IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, or otherwise forbidden by law 
to read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do 
something else. 

This material is Copyright, 2001, 2003, Uther Pendragon.  All 
rights reserved.  I specifically grant the right of downloading 
and keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long 
as this notice is included.  Reposting requires previous 
permission.

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.


                           HEART BALL 
                       by Uther Pendragon
                    nogardneprethu@gmail.com

 

Part 4:
Continued from Part 3


Having two personal problem to stew over and more than the 
usual amount of homework Wednesday night, Shannon found when she 
reached the Pollocks' that Kyle -- normally a low-maintenance 
fifth grader -- hadn't been turning in his homework.  Instead of 
burying himself in his room, he had to sit across the kitchen 
table from her and show her his homework as he completed each 
assignment. Kyle's reaction could have been have predicted; he 
found ten times as many things to distract him, and her, as any 
adult could possibly have found.  Half his homework was still 
undone when his bedtime arrived. 

She was rather frazzled when Steve appeared.  More than that, 
this Kyle was a different boy; she no longer trusted him to sleep 
through the night.  The house was a "ranch," and the door to 
Kyle's room was not six feet from the living room.  When their 
books were spread out, she led Steve into the kitchen before 
giving him a welcoming kiss. 

"What is this?" he asked. 

"As much privacy as we are going to get.  I'm nervous." 

"Where is a glass?" 

"Here."  She got him one.  He ran the water, filled the glass, 
poured half out. 

"Now," he said, "we have a reason to be in here."  He had a 
wad of tissues in his coat pocket just in case she would repeat 
her delightful strokes.  That possibility was looking dimmer. 

"You have a devious mind.  I like that in a guy." 

When they kissed again, she began to relax in his arms.  He 
felt her breasts press into his chest.  He left her mouth to 
sprinkle kisses over her face, but the differences in height made 
that uncomfortable.  He stopped on her forehead while pulling her 
sweatshirt out of her skirt.  He raised it enough to reach her 
bra clasp. 

He liked the next kiss better, with her breasts a little 
softer and an inch lower on his chest.  Even through her 
sweatshirt and his clothes, he could feel the hardness of her 
nipples. 

Shannon never mentioned the annoyance of a bunched-up bra.   
The alternative was obvious, and she didn't want to remove her 
bra here.  The kiss was great, though, and there was always 
something sexy about having her breasts swinging free. 

Steve hunched down, hugged Shannon to him, straightened up, 
and set her on the edge of the countertop.  After a little 
adjustment, he was standing between her legs, and her face was 
above his.  They kissed again, his tongue playing in her mouth.  
He ran his hands under her shirt, up her back, and then around to 
cup her breasts.  All that smoothness was against his palms; his 
thumbs played with her nipples. 

Somehow, the different angle made the kiss different for 
Shannon. She had her arms about Steve and her face above his; his 
hands were busy at her breasts but not holding her to him.  She 
was kissing him rather than his kissing her.  At that thought, 
she broke the main kiss to kiss his nose and forehead as he 
sometimes did for her.  When she returned to his mouth, she 
invaded it with her tongue.  She felt daring, as well as turned 
on. 

Steve's mind was concentrating on keeping his hands gentle on 
Shannon's breasts.  It couldn't handle her tongue in his mouth.  
His body, with no such limits, arched forward rubbing his 
hardness along her belly.  Luckily, their clothing 
interfered. 

Shannon had felt his erection pressing against her many times 
at dances, but usually closer to her rib cage than to her groin.  
Indeed, those experiences usually marked the less erotic parts of 
their evenings; and she'd always thought of the male reaction as 
slightly humorous. 

This time there was nothing funny about it.  This time Steve 
was pressed against her mound, an inch from their having real 
sex; and it turned her almost all the way on.  When she curled 
her legs around him and hugged him to her body with all four 
limbs, the action was only partly motivated by her realization 
that they couldn't go further while pressed together.  Mostly it 
was instinctive acceptance of her mate. 

Somehow Steve realized through his fog of lust that Shannon's 
lovely breasts were being crushed by this position.  He dropped 
his hands from them and hugged her.  His left hand pulled her 
hips towards him while his right petted compulsively up and down 
her back. 

They had to breathe, and eased back.  When Steve put his hand 
on Shannon's knee, she loosened her legs.  His stroke up the 
inside of her thigh tightened them again.  "I'm not trying to 
stop you," she said. 

"That's okay."  He reached between them to caress her mound.  
They kissed again, but his fingers couldn't quite reach where he 
wanted them.  Which was where she wanted them, too. 

"Did you mean what you said about knowing that there were 
things that you can't have?" she asked. 

"I guess so.  What did I say?" 

"I'm going to wear white on my wedding day.  Do you know what 
that means?" 

"You mean that you are going to be a virgin then." 

"Will you respect that limit?" 

"Of course, Shannon.  What do you think I am?" 

She thought he was a male, a teenage male at that.  But she 
didn't have quite the words to express that.  "Bring that chair 
over here so it faces this way.  Then sit on it." 

He wondered what he had done, but he obeyed her direction.   
She hopped down and walked over to him.  She sat on his lap 
straddling him, careful that she wasn't sitting on any part of 
her skirt.  "Are you comfortable this way?" 

He shifted until her weight was balanced.  "I'm okay."  More 
than okay, the discomfort of her weight hardly compared to his 
delight in her accessibility. 

"Don't lift my top.  I don't want Kyle coming out and seeing 
me." That sounded more limiting than she had intended.  She took 
his hand and put it under the sweatshirt. 

Steve couldn't kiss her breasts like this, but it was 
Shannon's call.  Besides, she knew the kids; he had to trust her 
judgment on that.  Her breasts were delightful, but he began 
stroking her thigh after a minute.  She made no move to stop 
him. 

Shannon was actually enjoying this less than she had the kiss 
on the countertop.  She'd jumped down, after all, so that he 
could touch her between her legs.  Finally he did, stroking so 
softly that it tickled.  Even the tickle was arousing, and his 
tongue was delightful in her mouth. 

Steve was trying to figure out Shannon's shape through the 
layers of cloth.  He'd seen diagrams in sex-ed books and pictures 
in the raunchier magazines; but all he'd seen of Shannon was the 
mound, and that only once.  His curiosity didn't mean that he 
wasn't enjoying the feel, of course.  He was also enjoying her 
response.  She was breathing into his mouth, and he could gauge 
every increase in her excitement by the raggedness of her breath.  
Her hand was on the back of his neck, controlling the firmness of 
the kiss.  As she would press her mouth more firmly into his, he 
would press more firmly with his fingers. 

Shannon didn't want to break this off, but her breast was 
starting to feel sore.  She grabbed Steve's arm through her shirt 
and switched it to her left breast.  "More gently," she said. 

He felt guilty.  He *knew* that he should move from one 
of her breasts to the other.  He touched her much more gently, 
above and below.  Shannon broke the kiss and touched the arm that 
he had thrust between her legs.  "Less gently," she said.  Then 
she had to wait for Steve to stop laughing. 

Soon, however, he was again brushing her nipple very gently.  
Soon he was stroking her lips quite firmly through her panties.  
Soon she, kissing him, feeling all of these sensations, started 
on her journey. 

Steve could feel more dampness through the cloth.  That must 
have made his detection of her shape easier, because her lips 
felt as if they had become larger.  The confinement of his jeans 
was becoming a torture, but he could bear that torture for the 
rewards his hands and mouth were receiving.  Shannon pressed 
harder against his mouth and breathed more rapidly. 

She was soaring.  He was taking her as high as she had ever 
taken herself.  Then she shattered with a gasp.  Unable to 
support her own weight, she slumped in his arms. 

Steve felt her gasp into him.  Then he had to abandon his 
stroking to keep her from falling.  She gasped an inch from his 
ear for what seemed like a really long time.  Maybe it was merely 
that his foot had fallen asleep.  Anyway, he figured that an 
armful of Shannon was worth a little discomfort. 

Finally, she gathered herself together and stood up.  She was 
not quite steady on her feet, but better than Steve.  He didn't 
even attempt to rise for another few minutes.  He was on his 
feet, and considering whether to mention the Kleenex he had 
brought for his own relief, when the garage door opened.  It made 
an unholy racket, startling them into action.  Shannon fixed her 
bra immediately; Steve headed for the other room.  His coat would 
hide his erection. 

Mr. Pollock didn't seem to be in a very good mood when he came 
in, especially considering how much liquor he had obviously 
consumed.  He paid Shannon, though, and accepted Steve's offer to 
drive her home.  Steve would have worried with Mr. Pollock at the 
wheel.  Steve thought about the Kleenex again on the short drive, 
but there wasn't really anywhere to park.  Shannon stopped him a 
block from her house to give him a big kiss.  He dropped her off 
at her door, drove home, marked the mileage and gas level, and 
went upstairs. 

In his room, he savored his memory and the odor still on his 
fingers.  He felt too sleepy, though, to linger on his road to 
completion.  He still had the sticky Kleenex in bed with him when 
he awoke the next morning.    

 - = -  

"Tell me, Shannon," Ken asked her Tuesday morning in 
school, "do you think the ball for Valentine's Day should have 
more slow dances or more fast dances?" 

"Valentine's Day?  Definitely more slow dances."  For that 
matter, Steve and she sat out half the fast dances these 
days. 

"Well, you know, if you were on the committee for that dance, 
you could represent that view." 

She laughed.  Ken might play the fool, but he wasn't one.   
"Why don't you ask Steve to be on the committee?" 

"I plan to," he said.  "I thought that he'd be likelier to 
agree if you already had." 

"I hadn't thought about us both being on a committee 
together." 

"Do think about it," he said.  "Frankly, there are places 
where I wouldn't want a pair of lovebirds like you.  Get twice 
the attention to the subject from one of the couple than from 
both. But this dance is about romance, and *my* ideas aren't 
going to be sufficient." 

"I'll think about it."  She would also think about a new view 
of Ken.  Student council was enough of a joke that having the 
class prankster as president had made a twisted kind of sense, 
but it had functioned under Ken as well as it had the previous 
three years.  And the themes for the balls had been somewhat more 
original. 

English, her only class with Steve, was already over for the 
day; but she mentioned Ken's question at lunch. 

"We're both awfully busy," Steve said.  "And we'd have to help 
decorate on a Saturday morning.  I work then." 

"Well, neither of us has been what you'd call active in 
extra-curricular activities, your chess club excepted.  This 
might be sort of fun.  'What did you do in high school, Mommy?' 
'I babysat, dear.' That doesn't sound like much." 

The concept of Shannon with her children distracted Steve.   
Would they be his children?  "You decide.  If you want it, we 
can." He'd worked extra time for Hauksbee to cover for others; 
he'd dropped the chess club because too many of their matches 
were on Saturday mornings.  The old man would let him off for one 
day. "Tell me what you decide." 

Their conversation veered in other directions, and the subject 
had entirely slipped Steve's mind by the time he walked into 
calculus class. 

It hadn't slipped Ken's mind.  "You know, Steve," he said.   
"The ball for Valentine's Day is coming up.  I talked to Shannon 
about having the two of you on the committee.  Frankly, when I 
think of romance, you and Shannon spring to mind.  The school has 
a lot of more demonstrative couples, but I don't think that their 
idea of romance would fly by the administration." 

"She told me." 

"What do you think?" 

"It's her decision." 

"For both of you?"  Ken raised an eyebrow. 

"You sure aren't going to get me on the committee without 
her." 

Ken didn't get to Shannon before the end of the day; he had 
other people to ask as well.  The first thing he did was to raise 
her left hand for an ostentatious examination.  "Steve said that 
you are going to decide for the two of you," he explained.  "I 
thought that I should check for a wedding ring." 

"It's not like you think."  Though she didn't mind the 
suggestion that it was.  "He said I could decide *this* for 
the two of us." 

"And have you?  We could really use your input.  The two of 
you come to the dances, so you must know what you've enjoyed and 
not enjoyed.  You show brains in class, which many on the 
planning teams don't, quite frankly.  Some of them have brains, 
but shut them down for class; even so...." 

"I think Steve was just tired of your bull.  If I decide, you 
won't bother him.  I haven't decided yet." 

"You won't be disappointed if you decide to do it," Ken said.  
Since she had no particular expectations, the promise was more 
certain than Ken probably had intended. 

Steve was still taking the bus; the weather -- while clear -- 
had been windy and bitterly cold.  This afternoon, however, was 
still and only a degree or two below freezing.  You could almost 
see the piles of snow receding from the center of the sidewalks 
while you watched. 

On the walk home, she could stroll and think about deciding 
for Steve.  She had previously thought of marrying Steve, from 
picturing him in a tux waiting for her at the end of the aisle, 
to imagining a honeymoon with him, to considering what their kids 
might look like. 

She hadn't thought about couples sharing decisions; indeed, 
for the last four years she had been anxious to get out of her 
house and make her *own* decisions.  But her parents shared 
decisions, especially about her.  She had a pretty good idea 
about the fault lines, but seldom could use that knowledge.  The 
last time her dad had spanked her, it was because she'd gone to a 
horror movie with his permission after her mother had refused 
hers. "You don't have permission," he'd told her, "when you cheat 
to get it."  But, she had figured out even then, he wouldn't have 
spanked her for sneaking out.  Trying to play one parent off 
against the other raised the penalties. 

The past few months, however, Steve and she had been sharing a 
lot of decisions.  School was most important.  But was it really?  
Several times, Steve had backed off because she wouldn't make out 
when he expected her to.  Was that sharing a decision?  Maybe it 
was just his realization of her body belonging to her, and he 
didn't have a right to vote on what he did with it.  Even in the 
meadow, when he had gone *way* over the line, he had let her 
end it when she wanted to. 

And, if it was her body and her decision, where did breaking 
in on him in the bathroom fit?  It had been his body then.  He'd 
tried to hide, and she hadn't let him. 

She was thinking so hard that she almost walked into Mr.  
Markham from two doors down.  "My!  Shannon," he said, "you were 
really concentrating there.  What do you have to bother your 
pretty head about, a pretty young girl like you?" 

Her face flamed.  "I'm really sorry I wasn't watching where I 
was going."  She ducked away before he could repeat his 
question.    

 - = - 

Her mother was off showing a series of houses to demanding 
clients and not due back for hours.  She'd left detailed 
instructions for dinner, and Shannon started in on them 
immediately.  Half an hour later, her mother walked in saying, 
"They made an offer on the first house.  Now we have to see 
whether the seller will come down." 

"Want me to finish?" Shannon asked.  If she did, she didn't 
have to do dishes. 

"Let's work together.  We'll shove the dishes off on Dad." 

So they cooked together, her mother actually taking the helper 
role when the jobs divided that way.  The good feelings lasted 
through dinner, which was dominated by her mother's blow-by-blow 
account of getting the clients to see the advantages of the house 
she had been showing. 

Allison Bryant broke out the mint chocolate chip ice cream she 
had bought to celebrate.  Next year, they'd be celebrating her 
sales and Wayne's raise with wine again.  But she'd rather have 
her daughter with her and stick to ice cream.  For that matter, 
they let Shannon drink when she was home.  Better learn 
moderation at home than taste her first booze in the company of 
boozing fellow adolescents. 

"Do you have a job tonight, Shannon?" she asked. 

"No.  Not even a date.  I need to get on top of 'Romeo and 
Juliet.'"  And Steve needed that more, although she didn't want 
him getting on top of Juliet.  She felt her smile, and was 
briefly afraid her mother would see it. 

"I was just thinking," Mrs. Bryant continued.  "Your father 
and I used to celebrate my sales with wine.  The ice cream was to 
include little Shannon in the celebration." 

"Gee thanks, Mom."  The response was perfunctory.  She knew 
her mother only currently used the term to describe her in 
earlier times.  Still, it was worth some response to remind her 
she shouldn't. 

"So.  Should I have bought wine for the three of us 
instead?" 

Well, Shannon appreciated the offer.  On the other hand, it 
was a *big* bowl of ice cream, and her mother usually poured 
Shannon half a glass of wine -- sour wine, to boot. 

Wayne Bryant didn't like the idea at all.  He remembered the 
wine less as celebration than as getting Allison in the mood for 
the real celebration.  He could pour his own glass of Maker's 
Mark when he chose, but his diet didn't allow for ice cream 
unless Allison made the exceptions.  He looked longingly at the 
bowl of ice cream until inspiration led him to the liquor cabinet 
in the living room. 

He came back to the table with a bottle of creme de menthe.   
He poured a little on Shannon's ice cream, more on his own, and 
passed the bottle to Allison.  She took very little. 

"This is good!" Shannon said.  If she had known that her 
parents had this stuff, she'd never have sampled her father's 
whiskey back when she was in eighth grade.  Of course, if she'd 
sneaked samples of this stuff, she might not have stopped so 
soon. 

They tasted chocolate, and mint, and a small celebration.   
They tasted the good feelings of being in a family.  "Really,"  
said Mrs. Bryant, "we're going to miss you next year, 
Shannon." 

"I'm going to miss you, too, Mom.  Miss both of you."  And she 
knew that this was true, crazy as they drove her sometimes. 

"We know you have to grow up and leave," Mrs. Bryant 
continued.  "By the way, have you sent your acceptance in 
yet?" 

"No, Mom.  I haven't even decided *where* I'm going to 
send the acceptance yet.  I have until May first, and there are 
good reasons to wait till nearly then." 

"I can't believe that you are considering going to the U of I 
when Albion has accepted you." 

Wayne Bryant sighed for the feeling of togetherness which had 
lasted so briefly.  Maybe he could lighten the conversation.  
"Well some people choose their schools for the faculty; some for 
the student body." 

"If Steven felt as strongly as she does about being together, 
he would go to Albion."  The two of them were going on fewer 
dates; Shannon had stopped campaigning for a later curfew.   
Allison could see that the first intensity was wearing off; why 
couldn't her daughter.  She turned towards Shannon.  "Maybe he's 
right; maybe it's time for you two to give each other a little 
space." 

Shannon stared at her mother.  Steve had never asked for "a 
little space."  A little privacy for immediate relief was the 
maximum he'd wanted.  He'd never said that he wouldn't go to 
Albion, though he had never said that he would, either.  The 
point that her mother couldn't see is that asking Steve to change 
colleges for her was promising to marry him.  It was worse than 
accepting an engagement ring.  Break an engagement, and he had a 
ring that another girl might not want; her mother wanted her to 
ask Steve to accept a *life* that he did not want in order 
to be with her. 

And, of course, if they did marry, she wanted Steve to be well 
prepared for his profession.  They would get more money, and 
Steve would be happier.  He wanted to be a good chemical 
engineer, maybe a good chemist. 

"You know, Mom," she said, "if I had to choose today between a 
future in which I certainly will marry Steve, and a future in 
which I certainly *won't*, I'd choose the future including 
Steve.  Just so you know what the choice is, if you make me 
choose." 

Allison couldn't guess what had brought that on.  The last 
thing that she wanted was to make Shannon choose so young.  The 
problem with Shannon's fixation on Steven at seventeen was 
seventeen not Steven.  She knew that Shannon would never admit 
it, but it was her happiness they worried about.  Steven was 
great from a parental viewpoint -- sober, hardworking, reasonably 
clean cut.  It wasn't as if he wanted to play baseball 
professionally or even go to medical school; chemists were paid 
well, but anybody who took the classes could get the work. 

She would love to see them give each other a little space for 
four years.  If Shannon still wanted Steven after seeing a 
college full of boys, God bless her.  And if Steven's eyes 
wandered, better before marriage than after. 

"Well, Chick," Wayne said.  "I think you should consider what 
your mother is saying.  But this is *your* decision.  If the 
school will take you and we can possibly afford it, we'll send 
you off and pay the tuition."  Which was, he figured, the minimal 
expression of what he and Allison had decided years ago. 

They continued eating their ice cream as separately as three 
people can at the same table.  Strangers thrown together by 
restaurant crowding would have related more closely.  Shannon 
went upstairs to do her studying; her parents stayed behind. 

Wayne suddenly remembered what Shannon was going to read.  
"'Romeo and Juliet'!  Why can't the school system teach them 
*The Story of O*?  She'll be planning an elopement within 
the hour." 

His wife wasn't amused.  "It's generous of you to promise her 
the college fund that I earned." 

"As opposed to the money which bought this ice cream?  And 
this house, and the gas you put in your Taurus to take your 
clients around, for that matter.  That's all *our* money, 
the money that I earned.  Look, we agreed that your commissions 
would go into college bonds for Shannon; we didn't agree that 
they would go into a fund which you could use to blackmail 
her." 

"First she tells me that I am forcing her to marry Steven, and 
then you tell me that I am blackmailing her." 

"No," he admitted, "you are not.  If she sent a rejection 
letter to Albion and an acceptance to U of I, you would agree to 
her decision.  But you can't have it both ways.  If telling her 
that fact is a betrayal, then you want to use that money to 
persuade her to accept your school choice." 

"I still don't see why they couldn't both go to Albion.  Do 
you?" 

"Yes."  He figured that, if Allison wanted to hide from the 
truth, she shouldn't ask point-blank questions.  "If you want to 
do something, something particular, you prepare as best you can 
to do that thing.  You don't buy the generic-brand education and 
pretend that it is as good as the custom model.  And employers 
know that.  Go to the personnel department of a chemical firm and 
say, 'I have a good, well-rounded, education; I want to be a 
chemist.' They'll ask you, 'Then why didn't you get the best 
preparation to be a chemist?' And the best preparation is 
*not* in a small school with no great interest in the 
natural sciences." 

He could distinguish among her tears, even from her back.   
They had been married more than two decades, for God's sake.  The 
tears she took from the table were those of anger.  He finished 
her bowl of ice cream before stacking the dishes in the 
dishwasher.  He figured that he deserved the treat; he wasn't 
going to get any other pleasure that night.    

 - = -  

Shannon did the minimum necessary on her other homework before 
opening "Romeo and Juliet."  She wished she could look up the 
notes in the big copy of *Folger's Shakespeare* that her 
parents kept downstairs, but she didn't want it badly enough to 
return to the front lines.  The language was such a trap, both in 
its beauty and in its strangeness, that she'd read passages 
without noticing what was happening.  This time, she put a list 
of the parts of each scene down on paper, then she listed what 
she knew because of that section.  The flow of the play started 
to become clearer. 

Midway through this exercise, she got a call from Mrs. Jensen.  
They wanted her for Tuesday a week from then.  She checked her 
calendar and agreed.  While she was downstairs, she did get the 
Folger's and lug it upstairs. 

Apparently families had *always* resented their 
daughters' falling in love.  The Capulets, at least, had some 
excuse.  The only thing that her parents had against Steve was 
that she loved him.  And, for her mother, that he might interfere 
with Shannon's going to Albion.  She should send an acceptance to 
the U of I tomorrow; that would show Mom! 

The problem was that she didn't want to go there without 
Steve. And Steve might get into IIT.  Would he go to IIT without 
her? Should he go to IIT without her, if it were her decision to 
make? 

Well, he shouldn't because that would tear them apart.  But a 
degree from IIT might produce a greater income for him for their 
entire lives together.  And would their lives be together? 

At this point, Shannon realized that she was done studying for 
that night.  She got into her night clothes and into bed to do 
her worrying in comfort. 

Albion was not that much farther from Chicago than Champaign 
was. Either distance would require an overnight stay to make a 
visit worthwhile.  With any luck at all, IIT would turn Steve 
down; but she felt like a dog for even thinking that.  She added 
a quick mental note to God that she had *not* asked for 
that.  If they accepted Steve, the same conditions applied as the 
ones on Albion which anyone but her mother could see.  If Steve 
turned down his best chance at education to be with her, she owed 
him permanence. (If he wanted it; he hadn't quite said that he 
did.) 

Ken had thought that putting them both on his piddling 
committee needed a wedding ring.  Now she was making decisions 
for both of them for their entire future.  Assuming that Steve 
would go along, and she had to assume that for these decisions.   
She could sure see being married to Steve.  What she'd told her 
mom was perfectly true.  But she didn't want to make that 
decision tonight, and it was likely that Steve didn't either. 

And was it fair for her to decide in ways that she would 
resent Steve's doing?  What if Steve had broken into a bathroom 
knowing that she was there?  Of course, he was really in that 
house under her invitation; but that didn't work.  She'd have 
screamed if he'd interrupted her in a bathroom in his own house.   
And that didn't even take into account what she'd known he was 
doing. 

Somehow, it was different; but she couldn't say how.  Steve 
might well disagree with her on the difference, and it would be 
fair if he did. 

They could wait for the next step until she was ready; it was 
still her body.  Steve could decide to go to school where they 
couldn't be together; it was still his future.  She didn't want 
to put the same demands on him that her mother was putting on 
her.  She would even give him one more chance to back off before 
she put them on the dance committee. 

And she would apologize for breaking in on him and holding him 
there without his permission.  That, however, led to her memory 
of the sensations when she did that holding.  It had been hot and 
firm, it had jumped in her hand when the stuff had spurted 
out. 

That, she realized, was how it would act inside her.  It would 
not only penetrate her, it would jerk in her depths as it had 
jerked in her hand.  Somehow, the thought was very sexy.  Her 
nipples were suddenly hard, and she stroked them.  After she 
moved her right hand between her legs, when her tension was 
building, she remembered the moment.  Something inside her, where 
that pulsing would be some day, pulsed in sympathy with it as her 
time came.  Her mind was still struggling with putting all these 
sensations together as she curled up to sleep, but she didn't 
worry much about that.  Her body seemed ready enough.    

 - = -  

She caught Steve when they were leaving English the next 
morning. "We have to talk," she said. 

"Here?"  He turned in her direction.  Her next class was clear 
over on the other side of the building.  Usually, she was the one 
who didn't want to talk that time of the day. 

"No.  We need to talk at some length.  But one thing.  Do you 
mind if I sign us both up for Ken's dance committee?" 

"Go ahead.  I said that.  But I didn't drive today."  Which 
meant that he couldn't drive her home.  His mother, who was the 
office worker for a suite of dentists, worked Saturdays but not 
Wednesdays.  Sometimes Steve took the car. 

"I'm sitting for Mrs. Green tonight.  Come over after 
work." 

That was news worth slipping half a minute late into physics 
class.  All that earned him was a glare from Mr. Babaian and the 
next question.  He had to fumble with his notes, but his answer 
was correct.    

 - = -  

Shannon caught up with Ken on her way out of lunch period.   
"You can sign both of us up," she said. 

"That's great!  Thanks."  And he was off pursuing another 
victim before getting into line himself. 

In AP history just then, they were studying the election of 
1860. The war itself would occupy the rest of the year.  Mr.  
Peters took the whole period to deal with the Constitutional 
Union party, which refused to discuss the slavery issue, even 
though that was *the* issue.    

 - = -  

The Green brats were at war with one another.  She had to 
referee three fights and patch up a bloody nose, but it was 
better than when they were conspiring together.  She fixed dinner 
for them while they bitched about the menu.  Each of them ate 
twice what she did, and then complained about the meal until she 
chased them to bed.  As a substitute babysitter, she assumed that 
their mother was taking care of baths. 

She took a second helping as soon as her nerves settled down.  
Then she ran through her homework, leaving Shakespeare for last.  
She made her preparations for Steve a few minutes before he was 
due, taking off both bra and panties.  Somehow, she always felt 
hotter in the time just before her period.  And, of course, the 
consequences of going too far were less.  Not that she was going 
to go too far tonight. 

She looked out when the bell rang, and then opened the door to 
Steve.  "Lo, what light through yonder doorway breaks?" he 
proclaimed.  "It is the east and Shannon is the sun."  Meanwhile 
she was holding the door open and getting cold. 

"I'll kiss you," she said, "but keep those cold hands to 
yourself."  Even so, his lips and face were cold.  They ended up 
rubbing noses.  Cute, but Steve's was a bit runny. 

"Want me to wash my hands?"  He figured that it had worked 
before. 

"Later.  We have to talk."  She pointed him to the other side 
of the dining room table from her books. 

He took off his coat; then he spread his schoolwork out while 
he asked, "What's wrong?" 

"I am.  Or I was.  The last time you were here."  She took a 
deep breath.  "If you ever come into the bathroom when I'm using 
it, I'll kill you." 

"Okay, I won't."  He wondered briefly whether she would 
consider that promise binding in marriage, but they never quite 
used that word. 

"But I did that to you.  And I'm sorry." 

"Look, that's different."  He couldn't say how it was 
different, but it was. 

"I thought so too, but I couldn't really see how." 

"Let me think about it.  Anyway, I accept your apology even if 
I think you're making too big a deal over what you did." 

She had more on her agenda.  "The way that I see it, either 
we'll both go to U of I or I'll go to Albion while you go to IIT.   
I don't want to be at U of I without you." 

"I don't want to be anywhere without you.  But..." 

"Yeah.  But!" 

"How will you tell your mother?" he asked.  The trouble with 
fights at home is that you have to go back there sooner or 
later. 

"As late as possible.  Now, why don't you go wash your 
hands?" 

He used the facilities first, then left his hands under the 
hot water as long as he could stand it.  Instead of anticipating 
the pleasures awaiting him, he thought furiously.  She was 
standing by the couch when he came out. 

Shannon found his tongue nice and warm, even if his cheek was 
still cold.  Steve could tell from the softness against his chest 
that she had removed her bra.  Instead of diving inside her 
shirt, he clasped her face to guide her response to his kiss.  He 
broke for air. 

"About our last time here," he said while his hands began to 
unbutton her shirt. 

"Yes?" 

"I would rather that you *don't* come into the bathroom 
when I've closed the door.  On the other hand, you say three 
things to me about... well, about things like this.  You say 
'no,' and 'not yet,' and 'not now.'" 

"And if that's all I say, how come you're so sure that you can 
open my shirt?" she asked, pulling away from him. 

"Oh, you say 'yes,' too.  Or at least give permission.  I 
don't mean that you are always negative.  It's just that those 
are the three negatives. 

"Anyway," he continued, moving over to her again, "I want you.  
Of the three, I will never say 'no' to you.  I can't imagine 
saying 'not yet.' I might say 'not now.' So, your breaking in on 
me to take us to another step is quite different from my breaking 
in on you for the same purpose.  Does that make any sense?" 

She'd try to figure that one out later.  "Kiss me." 

He did.  Slowly, as the kiss grew hotter, he moved his hand up 
her side until he was cupping her breast through the shirt.  Her 
nipple firmed into his palm in greeting.  Shannon, he thought, 
was right; this was much more important than expressing things in 
words.  He gloried in her warm mouth and the soft breast in his 
hand. 

Shannon enjoyed the taste of his tongue on hers, and the warm 
lift that his hand gave her breast.  She'd made a risky decision, 
however, and worried still whether it was the right one.  Steve 
didn't seem to be in any hurry.  That was good to know in one 
sense, but her nervousness increased. 

When he had unbuttoned her entire blouse and she was soft in 
his arms, Steve helped Shannon lie back on the couch.  Even 
kneeling there, he enjoyed another duel with her tongue and the 
feel of her smooth skin against his fingers before he kissed down 
to her breast.  Once sucking on the hard nipple, he allowed his 
hand to roam down her leg and back up under her skirt.  She 
clasped her legs together.  Didn't she want this?  He raised his 
head to see her expression. 

Shannon felt him abandon her breast.  She guessed that he was 
looking her in the face, but she kept her eyes closed.  For 
another minute, she kept her legs closed too.  When she eased 
them open, Steve kissed the other breast before sliding his hand 
forward. 

He slowly stroked back and forth on her smooth thigh while 
sucking the nipple, going a little further every time.  On the 
one hand, he certainly wanted to clasp her panties; on the other, 
he wanted to postpone the end of the evening.  Finally, however, 
he brushed back to the soft concavity just above her knee and 
returned more slowly than ever.  He stopped sucking to 
concentrate on the first touch of her panties. 

Shannon knew that his hand wouldn't stop this time, his stroke 
was too determined, and too slow.  She held her breath. 

He didn't feel her panties, however.  He brushed forward until 
his hand was tickled by her hair.  Her legs came together, not 
quite trapping his hand because there was still space just there.  
"Oh Shannon!" he whispered. 

She couldn't help clutching her legs together, his presence 
was so ticklish, and so scary.  But it was exciting, too.  And 
there was awe in his voice as he spoke.  She parted her legs to 
give him more access. 

He loved the warmth, loved the acceptance he felt when her 
legs relaxed.  He could finally feel those folds he had guessed 
at for so long.  But he didn't know what to do.  He stroked the 
outer folds lightly, acquainting his fingers with her hair.  Then 
another thought struck him. 

"I don't have anything," he said. 

It took a moment for her to understand what he meant.  He 
thought that they were going to.... 

"We can't do more than this," he continued. 

"We aren't going to do more than this.  Not ever.  I told you 
that I would wear white on my wedding day." 

"Well, I can't even do this right.  Tell me what to do." 

She pulled him down for a kiss.  "The first thing is to be 
very gentle.  I'm full of nerve endings down there."  He nodded.   
She moved his head back to her right breast.  "And you don't have 
to stop doing other things." 

"Tell me when I'm doing something wrong."  But he kept doing 
things right, first clasping her mound while he kissed over the 
breast.  Once attached to her nipple, he slowly moved a finger 
between her lips.  She was nervous about the moisture down there, 
but his only response when he reached it was a harder suck on her 
nipple.  He explored her with one finger in her valley and then 
two.    



Steve was about to explode in his pants.  He'd have liked to 
see her, but touch was more important.  He recalled the diagrams 
he had seen, the hard-core pictures of women revealing 
themselves, fingering themselves.  He located himself on those 
pictures as he would orient himself on a map.  He moved one 
finger into Shannon, tentatively feeling the entry into her 
ultimate secret. 

"No," Shannon said.  That was too intimate, even for Steve.  
Besides, she wanted him to stroke her like she stroked 
herself. 

Steve immediately pulled his finger out.  Now he'd fouled the 
whole thing up.  Instead of Shannon's pushing him away, however, 
she lay back.  He clasped her for another minute, taking that 
time to kiss the smoothness of her breast again and lick around 
the areola.  When he dared part her labia again, it was to stroke 
the inner ones.  He had no problem remembering to be gentle with 
these, they were so thin and delicate -- and delightful; but he 
finally parted them and ventured into the wealth inside.  She was 
wetter than before. 

Biology was Steve's weakest science by far; he knew that the 
ulna was somewhere in the arm, but would have one chance in three 
of locating it on a diagram.  One aspect of human anatomy, 
however, was imprinted in his memory.  He could locate the labia 
majora, labia minora, vagina and clitoris on a diagram.  He could 
even draw the diagram.  He knew that Shannon's moisture meant 
that he was doing something right, that the two of them were 
doing something right.  And it meant that Shannon desired 
him. 

Which meant that touching that moisture was its own reward, 
but he knew that it served a practical purpose as well.  Gentle 
as he tried to be, he was conscious of the grossness and 
roughness of his fingers.  So he returned repeatedly to the pool 
of lubricant and spread it upwards as he went.  The only thing he 
could think to do was the same game he played on her legs.  He 
stroked slowly upwards, returned, stroked as slowly but just a 
little further. 

When he actually touched her clitoris, however, he couldn't 
stop himself from feeling all of it.  Shannon jumped, and he 
stopped immediately.  "Did that hurt?" he asked. 

"No.  Go on."  Now, his stopping had hurt, had done something; 
but she could tell that wasn't what he meant.  She felt his 
motions resume tentatively, teasingly.  He could have been a good 
deal less gentle for her taste, but the gentleness was part of 
Steve's care for her.  She could trust him, could lie back and 
let him take her where she had only gone alone. 

Yet, his slow tickling was leading her past that point.  She 
needed something more, something now!  She hugged him more 
tightly to her, pulled his face and chest into her breasts.  
Still, his suction was soft, still he only licked her nipple 
occasionally, still his fingers moved slowly -- playing around 
her instead of rubbing the bump insistently.  She felt herself 
moving against him, pressing herself into his hand. 

But, somehow, it was too late to tell him anything.  She was 
growing hotter and hotter.  She could feel perspiration bursting 
out of her face and running down into her hair; every time he 
licked a nipple, she felt a burst of fire in her breast; her 
center burned like a furnace, and yet his fingers scorched her 
there.  When he switched breasts, the fire ran to her toes and 
lifted her off the couch altogether.  She pulsed and pulsed in 
time to his suction. 

Then his mouth hurt her nipples, the weight of his head was 
pressing one breast and his chest was crushing the other, his 
hands rasped her most sensitive parts. She pushed him away. 

Steve had been reveling in Shannon's response to his efforts.  
Her nipples had hardened to his mouth, her hands had pulled him 
against her, her legs had spread to his hand's approach and her 
groin had risen to meet his hand, her lungs had sped until he 
could hear the breath rasp.  Her center had run with the magic 
liquid.  The sudden rejection broke his rapturous mood. 

But, from the end of her left arm, he saw a stranger -- a 
Shannon he had never believed possible.  Her skin was mottled 
from her chest to her face, and the facial expression was 
stranger yet. There was a wildness in her eyes, a grimness to her 
mouth; tangles of her hair were stuck to her face.  Then, as he 
watched, Shannon reappeared in her own face.  It softened and 
grew familiar. 

He kissed her then, welcoming her back.  First her forehead, 
eyebrows, hair-streaked cheek; then her sweet mouth which opened 
for his as always.  There was only the faintest taste, almost 
metallic, to remind him of the passage of that stranger through 
the girl he loved. 

Instead of letting his hand go, she relaxed that arm.  It 
tensed again when he returned his hand to between her thighs, but 
it didn't push him away.  He held that sweetness, warmly, 
closely. He was careful, though, to keep his hand still.   
Gradually, her arm relaxed.  With her mouth against his, one 
breast pressed into his chest, and warmth radiating from her sex 
into his palm, his own arousal returned.  The erection was in a 
new position and even less comfortable.  He staggered when he got 
to his feet. 

She felt cuddled and comforted.  She almost pulled Steve back 
when he got up.  Should she follow him in?  He'd said that he 
didn't like it; besides, she was comfortable just lying here.  A 
little later, though, the chill made her don her bra and 
rearrange her clothes. 

Steve thought of the Kleenex he had brought, but Shannon 
didn't look as adventurous as she had looked the previous times.   
In the bathroom, he sniffed her odor from his hand.  Then he 
brought himself off rapidly using his memories of her rising 
against his hand and of her face afterwards.  That face had 
scared him then, but it spelled passion in his memory.  He was 
determined to see that response again sometime soon. 

When he got back, Shannon was sitting at the table writing in 
a notebook.  "Look," she said.  "I shouldn't have done that.  I 
wouldn't have if I'd known that it would give you ideas.  We've 
done all we're going to do.  I *am* going to wear white on 
my wedding day."  She didn't know why she was being so hard on 
him. Maybe she was a little afraid that she was fighting herself 
as well. 

"I'm a little tired of hearing about what you'll wear on your 
wedding *day*!"  He said.  "What about your wedding night?  
Whatever you're wearing, will I get to take it off, remove each 
piece of clothing?  Will I see my bride in her skin?" 

She thought that she'd just heard a proposal.  She'd thought 
of him as her future husband.  All this talk of staying together 
was nonsense if they didn't plan to get married, but they'd never 
quite said that.  He was rushing on.  "Will I get to kiss you?  
All over?  Not just your face, not just your sweet breasts?" When 
she started to answer, he held up his hand.  "Because, if that is 
so, Shannon, there are a lot of things we haven't done yet.  I'm 
not saying we'll do them before that night, though I hope so.  I 
am saying that agreeing that you'll wear white to your wedding 
doesn't mean that we stop here." 

He had no idea where that had come from.  He wasn't going to 
tell her that, though.  And he did want to see her lovely mound 
again. "Did you look?  Isn't it shaped like a heart upside 
down?" 

She was lost.  He didn't quite sound angry, but almost.  She 
stuck to the most important question.  "Are you asking me to 
marry you?"  If he were, she'd ask for more time. 

Was Shannon really so naive as to use preserving her virginity 
for her husband as an argument on him without implying that he 
was that future husband?  There was a limit on anyone's self 
control.  He could wait for Shannon to be completely his.  He 
certainly wasn't interested in restraining himself to see her 
completely another's.  "I'm nowhere near the Christian you think 
I am."  Turning the other cheek had its limits. 

They stared at each other while she tried to figure what 
relationship his answer had to her question.  Then she realized 
that she didn't want an answer to her question.  She started back 
on her homework. 

He pictured a faceless stranger stripping a wedding dress from 
Shannon.  His stomach felt sour, and he started to harden again.  
Time for him to dig into his own books. 

 - = -  

But they kissed goodbye sweetly when it was time for him to 
go. Shannon returned to her books while Steve drove home. 

He figured that he had taken quite the wrong tone with 
Shannon, but that his basic position was correct.  Shannon had 
been controlling their making out, which was fine while she was 
drawing new -- more permissive -- lines every time.  If she 
thought that they had reached the real limit, then he should take 
back control.  No rapist, he would honor her limit.  It's just 
that they could do so much more without crossing that limit. 

And, one day, those limits would be gone.  He lay in bed 
imagining that day.  Hampered a little by ignorance of what 
brides wore under those fancy dresses, he got her down to some 
sort of underskirt while he kissed her breasts.  Then his current 
needs overtook his imagination of their future.    

 - = -  

Shannon, meanwhile, stretched on Mrs. Green's couch with her 
coat over her.  It had been quite an evening.  Steve, she 
decided, hadn't proposed to her.  He just assumed -- as she did, 
as Ken did, as even her parents did -- that they were headed 
towards marriage. 

It was also too late to argue about what he had said earlier 
in the evening.  Really, he had said that they could *not* 
go farther.  Merely mentioning it had scared her, but it wasn't 
like he'd said that they would.  He had his own boundary; a 
rather weak one, though.  He worked in a drugstore, after all; he 
could get protection any time he wanted. 

And what had he really said about her breaking in on him in 
the bathroom?  He wished that she wouldn't, but that he would 
never say no to her.  That wasn't the clearest statement he had 
ever made.  She remembered his thing jumping in her hand; did she 
want to feel it again? 

And his description of their wedding night.  Now, she did want 
to hear *that* again.  She wanted to have sex; her 
reluctance didn't mean absence of desire.  She thought of it as 
something that married people, all adults really, did.  They did 
it instead of making out, or -- rather -- she and Steve made out 
instead of sex.  Steve seemed to think of it as something in 
addition to making out, and the bodice-rippers agreed with 
him. 

She was fairly sure she knew what Steve meant by kissing her 
"all over."  Did she want him kissing her down there?  It was 
rather gross to think about, especially this time of the month.  
She knew she wouldn't allow it when she wasn't excited, and 
getting excited meant getting all messy down there.  If he really 
wanted to kiss her 'all over,' there were parts he hadn't touched 
since the summer.  On the other hand, the books made a kiss there 
sound out of this world.  Could it happen?  What she'd had 
tonight, then more?  And sex was more after that? 

She held the memory of what she had experienced that night in 
her mind while she dozed off.    

 - = -  

They didn't speak after English because Mrs. Foster kept Steve 
back to give him a warning.  The whole class had been confused by 
Shakespeare in the beginning, but most of the kids who usually 
got good grades were showing some comprehension.  Steve was a 
conspicuous exception.  Shannon ate lunch with a group of girls 
sharing half a birthday cake. 

Steve found a table full of his friends.  They weren't really 
geeks -- Jeff was even on the football team -- but they were all 
interested in science and got decent grades.  All of them were 
taking an Advanced Placement course in either Calc, Physics, or 
both.  "Nice you could make it, Mr. Anderson," said Terry.  Steve 
grinned and nodded politely.  The more he responded, the more 
they would ride him. 

"He heard I'd made another," said Dave.  The others passed a 
disk apiece down towards Dave.  He gathered them up. 

"Actually...." Steve began.  He hadn't known that Dave had 
made another disk.  Then he thought again.  He rummaged in his 
backpack until he found a disk.  "Sorry.  You'll have to wipe it.  
Is tomorrow okay?" 

"Monday morning, and you'll have to wipe mine too." said Dave.  
That got a few chuckles.  His father had Adultcheck; his mother 
had computer ignorance.  His parents had a divorce.  Dave 
downloaded pictures every other weekend.  He packed a disk every 
few visits.  If you lent him a disk, he would return a disk later 
-- always off school property. 

It wasn't the same disk, and you'd have to remove his files to 
use it for storage.  If you didn't wipe it, of course, you would 
see all those horrible pictures of naked women or of people 
having sex.  But Dave wasn't giving you those; he was returning a 
borrowed disk.  Whether that would persuade a principal, much 
less a judge, was another question. 

Steve was not wild about the pictures, many of which were 
fuzzy. The colors seemed off, maybe because of his monitor; and 
you couldn't take them to bed as he did the magazines.  On the 
other hand, disks were a lot cheaper than magazines. 

They all started to tease him.  "Steve doesn't need your 
pictures.  He reads all those magazines at Hauksbee's." 

"Doesn't need magazines.  He has Shannon." 

"For as much of Shannon as he sees, he could read 
*People*." 

"No.  *Modern Bride*." 

"Look," Steve said, "I don't read the stock at Hauksbee's.  I 
pay for everything, full price -- not even a discount." 

"The question isn't how much of Shannon he is *seeing*.   
I see a Honda parked around after dances.  Steamy windows." 

"So that was you creeping between the cars and peeping in the 
windows." 

"Get smart, Steve," said Phil.  "You're a senior.  You're only 
in high school once.  Shannon's price is a wedding ring.  Find 
yourself someone else, someone fun." 

"Y'know, Phil," he answered.  "Sometimes I think that one time 
is quite enough to be in high school."  There were some smiles at 
that. 

He'd thought about his a lot in the past couple of months.   
"Most of the girls in this school will be married in a few years.  
Shannon will,..." he couldn't use the name of Phil's current 
girl, Tanya.  He searched for a name that he *could* use.  
"Jennifer will."  Jennifer was an even more notorious slut.  
"Girls like Shannon will; girls like Jennifer will.  And, 
horrible as it sounds today, most of us will end up married, 
too."  There were a few groans around the table, but fewer and 
less heart-felt than they would have made their freshman 
year, 

"Now, Shannon is already taken.  But I don't see girls 
*like* Shannon falling into the arms of a guy who says, 
'Well I'm tired of playing with sluts; will you be my loyal 
wife?' Maybe it will happen, but I don't see it.  I expect that 
the one-guy girls will mostly end up with one-girl guys.  So who 
is left to marry the Jennifers?" 

"Do you really think that you and Shannon will end up 
together?" Terry asked. 

"I *hope* so!  I'll try to make that happen, but I know 
that the odds are stacked against us.  On the other hand, look at 
the prize I'm trying for.  A less than half chance at a lifetime 
with Shannon.  Against what?" 

"I dunno," said Jim.  "Life is now.  Maybe we will all end up 
as old married people like Steve says.  But I wouldn't trade 
experience now for a comfortable old age." 

"Growing old doesn't look so horrible when you consider the 
alternative." 

"I'm not sure that Steve was talking about retirement living.  
More, you know, getting married and having your own room in your 
own house.  No more back seats, no more picnic blankets, no more 
'What if her family finds out?'" 

"You're taking all the fun out of it." 

"I bet I could find a way to have fun going to sleep in a bed 
beside a woman, waking up beside her.  I could find 
*something* to hold our interest.  It would be hard, I know.   
But I...." 

"It would be hard, you *hope*!" 

"I know there are people not much older than us married," Jim 
said.  "Heck, kids in this school.  It's just that when I think 
of married people I think of, you know, my parents and their 
friends." 

"You're here, aren't ya?" 

"But," said Dave, "these days, when your parents go in their 
room and carefully shut the door, they're just afraid that their 
snores would keep you awake." 

"You," said Jim, "are just jealous." 

Everybody was quiet at once.  Teasing was one thing, this was 
another.  Dave had asked for it, but he wasn't the only guy at 
the table whose parents were divorced. 

Soon, people were finishing their food or talking to those 
next to them. 

Shannon stopped by Steve's table on her way out of the lunch 
room.  "Remember the first committee meeting is today after 
school." 

"I remember," he said, "and speaking of dances, Miss 
Bryant...." 

"We'll talk," she answered and hurried out.  She had to get to 
the girls' to change her Tampax before class. 

Steve knew that he should have invited her to the Friday dance 
earlier than Thursday afternoon.  The invitation was a mere 
formality, but his mother had dinned into him that formalities 
like that were important to girls.  Still, it wasn't like Shannon 
to react that way; she preferred to read him the riot act.  Well, 
they would talk. 

Steve got to the committee meeting early.  He was surprised to 
see Mr. Babaian there, not who you'd expect to see as faculty 
advisor for a dance.  Probably the teachers were required to put 
in so many hours on Mickey-Mouse stuff.  There were small paper 
hearts and saucers with straight pins already on the table.   Ken 
ushered Shannon in.  He began talking before she sat down beside 
Steve. 

"I expect a few more people, but let's get started.  I'd like 
to call this the Heart Ball.  To get in the spirit of things, 
let's pin the hearts you see here on our shirts.  I would 
especially like every boy here to have a heart on." 

"Ken!" said Mr. Babaian.  "I'd hate to write the U of C that 
you'd been suspended from school.  Even a one-day suspension 
would mean that you lose your position as president of the 
student council.  And this is a committee.  You may 
*propose* playing 'Heart Ball' with this dance, but the 
committee makes all those decisions.  I had to read Robert's 
Rules of Order to be advisor to this committee, and I'll play 
hard ball with *that*." 

"Yes, sir," said Ken.  And he was strangely subdued from then 
on. After a half-hour of wrangling over the name, Ken's 
suggestion won.  The decor scheme, not something Steve thought 
had many alternatives for St. Valentine's day, was not quite 
settled when Ken had to call time. 

Shannon waited while Steve got his bike.  "Look," he began, "I 
know that I should have asked you to the dance sooner...." 

"If we go to the dance Friday, when are you going to study?"   
She did want to go to the dance; she did want to park afterward.   
On the other hand, her period rather spoiled both.  And he did 
have to study. 

"Well, tonight," he answered, giving particular attention to 
the bike he was wheeling along.  "And Saturday afternoon." 

"You don't know," she said, "whether Romeo or Juliet is the 
girl." 

"Hah!  It's Juliet.  I think of her looking just like 
you." 

"I'll call you tonight," she said.  She called much less often 
than he did.  She blew him a kiss from her door. 

"Mom," she said at dinner, "you made me help the other day 
when we were cleaning out the attic." 

"After all, Shannon, it's your house too."  Allison Bryant was 
surprised.  Despite a few complaints about timing, Shannon had 
participated pleasantly enough in the workday. 

"And that means that I should be able to invite my friends 
over? Right?" 

"Why do I always walk into these?  Anyway, who do you want to 
invite over when?" 

"Steve," Shannon answered.  "For a study date.  Tomorrow."   
That shouldn't cause trouble, but who could predict her mother's 
reaction? 

"Fine."  Mrs. Bryant said.  If Shannon had to be with Steven, 
studying was the best activity; and their house was the best 
location. 

"I'll clean up my room tonight,"  Shannon said. 

"Now dear." 

"Then where are we going to study?"  Her parents pretty much 
monopolized the living room evenings. 

"I think we can allow you a little space, dear," Mrs. Bryant 
said.  "Could we watch the TV in our room, Wayne?" 

"Sure."  It was really the only solution, not that he couldn't 
see through Shannon's manipulations. 

"Invite him to dinner first if you wish," Allison finished the 
subject.    

 - = -  

The snow was already coming down, having deposited an inch of 
a threatened six, when Steve arrived in his mother's car.  He was 
dressed in a suit. 

The conversation at dinner reminded Shannon of the lecture on 
the Constitutional Union Party, which proposed to solve the 
slavery issue in 1860 by not discussing it.  Everybody studiously 
avoided the topic of Albion College.  By that time, her mother 
was avoiding the topic of the U of I even when she had Shannon 
alone. They spent more time on the dance committee than it 
deserved, and her mother expressed pleasure at their social 
success.  Shannon didn't mention that the prime requirement for a 
senior to be on a dance committee was willingness. 

"I'm interested in synthetic chemistry," Steve answered a 
question.  "I want to make things.  There are a lot of career 
decisions within that field, but there is no sense in trying to 
make them when I don't have the knowledge.  Even so, I suspect 
that I would enjoy almost any phase of that." 

Later, he helped Shannon clear the table.  Her mom filled the 
dishwasher.  "Mom," Shannon asked when that task was done, "can 
Steve use the *Folger's*?" 

Allison Bryant was perplexed and a little annoyed.  Steven was 
welcome to the coffee that was sitting in the pot, and he had 
turned that down at dinner.  But she thought that guests 
shouldn't express a brand preference; this wasn't a restaurant.  
"I don't think we have any, dear." 

"It's right there in the bookshelf." 

Oh that.  It was Wayne's book, they should ask him.  Why the 
hell should they?  "That's perfectly all right, Steven.  Help 
yourself." 

"Shannon asked me to lend your copy of Shakespeare to Steven,"  
she told Wayne in the bedroom.  "I told them to go ahead.  After 
all, what's mine is yours.  *Isn't it?*" 

"I brought my copy," Steve was telling Shannon downstairs.   
"I don't have to borrow your mother's." 

"Much better notes," she said and walked over to kiss him 
briefly.  "That's for your performance at dinner.  Tonight we're 
operating under the positive reinforcement principle." 

"In that case, I deserve a longer kiss than that one.  I feel 
like I was being interviewed for the position of son-in-law." 

"How do you think you did?" 

"Didn't seem in any hurry to fill the position." 

"Anyway," Shannon said, "the *Folger's* comes later.   
Look in your book.  What happens in Act One, Scene One?"  She 
kept standing while he sat down. 

"Well first these two guys," he glanced down at the book, 
"Samson and Gregory, trade insults."  He'd needed to read that 
passage a dozen times to get those insults, and some of them 
still went over his head.  "And then they,..." well, they tell a 
dirty joke, but he could skip that, "they pick a fight with guys 
from the other side.  And then...." 

"Steve," their first kiss was scheduled for his identification 
of the parts of that scene.  He might be there the whole night 
before that kiss.  "It's nice that you're reading the book now, 
but you were supposed to have read it earlier.  What are the 
three things that happen in the first scene?" 

He looked at the book to check where that scene ended.  "There 
is a fight, the Prince breaks it up, and Romeo shows up."  A 
*lot* of things happened in that scene. 

She was about to correct him.  Her notes put the prince in the 
first third, Lady Montague's description of Romeo mooning about 
in the second -- Steve had missed that completely.  Then she 
realized that if Steve didn't remember Mrs. Foster's summaries, 
he wouldn't remember hers either.  He needed to learn to do 
summaries.  "Okay, write that down on this card, leaving a third 
of the lines after each statement.  This card is for this scene."  
She handed him a three-by-five card. 

When he'd written it down, she put a finger on his chin to 
tilt his head up.  She kissed him. 

The card was already labeled "Act I, scene 1" in her pretty, 
if not very neat, script.  He filled out the information with the 
lettering he'd learned in drafting class.  Her kiss was sweet, 
but a little grade-schoolish.  He reached out to pull her in to 
it.  She pulled away. 

"No hands, no hands at all.  If my father came down and saw 
your hands on me, he'd throw you out and call the cops.  Now what 
do we learn in the first part of the scene?" 

His answer earned him another kiss.  Finally, she asked: "And 
what do we learn in the third part of the scene?" 

"About Romeo." 

"And what about Romeo?"  She felt that she was pulling it out 
of him.  Telling him would have been so much easier. 

"Why he was so melancholy." At her exasperated look he 
continued, "It was because he was in love." 

"In love with who?" 

"With Juliet, of course.  No.  With...."  He scanned the page 
but couldn't find the name.  Shannon looked like she was going to 
cry. 

"Fair Rosalind."  She had so looked forward to his positive 
reinforcement, too.  Besides, Mrs. Foster had covered that, and 
it was the entire point of the play.  Well, she would give him a 
chance.  "Extra credit.  Closed book.  What were the 
families?" 

That he could do.  "Montague and Capulet.  RoMeo Montague," he 
emphasized, "and JuliET CapuLET."  Shakespeare confused the issue 
with all of this fancy language and byplay, but the dramatis- 
whatever in front had been in plain English. 

Those had been three of her planned extra-credit questions.  
Shannon figure he certainly deserved a reward.  "Stand up with 
your hands behind your back." 

She pulled his head down into a kiss.  Lip met lip, breast met 
chest, tongue met tongue.  Steve, with his mouth invaded and the 
touch on his chest much softer than when he was in control, 
hardened immediately.  What Shannon felt was not a roll of flesh 
pressing out from his stomach; it was still pointing down but 
felt hard as wood.  She twisted her belly against it and stepped 
back. 

He visited the downstairs john to readjust his clothes, coming 
back with the jockeys pulled up high enough under his trousers to 
keep the semi-erect member pointing in the right direction. 

"Now," she said, "are you ready to deal with Scene Two?"  They 
got back to work, and that scene was shorter. 

Wayne Bryant rose while the closing credits to "Norm" were 
playing.  With any luck, he could make both the bathroom and the 
kitchen before "CSI" got into the actual plot. 

"And the last half of Scene Three," Shannon asked, "what does 
that tell us?" 

"Her parents are pushing her towards this Paris guy."  Steve 
was starting to get the hang of this. 

"Oh Steve!"  And she had thought that he was starting to see.  
"This is what the play means!  Shakespeare tells us that she has 
never been in love at all.  Her parents want her to love Paris, 
and she'll give it a try. 

"On the morning before Romeo wanders into her garden 
complaining of the fate that deprives him of Juliet, he roams the 
outskirts of town complaining of being deprived of another woman.   
He is in love with being in love, but she....  But her love is 
genuine. She has never been in love at all."  Steve clearly 
didn't know the play, but how could he have missed 
*that*? 

Steve felt accused.  Hell, he felt guilty.  He just couldn't 
figure out what the crime was.  He hadn't wandered the outskirts 
bemoaning another love.  "And I wasn't your first love," a voice 
sounded in his head.  He almost said it aloud, "How about 
Curt?" 

Wayne saw them as he came downstairs.  She was standing about 
four feet from where Steven was sitting.  The emotion between 
them was thick enough to cut with a knife, and quite different 
from what he had expected.  He went to the kitchen for a can of 
mixer and a glass, stopped for the whiskey from the liquor 
cabinet, and went back upstairs without hearing either of them 
say one word. 

When her father had retreated from his intrusion, Shannon 
sighed. Steve had to know the test details, even if he overlooked 
the point of the play.  "Okay," she said, "what happens in Scene 
Four?" 

Although her reinforcement got more positive during Act Two, 
Shannon could tell that Steve had passed his limit well before 
they got to Scene Six.  And the class was in the middle of Act 
Four!  "Well, here are the rest of the cards.  Don't come to Mrs.  
Green's tomorrow unless you have Act Three filled out."  It was 
too late for the Folger's; Steve didn't need any more facts 
tonight.  They could try the language.  "Do you want to act out 
the balcony scene?" 

This was the first that Steve had heard about Mrs. Green's.   
But that was all right, he'd find a way to study his other 
subjects on Sunday.  And anything, let alone the balcony scene, 
was better than filling out another card. 

Wayne was thinking about getting the mixer for another drink 
when the sounds reached them from downstairs.  "What light 
through yonder window breaks?  It is the east, and Juliet is the 
sun." 

"It's good that he wants to go into engineering," he told 
Allison. 

She chuckled.  "He does sound like a ham."  It was the warmest 
moment they had had together in more than a week.  He put his 
hand over to her bed.  She held it until he got up.  They 
couldn't go any further.  After all, both were fully dressed; and 
Shannon was not only still up -- Steven was visiting her. 

He got up.  He'd go around the kids and get another can of 
diet ginger ale.  He was silently cursing his diet when he got to 
the head of the stairs.  Shannon was, reasonably enough, using 
the stairs as her balcony.  He retreated to the doorway of his 
room. He didn't mind the kids declaring their love, so long as 
they were on different levels.  Besides, he could hear Shannon 
from where he stood.  She wasn't bad, not projecting like an 
actress, but not hamming it up like Steven either.  He'd seen the 
book in her hand, but she *sounded* like she knew her 
lines. 

Steve had long had that first speech by heart, the second less 
so.  And, after he had sailed upon the bosom of the air, he had 
to sail upon the bosom of the book.  That was fairly choppy 
sailing.  He, having most of the longer speeches, could rarely 
even look at her.  Still, it was fun; and it was a chance to 
declare his love in a way that would have been utterly mawkish if 
they hadn't been playing parts.  Finally, he read, "O, wilt thou 
leave me so unsatisfied?"  She didn't respond. 

When he looked up, she was grinning impishly and slowly 
nodding up and down.  Tease!  He slid his book through the 
bannisters to have both hands free, then seized the hand she had 
resting on the rail.  He kissed the back, kissed down her middle 
finger to the end, and then kissed the end of the other fingers 
as well.  When he looked up, she looked pleased but embarrassed.   
He drew the index finger into his mouth for a gentle suck and 
lick. 

Her first thought was where her hand had been.  She would have 
washed it before putting it on one end of a spoon whose other end 
would go in her mouth.  But the kisses were exciting 
nevertheless.  By the time that he was licking and sucking her 
palm, her nipples hardened.  And then her father came out. 

The recitation was over.  Wayne figured that he could get his 
mixer now.  Steven was still hamming it up when he got to the top 
of the stairs, kissing Shannon's hand.  He knew it was a real 
kiss pretending to be a Shakespearean kiss, but so what?  They'd 
done worse on his front step for the neighbors to see, and God- 
knew-what in Steven's car.  His daughter rushed past him up the 
stairs to the bathroom, while Steven pulled his book off the 
stairway. 

When he came back from the kitchen, he told Steven, "I don't 
mind your borrowing my Shakespeare, but be sure to bring it back.  
Okay?"  On the other hand, he could keep the book at home if he 
let Shannon alone.  But Wayne could see that this wasn't in the 
cards; Shannon was flying out of the nest sometime soon.  Getting 
rid of Steven would disappoint her -- he could still remember the 
month after she dumped Curt, but it wouldn't keep her in the 
nest. 

"Uh?  Sure I will."  When Shannon got back he told her, "He 
says that I can use the Shakespeare, but I should put it 
back." 

She couldn't see what was so important about putting it back 
in the same place.  She'd already used it, and put it back in the 
hole she'd made removing it; but her father hadn't said a word 
about that.  "It's too late for the footnotes tonight." 

Parting was more sweet than sorrow.  She flowed into his arms, 
put both hands on the back of his neck, opened her mouth for his 
kiss.  When he clutched her hips and placed his leg between hers, 
she arched a bit to reduce the pressure on her too- sensitive 
breasts.  That increased the pressure of her groin on his thigh. 
His tongue played with hers, and she rubbed against his leg.  Her 
belly warmed; her nipples firmed. She felt lovely, though there 
was no danger of the desire spiraling out of control. 

They stopped saying good night, however, long before it was 
morrow.  It was, indeed, well before her eleven-o'clock curfew 
that he drove home.  Now how would he do his other homework and 
still have time for this?  Well, he could do the calculus 
tonight. 


Continued in Part 5
Heart Ball
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2001/01/18
2003/01/23
2010/01/29

This is one of a series of files holding the novel 
*Heart Ball*.  

The next file in the series is:
heart_e.txt Part 5 

The first file in the series is:
heart_a.txt Part 1 

The directory to all my stories can be found at:
index.txt