A Clean Sweep
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All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
A Clean Sweep
"Don't sweat the petty stuff, Whitney. It's not the first time those sheets have seen a little blood; it's part of being a woman. Anyway, I'm going to exploit you all week; I thought that was the reason for your visit."
"You're sweet, Aunt Cassandra."
"And, when you've loaded the dishwasher, you can hold Joshua."
"Really!" Whitney said. She rushed to clear the table.
"But bring me a spit cloth first." Whitney brought back a diaper from the changing table in the bedroom. Her cot was in what would be Joshua's room; but he was, at two months, a little young to be away from his mother all night. She watched as her Aunt Cassandra carefully placed the baby on her shoulder and pounded on his back. It looked a little rough to Whitney. Then she finished loading the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher.
While her aunt closed the cup of her bra and then her blouse, Whitney carefully supported Josh's head in the bend of her elbow and the rest of his weight on her arm. He was such a dear! He looked up at her while she sang to him, and then sank into sleep.
"You can put him down now," Aunt Cassandra said.
"Do I have to?"
"You'll tire of that soon enough. But come into the living room and talk to me." They settled on opposite ends of the couch, Joshua still in her arms. "Is there anything you want to talk to me about?"
"Not really," Whitney said. Everything was fine, now. She felt a little guilty about imposing on her aunt, even. But she did plan on cleaning the place during her school break.
"I'll probably try to get to the store this afternoon. Is there anything you need? Do you have enough Tampax?"
"Sure." Although she almost hadn't brought the box. "I have a couple of cheap recipes that I know how to cook. I'll write out the ingredients for you and then I'll be able to relieve you in the kitchen for two nights."
She did fix lunch. Then, having been checked out on her ability to change Josh's diapers, she held him while Aunt Cassandra readied herself for the store. "I'll be back in a little bit," she said. "Feel free to munch or watch TV while he's asleep."
"Do you mind if I make a phone call? I have a phone card in my purse."
"Be my guest."
This time, she did set Josh down in his crib when he fell asleep. She made sure that he was on his back and tucked the covers over him. Then she made her phone call. She was running the vacuum when her aunt came back.
Aunt Cassandra did work her, but she also let her hold Joshua whenever he wasn't at her breast or in Uncle Jeremy's arms. The next afternoon, when Aunt Cassandra brought a broom and a bag from the store into the living room though, she insisted that Whitney leave him in his crib and again take the other end of the couch.
"Like holding him, don't you?" she asked.
"He's so.... I don't know, trusting or something. And warm."
"Tell me true. Any time in the future, if Joshua and I wanted absolutely opposite things, can you imagine siding against him?"
Could she? Against that warm bundle of trust and those tiny hands on her fingers. "Well, if what he wanted was wrong...." But Whitney wasn't even certain about that.
"Oh sure. You don't love a kid if you can't say 'no.'" Whitney had often thought how different her aunt and her mother were, but that line showed their sisterhood. "The thing is, you weren't much older than that when I first held you."
Whitney had heard the stories. For that matter, she did trust Aunt Cass to side with her. That's why she had called her in the first place.
"Honey," her aunt continued, "you've been a wonderful help these two days, and I knew that you wanted to see Joshua. But I still wasn't ready for a visit. And you're not the sort of kid to suggest a visit the day before you get on the bus. There was worry in your voice when you called."
Was she that transparent? "Everything's fine now. Really."
"And you're not the sort of girl to let her period take her by surprise."
"I said that I was sorry." Not that she couldn't see where this was going.
"How late was it?"
"Four days, maybe five; but everything is fine now."
"This time. Did you tell the boy?"
"Yeah. I asked if I could call, remember."
"What did he say?"
"He was out, but I told his mother to tell him that I was having a great time. He knew what I meant."
"When you told him that you might have caught. What did he say then?"
"That it couldn't have happened. I mean I still had my panties on, but he sprayed them good. He was right."
"Well, I would never recommend that procedure to a couple trying to have a baby," Aunt Cassandra said, "but it was a risk."
"I know that it was stupid." It hadn't felt stupid, though. It had felt exciting.
And, in the outcome, she had been borrowing trouble. But she'd called Aunt Cass that night. Aunt Cass had been available when she'd needed her shoulder to cry on, had thought that she would need her shoulder; and she deserved more attention than Whitney was giving her.
She brought her attention back from the past. "Catch!" Aunt Cassandra said. She flipped something through the air. After catching it, Whitney looked closely. Her face burned when she saw that it was a condom. "It's the wrong time to blush. When every student in your school is talking about that stupid Whitney girl who let herself get pregnant, that's the time to be embarrassed."
Was she supposed to give it to Jim? She'd die. Anyway, he'd take it as an invitation to intercourse; and who could blame him. She wasn't ready for that yet, was a lot less ready after the recent scare.
"I don't know..." she began.
"That's why you came to your Aunt Cassandra. I do know, I'm going to teach you. And if your mother hears about this, you'll never hold Joshua again.
"Now take this broomstick, pretend its your boyfriend -- what is his name?"
"Pretend that the broomstick is Jim. Well, not all of him. I want you to open the package and roll the rubber onto the broomstick as if you were rolling it on Jim."
The broom was some sort of industrial-grade push broom with an awfully heavy handle. Whitney fumbled with the packet. It was greasy, and she started from the wrong side and had to flip it over. Finally, though, she got almost all of it unrolled.
"Is he really that long?" Aunt Cassandra was obviously trying to hold back her laughter.
"Not really." She rolled it up to where she guessed it would go on Jim.
"Okay. You got it on, which is the main thing. That little flap at the end is where the sperm should end up. If you buy a box which doesn't have that, unroll a little before you place it against his dong. That'll give them a place to go. Now give it to me."
Aunt Cass rolled it back up, taking obvious care to get it into almost the original shape.
"These things are use-once. And it is his job to remove it and dispose of it. For practice, however, I think we'll reuse this one, and take it off carefully. It's not as if a tear is any danger so long as you're using a broomstick. Now, think again. This is Jim, or the next boy."
"Hey! What do you think I am?" Whitney was fairly sure that Jim was the one. There wouldn't be a next one.
"Or imagine that it's Brad Pitt. I don't care. Just don't treat it like a broomstick. C'mon, Whitney. This is what the guy thinks is the center of his being, the center of your relationship. Point again about where it would join his body."
Whitney chose a place. She wasn't at all sure, anymore. "Now put two fingers of your left hand around it there. You can hold it firmly, he won't even mind a gentle squeeze, but don't hold it tighter than you would want him to hold your arm." She got two fingers and her thumb around the broomstick. "Hold it with the fingers. Place your thumb on the side closest to you." She did everything she was told.
"Now," Aunt Cass continued, "that's his ego you're holding, his sacred identity. Touch the right side to the top. He'll feel that and react to it. Slowly, as if the organ meant as much to you as it does to him, roll it down until you reach your left hand. Now, you would let go of it. Instead, take a lower grip. Okay, roll it down to cover the last little bit. When you actually do it, make sure to brush the pubic hairs out of the way."
She felt embarrassment over her clumsiness, but also embarrassment over the pictures that Aunt Cass's words brought to her mind.
"I really think that you have it," Aunt Cass said. She waited while Whitney rolled the condom back off into a tight ring. "Now look at these."
"These" were a box of 11 more rubbers, and several compacts. "Thanks," she said. "I think."
"Well," Aunt Cass said, "it's not the sort of gift that I'll be offended if you don't use. It's just that I want you to have them when you want to have them, if that makes any sense at all." It sort of did. "These compacts all are empty, but they all latch well. You can have one or two of them for carrying in your purse. A couple of rubbers will fit inside any of them.
She took a deep breath. "Look, put the broom in your room and hide these and the practice rubber in there somewhere. Don't hide the broom. If we need it, it will be where you used it last. Anyway, you know how to put it on. You can practice without an audience."
Whitney followed instruction. Her aunt went to start dinner preparations.
"Your father," Aunt Cass continued when Whitney joined her, "gave me the sort of advice that only a brother-in-law can. A father can't say it to his daughter. I was getting towards the end of puberty, and feeling weird -- I had all these feelings and all this equipment that was new or newly active. I was supposed to be something which I had no idea how to be, and I wondered how I stacked up. You know how that is." Whitney knew quite well. "He took me for a walk around the block, we circled it four times. What he told me was that boys did think about me as sexy; I didn't need to worry about that. Boys my age didn't look at me and figure that I had less bosom than the playmate of the month; they were trying to get a guess at the shape of my breasts. And, he said, they were trying to figure out what was between my legs. So I never needed to worry about them thinking I was sexy.
"The next step, he said, was that a boy had the same worries I had with a lot more to justify it. The boy thought about sex morning, noon, and night; and he was pimply-faced with a breaking voice. He told me that when I found the man I wanted, he would almost certainly think of me as sexy; he would almost certainly not think of himself as sexy. If I found a way for me to think of him as sexy, and live in a way that showed that I thought him sexy: then the man would not only think of sex when he thought of me, he would think of me when he thought of sex. Which, your father suggested, was about a hundred times an hour."
"Now, he didn't take that any further. The next time that he mentioned that discussion was in a letter after I told you guys about the pregnancy. But I'm not a total dummy. Do you really think that I took all those psych. courses because I was fond of rats?"
"That's what Mom always said."
"Well, not the four legged kind. You and Kristin are only two years apart; that's why you always can tell what the other is thinking."
"Pfft!" Whitney could hardly remember one occasion when her baby sister had understood what she had said, let alone read her mind.
"Well, must be. You wouldn't think that my sister could speak for me, otherwise. Anyway, when you've been to college and seen the wide assortment of boys available, you make your choice. Then come see your Aunt Cassandra about being happy with that choice." Whitney really believed that she had already made her choice. But she knew that tone of voice, the seriousness trying to hide its seriousness. Her mother couldn't be wheedled out of such positions; she was sure that Aunt Cass couldn't either. She wondered if she and Kristin sounded alike to everyone but themselves. Horrible thought.
But that night, with everyone else asleep, Whitney thought about her lesson.
She dug the opened condom out of the bag and dragged the broom over to the bed. Resting the broom over a chair made both the angle and the height more realistic. Was Jim that large around? He'd sure looked huge the first time she'd seen him, but she'd come to accept that organ as just another part of him over later petting sessions. But Aunt Cass had told her not to treat it as just another part.
She remembered the first time that she'd let him undo her bra. "Ohh, Whit, ney" he'd said, dragging it out into three words. He'd touched her skin lightly, as if it might bite his fingers; and then his lips had attached to her nipple and sucked until it hurt. She hadn't meant to let him kiss her breasts that time, had meant to save that until later. But he had seemed so worshipful at first. Maybe that was how she should treat his organ, as something important in itself, the way he had treated her breast.
The way, for that matter, he had reacted to her lower hair the time that she hadn't worn panties under her jeans. He'd felt it often enough by then, felt the lower and more important parts; but when he'd pulled the jeans down and seen that she had nothing on underneath, he'd taken one deep breath and stared and stared. "It's so beautiful," he'd said, "you're so beautiful." She'd been afraid for a minute that he would kiss that.
Should she kiss him there? Should she express its importance that way? Girls did, but -- however excited he made her -- what she and Jim had between them was an expression of love. Kissing there seemed plain dirty to her. So she wouldn't.
She would treat it as important, though. She sat on the bed so that the broomstick was level with her breasts and pointing almost straight towards her face. She brought her fingers around it in a light grip. What would it feel like? Not as hard as this, but warmer. And alive. Every time she had seen Jim's it had been moving slightly. Which was why she had to hold it.
She tried to pretend that the cold wood was Jim's living flesh. She brought the rubber to his tip, his sensitive tip. After she felt the first rotation, she looked up into his face. She had to close her eyes to imagine it, but she pictured his reaction. He would smile, and she would see him blink as she pressed until the next little bit rolled on. She looked down to check how far she still had to go.
It was a live thing in her hands, now. It was Jim, the part that would enter her, the part of her love which would make her a woman. She rolled it down about half way to her fingers before looking again to his face. He was enjoying the experience, but he was also looking at her with desire -- and with love. Of course, he did love her; and he would only love her more when she pleasured his most sensitive organ.
She slowly rolled the band down to her fingers, and then dropped her fingers and rolled it down a further way. All the time, she imagined his loving, and lusting, face.
After rolling the rubber up again and dropping it into the bag, Whitney got into bed. Too turned on for immediate sleep, she thought about what she had done. Then she thought about what she would do. Would she really put a condom on Jim? Would she really let him push himself inside her? It was her self, not something to share with Jim. But she had once thought that about his touching her between the legs, and now she wouldn't even consider his stopping that. She reacted to his fingers in ways she didn't to her own. Not that her own weren't nice, just that his were different.
Part of the problem, she decided as she began to play with her nipples, was that she had been playing out a scenario which she wouldn't really accept in real life. And Jim wouldn't expect her to walk up to him and roll a rubber down his cock without any petting. That wouldn't be how they started.
He would undress her first, but her body was wearing only a night dress, and her mind was well beyond that stage. She pulled it up to her neck in one motion. He would stroke her breasts as she was doing now. She tickled them lightly, dancing her fingers across their tops. Wishing that Jim were there to really apply his lips and tongue, she kept her left hand brushing over her nipples while her right delved between her legs.
For as long as she could bear it, she imitated Jim's teasing technique on her vulva. First she slipped one finger between her outer lips to tickle the joined inner ones as lightly as possible. When these parted, she moved the finger between them to carry her lubrication all around the magic button. She couldn't continue the teasing much further, though. As her crisis neared, she rubbed around the neighborhood of the button. Then she stroked directly over it and soared.
And crashed. She barely managed to pull the night dress down and turn on her side before she fell asleep.
Her mind didn't quite wake up for breakfast, though her body managed to make it to the table. That afternoon, though, she cooked dinner for three, leaving Aunt Cass responsible only for Joshua. The pots were scrubbed, although still out, when Uncle Jeremy got home. She filled the dishwasher as well, taking full responsibility for the meal from first to last.
This hadn't allowed her much time for Joshua that day, but she did change him and hold him while his parents bathed. They shard the bathroom, which -- she supposed -- was fairly common for married people; it would bother her, though. Uncle Jeremy, who had been effusive in his praise during dinner, seemed almost like he was avoiding her after his shower. He ducked into his room without a word. Aunt Cass came out of the bathroom two or three minutes later. She was a high color from the shower, but she did speak to her, after -- of course -- speaking to Joshua.
"Are you going to thank your cousin for her nice care? No! All that interests you right now is Mama and food. Well," she said as she adjusted Joshua on her breast, "Mama is grateful. And Jeremy is grateful, too, Whitney. There aren't many times that we can both take our attention off Joshua at the same time. And the dinner was superb."
The dinner hadn't been bad, but Whitney guessed that the best flavor to Aunt Cass was the fact that somebody else had cooked it. When Whitney got out of her own shower, Aunt Cass's door was closed, and no light shown under the door. Suspecting that they would not appreciate a good-night from their guest, Whitney hurried into her room with its wooden facsimile. She felt suddenly jealous of her Aunt Cassandra for the flesh and blood that shared her bed.
Tonight, she wasn't satisfied with an illusory Jim. If she had to play with an imaginary playmate, she'd conjure up the sexiest one she could. Having had intermittent times to think during her dinner preparation, she'd toyed with several possibilities before settling on Ricky Martin.
For Ricky, she'd wear the robe without the night dress. He'd be surprised to find her in his room, but soon intrigued by a woman who was willing to undress him. When she got him down to his shorts, he'd remove her robe. She could feel his hands all over her, her breasts, her thighs, between them.
When she was at the highest level of excitement where she could possibly stop, she pushed his hands away. Now it was his turn to be naked. She admired the lithe, bronze, dancer's body before stripping the shorts away. The organ matched him perfectly. It was long and straight, and his control of it was as perfect as his control of the rest of his body. He froze in place with it proudly thrust out while she placed the rubber against him.
She slowly stroked it as she rolled the rubber down its length, but his slow smile was her only reward. Ricky enjoyed her teasing him, but he wasn't going to give in to that teasing. When she reached where she thought the base must be, she let go and sprawled back on the bed.
His hands were on her immediately, teasing her breasts again, tickling the insides of her thighs. And he penetrated to her wetness in a few seconds. There his strokes began gently, but soon turned commanding. She spasmed, spasmed again.
It was a long time before the cold brought her out of her daze. Then she had to roll the rubber up and drop it into the bag yet again. By the time she had leaned the broom up against the wall and got under the covers, she was shivering. The night dress and robe were too far away, though, and she soon warmed the sheets.
The next day was her last full day -- and the last time that they would have without Uncle Jeremy. Not that she didn't like him, but he did limit the topics which she could discuss with Aunt Cass.
Whitney thought, while she was cleaning up the kitchen, that she was less sure than she had been on the previous night that Ricky Martin would be surprised by a girl ready to undress him. In the cold light of day, it seemed to her that there were girls all over the world eager to undress him. Jim would never be as sexy, but being number one for Jim was one hell of a lot sexier than being number one million, or whatever, for Ricky.
"I want to say again," Aunt Cass said, reminding Whitney that she was not alone, "I'm not recommending that you use my gifts. I'd hate it if I learned that you went all the way because protection was available. And you should know that they are by no means perfect, a good deal less safe than what you have been doing."
"Yeah. Which you said wasn't particularly safe." She was in no hurry to use those gifts. She was still a bit scared from the experience of the previous week. And Jim's response, even if he had turned out to be right, hadn't been the most reassuring one. He could have hugged her tight and proposed on the spot. On the other hand, he could have told her that it was her problem; at least, he had seen it as their problem. But she could tell that she would use the gifts sometime. It didn't take a genius to see that they wouldn't stop where they were, and -- scared as she had been -- she didn't feel like going back to chaste kisses fully dressed. Was that even possible with Jim? "Where does this pan go?"
"Where you got it, the lower cabinet right next to the stove. No! Left-hand side. Anyway, I'd think that panty-liners would, if not solve that problem, improve the odds at least. I could put those pans away, if you wait fifteen minutes."
"No. I want to say that I handled the whole thing. Will Uncle Jeremy mind if I cook again tonight?"
"Mind? Jeremy loved your dinner."
Whitney decided not to mention his avoiding her later that evening. "This go in the same place?"
"You got it. Mind you, he may well have liked even more the later half hour that you held Joshua. It was the first shower that we have shared in months. I kept to the tub after the third month; people slip in showers, even when they aren't huge like I was."
Whitney hadn't thought of Aunt Cassandra's time in the bathroom as erotic. Her face began to burn. She turned all her attention to the counter top she was cleaning.
"Anyway," her aunt continued, oblivious to her blush, "you've been a great help in all sorts of ways. I just hope that I've been as much help to you as you expected."
"Well, you've been a great help in unexpected ways. And I have enjoyed holding Joshua. As for the help I expected, I'm not complaining."
"That's fair. You're being more thorough on that counter than I ever was. Finish it up a little faster; you're about to have a cousin who would enjoy your attention."
And she enjoyed his attention as well. On her last day, she spent time with the baby unless she were cooking or he were feeding. Uncle Jeremy took over the after-dinner cleanup. "I know Cassandra is anxious about my bonding, but I'll have plenty of time tomorrow. Joshua won't see you for months."
So Whitney spent almost no more time consciously thinking about Jim until she started packing that night. It was much harder to imagine any way that she and Jim could share a shower than to figure out a way for them to share a bed, maybe because they had managed the latter already. Well, they just would; her parents and sister could all be gone, or his family. Anyway, she needed to concentrate on the packing. She hid the practice condom under her pillow, buried the sack that Aunt Cass had given her among her clothes, put aside the clothes she would wear on the bus, and saved a place in the suitcase for her night clothes. These she wore to the bathroom for her shower.
She washed her face and got all her hair into the shower cap. When the water temperature was adjusted, she stood with her face under the shower rinsing it one more time. That was when Jim slipped into the shower behind her.
Whitney turned off the cold water and took a brief rinse from the tepid water flowing from the hot pipe. She dried herself, being too cold to enjoy the comfort of Jim's imaginary presence. Indeed, she banished him while she changed the tampon and used the toilet. One last glance in the mirror, however, showed her the high color -- and erect nipples -- that Jim would see in her room.
In night dress and robe, she crossed to her room. She latched the door and adjusted the broom across the chair once more. When Jim returned to remove her robe, she laid it on the far side of her bed. She'd learned something from the previous night.
When it finally passed over, she pulled the night dress down. She grabbed the blanket so that it covered her when she rolled towards the side of the bed. When she woke in the morning, she saw the rubber-covered broom handle. Luckily, the door was latched and nobody else saw it. She rolled the stiff condom up for the last time, bundled it in some tissues, and hid it in the wastebasket.
She continued to cuddle Joshua or help with the housework until it was time to leave for her bus. One of her last tasks was to empty the wastebasket in the room she had been using into the kitchen garbage.
The End A Clean Sweep Uther Pendragon firstname.lastname@example.org 2000/04/12 2001/09/03 2002/01/24 2003/03/13 2004/02/27 Other stories in which condoms are important are listed at: Pendragon's Challenge. Another story in which a baby figures prominently can be found at: "Fortissimo" (MF cons lac wl) This story is indexed at: Young Love The directory to all my stories can be found at: Index to Uther Pendragon's Website