idea of the right kind of delivery."

   She went on to say that when the kids said their lines, it sounded like
they were reading them, instead of speaking them.

   "When they get in front of a real audience, I'm afraid they'll forget
everything, because they're not THINKING about what they're saying.  If
they have the least bit of stage fright, I'm sure it will all just vanish
from their heads completely."

   "Can't you get some people in there to watch rehearsals?" asked Jake. 
"That would give them an audience to practice in front of."

   "I don't think that would work," said Erica.  "It would have to be
enough people to scare them ...  you know, make them take notice?"

   "Not if it was the right people," said Jake.

   "Like who?"

   "Like me and Will."

   "What?" Erica goggled at him.  Tilly leaned forward, interested.

   "Most people are scared of men like me and Will in the first place,"
said Jake.  "They don't know what to say.  They forget common manners.  If
we were sitting there, say at the front of the stage, where they could see
us, and we were watching them ...  don't you think that would make them as
nervous as a whole crowd?"

   "That's insane," said Tilly, smiling benignly at her husband.  He'd made
other decisions in the past that were more outrageous than this one, such
as allowing Bobby to impregnate her twice, the good old fashioned way, so
she wasn't shocked.  She just thought it was silly.

   "No it's not," insisted Jake.  "Us being there would throw them for a
loop.  At least you'd know whether they could concentrate or not."

   "I don't know," said Erica, frowning.  "That doesn't seem very fair."

   "Is putting them in front of a crowd when they're not ready fair?" asked
Jake.

   "I wasn't talking about them," said Erica.  "I don't think it's fair to
you to put you in that situation.  You have no idea what will happen,
Jake."

   "Of course I do," said Jake.

   "He does," said Will, who had hit the wine a little harder than anyone
else.  "I do too."

   "OK," admitted Erica.  "But what if they scream and run away?"

   "It's not THAT bad," said Jake.  "Mostly people just try to ignore us,
once they've stared a bit."

   "You know," mused Erica.  "I was reading a book on drama, and one of the
things it said was that actors should behave as if the audience isn't
there. The hard part is getting them to do that, because they know the
audience IS there."

   "Don't tell me you're actually thinking of letting them do this," said
Tilly, blinking.

   "Maybe he's got something," said Erica.  She turned to her brother. 
"What about you?"

   "I'd be scared shitless," he said, peering at her with owlish eyes.  "I
mean spitless," he said, looking at Tilly.

   "Not with me there with you," said Jake.  "We're brothers, you and me."

   "I know," said Will, concentrating hard to speak clearly.  "That doesn't
mean they won't puke all over the place when they see me, though."

   "I didn't puke," said Tilly.  She flushed, as she realized she was
actually supporting this really ridiculous idea.  "I wanted to, but I
didn't," she said, trying to turn it around.

   "Tilly!" barked Jake.

   "OK, I lied.  But this is crazy.  You know it is.  Neither of you needs
to go parading around in public, having people stare at you.  Jake, it took
me years just to get you to go to a town celebration!"

   "I was stupid," said Jake.  "I've been stupid about a lot of things over
the years.  But about eight years ago, my little filly, I started getting
smart again."

   Tilly blushed, because she knew he was referring to him letting another
man make a baby in her belly.

   "And I think this is a good idea," he added.

   "At least talk to Bobby about it first," Tilly pleaded.

   "Bobby?  Why would he need to talk to Bobby?" asked Erica.

   Tilly blushed even more.  "We respect his judgment on things," she said.
"That's all."

   "Ha-ppy new year!" said Will suddenly.  He tossed off the rest of the
wine in his glass.

   They all turned to the TV, where confetti was falling and people were
laughing and smiling in the cold air.

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

   She thought she'd be tired when they got home.  It was almost one in the
morning.  But the thought that they could sleep in, and an underlying
excitement had Erica wide awake.  Will had a comfortable buzz on and was
humming to himself when she opened the door, with his wheelchair ready to
take him inside.

   "I wish we could sleep together," he said as he hopped to one foot,
grabbing the arm of the chair expertly, despite the alcohol in his system.

   As she pushed him up the ramp, it occurred to Erica that ...  they COULD
sleep together.  Her bed was plenty big enough for two people.  The idea of
having someone else in the bed with her was foreign, but if it was Will ...
well that didn't seem so far out.

   "Do you want to sleep with me tonight?" she asked, once they were in the
house.  "I never thought about that before, but my bed is big enough."

   He had a different look on his face when he lifted his head.  There was
something in his eyes that looked almost dangerous, somehow, as if he were
angry.

   "I've dreamed of sleeping with you almost since I can remember," he said
softly.

   It may be understood, with a little reflection, that because Erica had
pushed sexual thoughts and urges away from her all those years, it was only
natural for her to think of "sleep with you" in a slightly different way
than her brother did.  To Erica, "sleep" meant exactly that ...  slumber
... unconscious repose ...  sleep.  Of course to Will, it meant the same
thing as it means to you, the reader.

   What saved Erica from losing her virginity that night was an almost
bizarre combination of circumstances.

   Once they were in her bed together, naked and breathing hard, had Will
been whole, he would have rolled over and simply impaled her.  He was not
whole, however, and while the alcohol had reduced his inhibitions to the
point he was willing to fuck his sister, it had done nothing to restore his
physical capabilities.  When he tried to roll on top of Erica, he just
couldn't make it work.

   From Erica's perspective, she didn't quite understand what he was trying
to do.  Always before, he lay on his back, comfortable, while she stroked
him.  She had learned, by this time, how to bring him to completion without
his help.  In an ironic kind of way, she was proud of herself, in terms of
her capability to sexually satisfy a man.  She didn't think of it as
debasing herself.  She did this out of love.  And so, when he obviously
tried to roll on top of her, she perceived it as an attempt to embrace,
while lying down.  That was something she could understand.

   So, she rolled to embrace him, from the top position.  She only went
three quarters of the way, because that was all that was needed.  In that
position, she could press her breasts against his chest, and reach the good
side of his face for kisses, while still being able to reach his stiff
prick to do what she had always done.  Since learning to masturbate in the
shower, Erica no longer felt the overpowering urge to masturbate while she
took care of her brother.  She could do that any time now.

   The bizarre part of this otherwise tender scene, was that her body
covered his in almost the identical pattern that Josh Turner's body had
covered him, a few years earlier, as he lay mangled on a battlefield,
waiting for napalm to turn his body to ash.

   As his sister's naked ...  hot ...  body pressed against his ...  Will
Bradford had a flashback.

   His scream of agony was both completely unexpected and terrifying to
Erica, who suddenly found herself on the floor.  Will's body had arched so
violently that it had literally thrown her across the bed.  She scrambled
up, confused and flabbergasted, to see Will's good hand slapping at the
left side of his ruined body as he screamed over and over again.  His
heartrending screams turned her blood to ice, but her brain recognized his
actions and she somehow knew what was happening.

   Screaming back at him didn't work.  He was mindless as his brain
overpowered reality.  She did the only thing she could think of, which was
to dash to the bathroom and wet a towel with cold water.  She dashed back
and pressed the cold, wet cloth against his left side, trying to spread it
out and avoid being hit by his hand, which was still trying to beat out the
imaginary flames.

   That cold towel did the trick, and his mind jerked back to reality in an
instant, mid gasp.  His screams cut off as if his vocal chords had been
severed, and no longer worked at all.

   Then he sobbed.

   It took her an hour to calm him down to the point that he fell into an
exhausted sleep.  She was afraid something else might happen, so she stayed
there, eventually falling asleep herself.

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

   The preservation of Erica's virginity continued, the next morning,
because alcohol and terror had robbed Will's mind of the ability to recall
all the events of the previous evening.

   She woke him gently, worried that he might be frightened still.  His
eyes opened, clear and unconcerned.

   "Hi," he said.

   "How do you feel?" she asked, carefully, putting one hand on his chest.

   It was then he realized he was in bed ...  his sister's bed ...  and
that they were both naked, and that it was morning.  His mind tried to
supply information about what had happened the night before, but was only
partially successful.  He remembered wanting to fuck his sister, but that
was it.

   "Did we do it?" he asked, his voice almost dreamy.

   "Do what?" asked Erica, confused.

   "Did I put it in you?"

   Understanding hit her like a medicine ball in the stomach.  It was
understanding of more than just his question.  As she realized what he
meant, other things made sense to her too, that had been troubling and
frustrating feelings in the past.  Erica had intentionally repressed the
thought of having sex with any man, much less her brother.  But she knew
what it looked like, from that movie way back when, and from the
descriptions of her friends.

   Now, as the image of her, lying on the bed, legs apart, came into her
mind, and the image of Will's penis hanging over her sex, was added, the
tingles she felt all over her body made much more sense.  Her body had felt
those tingles ...  the urges she was feeling now ...  and she just hadn't
understood what they meant.

   Now she did.

   "No!" she blurted.  "We can't do THAT, Will!"

   "I thought we did," he said, his voice still dreamy.

   "You ...  you ...  wanted to?" She felt helpless.  This man she loved
and trusted ...  he wanted to take her like that?  The tingles intensified.
They felt like bugs crawling on her body, that she couldn't brush off.

   The fear in her voice broke through Will's dream-filled thoughts, and he
looked at her.  He realized she was rigid.

   "I would never do anything to hurt you," he said, his eyes alert.

   "But you want to ...  to ...  to have SEX with me?" Her voice went even
higher.

   "I'm confused," he said.  "What happened last night?"

   That was something she could talk about, and in doing that, she calmed
down.  Eventually she was able to piece together what had gone on in his
mind ...  or at least part of it.  The bottom line was that he HAD
entertained the thought of pushing his penis into her vagina.  But it was
also clear to her that it had been a misty urge to him, rather than an
intentional desire to extend what they already did.

   "We can't do that, Will," she said, no longer afraid.  "I love you, and
I like doing what we do.  I still think you deserve that ...  but we can't
have intercourse."

   "I know," he said.  "I'm sorry I thought about it.  I won't do that
anymore."

   "You can't just stop thinking about something," she said.  "You're going
to think about it.  You just have to do something to push those thoughts
away."

   Erica thought she was giving him good advice.  She would help him, she
said.  She would help him by making sure that any time he was horny, she
made his horniness go away.  It all made sense to her.

   What she didn't plan on were her own continuing thoughts.

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

   Technically, Bobby was done with supervising set construction.  That was
made clear to Erica when he didn't show up at the auditorium on the first
day of practice after the Christmas vacation.  She had time to notice she
was disappointed, but then pushed that away without thinking about it,
because she had her hands very full with rehearsal.

   After rehearsal, which went dismally, because the kids HAD forgotten
their lines, she was in a funk when she got home.

   "So what did Bobby say about Jake's idea?" asked her brother.  After
sobering up he had decided that he hoped Bobby would say it was a bad one.

   "He wasn't there," she said.  "The sets are all done, so I guess he
decided he wasn't needed any more."

   "Is he?" asked Will, curious that it sounded like she was mad at Bobby
for not being there.

   "No," sighed Erica.  "I suppose not.  What do you want for supper?"

   "Anything will do," said Will.  "Why don't you just call him?"

   "Because I don't need Bobby Dalton to tell me what to do!" she barked.
She calmed immediately.  "I'm sorry.  I shouldn't take it out on you."

   "Take what out on me," asked Will.

   "Oh, everything!" she moaned.  "The kids forgot their lines, and I got
the blocking all wrong when I planned it out.  The sets look great, but
that's about all there is to be happy about.  Then Bobby wasn't there and
..." She stopped, looking confused.

   "I think you're sweet on him," said Will, grinning.

   "I am NOT, William Bradford!" she snapped.

   "OK, OK," he said, still grinning.  "All I know is that when he was
there, you usually came home only grumpy, instead of outright pissed off."

   "I'm not grumpy to you!" Erica sounded wounded.

   "I know," he said.  "I was just teasing you ...  kind of paying you back
for how you tease me sometimes."

   "I thought you liked it when I did that," she said, sounding even more
hurt.

   "I love it when you do that," said Will.  "Do you feel like teasing me
now?"

   "No," she said, sounding like she was pouting.

   "There you go," said Will, tossing up his right hand.  "When you get to
see Bobby you're only grumpy, but you tease me really good."

   "If you want any loving tonight, you'd better decide to stop talking,
mister!" she warned.

   "Chili!" he said.  "I'd love a bowl of chili tonight."

   Then he turned around and dragged his chair to the living room, where he
could watch TV.

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

   Erica wondered how she could still be miffed at her little brother after
she'd had TWO orgasms masturbating him the night before.  She decided it
was his ridiculous assertion that she had some kind of interest in Bobby
Dalton.

   For that reason, she decided NOT to talk to Bobby about Jake's idea. 
She had to do something, but she had a bad feeling about just bringing two
severely handicapped men into the school and sitting them on the stage in
front of rehearsal.  If some kid DID run screaming home to mamma, things
could get ugly.  It wouldn't be fair, but that wouldn't matter if it
happened.  Instead she went to her principal.

   Julia Staffordshire was the principal of Granger High because the school
board couldn't draw a man to the school for the salary they offered.  She
didn't much care about that.  She got by, and she thought of herself as
being an agent of change in the community.

   For that reason she was quite tolerant of Erica Bradford, a firebrand
women's libber, no doubt, and who was disliked by many of the other
teachers.  She was doing fine, though, and seemed to be holding up well, so
Julia didn't worry too much about her.

   Or hadn't.  Now she wondered.  The woman had come to her with the
craziest idea Julia had ever heard of.  What was even crazier was that she
sold Julia on it, using logic and common sense, to justify something that
purely defied common sense.

   Now, as she sat in her office, Julia wondered if she hadn't just handed
some folks in town the ammunition to blow her off the stump, so to speak.
If this went badly, and word of it got out, she would take the heat ... 
not Erica.

   Because Erica had to go home and get her brother, Julia had said she
would get things organized.  It was time to do that, so she left her
office. As the last of the students trickled out of the building, Julia
walked into the hallway, where she immediately saw a woman pushing a man in
a wheelchair through the double doors at the front of the building.  She
detoured.

   "You must be Jake and Tilly Johnson," she said, pasting a professional
smile on her face.  She tried not to look at Jake's body.  "I'm Julia
Staffordshire.  I'm the head cheese here."

   "Pleased to meet you," said Tilly.  She didn't sound like she meant it.
She looked slightly ill, in fact.

   "I understand this was your idea," said Julia, having to look at Jake.

   "It's worth a try," said Jake.  "Got nothing to lose."

   "I'd like to talk to the children before you go in," said Julia.

   "You sound like a wise woman," said Jake.  He smiled.

   He had spunk, this one-armed man with the crooked leg.  Julia could see
that immediately.  She felt a little better.  He had to be strong to offer
to do this.  Now all she had to do was make sure the kids didn't completely
blow it.

   "I'll let you know when to come in," she said.  "The stage entrance is
down that way to the left."

   "We both went to school here," said Tilly.

   "Well then!" said Julia.  "Welcome back to your alma mater.  I hope this
all works out."

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

   The first thing she noticed when she walked into the auditorium was that
rehearsal was already going on.  There were some twenty students on the
stage, standing in what looked like a quite lifelike town square with an
ancient ambiance to it.  Melody Watkins was loudly proclaiming herself to
be someone named Meg.  It sounded like she was arguing with someone.  There
was a man standing at the front of the stage, with his back to the
orchestra pit.

   Julia knew a little about that man.  No one had officially told her that
Bobby Dalton was taking part in the preparations for this production, but
Julia made it her business to know what was going on in her school. 
Knowing that man was in the building after hours had made her a little
nervous.  She'd heard some startling rumors about him, but they were the
kind of rumors that couldn't be verified.  Some number of his sisters had
been students in the four years she'd been at Granger High.  One, named
Suzie, had stood out as one of the best students, though she was a shy
thing.  She'd seen the brother, of course, at the 4th of July celebrations,
and the ice cream socials.  Julia was one of the women who sat apart from
that crowd.  She did that not because she looked down on the women who were
ostracized, but because if she didn't, she'd be ostracized herself.  She'd
never felt very good about that, but that was politics.  She climbed the
steps to the stage and walked to stand beside him.

   "Mister Dalton," she said quietly, nodding her head.

   "Mrs.  Staffordshire," he acknowledged, also in an almost whisper.

   "I thought your considerable talents had been consumed," said Julia. 
"I'm surprised to see you here."

   "Tilly Johnson called me and said Erica was going to go get Will and
meet them here," said Bobby.  "She asked me to come over.  She's a little
nervous about Jake's idea.  I have to admit I'm a little nervous about it
too." He glanced at her.  "I'm a little surprised you approved this."

   "No more than me," said Julia.  This was the first time she'd ever
spoken to this man.  She found him to be polite and a somewhat imposing
presence up close.  "Did you get them going?"

   "Yes ma'am," he said.  "They were milling around, so I thought a little
practice ...  before practice ...  might keep them busy."

   "And they listened to you?" Julia was surprised.

   "I think they're terrified that I'll give Erica a bad report on them,"
said Bobby smiling.

   "You mind if I talk to them?" asked the principal.

   "They're your students," said Bobby.

   "The Johnsons are out in the hallway, through that door," said Julia,
pointing to a set of double doors at stage left.  "Mrs.  Johnson could
probably use a friendly face."

   Bobby walked off without a word.  Everything on stage stopped, as the
actors tried to figure out what was going on.

   "Go on," she said, waving her hand.

   After a few comments like "Where are we?" and "Whose line is it?" they
got going again.  About half of them were trying to read from scripts that
it was obvious to Julia they weren't supposed to have.  She could tell that
by the way they tried to hide them.

   She let it go on for ten more minutes and then called "CUT!" She wasn't
sure that was the right word, but everything got quiet.

   "EVERYBODY ON STAGE!" roared the principal, in a voice any drill
sergeant would be proud of.

   She turned around to another gaggle of kids who were sitting in the
seats, but apparently weren't needed for this scene.

   "You too," she barked.  The kids popped up and started for the stage.

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

   Julia Staffordshire was not known as a woman who minced words.  Not by
the student body anyway.  If anyone wanted a role model for how a woman
could do just as well as a man, Julia would have been a good one.  Several
male teachers had found that out the hard way.

   "Here's the deal," she said to the quiet group.

   Then she explained that this was Ms.  Bradford's first production, and
that, in the ten minutes that she had just heard, it was obvious the actors
weren't taking things seriously.  In fact, they were abysmal, but she
didn't say that.  She explained that she wanted Ms.  Bradford to have a
successful experience at this so that she would be willing to do this again
sometime.  She upbraided them for not knowing their lines, and for standing
around like lumps of clay when they spoke.

   "How many of you here want me to stay and watch the rest of this
rehearsal?" she asked.

   One hand went up in the back.  She could hear the slap of another hand
on that one, and a hushed "Ow!"

   "OK, then, here's what we're going to do," she said.  "I have some
friends.  They're going to watch you rehearse.  Some of you may have seen
one of them, but the other one you probably haven't.  As soon as you see
them you're going to go 'Ewwwww.' Get over it.  They're here for a reason,
and I don't want you people making them feel bad.  Any questions?"

   "Who are they?" came a voice from the back.

   "One is Jake Johnson, and the other is Ms.  Bradford's brother.  He was
injured in the war and is disabled, like Mr.  Johnson."

   She heard a buzz of conversation.  The word "cripple" came through, but
she couldn't tell from where.

   "Why are they going to be here?" asked Linda Zwickey.

   "That doesn't matter.  You are to ignore them.  They're going to watch.
They may have some ideas about how you're doing ...  how you might be able
to do better.  I don't know about that.  What I want you to know is that
they are guests ...  OUR guests ...  and I expect you to treat them with
respect.  Is that understood?"

   There was a chorus of "Yes, ma'am" that didn't sound very sincere.

   "I WILL NOT BE EMBARRASSED BY YOUR POOR BEHAVIOR!" Her voice rang loud,
filling the auditorium.  "Now, is that understood?" she asked, almost
quietly.

   The chorus was much more enthusiastic this time.

   "Now, let's start this thing over again," said the principal.  "See if
you can make me want to come see it when the show goes on."

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

   Chapter Fourteen

   Bobby found Tilly and Jake in the hallway.  Tilly hugged him.

   "I don't think this is a good idea," she whispered in his ear.

   "I know," he whispered back.  He pulled away from her and looked at
Jake, who looked a little worried.  Bobby didn't think it had anything to
do with Tilly hugging him.

   "So ...  this was your idea?" Bobby asked Jake.

   Jake seemed to give himself a mental shake and looked at Bobby.

   "Yeah," he said, his voice a little husky.  "I just think it's time I
got out more."

   "You get out all the time," Bobby pointed out.  That was true.  Ever
since Tilly had started having babies, which people just naturally thought
were Jake's, he'd been going more places with his wife and being seen in
public.

   "I know," said Jake.  He smiled a tentative smile.  "There's no critic
like a kid," he said.

   "I thought the idea was for YOU to be the critic."

   "What do I know about this stuff?" asked Jake.  "The last musical I went
to was in this auditorium." He pointed to the doors that led to the stage.
"That was for an assembly we had to go to.  It was called Bye Bye Birdie,
and I still don't know what it was about."

   "OK," said Bobby, as if something had been explained.  "But why drag
Will into it too?"

   "You can't hide," said Jake.  "I tried.  I don't want him to go through
the same thing I did, sitting alone someplace, hating the world, because
you never have anything to do with it."

   He would have gone on, but the sound of Erica and Will's arrival made
them all turn and look at the couple coming up the hallway.  Bobby peeked
in through the double doors.  Mrs.  Staffordshire was apparently through
with her comments, because the first act had started again.  From the
little Bobby saw it wasn't much different from when they'd done it for him.
He turned around as Erica pulled Will's wheelchair to a stop.  She looked
almost panicked.

   "They're going through it now," he said, for lack of anything else to
say.  "I think Mrs.  Staffordshire gave them a pep talk."

   The women dithered, while the men sat, looking stern, until Bobby just
pulled the double doors open and stood back.  Neither woman moved until
Jake said "Tilly!" She and Erica both jerked, and the chairs started moving
again.

   The two men were pushed past the young actors, most of whom stopped and
stared, instead of making the motions that were supposed to suggest a
country fair was going on in Brigadoon.  The song "McConnachy Square" was
being sung, and by the time the men were sitting side by side at the front
of the stage, only about half the kids were actually singing.  Julia
bellowed "KEEP SINGING!" and the song began picking up voices, one or two
at a time, until suddenly no one was looking at the two men in wheelchairs.

   It was almost comical how the kids, in trying NOT to look at the two men
they thought of as "cripples," fell back on the only routine at hand at the
moment.  That routine was the lines and movements they had practiced for so
long.  There were still occasional darting glances toward the front of the
stage but, by and large, the actors were suddenly very interested in their
lines, and who they were supposed to be interacting with.

   Meg Brockie, the amorous dairy vendor was introduced, along with Angus
McGuffie, her employer, and then Archie Beaton, the plaid merchant, and his
son Harry.  The plot tumbled on without the stops and starts that were
usual as the audience met the McLaren family and found out that Harry
Beaton was still madly in love with Jean McLaren, who was about to be
married to another man that day.

   Erica finally felt capable of leaving Will alone, and joined Julia
Staffordshire to watch as "Waitin' For My Dearie" was sung by Emily
Emerson, playing the part of Fiona.  Bobby just stood by Tilly, on the
opposite side of Will, and watched with them.

   There were the inevitable hang-ups, as players who had had to pretend
they had props, and imagine the sets that hadn't been finished yet,
interacted with the real thing.  But, for the most part, Erica only had to
prompt things four or five times as the kids ran through the first act.  It
was a first for them all, because that act had never been done from start
to finish in one episode.

   In fact, working on that first act took the whole night, because once
they got started and actually DID it, the kids wanted to correct every
little problem.  It was one of those "elephant in the room" situations
where, to be able to ignore Will and Jake, the kids concentrated on the
only other thing available to take up their mostly full attention.

   That is not to say that no one paid any attention to the two disabled
men.  A fair number of the cast were off stage at any given time, and
clusters of teenagers gravitated toward each other to sneak quick and
not-so-quick peeks at the two wrecked men sitting at the front of the
stage. Those men just sat and watched, their faces not quite stony, but
certainly not betraying any clue as to what they were thinking.  It was
like they were some kind of grotesque statues.

   Eventually Bobby took Tilly's elbow and led her to the stairs and down
to sit in the seats.  That movement drew Erica's eyes, which took in
Tilly's hand in Bobby's.  Later she looked for them and saw them in the
second or third row back, off to one side so they could see around Jake and
Will.  They were still holding hands.  Erica had no time to evaluate that
information, because the show ground to a halt as a set change was made to
move to the forest, where Meg was going to try to seduce Jeff.  They had
never had all the sets to deal with before and had to figure out a way to
stand them side by side off stage.  By the time they had that figured out
and the two actors were on stage, and Erica turned to look, Tilly was
sitting alone.

   Bobby had left the auditorium.

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

   The next couple of weeks wrought almost astonishing changes for the
whole group of people involved with bringing Brigadoon to life.  Some of
those things were directly related to the production, and some were not.

   It didn't quite work out the way Jake had thought it would.  His and
Will's presence, just sitting in their chairs at the front of the stage
each night, didn't really do anything about stage fright.

   The elephant was still in the room ...  two of them, in fact.  What
their presence seemed to do was require the kids, on some mystical social
level, to completely ignore the two men, at least initially.  The best way
to do that, it turned out, was for the uncomfortable teenagers to pretend
they were the characters in the musical, and give that their full
attention. And, once the two disturbing men had been examined through hasty
peeks, the kids who weren't on stage turned their attention to the
production, to concentrate on something not so disturbing.

   It took four nights before a teen, walking past them, shyly said "Hi."
That was returned with a similar greeting, delivered in a deep voice.

   Then it became "Hi, I'm Sarah," or "Hi, I'm Jimmy." It was inevitable,
once the elephants were found to be able to speak, that someone ask "So ...
what do you think?"

   It turned out that that person was, of all people, Tabitha Jenkins, the
cheerleader/artist who kept coming to play practice, even though the sets
were finished.  She was forever dabbing paint here or there, to improve her
canvases, but spent a lot of time just watching rehearsal too.  She was the
one who eventually spoke more than one or two words to the men.  She was
walking from one side of the stage to the other, trying not to disturb the
flow of the funeral in act two, and so chose to walk around the arc of the
front of the stage.  She stopped behind and between the two men.

   "So ...  what do you think?" she asked.

   Will had been asked that question almost nightly by his sister.  His
initial judgments had been kept to himself, because he didn't want to hurt
her feelings.  He had been vague in his comments, for the most part.  But
things were coming together rapidly.  When the kids actually paid attention
to what they were supposed to be doing, the improvement was almost
palpable.

   Jake was the only one who could turn his head far enough to actually
look at her, over his shoulder.

   "Men aren't supposed to like this stuff ...  are they?" He grinned.

   "I don't see why not," said Tabitha.  Jake wasn't so hard to look at. 
His face looked just like the face of any other older man.

   "I'm definitely into it," said Will, looking forward.  He didn't even
try to turn, because he knew the tight skin on his neck and shoulder
wouldn't allow it.

   "Cool," said Tabitha.

   That was it, for that night.  But the elephants had been spoken to. 
Other teens had seen her stop, and seen her mouth moving ...  seen Jake
turn and address her.  Their curiosity was not assuaged by Tabitha when she
was questioned.

   "I just said hi," she claimed.

   Those who had seen, though, knew that much more had been said than a
simple one word greeting.

   That led to more kids wandering by the wheelchairs ...  and more words
being exchanged.  Their youthful curiosity had been pushed away by the
strangeness of the two men, but as that strangeness seemed, somehow, to
diminish, curiosity began to bubble back up to the surface.

   Rough spots were identified, and Erica stopped things to go over those
scenes, again and again, until the roughness was smoothed over.  That meant
large numbers of kids had nothing to do.  Watching the same scene over and
over again was boring.

   The two men at the front of the stage were not.

   It took two weeks before Donald Thompson had the courage ...  or
foolishness, depending on how you looked at it ...  to finally say what was
on every young mind in the place.

   "So ...  what happened to you, anyway?"

   He was immediately corrected by four of the nine kids who, for some
reason, had nothing better to do than stand around the two men in the
wheelchairs.  Jake corrected the correctors.

   "It's a normal question," he said.  "I was in a mining accident, and my
buddy Will here was in Vietnam."

   That was all that was said at that moment, but the dam had been cracked.
On a Thursday evening, when the boy playing the part of Jeff bumped into
the edge of a set and drove a long splinter into the flesh above his knee,
Erica stopped everything and took him to the nurse's office, hopefully to
find antiseptic and bandages.

   That left the whole group alone with Will and Jake ...  and with nothing
to do.

   Erica got back to find the entire cast standing, or sitting, in front of
the two men.  Will was describing how the helmet he had been wearing had
shielded the top and sides of his head from the napalm, which was why his
hair looked completely normal, even though it was above a ruined face, with
a lump of scar for an ear.

   Had she known this would happen, Erica would have done anything to
prevent it.  She would have believed quite strongly that such a description
had no place in the ears of teenagers ...  that they would neither
understand nor be able to tolerate such graphic knowledge.

   She stood, jaw slack, though, as first one then another teen asked
questions about what it was like to be in that much pain, and to be afraid
that you might die, and to say things like "If that happened to me I don't
think I'd WANT to live."

   Part of her amazement was that such a serious conversation was being
thoughtfully approached by all present.  She could tell by the pink tint on
Will's right cheek that his emotional level was high, but he didn't pull
back or tell them to leave him alone.  Jake drew the line when someone
wanted to see the stump of his arm, but even that seemed to be just a wave
that sank back into the sea of interest and questions.

   It had only been quiet for ten seconds ...  a somewhat natural lull in
the group conversation, as kids evaluated what they had just heard, and
before another question could be voiced, when Erica cleared her throat.

   "We're here to practice, not grill these men," she said.

   She was left astonished when the group rose, almost as one, and went
back to work.

   From that moment on, Jake and Will were almost never left alone long as
they sat on the stage.  What Erica never learned, though, was that once the
kids' curiosity was satisfied, they began to ask the men other questions.

   Those questions had to do with what the men watched the cast do every
night.

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

   Something else that happened while Will and Jake were being "normalized"
by the kids, and which also caused a lot of uproar, was when a pair of men
walked down the aisle between the right and middle seats of the auditorium
and asked for Erica.  She told the kids to keep working on the scene being
rehearsed and went down the steps to meet him.

   "I'm Erica Bradford," she said, approaching the men.

   They were about as different as it was possible to be, physically.  One
was much older and short, while the other was so thin and tall that he
looked almost emaciated.  She held out her hand to the short man, who was
half a step ahead of the tall one.

   "How can I help you?" she asked.

   "I hope it's the other way around, actually," he said smiling.  "I'm
Chester Chumley.  This gentleman with me is named Sidney McGregor and I've
hired him to provide his services to your musical."

   "Services?" Erica was at a loss.  "I don't understand."

   She knew who Chester Chumley was, of course.  Everybody in town knew
about the Chumleys.  She'd never actually met either this man or his wife,
though, and had no idea whether whatever he was talking about came with
strings attached or not.  Most rich men didn't do anything without some
kind of strings being attached.

   "I'm a bagpiper," said Sidney, reaching past Chester to take the hand
Chester had just released.  "I live in Kansas City and belong to a bagpiper
club there."

   "I've heard that there are several places that a real bagpiper might add
drama to the production," said Chester.  "I made some inquiries and hired
Mr.  McGregor through his club.  I hope I haven't overstepped any
boundaries."

   "No," said Erica a little weakly.  "This is wonderful!" She didn't know
quite what to say next.  "It's still two weeks before the show opens,
though," she said.

   "I asked Mr.  McGregor to make himself available for as many rehearsals
as you think is needed," said Chester.  "I'm sure he doesn't need to be
here every day, but I did want him to exhibit his talents.  That's why he's
here today ...  if you have time."

   "I brought my pipes," said Sidney, unnecessarily.  His eagerness to show
off was plain.  "Though I left my costume at home," he added.

   "Well!" said Erica, deciding not to look this particular gift horse in
the mouth.  "Are you familiar with Brigadoon?"

   "Intimately," said Sidney, his voice very firm.

   "Perhaps we could rehearse the funeral scene," said Erica.

   "Give me ten minutes," said Sidney.  "I'll come in from the back and
parade down the aisle.  I'll climb up onto the stage and then you can
decide what to do with me after that."

   Erica was delighted.

   "Don't tell them what's going to happen," said Sidney.  "It's so much
more fun to see the expression on their faces when they hear me for the
first time."

   He left and Erica turned to Chester.

   "Is there anything ...  um ...  associated with this gift?" she asked.

   "Do you mean do I want anything in return?" asked Chester, smiling. 
"No. I do not.  When my friend suggested this I thought it was a brilliant
idea.  I don't know if bagpipes have ever been heard in Granger or not. 
This will bring a little culture here.  That's enough for me."

   "Who is your friend?" asked Erica.  "In addition to thanking you, I must
remember to thank ..." She didn't know whether to say "him" or "her" and
finally decided on something politically correct: "This person for
suggesting it to you."

   "His name is Bobby Dalton," said Chester.  "I believe you've met him
already."

   Erica was astonished.  Bobby Dalton was this man's "friend?"

   "Yes," said Erica, feeling like she was expected to say something.  "I
have.  I'll remember to thank him."

   "Would it be all right if I stayed and watched the fun?" asked Chester.

   "Of course!" said Erica.

   She went back to the stage where she "decided" that the scene currently
being rehearsed needed a rest and called for everyone in the funeral scene.
It had been planned to play a record of bagpipe music, during the
production, with speakers out on the edge of the stage, but none of that
had been brought together yet.  One of the kids had taken to humming
"Amazing Grace" at the appropriate time.

   For Erica, it was priceless as, when the time came, and Steven started
humming, there was a ghostly racket from the back of the auditorium.  It
quickly stabilized into the familiar drone peculiar to the bagpipe, and
then Sidney entered the auditorium playing the tune on the chanter of the
pipes.

   Everybody froze.  Even though he wasn't in costume, Sidney had a ramrod
stiff, almost military bearing as he marched slowly down the aisle and
mounted the steps.  By the time he stepped onto the stage itself, every
person in the place was staring at him.  The music brought an upwelling of
emotion to Erica and she felt tears in her eyes.

   This wonderful gift would be fabulous beyond calculation when the
auditorium was full of spectators.  She turned to look at the old man whose
name was sometimes said in hushed tones, because of his power in this town.
He was grinning like a kid, watching the piper along with everyone else.

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

   Another thing that affected the lives of two of the people involved in
the production happened away from the school.

   Erica was having more and more trouble with flitting thoughts of her
brother's hard penis.  Those thoughts always assailed her as she stroked
it, looking at it, anticipating when it would spurt.  First those thoughts
were of his penis dangling over her sex, as she lay back on a bed.  But
then, over time, that penis got closer and closer to her, until the tip
nosed between the lips between her legs.

   Most girls wonder, at one time or another, what it might feel like for a
man's penis to be inside her.  Erica was just a little late at getting to
that point in her life.  That didn't make it any less upsetting, though.

   The scene that kept playing through her head was from that old blue
movie, where the substitute was replaced with her, and the penis descending
toward and then penetrating the vagina on the screen was Will's.  When she
couldn't get that scene out of her head, her mind searched for something
else to replace it with.

   What it selected was the scene where the substitute looked down at the
stiff penis, opened her mouth, and then moved her head down.

   Erica Bradford thought it made all the sense in the world.  To stop
thinking about having intercourse with Will, all she had to do was
concentrate on having oral sex with him.

   She didn't warn him.  One minute she was stroking him, while he moaned
his appreciation, and the next minute her mouth closed over him.

   She didn't know what to do after that point.

   Once Will stopped freaking out, he taught her.

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

   The most momentous event that happened that January, as far as the
people associated with the production of Brigadoon were concerned, started
with pure routine, though it was exciting nonetheless.

   When all the costumes were ready, Christy Brown showed up to take the
photographs that would be used on the posters announcing the show.  Those
posters would be plastered around town.  Attendance at these things was
always good.  Some of that was because there was nothing else to do in
Granger on a Thursday night.  The show was scheduled to run Thursday,
Friday and Saturday.  Someone once calculated that the entire town could
fit into the auditorium if it had twice as many seats.  Rather than try to
pack the house, though, they ran three nights so that everybody got a
chance to come if they wanted to, and it was on whatever night was best for
them.  The other reason people came was because Erica's predecessor had
produced very good shows.

   Christy had done this before, and she had told Erica that what she
preferred to do was watch a run through of the show, during which she would
take pictures at candid moments.  That way they didn't look too posed.  In
addition, there would be group shots and individual portraits of the
"stars" of the show.  What wasn't used for the flyers would be made
available to the yearbook staff, which always did a section on drama and
musical events during the year.

   That put Christy at the front of the stage ...  with Jake and Will.

   She knew Jake, of course, and had sat with him and Tilly at different
town celebrations in the past.  She had taken pictures of their older child
for the yearbook of his school.  She had heard of Will, though she'd never
met him.

   She tried to keep what she was feeling out of her eyes as Jake
introduced her to Will.  She wasn't all that successful.  It made for some
awkwardness, initially.

   But Will and Jake, as they sat there watching the rehearsal night after
night, had gotten into the habit of talking to each other about the
differences and similarities they saw as the cast matured.  Will often
shared their observations with Erica, at home, while they ate a late
supper, or masturbated, which was now a routine they rarely missed, unless
Erica was on her period.

   As a consequence, they began to make recommendations to Christy about
when a good shot might be coming up.  As she stood and watched, the voices
that she heard sounded completely normal.  Will's voice had a barely
detectable almost lisp, that was a result of the tight skin on the left
side of his mouth, but other than that, what she heard didn't conjure up
anything in terms of a mental image of the speaker.

   Familiarity with something strange reduces the strangeness of it,
eventually.  Christy was there for three hours and for most of that time
she was standing within ten feet of the two men.  She was already used to
Jake.  It didn't take her all that long to put Will into the same category
...  a man to whom something terrible had happened, but who was still a
human being inside.

   By the time she was ready to do the group and individual portraits, her
feelings of revulsion when she looked at Will had lessened.  He sounded so
completely normal when he talked about which kids had the best expressions
on their faces, or seemed to be the most involved in the scene they were
acting in.

   She was packing up her equipment when Tilly came to pick Jake up, and
greeted her too.  Erica was still busy with something back stage, and that
left Christy alone with Will.

   "You're good at that," said Will.  "I don't know that much about
photography, but I can tell."

   "Thanks," said Christy.  "I love what I do."

   She would never be able to explain why she did it, but she turned to him
and said "I understand you were in Vietnam."

   "Yeah," he said.

   "My husband ...  my ex husband now ...  he was there."

   "When?" asked Will.

   "Nineteen seventy and seventy-one," she answered.  "It's what destroyed
our marriage."

   "Before my time," said Will.  "But Nam destroyed a lot of marriages."

   "He didn't get ...  hurt," said Christy.

   "Lucky," said Will.

   "I'm sorry you did."

   "Why?" he asked.  "I mean you don't even know me."

   "Nobody should have to go through that," she said.  "I hate war."

   "Don't get me started," said Will.

   "I always felt like what happened ...  between Richard and me ...  was
my fault," she said.

   "It wasn't your fault," said Will.  "Somebody had to go.  It turned out
to be him."

   "You don't understand," said Christy, thinking of the fact that she'd
gotten pregnant while her husband was off fighting.  That he'd cheated on
her didn't make her feel any better.  That she loved Bobby and loved their
child didn't help either.  She still felt some responsibility for the
marriage breaking up.

   "Why don't you tell me about it," he suggested.

   "He wouldn't come home," she said.  "He could have, but he kept going to
schools and getting promoted and going back to Vietnam."

   "Oh," said Will.  "A lifer.  I know the type."

   "And he had ...  other women," she said.  She was still trying to
justify things in her mind, years afterward.

   "Yeah," said Will.  "That happened a lot too.  If it's any help to you,
most guys only did that because they thought they were going to die, and
that was about the only thing that could take your mind off the war for a
little bit."

   "It's just as much my fault," said Christy.  "I cheated on him too."

   "Oh," said Will.  He sounded sad.

   "It was after our marriage was already dead," she said, somewhat
defensively, "but I know I shouldn't have done it."

   "Sometimes the wrong people get married to each other," said Will.  It
was no skin off his nose, but this woman was the first normal woman to talk
to him in a long time.  She wasn't all weepy and pitiful about his
condition either, though he'd seen the horror in her eyes when she first
met him.  That horror wasn't there now, though.  It was nice to have a
normal conversation, even if it had to be about the war.

   "It was nice to meet you," said Christy, picking up her bag and
shouldering it.  "You were very helpful in warning me about good shots."

   "Sure," he said.  "No problem."

   She hesitated.  "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

   Here it came.  They always wanted to know some intimate detail about his
injuries.  He almost sighed.

   "Shoot," he said.

   "Why are you here?"

   "Here at school?" he asked.  The question wasn't what he expected.

   "Yes."

   "Oh," he chuckled.  "Jake had this crazy idea that if the two of us sat
out here while they practiced, it would freak the kids out and then, when
it came to the real thing, and we weren't here anymore, they wouldn't get
stage fright."

   "Really!" She seemed astonished.

   "Yup," he said.  "We're just here to scare the dickens out of them."

   She looked fully at him.

   "Is it working?  You don't seem all that scary to me."

   "I think it did at first," said Will.  "Now the kids just sit and talk
to us whenever they get a chance.  You wouldn't believe what teenagers talk
about these days," he said.  "I can't understand half of it, because it
sounds like a foreign language half the time."

   "How interesting," she said.  "I have to go.  I hope to see you again
sometime."

   Will watched her walk away.  She was a babe.  In the past, that would
have hurt, because it made him think about things that weren't good for a
man in his condition to think about.  Now he had Erica, though, so it
wasn't so bad.  Now, when he went home, the feelings a woman like Christy
had caused to surge in him ...  could be dealt with.

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

   Chapter Fifteen

   The reason Bobby was absent from musical practice while all this was
going on was quite simple.  First off, the sets were done.  But he had
received another request from Misty Compton too.  She had invited Jasper to
come to Nashville, to sell some of his songs.  She had also asked Bobby to
come with him, and offered to pay his way again.

   "I feel bad about you spending all this money," he had told her on the
phone.

   "It's my money," she said.  "I want to see you."

   He had agreed, which was a good thing, because Jasper was almost
paralyzed by the idea of meeting Nashville music producers.  Bobby spent
most of the plane trip to Nashville trying to calm him down.

   "Look, Jasper," he said.  "You either sell the songs, or you don't.  If
you do, you make a little money, and write some more.  If you don't, you
sing them yourself and have fun, and write some more anyway."

   "I guess you're right," said Jasper.  "I just don't want to do something
stupid."

   "Well that's easy," said Bobby.  "Don't sign anything until you have a
lawyer look at it."

   "I never needed a lawyer before," sighed Jasper.  "It sounds scary to
think that I need a lawyer."

   "If that's the biggest problem you have, then you're in pretty good
shape," laughed Bobby.

   Misty, though she had specifically wanted Bobby to come, dropped him off
at her house, while she took Jasper on to a business meeting.  She gave him
a quick kiss and said her mother would be there to keep him company.  That
didn't bother him.  Her mother had sent a kiss through Misty, when he'd
left last time.  Misty dropped him off at the curb, and didn't go in with
him because she and Jasper needed to get to the meeting.

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

   Misty's mother was, in fact, at home, waiting for Bobby.

   She was also cleaning her father's shotgun on the kitchen table.

   "Come on in here, boy," she said, gesturing at a chair across the table
from her.  "Heard you was coming back.  Set a spell."

   "How you been?" he asked.

   "Been peachy keen," she said, wiping down the receiver with a rag.  "How
'bout you?"

   "I've been all right, I guess." he said.

   "How come a stalwart young stud such as yerself ain't hitched by this
time in yore life?" she asked, much too casually.

   "Never met a woman who would have me, I guess," said Bobby.  "Why, has
Misty changed her mind?" Bobby was referring to the last time he'd been
there, when Misty had told her mother ...  in front of him ...  that she
wasn't interested in marriage, because it would interfere with her career.

   "Things change," said the woman, reassembling the shotgun.  "She seems
awful sweet on you."

   "Are you asking me if I'm interested in marrying Misty?" asked Bobby.

   "Just curious ...  that's all."

   "The subject came up a couple of times," he said.  "Not about her and
me, you understand, but about marriage in general.  She told me pretty much
the same thing she told you." He looked at the woman sitting across the
table from him.  "You got something on your mind?"

   "Younguns," sighed the woman holding the assembled shotgun.  "They think
they're so smart, an' that they can keep secrets."

   "What kind of secrets?"

   "She didn't have her monthly last month."

   If she expected Bobby to be shocked, she was disappointed.

   "Did she talk to you about it?" asked Bobby.

   "Nope.  She seems to think I won't notice somethin' like that."

   "You think she's pregnant?" asked Bobby.

   "A mother knows these things," she said wisely.  "Course it helps that
she's been actin' squirrelly ever since she should have started bleedin'.
It was pretty clear to me she'd been pumpkinated."

   As serious as the conversation was, Bobby almost smiled when he heard a
new term for being made pregnant.  He forced his mind to be serious.

   "She told me she was on the pill," said Bobby.

   "She talked about that kind of thing with you?"

   "Yes, ma'am, she did."

   "You know, I like you," said Misty's mother.

   "Kind of hard to tell when you're bandying about a shotgun like that,"
said Bobby dryly.

   "This old thing?" She snorted.  "Just needed cleanin', that's all."

   "And you just happened to think of that ...  on the day I get here ...
when you think your daughter is pregnant."

   "I'm just saying that iffen things change, I wouldn't mind havin' you
fer a son in law," she said.  "I'd sure rather have you than one o' them
slick fellers she keeps runnin' into in the music racket."

   "Well, I'll keep that in mind, Mrs.  Compton," said Bobby.

   "Whyn't you call me Madge," said the woman.  "We's friends and all."

   "OK, Madge," said Bobby.  "Seeing as how I got some time on my hands ...
you got anything around here that needs fixing?"

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

   Misty was bouncy and elated when she got home.  She'd left an astonished
Jasper at the hotel after helping him sell four songs that she said she'd
put on her next album.  She kissed her mother and went to find Bobby.

   Ten minutes later she was back in the kitchen, yelling at her mother at
the top of her lungs.  She was furious that her mother had even mentioned
anything about her suspicions to Bobby.  She'd intended to talk to Bobby
about it first, and then her mother after Bobby had left.

   Bobby waded in and broke up what looked like an argument that could last
for hours.  After he got them stopped, he turned to Misty.

   "Are you pregnant?"

   "YES!" she shouted.

   "You don't have to yell," he said.  "Why didn't you tell your mother?"

   "Because I knew she'd yell at me!" snarled Misty.

   "Can you understand why she might?" asked Bobby.

   "Whose side are you on?" she complained.

   "I'm not on anybody's side," he said.  "I just want the two of you to
get along."

   "Hmmm," said Madge.  "Good lookin', can fix things, and a peacemaker
too. He's a good catch!"

   Misty tensed up and Bobby put a warning hand on her shoulder.

   "Mamma," she said, her voice tightly controlled.  "I know in these
modern times, things seem strange to you, but I'm NOT interested in getting
hitched right now."

   "How can you SAY that?" wailed her mother.  "You're with child, girl!"

   "Yes, maybe I am," said Misty.  "I haven't been to the doctor yet, but
that's not the point, Mamma.  I have money.  I have a career.  I'm doing so
good singing.  I like Bobby.  Maybe I even love him a little, but I don't
want to MARRY him!"

   "How could you let him get you with child then?" complained Madge.

   "I didn't INTEND for him to get me with child, Mamma!" yelped Misty. 
"That part was an accident." She looked shrewdly at her mother.  "Why are
you so upset about this anyway?  You've been yammering about grandbabies
for the last two years.  And my cousin Sadie has three children and isn't
married.  And I can think of at least two more cousins like that too!"

   Madge's lips got all tight and she folded her arms across her chest.

   "Oh, all right then," she said, sounding disgusted.  "I just like this
one ...  that's all." She was referring to Bobby.

   "And you point a shotgun at him?" Misty's voice climbed.

   "I didn't point it at him," said Madge grudgingly.  "And it weren't
loaded nohow." She frowned.  "Wouldn't have done no good anyway.  This one
has backbone.  That's one of the reasons I like him."

   "I like him too, Mamma," said Misty.  "And I'd like to see him again
someday.  Do you really think he'll ever come back here after this?"

   "Of course I will," said Bobby.

   "You shut up!" snapped Misty, turning her hot eyes on him.  "In fact,
you go wait for me in my room!"

   "Better do it," sighed Madge, looking at Bobby.  "When she gits like
this, can't nobody do nothin' with her."

   "I found that out when she got off that plane and I met her for the
first time," said Bobby smiling.

   He hurried out of the room before Misty could find something to throw at
him.

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

   He was sitting on her bed, wondering what might happen, when she opened
the door and walked in.  She stopped and just looked at him.

   "I'm not happy right now," she said.

   "I kind of figured that out."

   "I was very happy when I knew you were on your way here."

   "Were you going to tell me?"

   "That I'm pregnant?  Of course I was going to tell you," she said.

   "What do you want to do about that?" he asked.

   "Don't YOU start in on me too!" she snapped.  "Take off your clothes!"

   "Misty ..." he said.

   "Don't argue with me," she said, stepping closer.  Her voice had
changed. It wasn't pleading, but it wasn't ordering either.  She started
unbuttoning her own western style shirt.

   "It's just that your mother is here," he said.

   "She knows what we're going to do!" The edge was back in her voice.  "I
TOLD her what we're going to do!  I'm grown up now.  It's none of her
BUSINESS!"

   "Don't pout," said Bobby softly.  "You're not very sexy when you pout."

   "Please, Bobby." Now she WAS pleading.  "I've been looking forward to
this for so long."

   "All right," he said softly.

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

   She HAD been looking forward to it.  That much was quite plain.  She
came within about a minute of him penetrating her, and she came hard.  Her
legs wrapped around him and her arms were tight as he lunged into her.  Her
nails dug into his back as she moaned "Ohhhh yessss."

   Three orgasms later she calmed down a bit and lay there while he
continued stroking her with his prick.

   "I love this so much," she moaned.

   "I can tell," he said, grinning and kissing her lips.

   "You made a baby in me," she said softly, looking up at him.

   "I'm sorry," he said.

   "I was too," she responded.  "But the more I think about it, the less
upset I am."

   "Why's that?" he asked.

   "Tell ...  you ...  in a ...  minute," she panted, as her pussy muscles
started rippling all along his prick and she had another orgasm.

   When she caught her breath she went on like nothing had happened.

   "I love you," she said, looking into his eyes.  "I don't want to marry
you, but I love you.  And now part of you is growing in me, and I'll have a
beautiful little baby that will be half yours, and I can love him, or love
her, for the rest of my life." She arched against him as he kept stroking.
"Maybe I'll change my mind in a year or two," she panted.  "I don't know.
But I'm not mad at you."

   "I'm glad," he said.

   "I want to feel it, Bobby," she panted.

   "Feel what?"

   "I want to feel what it was like when you made me pregnant."

   Within two or three minutes, with her lips locked to his ...  she did.

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

   Misty didn't even attempt to put up a pretense and install Bobby in a
guest room.  Both she and her mother were hard headed, and Bobby worried
about that.  Madge said she was going shopping that evening.  Her mood was
still stiff, but only towards Misty.  Apparently she assumed any man would
act like a man, regardless of the circumstances.  She didn't seem to hold
any of this against Bobby.

   Misty was insatiable that night.  Each time she got him hard again she
did it while moaning that he was leaving the next day, with Jasper, and
that she didn't know when she could have him again.  He tried his best to
satisfy her and finally, soaked in his sperm, she fell asleep in his arms.

   Apparently she WAS satisfied, because when he awoke the next morning, he
was in her bed alone.  He got up and got dressed, and found them in the
kitchen.  Mother and daughter were holding hands and talking softly.  He
backed up and made a noise, but it didn't make any difference to them. 
Madge got up, made him a waffle in an electric waffle iron, and then sat
back down to continue their conversation.

   It was good to know they'd made up, when he and Jasper got on the plane
back to Wichita.

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

   The New Year's event of 1976 was the wedding of Jill Trimble to Sal
Warner.  Christy was her maid of honor and Jillian was her flower girl. 
Steven, of course, was the ring bearer.  Sal had wanted Bobby to be his
best man, but Bobby had asked him to choose someone else.  He didn't think
it was fair to Jill to have him standing beside Sal while they got married.
Since most of Sal's existence, to that point in time, had been the diner,
he'd asked one of his long time customers to stand up with him.  There was
little fanfare, and only thirty or so guests, but neither the bride nor
groom cared about that.  They had eyes only for each other.  The honeymoon
was postponed so that they could spend a week camping at Yellowstone
National Park when the weather was good.

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

   On the twenty-third of January, while Bobby was rubbing warm oil on
Janet's distended belly, her water broke.

   It had been a surprisingly comfortable pregnancy, at least for the first
eight months.  She had continued to work and, while her back ached,
occasionally, usually at work, she hadn't had many complaints.  They'd
stopped having intercourse when she couldn't find a comfortable position to
be in.  Even being on her hands and knees got uncomfortable in her eighth
month.  After that, he simply gave her massages and ran his hands over her
body, bringing her release with his fingers and mouth.  Leaving her without
getting his own satisfaction wasn't a problem.  The twins were only three
months along and still wanted him pretty much constantly.

   Mirriam had given up trying to talk to her youngest daughters about
their impending motherhood.  They had adjusted to the fact that they would
be mothers and, for them, that was all that mattered.  That they seemed
intent on living with her, she accepted a lot more readily than she might
admit to verbally.  She had been a little melancholy, actually, when she
had earlier wondered when they'd want to spread their wings, because those
wings might take them far away some day.

   Bobby drove Janet to the hospital.  When he let her out, and said he'd
be right in, she told him to go home.

   "I can't do that!" he said.

   "While you were getting the car ready, I called Rhonda," she said. 
"She's coming to be with me while I do this."

   "I can't just go off and leave you alone," he objected.

   "You've been here too many times, with too many babies," she said.  She
had asked him about all the others, making him tell her, while they made
love months back.  "I'm going to tell them I don't know who the father is,
and I don't want you here to start any rumors."

   "That's silly," he said.

   "No it's not," she said.  "I may meet a man yet.  I'm not so scared
anymore, you know.  And if I do meet a man, I don't want him to think that
you're standing in the way."

   "I don't think you're thinking straight," he said.

   "You just do what I say, Bobby!" she snapped.  Her face twisted as she
had a contraction.  "And don't argue with me.  I'm having a baby here! 
You'll get to see him ...  or her.  You'll just have to do it at home."

   He didn't argue with her.  He let her hobble into the emergency room,
and then parked the car and waited for Rhonda.  When she got there and he
told her what had happened, she hugged him.

   "Don't feel bad," she said.  "She's been planning this for months.  She
wants to be independent about this.  It's important to her."

   "I feel like I'm running out on her," said Bobby.

   "You'll come around when she gets home," said Rhonda.  "I know you, and
she does too.  You know she'll ask for anything she needs, and I know
you'll break your back to give it to her."

   "It just doesn't feel right," he said.

   "It's what she wants, Bobby," said Rhonda.

   "Call me if she changes her mind," said Bobby.

   "I will."

   A mere eight hours later, Brie Griswold was welcomed into the world. 
Her father was never summoned to the hospital.

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

   Brigadoon opened on the nineteenth of February, 1976 in Granger.  Erica
was a wreck as last minute problems were dealt with.  Not only was it her
first foray into the dramatic arts, but she had big shoes to fill.  As the
date got closer, people she met in the grocery store, or wherever she was,
told her how excited they were to have gotten tickets, or how they intended
to do so.

   She was quite aware that a number of VIPs, if that was the right term
for them, would be in the audience Thursday night.  Will and Jake would be
there, of course.  A special place had been taped off, with room for their
chairs, and folding chairs beside them, one for Tilly, and the other for
Erica.  Additionally, Julia Staffordshire had commandeered the entire front
row of seats, in the middle section.

   "For people who deserve to be there," she had said.  Erica hadn't quite
known what that meant.  She knew that Julia and most of the teachers who
had said anything about coming were planning on attending opening night,
but there weren't enough seats in the front row for all of them.

   She had wanted the all-school assembly to be done on Thursday, right
after the dress rehearsal on Wednesday night.  Julia had refused.

   "Don't make their first audience their friends," counseled the
principal. "They can play for the school on Friday.  If it goes well
Thursday night, they'll be all fired up for the assembly.  If it doesn't,
then use Friday to give them a chance to get their confidence back for
Friday night."

   It seemed to make sense to Erica, who had too many other things to worry
about anyway.

   Now, as she wrung her hands, waiting for something to go wrong, the
auditorium filled up with townspeople.  People came to her with last minute
issues and, by the time she had a chance to look out into the seats again
there were only five minutes to curtain.  She did a last check of the sound
board, at which Terry Caldwell, a senior boy, sat.  He would cue all the
records being used to back up the singers, since they were too small a town
to have a real orchestra in the pit.  He was calm, almost bored.  He'd done
this a hundred times and just wished she'd go away.  She pointed to a dial.

   "Why is the microphone gain up?" she asked.

   "It's a surprise," said Terry.

   "Don't play with me, Terry!" she warned.

   Just then she heard the microphone being used.

   "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," said a voice Erica knew all too
well.  It was Emily Emerson, who was in the lead role as Fiona.

   "What's she doing?!" gasped Erica.  The curtain was just supposed to
open as soon as the overture was done.  Terry had that record cued, and it
was turning, but he hadn't dropped the needle on it yet.

   "This is the surprise," said Terry, somewhat smugly.

   Erica's heart dropped.  She went to peek out and saw Emily standing
there.  Her eyes went to the front row.  There was Julia.  She also saw
Bobby Dalton and the Chumleys, sitting there in the front row.  Bobby was
sitting next to a woman much too young to be Chester Chumley's wife. 
Christy Brown was on his other side, with the cook from the diner and the
woman he was engaged to.

   "We are SO pleased that you all have come to see Brigadoon," said Emily,
as the crowd got quiet.  "Before we begin, we'd like to acknowledge some
help we got from some very special people." Emily looked over and saw Erica
staring at her from the wings.  She smiled brightly.

   "The first is our director, Ms.  Erica Bradford." She pointed at Erica
and made a "come here" motion.

   There was polite applause as Erica stepped out, flushing bright red. 
She didn't know whether to go take the microphone away from Emily, or not.
She ended up stepping back off stage.

   "Two other people we'd like to thank are Mr.  and Mrs.  Chester
Chumley," said Emily.  "I can't tell why yet, but you'll find out later."
She seemed to get serious.  "But the two MOST important people we'd like to
thank tonight are who we have decided to dedicate this show to." She looked
down.  "Jake?  Will?  Would you two stand up please?"

   Erica's heart almost burst as she realized the horrible mistake that
Emily had just made.  Both men had only one leg!  Neither could stand. 
They'd be completely embarrassed!

   But the kids had planned for all this, completely unknown to their
director.  A vote had been taken, and all had agreed that Ms.  Bradford
just didn't need to know about this, because she'd likely try to stop them.

   Tilly went to help Jake stand.  She'd been briefed on this, even though
Jake hadn't.  And Christy Brown stood from where she was sitting in the
front row and went to offer her arm to Will.  His face was serious as he
looked up at her and Erica saw the woman lean down and say something to
him. He looked sideways and saw Jake standing, and almost leapt from the
chair.  Christy held onto his arm and he turned about halfway around until
he could face Jake.

   "These two men," said Emily, "were our unofficial critics while we
rehearsed.  Mr.  Jake Johnson, who most of you know already, was injured in
a mining accident.  The other man is William Bradford, Ms.  Bradford's
brother, who was injured in Vietnam, fighting for his country.  They were
brave enough to sit in front of us, one night, not knowing what would
happen.  We learned from them how to be brave enough to do this show for
you tonight.  Both men donated hours and hours of their time to help us get
to the point where we can't WAIT to open the curtain." Emily beamed at the
two men as startled silence turned into a ripple of uncertain applause.

   "So if it's good," said Emily happily, "we just wanted you to know they
helped us get that way." She looked down.  "Thank you.  We love you."

   Erica's knees felt weak and she knew she was going to faint.  The
opening strains of the overture suddenly blared from the speaker right
beside her, though, and a shot of adrenaline solved that problem.  She
turned around to see Terry grinning from ear to ear.  He wiped the smile
off his face and looked down at the board, trying to look busy.  Emily
walked back through the break in the curtain and, probably because she was
an A student, went to the opposite side of the stage from where Erica was
standing.

   Then it was under way.  Erica thought to go sit by Will, but when she
looked, Christy Brown had sat down in the chair beside him.  Feeling like
things were getting out of control, Erica decided to stay backstage, where
she could attack any problems that arose.

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

   It was like a dream for Erica.  There were things that happened, and she
was involved in them, making decisions and giving instructions, but it
seemed like she was floating in the air above all this, watching her body
do this.  There were problems ...  missed notes ...  botched lines ...  but
nothing really horrible.  The sets worked like they were supposed to, the
kids performed like they were supposed to, the audience went apeshit over
Sidney when he paraded down the aisle, first for the wedding scene, and
then again for the funeral of Harry Beaton, whose unrequited love had
married another man.

   She thought she might be able to take a breath during intermission, but
there was always something else that needed her attention.  She did manage
to look out and see how Will was doing.  Christy Brown was still sitting
with him, and held a plate of cookies she had gotten from the foyer, where
the mothers of the cast had prepared refreshments.  She saw Will reach out
and pick up what looked like a brownie.  There was a man she didn't know
standing and talking to Jake and Tilly.  He turned and said something to
Will, and then walked back up the aisle apparently toward his seat.

   Then the second act started, without any direction from Erica.  Finally
she just sat on a stool, in the wings, and watched as the kids did their
thing.  She was so proud of them by the time the curtain closed that she
was close to bawling.

   Nobody had told her about the tradition of giving flowers to the
director, and they had to come get her and pull her on stage after they
took their curtain calls.  The kids were manic, high on the feel of
success. They knew they'd nailed it.  The standing ovation didn't hurt
either.  That both Jake and Will had stood with the rest, balancing on one
leg, until Tilly and Christy reached to support an elbow, made the girls
all cry.

   Including Erica.

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

   She didn't know to go up to the foyer and thank people as they left. 
She intended to go see Will, but never made it, because the crowd came to
her.  By the time it thinned out, the only person she saw down front that
she knew was Bobby.  Both Jake and Will were gone.

   "Where is he?" she asked.

   "I think Christy took him to get ice cream," said Bobby.  "They talked
all the way through the show.  I had to shush them twice."

   "What are you talking about?" she asked, confused.  "They only met once
before."

   "Yeah, well, from what I heard, you didn't know about the dedication
either, so don't feel too bad."

   "I DIDN'T!" she squealed.  "They snuck that one in on me!"

   "You want a root beer?" he asked.  He held up a hand.  "This is not a
date!  I know you're not available."

   She actually grinned at him.  Things had gone perfectly.  She couldn't
believe how great she felt.

   "A root beer float!" she said.  "But I'm buying," she said.  "For all
your help."

   "All of it?" he asked, looking like he was stunned.  "ALL my help is
only worth a root beer float?"

   "Don't try that with me," she scolded him.  "Come on!"

   They were halfway up the aisle, her arm in his, her right breast pressed
warmly to his arm, when she stopped.

   "My coat!" she said.

   She ran to get it from back stage.  He was already waiting for her by
the exit doors.  Ten minutes later they were in his car, parking at the
A&W.

   She finally started to relax.  An hour later, as they sat and just
talked, Erica wondered if this was anything like a real date.  If it was,
she decided ...  she'd been very foolish in the past.

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

   Chapter Sixteen

   Will sat stiffly in his seat.  He wasn't sure it had been a good idea at
all to go with Christy.  He felt a little like he'd been ambushed, though
it didn't bring the fear and helpless feeling he usually associated with
that concept.  She had sat beside him during the whole show, and had leaned
toward him a number of times to make a soft comment about a scene or
performance.  At intermission she had brought back a plate of cookies, and
had asked him if he needed to be pushed anywhere.  He knew she was talking
about the bathroom, but he had learned to go light on fluids whenever he
was going to be out like this, and declined.

   He couldn't figure out what she was doing.  He thought at first that it
was pity, but she didn't act like she felt pity for him.  She just talked
to him, saying whatever was on her mind.  During the last quarter of the
show he had started doing the same thing.  It had just seemed normal to
respond in kind.

   Then, as he hopped up to join the standing ovation, and her hand came to
his elbow while she whistled, of all things, she had leaned over and said
"I'd like some ice cream.  You want some too?"

   She'd snuck up on him.  He'd said "Yes," before he could think about it.

   Now they were parked at the Dairy Bee and she was at the window,
ordering for them.  His chair was in the back seat.  Once he'd told her
where to push, and it began to fold, she'd muscled it into the back,
letting him get himself into the car.

   It was like she gave him only as much help as he absolutely needed, and
nothing more.  That was strange.  SHE was strange.  She didn't act like
other women did when they saw him, and he didn't know how to act with her.

   She came back, with a banana split and a large cup of something.  He'd
said he liked chocolate, when she'd asked him what he wanted.  She got in
and handed him the cup.  She'd thought of the fact that he couldn't eat
anything with a spoon, unless someone held the dish for him.

   She ate in silence for a while, as he took little sips of a rich
chocolate shake.  That was another thing that confused him.  She didn't
talk nonstop to fill the uneasy silence.  People usually either said
nothing to him at all, or talked all the time, as if they were proving they
could interact with a freakish monster and make it appear to be normal. 
But her silence wasn't the horrified stiff attempt to ignore the monster.
It was as if she just didn't have anything to say in particular at the
moment.

   "I love ice cream," she sighed.  "I know it will make me fat, but I love
it."

   "You're not fat," he said.

   "Not now," she said.  "But if I ate ice cream as often as I want to I
would be." She took another bite.  "I'll have to add a mile or two tomorrow
just to work this off."

   "A mile or two?"

   "I walk," she said.  "It's an old habit that I just got used to.  I do a
couple of miles a day, usually."

   "It works," he said.  He wondered why he's said that.

   "I do believe you're flirting with me," she laughed.

   He was astonished, both by her laughter, which sounded like she was
genuinely happy, and by the thought that she could even begin to consider
that if the monster flirted with her ...  that wasn't something to scream
about.  It was too much.  He couldn't take it.

   "Why are you doing this?" he asked.

   "I told you, I love ice cream."

   "I mean me.  Why did you bring me here?"

   "I asked you if you wanted ice cream too, and you said yes." This time
her tone didn't sound quite so genuine.

   "You know what I mean," he said.

   "I don't know," she said.  That sounded uncomfortable.

   "I don't want pity," he said.  It was his mantra.

   "I can't help but feel some of that," she said.  "Nobody could look at
your situation and avoid that." The way she said it made pity sound like a
natural consequence of being human.  "I think I feel guilty, a little bit."

   "Guilty?"

   "About my ex husband."

   "Oh."

   "And I like you."

   "Huh?" He was astonished again.  "You don't even know me."

   "Isn't that what we're doing?" she asked.  "Aren't we getting to know
one another?"

   "You're beautiful," he moaned.

   "Thank you," she said.

   "I mean you could have any man you wanted."

   "Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, big boy," said Christy.  "I said
I like you.  That doesn't mean I'm ready to hop into bed with you or
anything."

   He was speechless.  This was insane.  He had to be dreaming.  She was
talking to him like he was just a normal guy, who had pushed things maybe a
little too far and she was reining him in.  But he WASN'T a normal guy. 
He'd never be normal again.  That was why he didn't feel bad about wanting
his sister.  That wasn't normal ...  but then he wasn't either ...  not
anymore.

   "I'm not shopping for a man," she went on.  "Can't I just like you for
who you are?"

   "I don't know who I am," he said.

   "Well then, maybe we can find out together."

   She had kept him off his mental feet when she asked him if it would be
all right if they picked up her daughter from the sitters, before she took
him home.  The girl, named Jillian, stared at him like any normal child
would, both fascinated and repelled.  Christy, to deal with that, had just
had him tell her daughter what had happened to make him look this way.

   "I bet that hurt," said the little girl.

   "Yeah, it did," he said.

   "Did anybody kiss it and make it better?" asked the girl, in her
innocence.

   "Yeah," he said, thinking of the nurses, and Erica.  "They did."

   She invited him to have coffee at her house.  She didn't mind all the
extra effort it took to get him in there.  He hopped up the steps while
Jillian watched, and then she attempted to do the same thing ...  on two
feet instead of one.  It was the first time he'd felt more or less normal
for as long as he could remember.

   He'd told her Erica might be wondering where he was, and she'd said
they'd call once they got inside.  When no one answered the phone, she said
she'd try again later.

   They talked for another hour and a half, sipping coffee.  Of all the
things they talked about, the war never came up.  Nor did his physical
condition.

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

   When she stopped in his driveway, with the passenger door next to the
ramp, he twisted in the seat.

   "Thank you," he said.

   "You're welcome," she said back.

   "No, I mean it," he said.  "Nobody's treated me like you did tonight in
a long time."

   "All I did was take you out for ice cream," she said.

   "You know what I mean," he said.  "You treated me like I was just a
normal guy."

   "Isn't there still just a normal guy inside that body?" she asked.

   "I just don't get it," he sighed.

   "Don't feel bad," she said, getting his chair out of the back.  "I don't
either.  How about we just try and act normal, and see what happens."

   Erica drove up while Christy was pushing him up the ramp.  She got out
and ran to unlock the door.  She hadn't thought to give Will a key, since
the only time he ever went anywhere she was with him.

   "Hi," she panted.  "Sorry I wasn't here.  Bobby took me to get a root
beer float and the time just slipped by."

   Christy stood back, to let Will's sister take over.

   "Bobby took you out?" she asked.  There was something in her voice that
made Erica's mental ears stand up, like there was more to hear, but it was
too far away or too soft.  "Well, well, well," she added.

   "Now what does THAT mean?" Erica wondered.

   "I'd love to stay and talk with you about that," said Christy, "but I
left my daughter sleeping and I need to get back.  Can I borrow your
brother again sometime?"

   Erica was completely off balance, both because this woman had whisked
Will away after the show, and because she appeared to be interested in him,
at least on some casual basis that Erica had no frame of reference to
compare to.

   "Of course," she said, more because that was the expected response than
because she meant it.

   "Thanks, Will," said Christy.

   Then she was off to her car, leaving brother and sister both looking
after her.

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

   Erica was worried about going to bed together again.  Some of that was
because she was afraid he'd have another flashback.  The rest of it was
because she couldn't stop thinking about that penis, nudging between those
slippery labia.

   Will took the flashback excuse away from her.

   "I'm awake now," he said.  "That won't happen again."

   He sat on the bed as she undressed, and she felt the now familiar zing
of excitement as his eyes devoured each inch of skin she bared to him.  She
felt the urge to squeeze her nipples before she even had her panties off.
She got him onto the bed first, with the covers pulled down so that she
could reach for them when they were needed.  She crawled onto the bed
carefully, still nervous about touching him.

   "Would you ...  suck me again?" he asked, breathlessly.

   Her mind whirled back to what that had been like.  His penis had felt so
completely foreign in her mouth.  And yet, at the same time, it had felt
like it was made to fit there.  She remembered the smooth tight feel of the
head, and the softer, more malleable skin on the shaft.  She hadn't thought
about taste, until it was suddenly there, in her mouth, a mixture of
something musky, a little bitter, but not in an unpleasant way.  It was
just a hint of taste at first and she had pulled her mouth off as if
looking at it would give her some clue.  It had, actually.  As she'd
watched, a little bubble of something mostly clear had seeped out of the
hole in the tip.  She had seen that hole spread as ropes of white froth
leap out of it many times.  But, she'd never thought about it having a
taste before.  In the film, the woman had opened her mouth, while the men
masturbated into it.  She clearly remembered almost throwing up at the
sight of that, and feeling like the woman couldn't possibly be debased any
further.

   But having her mouth on Will just didn't feel like that.  His moans of
joy were so heartfelt that she couldn't think of what she was doing as
debasement at all.  It was just loving him with her mouth instead of her
hand.  The taste that had flooded her mouth as he gasped and cried out had
been like his offering of thanks, rather than some sexist ritual.

   Now, as she got onto her hands and knees, to stare down at his
already-hard shaft, she actually licked her lips in anticipation of both
the texture of it in her mouth and the taste.  The first sensation of the
smooth knob sliding through her lips made her feel that if she didn't pull
her nipples hard, she'd just die.  One hand shot between her legs, to dig
into the tunnel there.

   His hand came up to smooth over her butt cheek and the sound she made of
appreciation was transmitted to his penis, and he jerked, driving it deeply
enough into her throat that she gagged.  She pulled off and coughed.

   "Not so rough," she whined.

   "Sorry," he panted.  "You wouldn't believe how good that feels, Erica."

   She had no frame of reference for that, so she just concentrated on the
feel of his penis in her mouth.  As a girl, one of her favorite treats had
been a Tootsie Roll Pop and she treated the knob like it was one of those,
sucking at it and pushing it around in her mouth with her tongue.

   She felt his hand slide down the back of her thigh, then reach to slide
up inside.  His hand ran into hers, where her finger was slicing in and out
of her sex.  Unconsciously, she realized he was trying to help her, and
without thinking about it, she raised one knee.  Had she been standing and
watching this, she would have sneered that the woman looked like a male
dog, taking a leak, but she wasn't watching ...  she was feeling.  By the
time her conscious mind realized what he was doing down there ...  and how
she was accommodating him ...  his long middle finger was firmly embedded
in her, as deep as he could get it.

   His finger was thicker than hers, and longer too.  The feeling of it was
so strange that she stopped sucking, shocked that when someone else did
that, it felt so completely different.  Then the base of his finger ground
into her clitty and she thought the top of her head would fly off.  The
next thing she thought of was that ...  if his finger felt that good in her
...  something even bigger ...  like what was in her mouth ...  would feel
that much better.

   Erica Bradford's virginity was spared that night by another combination
of bizarre circumstances.  About the time she was thinking of trying to see
what something thicker and longer might feel like in her vagina, the thing
she was contemplating using flooded her mouth with flavor.  His hips jerked
again and his pubic hair hit her nose, as his penis was driven deeper than
it had ever gone.  It went past her gag reflex so quickly that she only
registered a feeling of something stretching her throat, like she'd
swallowed something without chewing, and it was stuck.  While it was there
it belched again.  She couldn't taste it, that deep, but she could feel it,
and the choking sensation caused her to jerk her head up.  Again, her gag
reflex was slipped past, and she concentrated on swallowing and breathing.

   The next thing she was aware of was that something was beating against
her clit.  Her consciousness floated downwards, where his finger was going
in and out of her rapidly.  Each time it went in, there was an electric
shock as her clit was punched.  Unable to wait any longer, she fell
sideways, landing awkwardly on her right shoulder, so that she could use
both hands on her nipples.

   She grabbed, squeezed, pulled hard ...  and had an orgasm that was so
intense she forgot to breathe for a full seven seconds.  Again, had she
been watching all this, she would have sneered at the woman who sounded
like some king of alley cat, howling at the moon.

   By the time she got her breath back, and had enough energy to turn
herself around and lay her head on Will's good arm and shoulder, the urge
to impale herself on his penis had passed.

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

   The next day the performance for the school assembly in the auditorium
went well.  There were elements in this musical that appealed to teenagers
...  the magic of a town that disappears ...  unrequited love ...  and the
lustiness of Meg trying to bed Jeff on the cot in the forest.

   Then, that night, with a mostly different crowd, there was another
performance that they would call perfect.  By now the cast was on cloud
nine.  It was a Friday night, and nobody had to get up and do anything the
next morning, so they all went out together.  Someone had thought ahead,
because the Wagon Wheel was open late.  Sal had been making pizza pies all
day long, in anticipation of something like this.  He'd thought to just
freeze them and use them later, but the crowd that descended on his diner
had ten people in each eight person booth, and people sitting on other
people's laps at the tables.

   Bobby and Erica had been swept up in the mass migration to the diner. 
They stood back to let all the others go in first, and when they walked in,
a wave of heat, delicious smells, and noise hit them like being slapped in
the face.

   "You want to take the pizza out to the car?" yelled Bobby.

   Erica nodded.  Bobby went and got a plate with several slices of some
kind of pizza on it.  He grabbed two bottles of Coke from the refrigerator
behind the counter and they ducked outside.

   Tonight Erica had seen Christy wheeling Will up toward the foyer.  She
felt a twinge of worry for him.  This woman could tear his heart out if she
wanted to.  In the car she asked Bobby about her.

   "Christy?" he said, his mouth full.  "If Christy took him someplace, she
has a reason."

   "What kind of reason?"

   "She's very practical," said Bobby.  "It could be anything."

   "I'm nervous about them being together," she said.

   "Why in the world would you be nervous?" he asked.

   "What if she hurts him?"

   "Why would she hurt him?" Bobby sounded confused.

   "You know ...  toy with his affections."

   Bobby was just like anybody else.  He had the capacity to overlook
things, to misunderstand things, and to labor under stereotypical ways of
thinking.  It wasn't that odd that, while he liked Will, he might not see
Will as being anybody's potential romantic interest.  But Bobby had also
cultivated the ability to recognize when he had screwed up and rethink
things.  He did that now.

   "First off, if she's interested in him ...  it's real.  She's not just
stringing him along to make him feel better.  That's not her style."

   "She said she would like to talk to me about you," said Erica.  It was
about all she could remember about the woman.

   "What?" Bobby was even more confused.  "Why?"

   "I don't know," said Erica.  "It was last night.  I got home just as she
was helping Will up to the house.  I told her I'd been with you and she
said she'd like to talk to me about that."

   Bobby had a pretty good idea what Christy had been thinking.  Christy
was perfectly capable of comparing notes with one of Bobby's women, if for
no other reason than to giggle and sigh about some technique Bobby had
used. The last thing he needed was for people to start assuming that Erica
Bradford was another of his women.  If she even found out about any of his
women, she'd probably never speak to him again.

   Then, because Bobby was ...  Bobby, he reflected for a quarter of a
minute or so on why it mattered if Erica Bradford ever spoke to him again
in his entire life.  He decided that working on the musical had been fun,
and that he might want to work on the next one too.

   "I dated her for a little while," extemporized Bobby.  "She may have
wanted to compare notes."

   "Last night wasn't a date!" said Erica.

   "Yeah, I know," said Bobby.  "But other people might have assumed it
was."

   Now it was Erica who spent fifteen seconds trying to decide whether or
not it mattered, if people THOUGHT she was on a date with Bobby.  She
realized she was sitting in his car again, outside the Wagon Wheel, on Main
Street.  Their breath and the steamy pizza had made the windows go opaque
white, so she couldn't look outside to see if anyone was looking at them.

   "Do you think anyone might think that what we're doing right now is a
date?" she asked.

   "I suppose some might," he said.

   "But you don't think so," she said.

   "Nope," he said firmly.

   "Why not?" she asked, actually trying to understand this complicated
social phenomenon.

   "'Cause if this was a date, these windows would be all fogged up for
another reason." He grinned, thinking he'd made a joke.

   It was no joke to Erica, though, as his meaning burst into her mind. 
She had spent enough time with Bobby Dalton to know, beyond even her own
doubts, that he was no sexist male intent on getting whatever he could from
a woman.  What she would almost certainly have perceived as a rude and
uncalled for comment from almost any other man, simply brought all the
images into her head that had so tormented her over the months since she'd
met him.  She remembered the dreams about him, the thoughts she'd had as,
in her imagination, Bobby's face had intruded on Will's, while she gave her
brother love.  Quite suddenly her nipples demanded to be squeezed, and she
felt helpless because the fingers she wanted squeezing them were three feet
away, on the hands of Bobby Dalton.

   She felt shame and confusion and lust all at once ...  all the things
that teenage girls all feel as they thread their way through the minefield
that is the onset of puberty.  She hadn't tiptoed through that minefield,
at least not until lately with her brother, and the overwhelming crush of
not understanding what was going on inside her brought tears to her eyes.

   Bobby, in the dim light that filtered through the fog on the windows,
saw her crumble and he knew, instinctively, that she was in some kind of
terrible pain.

   "What's wrong?" he asked softly, leaning toward her.

   He thought he was helping ...  at least offering help ...  but as he
reached to touch her thigh, her senses equated that touch with what she had
felt last night ...  just before her brother's thick, firm finger had
penetrated her and brought her so much joy.

   Her fingers scrabbled for the door handle, as she sobbed convulsively
twice and then held her breath, mortified that she was losing control of
herself in front of this man.  The door flew open, because her shoulder was
leaning against it, and she almost fell out.

   "ERICA!" She heard her name shouted as she lurched out of the door and
ran, almost blindly, because she couldn't hold her breath anymore and that
meant she was sobbing again.  She wiped at her eyes and narrowly missed
slamming into a light pole.

   "ERICA?" She could hear the question in his voice, and she knew he'd
gotten out of the car.  She hoped against hope that he wouldn't chase her,
because she had no idea what she'd do if she felt his hands on her.  Her
sobs subsided as she began panting for breath, just to keep running.

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

   It was cold.  The jacket she'd worn was fine for going from the house to
the car, to the school and back again, but too light for staying out in
weather that was below zero.  Her fingers felt numb and she was still four
blocks from home.

   She had moved through phases of emotion.  First was the fright of not
understanding why she wanted his hands on her, then anger toward him,
because it had to be his fault, somehow.  That had given way to exhaustion,
as she ran herself almost limp.  Then her sweating body had cooled rapidly
in the frigid air, and she'd begun to think again.  She turned toward home
hurriedly, on legs that weren't used to running and just wanted her to sit
down somewhere.

   She couldn't do that, so she plodded, thankful that there was no snow to
trip her.  Her feet didn't seem to be working right.  She stared down at
them as one went forward, and then the other.  She'd been shivering, but
now she couldn't feel anything.  Her legs were so stiff, she could barely
bend her knees.  Her whole body was so tired.  She needed to sit down.  She
needed to take a nap.  She couldn't do that though, because something was
making too much noise.

   The engine noise finally registered, and then the lights, as she
realized a car had pulled up beside her.

   "Erica?"

   It was him.

   She stopped, feeling helpless.  She'd already worked through the anger.
She knew it wasn't his fault.  She still didn't understand why she'd felt
like she was falling apart, but she was too tired to think about that now.
She heard the car door slam.

   "What did I do?" he asked.  She heard honest questioning in his voice.

   "Nothing," she said dully.  Her lips weren't working right either.

   "What happened?" he asked.

   "I don't know," she said, her voice flat.

   "You're freezing," he said.

   When he said that, she heard the chattering of her own teeth.

   His hands on her shoulders didn't make her fall apart.  She spent a few
seconds reveling at that fact ...  that he could touch her and she didn't
just fly apart.  She let herself be moved past the front of the car and
then he opened the door for her.  Her feet felt like they were frozen to
the ground, but finally she was able to turn in a little circle and
collapse backwards.  He helped her get her feet into the car.

   When the door closed, the heat felt like fire on her face, but it was
welcome fire, and she slumped in the seat.  In two minutes it would have
taken her half an hour or more to walk, they were there, and he was helping
her out of the car.  He hadn't spoken a word since he'd put her into it.

   "Where are your keys?" he asked as she shuffled up the ramp he'd built.
She still couldn't feel her feet.  Tennis shoes didn't work in this kind of
cold either, apparently.  She tried to reach into her pocket - she didn't
carry a purse - and she could get her fingers in, but couldn't grasp the
ring of keys.

   "I can't," she mumbled.  Why didn't her lips work?

   She felt his hand pull hers out, and then the pressure of his hand in
her pocket.  He opened the door and shoved her inside.

   "Bathroom." His one word was an order.  The rebellion in her mind
wouldn't translate into resistance, though, and she stumbled toward that
room, following him.  She stopped in the door and looked at him, bent over
the tub, his hands on the faucets.  She felt dreamy as she stared at the
tight cloth stretched across his backside.  Her brain was trying to tell
her something, but it was too much trouble to concentrate.

   She figured out what her brain was all upset about when he turned and
started taking her clothes off.  He intended to put her in the bathtub.

   "No!" she moaned.

   "If you don't have frostbite, you're very close," he said, sounding
almost angry.  "First you try to cook yourself to death, and now this."

   She closed her eyes, hoping that would stop her from knowing what was
going on, because she was quite sure that if he got her naked, he would put
his long, thick penis inside her and she wouldn't be a virgin anymore.  She
giggled as she thought that might solve all her problems.  If she wasn't a
virgin anymore ...  then she had nothing to protect.  The penis hanging
over the mouth of her vagina floated into her mind again.  She leaned
forward, trying to get that penis to move, and felt his hands keep her from
falling.

   Then there was a moment of complete disorientation as the world turned
upside down, before she realized she was in his arms, at which point there
was water covering her face.  She felt pain in her scalp and suddenly there
was air to breathe again.  She coughed.

   In the next thirty seconds, she moved through a very complex reaction to
her new situation.  First, she realized he was holding her head out of the
water by lifting a fistful of her hair.  That hurt.  Then her body reacted
to the heat of the water he had just drawn.  It felt like she had been
plopped down into boiling water.  That hurt so much she screamed.

   In fact, the water was only about eighty degrees.  Bobby had mixed cold
water with the hot.  But her skin temperature was very near forty degrees
when it was submerged into the water that was forty degrees hotter.

   She flailed as muscle control came back.

   "I know it hurts," said Bobby.  "But you have to stay still!"

   She used every curse word she knew, and made up a few more, but his
weight was centered on the hand that was pushing against her stomach and
holding her to the bottom of the tub.  Still she fought, and, within three
minutes, the tub was only half full and her breasts were exposed to the air
in the room.  It was actually that that shocked her body into submission,
because her breasts felt suddenly cold.  That led to the knowledge that she
was naked, and that Bobby's head was right over her chest.

   She quit fighting him, and covered her breasts with her hands.

   "ALL RIGHT!" she yelled.

   He held her for a few seconds longer, waiting to make sure she didn't
try to surge up out of the water again.  By then, though, her skin had
heated up and the water only felt hot, rather than scalding.  He stood up.
The front of his clothes were soaked with the water she had splashed on
him.

   "I'm going to run more water," he said.  "You need to stay submerged
until you can't feel the heat in the water anymore."

   She just looked at him.

   He started the water running again, holding his hand under it to adjust
the temperature.  She felt the heat of it on her legs.  Obviously it wasn't
as hot as it felt, because his hand was under it.  He wouldn't burn
himself. "He wouldn't burn me either," she thought to herself.

   The water rose back up until she was covered again.  She could scoot
back now, and keep her own head above the surface.  She had to use her
hands to do that, but she put them back on her breasts as soon as possible.

   "Do you have a robe?" he asked.

   "Yes." She sounded petulant, even to herself.  She knew that what he'd
done was the right thing to do.  Her body was beginning to feel alive
again.

   "Which room should I start looking for it in?" There was a half smile on
his face.

   "Why are you smiling?" she asked, heat in her voice, if not in her
bones. "There's nothing funny about this."

   "No, of course not," he said.  "Unless you think about how the big tough
liberated woman keeps trying to kill herself, and would have succeeded both
times if a man hadn't been around to save her liberated skin."

   "That's NOT funny!" she snarled.

   "It is to me," he said.  "Now, where's that robe?"

   "It's in my bedroom ...  where you have no business being," she said,
stubbornly.

   He shook his head.  "You're an idiot!" he said.  "That has to be it. 
You're just retarded or something, because nobody with any intelligence
would come up with the crap you come up with."

   "I am NOT!" she shouted, but it was too late.  He was already gone.

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

   Chapter Seventeen

   He opened the door to a bedroom and went in.  The bed was made, but he
didn't pay much attention to the rest of the room, as he went to the
closet. He saw Will's suitcase on the floor, next to three or four left
shoes and hanging clothes that were for a man.  He turned and realized the
room looked spare and only partly furnished.  He left and found another
bedroom.  That closet had her robe in it ...  and something else that was
odd.  Clothes he had seen Will wear were hanging up in the closet.  There
were two right shoes ...  men's shoes ...  on the floor.

   With the robe over his arm, he surveyed the room.  The bed had not been
made, though someone had made a half-assed attempt at putting the bedspread
in place.  There were two pillows on that bed, side by side, with
depressions in each that suggested a head had rested there.

   He looked at the vanity.  Her cosmetics - the few that she apparently
used - were neatly arranged.  On one end were a pile of safety pins and
some Old Spice underarm deodorant.  A comb lay next to it that had a few
brown hairs caught in the teeth.

   Understanding leapt into Bobby's mind as he realized they slept in the
same bed.  His mind twisted slightly, trying to imagine that, but the
evidence was obvious.  He cautioned himself not to jump to the obvious
conclusion.  He slept with his sisters sometimes ...  it wasn't difficult
for him to imagine that some other brother and sister did the same thing.
At the same time, his mind just would not accept that Will slept with his
sister ...  in the same way Bobby did.

   He shook his head.  It was really none of his business.  But it did
suggest why she might feel like she had something to hide.  Hiding things
was hard on a person sometimes.

   He left the room, paying attention to the feel of his face.  He wanted
to look calm ...  normal ...  when he took the robe to her.

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

   She was still in the tub.

   "Can you feel your fingers and toes?" he asked.

   "Yes," she said.

   "OK, then.  Here's your robe.  I'll just put it here." He laid it on the
toilet seat.  "You need to get dry as quickly as you can and then you need
to go to bed.  You should put on extra blankets because you need to stay
warm."

   "I'm not a child," she complained.

   "Well sometimes you act like it." He frowned.  "I'm sorry.  Never mind.
I'll just leave now."

   "Wait!" It was out of her mouth before she could stop it.  Even worse,
she'd sat up and her breasts were out of the water.  She covered them with
her left arm, which was a little like trying to cover a couple of
cantaloupes with a twelve inch ruler.

   He turned back, waiting.

   "Would you put the covers on for me ...  once I'm in bed?" She'd had to
think of something to say, and that was the best thing she could come up
with.  She admitted to herself that she just didn't want him to leave yet.
She didn't know what that meant, but she had to acknowledge it.

   He looked at her, and then tilted his head, as if he were examining her.

   "All right," he said.  "You want me to leave while you dry off?"

   "Of course," she said, blushing.

   "I'll be right outside," he said.

   She stood up as soon as the door closed, and felt the cool air
instantly. She felt fine now, but she knew she'd start shivering any
second, so she climbed out of the tub and started rubbing at her skin
briskly with a towel.  She shrugged into her robe, thankful that it was
thick terrycloth.  Her hair was wet and she wrapped another towel around
it. She was still barefoot, but there was nothing she could do about that.

   She looked at her clothes, scattered on the floor and bent to pick them
up.  She tossed them in the hamper and then remembered to take her billfold
and comb out of the pants pocket.  She took the towel off her head and ran
the comb through her hair.

   She opened the bathroom door to find Bobby leaning against the wall,
with his arms folded.  She walked past him to her bedroom, stopping at the
linen closet in the hall to pull out two blankets.  She handed them to him
and went into her room.  She stood by the bed, shifting from foot to foot.

   She obviously couldn't take her robe off with him in the room, so she
pulled back the covers and started to get into the bed.

   "Don't wear that robe to bed," he moaned.  "It's damp now." He sounded
like he was a frustrated parent, talking to a balky teenager.

   "I'm not taking this off with you in the room!" she said, almost loudly.

   "Look," he said.  "I just saw you in all your glory in the bathroom. 
You seem to think that if I see your body, you'll be soiled for life or
some such nonsense.  Just drop the robe on the floor, climb into bed and
pull the covers up, so I can put these on you and go home, OK?"

   She was stung that he was in such an all fired hurry to get away from
her.  She was so distracted by that, that it never occurred to her to just
tell him to turn around while she took the robe off.  He was shaking out a
blanket anyway, and didn't seem to be paying any attention to her.

   She untied the knot in the robe.  She turned away from him and let the
robe slide off her shoulders.  It fell in a heap and she took the first
step to dive for the bed, just as he said:

   "Do you want these all on your side, or some on Will's side too?"

   She was so concerned about him seeing her naked that her reply was
automatic.

   "Both."

   Time stopped, at least for Erica Bradford.  In fact, everything stopped,
except for her brain, which seemed to turn in a somersault inside her head.
Time then seemed to go in fits and starts as she reacted to what had just
happened.  Her body turned to face him, while her mind tried frantically to
come up with something for her to say ...  anything to cover up what she
had just exposed.

   He was no longer unfolding the blanket, but was looking at what else was
exposed ...  mainly Erica's body.

   "No!" she blurted.  "That's not what I meant!"

   "Get in bed, Erica," said the man who now held her future in his hands.

   "No!" she said again, but she wasn't talking about what he had just told
her to do.

   He stepped toward her and her eyes registered that his own eyes had
dropped to her breasts.  His hands, still holding the blanket, came toward
her and it looked to her like a wall of cloth was about to push against
her. His hands, through the blanket, pushed at her shoulders and she leaned
toward the bed.

   Then, suddenly, time started up again.  The bed had assumed a whole new
importance in her life, but in a completely different way.  Now, instead of
being a place of warmth and comfort, she saw it as a place she could get
into and hide in.  She dove for the sheets, her hand grabbing the covers.
Within seconds, she had pulled them over her head.  She also started
breathing again, and realized she had been holding her breath.

   He was still out there.  The man who had unmasked her perversion ... 
who knew the secret that had brought so much joy to her brother and her,
but which would now destroy them both.

   She heard her own choking sobs before her mind realized she was the one
making the noises.  Then all the emotion that had driven her from Bobby's
car, and into the frigid night, and everything that had happened since
then, swooped down to crush her.  Her wail was filled with a mix of
frustration, anger, shame and disappointment that her life had come to this
maelstrom of disaster.  Her knees came up and she curled into a ball, as
she cried her eyes out for everything she had just lost.

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

   The first external thing that registered in Erica's tortured mind was
the feel of something heavy sliding up and down her back.  A tiny piece of
her consciousness examined that stimulus and categorized it as a hand, on
the outside of the covers, just moving from the base of her neck to her
lower back, and then back again.  There was something wrong with that, and
that tiny piece of her consciousness grabbed other brain cells and shook
them, saying "Listen to me!  Something isn't right here!" Perhaps it's
pushing the analogy too far, but imagine with me some of those other brain
cells saying "OF COURSE SOMETHING'S NOT RIGHT, YOU IDIOT!  OUR INCEST HAS
JUST BEEN DISCOVERED!"

   But that tiny piece of rationality insisted on being listened to and,
slowly, Erica's sobs tapered off to intermittent shuddering sniffs, as the
hand, which could only be the hand of Bobby Dalton, stroked her back.

   "It's all right, Erica," said a soothing bass voice.

   No it wasn't!  Nothing would ever be right again!  She was quite sure of
that.

   But now the external stimulus demanded more attention.

   "It's all right," said the voice again.

   Yet another upheaval wrenched her system, as she reached for the only
life preserver that seemed, somehow ...  miraculously ...  to have been
tossed near her.  He wasn't laughing.  He wasn't crowing.  He wasn't
chuckling at how much fun it would be to tell the world that the strident
feminist slept with her own brother.

   She reached for the covers and pushed them down off her head.  He was
just sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand stroking her back.

   "It's all right," he said as she stared, unbelieving, into his blue
eyes.

   The world turned again as he went on, speaking as if nothing unusual had
happened at all.

   "Right now, you just need to concentrate on getting warm again, and
staying warm.  Let me see your fingers."

   She didn't understand.  She pushed her hands out, beside her face and he
reached to touch each finger, squeezing them individually.

   "I don't think you got frostbite," he said, casually.  "How are your
toes?"

   She wiggled them automatically.  They felt fine.

   "OK ...  I think," she said, sniffing between the OK and the rest of it.

   "I don't want to let the heat out, but you need to check them," he said.
"Feel them and see if there is anything that feels too firm, or feels
painful when you squeeze it.  If you actually have frostbite, we need to
get you to a hospital."

   She went back under the covers and felt her feet and toes.  They felt
completely normal.  She stuck her head out of the covers again.

   "I think they're OK," she said, her voice a little stronger now.

   He reached out and brushed her still damp hair away from the side of her
face.

   "I'm going now," he said.  "Stay in bed and stay warm."

   "But ..." She stopped, unable to believe she was about to bring it up
again.

   "I'll see you tomorrow."

   Then, her world turned another few degrees as he leaned down, kissed her
forehead, and then got up and walked out.

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

   While Erica went through her torture, her brother was going through
something that was almost diametrically opposed.  Christy had driven him to
the Wagon Wheel, where they saw the crush of people.

   "Oh my," she said, looking at the single cement step that she had never
paid any attention to in the past.  "Can you hop up that step?"

   "Yes," he said, "but I'm not sure it's worth it.  The place is already
crammed."

   "I have chocolate cake at home," she said.  "I can make coffee."

   Will's mind wasn't used to dealing with evaluating this kind of
information.  Other than Tilly and Jake, no one had invited them anywhere.
And this invitation wasn't for him AND his sister.  A beautiful woman was
suggesting he come to her house.  He couldn't wrap his mind around that. 
The male in him ...  the male he had been, and which Erica had helped
reawaken ...  thought about it one way.  His rational mind laughed at that
and tried to find some other reason she might make that invitation.

   "But if you want to go in, we can manage it," she went on.

   "No." It came out of his mouth without conscious thought.  It flustered
him a little.  "It's too crowded already," he said.  "My chair takes up a
lot of room."

   "Want some cake?" she asked.

   He twisted in the seat so he could look right at her.  She was just
looking at him.  She wasn't grinning.  There was no innuendo in her voice.
His rational mind told him "It's just an offer of a piece of fucking cake,
moron!"

   "Yes." That time his answer was intentional.

   "Do you see Erica anywhere?" she asked.  She looked past him, peering
through the front window of the diner.  "Be right back," she said.

   She hopped out of the car, leaving it running, and ran into the diner.
He saw her talk to several kids and look around.  Then she spoke to Jimmy
Conors, who was sitting with two girls Will knew only as Sarah and Vicky.
All three turned and looked through the window at the car and waved.  Jimmy
nodded, and Christy came running back to the car.

   "She wasn't in there," she said.  "I asked some kids to tell her where
you went if they see her."

   "OK," said Will.  Obviously she wasn't trying to keep it a secret that
she was taking him to her house.  He wasn't sure how to interpret that.

   Getting him through the front door required that she step on a
projection on the back of the chair and raise the front wheels.  She didn't
seem to have any trouble doing that, though he heard her grunt as she
lifted the bulk of his weight as the rear wheels bumped up and over the
threshold, which was raised about three inches off the surface of the
concrete slab that served as her porch.  She pushed him into the kitchen
and helped him pull his right arm out of his coat.  She tugged the coat out
from behind him and draped it over the back of a kitchen chair she'd
removed so he could be pushed up to the table.

   He watched as she shed her own coat, draping it over another chair back.
Then she nattered on about how seeing the show for the second time was
interesting, because she picked up nuances she hadn't seen the night
before, as she got the cake out and cut slices.  She plopped a plate and
fork on the table in front of him, and again asked if he wanted coffee.

   "You have any milk?" he asked.

   She did and soon they both had glasses of that.  She sat down and took a
bite of her own cake.

   He took his eyes off of her for perhaps the first time since they'd
arrived in the house, not counting the times she was behind him, and looked
around.  It looked like any other kitchen, except for the framed
photographs on the walls.  There were five or six of them, and the subject
matter varied from a landscape that had a stream in it to a picture of a
blond woman, wearing a cowboy hat and holding a guitar on her lap.  There
was a black scrawl of what looked like a signature in the bottom right
corner of that picture.

   Christy saw him looking at that picture.

   "That's Misty Compton," she said around a mouthful of cake.  "She's a
singer who did some concerts over in Hutch a while back.  I took her
publicity shots.  Have you ever heard her?"

   "I haven't gotten to listen to much music in the last few years," he
said.

   That brought to both minds what he'd been doing the last few years, and
conversation lagged.  Christy wondered what she was doing.  Ever since
she'd met this man, she'd felt some kind of tug.  That she liked his
personality was a given.  Anyone who could go through what he'd gone
through, and retain his sanity, had to be a strong person.  But she had no
idea how to interact with a man who was clearly not on the same playing
field as all the other men she was acquainted with.  She remembered his
sharp denial that he was interested in pity.  She did feel some pity for
him ...  some sadness at the unrealized dreams he must have had ...  but
she didn't feel like that was why he was sitting across her kitchen table
from her.  It was less confusing to merely decide that she just liked him.
But what could they talk about?  She didn't want to talk about his
troubles. He'd had enough of them to last several lifetimes.  They'd gone
through the inane chatter that people use to break the ice and learn a
little about each other.  She could only think of one thing.

   "Have you ever seen how pictures are developed?" she asked suddenly.

   "Nope."

   "Want to?"

   Will's thought processes were somewhat similar to hers.  He wasn't sure
why she was showing this interest in him.  He was pretty sure it wasn't
anything a normal woman would feel for a normal man.  His sister showed
that kind of interest ...  but that was different.  HE was different.  Like
her, he didn't know what to say, or how to move the conversation forward.
He wasn't even sure if he SHOULD move the conversation forward.  She was
beautiful and he couldn't ignore that.  She was a healthy, vibrant woman.
She'd been married.  She had a child.

   "Where's Jillian?" he asked, instead of answering her question.

   "She's staying at Jill's tonight.  She misses Steven, so we try to let
them do sleepovers once in a while." He looked confused and she explained.
"Jill and I used to live together.  We had our babies about the same time
and she worked for me.  She still does, though she's gone part time now
that she got married.  The kids grew up together." She giggled.  "Not that
they're grown or anything, but you know what I mean.  When Jill got
married, Jillian lost her brother, sort of."

   Will could understand how that would be traumatic.  If he lost Erica,
he'd be devastated.  He remembered her question.

   "Sure," he said.  "I'd love to find out how you do your magic."

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

   He tried to change his mind when she announced that she'd take his
portrait, and then develop that.

   "You can't be serious," he said.

   She was almost instantly sorry she'd brought it up, but instinct made
her push ahead.

   "Look," she said.  "You are who you are.  You got those scars honestly.
You fought your way back from death to be in this world.  OK, you're in it.
Now what are you going to do ...  hide?"

   "But ..."

   "Let me just see what I can do," she said.  "I'm not promising you'll
like anything.  Just let me take your picture."

   He thought it was crazy, but he let her push him into her studio.  Then
he sat, feeling more and more exposed, somehow, as she walked slowly around
him, stopping to stare before moving on.  He watched her face when he could
see it.  He didn't see revulsion.  Instead she looked like she was
examining some painting at a gallery, maybe ...  just looking at it ... 
and thinking about what she was seeing.

   "We can go several ways," she said, finally.  "I'm not sure all of them
will work."

   What she was actually thinking was that she was pretty sure she could do
a profile portrait that would not show any of the damage.  In such a shot,
he'd look completely normal.  It could create an image of what he might
have looked like, if he hadn't been burned, because the mind would fool the
viewer into thinking that the parts that didn't show were just as normal as
what did.  But that could work in one of two ways.  It could celebrate what
had been preserved ...  or deepen the pain of his loss.

   He expected her to leave him in his chair, but she didn't.  There was a
low bench that could be covered with various materials, and she posed him
there, first.  She used several backdrops.  He'd expected her to take a
picture, and then it would be over.  Instead, she took shot after shot. 
The flash bothered him, because it brought back memories of explosions, but
he was able to control his angst.

   Then she had him stand, while she arranged a stool for him to half sit
on, in what looked like an alcove with three sides.  She went in a half
circle while she took even more shots, from both sides and the front.  She
stopped and looked at him.

   "The scars go all the way down ...  don't they." She was looking at his
left arm.  He routinely pinned the long sleeve on that arm closed, so his
stump wouldn't show.

   "Yes," he said, wondering what she was thinking.

   "I'd like to try something.  I just thought of it.  It's kind of ... 
radical."

   "What?" he asked.

   "I have a flag that I hang behind the officers of the VFW when I take
their official photographs," she said.  "I'd like to wrap you in it."

   She stopped and looked nervous.

   "I want to show the scars," she finally added.

   Will just stared at her.

   "Let me explain," she said, obviously nervous now.  "I have this image
in my mind ...  the warrior ...  scarred while fighting for his country. 
The flag represents how that country will hold him ...  care for him ... 
treasure him."

   "Nobody treasures me," said Will immediately.  He was thinking of the
endless bureaucracy he'd had to wade through to get treatment.  It was
supposed to be automatic.  A doctor would decide what needed to be done,
and then that was supposed to happen.  But it never went that smoothly. 
There were delays, and sometimes his case was pushed aside.  Operations
that were supposed to be two or three months apart were six months apart.
He'd spent countless hours just sitting, waiting for something to happen,
and then countless more hours alone in a hospital bed, recuperating from
their latest attempt to do something.  Those few nurses had cared about him
...  but that was all.  He'd gotten a purple heart, but it had just been
handed to him, while he was in bed, by a nameless civilian who had only
said "Here, they awarded this to you."

   "Your sister does," said Christy.  "Your parents do."

   "My parents are dead," he said.

   "Oh." She struggled for something that would lift her stupid idea out of
the gutter.  "I do."

   He looked at her.  "You don't treasure me," he said.  It was a statement
of belief, and that was plain.

   "OK," she said, as she flushed bright red.  "Maybe not treasure.  But I
respect you, and I think you're brave and strong.  I'm part of America."

   They argued about it for a while longer, until Will did what men have
done for centuries ...  he gave in, just to get her to shut up.  That was
fine until she returned with the flag and said "Take off your shirt."

   There was another argument then.  Believe it or not, it is possible for
an argument to bring two people closer together sometimes.  It isn't really
the substance of the argument that does that ...  it's the fact that both
of them care enough TO argue about something, at least in situations like
this.  He was sure she'd be horrified at seeing the scars on his torso,
which were worse than what usually showed, because that part of him had
gotten a heavier dose of napalm than his face, which had been somewhat
shielded by his helmet.  She was just as adamant that scars were scars, and
that it didn't matter, except that the scars needed to show if her idea was
ever to become a reality.

   In one sense, he was arguing "I want to protect you from something
disgusting," and she was arguing "I don't care if it's disgusting, it's
part of you and I accept you just like you are." That's the kind of
argument that can bring two people closer together, even if they don't
realize it's happening at the time.

   Again, however, she eventually wore him down, and he gave in.

   He expected her to gasp as he wiggled his bad arm out of the cloth, and
then used that arm to press and hold, so he could extract his good arm. 
The stump was well healed, with a smooth, normal skin shade where the
grafts had been used to cover it.  The rest of his arm, his shoulder, and
his side were a thick, mottled almost bluish red, crisscrossed with lines.
He could have told her the names of the scars, which were a mixture of
keloid and contracture scars that had interacted with the Langer's lines of
tension on his body, causing the separation of lumps of scarring.  But the
technical jargon wouldn't mean anything to her.  All she'd see was ugly
looking damage that made him look faintly reptilian, at least to his own
eyes.

   She didn't gasp.  She did tremble, as she saw the extent of the damage,
and how his elbow didn't bend quite as far as it should.  The scarring had
robbed him of some of the mobility in his elbow.  His shoulder movement was
almost normal, due to the hours and hours of excruciatingly painful
physical therapy they had inflicted on him.  They had worked his shoulder
for him, and had told him to work his own elbow.  He hadn't spent as much
time doing that as he was supposed to, because of the pain, and the
scarring there was tight.

   Her fingers held the flag just over his skin, preparing to drop it, when
she had a sudden thought.

   "Is there pain?  Will it hurt if I touch it?"

   "Sometimes there are phantom pains," he said.  "I can feel things.  It
used to hurt all the time, but that's tapered off.  That's why I can wear a
shirt."

   "But I won't hurt you by doing this," she said.

   "No."

   She draped the flag over his shoulder, bunched so it lay between his
neck and the tip of his shoulder, which was visible.  The field of stars
was crumpled on his sternum.  She wanted his stump across that, and had to
decide whether to move it there herself, or have him do it.  She decided
she needed to touch that skin, if only to make herself do it.  Her initial
impulse was to use just her thumb and one or two fingertips to do that, but
she clamped down on her discomfort and gripped the arm, just above the
stump.

   "Hold the flag against you like this," she said, positioning his arm. 
She wasn't surprised that the skin was warm.  It looked hot, and felt rough
and slick somehow, but it still felt like skin.

   She went behind him to pull the rest of the red and white bars around
his back, and draped it over his right shoulder, covering the good skin
there.  She stood back, and then, like she had done before, moved all the
way around him, just looking at him from different vantage points.

   Then she picked up her camera.

   "Lift your chin a little," she said, looking through the viewfinder.

   The lights flashed and Will blinked.

   "Now turn your head to the right a bit."

   She walked all the way around him, taking photographs.  She stopped,
removed the film canister from the camera and replaced it, and kept going.
She took shots both from a standing position, and, in some cases, resting
on one knee, looking up.  Finally she was satisfied.  She helped him put
his shirt back on, somehow knowing that it needed to go on the bad arm
first, and then told him he could sit back down in his wheelchair.

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

   Chapter Eighteen

   Transferring the exposed film to a stainless steel canister had to be
done in complete darkness, but she showed him what she'd be doing with a
strip of film that had already been processed.  She fed it into a reel that
got progressively smaller until the whole strip was curled up in a circle
that didn't allow any part of the film to touch any other part.

   Then she turned the light off and told him what she was doing in the
dark.  The room was cramped, with his wheelchair in it, and he could sense
her standing close to him.  He could smell her perfume, or at least
something that smelled sweet.

   "You smell good," he said, without thinking.

   "Thank you," she said.

   He could hear the rustle of the film sliding onto the metal reel, and he
heard her drop it into the canister and put the lid on.  A red light came
on suddenly and, though he knew it was dim, it looked bright, somehow,
after the total darkness.

   "I could do this with white light," she said, "but I do everything with
the safe light on.  It's just a habit."

   He was amazed that she sounded so comfortable.  He watched as she poured
chemicals into the canister and agitated it gently with her hand while she
set a timer.  She described what she'd be doing after that.  At one point
she said "You could do all of this yourself, except for loading the film
initially."

   "You're kidding," he said.

   "Nope.  You could do everything I'm going to do from here on out with
one hand."

   She found out she was wrong when she hung the film up to dry, and had to
use one hand to hold the film and the other to open the spring clip it
would hang from.  Over the next hour, though, he saw she was right.  She
had him do it himself.  She stood next to him as he stood on one leg,
working at the light table.  He focused the enlarger and learned how to
crop.  She had used color film, but limited their processing to black and
white prints, with one exception.  The exception was one of him draped in
the flag.  She pulled the strip of film through the enlarger slowly,
looking at the projected image of each frame.  He couldn't tell what she
was looking for, because he hadn't yet figured out how to reverse the
negative image on the film in his mind.  But she must have found whatever
she was looking for, because she exposed one frame.

   The developing of the color print was more complicated, because it had
to go in a tube, like the film had, and more chemicals were required.  He
couldn't watch the image magically appear on the paper as he had with the
black and white prints, which just lay in a tray while the chemicals
worked.

   Then, with the white light on, he got to see what they had created.

   He was both shocked and deeply moved by the results.  The picture of him
in profile, of just his right side, didn't show any scarring at all.  It
made his stomach hurt, to look at himself appearing normal.  Others showed
his scars, but it just looked as if he were looking in a mirror.  She had
captured expression on the right side of his face, in some of them, and
even he could tell that the viewer's eye would be drawn to that part of the
shot, rather than the ugly skin elsewhere.

   He'd scoffed at her flag shot, but when he saw it he almost cried.  The
look on his face was without any emotion at all.  His left arm looked like
he was trying to put the stump over his heart and hug the flag.  He felt
tears in his eyes as emotion welled up and he felt the catch in his lungs
as he tried to stop himself from sobbing.  It didn't work and he felt shame
as he started to cry.  To keep from sobbing like a little girl, he made a
high pitched keening noise, because that was all he could do to control his
lungs, pushing out each breath as long as he could, before snatching
another one.

   He was still standing and he felt her turn him.  Suddenly her hair was
in his face as she hugged him.  Her face had gone to his left side, by
happenstance, and it was his left cheek that she kissed, her lips pressing
against the angry scars there.

   "It's all right," she whispered into his ruined, but still functional
ear.  She kissed his ravaged skin again, making it plain that she didn't
care about that skin ...  that it didn't repel her.  His right arm went
around her, partly to stabilize him, and partly because he needed the
contact emotionally.

   "It's all right," she said again, as her hands slid to his back and she
pulled him against her.

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

   Something important had happened in the darkroom.  Both of them could
feel it, somehow, even though neither of them said anything about it.  When
he stopped crying, she held him a few moments longer and then turned him on
his leg so he could sit down in his chair.  She gathered up the prints and
put them on his lap, and then wheeled him out.

   He pointed out that it was late and she agreed.  She helped him put his
coat back on, and bumped him over the threshold again.  It was dark at his
house and Erica's car wasn't there.  The front door was open, though, and
she pushed him in.

   "Thank you," he said.  His hand lifted the prints he had made, and that
she had given him.

   "You did really well for a first timer," she said.

   Neither said anything about his outburst or her reaction to it.

   "I should go," she said, needlessly.

   "OK," he said.

   She started to walk away, and then turned.  She came back to lean down,
putting her hands on the armrests of his chair as he automatically looked
up at her.  Her eyes were hazel, he noticed.  He smelled her perfume again.
He knew she was going to kiss him, but he couldn't believe that until her
lips pressed softly against his slack ones.  She held her lips there, just
touching his, and then pulled back.

   "See you later?" she asked.

   "Um ...  OK," he said, suddenly feeling weak.

   Then she was gone and he was left alone.  He sat there for ten minutes,
just thinking.  When he moved to roll his chair to the bedroom, he saw the
photographs still lying on his lap.  He looked through them again until he
got to the color print.  His chest felt tight, but it didn't make him break
down again.  He put it on the bottom again, before it got to him.  He
shoved with his foot, until an end table was within reach, and put the
sheaf of prints there.

   He was astonished to sense Erica's presence almost immediately as he got
into the bedroom.  He could hear her breathing.  He wondered where her car
was.  He wanted to wake her, to share what had happened, but decided that
could wait.  He wasn't done thinking about that yet.  He tried to be quiet,
but lost his balance and had to sit hard on the edge of the bed to keep
from falling.  He heard her move.

   "Will?" Her voice sounded wrong, somehow.

   "Yes," he said, to reassure her.

   "Oh Will," she sobbed.  "I did something stupid tonight."

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

   The next morning Erica lay in bed after she woke up, instead of getting
up.  Some of that was because Will was still asleep, next to her, and his
warmth felt good.  Some was because she wasn't as convinced as Will was
that Bobby wouldn't say anything.

   She had poured out her heart to her brother, in the dark, while he held
her, as well as he could.  She had surfaced from her self-flagellation long
enough to realize that his left arm was under her as she huddled against
him, but he didn't complain.  He'd stroked her hair with his right hand
until she finally wound down and then cried softly.

   "I don't think Bobby's the kind of guy who would ruin our lives," he had
said to her.  "I mean who are we hurting?  Nobody.  He can figure that
out."

   "But he has sisters," Erica had moaned.  "He must be disgusted."

   "Are you disgusted?" His tone of voice cut through her self-pity.

   "No.  You know that.  I love you."

   "Then I don't care what happens," he had said.  "If push comes to shove
we'll move somewhere else."

   "We can't just pick up and move," she cried.  "I signed a contract.  I
have to stay here at least until May."

   "I don't think we should worry about it until something happens," he'd
said.  "I'll talk to him."

   "Nooooo," she whined.  "Maybe you're right.  Maybe he won't say
anything."

   She'd said that just to keep Will from facing Bobby.  Will had just
begun to come out of his shell.  The musical had made a world of difference
to him.  He'd cried when the kids dedicated it to Jake and him, and had
said he was happier than at any time he could remember.

   Now, as she lay next to him, she wasn't so sure.  She didn't know what
to do.  If Bobby did spread it around, even a little bit, in a town like
this it would spread like wildfire.  She remembered hearing tales, as a
child, of people being tarred and feathered and run out of town.  She
wasn't even sure she should go to the school tonight, for the last
performance.  If she stayed away, at least the kids could have their
success, without it being overshadowed by scandal.

   They hadn't made love last night.  Feeling his skin next to hers caused
unwelcome feelings and, in despair, she got out of bed, trying not to wake
him up.  He'd come in very late, and needed his sleep.  As she put on the
robe that was still lying on the floor, where she'd dropped it, she
wondered where he'd been and what he'd done.  He hadn't said anything.  Of
course he hadn't really had a chance.

   She went to the kitchen, but didn't feel like cooking, so just had a
bowl of cereal.  When that was done she tried to think of something to do.
She didn't want to watch cartoons on TV.  She was afraid to go out, where
someone might point at her and sneer.  Finally she decided to work on the
puzzle Will was currently involved with.

   She was on her way to the table the puzzle was on when saw the
photographs.  The one on top was of his profile.  She gasped, because he
looked normal again.  Her eyes tricked her, just as Christy had known they
would.  She picked it up and stared at it, wondering where it had come
from. It was obviously recent, because of the haircut and the clothes. 
Those were the clothes she'd seen lying on the floor when she got up.

   It didn't take her long to realize that it must have been Christy Brown
who took these photographs.  She leafed through them slowly.  Some did
nothing for her, but there were two that she looked at longer.  She
couldn't have said why, except that he was looking at the camera in both of
them.  His left eye ...  the eyeball itself ...  looked just like the other
one, and the gaze was clear, almost confident.  The juxtaposition of the
ruined flesh around one, and the complete normalcy of the other, mixed with
the way both eyeballs were the same, made it seem as though the picture was
the original Will, uninjured, saying "I'm still in here!"

   Then she got to the color print.  She had to sit down, because her knees
were turning to water.  She stumbled to the nearest chair and sank into it,
staring at the image on the paper.  How had Christy gotten him to do this?
It was incredibly powerful, but it was also obvious that he had exposed his
chest ...  his arm ...  to the photographer.  Even more, his stump was
fully exposed, holding the flag to his heart.  It was as if he were saying
he loved his country, despite what it had done to him.

   She stared at it for so long that her eyes felt dry, and she had to
blink them rapidly.  She leafed through them again, and realized THIS was
what he had been doing last night.  While she had been running away from
Bobby, almost getting frostbite and acting generally like a foolish little
girl, Will had been performing an act of courage that she could hardly
imagine.

   She felt overwhelming love for her little brother.  It didn't matter if
Bobby splattered their secret all over town.  They WOULD move away, if they
had to.  As she stared again at the color photo, she felt determined that
she would never let anything tear her brother down again.  She had a sudden
thought.  It was Bobby's word against hers!  There was no proof ...  no
real evidence.  She wondered suddenly how he had known.  He must have seen
something.  She'd have to figure out what that was and correct it.  Will
would have to sleep in his own room for a while.  She couldn't imagine who
might come to investigate, but if they did, there would be no evidence to
find.  She'd make sure of that!

   Feeling much better, she got up.  Hope had returned to her.  She had a
mission, a mission to make this all go away.  If Bobby Dalton wanted to try
to make trouble she'd fight.  She'd call him a liar.  She felt sudden
guilt, at that thought, but pushed that away.  She would protect her
brother, the only man she loved.

   At that thought, the urge she'd felt when she woke up next to him
returned.  The subtle difference between feeling that while in despair, and
feeling that while filled with hope, undid her resolve to avoid doing
anything about it.  Tonight, they would sleep in separate beds.

   But for now, she would join him in hers.

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

   Erica tried hard to feel ...  and look confident as she approached the
school.  Her car was still in the school parking lot, and she had bundled
up, making sure she wouldn't get cold again as she walked the eight blocks
to the building.

   There were two hours `til show time.  There might not even be anyone
there yet.  But, if her secret was out, there would be people here to make
sure she didn't enter the school.  If that was the case, she wanted to get
that over with.  She'd told Will that she'd come back for him later.  If
there was going to be uproar, she didn't want him caught in it.

   She walked in to be astonished to find that most of the cast was there,
some of them already in costume.  People were singing bits of this or that
number, and little groups of students were everywhere, talking excitedly.

   "Hey, Ms.  B," said Felicia Walters as she skipped by.  Erica had
noticed when some of the kids started calling her by that more familiar
form of address, but she hadn't done anything about it.  Secretly it made
her feel good.

   She was prepared for almost anything ...  except for everything to be
completely normal.  There were little problems to be solved.  A bulb had
burned out in one of the spotlights used to put a blue glow on the forest
scene.  It required a very tall ladder to get to and Jimmy wanted to go up
and replace it.  She watched, nervously as he mounted the tall wooden
ladder and called several kids to come hold the ladder steady with her. 
That went without incident, but then there was another problem, and someone
else to talk to, until suddenly she realized it was only forty-five minutes
to curtain.

   She had her coat in one hand, and her keys in the other and was hurrying
up the aisle when Bobby Dalton walked into the double doors at the top,
pushing her brother in his wheelchair.  She stopped dead.

   Bobby's voice, when he spoke, didn't sound any different than it had any
other time.  "When he said you'd already come down here, I figured you'd
get caught up in things, so I just brought him myself.  I hope that's OK."

   Erica looked at Will, who looked back at her and gave an almost
invisible shake of his head.  He looked ...  distracted.

   "I was just on my way," she said, not knowing what else to say.

   "I just stopped in to make sure you were OK after last night," said
Bobby.  "It was no trouble."

   Erica felt confusion that made her want to scream.  People were starting
to filter in, though, and she swallowed, trying to get herself under
control.

   "We need to talk," she said, her voice tight.

   "Plenty of time for that after the show," said Bobby carelessly.

   An older man stopped, looking at Will.  He stuck his hand out.

   "I heard about the kids dedicating this to you.  I was in Korea.  I'd be
proud to shake your hand, son."

   Erica kept her gasp in as Will gripped the man's hand and simply said
"Thanks."

   "You ought to come down to the VFW and join," said the man.  "We don't
have all that many vets from Nam."

   "I'll think about that," said Will.

   The man looked up at Erica.  She saw his eyes wander a bit, and he
smiled.  "I hear it's a great show," he said.

   "They worked very hard," she said, a hollow tone in her voice.  This was
something else she hadn't thought about or been prepared for.

   "Well, I'll just go grab me a good seat then," said the man.  He looked
back at Will.  "Think about that, son.  We'd be glad to have you."

   "Yessir," said Will.  It sounded military somehow, to Erica's ears.

   More people were beginning to stream in.

   "Go on back stage," said Bobby.  "I'll take Will down to his spot."

   "Thank you," she said automatically.

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

   Everything was ready.  All the problems had been taken care of.  There
was only the waiting left.  Erica stood in the wings, peeking past the edge
of the curtain.  The house was packed.  She knew that some of these people
had already seen the show, but had come back again.

   Julia Staffordshire was sitting in the front row again, though the
people with her were different than on previous nights.  Will and Jake were
at their spots, and Tilly was sitting with Jake.  She thought she should
just go out and sit by Will, since she'd never actually gotten to see the
whole show from out front.  While she watched, at least five or six people
came down the aisle to speak with Jake or Will, before going back to their
seats.  There were a lot of parents in the crowd tonight.

   She saw Christy Brown come in.  She'd been there for every performance,
except the one at the assembly.  She somehow knew that Christy would go sit
by Will, and felt something unhappy in her stomach.  Leaving the curtain,
she hurried to claim the seat by Will before Christy could.

   Had she stopped to think about things, Erica might have realized that
that unhappy feeling in her stomach was simple jealousy.  But she didn't
have any experience with being jealous, just like she didn't have any
experience with feeling the things she had been feeling over the last month
or so.

   She might have beaten Christy there, but for Julia, who wanted to
introduce her to the people sitting with her.  They turned out to be
relatives of some sort or another, and by the time she got free, and went
towards Will, she arrived just in time to hear Christy speak.

   "Is this seat taken?" asked the woman.

   Will had to twist in his chair to look up at her and Erica saw Christy
move, almost automatically, to where he didn't have to strain to see her.

   "I guess not," said Will.

   "I was going to sit with you tonight!" said Erica, somewhat more loudly
than she had intended.

   Christy looked over at her and smiled.

   "Oh.  That's fine," she said.

   Erica felt a strong hand grip her elbow and turned.  She almost gasped
when she saw Bobby Dalton was attached to that strong hand.

   "I was hoping you'd sit with me tonight," he said, his voice casual.

   "You're still here?" She did have a gasping quality to it as she said
it.

   "Wouldn't miss it for anything."

   "It's all right," said Christy.  "I'll sit with you, Bobby, so she can
sit with her brother.  It's only right."

   Erica's stomach felt tighter than before.  She recognized that feeling
as something wrong, somehow, but she didn't have time to analyze it.  Her
subconscious mind was processing information that she wasn't aware of on a
conscious level.  That information amounted to a decision being required.
She loved her brother, and her subconscious saw Christy as a rival, even if
her conscious mind would have scoffed at that notion.  The problem was that
Christy had also made herself a rival for the attention of Bobby Dalton. 
Erica was attracted to him too, on another completely unconscious level,
something she would also have scoffed at, had someone suggested it.

   But her subconscious mind required that a decision had to be made.  Even
her unconscious knew that she couldn't claim both men.  She didn't know it,
but that's why she suddenly felt like she might throw up.

   "Why don't we just get a couple more chairs?" asked Will.  "Then we can
all sit together."

   The relief Erica felt was almost palpable.  It was dampened slightly,
when Christy claimed one of the chairs next to Will, when they were in
place.  Bobby sat beside Erica.

   Oddly, when she didn't have to make a decision after all, Erica ignored
both men.  She was tense, and worried about so many things that she
couldn't pay attention to any of them.

   Bobby leaned over and spoke softly in her ear.

   "Relax," he said.  She could feel his breath on her ear, and she
shivered.  "I told you ...  everything will be fine."

   The tension made her speak.

   "How can you SAY that?" she hissed.

   "Let's talk later," he said.  "Right now just try to relax.  You have
nothing to worry about."

   It was touch and go for a few seconds, as the emotion that had caused
her to flee his car the night before, returned and threatened to overwhelm
her.  Then Will, who was sitting on her left, reached over and took her
hand.  He squeezed it gently.  Instead of exploding, she almost crumbled.
She might have too, except that Bobby reached for her right hand and did
the same thing.  The only difference was that while Will held onto her
hand, Bobby did not.

   Then Emily came out to make her speech, and it was too late to do
anything.

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

   Emily's speech was slightly different than the previous two nights.  She
acknowledged that some in the audience might have heard this part before,
but said she was going to say it again anyway.  That got a laugh.

   "The Chumleys aren't here tonight, but they found us the bagpiper I'm
sure you already know about by now," said Emily.  That got another chuckle
from the audience.  From there on, she acted like nobody knew that the show
was being dedicated to Jake and Will, even though it was obvious that most
people DID know that by now.  When they stood, the applause wasn't polite,
or even interested.  It was thunderous.  Will flushed, and Jake grinned and
waved with his only hand.

   "And our director, Ms.  Bradford, is with her brother!" shouted Emily
into the microphone.  She motioned for Erica to stand up.  She was on
Will's left now, but he didn't seem to care, as was evidenced by him
snaking the stump of his left wrist through her elbow and pressing her arm
to his side.  Erica looked over and saw that Christy, who had been holding
Will's right hand, to stabilize him as he stood, let his hand drop so he
could wave, like Jake had.

   Then the show was on.

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

   Anyone who has ever been in a play, or a musical, or any production that
requires a lot of rehearsal and preparation will be able to tell you about
the conflicting emotions that assail the participants during the last
performance.  There is a great relief that the drudgery is at last over,
and the beast that has taken so much time and energy will be put back in
its cage.  At the same time, there is the sense that a dear friend is going
to leave and never come back again.

   The melancholy of the second part is usually displaced, at least
temporarily, by the manic drive to make the last performance perfect, and
to enjoy every second of it as it plays out.  Emotion runs high and
adrenaline production is copious.  Some of the very best performances ...
are the last performances.

   Thus it was for the kids who put on Brigadoon, at Granger High School,
in the spring of 1976.  It was as if they were hopped up on speed.  They
cried real tears and laughed real laughs as Fiona found, and lost, and then
re-found the love of her life ...  the love that would last for eternity,
as the village of Brigadoon finally faded into the mists of time for the
last time.

   Practically every emotion it is possible to experience was splashed all
over the stage that night.  The over spray hit, and sank into the woman who
had clawed and cursed and cried, to make it happen.  She wept openly as the
bagpiper marched down the aisle for the make believe funeral that seemed so
real.

   That kind of emotion can wear a strong person down to the bone, and it
left Erica Bradford so limp in her seat that she couldn't find the energy
to stand up as the crowd behind her went wild.

   She looked around helplessly, tears running down her cheeks, and then
felt her stomach drop as two strong arms pulled her off her chair as if she
weighed no more than a wet rag.

   She willed strength to her knees as she stood, looking at the wonderful
kids, who had made her so proud, take their curtain call.  When they
finished their bow they pointed at her and clapped.

   "Turn around!" hissed Will.

   "I c-c-can't," she sobbed.

   Bobby and Will helped her and she was blinded by the spotlight as it
centered on her, taking in the two men who were obviously holding her up.
She smiled, forgetting everything else as she realized that, no matter what
happened, she would always remember this night.

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

   She gained strength during the aftermath.  Kids were running everywhere,
jumping and laughing, and people from the audience came to shake her hand.
They shook Will and Jake's hands too.  In fact they shook hands with Bobby
and Christy as well, even though they didn't know what role either had
played in the production.

   The cast party was being held in the cafeteria, because there were too
many attendees to fit in anyone's home.  The mothers of the cast members
had cooked and baked, and there was more than enough food.

   Emily and three other girls came and dragged Erica to the party, while
some of the boys vied for the honor of pushing Will.  The same thing was
happening with Jake, who was growling at them, but couldn't do anything
about it.  Tilly just laughed and followed the group.

   Bobby looked at Christy, who was watching them go up the aisle.

   "You like him, don't you?" he asked.

   She looked over at her lover, and the father of her child.  She nodded.

   "I do."

   "He's a good man," said Bobby.

   "I know," she said.  She looked up at Will's retreating entourage, and
then back at Bobby.  "Is it too weird?"

   "Only if you think so," he said.

   "He might not feel the same way," she said.

   "You won't know unless you talk to him," said Bobby.

   She looked over at him.

   "He's not the only good man around.  Jill told me what you said to her
about Sal."

   "She told a lot of people," said Bobby, smiling.  "She's got a big
mouth."

   "I'm like Jill," she said.  "If something develops with Will ...  I
won't see you anymore ...  not like we have been."

   "That's one of the things I love about you," he said.  "Besides, I'm a
big boy.  I can take care of myself."

   "Oh, I know THAT!" she said, laughing.  "You don't need me.  That's for
sure."

   "I'll always need you," he said softly.  "As a friend, if nothing else."

   "You've always been very confusing," she sighed.  "I let you give me a
baby, and I know you love me, and Jillian too."

   "It's because I love you that I want you to be happy," he said.

   "Couldn't I be happy with you?" she asked.

   "Could you?" It was an honest question.

   She folded her arms.  "For as much as I love you, sometimes I don't like
you very much."

   He just grinned.  "You want to go to the party?"

   "I'm not in the cast," she said.

   "Will's there," he said, his voice teasing.

   "I don't think Erica likes me," said Christy.

   "I have a feeling Will's happiness is very important to Erica too," said
Bobby.  "Like I said, you won't know unless you try to find out."

   They walked toward the cafeteria, hand in hand.

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

   Chapter Nineteen

   The adrenaline was leaching out of the systems of most of them.  Erica
was no different.  She felt weak and tired.  She'd been separated from Will
by the well wishers.  She could see him across the room, surrounded by
boys. Jake and Tilly had already left.  Someone sat down next to her and
she turned her head to see Christy Brown.  Erica had seen her sitting with
Bobby earlier.  They had been eating and talking.

   "I need to talk to you," said Christy.

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

   When Christy had worked up the courage to go talk to Erica, Bobby got up
and wandered over to sit with Will.  He had no idea how Erica would react
to what he suspected Christy was going to tell her, but if it wasn't a good
reaction, maybe he could defuse it.  He hadn't had a chance to talk to
Erica about what had happened the night before.  He knew she was worried
about it, but he was pretty sure he could convince her not to be.  He
didn't know how much he'd have to tell her about himself to convince her,
though.  He regretted saying what he had.  It was really none of his
business.  She was so abrasive, though, that he hadn't been able to resist
taking a little jab at her.  He felt bad about that now, but it was too
late.

   He couldn't sit beside Will.  There were several boys in those spots, so
he sat as close as he could, and looked over at Erica and Christy.  Neither
was stiff.  They were talking and their body language looked normal to his
eyes.

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

   "I like your brother," said Christy.

   That statement can be taken on several levels.  Both women knew, though,
that the "like" that was used in this case meant much more than casual
acceptance of a person as a friend.  Had it been earlier in the night, her
reaction might have been completely different, but Erica was drained now.

   "Why?" she asked.  It was, in fact, the most important question in her
mind.

   "I don't really know," said Christy.  "It's a little confusing for me. I
think he's brave, for one thing.  I just know I feel a pull towards him."

   "Is it pity?" asked Erica.  "Because if it's pity ...  he won't take
that."

   "He said the same thing," said Christy.  "It's not pity.  I'm attracted
to him.  I'm sorry for what he's had to go through, but I don't feel sorry
for him.  Does that make sense?"

   Erica grappled with that, because she realized she DID feel sorry for
him.  The way Christy had said it, that felt wrong somehow.  She remembered
the photographs.  Those photographs had told Erica things that the casual
observer wouldn't necessarily know.  Will had let this woman see his naked
chest and for that to have happened, he would have had to feel comfortable.
She couldn't envision him doing that any other way.  That meant that he
liked this woman.  And now, Christy was saying she had feelings for Will
too.  As completely unlikely as Erica thought it was that anything could
come from it, she couldn't take that away from him.

   She felt like something precious was being ripped from her as she
thought about Will being drawn to this woman.  It was at that point that
she realized she was jealous.  She had seen it in other women ...  had
scorned those women for letting a man take such control over them that
they'd act that way ...  feel that way.  The emptiness she felt at the
thought of Will going away from her, though, made her understand those
women a lot better now.

   Still, it was Will who was important here ...  not her.  She looked over
at him and saw Bobby Dalton looking at her.  Was he in on this?  He'd been
sitting with Christy before.  He knew about their secret.  Had he told her?

   "I love my brother," she said, looking at Christy's eyes to see her
reaction to that.

   She saw only yearning in those eyes.  There was no trace of judgment or
condemnation.

   "I know that," said Christy.  "I don't know if he has any feelings for
me, but I want to find out ...  if I can."

   "I saw the pictures you took of him," said Erica.

   Christy blushed, for some reason.  "I was showing him how to develop
film and make prints," she said.  "He did all of those himself, except for
one."

   "He wouldn't have taken his shirt off if he didn't trust you.  He's very
sensitive about that."

   "I could tell it was hard for him," said Christy.  "It was hard for me
too, but I would never hurt him."

   Having identified her jealousy for what it was, and having seen no
indication that Christy knew anything about their secret, Erica tried to
evaluate what Christy had said.  A normal woman was taking an interest in
Will.  Erica could understand that interest from her own perspective.  She
loved Will and wanted him to be happy.  But she had always loved him.  He
was her brother, and they had suffered together.  What she couldn't figure
out was why Christy was drawn to him.  But that didn't matter.  What
mattered was Will's happiness.  If a normal woman was interested in him ...
that would make him happy ...  wouldn't it?  Only if it didn't fail.

   She didn't know what to do, and she was so tired she didn't want to
think about it anymore.

   "He's an adult," she said.  "You are too.  What I think doesn't really
matter."

   "It does to me," said Christy.

   "Well, in that case, I don't know what I think about it," said Erica, a
little snappishly.

   Christy heard the frustration.  But there was no overt objection, so she
stood up.

   "Then I guess we'll talk about it more when you've figured it out."

   Erica watched the woman walk over towards Will.  She saw Christy move
one teenage boy aside, by pushing him gently, and then lean down to say
something in Will's ear.

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

   "I want to spend some more time with you tonight," Christy whispered.

   She had approached him from the front, and he had seen her coming.  He
had seen her move George to one side and, when she bent over to speak to
him, he had seen the cleavage displayed when the front of the purple blouse
she was wearing obeyed the law of gravity.  Her bra was a creamy tan color
and was very lacy.

   Much can be conveyed by words.  Much more can be conveyed by body
language.  But what part does tone of voice play?  It's not exactly verbal
and it's certainly not non-verbal.  It is said that seventy percent of
communication in a face to face meeting is non-verbal.  So that leaves
thirty percent for the spoken part.  Sometimes the tone of voice, with its
tiny nuances, may account for twenty-nine percentage points.  Watching
Christy approach had gotten Will's attention.  Looking down her blouse had
gotten all of his attention.  And Christy's tone of voice made it virtually
impossible for him to give any attention to anything else at all.

   "I have to go, guys," he said, as she stood back up.  "It was a great
show, and I'm really proud of all of you."

   Bobby hadn't heard what Christy said to him, but her body language spoke
to him too.  He recognized some of that body language as what had been
spoken to him in the past, by this same woman.  Christy was hot blooded and
he had spent enough time around her to recognize the signs.  When she had
said she liked Will, she was understating things a bit.  He glanced over at
Erica, who was sitting, staring at Christy's back.

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

   "Looks like we have time to talk now," said Bobby, sitting down beside
Erica.  She had watched him come over, but her face had been blank.

   "I'm too tired to talk now," she said.

   "We need to talk, Erica," he said.

   "I know," she responded, watching Christy pushing Will toward the exit.
"Thank you for not telling everybody."

   "Let me take you home."

   "I have my car in the parking lot," she said.

   "I know."

   She looked at him then.  His eyes reminded her of pictures she'd seen of
the water in the Bahamas, deep ...  blue ...  inviting.

   "If I spend more time with you, I'll just make a fool of myself again,"
she said.  She believed that was true, even though there was no projected
scenario in her mind.  She always seemed to make a fool of herself when she
was around this man.

   "Why are you so afraid of me?" he asked.

   A spark of anger ignited, and gave her energy.  She sat up.

   "I'm NOT afraid of you!" she snapped.  His blue eyes never wavered and
she realized she was lying.  She slumped.  "I don't know why I'm afraid of
you," she amended.

   Bobby thought he knew.  He had seen bits and pieces of Florence in her
behavior.  Suzie too.  But he had also seen some of the signs that Bev and
Mary, and even the twins, had exhibited at one time or another.  His
instinct was simply to explore that, to see if he could identify what she
needed.  He realized that was a change, because, until recently, he hadn't
really cared what she needed.  He wondered briefly if the change in his
attitude was because he knew Will was sleeping in the same bed with her ...
whatever that meant.

   "Let me take you home," he said again.

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

   Christy hadn't spoken as she drove Will to her house.  He had looked
over at her several times.  She seemed relaxed and was paying attention to
the road.  He wasn't sure what to think any more ...  wasn't sure he'd
heard what he thought he'd heard in her voice.

   Then, once they were inside, she got a chair and put it in front of him.

   "We need to talk," she said.

   "OK." What else could he say?

   "I like you," she said.

   "I'm glad." He felt stupid for saying that.

   "I think I like you a lot," she said.

   "You think?" He wished he'd just stop talking.

   "We don't know each other all that well," she said.

   "Yeah." That seemed safe enough.

   "I need to know how you feel."

   This was a conversation Will Bradford was quite sure he would never
have. Not in a million years.  His mind centered on that.

   "This is a conversation I thought I'd never have," he said.

   "Well, we ARE having it," she replied.

   "How could you ...  like me?" he asked.  It was an honest question.

   "I don't know," she said promptly.  "I just do."

   "Even with this?" His right hand went to the scarring on the left side
of his face.

   "Yes."

   He thought about the pity angle.  They'd already talked about that.  She
knew how he felt about that.  And she didn't sound like she was full of
pity right now.

   "Then I feel like I've died and gone to heaven," he said.  He meant that
too.

   She seemed to relax.  "Let's save the dying part for later," she said,
smiling.  "But we need to talk about the heaven part."

   "What?" That didn't make any sense.

   "I'm a woman.  You're a man."

   "Tell me something I don't know," he said.  He was amazed at how easy it
was to talk to this woman.

   "Men and women ...  when they enter into a relationship ...  " She
blushed.  "Well ...  they usually want to ...  do things."

   Will felt blood rushing to a part of his body that he knew wasn't
damaged.

   "Oh ...  THAT kind of heaven," he said.

   She blushed even more, but held her eyes on his.

   "I need to know ..." She did look away now.  "I feel bad for asking, but
I need to know ...  how injured you are." She covered her face with both
hands and made a little whining noise.

   He waited.  Eventually she peeked through her fingers at him.

   "I'm sorry," she whimpered.  "That was totally uncalled for."

   "I'm not that injured," he said softly.

   "I feel like such a dufus," she moaned.

   "You sure made MY day," he said.  "That's twice you've made my day."

   "Really?" She perked up and her hands came away from her still red face.
"When was the other time?"

   "When you kissed me last night."

   "Oh." She seemed happy.

   He slumped.  "It won't work, though," he said.

   "Why not?" Her voice rose.

   "I only have one leg, and one arm," he said, "in case you somehow hadn't
noticed."

   Christy knew at least five or six ways to make love.  She'd learned them
all from Bobby, and Will's lack of a leg and hand were the least of her
worries.  Her worry had been that me night not be able to perform at all.
That would have been extremely frustrating for both of them.  While his
ruined body wasn't a deal breaker, if she was going to fall in love with
another man - and she had those kinds of vibes about Will - she wanted to
be able to love that man in all ways.

   "You let me worry about that," she said.  Then she blushed again.

   "I've never met a woman like you," sighed Will.  "This is all like a
dream."

   "I'm sorry to push you like this," said Christy.  "But I really like you
...  and I just wanted to make sure that if this really does work out, that
we could both be happy."

   "If I was any happier, they'd take me off to the happy farm," said Will.

   Christy tilted her head and surveyed him.  He saw something almost feral
in her eyes.

   "Oh, you're not nearly as happy as I plan to make you," she said.

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

   Nature, as a single concept, is almost unimaginably complicated.  We've
all heard about the straw that broke the camel's back.  Nature is literally
filled with examples of that idea.  A single raindrop is what sets off a
landslide.  A single snowflake is responsible for an avalanche.  An ounce
of growth is what makes the roots of a tree finally unable to support its
weight, and it falls.  Very tiny things can make huge differences in
nature. And humankind is not exempt.

   The combination of tiny things that caused Erica Bradford to let Bobby
take her home, resulted in something that, on the grand scale of things,
was also tiny.  It was just a man and a woman, alone in a house, in a small
town, in a state that was tiny when compared to the country, which was only
a fraction of the land mass that wasn't ocean on a planet that was one
ten-thousandth the size of the star that warmed it.  That star was an
insignificant part of a minor galaxy that could disappear without an
observer a hundred or so light years away even noticing.

   There were small things that affected those two human beings after they
got to the house too.

   One was that Erica was in no mood to be alone.  She knew that if she
was, all she'd think about was what Will was doing.  Another was that the
musical had caused her to establish more relationships in four months than
she had entered into in the previous four years of her life.  She had grown
to like the feeling of being "social." Yet another thing was that she
wasn't used to coming home to an empty house.

   "Do you want something to eat or drink?" Bobby's question broke into her
thoughts.  She thought it was odd that it was her house, but he was making
the offer.

   "No."

   She felt like she should resist when he took her elbow and led her to
the couch.  She stood, looking at him.

   "Sit down," he said, his voice soft.  "We really need to talk."

   "What's there to talk about?" she asked.  "You tricked me into revealing
that I'm a pervert."

   "If you don't sit down, I'm going to touch your breasts again," he said.

   She was outraged.  But she had gotten to know this man almost better
than any other man she'd ever met, and she knew he'd probably make good on
his threat.  She sat.

   "Do you love Will?"

   "Of course I love him," she said.

   "Do you care what he needs to make him happy?"

   "These are stupid questions, Bobby."

   "Do you want him to be happy?" insisted Bobby.

   "Of COURSE!"

   "Then I don't see a problem," he said.

   It was quiet for half a minute as she waited for him to go on.  When she
realized he wasn't going to, her mouth fell open.

   "That's it?" she gasped.

   "That's it," he said.

   "Are you telling me you don't object to me ..." She had been about to
say "sucking my brother's penis?" but chopped that off just in time.

   "I'm saying that if your actions are the product of love and caring
about Will ...  it's really none of my business.  It's not anybody else's
business either."

   "I don't understand!" she moaned.

   "I'm trying to apologize to you for ambushing you like that last night.
I took advantage of you, and I'm sorry."

   Erica realized her mouth was hanging open and she closed it.  Her jaw
sagged right back down as hope exploded into her brain.

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

   "Doesn't that make you sick?" asked Will, who was panting slightly.

   Christy was letting her fingers drift lightly along the scarring that
made up the left of his chest, shoulder and the outside of his arm.  He was
still wearing his pants and was lying on the couch, where Christy had laid
him to kiss him some more.  She'd kissed his lips, on both sides, and his
eyes.  She'd licked his lips too, kneeling on the floor beside the couch.
Then she'd unbuttoned his shirt and asked him to pull his left arm out of
it.

   "No," she said softly.  "It's part of you.  I wish it hadn't happened,
but it did, and it's part of you now.  If I'm going to be comfortable with
you, I need to get used to this."

   Her fingers ended up at his stump, and she lifted it to bring it to her
lips.  She stood.

   "You need to get up now," she said.

   "What?" He was confused.

   "The rest of this needs to be done on a bed."

   She got his chair and he moved into it.

   "You also need to call your sister and let her know you won't be home
tonight," said Christy, bending down to lick his right ear.

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

   The shrill jangle of the phone jarred Erica and she was standing before
she realized she even intended to.  She moved to it.

   "Hello?"

   "Erica?"

   "Will!" she said excitedly.  Then worry hit.  Why would he call? 
"What's wrong, baby?"

   "Nothing," he said.  "It's just ...  well ...  how upset would you be if
I ...  um ...  stayed out all night?" His last words were almost too soft
to hear.

   The hope that had exploded inside Erica collapsed like a star after a
nova, forming a small lightless density in her stomach.  She had just told
Bobby she cared about his happiness, though, and that thought made her
speak.

   "You're an adult, Will."

   "I know," he said.  "But I love you.  I didn't want you to ...  um ...
worry."

   Being told he loved her helped a little.

   "It's OK, baby," she sighed.  "Thank you."

   "Thank you.  I love you.  I really mean that."

   "I know," she whispered.  "I love you too."

   "Christy will bring me home in the morning," he said.  "But we have to
pick up Jillian, so I don't know what time it will be."

   "OK," said Erica.

   She hung up the phone.  She felt hollow ...  empty.  She turned.  Bobby
was still sitting on his end of the couch.  He was just looking at her with
those deep blue eyes.

   "That was Will," she said.  "He's staying at Christy's tonight."

   "She'll be good to him," said Bobby.

   "How do you KNOW?" moaned Erica.

   "I know," said Bobby.  "I know her very well."

   Twin tears rolled out of Erica's eyes.  She wondered why she was crying.
She felt so helpless ...  lost.

   "He will always love you," said Bobby, standing up.  He came to her and
she stood there, immobile as he wiped away the streaks of wetness on her
cheeks with his thumbs.  "He will never stop loving you, even if he loves
another woman too."

   Erica could feel the warmth of Bobby's body, radiating toward her.  She
thought that was a singularly odd thing to notice at this particular point
in her life.  She wanted to believe him.

   "I should go now," said Bobby.

   "Go?  Why?" asked Erica.  "You said we needed to talk!"

   "We did," he said.  "I apologized and told you not to worry about loving
your brother."

   "That's it?" she asked again.  There had to be more to it than that.

   "Is there anything else you want to talk about?" he asked.

   There were dozens of things she wanted to talk about, but they were all
about unformed nebulous urges, and dreams, and feelings, and she wouldn't
know where to start.

   "No." Her voice was tiny.

   "Then I should go," he said.

   "But why?" she whined.

   Bobby cocked his head at her and she felt like he was looking through
her eyes and into her brain, where her tumultuous thoughts were somehow
pinned to the walls of her consciousness where he could wander along and
view them at will.  She couldn't see them herself, but she felt like he
could.

   "Because I'm attracted to you," he said.  "The things I'd be thinking
about if I stayed ...  well you wouldn't like them."

   The first thing Erica thought about was the image in her mind of that
penis poised above her sexual opening, and then nudging between the lips
that were somehow open and welcoming.  She shuddered and tried to push that
thought out of her mind.  He turned, and picked up his jacket, which he'd
laid on the arm of the easy chair.

   "Don't leave." The words left her mouth and she felt faint.  Her vocal
chords had betrayed her, just like her body had betrayed her before.

   He turned.  She watched his eyes slide from her face ...  downward.  She
felt her nipples stiffen and the exquisite ache in them that demanded she
squeeze them hard.  Her hands were halfway to her breasts when she was
finally able to stop them.

   "I don't want to be alone," she panted.

   She wondered why she was panting, and realized she had been holding her
breath.

   Bobby pulled his eyes back up.  She was wide-eyed and looked like she
was frozen.  She was leaning forward slightly and breathing hard.  He knew
she wore thick bras, but her nipples were still making themselves known. 
He recognized the signs, but they didn't fit with what he knew about the
woman displaying them.  Still ...  the signs were obvious.  He remembered
asking her what she wanted and he remembered her response.

   "Do you know what you want yet?" he asked, stepping closer to her.

   She blinked.  He literally saw tension come into her eyes.

   "I don't want to be alone," she said.

   He compared her to Amanda, who had let him tie her to the bed, so that
she could let things happen that she couldn't enter into "voluntarily." He
didn't think that would come anywhere near working with this woman.  And if
he suggested she tie HIM up ...  he suspected she'd just walk away after
she'd done it.  No ...  THIS woman ...  had to decide what to accept.  It
was the only way anything would work.

   But she didn't appear to be able to make any decisions ...  other than
with her brother.

   "I don't think this will work, Erica," he said softly.

   "Why?" she moaned.  "I just don't want to be alone.  Why won't that
work?"

   "Because you want more than that," he said.  "You want Will to be here.
That's what you need."

   "No," she whispered.  "That's not true."

   "Yes it is," he insisted.  "But Will isn't here ...  I am, and I'm not
what you need."

   "No!" Her voice was louder and she shook her head back and forth, almost
violently, like a little girl throwing a tantrum.

   His hand came to her chin and he grabbed it, stopping her.  She tensed.

   "Listen to me," he said.  "Right now your nipples are tingling.  You
feel all jumpy.  You want to be touched." He knew he was guessing, but he
was also experienced in these things.

   Her eyes widened.  "How can you know that?" she whispered.

   "You're a woman, Erica," he said.  "I know you want to be liberated and
strong, but your body ...  your biology ...  it wants things too.  It
doesn't mean you're weak.  It doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you.
It's just nature demanding to be part of your life."

   He let go of her chin.

   "I'm just not the right man to tend to that biology.  And if I stay
here, I'll WANT to.  I'm a man, Erica, and I have the same urges you're
feeling.  You're beautiful.  You're passionate.  You ARE strong and that
attracts some men."

   The things he was saying were like a flail to her passions, whipping
them up into a frothy frenzy.  No man had ever said those kinds of things
to her in that way.  He had drawn her attention to her nipples and they
were killing her now.  This time she couldn't stop her fingers from rising
to squeeze the points.  She stared into those awful, but beautiful, blue
eyes, knowing that he couldn't help but see what her hands were doing, even
though his eyes didn't move at all.  Men had lusted after her for years. 
It had made her skin crawl ...  until now.  This was different.  She closed
her eyes and then opened them again instantly as the vision of that penis
pushed deeper between her sexual lips.

   "I'm going crazy!" she moaned.

   "You're not crazy," he said.  His eyes dropped to her fingers, which
were still squeezing and trying to pull, even though the bra prevented
that. "You're just horny, Erica.  That's all it is."

   "That's ALL?!" she moaned.  "I'm feel like I'm going to explode, Bobby!"

   "What did you do before Will got here?" he asked.  "When you felt like
this?"

   Two things suddenly registered in her mind when he asked that question.
The first was the oddity of the question itself.  It was an amazingly
intimate thing to ask.  The second thing she realized was that Bobby Dalton
wasn't acting like a man at all.  He knew how she was feeling, somehow, but
he didn't press her ...  attempt to subdue her.  He didn't take advantage
of her.  HE was exerting control, even though he had admitted he didn't
want to.  That demanded that SHE do the same thing.  She took a deep breath
and let go of her nipples like they were hot coals.

   "I never felt like this before Will," she panted.

   He looked surprised.  "Surely ...  as a girl ...  there were boys ..."
He seemed to flounder.

   "No!" she said.  "I knew what the boys wanted, but I couldn't stand the
thought of that."

   "You never masturbated?" He sounded like he couldn't believe it.

   She felt heat of a different kind suffuse her face.  She couldn't
believe he'd said that.  Who WAS this man?

   "You can't ask a woman that kind of thing!" she moaned.

   "I'm trying to help you," he said.

   "By asking me about MASTURBATION?" she squealed.

   "I don't know a single woman who hasn't masturbated," he said, as if he
were saying he didn't know a single woman who didn't wear shoes.  "If
you've never done that, you're the first woman I ever met who didn't."

   Confusion brought her more control and she no longer felt like she was
going to collapse.  This conversation was SO strange, and this man was
acting SO differently than she expected that she had no idea what to say
next.

   "If Will isn't here, that's what you really need to do," he said, his
voice maddeningly calm.  "I could teach you, if you want me to."

   She blinked.  His voice sounded completely genuine.  He was actually
offering to help her learn how to masturbate.  It was so ludicrous that her
barely controlled emotions found a surprising outlet when she giggled, and
then honked two or three times, as she tried to stop the laughs.  That was
hilarious to her and she gave up.  Belly laughs made her bend over in an
unconscious attempt to draw more air into her lungs, so she'd have enough
to keep laughing.  It didn't work and she felt light headed enough that she
just sat down on the floor and laughed until her stomach hurt enough that
it tapered off.  She looked up to see him staring down at her.  That seemed
funny too, but she repressed the urge to start up all over again.

   The laughter had drained her, and she felt limp and tired again.

   "I've masturbated before," she sighed.  "Help me up."

   He reached for her hands and she practically flew up, to land on her
toes.  The tips of her breasts pressed against his chest briefly and she
rocked back onto her heels , only inches from him.

   "Why didn't you say so?" he asked, almost like he was pouting.  "That's
what you need to do.  Don't make the mistake of doing something with me
that you'll regret tomorrow.  We're almost friends and it's been a long
haul to get this far.  I don't want to have to start all over."

   She'd never stood this close to a man for this long.  The unease she
expected to feel was lacking though, and she didn't move.  Her mind was
tired, but her thoughts were clearer now.  As he said that, she heard a man
who cared about how she felt.  That was obvious.  It felt strange to hear
that and something in her mind whispered that she might have been able to
hear that before now, if she hadn't kept men at arm's length.  Her sorting
mechanism clicked at that point in time.  It had been spinning, like a
wheel of fortune, skipping past the pegs that were the men she came into
contact with.  As that wheel finally slowed and stopped, the pointer
quivered ...  and landed on the man standing in front of her, only inches
away.

   "You have no idea what I need," she said, her voice clear.

   "You don't either," he shot back.

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

   He blinked.  "Yes," he said after a brief hesitation.

   "Why haven't you tried to kiss me then?" she asked.

   "Maybe you ARE going nuts," he sighed.  "I don't even have permission to
TOUCH you, much less kiss you."

   She was amazed as what he said brought back the urge to squeeze her
nipples again, almost instantly.  The thought of a man asking permission
... she wanted to giggle again.

   "You touched me last night," she pointed out.

   "You were suffering from hypothermia," he said.  "I kind of figured you
might forgive me for that."

   "I forgive you for that," she said.  "You threatened to touch my breasts
again ...  just a little while ago."

   A wary look came into his eyes.  Her behavior had changed very quickly
and the signs she was now exhibiting were mixed.

   "It seems like the only thing that will really get your attention
sometimes," he said carefully.

   "I am stubborn sometimes," she admitted.  "OK, I forgive you for that
too."

   "What are you doing?" he asked carefully.

   "I don't know," she answered instantly.

   She was surprised that it didn't upset her anymore.  He was right.  She
didn't really know what she wanted from this man.  With Will, she knew. 
But not with Bobby.  She didn't know what would happen ...  what she would
do ...  what he would do.  What comforted her about that was that she also
realized that she wasn't afraid of Bobby any more.

   "I have dreams about you," she said, looking into those blue eyes, which
weren't so awful any more.

   "What kind of dreams?" he asked.

   "The kind of dreams I don't think I'm supposed to have," she said
calmly.

   "You know something?" he asked.  "You are a very strange woman."

   She smiled.  "I was thinking the exact same thing about you."

   "I'm a very strange woman?" He smiled too.

   She poked him in the stomach with one extended finger.  His stomach felt
like a board.

   He poked her back, in her ribs, just below her left breast.

   Her eyes widened and she poked him again, trying to make a dent in that
hard stomach.

   He tickled her back.

   Both of her hands came up and made claws.  They gripped his sides and
she tried to squeeze.

   His hands went to her breasts and cupped them, lifting them, with his
fingers on the insides and his thumbs on the outsides.

   She froze, her hands still on his shirt, and looked down.  As she
watched, his fingers squeezed gently and his thumbs moved over the surface
of her shirt to rub across the bumps that were her nipples.

   She looked up at him.  Suddenly, his eyes were deep enough to fall into
and never come back from.  His face was getting closer to hers, and she
knew he was going to kiss her.

   She closed her eyes.

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

   Chapter Twenty

   Will had never kissed Erica.  Not really.  Their lips had touched, but
the tight skin that formed the left side of his lips wasn't flexible enough
to let him actually purse them.  And, of course, she had never made out
with a boy before.  She HAD kissed her parents on the cheek, and had
received similar kisses.  She knew what her lips felt like when that had
happened, so she just tried to kiss Bobby's cheek ...  on his lips.

   So basically, the first real kiss that Erica Bradford ever got was one
she couldn't possibly have been prepared for.  Especially since she got it
from Bobby Dalton.

   He had to let go of her breasts.  That was because when her knees gave
out, they slammed into his, and he had to lift her with his hands under her
armpits just to keep her from folding to the floor.

   And to keep his lips in contact with hers ...  of course.

   As her passions had flared (and were in the process of flaring again),
his also flared.  He knew he hadn't let her make this decision, but what
was done was done ...  except that it wasn't done yet.  He kept his lips
pressed to hers, which were slack, so he gave in to his passions and licked
the inside of her lips.

   She was short, but she weighed more than she appeared to.  Standing like
this wasn't going to work.  He broke the kiss just as her head lolled back,
her neck muscles going slack.  Her eyes were closed and she almost looked
like she was unconscious.  He felt her knees exert some force when she
lightened in his hands, and he simply bent to scoop his left arm behind her
knees while sliding his right arm behind her back.  Her neck started
working again as he lifted her and stepped toward the couch.

   When he sat down with her, she was more or less lying across his lap
with her head on his shoulder.  Her eyes were open now, looking at his
face. Her eyes were clear and alert.  He saw permission there.

   So he kissed her again.

   In the next fifteen minutes, Erica Bradford tried her best to make up
for every make out session she had never had as a teenager.  Kissing Bobby
like this was nothing like she had imagined.  She had no basis for
comparison, but it was like being able to eat cake and ice cream and never
get full.  All of her attention was centered on her lips, because his hands
just held her against him.  The warmth of his body where she was pressed to
him was comfortable.  Her first blasts of passion gave way to something
more sedate, as she explored this new thing that was so delightful.  He had
at least ten different ways of kissing her and all of them made her feel
like she was going to melt.

   Eventually he let her lie back.  Her back was on his lap and her head
was on the armrest of the couch.  She felt like her breasts were pushed
out, because the transition from his lap to the couch, where her bottom
lay, felt huge.  She watched his eyes move from her face to her chest and
her nipples started wanting to be squeezed again.

   Men had looked at her breasts for years and she hadn't liked it.  Then
Will had looked at them and she had felt something completely different. 
Now another man was looking at them.  For only the second time in her life,
Erica wanted a man to actually see them.

   Her hands came to the buttons of her blouse.  Her fingers moved
languidly, in no hurry, and the top button popped open.  Her fingers moved
to the next ...  and the next.  When all of them were unbuttoned, she could
still feel the cloth covering most of her.  The coolness of the air on her
skin suggested it was open five or six inches.  His left arm was under her,
in the gap between the arm of the couch and the base of her neck.  His
right hand came to flick the left half of her blouse back.

   His left arm pulled her up for another kiss and his right hand slid
under the cloth of the blouse to stroke her back.  He let her back down
after what seemed like five minutes.

   She used front catch bras, because her breasts were so large that it was
too hard to pull straps together behind her back.  His fingers went to the
catch and drifted there, almost as if they were exploring.  She felt a
finger stroke the exposed skin of her cleavage, above the catch.  His
fingers drifted up the swell of her left breast to slide back and forth
across the tip.  She sucked in a breath and her back arched.

   He let his fingers wander lightly all over both breasts, barely touching
her until she couldn't take it any longer.  Her own fingers came to the
catch and, with an expert flip, she opened it.  She let go and the cups
sprang apart.  She heard the right one slap against his chest.

   She closed her eyes ...  waiting ...  only to open them fifteen seconds
later as she lifted her head.  He was just looking at them.  His eyes came
up and centered on her own.

   "I'd like very much to touch them," he said softly.

   She barked once or twice in almost hysterical laughs that left her
panting.  He wanted permission!  She didn't trust her voice, so she reached
for one of his hands and dragged it to her breast.

   "Uhhhhhh," she groaned as he at last cupped her warm flesh with a hand
that felt hot somehow.  He squeezed and she arched even more, as she felt
his fingers approach the nipple.  She closed her eyes in anticipation.

   He pinched it lightly.

   She felt sudden wetness flood her panties and groaned again.

   "Harder!" she gasped, between clenched teeth.

   Her eyes were still closed, so she didn't see him lean forward.  She
felt it though, and her eyes opened, as her head came up just in time to
see his lips close around her left nipple.  He sucked hard and bit with his
teeth.

   Will had also never sucked at her nipples, again, because his lips
wouldn't work that way anymore.  He couldn't use a straw either, unless he
closed only the softer right side of his lips around it.  When she squeezed
her nipples, or when Will did, the pressure was consistent all over the
sensitive bud.  That effect was achieved partway by the suction Bobby
applied.  His teeth magnified it tenfold.

   Erica's body jerked, as if she were having a seizure, and a tortured
banshee wail was torn from her throat as her passion finally found an
outlet.  All that emotion burst from the tip of her breast like a spray of
the milk that breast would someday produce.

   An orgasm is, in many ways, a violent event.  It can wrack the body as
if it is being whipped and its effects on muscles can cause cramps.  Erica
had had orgasms before, and the ones that involved her nipples were always
the most violent.  But all those paled by comparison to the one that made
her strain to bend her body in half, backwards, in an attempt to force her
breast up against the teeth that were destroying her.

   She eventually fell back, limp, all her energy expended.  Little zings
of ecstasy were still radiating from her nipple and she opened her eyes,
lifting her head again, to see him gently sucking and licking at what he
had so recently bitten.  He stopped to look up at her face and smiled.

   Then he moved his mouth to the other one and it started all over again.

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

   Christy dragged his pants down, revealing shorts that were tented enough
that she felt almost guilty at the relief she also felt.  She stopped, to
take in the leg she had never seen.  It looked so ...  incomplete.  The
scarring there was only on the outside of the leg, but it was thick.  She
touched it and a sound of sorrow escaped her throat.

   "The pain!" she moaned.

   "I'm not in pain right now," he panted.

   That reminded her that she wasn't the only person in the room who was
seeking something pleasurable right now.  She stood and slowly removed her
dress.  His eyes gave her the encouragement she sought and she reached
behind her to release her bra.  She tossed it, and posed for him.  Her
nipples stiffened at the look in his gaze.  She bent over to push her
panties down.  She already knew she was beautiful, in his eyes, so her
attention returned to the part of him she hadn't seen yet.

   He tried to help her, but that only rolled him to one side.  She pulled
hard, and his shorts shot downward, bending his prick so that it flopped
back and slapped his stomach when the cloth cleared it.

   "Oh my," she sighed, stopping for a few seconds.  It was tempting, when
his shorts came past the stump of his left leg to just leave them on his
right one, but she wanted him all the way naked, so she finished.

   Dim memories of her husband's penis surfaced.  She'd gotten so used to
seeing Bobby's uncut one that this one looked wrong somehow.  With a twist
inside her, she acknowledged that there were other parts of Will that
looked wrong too, so it didn't matter.

   She couldn't resist tasting him.  Moisture flooded her pussy as she
heard his groans of pleasure.  Then, still sucking, she pulled her mouth
off of him, to hear his groan convey something less than pleasure.

   "Are you happy yet?" she asked, teasing.

   "I'm happy!" he gasped.  "Please don't stop!" he begged.

   "But I want to do something else," she pouted.

   In a flash she was up and over him, standing above him, looking down. 
She was already ready.  She squatted and reached for the thing she needed
inside her.

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

   Will wasn't the only Bradford in town who was almost insanely happy.

   While still in the throes of the remnants of her fourth orgasm (two per
nipple), Erica had felt herself lifted again and laid down on the couch. 
She'd worn a skirt to the final performance, and the side closure was no
barrier to Bobby's skilled fingers.  She was light headed enough that she
didn't realize what was happening until the skirt was already off and her
panties were slipping past her toes.  Then she felt one leg being raised
and felt the fabric of the couch press into her calf.  She realized her
legs were spread and drew breath to object when something warm and soft,
but hard at the same time, pressed into her sex.  She raised her head to
see Bobby's black hair where her own blond hair should be.

   He sucked in her clit at that second and the world went crazy again for
Erica.

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

   Erica felt hoarse.  She WAS hoarse.  What he had done between her legs
had kept her making gasping almost-screams.  She was still gasping.  After
three more orgasms that threatened to make her muscles tear through her
skin, she was sure she'd never catch her breath again.  She lay limply,
wide open, but no longer caring.  He had seen every part of her ...  had
sucked every part of her ...  and it was no longer important that she was
naked.  She opened her eyes to see him taking his shirt off.  Her eyes
drank in that chest again and she made a little noise in her throat.  When
he undid his slacks, and pushed them down, though, it penetrated her brain
what was going to happen next.

   "Bobby!" she gasped.

   He looked at her.

   "I'm ...  a virgin," she panted.

   He stopped, with his slacks at his knees, as if he'd been frozen.

   "But what about Will?"

   Her hand went unconsciously to her sex and covered it.

   "We've ...  never ...  done that," she puffed.

   He looked at her and his eyes seemed to darken and glitter.

   "What HAVE you done?" he asked.

   An hour earlier, had he asked that question, he would have gotten a
completely different response, but the relationship between Erica Bradford
and Bobby Dalton had grown by leaps and bounds.

   "I'll ...  show you." Her lungs still heaved.

   Erica's mind was still whirling.  So much had happened, that when she
thought about showing Bobby what she did for Will, she just took him to the
place where she had always done it.  She stood by the bed and waited, while
he finished taking his slacks off, which he'd pulled back up after learning
she was a virgin.  He stood and looked at her.  She pointed at the bed.

   Bobby felt foolish.  Of course Will would be lying down.  He didn't know
whether to take his briefs off or not.  He was rock hard inside them, and
decided that Will just HAD to be naked when they did whatever it was they
did.  He removed them quickly and lay on the bed.

   Erica stared at what he had revealed.  It didn't look ANYTHING like
Will's.  Will's was red, almost purple in some places, and bumpy.  This one
was bone colored and smooth.  She stepped forward, fascinated by the
differences.  The sack that hung under Will's was red too.  This one was
brown, with much darker hairs around it.

   She reached for the penis and marveled at the satiny feel of it.  Will's
was slick and hard.  It didn't feel like this one unless it was soft.  As
she gripped it, her hand moved downward and, like a flower blooming,
something came out of the end of it.  She blinked and realized she had
moved the skin off of something, rather than something bursting forth.  It
FELT nothing like Will's either.

   The only other frame of reference she had was the movie that had so
troubled her.  This one didn't look like those either.  She looked up at
Bobby's face.  He seemed to be watching her with interest.

   "This doesn't look right," she said, pulling the skin back off the tip.

   "I still have my foreskin," he said.

   She hadn't paid any attention to penises in health class.  She had even
avoided the subject.  She must have looked lost, because he went on.

   "They cut that extra skin off of some boys at birth."

   She shuddered.  Somebody had done that to her little brother?

   "That's HORRIBLE!" she moaned.

   "I don't think guys remember the pain," he said.

   "It's STILL horrible," she said.  "It's barbaric!"

   "You were going to show me what you do with Will?" She saw something
pleading in his eyes.  She couldn't resist the urge to tease him.

   "You know, you touched me a whole lot out there without asking."

   "I stopped when you asked me to," he said.

   She thought about that.  She closed her eyes.  She only had one picture
in her mind, of a penis penetrating her.  It didn't look like the one in
her hand.  She tried to make it look like that, but couldn't.  She felt
robbed, somehow.  It was as if all those dreams had been about somebody
other than this man.

   "Forgive me?" he pleaded.

   She opened her eyes.  He sounded ...  insecure!  That rocked her world.

   She fisted his penis again and paid more attention to what was revealed.
She heard him sigh as her hand moved, and it sounded just like Will's sighs
as she slid her hand along his hard flesh.  She pushed down further and,
like magic, something that looked a lot more like Will's penis emerged. 
That made sense.  If there was skin that was cut off - she shivered again -
then Will was just missing what this man still had.

   "I do this," she said, and leaned forward, her mouth opening.

   Erica had, without intent, learned how to do something that few women
can learn even if they intend to.  Will's frantic jerks had driven his
penis past her gag reflex often enough that she had found it easier to just
leave it there in the past.  That he would spurt for her was a given.  She
only needed to pull off of him when it was time to swallow.  It was only
natural that she do the same thing to Bobby.

   Bobby had never been deep throated before.  In a world where many things
seemed the same, and only the differences between the women involved really
made things unique, this was unique in and of itself.  It felt wonderful in
a completely new way and he realized almost immediately that he could last
for a long time while this was done to him.  That was because it was the
tip of his cock that was the most sensitive, and with that tip lodged in
her throat, there wasn't as much stimulation there.  He was used to women
loving and sucking and nibbling the head, which would make him erupt much
more quickly.

   She worked on him for five minutes, until her throat got sore, and then
pulled off.

   "What's wrong?" she asked, looking at his penis.

   "Nothing," he sighed.  "I love that."

   "Aren't you going to spurt?"

   His eyes got darker again and she felt the first hint of danger since
he'd touched her.

   "I'd love to spurt," he said.  "But you're a virgin."

   "I didn't mean THERE," she yipped.  "I meant in my mouth."

   His eyes cleared.

   "I'd love to spurt there too," he said softly.

   "But you didn't," she complained.

   Bobby wanted to thump his forehead with his hand, but didn't.  She WAS a
virgin.  Will was the only man she'd ever been with.  He should have
thought of that before.

   "I'll teach you how to make it spurt," he said.

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

   Will's groan was like a symphony in Christy's ears as she sank down on
his prick.  It didn't feel like Bobby's, but that was OK, because this
wasn't Bobby.  She leaned forward and put one hand on the smooth warm skin
above his right nipple, and the other on the rippled hot skin above his
left.

   "If I hurt you, you have to tell me," she said, leaning down to kiss his
lips.

   "I can't possibly imagine you hurting me," he panted.  "But I'm about to
have a terrible accident any second now."

   She kissed him again.

   "Go ahead," she whispered.

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

   Erica swallowed and felt like she had accomplished something akin to
climbing Mount Everest.  Using her lips, with all that skin in the way, had
been frustrating at first.  Then, as she learned to push that skin with her
lips and play with it with her tongue, it had become first interesting, and
then fun.

   Her first taste of him was another thing she'd have to add to the list
of things that were different between Will and Bobby.  Will tasted bitter
and musky.  Bobby tasted salty and musky, and even a little sweet.  Both
tastes found taste buds in her mouth that were receptive.  Both were good,
like two different foods.  She knew that she'd like it when her mouth was
full of Bobby's taste.

   Her eyes opened wide, as she completed her swallowing motion and
realized she needed to swallow again right away.  This penis produced more
fluid than Will's.  She gulped and then gulped again, as Bobby's groans
made her nipples need to be squeezed again.  She'd been tempted to squirt
him on her nipples, but his taste had convinced her to do that later ... 
if she could ever forgo the taste.

   Finally he was finished, and she pulled off to see a long string of
white stretched between her lips and the tip.  She leaned down to suck and
swallow one last time.  Her nipples needed attention.  She thought of
something else she couldn't do with Will, because she was sure it would
hurt him.  But she could do it with Bobby.

   She climbed up and lay on top of him, luxuriating in the feel of his
body beneath her.  He closed his legs as she kissed him, and hers slipped
down, until her knees were on the bed on either side of him.  She pushed
with her arms and moved until one of her nipples was over his mouth.

   "Suck some more," she whined.

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

   Will's body jerked enough to lift Christy several inches higher and she
sighed as she felt the warm bath inside her.  She leaned down to kiss him
again.

   "Cum in me, Will," she cooed.

   It worked as well on this man as it did on Bobby.

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

   Erica shuddered through an orgasm as Bobby sucked her right nipple, and
squeezed her left.  He had learned already that he couldn't squeeze them
too hard.  She was wet again and, as her body writhed through her orgasm,
she felt her sex rubbing on his soft penis.  That just added an electricity
to her orgasm, because it was close to what she'd dreamed of, but not too
close.

   He switched nipples and she almost cried.  She could hardly breathe now!
But she knew she'd let him do that one too.

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

   Will was young and Christy was experienced enough to know he could go
again, so after he filled her, she simply crawled down and sucked him hard
again.  It took a while, but she didn't care, because she loved sucking
him. She had found a man she liked, and who needed her in a way that made
her feel complete.  She knew there would have to be much more than sex, but
her initial feeling that there was something special about this man,
despite his injuries, had born fruit already.

   When he was stiff again, she pulled off and crawled up to his face.

   "Does it hurt when you press on the stump of your wrist?"

   "What?" His eyes were a little glazed.

   She found his stump and pressed on it with her hand.

   "Does that hurt?"

   "No."

   She pressed harder.

   "Now?"

   "No."

   She pressed as hard as she could.

   "Now?"

   "Why do you want to hurt me?" he asked, confusion in his voice.

   "Did it hurt?" she insisted.

   "No!"

   "Then I want you on top."

   "I can't be on top!"

   "Yes you can."

   She pulled and helped him roll up on top of her.  His right hand went
naturally to the mattress beside her left breast.  She told him to use his
stump on the other side.  When he tried that, his eyes opened wide.  He was
able to lift himself off her breasts.

   She reached with her right hand.

   "Roll to your right a little," she grunted.

   He did and she captured the thing she wanted.  She pulled and he
wiggled, and suddenly, he was all the way in her.

   "See?" she sighed.

   "Oh, Christy," he moaned.

   Then he learned how to rock.

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

   At some point between orgasms, Erica realized the thing she was rubbing
her sex all over wasn't soft any more.  She realized that when she slid
forward and her labia split to let her clitoris scrape along the hard
shaft. The zings that sent through her rivaled what his lips were doing to
her nipple and she rubbed harder.

   He spat the nipple out.

   "Careful," he warned.

   "It feels so goooood," she moaned.

   "If you want to stay a virgin, you'd better calm down."

   She closed her eyes.  She imagined the penis she had sucked a few
minutes before.  Once she had that firmly in her mind, she tried to imagine
it hanging above her sex.  She still couldn't do it.  She opened her eyes.
He had left her nipples alone since warning her, and she could think a
little better now.

   "Will you do something for me?" she asked.

   "Maybe," he said warily.

   She got off of him and laid back next to him, spreading her legs.

   "Get between my legs," she panted.

   "That's not a good idea, Erica," he said.

   "I need to SEE something," she moaned.

   Almost carefully, he got up and got on his knees.  His prick jutted
straight out and her eyes were riveted to it.  She reached for a pillow and
balled it up behind her head.

   "Now what?" he asked.

   "Get between my legs."

   "Why?"

   "Bobby!  Just do it!" She sounded a little frantic.

   He went onto all fours, and moved one knee over between her legs.  Her
breasts were right under his face and he dropped it to lick one nipple.  He
had already learned the power her nipples had over her.

   "Stop that!" she gasped and pushed at his head.

   He moved his other knee between her legs and she spread her thighs
further.  He pushed and stood on his knees.

   "No," she said.  "I need to see it ...  hanging there ...  almost ready
to go in."

   "What?"

   "Just do it, Bobby," she pleaded.

   "I don't want to take your virginity, Erica."

   "I don't want you to either!" she almost shouted.  "But I need to see
this!"

   He didn't understand.  She hadn't described what was in the dreams ...
only that she had them.  It was a strange thing to ask for, but she had
taken the edge off with her mouth, so he was OK now.

   He fell back onto his hands, and moved until the tip of his prick was
over her pussy lips.  She craned her neck to see.

   "It needs to be closer ...  almost touching," she instructed.

   "What in the world are you doing?" he asked.

   "My dream, Bobby!" she moaned.  "I need to see if it looks like my
dream!"

   "How could it?" he asked.  "You never saw it before today."

   "If you ever want to suck my nipples again, you'd better do this!" she
almost snarled.

   He moved his knees back.  Very carefully, he lowered the tip of his
prick.  Her wet labia were split, providing a target that was easy to hit.
He felt the urge to touch her with it and leaned forward just enough to
spread her labia further.

   "Oooooo Bobby," she whined.

   "I'm not going in," he reassured her.

   She stared.  It didn't look like her dream at all.  It was a different
penis and a different angle.  But it looked so right!

   "I changed my mind," she gasped.

   "You want me to take it away?" he confirmed.

   "No."

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

   Will couldn't believe the sensations he was feeling.  Christy's hands
were all over his back; pulling, pushing, helping.  The memories of the few
times he'd had sex before the napalm ruined him were too dim to compare to
this.  It felt like his whole body was alive again.  His back was wholly
unburned, and her hands on it made him feel almost normal.

   Through experimentation, they had learned that if she closed her legs
and he put his thighs on the outside of hers, he was no longer off balance.
His knees on either side of her held him straight.  That also let him use
his stomach muscles to jerk his loins forward, and his prick lanced up into
her deliciously.  By relaxing his stomach muscles, he sagged backwards and
withdrew slightly.  She was also almost impossibly tight with her legs
closed.  All she had to do was push up with her hips, and her clit was
exposed to the scraping of his prick.

   She was moaning and thrusting against him.  She pulled and held him in
deep.  Her hands went to his ass and pulled until he realized she wanted
him to move in a circle down there.  When he figured out how to do that,
she went crazy, and her pussy pulsed all around his cock.

   "Make me cum," she whined.  "Ohhh yes, Will, I'm cumming so gooood!"

   In that second he felt like a man again, for the first time since the
orange glow had seared through his left eyelid.  A beautiful woman was
under him, cumming on his prick, and she was there because she WANTED to be
there.

   He grunted harshly as his balls bunched and he spurted in her again.

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

   "Think about this," moaned Bobby.

   "I've BEEN thinking about it for months!" she wailed.  "I can't get you
out of my head, Bobby!"

   "Why didn't you SAY something?!" he groaned.  With his prick right at
her gates, and her request for him to push, it was hard not to.

   "Because I was scared," she whined.  "I think I was foolish too.  Bobby,
you've made me feel so good tonight.  I didn't think that could happen!"

   He hated to say it, but it had to be said.  "Erica, honey, this is a big
step.  Why don't we wait a while and see how you feel then."

   "If I think about it, I won't let you do it!" she panted.

   "Well then, I shouldn't do it!" he moaned.

   "But I want it, Bobby!" she whined.

   "You don't know what you want," he said harshly.

   "Just a little bit then," she moaned.  "Let me feel a little bit."

   "It doesn't work that way," he panted.

   Erica saw the words, like they were written in the sky in fire.  She
knew she was about to say those words ...  words that she would have bet
every cent she had and every cent she'd ever make ...  that she'd never
utter.  One was a word that hadn't even been in her vocabulary, until a few
seconds ago, when it had blazed across the sky in her mind.  She gazed at
those words ...  and then said them.

   "Fuck me, Bobby."

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

   Chapter Twenty-one

   Christy lay cradled in Will's right arm, with her head on his shoulder.
Both had almost recovered their breath, but were still breathing more
rapidly than normal.

   "Wow," sighed Will.

   She kissed his shoulder.  "Thank you."

   "No, thank YOU!" His voice carried the fervent honesty of his
disagreement.

   "Will?"

   "Hmmm?"

   "I don't want you to think I always hop in bed with a guy I've only
known for a short time."

   Since she had done that with him, it was pretty hard to look at it in
any other way, but he tried.

   "So why did you ...  with me?"

   "It's complicated," she said.

   "I'm not going anywhere," he said.  Then, since that seemed awfully
assertive, he added "Am I?"

   "I hope not," she said softly.

   He felt the kind of relief you feel when you dove too deep in the pool
and aren't sure you'll make it back to the surface, and then get that first
lungful of fresh air when you do.

   "OK ...  good."

   "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

   "Not when the person you're looking at looks like me," he said,
honestly.

   "There is much more to a person than just what they look like."

   "I know."

   "You taught me that," she said.

   "I did?"

   "The first time I saw you at the school, I felt sorry for you.  And then
I heard you talking to Jake and you just sounded so normal.  Both of you
did.  You were just two guys talking about something.  If I wasn't looking
at you I couldn't tell either of you was disabled.  That's what made me
realize that you were just a normal guy, in a messed up body."

   "Most people don't think that," he said.

   "That's because they don't take the time to get to know a person like
you.  You remember how you said the kids started talking to you?"

   "Yeah."

   "Kids are generally good judges of character.  After I left, I thought
about that too.  And I thought about how brave you are."

   "I'm not brave," he snorted.  "You should have seen me in physical
therapy.  I cried like a baby."

   "You did it," she pointed out.  "Even if you cried."

   "I guess so," he said.

   "And then you let me take you out.  I knew you had to be terrified, but
I was fascinated with you.  I wanted to find out what was inside ...  get
past the body."

   "You're the one who's brave," he said.  "Most women would be scared to
death to be around somebody like me."

   "I wasn't brave at all," she said.  "I could leave any time.  I could
take you back home and never have to see you again."

   "I guess that's true," he said.

   "Anyway, I expected you to be mad ...  mad at the Army ...  mad at the
world ...  even mad at me.  But you weren't.  Fate handed you a horrible
blow, but you tried to bounce back.  You were thankful for the things you
had instead of being mad about the things you'd lost.  I like that."

   His hand stroked her naked shoulder and back.

   "And then, you were willing to be vulnerable and let me take your
picture.  You showed me part of you that I KNOW you don't want to show
anyone ...  and let me photograph it.  I knew then that you had a lot of
very special qualities.  And on top of THAT you were willing to try working
in the darkroom, doing something completely new.  I was just so impressed
with you."

   "Wow," he said again.

   "It was then that I knew it would be possible for me to fall in love
with you.  I'm not saying I AM in love with you ...  not yet ...  but I
sure do like what I see." She brought her hand up to her eyes and covered
them.  "I'm sorry.  That was thoughtless."

   "I knew what you meant," he said.  "How could I possibly be upset with
you after what you just said?"

   "But I couldn't LET myself fall in love with you ...  until I knew one
more thing about you."

   "What?"

   "I'm a woman.  I didn't want to fall in love with a man I couldn't be a
woman with."

   "THAT's what this was all about?" he sounded incensed.  "You just wanted
to take me for a test drive?" He sighed, theatrically.  "I feel so used!"

   "I knew I was falling for you fast," she said, completely unrepentant.
"I had to know."

   "Did I pass?" he asked.

   "Oh, you passed," she sighed.

   "Wow," was his only response.

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

   Bobby had wanted Erica to make the decisions and she had done so, for
the most part.  That the latest decision she had made was completely
unexpected had to be dealt with.

   Bobby knew that she had no idea what she was asking for.  He was pretty
sure this was still a very bad idea.  She was in the throes of passion and
probably wasn't thinking straight.  At the same time, he knew her well
enough to know that if he rejected her now, she would hate him, even after
she thought about it.  She thought she wanted this.  He knew he did too,
but his satisfaction would have to be delayed.  It was important that she
didn't regret this.

   Passion is an interesting response to stimuli.  It clouds the judgment.
Even Bobby Dalton's judgment.

   He started by leaning down to do what he knew would give her an orgasm.
He sucked in her right nipple.

   Her hands came to his head and pushed.

   "Nooooo, not that, Bobby!  Fuck me!"

   He bit the nipple, clamping down hard and moving his teeth from side to
side.  The response was as expected and, while she was on the upside of the
orgasm, he moved his hips forward.

   She was so short that he couldn't keep her nipple in his mouth, though
he held onto it as long as possible, knowing that she loved to have them
pulled and stretched.  He had to release it, lest he do real damage and, as
it snapped from between his teeth, his pubic bone met hers with a thump.

   She was tight.  He expected that.  Her pussy pulsed and rippled around
his shaft.  He expected that too.  But she didn't squeal, scream or in any
way express that she was unhappy at being stretched for the first time.  He
did not expect that.

   Erica would be unhappy in the future, but not for the reasons Bobby was
afraid of.  Her unhappiness would center on the fact that she would be
unable to remember, in enough detail to satisfy her, what losing her
virginity was like.

   The orgasms Bobby gave her were so violent that she had unconsciously
developed a mechanism to deal with them.  It was while he was sucking her
clit that she envisioned herself on a big wooden roller coaster that she
had ridden one time, which had both scared her to death and excited her
more than anything else she'd done to that point in her life.  Bobby's
roller coaster went up much faster than a real one.  And the swoop as it
rocketed down lasted longer too.  Then, as she leveled out, he started
taking her up again.

   When he bit her nipple and pulled it with his teeth, she had already
been close to the top.  Seeing his penis poised there, where she suddenly
desperately wanted it, had her right at the top of the arc of the tracks.
Then he bit her nipple and she cried out - both because she was already on
that long downward rush and because she was afraid she'd miss what she'd
demanded he do.

   But THIS coaster ride was different, because when she hit bottom, she
splashed into a warm sea of mist that was somehow emanating from her groin.
It had no color or odor, but it enveloped her and seemed to touch every bit
of her all at once, both inside and out.  The mist seemed to be shrinking,
until it felt like his chest on her breasts and his breath on her neck, and
something rubbing and moving inside her pussy.  It all felt like his
kisses, everywhere at once.

   Her eyes opened and she lifted her head.  Her breasts were in the way,
crushed together by his chest on them.  He seemed to understand what she
wanted and his chest rose until her breasts parted.  There, through the
valley between the breasts she no longer hated, she watched as the thick
column of his penis slid out of her body, and then went right back in.  She
felt the thump of his lower body in the bones of her pelvic girdle and he
ground against her.

   When he had sucked the place he was grinding against, the roller coaster
shot up, like a rocket taking off.  But this ...  this was a slow ride. 
She was going up.  She knew that.  But she had time to look around and
enjoy being able to see things she couldn't see from any place else.

   She remembered the feel of that penis in her mouth and concentrated on
feeling it with another part of her body.  It was delicious.  Nothing else
on earth felt like that.  When he moved it in her, she wanted to coo and
wiggle, like she had when her mother had rubbed her sore shoulders one
time. When he ground against her, the car she was riding in jerked forward.
She could see the top.  She was almost there.

   "Oh yes," she sighed, leaning forward in her mind.  She reached for the
bar that she knew she'd have to hold onto, or be thrown from the car.

   And then she was there and the car started down.  It gathered speed,
still going down, and she could tell that it would go down for a long, long
time.  She dragged in breath and let it all out in a long primeval scream,
as suddenly she was moving so fast that she couldn't see anything anymore.

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

   Bobby wasn't at all sure things were going well.  She had raised up to
see the proof that he had done as she demanded and then lay back.  She
writhed silently, her eyes taking on a glassy look, but she made no noise
...  no comment.  He stroked her several times, and she lay limp.  He tried
grinding, and her lips stretched to show her teeth, but she made no noise
to indicate whether she was feeling pain or pleasure.

   She got more tense and her hands went to his shoulders and gripped with
surprising strength as she leaned up off the pillow.  His first clue that
she was actually having an orgasm was when her pussy squeezed hard as he
slid out.  He had to push harder to force his way back in.  NOW she felt
like a virgin!

   Then she screamed and her head flopped back onto the pillow, while her
legs slapped over his, pummeling the back of his thighs.

   He sighed and grinned.  This was more like it.

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

   He was close, but he didn't want to finish.  He wanted her to have at
least one more orgasm.  He remembered how he'd been able to pick Misty up
and rest on his knees while her weight drove her down on his prick.  Erica
was even smaller, so he did the same thing, pulling her loose body up until
he was sitting on his calves and her big soft breasts were crushed to his
chest.

   She opened her eyes, surprised, and he kissed her.

   After the disorientation of going from horizontal to vertical, Erica
tried to cope with the fact that she was sitting up, almost as if she were
in a soft warm chair, but her legs were straight out in front of her.  She
bent her knees and her heels hit the bottom of Bobby's feet.  She sighed as
that let her full weight down on the thing that was filling her.  His kiss
was so soft and tender that she felt hot all over.

   His hands went to her bottom and he pulled and lifted, just a little,
making her move on his penis.  That felt wonderful and she started moving
her hips to do the same thing.

   Sitting like this, with his manhood deep inside her, moving only a
little, was a completely different kind of feeling for Erica.  It caused a
heat that seemed to climb, just a degree or two at a time, in her loins. 
Soon she felt like she had somehow swallowed a pot of oil that was getting
hotter and hotter inside her, where that wonderful hard thing was prodding
her.  His kisses seemed to add heat that sank from her lips to the nipples
that were pressed hard against his chest and then further downward, to make
the heavy oil her womb seemed to be floating in hotter still.

   Her vaginal muscles spasmed and it felt like bubbles were bathing the
inside of her body.  She realized that she was going to have another orgasm
...  one that would not be at all like her last one.  She could tell that
already, though she had no idea what to expect.

   Then it changed from a feeling of bubbling to a feeling that her womb
WAS the oil, getting hotter and expanding.  The level of the oil was
already even with the rim of the pot that was her body.  She pulled her
lips from his and dragged in as much air as she could.  His blue eyes were
staring into hers.  Her hips gave a convulsive jerk and the tip of his
prick seemed to pry something apart inside her.  It was through that
breach, where the tip of his penis was, that the hot oil inside her began
to seep out.  It didn't happen in a rush.  It was more like the liquid heat
that had filled her womb began to flow outward, like lava from a volcano.

   "Uhhhhhhhhhhhh," she sighed.  This was beautiful.  Her former orgasms
has been violent, almost scary, but this could last forever and she
wouldn't mind at all.

   "You need to get your feet under you," he said, panting.

   "No," she said.  She didn't want to move.  Her body was melting.  She
closed her eyes and thought of the Wicked Witch of the West, in her
favorite movie, melting into a puddle.  That was what was happening to her,
except it was fantastic.

   "I'm about to make a baby in you, Erica!" came his voice, urgent now. 
"Get your feet under you so you can stand up and pull off of me."

   Her mind imagined her body melting away to leave only a little baby
behind.  It was bizarre and her eyes popped open.  She leaned to her left
and dragged her right foot out and around, until she could lean the other
way onto her right knee.

   "Hurry!" he gasped.

   As she pulled her left foot around and back, the way she leaned made the
tip of his penis push into that inner split again and she realized she
could keep this orgasm going if she just wiggled back and forth.  She
closed her eyes and rocked from side to side, from one knee to the other.

   "Erica!"

   She wished he's stop talking.  He was distracting her.  She kissed him
to shut him up and closed her eyes to go back to feeling the upwelling of
her center.

   His kiss was what distracted her next.  His lips almost bruised hers as
his head twisted this way and that.  His arms were crushing her to him,
pulling her against his chest.  She felt his hands move up her back to her
shoulders and he pulled hard.  The tip of his penis pried at her insides
again and she felt heat flow into her.  Her own hot oil was there, still
overflowing the crucible that was the center of all her attention, as this
heat surged in to join with her liquid.  In her mind's eye it swirled and
mixed, making an alloy of molten metals in her womb.  She felt another rush
of warmth and something broke into her conscious mind and screamed that the
male was fertilizing her.

   She was almost jerked from the lingering ecstasy of her orgasm and her
eyes snapped open.  She pushed at his chest, feeling the hard muscle under
his skin, and broke the kiss to heave and pant.  His eyes had gone dark
again.  She felt a shiver race through her body.  He was the male ...  the
alpha male ...  the supremely dominant male she had always feared.  The
penis inside her leapt and spurted again and again.  Now her feet tried to
come in to play.  His hands on the backs of her shoulders held her firmly
impaled on the spurting thing inside her.  The tip, where all that heat
spurted from, dug between those inner lips again and her womb sang.

   She felt his penis jump once more and, because she was helpless anyway,
she closed her eyes.  It was easier to go back to rocking back and forth,
because that felt so wonderful.  She realized her orgasm had only slowed,
not ended.  It was hard to move with his hands pulling so hard at her, so
she used the muscles she had so recently discovered to squeeze and play
with the thing stuffing her.

   He actually growled in her ear and she shivered again.  She had always
heard her feminist sisters say that all men wanted was to take and dominate
and use a woman.  If this was what it was like to be taken ...  to be
dominated ...  to be used by a man ...  then her sisters were insane,
because they all said to fight against male domination at all costs.  What
woman in her right mind, she wondered, would resist this?

   She could tell when her mind began to clear.  She rose from that sea of
hot oil slowly.  He had frozen, crushing her to his chest, but she felt his
muscles begin to loosen, almost fiber by fiber, until he was no longer
pulling her down and she began to lean away from him.  His hands slid from
her shoulders to her back and his arms strengthened again, to make a
backrest for her.  She relaxed too and leaned back.  His eyes cleared and
he was Bobby again, instead of the bull who had taken her.

   Her whole outlook had changed radically, but she was still the same
woman who had entered this house as a virgin.  Except now she understood.
Her whole life had changed.  She could never go without this ...  not after
finding out what it was like.  With something like fear, she realized she
needed ...  a man.

   "Bastard," she said, her voice low.

   "I'm sorry," he said.  "I tried to warn you, but you wouldn't listen."

   She realized he was apologizing for taking her ...  for breeding her ...
for not giving her the chance to avoid the consequences of him ejaculating
inside her.  She would think about that, but something else was taking top
priority in her mind.

   "I didn't mean that," she said.  "I meant the whole thing."

   "You ASKED me to!" he said.  "You TOLD me to!"

   "And you did," she said, slumping and letting him hold her so she
wouldn't backward.  "And now, for the first time, I understand the real
danger of men."

   His eyes looked crestfallen.  "I told you it was a bad idea too," he
said, in his own defense.

   "You're not hard anymore," she said, squeezing with her vaginal muscles.

   "No," he said.

   "Bastard," she sighed.

   If Erica thought they were done, she was disabused of that erroneous
notion quickly, once Bobby found out WHY she had called him a bastard. 
Once he learned she had loved it all, but was disgruntled about having to
admit that she'd have to have a man in her life from now on, he set about
fighting for males everywhere to convince her that needing a man wasn't all
bad.

   It was two hours before they slept.

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

   When Will woke, it was with the slowly building need to get to a toilet.
He'd learned to act on that more quickly than most men, because getting to
a toilet was a lot more time consuming for Will than it was for most men.

   He felt a stab of shock as he realized he was in a strange bed and that
the warm body pressed to him, and the arm draped over his chest, wasn't the
one he'd gotten used to waking up with.  That shock passed quickly, though.
She had convinced him she wanted him here.

   His right arm was trapped under her.  He didn't want to waken her, if it
was possible.  He brought the stump of his left wrist up and pushed her
hand over to his right shoulder, then tried to wiggle the trapped arm out
from under her.

   Her eyes opened.

   "I need to go to the bathroom," he said, feeling foolish.

   She levered herself up and he was able to pull his right arm out.  He
sat up and twisted.  He looked at the chair, but the need was strong now,
so he just lurched up and hopped across the room to the door that led to
her personal bathroom.  He sat, did what needed to be done, then realized
he'd have to hop back.  It was awkward, in an almost painful way, until he
realized she hadn't gotten up and tried to help him.  She'd just let him do
what he needed to do.  That gave him the courage to hop back to the chair,
at least, where he stood on his right leg, naked, and looked at the woman
in the bed who had thrown the covers off, showing him her naked body
instead of hiding it.

   "Come back to bed," she said.

   "It's morning," he said, somewhat uselessly.  She obviously knew that.
Light was coming through the windows.

   "I don't have anywhere to go," she said.  "I don't have to pick up
Jillian until ten."

   He was staring at her and he felt like that was impolite for some
strange reason.  His eyes wandered to the framed photographs above her bed
and he saw Bobby Dalton, standing in an open window of a farm house ... 
naked.

   He looked back at her to see her looking where he'd been looking.  Her
head swiveled back toward him and her eyes locked with his.

   "Come back to bed," she said again.  "Now that we know this will work
between us, there are things you need to know about me."

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

   Erica woke from a dream about a purple rabbit with cat's ears, for some
reason, that had been having a conversation with a badger about how to grow
and harvest asparagus.  It was one of those completely insane dreams that
mean nothing at all and make you wonder what in the world was going on.

   She opened her eyes and saw flesh, then felt it under her cheek and arm,
which was draped over Bobby Dalton.  His measured breathing told her he was
still asleep.

   Last night seemed like some bizarre dream, now.  She took stock of her
body, which felt completely normal.  She felt relaxed, just like it was a
normal Saturday, when she could lie there and sleep in or just think.

   Her mind tried to grapple with what had happened.  She knew she should
be sorry it had happened.  She should be trying to build outrage about how
she had been seduced ...  tricked ...  manipulated.  But the fact was that
she had loved it and she knew that.  That bothered her more than losing her
virginity, which she had been "saving" for some reason she could never
quite put into words.  She hadn't been saving it for a man ...  at least
not a man she had dreamed of or hoped to meet some day or anything like
that.

   Yes, she had loved it and she knew she'd have to let a man do that
again. She felt the urge to get back on the roller coaster right now in
fact.  And that was what bothered her.  For the first time since she had
sworn she would never depend on any man, she knew she would now have to
depend on one a lot.

   She started thinking about the men she knew ...  the ones who weren't
married.  There were three or four at school, but she dismissed them almost
immediately.  She didn't know it, but her sorting mechanism had burst into
maturity while Bobby was teaching her one of the reasons men had something
important to offer a woman.  She didn't know many men outside of school,
other than some of the parents.  It took an extra deep breath from the man
she was naked with to bring her attention back to him.  Of course Bobby
could do that for her.  That was obvious.  She wondered why she hadn't
thought of him first instead of last.  With a quivery feeling in the pit of
her stomach, she knew it was because if Bobby crooked his finger at her,
she'd go running to him like a mindless bimbo.  That really bothered her.

   Her mind drifted back to the feelings that had washed over her last
night.  It had been different than what she felt with Will.  Everything she
did with Will was an offering of herself to him, out of love.  She was
aware that she got something physical out of it too, but that was SO
different than what Bobby had given her last night that it almost seemed
like a completely different kind of activity.

   Her mind stalled.  What Bobby had given her.  She tried to think about
it as dispassionately as she could.  What exactly had happened last night?
She'd already dismissed the notion that she'd been seduced.  She couldn't
lie to herself about that.  She'd been a willing participant, even though
she hadn't sought anything in the beginning.  She remembered her own words
clearly.  "Fuck me, Bobby." She marveled that she'd said that, but as clear
as the words themselves were, she also remembered clearly that she had
wanted him to do that as much as she had wanted almost anything in her
life. She had needed something from him on a visceral level.

   He had given it to her.  There was no doubt about that.  She likened it
to asking for a sip of water, and finding yourself afloat in a whole
swimming pool of it.  Never before had she felt like she was at the center
of the universe and all the attention of the stars and planets was squarely
on her.  The orgasms themselves were a misty memory now, hard to make clear
in her mind.  It was as if a whole symphony had been composed and played,
just for her, but all she could remember was a rough idea of how the melody
went.

   Bobby had been the composer.  He had supplied the instruments, and he
had played them all.  She remembered doing nothing except lying there and
loving it.  With almost startling clarity, she realized that Bobby hadn't
DONE anything to her ...  he had GIVEN her something.

   Even his moans and groans of satisfaction had been a gift, rather than
evidence that he was profiting from the situation.  He had made it clear
that he was as consumed by her as she was by him.  She had been the center
of HIS universe last night.

   He took another deep breath and started breathing more quickly.  He was
waking up.  She felt a stab of something like worry.  What would he think
of her now?  Would he get up and say something crass?  She could imagine
him standing there, leering at her naked body.  "You were a great fuck,
baby.  We'll have to do it again sometime." Then he'd go off, leaving her
alone, and look for some other woman to heave and pant over.

   His arm moved.  She hadn't even realized she was lying on it.  She
suddenly felt his hand on her hip, sliding, caressing as it came up her
side as far as it could go and then back down to just rest on her hip.  She
couldn't believe how good his hand felt, just touching her.

   "Morning," he said softly.  Then: "You OK?"

   She didn't know what to say, or do.

   His body heaved and suddenly he was facing her.  His arm went around her
and she was lying in his embrace, her face in his chest.  He kissed her
hair.

   "Tell me how you feel," he said softly.  "It doesn't matter if it's good
or bad, but don't keep it inside."

   "Afraid," her mouth said.  She hadn't meant to say it out loud.

   "What are you afraid of?" he asked.

   He hadn't gotten up and crowed and postured.  He hadn't laughed at her
and said she was like any other woman.  He hadn't said something crass or
thoughtless.  She felt a shiver as she realized he cared about her.  Was
that even worse?  If he cared about her, wasn't she required to care back?
She already cared too much about this man.

   "Tell me," he urged.

   "I'm afraid you'll go," she said.  She followed that immediately with
"I'm afraid you'll stay."

   "How about if I stay for a little while and then go?" he asked.  There
was no joking in his voice.  She had presented him with a scenario in which
he couldn't win ...  in which SHE couldn't win ...  and he had tried to
find a way for them both to win.

   "I'm confused," she said.

   "Then I'd say you're normal," he said.  "I'm confused too."

   "What are you confused about?" she asked.

   "I didn't plan on any of that happening last night," he said.  "I didn't
expect it."

   Her mind reflected on that.  He hadn't intended to seduce her.  That
made her feel much better.  It validated some of her own thoughts.  He had
been so attentive to her recently.  A part of her had still worried that he
was merely stalking his prey.  And it matched her own feelings.  She hadn't
planned on it either.

   "Why did you do it then?" she asked.  Some part of her unruly brain
still wanted to make it all his responsibility.

   "I think you needed something and I was able to help with that," he
said. "I hope so, anyway," he added.

   She asked the question that was primary in her mind.

   "What do we do now?"

   His hand stroked her hair and slid down her back.

   "We live life," he said.  "You have things to do and so do I, and we go
about doing them."

   "That's it?" she asked, tensing.  "Last night was just a one night
stand?"

   "I certainly hope not," he said.

   She was almost astonished at the burst of warmth in her belly as she
realized he wanted her again.  She could feel that warmth turn into
something she knew meant she was getting damp.  Her nipples, pressed
against his chest, seemed to hum softly.

   "I've never felt like this before," she moaned.

   "I think that's pretty normal too," he said, hugging her.  "After all,
you've never done anything like that before.  It can't help but change
things.  That's one of the reasons I wasn't sure you were ready for that."

   Suddenly, like some door had been opened in her memory, she remembered
his warnings:

   "Erica, honey, this is a big step.  Why don't we wait a while and see
how you feel then?"

   "Well then, I shouldn't do it!" he had moaned, when she insisted.

   "You don't know what you want," he had said harshly.

   Not only had he NOT seduced her, he had tried to slow things down.  She
relaxed in his arms and felt a kind of peace settle over her.  The memory
of him trying his best to be responsible took all her fears and concerns
away.  What had happened had been on her terms.  She was sure she'd think
about that some more, but for now she could relax in the arms of a man who
really cared about her.

   "Don't go," she murmured into his chest.

   He sighed.  "I can stay for a while.  When is Will coming home?  I don't
think you want him to find us like this."

   She frowned.  Will had stayed out all night.  Had he done the same thing
with Christy?  She couldn't imagine it.  All she knew about making love was
what Bobby had done and Will couldn't do those things.

   "If we get up, it will all be over," she moaned.

   "Are you saying you'll never let me in your bed again?" he asked.

   She pushed away from him.  How could he make her feel so fabulous at one
point in time and be so annoying at another?  She looked at his face and
then wished she hadn't.  His eyes were devastating, somehow.

   "I didn't say that," she said.

   "Well then," he said smoothly.  "If we get up, all that means is that we
get to plan for and anticipate next time."

   She knew, at that second, as her body reacted to his obvious desire to
be with her again, that she'd let him ...  no ...  ask him ...  for more.
It WASN'T over.  It was just suspended.  That scared her a little, because
she already wanted him again.

   "But you need to think about things for a while before we make plans,"
he said, destroying her rosy mood.

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

   Chapter Twenty-two

   The aftermath of the night that changed everything for both Erica and
Will Bradford was surprisingly anticlimactic for both of them.

   Bobby was gone when Christy pushed Will up the ramp and into the house.
Will was nervous, but his sister smiled tentatively at him and welcomed
Christy, who didn't stay long since Jillian was in the car.

   Both siblings were feeling similar things.  Both felt desirable and like
there was a new kind of hope in their lives.  For Will, that hope was for a
continuing relationship with Christy.  For Erica, the hope was for
continuing success in her professional pursuits, which had broadened, as
well as anticipation for another night ...  some night ...  like last
night. Bobby's cautioning comments about how she should think about things,
and his lack of an attempt to climb on top of her before he left, had
cemented in her mind that he was completely trustworthy and that he'd never
try to manipulate her.  She already knew that the next time a man climbed
between her thighs, it would be Bobby Dalton again.  She just didn't know
when that would be.

   That contented feeling was what smoothed the initial reunion of brother
and sister.  Both had eaten breakfast.  After perhaps ten minutes of
slightly uncomfortable tension, Erica broke it.

   "Did you have a good time last night?" she asked.

   "I did," he said.  He'd already decided that what had happened was so
important that he and his sister would have to come to grips with it
somehow.

   "That's good," she said.  "I did too." She'd already decided that if
Will was somehow in a relationship that would keep him out all night, he'd
have to understand that she could have that kind of relationship too.

   "Bobby brought you home, didn't he?" asked Will softly.

   She was surprised.

   "Yes," she said.

   "And you had a good time with him?"

   "Yes," she said, more carefully.

   "Did he stay all night?" asked Will.  Christy had told him a lot about
Bobby Dalton as they lay together that morning.  She had insisted that
before he made real decisions, he know the truth.

   Erica hadn't planned on getting into it quite this quickly or quite this
boldly, but something in his voice demanded the truth.

   "Yes," she said.

   Her brother's next comment astonished her.

   "I think you can trust him."

   "What?"

   "I think you can trust him," said Will.  "He cares about the women he
sleeps with."

   "Will!" moaned Erica.  This was going much too quickly and much too
plainly.

   "As long as you're on the pill, anyway," said Will.

   "Will!" she moaned again.  Her hands over her face muffled her voice a
little.  "What are you TALKING about?"

   Will felt his first misgivings.  Christy hadn't demanded that anything
she told him be kept secret, though it was obvious it wouldn't do anybody
any good to be bandied about in public.  And one of the things he had
worried about for years was that his sister's beliefs would keep her from
finding a man to love.  Based on what Christy had told him, it wasn't
likely that Erica would fall in love with Bobby or vice versa, but it was
possible.  He didn't want to queer the deal by telling her things that
might drive them apart.  That was Bobby's responsibility ...  not his.  And
if Bobby hadn't "broken her in," then she most certainly didn't need to
know about his ...  other pursuits.

   "I'm just saying that accidents can happen," he said vaguely. 
"Sometimes things happen that aren't planned."

   That resonated with Erica, but she was embarrassed now.  She wanted to
change the subject.

   "Was she good to you?" asked Erica.

   "I hope Bobby was half as good to you as she was to me," sighed Will.

   "I still love you," she said.

   "I love you too," he responded.  "I'll always love you."

   "What does this mean?" she asked.  "About us?" she clarified.

   "I don't want to sleep alone ever again," sighed Will.

   "Me either," thought his sister.  She wasn't aware she had actually said
it softly.

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

   It wasn't unusual for Bobby to stay away from home for a night.  Both
his mother and the twins had gotten used to that idea.  It would be too
much to say they had resigned themselves to him being gone some nights. 
That would indicate that they relied on him more heavily than they actually
did.  All three women loved him and loved spending time with him in bed,
both for lovemaking and for just sleeping in his arms.  But they had their
own lives, too, and Bobby being gone didn't stop life from happening.

   Life was going on, in fact, when Bobby got home.  Mirriam was getting a
roast ready for the oven.  Matilda was gathering eggs and Betty, to Bobby's
surprise, was painting the walls of Florence's old room.  He found that out
when his mother turned to greet him as he came in and said: "Go check on
Betty.  I'm not sure she knows what she's doing, even if she swears she
does."

   That was all she'd said.  It was Betty who explained what had happened
while Bobby was at the musical.

   "Your girlfriend called," said Betty, bending over to load a roller with
apricot colored paint.  She'd put down one of Bobby's ground cloths and had
already prepped the wall by using a brush to put a three inch swath of the
new color along the ceiling.

   "My girlfriend?" he asked.

   "Misty," she said, as if that was no longer anything special.

   "I wasn't aware Misty was my girlfriend," he said.

   "Then why is she coming here again?" asked Betty.

   She broke then.  She'd been trying to act casual, but couldn't pull it
off.  She turned and her arms went out and it was obvious she was going to
hug Bobby.  He managed to take the roller away from her before she
enveloped him in her arms.  She ground her pussy on his hip, having to lean
back a little to make that happen.  The twins were four months along and
beginning to show in that obvious way that makes people look twice.  She
was giggling and trying to kiss him, but couldn't do that at the same time
she rubbed.

   "I'm horny," she sighed, giving up on his leg and rocking forward for
the kiss.

   "Tell me about Misty," he said.

   She pouted.

   "She called last night.  She's coming for a visit."

   "Did she say why?" he asked.

   "She said something about business," said Betty.  "She talked to Mamma
mostly.  Tildy answered the phone.  I didn't get to do anything but say
hi."

   "I'd better go talk to Mamma," he said.

   "But I'm horny!" she complained.

   "Will you still be horny after lunch, when Mamma takes her nap?" he
asked.

   "Of course," she said.  "I'm horny all the time, since you knocked us
up."

   "Betty!" he moaned.  "I didn't knock you up.  I made you pregnant.  We
made a baby together.  Our love resulted in conception.  I can think of a
dozen ways to say it that don't bring the image to my mind of me swinging a
two by four around while you two run naked, trying to escape."

   She grinned.  "All I know is that I'm horny all the time since you
spurted a baby into my belly."

   "I'll see you after lunch," he sighed.  He handed her the roller back
and started to leave.  Then he paused.  "You're doing a good job, by the
way."

   She beamed at him.

   "Thank you!"

   Back in the kitchen, Bobby got the whole story from his mother.  Misty
had said she just needed to get away for a couple of days, to write some
songs without the normal interruptions.

   "She asked about you," said his mother, her eyes narrowing.

   He hadn't told his mother that Misty was pregnant.  He hadn't really
thought she'd come back to Kansas.  He thought.  She'd be a little more
than two months along.  She might not be showing that much.  He knew he had
to say something, because his mother was staring at him, waiting.

   "We get along much better these days," he said carefully.

   Mirriam saw the caution flash in her son's eyes.  She wasn't sure how to
evaluate that, though.

   "You're to pick her up at the airport next Thursday."

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

   For Erica, the angst she felt about everything seemed to calm down in
some ways and heat up in others.  The night after both brother and sister
found ecstasy in the arms of others, they slept together.  That had been a
little tense for both of them, for the same reason.

   Will had always had the urge to find out what Erica's pussy felt like
wrapped around his prick.  Erica now wondered the same thing.  She knew, on
a cerebral level, that her dream had been about Will's penis, because it
was the only penis she was really familiar with.  But the image of her
brother's penis poised above her pussy lips could not be banished.  There
were two images she could summon up now.  Neither could be banished.

   Both siblings knew, however, that they had already pushed their
relationship beyond the point where anyone would understand.  Bobby hadn't
judged Erica, but she couldn't believe he would be supportive.  For that
reason, their passions did not inflame that night and they just slept
together.

   The next night was the same.  Both Bobby and Christy seemed to be
letting their new lovers have the time to think about things.  That didn't
satisfy new longings, though, and on the third night both Will and Erica
were missing what they'd had together.

   They finally talked about it, long into the night.  A few more details
of each other's nights of passion were shared and they confessed some of
the urges they had had FOR each other.  As they talked, her hand drifted to
his stomach and her fingertips played with the hair just above his prick,
which was stiff.

   "Is it wrong for me to think about you that way?" asked Erica.

   "I think about it too," he sighed.  "All I know is I love you and I
think I love Christy too.  It's weird.  Six months ago I looked forward to
a nurse stopping by for ten minutes, and figured that was all I could ever
look forward to."

   "Six months ago I didn't look forward to anything that had to do with
sex," said his sister.

   "It's better now ...  for both of us ...  isn't it?" His voice made it
plain he wanted her to agree with him.

   "Yes," she said softly.  "I can't imagine going back to where I was
then."

   "Just with me?" he asked, wondering if he would have to give up Christy
to keep from abandoning his sister.

   "Not just you," she said, her voice just above an audible whisper. 
"What will happen with you and Christy?" she asked, her voice louder.

   "She said she'd call me," he said.  "She said she wanted to see me lots
more." He paused.  "What about you ...  and Bobby?"

   "I'm not in love with him," she said.  "If that's what you mean."

   "Will you see him again ...  like that?" he asked.  He was assuming some
things, but she'd hinted strongly that they'd spent the night in bed, and
not sitting up talking.

   "He said that was up to me," she responded.

   "And?"

   "Do you want to be with Christy again?" she asked.

   "Yes." He wondered if she'd pull away from him now.

   "I want to be with him again too," she said.

   That let them renew their own relationship.  She kissed him for the
first time, and scooted down to suck at him until he spurted on her
nipples, while she pulled and twisted them, until they were too slippery to
grasp.

   Both found release and could then sleep.

   Neither was fully satisfied, though.

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

   When Christy called, it was ten in the morning.  Erica let the phone
ring, as Will hopped to it.

   "You doing anything?" Christy asked.

   The first thing he thought of was that it was ten in the morning, which
was a strange time to be interested in sex.

   "No," he said.

   "I have an idea," she said.  "Can I come pick you up?"

   "Sure," he said.  He suddenly didn't care what time it was.

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

   Christy had knocked and then walked in when she got to his house.  He
was ready to go and she pulled him up to kiss him thoroughly.  But then she
had put him in the car and driven him to her house.  She wheeled him into
her house, but not to the bedroom, as he'd expected her too.

   She took him to the darkroom instead of the bedroom.  Once inside, she
leaned against the counter and folded her arms under her breasts.

   "Did they ever talk to you about an artificial leg?" she asked.

   That was out of the blue and something he hadn't thought about for a
long time.

   "Yes," he said.  "I wasn't interested."

   "How come?"

   "What good would it do me to be able to walk around?" he asked.  "The
chair is easier."

   "Not if you want to work in a place like this," she said.  It was
obvious she was talking about the darkroom.  "If you could stand
comfortably, you could develop pictures."

   "OK," he admitted.

   "Jill is married and is only working part time now," she said.  "I need
more help than that.  I thought you might want a job."

   The mix of emotions he felt at that moment was tumultuous.  He wondered
if she'd had second thoughts about their physical relationship and was
offering this as some kind of compensation for pulling back from him.

   "I never thought about it," he said.

   "Well ...  think about it," she suggested.  She leaned over.  "We'd get
to see each other a lot more."

   The tone in her voice banished all insecurities.  There was raw sexual
invitation in her voice.  He felt himself stiffen in his pants almost
instantly.

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

   On Thursday, the 19th, Bobby stood on the concourse, again waiting for a
woman named Misty Compton to get off a plane in Kansas.  This time he held
no cardboard sign.  He saw her coming, carrying her guitar case, and waited
for her.  He couldn't help but drop his eyes to her abdomen.  She was
wearing a coat and didn't look any different than any other woman.  She
walked up to him, rested the end of the case on the floor, and looked
around.

   "I'd kiss you," she said softly, "but there has been a ... 
development."

   "Oh?"

   "A reporter bought the seating chart from the CMA awards banquet and got
your name from it."

   He frowned.

   "They still don't know where you are and it's kind of blown over, but if
anybody here recognized me and saw me kissing you, it could be a problem."

   "Why in the world did you have me pick you up?" he asked.

   "Because I couldn't wait longer to see you than it's already been." She
smiled brilliantly and picked up her guitar.  "Now, let's see if they lost
my luggage again."

   They hadn't.  Her battered blue suitcase was one of the first six that
slid out onto the belt and ten minutes later they were in Bobby's car.

   "Hurry up and get out of here," she said, getting on her knees and
facing the rear to lean and open the guitar case she'd put on the back
seat. She came back with the instrument.

   He worked his way out of the parking lot and onto Kellogg Street.

   "You remember I wrote a song about us?" she asked, tuning her guitar.

   "Yeah." He smiled.

   "It's called 'First Love'."

   "I'm still honored," he said.

   She sang it to him there in the car.  It was plain from the beginning
that it had a melancholy air to it.  It was slow and soft.  The lyrics told
of two spirits drifting and becoming enmeshed by the winds of fate, only to
be pulled apart again as the winds kept blowing.  He could hear the
yearning in her voice as the chorus told of searching for that feeling
again and again.  It was implied that neither the original man nor an
appropriate substitute had been found by the woman singing.

   The second verse was all about hope and moving forward, and knowing that
love was out there, at the same time she was mourning the loss of her first
love who the winds of fate had taken away.

   When she was done they rode in silence for a while.

   "Well?" she asked.

   "It sounds almost like you're saying goodbye." He glanced over at her.

   "I am," she said.  There was a six or seven second pause.  "At least for
now."

   "I don't understand," he said.

   "It's going to be obvious soon that I'm pregnant," she said.  "When that
happens the press will go crazy.  My original album hit seven hundred and
fifty thousand and everybody thinks the one I'm doing now will do even
better.  They know your name, Bobby, and you're the only man I've been seen
with.  They don't know where you are and I don't want them to find you."

   "You're ashamed of me?"

   "You know better than that," she said, reaching to touch his shoulder.
"I don't want them to hound you or your family.  I don't want them snooping
around Granger, Kansas and seeing all those little boys with black hair and
your jaw and your eyes.  I don't want your world ruined."

   "Why did you chance coming here, then?" he asked.  It was a valid
question.

   "I had to say goodbye," she said.  "And I had to do that in person."

   "Why?" he asked.  "I mean wouldn't it have been easier just to write me
a letter or something?"

   "No." Her voice was firm.  "It's important for me to know that you
understand that even though I'm doing this, I still love you.  I'll always
love you.  You're my first love."

   "You could have written that in a letter," he said.

   "But I couldn't have shown you."

   "You didn't have to fly here just to sing me a song."

   "Oh, that's not how I'm going to show you," she said, getting on her
knees to put her guitar away again.  She sat down beside him and her hand
went to the inside of his right thigh.

   "Oh?" The car suddenly accelerated ten miles an hour, before he eased
back off the pedal.

   "I'm spending some time at Dalton's Bed and Breakfast," she said,
pulling his arm around her shoulder.  "I hear the food is excellent." Her
hand slid up to press into his groin.  "But it's the bed part I came here
for."

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

   He carried her guitar in one hand and her suitcase in the other, from
the car to the door.

   "Give Mirriam and me a minute," she said, reaching for the knob as if
she lived there.  "I'd like you to take my guitar to my bedroom, please."

   "Sure," he said.

   "And stay there," she said, giving him a smoky look.

   Mirriam was in the kitchen, making bread, but dusted off her hands to
come and hug Misty, who had taken off her coat.  Mirriam froze and then
pulled back, to look down at what she had felt pressing into her stomach.

   "Oh no," she moaned.

   "Sit down," said Misty.  "We need to talk."

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

   Bobby waited in the newly decorated room.  The orange/apricot/butter
colors made the room warm and cozy.  Even the bedspread went with the color
scheme.  He took off his coat and wondered what was going on downstairs. 
When Misty had taken off her coat he could see the bare beginnings of the
swell of her belly, under the loose frilly blouse she was wearing.  His
mother would be able to tell.  He knew that.

   It was fully twenty minutes before he heard footsteps in the hallway and
Misty opened the door.  She looked around the room.

   "I approve," she said.

   "They worked hard on it," he said.  "What did Mamma say?"

   "She said yes."

   Bobby blinked.  That didn't make sense.

   Misty looked around again.  "There's only one thing wrong with the
decorations."

   Off balance, Bobby looked around himself.

   "What?"

   "There's no naked man in the bed, waiting for me."

   He moaned.

   "My mother is probably out picking a switch to whip me with right now!"
he groaned.

   "No she's not.  She's on her way over to Prudence's to tell her the
news."

   "What?!" Bobby goggled.  "I thought this was all supposed to be a
secret!"

   "It is, from the press.  I don't care if people here in town know about
it." She was smiling a teasing smile and Bobby's senses went on alert.

   "What's going on, Misty?" he asked.

   "Why would I care if people in Granger knew that I was a silent partner
in the Dalton Bed and Breakfast?" she asked innocently.  "It's just an
investment.  That's all."

   "You're kidding me," he said weakly.

   "Nope." She grinned.

   "She didn't notice ...  the other?" His eyes went to her abdomen.

   "This?" she asked, pulling her shirt up to reveal the gentle swell of a
stomach that looked maybe pregnant ...  but maybe just overfed too.

   "Yes!" he said, frustrated.

   "Of course she did," said Misty.  "I explained things to her.  The
investment will eventually belong to my son ...  or daughter.  Whichever."

   "Ohhhhh, she's going to have my hide," he moaned.

   "I told you," said Misty, unbuttoning her blouse.  She tossed it on the
bed and then undid her bra and bared her breasts.  She stood only in jeans
and boots.  "I explained it to her."

   "You don't know Mamma," he moaned.

   "I think my breasts are already bigger," she said, ignoring him.  "Don't
you think so?" She thrust them out at him.

   "Misty!" he barked.  "She didn't just go off to let us be alone.  That's
not my mother's style."

   "She agreed to let me be her partner," said Misty.  "She said you're
going to have a lot of work to do to renovate the house.  She said
something about how maybe that would keep you out of further trouble.  I
may have said something about how I sent you to this room and ordered you
to stay here.  I can't remember for sure.  It's possible that I said
something about keeping an eye on you myself." She smiled brilliantly, like
she had at the airport.  "Anyway, she said she couldn't wait to tell
Prudence the news and told me she hoped I knew what I was getting into."

   "Man oh man," sighed Bobby.

   Misty Compton rubbed both hands in circles over her slightly protruding
belly.

   "There's still no naked man in my bed," she pouted.  "I certainly hope
my business judgment isn't flawed.  I had such high hopes that my stay here
would be pleasant."

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

   Chapter Twenty-three

   Bobby's hand rested on Misty's stomach as they lay side by side,
catching their breath.

   "Now that's more like it," panted Misty.

   "You think we're done?" Bobby chuckled.

   Her eyes got serious.

   "The next three days may have to last me for the next five years,
Bobby." There were suddenly tears in her eyes.  "Maybe longer."

   Bobby didn't want her to get maudlin.

   "Why?  Don't tell me you're giving up men altogether."

   She pushed at him, but smiled.

   "I should!" she said.  "Look what the last one did to me!" Her hand went
to lay on top of his.

   Now it was Bobby who got serious.

   "There is always a second love," he said.  "If you want there to be."

   She just stared into his eyes for a while.

   "I know," she said.  "I can't imagine it ...  but then I couldn't
imagine you either." She let him kiss her gently, but pushed him back. 
"Can you be happy if some other man raises our child?"

   "If you're happy, that's what will make me happy," he said.

   His face was calm, but inside was a different matter.  Bobby had contact
with all his children, some more and some less.  He was completely
comfortable with Jake being called Daddy by two of those children.  He had
already heard Steven call Sal "Papa Sal," and that hadn't hurt at all. 
There were others, many others, who called another man all the names that
would bond them to a man other than their biological father, and he could
live with that, because he got to see them and talk to them and know they
were happy children.

   But this was different, somehow.  To know he had a child that he'd
probably never see, and never hold or play with.  He'd not get the chance
to read the child under his hand any stories, or play horsy, or babysit. 
It made his stomach hurt.  An outsider might have thought that Bobby Dalton
cast his seed wherever it might happen to fall and that he cared not for
the results, but that was not true.  He may have looked at it differently
than many men would ...  most, if the truth be flatly stated ...  but he
still cared.

   He couldn't let her know how it hurt him inside, though.  He knew this
had been a difficult decision for her too.  He knew that, somewhere inside
her, there was the wish that this hadn't happened ...  that she hadn't run
into Bobby Dalton ...  and that he hadn't complicated her career.  He
didn't want to fan that hopefully small coal of resentment and chance it
setting something aflame that would remove forever the possibility that he
would see Misty ...  and their child again.

   "Thank you," she said, leaning into him.  "I'm ready to go again." Her
eyes were serious again.  "We only have three days."

   Suddenly, the next three days took on greater importance to Bobby too.

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

   Misty didn't know about the twins, who seemed to ignore their own
pregnant condition completely when they came in and squealed over the
arrival of their adopted sister.  They wanted to show her the room they had
prepared for her, oblivious of the fact that she had probably already seen
it.  Bobby wouldn't find out until much later, but the twins were neither
ignoring their own condition, nor what they had recognized instantly as
Misty's.  They spent over an hour in the first official bedroom of the
Dalton Bed and Breakfast with the first official customer.

   They acted like nothing had changed, when they finally came out. 
Nothing was said to Bobby by any of the three.  But the twins always seemed
to have something important to do for the next three days, other than spend
time with Misty.  The exception was in the evenings.  Each night, after
supper, Misty performed two or three of the songs that would be on her new
album and the twins sat with stars in their eyes as they were treated to a
sneak preview.  Mirriam was more sedate in her praise.  Bobby said nothing.

   Mirriam did a lot of chores that kept her away from the house during
that time too.  Misty was insatiable and made no attempt of any kind to
hide the fact that Bobby slept with her every night.  On the last night,
after she sang the last song and put her guitar back in its case, she stood
up and took Bobby's hand, to pull him toward her room.

   "Misty?" It was Mirriam's voice that broke the silence.

   Misty turned to look at her, still holding Bobby's hand.

   "You never told us what the name of your album will be."

   Misty smiled.  "That last song was the title song."

   "First Love," sighed Matilda.  "It was so sad."

   "Maybe there will be a second love someday," said Misty.

   Then she took Bobby to bed for the last time.

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

   It was only after Misty left that Mirriam spoke to Bobby.

   "I knew I should have pried," she said the next morning at breakfast. 
Only she and Bobby were there.  The twins were already gone to work at
Renee's.

   "Would it have done any good?" he asked carefully.

   "I don't understand that woman," she said.  "I would have married Joe in
a minute.  I even asked him to marry me three or four times."

   "I didn't know that," said Bobby.

   "He wasn't the kind of man to settle down," said his mother.  "I knew
that, but I couldn't resist him."

   "I wish he had married you," said Bobby, reaching for her hand.

   Her eyes cleared and narrowed.  "Have any of...them ," she wasn't
specific, but he knew who she was talking about, "asked you to marry them?"

   "No, Mamma," he said softly.  "It's come up in conversation a few times,
but not that seriously."

   "What is WRONG with women these days?" she asked, her voice anxious.

   "I guess women's liberation has made them feel like they don't have to
have a man to make a go of things," said Bobby.

   "Not Jill," said his mother.  "She married Sal, of all people!  Why
wasn't she interested in you?"

   "Did Ted ever ask you or Prudence to marry him?" asked Bobby.

   "That's different!" she objected.

   "Is it?" he asked.

   "I didn't love him that way," moaned Mirriam.

   "But you loved him in SOME way," said Bobby.

   "Yes ...  just not that way," she sighed.

   "That's how they've all felt about me," he said.

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

   Erica made it almost ten days before she was so agitated that she
couldn't keep her attention on the classes she was teaching.  Twice she
found herself standing in front of the class, gazing off into nothing,
thinking about one of her dreams.

   Her dreams since losing her virginity had changed radically.  Her
conscious mind might not remember all the details of that wild and stormy
night, but her subconscious could.  It played back what had happened in her
dreams, in vivid Technicolor.

   She woke wet from those dreams.  Twice she had to wake Will, because her
fingers couldn't bring her satisfaction.  She had come very close to
climbing on top of her brother.

   Will knew her well.  He had no such problem, because along with his
education in darkroom procedures, Christy kept him almost completely
satisfied.  He was more relaxed and less angry than at any time since he
could remember.  He knew that Erica would end up feeling guilty if she had
full intercourse with him and, perhaps because he WAS so satisfied, he was
able to help her resist that.  Christy had taught him how to use his
fingers on her, while she sucked his dick, and he did that with Erica too,
penetrating her and making her go stiff with the power of her orgasms.

   But she knew there was an even better feeling.  And she knew where that
feeling was.  It was only her stubbornness that kept her from calling Bobby
for those ten days.  That and the fact that she had Will.

   Then Christy asked Will to spend the night with her again.  That night
Erica was almost crazy.  She couldn't sleep and couldn't relax.  She rubbed
three times and was a wreck at school the next day.

   She called Bobby as soon as she got home.

   "I need to see you," she said, when he came on the phone.

   "When?" he asked.

   "Right now," she said, her voice tight with frustration.

   "Be right there," he said.

   Will was at Christy's.  Erica was elated for her brother, in that sense.
That he was learning a trade and would have something to fill his days made
her almost weep with happiness.  He had even been talking about having her
take him to the VA in Wichita to look into prosthetics.  She got the phone
book and found the number.  When Christy answered, she asked if it might be
possible for Will to stay over again.

   "That would not be a problem," said Christy, humor in her voice.

   "Thank you," said Erica.

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

   Erica's mind was too jumbled up to be able to make any real assessment
about what was happening to her.  Life seemed to have been flashing by like
a locomotive, while she stood three feet from the tracks.  The wind of
life's passage had been swirling around her.  Her new sexual urges were
like a dust storm in which all she could see was what was right in front of
her face.  And what was right in front of her face was Bobby.

   Had she been able to think about things calmly, she might have realized
that she was deep in the midst of adolescent growth, even though she had
technically been an adult for years.  That adolescent rush forward is
usually controlled, at least to some extent, by the conventions of society.
While many teenagers "have sex," there isn't one of them who doesn't know
that they SHOULDN'T be "having sex." It's one of those things that's built
into the tangled structure of "dos" and "don'ts" that weaves through our
society like threads in a tapestry.

   For those reasons, Erica felt guilty about having sex.  She felt guilty
about having sex with her brother and she felt guilty for the insane need
she had to feel Bobby's stiff prick in her pussy.  Added on top of that
were restrictions that she had imposed on herself, about feminism and her
desire to be independent of need for men in general.

   But, as strong as societal values are, nature is much stronger. 
Society's rules have been in play for some five thousand years.  Mother
Nature's biological imperative has been around for hundreds of thousands of
years.

   In short, the war between society and nature was being waged and, in
this particular battle in Erica Bradford's body, society wasn't doing well
at all.  Society was being beaten back by the efforts of Bobby Dalton.

   Sweat was dripping from Bobby's nose and chin.  Erica had been frantic
for the first forty minutes.  Her orgasms, both from his prick and from his
treatment of her nipples, had come like a row of dominos, falling in order
until he had to stop to give her time to get some air into her lungs.

   "You stopped," she gasped, her eyes wild.

   "You're about to pass out," he pointed out.

   "You ...  let ...  me ...  worry ...  about ...  that," she panted.

   On top like this, he couldn't get to her nipples and stay fully inserted
all the way.  So he rolled them over and sat her up, letting her lean
forward into his hands while they worked on her breasts.

   She belly danced through three more orgasms before he started squeezing
her nipples and keeping them squeezed, only letting off the pressure just
long enough for them to fill with blood again, occasionally.  To be honest,
Bobby was enjoying his first opportunity to see how much a woman could
actually take.  Finally, he saw her eyes roll up in her head and felt her
go limp, and let her fall forward to flop onto his chest.

   He rolled her off, made sure she was breathing, and went to get a
washcloth soaked in cold water.

   She came around quickly and tried to sit up.  He held her down with his
hands on her shoulders.

   "I'll be here all night," he said softly.

   Tears flooded her eyes.

   "I need you so much," she bawled.

   "You have me," he said, lying down beside her and holding her again.

   She calmed eventually.  He could tell she was embarrassed.

   "You make me feel really good," he said.

   "Really?" Her voice was high.  She had never felt this dependent on a
man in her life.

   "No man could resist a woman like you," he said.  "You make me feel like
I'm the most important man in the world."

   "Don't get a big head," she sighed, smiling for the first time since he
got there.

   "It's not my head you make get big," he said, leaning in for a kiss.

   She spread her legs, bringing the one away from him up and opening
herself wide.

   "I feel like such a slut," she panted.

   "I don't do this with sluts," he said, getting up.

   He tried to just stroke her and let her enjoy the feeling without
abusing her clit.  That seemed to be working.  Her hands were roaming along
his arms and shoulders, and her hips were thrusting up against him, but not
with the same animal urgency as before.

   "You know," he said casually.  "When you go on the pill, I've heard it
takes a month before it's really effective."

   "Pill?"

   "Birth control pills?"

   She blinked.  "I'm not on the pill." Her eyes widened.  "I didn't even
THINK of that!" Her eyes got teary again.  "I just needed you so badly ...
I couldn't think of anything else."

   "Why didn't you call me sooner?" he asked.

   "Because I'm STUBBORN!" she whined.

   "I should stop," he said.  Suddenly the urge to spew in her was urgent.

   "You can't stop!" she blurted.  "We're not done yet."

   "I came in you before," he said, staring into her eyes.  "I told you to
get off of me and you didn't.  I don't think you want my baby in your
belly."

   "I'll douche!" she yipped.  "Please don't stop."

   "I can't do this forever without cumming," he huffed.

   "You can take it out, then," she moaned.

   "I'm ready to take it out now," he panted.

   "Not yet!" Her legs went around him.

   "Ohhhh Erica," he moaned.  He thought about just jerking it out of her.
Her legs weren't strong enough to stop him.  He'd always had this weakness.
He knew it.  He always felt it.  When he was on top of a fertile woman, he
almost NEEDED to try to make her pregnant.  He'd never agonized about it
before.  He warned them and then he didn't worry.  Misty had changed that,
though.  He'd made a baby in a woman and he wouldn't get to see that baby.

   "Please," she begged.  "Not yet.  I can feel it coming."

   "So can I," he groaned.

   He gave up.  He slammed in and ground against her clit.  She yipped and
ground back at him, babbling that he only needed to do it for just a little
longer.

   By the time she wound down from an orgasm that had made her laugh with
happiness, her womb was awash with his sperm.

   It took all night for her to be satisfied.  She woke three times and,
each time, she woke him too.  When he finally left in the morning, telling
her he had to get to work, she was so exhausted that she fell asleep within
ten minutes of hearing the front door close.

   She did not get up to douche.

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

   Throughout March, Bobby worked on plans to renovate two more of his
sisters' rooms into guest rooms.  The greatest challenge was the bathroom
arrangements.  The existing bathroom was across from the room that had
already been renovated.  After looking at the structural issues, Bobby
decided the most workable solution for the other two was to build a second
story onto the utility room and pantry, which were on the back of the
house. Those two bathrooms would then be accessible by putting a door in
what had been the outside walls of Mary's and Bev's rooms.  The existing
drain/waste system in the utility room could be tied into, and water could
be taken up from, the lines that went to the washer and sink in that room
as well.

   It meant that whoever was in Flo's old room would have to walk across
the hall to use a bathroom, but it was the best they could do with the
limited funds Misty had been able to buy in with.  Besides, he might think
of something else while he did the structural work, which he thought would
take until about August.  Then they could do the interior work.  With luck,
they could be open for business in the fall.

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

   Erica was kept busy for most of March herself, helping Will make
arrangements with the VA hospital to get into the system for working on his
leg.  Because he was so recently released from Walter Reed, that went much
more smoothly than anticipated, though numerous trips to Wichita were
required.  Christy helped several times when one of his appointments fell
during school hours.

   Will was now spending a night or two a week at Christy's and was already
helping with production.  He could do almost everything except load the
exposed film into developing reels, but that was really no problem because
Christy could load the canisters and after that Will could take over to
finish the developing.

   With Will being away from home that often, Erica didn't wait so long to
call Bobby again.  Once a week wasn't quite enough, but she still resisted
having him over more often.  She made up for that by keeping him there all
night.  Her appetite for sex, once she'd discovered it, tended to lean
toward marathon lovemaking sessions rather than several short times in a
week.

   She read up on the pill and didn't like what she found.  Possible side
effects, such as blood clots, seemed ridiculous to chance.  Instead, she
decided to rely on spermicidal creams, foams and even bought suppositories,
all of which embarrassed her, initially, because Bobby wanted to help her
"install" them, as he called it.  It was impossible to stay embarrassed,
though, because everything Bobby did with her was so intimate.

   Eventually she got used to being naked with him, and eventually that led
to her trying to learn how to tease him.

   While shopping in Wichita one Saturday, while Will was being fitted with
his first fully functional leg, she saw a lingerie shop and went in.  She
felt like she was in a foreign country, and thought more than once that she
would never have even considered some of the things they sold if it weren't
for Bobby Dalton.  She left with several purchases.

   Bobby's reaction was more than enthusiastic.  After wearing her first
outfit for him, Erica Bradford decided that maybe she WAS a slut, at least
when it came to Bobby.  She also decided she didn't care, because he made
her feel like the most important woman in the world.  The primary change in
her attitude about that was simple.  When Bobby made love with her, it was
impossible to feel like she was being exploited, whether she teased him
with slutty outfits first or not.

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

   On April the first, Erica Bradford accepted an invitation from Bobby to
go for a hike with him.  He took her on a trail that, after about a mile
and a half, led to an old abandoned farmhouse.  She felt the melancholy of
the old house, silent and empty now, after years of life and noise had
graced its walls.  It only seemed fitting to grace its walls with the
sounds of love again and they went inside.

   They had been chatting about things in general, just talking as they
trudged along.  Now, as she stood in the sad, old empty house, the
melancholy of it all made her need human contact.

   It started, quite simply, with a kiss.

   His kiss was hungry and her body responded like it had been responding
so readily recently.  His fingertips drifting across the tips of her
breasts, while he kissed her, inflamed her and she bared her breasts
through the front of her shirt.  She had an orgasm standing, almost fully
dressed, in the middle of an empty room.

   It was still cool, but Bobby's back pack proved to contain two blankets.
When he pulled them out, his intent was clear and Erica's body sang with
anticipation.  She got into her own back pack to find the fat, yellow pill,
that looked like an M&M on steroids, so she could give it to Bobby to
insert into her spasming pussy.

   It wasn't there.

   She searched frantically.  She remembered laying the new pack next to
the back pack ...  but not putting the box into it.

   "Damn!" she moaned.

   "What's wrong?"

   "I forgot my suppositories!" she complained.  "I thought I put them in
here, but I didn't."

   Bobby smiled.

   "It's all right," he said.  "We can wait." He stepped closer to her. 
"Or I can get you off other ways." His hands went to her still naked
breasts, protruding from her shirt.

   But, in that war between culture and nature going on in Erica's body,
culture was suffering more and more.

   "I don't WANT your fingers!" she said, feeling her breasts heat up just
from his fingers on them.  "I want ANOTHER part of you!"

   She dropped the useless backpack.

   "It's OK," she said, spreading her shirt.  "I can take care of things
when we get back."

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

   Bobby lay on his back, naked, on one blanket and Erica draped the other
over them as she, also naked, climbed on top of him and lowered herself
onto his prick, taking it deep into her belly.

   She rode him through three orgasms.  With his back on the hard floor
instead of a soft bed when she sank down on him, his penis pushed half an
inch further into her than before and she felt the ecstatic pain/pleasure
of her cervix being stretched.

   After her third orgasm, Erica started milking him off.  It was a game
they had started playing a couple of weeks ago.  She sat still on him and,
using only her pussy muscles, tried to defeat his ability to refrain from
spurting in her.

   Now, in the dry bones of a house that represented only death and decay,
her muscles triumphed, and Bobby's sperm-laced semen jetted into her womb,
where an egg, the harbinger of new life, lay waiting.  Erica's luck ... 
and time ...  had run out.  The war had been lost.  Erica became fully the
woman of the species.

   It was only fitting that they created new life amidst the ruins of old
life, where, it was likely, so many other lives had at one time been
created.  It was also somewhat ironic, because the feminist Erica Bradford
had tried too hard to be, had never been more ...  female ...  than she was
as her body created new life.

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

   Chapter Twenty-four

   Erica turned to Christy and smiled.

   "You know what seems ironic about today?"

   "What's that?" asked Christy, looking up from a magazine.

   They were in the waiting room of the orthopedics clinic at the VA
hospital in Wichita.  Will had been wheeled down the hall about an hour ago
by a busy nurse that sent little zings of jealousy through Erica.  She knew
what was probably going through Will's mind as the pretty nurse pushed him.

   "It's tax day," said Erica.  "That's usually a day everybody hates.  But
for us, it's going to be one of the greatest days of our lives."

   Christy smiled and looked at her new friend.  She'd been very worried
about Erica, when she had followed her heart and begun to get to know Will
Bradford.  Since then she had fallen hard for the crippled man.  While his
body was wrecked on the outside, she had been given a glimpse of the
healthy beauty that lay on the inside, and she had been unable ... 
unwilling, really ...  to let his scars get in the way of a chance to find
what she thought of as "true love" again.  Erica had been abrasive and
surly, when Christy first met her.

   Then Bobby Dalton, who had worked an almost miracle in Christy's life,
had stepped in and worked another one on Erica.  Since Erica had been
spending time with Bobby, her personality had blossomed.  She smiled more,
was easier to talk to, and just generally more pleasant to be around.  It
didn't hurt that Christy ran her own business and had done so without a
man's help for years.  Erica approved of that and respected Christy.

   "I love him any way I can get him," said Christy, referring to Will,
whose final, permanent prosthetic leg was being fitted as they waited.  "In
a chair or walking ...  I don't care."

   "You've been so good for him," sighed Erica.  "He was so angry when he
first got here."

   "Oh, he still has his moods," said Christy.  "But I can usually pull him
out of one." She resisted the urge to ask Erica how things were with Bobby.
She was aware that Erica was trying to pretend there was no Bobby.  She
understood that.  Christy had spent probably hours, waiting at the window
for Bobby to come and make her feel so good.  At the same time, she had
always worried that a neighbor would see him too often and that she would
be exposed as the unmarried woman who let him between her legs.  Having his
baby had cured her of that.  She didn't care what people thought about her
any more.  She had her friends and her business was doing well.  And now
... she had a man she could cleave to forever.

   She glanced at Erica, only to see the woman looking past her in shock.
She turned to see Will ...  alone ...  walking toward them.

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

   His gait was clearly the gait of a man with troubled legs, but it was
also smooth and confident.  Will had told her of the hours he spent
practicing, under the careful tutelage of the doctors and nurses and
physical therapists.  He was so used to hopping, that it was almost
instinctive now and he had to overcome that.  Now, though, other than his
too short left arm and the visible scars from the burning, he looked almost
like any other man walking down the hall.

   He even was able to compensate for two women almost crashing into him
and didn't lose his balance.

   "You two are making a scene," he said, grinning as much as the tight
skin on the left side of his lips would let him.

   Everything was new, at least for the women.  They had only known the
hopping man ...  the man in the chair.  Even Erica, who had grown up with
him, had not been able to equate the wreck who had gotten off the airplane
six months ago with the healthy young man she had known when they were
younger.

   Will insisted on pushing each of the women in his chair, as if they were
the invalids.  Both felt foolish sitting in a chair being pushed by a man
with an artificial leg, but they both did it ...  for Will.  He couldn't
put the chair in the car by himself, but he could GET into the car like any
other person.

   They had taken Christy's car that day and she was driving as they
returned to Granger.

   "You know," said Will, looking over at her.  "This car has an automatic
transmission.  I bet I could drive it now."

   "You don't use your left leg to drive an automatic anyway," pointed out
Christy.

   "Yeah, but I always felt like it just wouldn't work," said Will.  "I
don't feel like that anymore."

   It would be only one of many changes in his outlook over the next few
months.

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

   "You don't have the flu," said the doctor.

   Erica looked at him.  She'd gotten a substitute so she could go to the
doctor to find out how to get rid of whatever it was that had been making
her sick for the last two weeks.

   "What do I have?" she moaned.  She had hoped it would be something
simple that she could just take a pill for.  It had been two weeks since
she'd been able to spend a night with Bobby, because she didn't want to
infect him with whatever bug was making her throw up so much.

   "I'd like to examine you more thoroughly," he said.

   Ten minutes later, Erica Bradford was trying to control her urge to go
off on her doctor, who was obviously using this visit as an opportunity to
expose his sexist pig ways.  He'd already felt her breasts and now her feet
were in stirrups as he peered at her naked vagina.  She was quite sure that
this had nothing whatsoever to do with her cold or virus, or whatever it
was.

   "There's going to be some discomfort," came the warning voice.

   The doctor slid his gloved finger to find the patient's cervix and
rimmed it, feeling for the mucus plug that would tell him what the tests
had already suggested.  It was there and it was firm.  He remembered seeing
this woman at the musical he'd attended with his wife several months back.
She was the teacher.  He'd noticed her, like any man would notice her. 
He'd also noticed that Bobby Dalton had been sitting next to her.  Another
of his patients, Christy Brown, was there near him too.  He had a theory
about Bobby Dalton, but he couldn't really prove it.  And he couldn't ask
this patient.  That would be going too far.  Still, it would be most
interesting to see what the baby she was going to have looked like, when he
delivered it.

   He stood up, stripping off his gloves, to find the woman glaring at him.
That wasn't unusual.  Lots of women glared at him.  It was the ones who
smiled at him that he had to be careful with.

   He didn't say "Congratulations, you're pregnant." He was aware this
woman wasn't married.

   Instead, he just said: "You're pregnant, Erica.  I think it's just
morning sickness, and maybe a vitamin deficiency."

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

   In the 13th century, it was not uncommon for Christians to flog
themselves in association with the flogging their savior suffered before
his crucifixion.  There are still sects of Christianity today who practice
self flagellation, such as the Carmelites.  In Islam, for hundreds of
years, the Shiites have also practiced whipping or beating themselves and
many still do in the Middle East and Asia.  Various mystics use whips on
themselves to attempt to enter an altered state of consciousness.

   But flagellation, by and large, is thought of by most people as
punishment.  There was no one to whip Erica Bradford, though, so she had to
whip herself.  She didn't use straps, a belt, cane or a switch.  She used
her own passions.  By the time she returned home - she couldn't go back to
school - she was, again in her mind, beaten almost bloody and senseless by
her own mental cat o' nine tails.

   Her litany of self confession was endless.  She had been stupid.  She
had been rash.  She had been weak.  She had been stubborn.  She had
succumbed to the lure of the flesh.  The list went on and on.  But
uppermost in her mind was the fact that she had subverted her own
principles and now she was being made to pay for it.

   Part of her anger and confusion was because, as a feminist, she had
always supported a woman's right to choose.  Only three years earlier she
had been elated when Roe v.  Wade had been decided in the interests of
women just like her.  Of course, at that time, her reaction had been
ideological.  Now, however, it was personal.  And that was the primary
problem Erica was torn by.

   As often as she had trumpeted the right of a woman to choose to abort
the life within her, she could not make that choice herself.

   The doctor had mentioned it.  He'd seen many women react to the news
that they were pregnant, and had developed the ability to tell pretty
consistently which women were happy about it and which weren't.  Of course
there were many reasons a woman might not be happy.  It could have to do
with finances or career paths or, perhaps, the particular man who had
gotten her that way.  But he could tell that Erica was not happy.  And so,
he had mentioned that there was a way to make her not pregnant.

   He also could tell when that option was not acceptable and had not taken
it any farther.  It was, after all ...  by law ...  her decision.

   Imagine that you're driving along and something comes on the radio that
you don't care for.  As you reach to change the station, somebody slams
into the rear of your car.  Now imagine that, as you're trying to deal with
that, somebody slams into the side of your car too.  You're bleeding.  The
engine is making a horrible knocking sound.  There are fumes in the car. 
Maybe there are other passengers in the car.  Maybe it's freezing outside
and you don't know where your coat is any more.  It's possible that the hot
coffee you had is now all over you.  You have to do something.  But what do
you do first?

   That was how Erica felt.  The irritating music on the radio was her
illness.  The rear end accident (no pun intended) was the fact she was
pregnant.  Then the concept of abortion was the side impact.  She was dazed
and her emotions were bleeding freely.  The yammering of her various
thoughts was so loud that she had a hard time concentrating on anything. 
There was, in fact, another passenger on board ...  a tiny life she had
just become aware of.  And the cold outside was all the people who would
find out what she'd done ...  what kind of woman she was ...  and freeze
her out of their lives.

   Have I forgotten anything?  Ah ...  yes ...  the hot coffee.

   That was Bobby Dalton, who was so warm and satisfying when sipped of ...
but who had spilled inside her body to create something that she felt would
burn her to cinders.

   They say there are five stages to grieving: Denial, Anger, Bargaining,
Depression and Acceptance.  Usually those are associated with the loss of a
loved one.  For Erica, it was the loss of her ideals, her lifestyle, her
very future, which can be the same thing.  Sometimes it can take years to
work through all the stages.  Sometimes it happens much more quickly.

   She flashed through denial, because her brain was quite sure it was
possible for her to be pregnant.  Anger set in, starting at anger with
herself, then transferring to Bobby.  As she lay on her bed, staring at the
ceiling, the bargaining that went on concerned what the doctor had said. 
She could abort this baby.  It would be gone and no one, except the doctor
and a few nurses, would ever know it had existed.  Bobby wouldn't even know
it had existed.  Her life could go back to normal.

   All she could think about was the time her father had taken her to the
dog pound to try to find a family pet.  There had been so many cute, little
puppies to choose from and she'd gotten to pick, because she was the older
child and would be charged with taking care of it.  As she'd held her new,
wiggly, happy puppy in her arms at the front desk, she'd asked "What will
happen to the rest?" Her father, distracted by filling out the paperwork,
had told her the truth.  If they weren't adopted, they'd be killed.  She'd
hated the Humane Society ever since.

   She knew she couldn't kill the life inside her.  The only bargaining
option left to her was to have the baby and put it up for adoption.

   That's when the depression set in and she cried, weeping bitterly about
the unfairness of it all and how her life was ruined.

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

   There was a week during which Will knew something was wrong.  Erica was
listless.  She didn't care what happened and sat for long hours paying no
attention to the TV.  They still slept together, but now it was more out of
habit than because their passions needed a route for release.  He'd passed
his driving test with the addition to a knob that fastened to the steering
wheel and rotated freely to let him turn the wheel with one hand.  Now he
dropped Erica off at school, so he could go to work.

   He asked her repeatedly what was wrong, but only got "nothing" in
return.

   Erica's grief now was for herself.  Soon people would know.  Her belly
would swell, and the gossips would stare, point, and then talk.  She knew
she wouldn't lose her job ...  but her authority in the classroom would
suffer.  She'd have to go through the entire first semester of next year's
classes grotesquely swollen, the laughing stock of everyone.  The only
bright spot she could think of was that at least no one would know for the
remaining portion of this year's classes.

   Two weeks into May, Will was still trying to figure out what was wrong.
They were lying in bed.  She hadn't cuddled with him for weeks, always
lying inches away from him, staring at the ceiling until she finally closed
her eyes in sleep.  That was where she was now.

   He unhooked "Josh," which he had named his leg in honor of the dead man
who had saved his life, and set it aside.  He hopped to the bed and settled
into it, rolling to face his sister.

   "I got a letter today," he said.

   "Oh?" Her voice was distant.

   "I got approved for an artificial hand."

   "That's good." It was as if he'd said he'd found a new book to read.

   His hand went to her stomach.  She'd started wearing a nightgown to bed
recently and he wished she hadn't.  Her reaction to his hand on her was
both astonishing and violent.  She slapped at it, pushing it off her like
it was a bug or something.

   "Don't touch me there!" she barked.  All the distant quality of her
voice was gone.  The intensity in her almost scared him.

   He sat up, hurt and angry.

   "I'll just go sleep in my room," he said, lashing out.  "I'm obviously
not wanted here!"

   His balance on one foot had actually improved since he'd gotten used to
standing on two again.  He was already up, with Josh in his hand, when
Erica's broken voice cried "Noooooooooo."

   What had finally broken through the walls of self pity that had
surrounded Erica was the perception that, after losing almost everything
else in her life, she was losing her brother too.  The shock of that had
awakened her.

   "WHAT DO YOU WANT?" Will yelled at her, helplessly.

   "Don't gooooo," she moaned.

   "Will you tell me what's wrong?" he begged.

   "I'll tell you!" she blurted.  "Just don't leave me.  Pleeease, Will."

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

   His reaction gave her psyche another slap or shake, or something
equivalent to those concepts.  He didn't revile her.  He didn't get mad at
her.  In fact, there was no trace of any negative emotion of any kind.

   "I'm gonna be an uncle?" His voice was unnaturally high.  "I'm gonna
have a nephew to play catch with?"

   Erica was in no way, shape or form prepared to deal with someone who was
...  happy ...  that she was pregnant.  She lay there, staring at Will,
whose face tried to grin.  He was undeniably happy.

   "But I'm pregnant," she moaned, trying again to get the disgust she had
expected.

   "That is so ...  GREAT!" As he shouted the last word, he rolled off the
bed, landing on his good foot and started jumping around in circles,
chanting "I'm gonna have a neph-ewww," over and over.

   True elation is an emotion that is communicative, in the same way a cold
is communicative.  When someone is exposed to that kind of joy, it's very
hard not to empathize with it.  Erica smiled for the first time since
leaving the doctor's office.  On top of that, as he hopped, Will's penis
flopped up and down in such a way that it was almost impossible to keep her
eyes away from it.  That was comical too, and her smile widened a bit.

   Still, while the course of the ship that was her self-pity had been
altered slightly, it wasn't a full turn.  When he finally sat back down on
the bed, panting from his exertion, her gloom reasserted itself.

   "Great for you, maybe," she sighed.  "Not so much for me."

   Now her attitude about things made perfect sense.  Now he understood.

   Now there was something he could do to try to fix things.

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

   There is something about being loved, when you expect only derision and
disgust, that can change your world radically.  Will knew that intimately.
He had been pulled from the darkness, initially, by his sister.  Then,
beyond all hope, a beautiful woman had taken him far above the earth, where
dreams soar.  It was logical, in a strange and mystical way, that he pull
his sister from her depression.

   How that happened, or more correctly, what happened as she surfaced from
the dark depths and took a breath of clean, fresh air wasn't expected.

   "I love you so much," she cried, reaching for Will.

   "I love you too, baby," he sighed.

   They didn't expect to end up kissing.  They didn't expect for his hands
to bring back the sensations she had grown so addicted to.  They didn't
expect for her nightgown to come off or for Will to roll on top of her. 
And, with her legs closed, Erica certainly didn't expect to suddenly be
filled with hard prick.

   Her mind split apart at that point, one part noticing, almost
clinically, how different Will felt inside her compared to Bobby.  That
part analyzed what he did with his body.  The other part, crying out to be
loved, didn't care that it was her brother's taboo penis that was producing
streaks of joy throughout her body.

   The first part chuckled as she felt the evidence of his completion and
heard his gasps as he jetted into her.  She was already pregnant.  It no
longer mattered whether her brother tried to fertilize her.

   The second part made her reach for her own nipples, squeezing them, so
she could cum with him.

   By morning Erica Bradford was, more or less, her old self.  Her therapy
had brought back the capacity to plan and hope.  Her problems weren't gone.
But now they were only problems, not the weight of the world pressing her
into the abyss.

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

   Mirriam picked up the phone and Bobby saw her face light up with a
smile.

   "Suzie!" she squealed.  "It's been so long!"

   Then Bobby saw the joy on her face freeze, then moderate, and finally
turn into sadness.

   "I understand, darling," she said.  "Do you want to talk to the others?
Bobby's right here."

   She listened.

   "All right.  I'll tell them."

   She hung up the phone.

   "Suzie got a job at a research lab at K-State.  She's going to move in
with two other girls and stay there all summer.  She's also taking extra
classes during summer school.  She's not coming home this year."

   Bobby could hear the tears, before they arrived in her eyes.  He went to
his mother and hugged her while she was sad.

   Eventually she pushed him away.

   "Enough self pity," she said, her voice stronger.  "We have plenty to
keep us busy this summer, getting this place into shape to receive
customers.  It would have been nice to have Suzie here to help, but we'll
manage."

   "Yes, we will," said Bobby.

   "And anyway, she says if she does this she can graduate a year early. 
Can you imagine that?  Next year my baby might start medical school!"

   "Well that's a good thing," said Bobby, smiling.  "Maybe she'll
specialize in geriatrics.  Then she could come back here and take care of
her old, feeble, ailing mother."

   Mirriam stuck her tongue out at him.  Then her eyes got a crafty look in
them.  She walked to him with an exaggerated sway to her hips.  She reached
out and plucked at the front of his shirt, pulling on it.

   "Come to my bedroom, Bobby.  I'll show you how feeble I am."

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

   It was June before Erica called Bobby again.  He hadn't thought it was
that odd.  There had been women before who had "overdosed" on him at first,
and then calmed down later.  He looked at it as a natural progression of
things.  It was all new and exciting at first and they couldn't get enough.
Then, later, quality seemed to be the important part, rather than quantity.

   "I need to talk to you," she said.

   "OK," he replied.  "You want me to come over tonight?"

   "No." She sounded doubtful.  "Not tonight.  It won't take that long. 
Could you drop by after school this afternoon?"

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

   Agatha Roberts was having tea with her friends, Ethyl and Gladys.  It
had been a regular thing with them for some years.  That it had continued
after Harry died, while their husbands went on living, hadn't surprised
her. They were her friends, after all.

   The format for Tuesday afternoon tea hadn't changed in years either. 
Agatha sat quietly and waited for one of the other women to bring up a
juicy bit of gossip.  They always did, and it gave them something to talk
about while they sipped tea and nibbled at sugar cookies.  Agatha didn't
get out as much as she used to, before her husband had succumbed to a diet
of fats and a lifestyle that seemed to be centered around smoking and
sitting in front of the television with a frozen dinner.

   "Guess what I heard!" said Ethyl, right on cue.

   "What?" asked both other women dutifully.

   "That new teacher ...  you know the one they hired to replace Bernice?"
She looked around, as if there might be people hiding in the corners of
Agatha's sitting room.  "She might be pregnant!"

   All three women knew of Erica Bradford, though they didn't know her
name. Bernice had been the maternal priestess of a loosely organized group
of women, until she retired and moved to Florida to live with her daughter.
Those women were the self appointed guardians of the moral standards of
Granger, Kansas.  They were the ones who sat on the other side of the
invisible line that separated them from strumpets, who were loose and
threatened to bring down everything decent women worked hard to protect. 
It was only natural that they'd take an interest in Bernice's replacement.

   "I KNEW it!" crowed Gladys.  "I knew all that women's liberation
claptrap was a bunch of hooey."

   This was Agatha's chance to make a comment.

   "Can you imagine that?" she cooed.  "I knew when that woman showed up
there would be trouble.  She should have been decently married before
taking a job teaching children."

   Gladys wanted more dirt.  "How did you find out?" she asked excitedly.

   "Penelope's daughter works for the doctor.  She has something to do with
records.  Apparently the doctor tested for pregnancy.  He wouldn't do that
unless he suspected something, you know." Ethyl nodded sagely.

   Agatha felt a stab of irritation.  Sometimes Ethyl was so dense.  Of
COURSE a doctor wouldn't test for something he didn't expect.  Her mind
shut down for a minute as the other two nattered on.  Agatha sometimes
wished she had some friends her own age.  At thirty-five, she felt like an
old woman sometimes.  She blamed that on the women who had taken her under
their wings, after she'd married Harry, who was ten years older than she
was.  She felt irritation at her own thoughts.  These women had been good
friends to her for years.  The fact that they were in their fifties - not
that that was ever talked about - was just the way it was.  She wrestled
for control of her restive mind and tried to pay attention.

   Gladys asked the obvious question.  "So who do you think the father is?"

   Ethyl looked around again.  It almost made Agatha want to look around
too.  "You know that Bobby Dalton was hanging around the school while they
got ready for that musical."

   That was enough to keep them busy for the rest of the afternoon.  There
had been much speculation about Bobby Dalton over the last few years.  He
was almost always good for an hour's worth of gossip.  He went everywhere
...  into people's homes ...  where no one could see what was going on. 
Oh, surely he carried tools with him and sometimes this or that thing he
bought at the lumber yard or the hardware store.  It was certain that he
fixed things.  But what else he did, while he was in those houses ...  and
perhaps NOT fixing things ...  that was the topic of endless speculation.

   There were children who bore a resemblance to him.  In the beginning,
they had been quite sure he had fathered some of those children.  But as
the number of them grew and grew, it eventually exceeded their ability to
believe he could be responsible for ALL of them.  And many of the mothers
of those children were married too.  That was always something that tended
to throw a wrench into their theories about Bobby Dalton.

   Then again, most of the suspect women sat at the wrong tables when there
was a town celebration.  There had been the scandalous rumor that some of
those women had actually paid Bobby Dalton to do more ...  much more ... 
than simply fix a faucet.

   Yes, Bobby and those women were always good for an hour or two of
rampant speculation.

   "Something should be done!" said Ethyl.

   "But what could we do?" asked Gladys.

   "I don't know," admitted Ethyl.  "But something should be done.  This
has gone on far too long, if you ask me."

   Eventually, they left and Agatha's mind wandered again, as she cleaned
up, washed the cups, and put them neatly back in the china hutch where they
belonged.

   She was puttering around, trying to find something to do that she hadn't
already done twice and that actually needed doing, when it came to her.

   If Bobby Dalton accepted money ...  for sex ...  then all it would take
to expose him would be to offer him money ...  for sex.

   She shuddered.  Sex was something she didn't like to think about.  She'd
had dreams, before she got married, about how delightful sex would be. 
Harry wasn't handsome, but he'd had a good job and was stable.  Her mother
had pointed that out.  When, on her wedding night, she'd given up her
carefully guarded and cherished virginity, though, it had been nothing like
her dreams.

   He'd been rough.  It had hurt.  Thankfully it had lasted only three or
four minutes.  After that it hadn't hurt so much, but she had grown to
appreciate the fact that it continued to last only five minutes, at the
longest, before he sighed and rolled off of her so she could go and get
respectably clean again.

   There had been no children.  She'd agonized about that for the first two
years.  When her mother had suggested it was her fault, for not being a
good wife, Agatha had been both crushed and angry.  She did everything a
wife was supposed to do.  She cleaned and washed.  She prepared Harry's
favorite frozen dinners each night.  She went shopping for food.  She
didn't buy frivolous things.  She even learned how to drive, so Harry
wouldn't have to take her everywhere.

   She sat down.  For the first time, she thought about the suspect women,
looking for similarities ...  clues ...  something that would tell her how
to catch the attention of a despicable man who would offer to have sex with
them for money.  It wasn't easy.  The suspect women were of all ages and in
different situations.  The only thing that seemed to stand out was that
some of them had no husband.

   She blinked.  SHE had no husband.

   She thought some more.

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

   Chapter Twenty-five

   On the other side of town, the man Agatha was thinking about walked up
the ramp to Erica's house.  He knocked.  Something in her voice had told
him to knock.

   When she answered the door she looked pale, but otherwise normal.  She
stood back and he walked in.  By the time he turned to look at her again,
tense had been added to pale.

   "I'm pregnant," she said simply.

   Erica had thought long and hard about whether she should face the man
who had made her pregnant or not.  She didn't have to, as far as she was
concerned.  She could go on with her life and just leave him out of it. 
There had been no agreements and she hardly expected him - any man, really
- to take any responsibility for his half of the problem.  She was going to
offer the baby up for adoption anyway.  She hadn't told Will about that
yet. She couldn't.  He'd been so happy about having a nephew that she
couldn't crush him until it was absolutely necessary.  He'd understand. 
She was a teacher, not a mother.  The baby would have a much better life
with two parents who wanted him ...  her ...  it.  But something had told
her she had to face him.  He'd warned her, after all.  He hadn't done this
willy nilly.  She was as much at fault as he was.  She only hoped Bobby
wouldn't gloat.

   "Let's sit down," he said.

   She was taken by surprise.  She'd expected "Too bad," or "I warned you!"
She'd even thought it was possible he'd just turn around and walk out.  She
followed him to the kitchen, wondering why he went there to sit instead of
the living room, which was much closer.

   She stood, while he went to the cupboard and got two glasses.  Then he
opened the fridge and poured milk.  It wasn't odd that he did those things.
He'd been at her house enough times, and in such casual and intimate
circumstances, that he was familiar with everything.  What seemed odd was
that he didn't look nervous.  He looked completely comfortable.  She
wondered if he was stalling, trying to think of something to say.

   "Sit down," he said, putting a glass of milk in front of the chair she
was standing nearest.  He didn't take the chair across the table, like
she'd thought he would.  He took one ninety degrees from hers.

   "How do you feel about this?" he asked, when she just stood there.

   She certainly hadn't been prepared for that.  She sat ...  somewhat
heavily.  She didn't know what to say.  A thousand things were running
through her mind.  It seemed like everything she had thought about since
the doctor uttered those fateful words ...  was going through her mind.

   "Will is happy," she said.  She blinked.  Where had that come from?

   "But are YOU happy?" he asked.

   She shot him a dark look.

   "Of COURSE I'm not happy!" she snapped.

   "Oh." She was amazed that he could put so much disappointment into a
single word.  She felt heat in her chest and couldn't figure out if it was
anger or something else.  She opted for anger.  Who was HE to be
disappointed that she didn't want to be pregnant?

   "Why in the world would you think I'd be happy?" she asked, again
surprised that she said that instead of cursing at him.

   "Some women want to have children," he said.

   Erica stared.  He must be insane!  She'd been impregnated by a man who
belonged in an institution!

   "Women who are married!" she barked.  "Women who are in LOVE ... 
whatever THAT means!" She took a breath.  "Women who aren't going to be
ruined by being the laughing stock of the whole town ...  who won't lose
their JOBS!"

   "Do you want me to marry you?" His head tilted, like he was interested
in her answer.  It stunned her.

   "NO, I DO NOT WANT YOU TO MARRY ME!" she yelled.

   "Drink your milk," he said calmly, his head straightening up.

   "What?" She looked for some meaning in his comment, but couldn't think
of any.

   "Drink your milk," he repeated.  "Since you're not going to have an
abortion, then you need the vitamins and calcium and all that stuff."

   Erica thought she might scream ...  took in a deep breath to do just
that, in fact ...  and then held it, counting to ten in her mind. 
Something about his responses was completely wrong.  She didn't know what
that was, but it was wrong and she felt the need to understand why.  She
let the breath out slowly.

   "How do you know I'm not going to have an abortion?" she asked.

   "Because if you were, you would have said 'I'm going to have an
abortion,' instead of 'I'm pregnant.'"

   She was speechless again.

   "Maybe I'm wrong," he said, looking like he was interested in the
possibility.  "But I'm sure you would have at least told me by now, if that
was what you're planning.  You're too independent to keep something like
that to yourself."

   Her mind twisted.  His reasoning was sound, but it went against her own
assessment of what independence meant.  She would have felt more
independent if she'd kept the fact that she was pregnant a secret from him.

   "No abortion," she said tightly.

   "Good," he said.  "You never told me how you feel," he reminded her.  "I
know you don't want to be pregnant, but you are, so how do you feel about
that?"

   "I don't understand you," she said.  It was something between a whine
and a moan.

   "Don't feel bad.  A lot of women don't understand me.  I'm not sure I
understand myself."

   "How do YOU feel about it?" asked Erica.  She was just vying for time.
She needed time to think.  This wasn't going at all like she might have
expected.

   "That's complicated," he said immediately.  "You have to understand that
I would never make love to any woman if I didn't want her to have my
child."

   Her brain skewed sideways again.

   "Did you just say you WANTED to get me pregnant?" she croaked.

   "No," he said, a pained look on his face.  "That's not what I said, or
at least I didn't mean to say that.  I can't just ...  have sex ...  with a
woman.  I have to feel something for her.  I have to like her.  Sometimes I
even think I love her.  Like you said ...  whatever that means.  I guess I
feel like sex is for making babies.  It's fun too, but it's mostly for
making babies.  So I wouldn't do that with any woman unless ...  I don't
know ...  unless I thought she'd make a good mother or something ...  a
mother I could love."

   That was a lot to chew on and Erica chewed for a while.  Bobby sat there
and sipped his milk.  Seeing him do that made her take a sip of hers too.

   "Are you saying that you love me?" she asked, her voice full of
disbelief.

   "I must love you," he said.  "At least on some level.  I wouldn't have
gone to bed with you if I didn't." He frowned.  "Like I said, sometimes I
don't understand myself very well."

   "No, no, no," she disagreed.  "You didn't love me.  Not that first
night, when you took my virginity.  We were fighting."

   "All I know is that you needed to be loved ...  needed something I could
give you.  I wasn't sure I could give you that, because I wasn't sure you
knew what you needed.  But, when I thought I could, I wanted to help you."

   "You call taking my virginity and knocking me up helping?" she squealed.

   "Were you happy when we were making love?" he asked.  He sounded quite
serious.

   She thought about that.  She took in another deep breath and counted to
ten again as she realized she'd have to admit she was happy when he was
making love to her.  Actually, deliriously happy was closer to the truth.
She didn't want to admit that.

   "I did need that," she said, her voice low and soft.  It was the most
she could admit.

   "And because you needed it, I needed to give it to you," he said, an
earnest look on his face.  "Does that make sense to you?"

   Erica thought of Will.  She understood exactly what Bobby was talking
about.  She'd done that with Will.  She blinked.  She actually understood
him!  She nodded, still thinking about that, but was distracted when he
went on.

   "OK, so I didn't WANT to get you pregnant ...  and I didn't TRY to get
you pregnant ...  but the fact that we made something precious together ...
it means a lot to me.  I know having a baby changes things.  It changes a
LOT of things.  But I already love our baby, even if you don't want to have
anything to do with me any more ...  even if you never let me see her ...
I'll still love her, because she was created while we were doing something
we both loved and needed."

   He leaned back.  "Does that make sense too?"

   Erica's mind only twisted a little bit this time.  What popped to the
surface, of all he had said, was that he already loved ...  her.  He had
given a gender to the thing in her womb.

   "You called the baby 'her.' Why did you say that?" she asked.

   He blinked.  "I don't know." He seemed to think.  "I guess I couldn't
imagine you having anything but a girl."

   Erica's mind shifted just enough that she felt like she was falling over
inside.  She landed with a thud, as if she'd fallen out of her chair,
mentally.  Sometimes, in a situation like that, it seems funny.  And
sometimes laughter is an agent of catharsis.

   Erica started by giggling as, in her mind, she imagined a group of women
...  feminists ...  carrying signs that said "We will only have female
children!" Then, suddenly, Bobby was in her mental image, also carrying a
sign.  It said "I will only father girls!"

   She laughed then, and her eyes teared up.  What she had done with Will
had somehow saved her sanity.  Will had pulled her up out of the depths
where it was dark, and into the light and air where she could breathe. 
Somehow Bobby - and she couldn't figure out how - had pulled her into the
sunshine, where the warm breeze made her feel fully alive.

   She laughed until she felt herself actually falling off her chair ... 
and Bobby's hands keeping her from doing so.

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

   Erica Bradford was confused again.  Bobby had just offered to adopt
their daughter.

   After her catharsis, she had felt much better and more calm.  She'd been
able to think a little better too, and had arrived at the conclusion that,
once again, she'd misread Bobby Dalton.  She thought wryly about how that
seemed to be a habit of hers.

   But the fact was that she was beginning to think about her situation as
an unfortunate accident, which neither of them had really wanted.  The only
difference between them was that, while she dreaded the pregnancy, he
looked forward to it.  It wasn't that he wouldn't have to go through the
physical part.  He just loved the baby.  She tried to wrap her mind around
that, but there seemed to be some kind of wall that she couldn't get past.

   Another reason she felt better was that he had offered to help her get
through it.  It had come in a backhanded kind of way.

   "I know you probably don't want to see me this summer," he'd said.  "But
I also know how hard it is to be pregnant and not have any help.  I'd be
happy to come over and do laundry or whatever you need."

   She assumed he was talking about having experience seeing his mother be
pregnant, or some other woman he knew.  If she'd have actually known about
the more than a dozen babies he'd fathered before he got her pregnant, it
would have gone in a completely different direction.

   But she didn't know.

   As a result, Bobby's charm worked its magic on her, which she also
wasn't aware of.

   "I'll let you know if I need something," she'd said.

   Then, when everything that needed saying seemed to have been said, he
threw her another curve.

   "I'm going to miss you," he said, standing up.

   It wasn't her mind that twisted then.  It was something deeper in her
body, something she wasn't aware was there, until she thought of him never
coming back.  She was first surprised, and then amazed, to feel a cold knot
in her gut.  She didn't like it there.  It was too close to the baby.

   "I didn't say you couldn't come back," she blurted.

   He sat back down.

   "Tell me more," he said.

   "What more?" she asked, not sure what he was asking.

   "Tell me how I have to behave when I come back," he said.

   "What?" Now she was even more confused.

   "I like you," he said.  "I can't forget what we've shared.  I have to be
honest.  I'll think about it every time I see you.  I'll want to touch you
and I need to know how you want me to behave."

   That cold knot undid itself.  In fact, it got distinctly warm.

   "I don't know about that," she said, a little breathlessly.

   "And," he said, delivering the knockout blow, "I sort of have a thing
for pregnant women.  They drive me wild."

   "You still want to touch me?" she asked, her voice high.  She had
thought of herself as slightly soiled ...  maybe majorly soiled ...  ever
since she'd left the doctor's office.  It was one reason her passions had
overflowed with Will.

   "Of course," he said.  "Do you think you got pregnant by accident?"

   He blinked as her eyes widened.

   "No ...  wait ...  that's not what I meant," he said agitatedly.  "I
mean... it came out wrong.  What I meant was I really liked making you
pregnant."

   His face went into a terrible grimace.

   "Shit!" He slumped.  "That's not it either.  Now I'm all flustered."

   That warm knot expanded even more as her mind recognized a helpless man
...  a sweet man ...  a man she had misunderstood since she'd met him,
trying to say something to put her at ease and give her control over him.
Erica felt very dangerous emotions begin to waft through her body and held
up a hand.

   "I'll let you know if you get out of line."

   He sat there for a few seconds.

   "That's not really very helpful," he said.

   She giggled again, but kept in the urge to laugh out loud.  He was so
CUTE when he was helpless like this.

   "I have to think about it," she said.  "I'm still confused.  I don't
know what I want and don't want."

   He stood up.  "Well, at least you know that now."

   He left her sitting there and walked to the kitchen door.  Just before
he went out of view, he turned.

   "That's progress," he said.

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

   Erica lay in bed.  Will was at Christy's tonight.  He hadn't said
anything, but he knew things were getting very serious there.  He talked
about the job more than Christy, but the tone of his voice said volumes
when she was the subject.

   Erica was naked.  Ever since she and Will had made love ...  real love,
as she now thought of it ...  her habit of being naked in bed had returned.
It was more comfortable.

   She thought about all the things Bobby had said earlier in the evening.
He loved the baby ...  her baby ...  their baby.  He loved her too in some
mystical way that she was sure she'd never understand.  She knew she didn't
love him.  Not like her mother had loved her father.  When she thought
about Bobby she got hot inside, but it was sexual hot ...  not love hot.

   He was willing to take her daughter.  She wasn't aware of the subtle
shift in her thinking about what was in her womb.  Since Bobby had said he
loved the baby, and named her female, Eric no longer thought of the baby as
"it."

   The personification of a fetus is one of the major steps in bonding with
a child before it is born.  There are all kinds of names for the stages of
development, from zygote, to blastula, to embryo and then, eventually
fetus. But those names don't conjure up the same thing that is meant by
"she," "her," or "daughter." Many women intend, initially, to be rid of
what may be perceived of as a problem.  That can happen through abortion or
adoption.  But with most women, neither of those options stays viable for
long, once the woman involved begins to think of herself as a mother, and
the baby inside her as a daughter or son.

   As Erica Bradford lay there, thinking about her ...  their ... 
daughter, that epiphany slowly morphed into something else.

   "I'm going to be a mommy," she sighed.  Her hand went to rest on her
belly, which was still flat, but which, she knew, contained a tiny little
person who would call her "Mommy."

   It was the first time since leaving the doctor's office that she had
characterized herself that way.

   Then Erica cried again.  But this time it was a completely different
kind of tears.

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

   Agatha Roberts was obsessed with her burgeoning plan.  She didn't tell
Ethyl or Gladys about it.  She didn't tell anyone about it.  She would
unmask the pervert in their midst and people would praise her.  She would
stand up for truth, justice, and the American way.

   She reminded herself to be careful.  She characterized herself as a
careful woman.  Living with Harry had required she be think things through.
Harry had a temper.  He had never struck her.  She would have left him if
he did that, as disgusting as divorce was.  But his tongue could slash like
a knife when she did something he thought was stupid.

   She didn't like thinking about Harry that way.  He'd been a good
provider.  His insurance policy was proof of that.  She had enough money
and it would last at least until Social Security kicked in.  That was years
and years away.  Besides, it was rude to think ill of the dead.

   She jerked her mind back to the task at hand.  She was a widow...an
unmarried woman.  She still had her figure.  The Dalton boy was a handyman
and there were plenty of things around that needed repair, now that Harry
was gone.  Some of the things Harry had fixed needed repair too, for that
matter.  She'd call him and have him do an estimate or something.  She'd be
coy.  She'd wear her most daring dress ...  the one that came to just below
her knees, with pockets on the breast that she was sure drew men's
attention to her bosom.

   She imagined how it would go.  He would come into the house.  She'd show
him something that was broken.  He'd make advances.  She'd demur, but not
too much.  He'd flirt with her and then suggest that, for a price, he could
make her happy.  She'd fan her face and look faint ...  but interested. 
She'd make the date and then, before he came, she'd tell Ethyl and Gladys
what was going to happen.  They would be in hiding as he asked for money.
Maybe Ethyl could take a picture of her handing him the money.  Ethyl had a
camera.  Then they'd call the police and have him arrested.

   All the decent people would be thrilled, she thought.  Maybe they'd even
put up a statue of her.

   Then her mother would HAVE to be proud of her!

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

   Chapter Twenty-six

   Erica thought she was being artful.  When Bobby came on the line, she
told him that part of the railing on the ramp had cracked and he needed to
come take a look at it.  She didn't tell him, of course, that she'd had to
throw all her weight at the railing ...  several times ...  to get
something to break.  She'd done it at night, when the neighbors couldn't
see her.

   She couldn't admit that she just wanted him.  Not on the phone.  She
wasn't even sure she wanted him.  But she was full of nervous energy again,
like she'd been before.  She knew Will would make love to her if she asked
him to, but she thought of him more and more as Christy's man.  No one must
ever find out about her and Will, because that would ruin it for him with
Christy.

   Besides, Bobby was a different kind of lover than Will.  Bobby knew how
to make her insane with pleasure.  It was those thoughts that made her find
a way to get him to her house again.  Then, maybe when she could see him,
she'd know whether it was him she wanted, or something else.  She hoped it
was something else.  She didn't know what she'd do if, when she saw him,
she got "that feeling." She knew that if she had to admit to the man who
had made her pregnant that she craved his touch again ...  well, she'd just
die.  She was sure of it.

   She saw the truck pull up and Bobby get out.  He walked right up to the
broken support and looked at it.  Then he looked at the window, for some
reason, and then back at the support.  He shook his head and came to the
front door.

   She expected him to knock again, like he did last time, but he didn't.
He just walked in.  She stood there wide eyed as he looked at her.

   "If you wanted me to come over, all you had to do was tell me," he
grumbled.  "You didn't have to vandalize my work."

   "I need you!" she blurted.

   "I can see that," said Bobby.

   "I'm sorreeee," she moaned.

   "C'mere," he said, holding out his arms.

   She was almost crying when he enfolded her in his arms.

   "Hey," he said into her hair.  "It's no big deal."

   "Yes it is," she said into his chest.  "I feel like such a fool."

   "You know what your problem is?" he asked.

   She could think of a dozen things, but she said "No," instead.

   "You're all wrapped up with trying to be who you think you're supposed
to be instead of just being yourself."

   "What do you mean?" she asked, still pressing her face to his chest.  He
smelled good, like ...  Bobby.

   "Do you like me?" he asked.

   "Why are you asking me that?" she moaned.

   "See there?" he asked, rubbing her back.  "I know you like me, OK?  I
know it and you know it, so why can't you just say it?  I'll tell you why
you can't say it.  You think you're not supposed to like me, am I right?"

   "Maybe," she said softly.

   "So, instead of just being yourself and saying 'Bobby I'm horny, come
take care of me,' you play this game of some sort that supposed to make you
feel better.  But it doesn't.  Am I right about that?"

   "Yes," she said, her voice muffled.

   "Erica?"

   "What?"

   "I'm sorry I got you pregnant, but right now I want you so bad it really
hurts.  I'm stiff for you.  I want to hear you have an orgasm and I want to
know I gave it to you."

   "Ohhhhhhh," she moaned into his chest.  No man had ever talked to her
like that ...  that explicitly.  Before, if a man had said something like
that she would have slapped him.  But now ...  it made her panties wet. 
Well, it would have made her panties wet if she'd been wearing any.  She
had nothing on under her robe.

   "See?" he said.  "How hard was that?  I just said how I feel.  Maybe
you'll be happy about that and maybe you won't, but at least you know where
I'm coming from."

   "Tell me more," she said, her voice high.

   Bobby had felt her relax against him when he told her he wanted her. 
She hadn't tensed.  He thought about Amanda again, who had wanted him, but
couldn't admit it either.  He still couldn't use ropes on Erica.  He
thought about her reaction to his words and got an idea.  He didn't know if
it would work or not.  On the bright side, it wouldn't take long to find
out.

   "You want me to tell you what I want to do?" he asked.

   That was apparently too direct, because she didn't answer.  She just
hugged him harder.

   "I want to see your fabulous breasts," he said.  He waited to see if she
tensed.  When she didn't, he went further.  "They're the most fabulous
breasts I've ever seen.  I could sleep on them.  I want to suck your
nipples and listen to you have an orgasm."

   "Mmmmmmm," she mumbled into his chest.

   "And then I want to squeeze them, the way you like it so much, squeezing
until you almost scream."

   "Nnnnngg," she groaned.

   "And while you're cumming, I want to slide my prick into your slick
pussy until it comes out your mouth.  I want to fuck you, Erica."

   She looked up then.  Her eyes were hot.

   "Fuck you, Bobby Dalton," she said, her voice husky.  "You bastard.  You
manage to tear down every wall I build up.  Nobody's ever talked to me like
that in my whole life.  And what pisses me off the most is that I'm
dripping wet right now, because of it.  So fuck you, Bobby."

   He picked her up.  She squealed and wiggled, but had no chance to
escape. He took her to her bedroom and dropped her on the bed.

   "If you don't want that robe torn apart, I suggest you take it off," he
said, unbuttoning is shirt.

   "Bobby!" she complained.

   "Do you want me?" he asked.

   "YES!" she screamed.  "THERE!  Are you HAPPY now?!"

   "Very," he said.  "In fact, you made my day.  Now ...  I'm going to make
yours."

   She barely got her robe off before he was on her like a lion on a lamb.
He was rough, but didn't hurt her.  He growled a lot.  He practically
attacked her breasts, and she squealed as he sucked one nipple and squeezed
the other, just like he'd said he wanted to do.

   She came within thirty seconds.

   He wasn't finished, though.  From there, after her first orgasm, he
forced apart legs she tried to keep together and then entered her in one
long lunge that took her breath away.  Then he pounded her, making her
breasts jump and wiggle like Jell-O in an earthquake.  He pushed so hard,
going in, that she felt herself moving toward the headboard.

   Erica found out something else about herself that she hadn't known.

   She liked rough sex.

   He was clearly dominating her this time.  That was plain to her.  But
the intensity of his passion, the way he seemed to almost lose control, the
fact that she had driven him to this display of raw male sexuality sent
streaks of something through her body that felt, amazingly, like power. 
She had called him and he had come at her call.  He was a magnificent male
in the prime of his life.  He wasn't with some other female.  He had
ignored the other women he could have been with and was devoting himself
completely to her.

   The orgasm she had while thinking these things was only partially
physical.  Her mind and body had been joined, and her pleasure was
exponentially greater.

   He seemed to understand how she could both want and resist this
domination of her body.  After she screamed through that orgasm, he slowed
to give her time to breathe, before pressing himself deep and staying there
to rotate his loins and make her cum again.  In the middle of that orgasm,
he spurted in her.

   He rolled them, still in her, and held her tight against him as they
caught their breath.

   "You made a baby in me," she said into his chest.

   "I know," he said into her hair.  "I'm sorry ...  but I loved every
second of it."

   "I'm going to be a mommy," she said.

   "You'll be a wonderful mommy," he said, stroking her back.  "I'm proud
our daughter will have such a strong mother and good role model."

   She snorted into his chest.  "I'm neither strong nor a good role model,"
she grated.  "I let you get me pregnant and I'm here with you right now. 
Both of those are because I'm weak."

   "Is being fully a woman weak?" he asked.  "I don't think so.  Being a
mother is neither easy nor glamorous, but it's the most important job in
the whole world.  It takes a real woman ...  a strong woman ...  to be a
good mother.  I think you are both."

   "You're just trying to butter me up so you can fuck me again," she
moaned.

   "Based on tonight, I suspect I'll get to fuck you again anyway," he
said.

   She pulled back and looked up at his face.  "Sometimes I hate you."

   "I know," he said.  "You're a little difficult to get along with too,
every once in a while."

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

   When he was hard again, she rode him.  She did that languidly, just
enjoying the feeling of his hard prick rubbing inside her.  She didn't try
to lean forward to get her clit involved.  Again, he somehow seemed to know
she was just playing and left her nipples alone.  That lasted ten minutes,
then changed as he started talking again.  He reached for her breasts and
pushed them together.

   "These are the gorgeous breasts that will feed my daughter," he said. 
He ran his thumbs over the nipples.  "She'll suck these beautiful nipples
and will get delicious milk from them.  I will too."

   Erica shuddered.  She thought that was just nasty, but it sent a thrill
through her too and she sped up unconsciously.

   "You'll do this after she's born," he said.  "You'll ride me like this
and your nipples will leak and drip warm milk onto my chest.  I'll suck
them while you fuck me."

   "Ooooooo," she moaned, leaning forward.

   "Like this," he said, lifting his head to capture a nipple.  He sucked
hard.

   "I don't like yoooooou," she groaned, feeling an orgasm rushing toward
her.  She leaned forward more and pushed her belly forward so that her clit
got involved.

   He let go of that nipple and licked the other one.

   "And if you're not on the pill by then," he said, "I'll spurt in you and
make a little brother for our daughter."

   "I hate you, Bobby Dalton!" she groaned, as the orgasm burst through her
loins and made her go rigid.

   He rolled and she cried out as the ecstasy she was in the midst of was
threatened.  But he pushed in deep as she settled onto her back, with his
weight pinning her to the bed, and it came back to make her scream again.

   "No you don't," he breathed into her face.

   Then he spurted in her again.

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

   When he got up to leave, the next morning, Erica pulled the covers back
over her.  It was Saturday and she didn't intend to get out of bed, maybe
until after lunch.  She had gotten a little sleep ...  but only a little.
She had also given up trying to pretend she didn't need Bobby Dalton in her
life.  He leaned down to kiss her gently, once he was dressed.

   "You're right," she said into his lips.

   "About what?"

   "I don't hate you."

   "I know," he said.

   "Let's not wait so long until next time," she suggested.

   "How about twice a week?" he asked.

   "I think that's a good plan," she sighed.

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

   Agatha's hand was shaking so badly she could barely dial the phone. 
When the ring sounded in her ear, she felt like she might throw up.

   "Hello?"

   It was him!  That deep voice had to be him.  She knew there was only one
man living out there on that old farm.

   "Y-y-yes," she stuttered.

   "Hello?"

   "M-m-mister Dalton," she forced out.

   "Yes, this is Bobby."

   "M-m-my floor squeaks," she gasped.

   "That's too bad," said the calm voice in her ear.  "I'm sure that's very
annoying."

   "Can you f-f-fix that?"

   "I don't know," he said.  "It will depend on why it's creaking and how
hard it will be to get access to the underside of the floor."

   "I need ...  an estimate!" she barked, finally remembering what she was
supposed to say.

   "I'd be happy to take a look at it.  Who is this?"

   Terror gripped her.  On pure will power alone she managed to clear her
throat and gasp into the phone: "Agatha Roberts."

   "And your address?"

   A strange, almost surreal calm descended on Agatha.  This was the final
step.  She'd have to tell the pervert where she lived.  But it was all for
a good cause.  Her voice was surprisingly firm.

   "625 Madison," she said.

   "I have some time this afternoon," he said.  "Is that too soon?"

   Her calm was instantly displaced, as panic gripped her.  Today!?  Right
now?!

   "All right," her voice cracked.

   ======================================o

   She'd had to sit down, because her knees wouldn't support her as she
hung up the phone.  Then, fearing he might be there any second, she jumped
up and ran to her bedroom.  She pulled off her dress and got her special
dress out of the closet.

   She took the time to look in the mirror.  She saw a white face, with
huge eyes staring back at her, above a plain white bra and the slip.  Her
hair had a permanent wave in it.  All it would need was a quick brushing.

   She let the scandalously daring blue dress fall past her head and put
her arms in the sleeves.  Then she looked in the mirror again.  Her slip
showed, so she tried tugging it up.  It was much too long.  Of course that
was because the blue dress was much too short.  It almost showed her knees.
She had to roll the waistband of the slip, lifting the dress to reach it.
When she let it drop the slip didn't show, but now there was a round line
that went around her waist.

   She reached under the dress again and removed the slip.  Maybe she'd
have time to hem it.  She looked in the mirror again.  The pockets were
right on the tips of her bosom and the white pearl buttons looked, to her,
like caricatures of nipples, though they were much too high.  Still, she
was sure they would draw his eyes.  She blushed as she saw fully four
inches of skin exposed by the neckline.

   Her face looked so pale against the vivid blue of the dress.  She was
sure she didn't have time to apply makeup.  She used it rarely.  She didn't
want to look like a tart, though the dress already suggested that.  She
decided that a touch of lipstick would help.  She chose her usual sedate
red.

   She needed to get the slip fixed.  She could put on panty hose later,
when she changed shoes.  To that end she kicked off the shoes she was
wearing and almost ran to the sewing room.  She'd just gotten the machine
threaded when the doorbell rang.

   She froze.

   It took the doorbell ringing again to get her moving.  She left the slip
there.  There was nothing she could do about it now.  She felt almost naked
going to the door without her slip and panty hose, but there was nothing
she could do about that either.  She was blushing furiously as she opened
the door.

   She looked up.  She didn't remember him being this tall.  His smile
looked so genuine too!

   "Hi, Mrs.  Roberts.  I'm Bobby Dalton." His smile faded.  "I was sorry
to hear about Harry.  I offer my condolences."

   Harry had died three YEARS ago.  "You knew him?" she almost gasped.

   "We were at a city council meeting together," said Bobby.  "Back when
they were arguing about whether we needed a stop light on First and Main or
not.  I didn't really know him.  We just talked a little bit there.  He
seemed like a good guy."

   "Oh," she said weakly.  Harry had been a penny pincher and that
translated to how his taxes were spent too.  He'd been opposed to the
traffic light.

   "You have squeaks?" prompted Bobby and she realized she'd just been
standing there thinking.

   "Yes," she squeaked.  It was all she could get out.  She reached deep
within her and wrested some measure of control from somewhere.  "I'll show
you the floor."

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

   Agatha looked at her Bulova watch.  She was astonished to see that only
fifteen minutes had passed before the man had walked back out her door. 
She stood there, in her alluring dress, and wondered what had gone wrong.
He'd been polite.  He'd been efficient.  He'd explained that, since there
was a basement and he could get to the underside of the floor easily, he'd
try a home remedy first.  He'd gotten into a tool bag she hadn't even seen
him bring in and pulled out a bottle of baby powder, of all things.  Then,
while she moved her feet around on the floor, making it squeak, he'd gone
downstairs.

   While she had moved her feet back and forth, the squeak had lessened and
then stopped completely.  When he came back, he explained that he'd
squirted the baby powder into the cracks between the boards.  He was
covered with a light film of the stuff and he smelled good.

   He'd asked if there were other places and she was so flustered that he
hadn't paid ANY attention to her dress, or her neckline, or the pockets on
the bosom of her dress, that she'd just said "No."

   Then, instead of ogling her, he'd asked if she had anything else that
needed fixing, since there was still forty-five minutes left on his minimum
charge of one hour.  She was so unnerved that he was acting completely
normal that again, she just said "No."

   He'd thrown her another curve when he said "That's all right.  I'll just
give you credit.  If you think of anything, just let me know and it will be
covered until you use up the rest of your time."

   She didn't know what to think now.  He hadn't acted at all like she
thought he would.  He hadn't even stared at her bare feet.

   She sat down and tried to think.

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

   The 4th of July was always a big day in Granger.  The whole town turned
out for the picnic and to see the fireworks.  Dancing was popular too.  It
was almost a form of entertainment itself to see the people in the crowded
square ebb and flow as the eating gave way to dancing.  Young people ran or
strolled together everywhere, laughing and shouting, while the adults sat
and caught up on things since the last time they'd seen each other.

   Agatha sat at her usual table.  Gladys and Ethyl were there too, along
with ten or fifteen other women of virtue.  Some of the husbands were there
too, but many were off on errands that seemed to take a long time.  Getting
watermelon took forever and the ice cream needed checking on every five
minutes or so, it seemed.

   The current topics of conversation around the tables were universal. 
One was the Dalton twins, who were both about to burst, their pregnant
bellies shamelessly on display.  They shouldn't have shown their faces in
public, unmarried as they both were.  Just as much gossipy uproar had been
generated when Christy Brown, who they already knew was a trollop, arrived
in the company of two other people who had never attended a town
celebration.

   The chattering women wouldn't look long at the poor thing who appeared
to be escorting Christy Brown, walking in that way that shouted he had a
false leg.  More than one matron suggested it was in poor taste to appear
with that face where people had just eaten.  And the man's sister,
Bernice's replacement at the school, was there too.  Her arrival verified
the rumors to those assembled.  She was unmarried too, and also showed no
shame whatsoever that her belly bulged gently with an illegitimate child
under the gaily colored sundress she wore.

   Agatha was nervous.  She'd thought and thought after that first time
she'd met Bobby Dalton face to face.  Her convictions about him had
returned.  She'd called him back to fix a drawer handle that had come
loose. She'd gone all the way to Wichita to buy a pair of Bermuda shorts to
wear that time, shamelessly showing him her legs.

   He hadn't seemed to notice.

   She'd tried a third time with the same results.  He'd always been prompt
and friendly, and never once made any advances of any kind toward her.  He
always tried to engage her in light conversation, but that was it.

   Now she was afraid that if he strolled by, he might acknowledge her ...
right in front of her friends.

   She still hadn't told any of them about her plan.  Her convictions about
this man were worn around the edges.  He certainly wasn't a cad who preyed
on single women at the first opportunity.  Admitting that to herself had
been a blow.  What had almost frightened her was that now ...  she was
curious about him.  There was too much evidence ...  too many rumors ... 
for all of it to be a big mistake.  He came from a family with low moral
standing.  That was simply a fact.

   But he didn't act like he came from such a family.

   She had no husband to go and fetch her ice cream and none of her
friends' husbands had seemed to notice she was there, so she got up to go
get herself a bowl.  No one seemed to see her leave or at least none asked
her where she was going.

   She had to go by the bandstand to get to the line of freezers that had
all kinds of flavors of homemade ice cream.  She stopped when she saw Bobby
on the dance floor.  He was dancing with that Trimble woman.  She
remembered then...  the Trimble woman had gotten married, finally, somewhat
astonishingly to the man who ran the diner.  Agatha saw that she was
pregnant again.  At least this one wouldn't be a bastard.

   Bobby saw her staring at them and nodded.  Blushing, Agatha hurried off
to get into line.

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

   Will was sitting beside Mirriam, who was sitting by Prudence.  Sal was
sitting on his other side.  Jake and Tilly were across the table.  It was
the first time they'd had a chance to get together with Will since he'd
gotten his leg.  He was working full time for Christy now and spent most
evenings with her or his sister.  Their heads had been together a lot. 
Jake suddenly threw up his hand.

   "All RIGHT woman!" he said sternly.  "I'll ask him.  Will that shut you
up?"

   "Yes," said Tilly, beaming as if he'd just said he loved her.

   Jake looked at Will.

   "What all was involved in you getting that leg?" he asked.

   "Well," said Will, "it was like this ..."

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

   Bobby had been dancing most of the night.  He'd danced with his mother
and Prudence, of course.  Then Linda had asked him to dance and Flo cut in
on her.  He'd been busy, of late, and hadn't seen much of either of them.
Jill had asked him to dance, and then, when Christy brought Will to the
floor - their first attempt at dancing together - Jill had abandoned him to
go be the woman Will made his mistakes with, so that he would have some
practice when he danced with Christy.  Christy had objected, but Jill just
pushed her toward Bobby.  The conversation that went on between the two
couples was eerily similar.

   "So," said Jill, pressing herself against Will as much as she could with
her belly in the way.  She held him tightly, to be a stable platform for
him to cling to.  "Have you asked her to marry you yet?"

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

   Ten feet away it was Bobby who spoke.

   "So," he said, holding Christy tight, "when are you going to ask him to
make an honest woman of you?"

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

   Will spluttered.  He'd become friends with both Jill and Sal, seeing
them often.  "I know she likes me, but that's kind of a stretch, don't you
think?" ==================================

   Christy didn't splutter.  "We've only known each other for four months!"
she said.

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

   "She loves you, you idiot," said Jill calmly.  "She's absolutely nuts
for you."

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

   "Does he know you're pregnant?" asked Bobby.

   "Who said anything about me being pregnant?" asked Christy, her voice
innocent.

   "I know what you look like pregnant ...  remember?" Bobby laughed.

   "I can't tell him that before ...  you know ...  he asks me," she said.
"It wouldn't be fair to him.  It would pressure him."

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

   Twelve feet away Will moaned.  "I can't support her!"

   "You think she gives a flying hoot about that?" asked Jill.  "She LOVES
you!  Haven't you heard a word I've said?"

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

   "Go dance with him," said Bobby.  "I'll get Jill out of your hair.  Just
tell him you can't live without him.  He'll get the idea."

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

   "Go dance with her," said Jill, maneuvering them slowly closer to Bobby
and Christy.  "Just ask her.  Tell her you can't live without her."

   The shuffle took place, and while Bobby tried to get Jill away from
them, she tried to get Bobby away from the other couple too.

   "How are you?" asked Bobby, sliding his hand up and down her back.

   "Fantastic," said Jill.

   Bobby looked up to see Agatha Roberts staring at him and Jill.  He
smiled and nodded.  She stiffened and turned to hurry away.

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

   As the song finished, Bobby thought about the woman he'd just seen. 
He'd thought a lot about her.  He knew which side of the tracks she was on
when she first called him.  He was almost amazed that she would have called
him at all.  He'd gone out of simple curiosity, in fact.

   She'd been terrified of him.  He could see that immediately, so he tried
his level best to be nonthreatening.  It seemed as if she'd decided she'd
made a terrible mistake, that first time, sending him away with an attitude
of almost frantic desire to get him out of her house.

   But then she'd called him back.  Twice, in fact.

   His radar had blipped then, but he couldn't believe she was interested
in him as a man.  She was firmly in the camp that would like nothing better
if his mother and her friends suddenly had to leave town, never to return.

   Still ...  she had been without Harry for two or three years now ... 
and she was still young.

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

   Fireworks exploded in the sky over Granger, Kansas and the eyes of the
whole town were upon them.  Those fireworks signaled the end of a good day
and the end of this part of Bobby's story.  Much would still happen in his
life, but as I've said before, the telling of this part has been long.

   So I'll bring this part of the story to an end, so that a new story can
be born, just as the babies cradled in warm comfort inside Betty and
Matilda Dalton were about to be born.

   The next story will be their birth announcement.

   The End


   
