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 5:
Continued from Part 4


"Tell Mrs. Green," Wayne told his daughter the next day after  
lunch, "that school is back in session.  She can't have Wednesday 
*and* Saturday.  Why don't you two just agree on Saturdays,  
anyway?  It's better for school.  Or some Fridays?"

"Well, she can get permanent second shift; but she can't get  
permanent choice of days."  Besides, Fridays and Saturdays were  
date nights.  But Mrs. Green *had* agreed to a limit of one  
day a week -- way back in the fall.

"I don't want to seem selfish; I don't think I've opened it in  
a decade.  But when is Steven bringing the Shakespeare back?"

"Bringing it back?  Isn't it where it belongs?"  They looked,  
and it was on the shelf.  "If that's not where you keep it, it's  
my fault.  We didn't get to the footnotes last night.  We didn't  
get anywhere near the amount of studying done that I had hoped  
for."

"Spend too much time kissing?"

"Didn't get near the amount of *that* done I had  hoped 
for either."  If her dad didn't want to know, Shannon figured, he 
shouldn't ask.

"When is the next meeting of your committee?" her mother  
asked. "Is there any preparation you have to do?  Shannon didn't 
think so.  It was hard to see where the plans were going, and she 
hadn't thought of it since walking out of the door of the school.  
Her mother's question, though, gave her an idea.

"Well, there is one thing I could do, Mom."  She called up  
Heather Swenson, the girl who had been holding out about the 
decor she wanted to use.  "Look, Heather, this is Shannon Bryant.  
I'm on the dance committee with you.  You know those cupids you 
want to use?"

"And Ken ignored my idea completely.  I campaigned for that,  
that..." (Heather obviously had parents within hearing range) "I  
carried the junior class for him.  He called it a return favor.  
But when I have an idea different from his, see who doesn't  
return favors.  Just watch!"

"Thing is," Shannon didn't know whether calm reason would  
penetrate that sort of anger, "I can't see how we would make  
them.  They might look great, but people aren't going to vote for  
something when they have to do it and they can't see how.  Do you  
see at all what I mean?"

"You're against me, too."

"I'm not against you, not really against your idea.  But you  
could bring in a couple of examples and tell us how you made  
them.  I might vote for it then.  So might a lot of others."

"You think so?"  Heather sounded a lot less attached to her  
design plan than she had been attached to the idea of being  
persecuted.

"Can't hurt.  And Heather..." Shannon had seen some odd  
looking cupids in her time. "make them decent.  Know what I mean?   
That Mr. Babaian talked like an awful prude."

"I'm not like Ken.  Anyway, thanks."


At half-past three, She rang Mrs. Green's bell.  Her 
employer  handed her a check on the way to her car.  Once the 
demons were in bed, she wiped up the worst of the mess on the 
kitchen table before having a second helping of the dinner she 
had fixed them.  She left the kitchen neater than it had looked 
when she arrived.  She scooped up the loose toys in the dining 
and living rooms, dumped them in the toy box, and managed to 
force down the lid.

She spread out her homework on the dining table and filled out  
her own cards.  A little before Steve was due, she ducked into  
the downstairs john to remove her bra.  She rebuttoned the shirt,  
tucked it back into her jeans, and checked herself out in the  
mirror.  But Steve didn't come.  Well, she had told him not to if  
he hadn't finished the homework.  Still, she was worried; that  
edict had been supposed to motivate study, not prevent the 
visit.

An hour after she had given up hope, Steve rang the doorbell. 
"Sorry," he said, "Mom's car wouldn't start."

"You walked here?"  The snow and slush made bicycling  
impossible.

"Only from the garage."  The guy had driven out a new battery  
in the tow truck.  Steve had hitched a ride back with him.

But he still would have to walk home, she thought.  Maybe she  
could prevail upon Mrs. Green to drive him.

Meanwhile, he had shed his coat and a sweater.  He took her  
hands in his and kissed each of them.  Then he kissed her left  
hand as elaborately as he had kissed her right the night before.   
He kissed her palm, licked it, kissed up the inside of her arm,  
finally licked the inside of her elbow.  Not until she shivered  
and pulled her arm away did he pull her into a real kiss -- mouth  
to mouth.

Shannon was flustered.  The shivers from Steve's kisses  
weren't only because his face was cold against her arm.  When he  
kissed her, she opened her lips; but he ignored the invitation,  
licking her lips until she pushed her tongue to meet his.  Then  
he pulled her hips forward until her groin pressed into his leg,  
and she could feel his hardness against her stomach.  Letting  
that grip and her own hands around his neck support her, she  
slumped against him.  Her sensitive breasts were pressed against  
his chest by her weight.  His big hands were opening and closing  
on her jean-clad hips.  Conscious as she was that he could bring  
her no relief tonight, she was deeply turned on.

Steve finally broke the kiss because he had to breathe.  Then,  
however, he headed reluctantly for the john.  Shannon's  
responsiveness had been a joy, her tongue's reaction to his  
teasing no less than the hardness at the end of the softness  
against his chest.  Her jeans were probably a message, but she  
had worn no bra under a blouse that could be unbuttoned.  As he  
waited for his erection to soften enough to use the facilities,  
he removed his own shirt and undershirt.  His shirt was buttoned  
and neatly tucked in when he came out, but he carried his  
undershirt in his newly-warmed hands.

"Put that in your backpack," Shannon told him.  "We have a  
play to review."  Shannon drilled him on the first two acts  
sitting in a chair halfway across the room from his place on the  
sofa. "And 'wherefore' means what?" she asked.

"It does?  I thought it meant 'why?'"

"It does.  I meant, 'What does "wherefore" mean?'  You are  
right. It means 'Why are you Romeo?'  She loves him.  Her love  
would be easier without that name."

"Okay."  They'd covered that in class, and less confusingly.  
When they had covered the first scene in Act Three, however, he  
rebelled.  "Just because I did these at home doesn't mean that I  
don't get a reward."  He walked behind her chair.  He kissed the  
top of her head before pulling her chin upward to expose her face  
to his.  While they kissed upside down, his hands cupped her  
breasts outside her blouse.  The nipples firmed into his palms in  
the way he loved so well.

"Hey," she said when he moved his kiss to her ear.  "If that  
is just for a scene, what reinforcement will you want for a whole  
act?"  He pulled his face back to give her a leer.  "Well, you  
can't have it!"  He pulled a dramatically sad face and pouted.  
The faces were ridiculous upside down.  He kissed her forehead  
while unbuttoning the second button of her blouse.    

For Scene Two, he repeated the performance.  Her breasts were  
so soft against his hands that he had to hold himself back from  
crushing them.  When he unbuttoned the next button, she pulled  
the edges of the blouse forward, letting him see her hard  
nipples.  Somehow, he resisted the impulse to grab them.  While  
he returned to the sofa, she rebuttoned the one he had unbuttoned  
the first time.

The small gap from that loose button was more disturbing than  
the direct sight of the naked breasts.  He swallowed and managed  
to go on.  When they reached the fifth scene, she had only one  
button holding the blouse closed over her breasts.

"Boy!" Steve said.  "He's as bad as TV.  All those dirty jokes  
in the beginning, and then he deals with the love scene by having  
them come out early in the morning."

"You just have a dirty mind."  Did he really believe that she  
hadn't thought about love, their love, in terms of a bed?  She  
wanted that, she would have that, just not quite yet.  And Romeo  
and Juliet had been married by that time, too.

They finally returned to studying and agreed on the  
information conveyed in the last scene.

Steve unbuttoned his own shirt while approaching slowly.  She  
held both her hands towards him.  He kissed each knuckle before  
helping her up.  He pulled her blouse out of her jeans, undid the  
last button, and swept both of their shirts open.  They were  
skin to skin for the next kiss, the first time since summer.

His hands were on her warm back, technically not an erogenous  
zone.  He had sworn, however, to make love to all the parts he  
had neglected recently.  If their culmination was denied him  
until the wedding night (and he was in no position to argue about  
that) he would rehearse the first act of that night until she  
felt as deprived as he did.  The feel of the skin stirred some  
memory.  When she broke the kiss to catch her breath, he  
scratched gently over that lovely warmth.

Shannon sagged against him.  Her breasts warmed by his naked  
skin, her mouth explored by his warm tongue, even her back  
scratched by his nails, she was equally conscious of what was not  
happening.  Her freely exposed breasts had not been grabbed --  
for one thing.  She had no objection to Steve's attraction to her  
sexy bits; on the contrary, she regretted that the messiness  
below would limit their making out.  But Steve was interested in  
*her*.  Feeling that, she grabbed his face between her hands  
to kiss him again, kiss him fiercely and possessively.  She  
kissed him, in fact, the way she'd just been grateful that he  
hadn't kissed her.

If Shannon's kiss was even partly a response to her back being  
scratched, Steve was willing to scratch forever.  He ran his  
fingernails up either side of her spine, then spread his hands to  
the corners of her shoulder blades.  As the intensity of her kiss  
waned, he moved her towards the couch.  He brushed his notecards  
onto the floor.  To hell with the play, he thought.  He had the  
real Juliet.

He eased Shannon down and back.  Then he knelt among his  
spilled cards to kiss her.  He started on her forehead and  
eyebrows. continued to her temple and ear, and reached her neck  
before she pulled his face into a mouth kiss.  During that kiss,  
he smoothed his hand down her belly to her belt, slid it up again  
to cup her breast.

Then he kissed her in the same way he ate caramels; he feasted  
on the smooth skin of her neck and ribs and belly, but he mostly  
resisted the greater attractions of her breasts.  Even when he  
yielded to that temptation, he kissed the slopes lightly instead  
of sucking on the peaks.  He chose his spots like caramels from a  
bag, too, spending some time on each spot, but choosing the next  
one arbitrarily.  He loved her, all of her.  He wanted all of  
her, too.  Tonight, the top half was his; and he was claiming it.   


Shannon read some part of those feelings from his actions.   
She felt loved; he was kissing her everywhere.  She also felt all  
tingly; the extra sensitivity of her breasts (she'd actually  
started the evening afraid that she would have to call off the 
making out) made these light kisses the more exciting.  She felt  
dominated.  At no time had his will clashed with hers, yet Steve  
was running this show in a way that he had never seemed to run  
any previous one.

Steve kissed the bridge of Shannon's nose, and then returned  
to her mouth.  Her tongue greeted his eagerly, and the swirl of  
his desire almost made him forget to move on.  He went all the  
way to her navel, where she wriggled provocatively to his kiss.   
When he moved his mouth up a little, he stroked her legs with his  
nails. He used the same nails-reversed stroke on inside of her  
thigh as he'd used on her back, figuring the denim would provide  
the gentleness.

"My belt is buckled," Steve said.  "So is yours."  He climbed  
between her legs on the couch and kissed her navel once more.  
This time Shannon's wriggle threatened to dump them both.  She  
quieted as he kissed up her body.  He was ready for his darkest  
caramels, her nipples.  "Tell me when I am too rough," he said.  
He only used gentle licks and tiny, tentative, sucks on them. 
When his passion grew beyond that limit, he thrust his face  
between her breasts to suck the firmness there.

She shook as he kissed and licked her breasts.  They felt a  
little sore, but the kisses felt a *lot* sexy.  She took his  
kiss between them as an expression of gentle care combined with   
wild passion.  When he kissed her mouth, his elbows barely on the  
cushion, his hardness pressed against her groin, she accepted  
him.  Her hands stroked his back, her thighs hugged his, her  
mouth opened wider.  It was finally Steve who broke the kiss.

He dropped back until his butt hit the armrest.  He kissed her  
mound through the jeans, first at the zipper and then on either  
side of it.  "Aren't girls' jeans supposed to have a zipper on  
the side?"

"Some do."

"You can't guess what I have."

"What?"  Please, she begged silently, not some protection.   
Her first time wasn't going to be on Mrs. Green's sofa.

"I have notes on the *fourth* act," he said.

"I need a break," Shannon said

"Don't tuck your blouse in, please," he asked.  And, while she  
took her break, he did a little adjusting of his own clothes in  
the kitchen.  He retrieved the tissues from his coat, then  
returned to find his note cards a mess.  They looked as if some  
fool had tossed them on the floor and then knelt on them.

She changed her Tampax, straightened her clothes -- obediently  
leaving her blouse out, and looked closely in the mirror.  Once  
she'd cleaned up around her eyes, she looked a little strange but  
not too bad.  Why messing around affected her eye makeup, she  
couldn't figure.  Lipstick, sure, not that she wore lipstick to  
babysit, but why eye makeup?

She decided to leave it off.  It would only get messed up  
again. And if Steve was going to run screaming when he saw her  
without makeup, she had better learn that now.

Steve didn't even seem to notice.  After each scene, he would  
turn her so her back was to him, lift up her blouse to hold her  
breasts in his hands, lick and nibble some part of her that he  
could reach from that position.  It was nice, sometimes it was  
very exciting; but when had he taken charge of the 
reinforcement?

When they had compared their answers for the last scene, he  
turned off the lamp next to his side of the couch.  "We are ahead  
of the class.  I can't believe it."  He stowed his notecards  
carefully this time.  Then he kissed her from behind once 
again.

"Lean over," he said, "there are still parts of you I haven't  
kissed."  She leaned on a table while he pushed up her blouse.   
He sprinkled kisses all over her back.  His position was awkward,  
but hers evoked some memory.  He straightened and pushed his  
groin against the bottom of her jeans.  When he scratched her  
back, she pressed back against him. Only the very bottom of his  
cock felt the pressure.  "It didn't matter when I said that my  
belt was buckled.  I should have said that my fly was zipped." He  
slipped his hands around her sides to hold up her breasts. "We  
could make love just like this."  Well, he thought, not like  
this; her legs were awfully short.  She would stand on something  
or kneel on a sofa.  "Your pants down, but mine just 
unzipped."

She stood.  Moving his hands to hold the bottoms of her  
breasts instead of the peaks, he pulled her back against him.   
"Not the first time," he continued very softly.  "Our first time  
will be the full monty.  Not standing, not the back seat of some  
car." He had a sudden vision of the back seat of his mother's  
Civic. "Not even the Cherokee.  Y'know how, at the end of a  
wedding, the groom lifts the bride's veil, he kisses her, and  
they sort of roll the credits...."

She sidestepped his grasp, then turned to face him.  She  
needed a bit more room.  "Lutherans might roll the credits.   
Methodists have a recessional and then head for the reception."   
Not that the weddings that either of them had seen broke down on  
denominational lines.

"That's what I meant.  Anyway, what it is is a symbol.  In  
front of everybody, he removes one piece of clothing and kisses  
what is revealed.  Once they get privacy....

"But that's not tonight.  Tonight, that stays buckled."  He  
reached out to tap her belt buckle.  "Right?"

She nodded.

He took a deep breath.  He so wanted her hands on him.  "Well,  
one belt should.  English is done for tonight.  The question is  
whether you want to study math..."  He tried to sound casual.  
"... or biology."

Did she, Shannon thought, want to see it again?  She could  
still remember it jumping within her hand.  And she needed to get  
back in control.  He was watching her intently.  She smiled and  
nodded.

He stripped off his shirt and then his shoes.  Lying down on  
the sofa, he unbuckled and unzipped.  He pushed his undershorts  
down to the base of his cock before covering himself again with a  
flap of his jeans.  He'd lost some firmness during the pause in  
their playing, but now he was so hard in anticipation of her hand  
that he was afraid that he would shoot.  "Want to explore?" he  
asked.

She used the weight of the belt ends to keep the fly wide  
open. So this was what he looked like: a head that looked a  
little like a heart -- more than she did really, a shaft that was  
the same thickness from the head to his groin, some blood vessels  
were visible in the shaft and one pale vein seemed to run its  
length. His thing was arched a little above his lower belly and  
his groin.  The groin was covered with hair.  None of this was  
really surprising.  It wasn't as if she was some sort of  
Victorian girl; she'd seen pictures in sex-ed.

What was different from the illustrations in the books was 
that this was the bottom part.  Things like the cleft in the head  
with the big vein running into it.  She pulled it up between  
finger and thumb and moved her head to see the top.  It jerked  
back. "Don't do that," she said.

"It's not my fault!"  She was lucky that he hadn't blasted her  
in the face.  "Or were you talking to him?"

"I was talking to you.  Why do you treat it as if it were  
different?"  She could almost see it as different, though.  As  
some separate live animal.  And, as she petted it gently, it  
jumped for her.

"He has a mind of his own; that's a fact.  And he loves the  
way you touch him.  Do you think you could give *me* a kiss  
before you bring this to a close?"

She adjusted her position and gave him a deep kiss.  Their  
tongues played in a far sexier activity than the one she'd just  
left.  "I like being kissed," he said as she raised her head.  
Well, she liked being the one kissing him, too.  She attacked his  
right nipple with a sucking kiss.

His response would have surprised her; he murmured something  
and hugged her head to his chest.  Except that her own response  
shocked her; there *was* something sexy in being the one  
giving the kiss.  Her nipples got almost as hard as his did.

The break wasn't relaxing Steve's cock as much as he had  
hoped, but he no longer cared.  "Oh Shannon," he sighed.  "Oh  
Shannon, I love you."

"Nope."  She rested her head on his chest.  In this position,  
she could hear his heart thump.  "Tonight, I'm loving you."  She  
sniffed.  He'd worked since showering, walked in the freezing  
weather, been chilled and overheated.  He didn't smell bad, just  
a touch masculine, maybe a little Steve.  His penis looked like  
it was lying down more; maybe she could see the top part.

When she tried, she could get it straight up away from his  
body, using her thumb and forefinger.  The top part was no  
surprise, not heart-shaped at all -- maybe like those shields in  
old time history.  But it stiffened while she was holding it, and  
she could hear his heart speed up.

It had been so hard that first time, and hot.  Well, it was  
hotter than the rest of his skin now.  She moved her fingers up  
and down the shaft.  Again the skin moved on top of something  
harder.  It was something much harder now, and his heart went  
"Kabump."  But the shaft escaped her fingers to lie further  
towards her.  She wrapped her whole hand around it.  His heart  
was louder for another beat.

"I hope your father doesn't make you clean his guns," Steve  
said.

"He hasn't gone hunting in years, and he won't let me touch  
them."  She thought girls should be allowed to handle guns, and 
she thought this an odd time to bring up the subject.

"Because you are staring straight down the barrel now."  Oh,  
that.  Steve laid a tissue down on his belly.  "I have some more  
in my hand.  I'll catch it, but you won't see me come from that  
position."

"How long do I have?"  She probably should watch it shoot.   
After all, he wanted to do that inside her.  On the other hand,  
listening to his heartbeat every time she made his penis jump was  
fun too.  She squeezed a little and moved her hand back and  
forth.  It sort of pushed back at her squeeze, and his heart  
jumped again.  "What should I do?"

"Why ask me?  It responds much more to you.  The most  
sensitive part is on the bottom, just under the head."  'Bottom'  
and 'under' weren't the clearest words just then.

Guessing, she brushed her fingertips over the notch in the  
heart. The reaction of both penis and heartbeat showed that she's  
been right.  Having decided that these experiments were fun, she  
brushed other parts at random.  His breath was starting to come  
rapidly, too.  Before getting into position to see the whole  
show, she kissed the nipple she hadn't kissed yet.  His breath  
hissed at that.  Too bad that she couldn't listen to his  
heartbeat while doing that.

Steve's hands were clutching the sofa cushions on both sides  
of him.  Sometimes, he had tried to make it last.  But even in  
the summer before Shannon's, when that had been his usual morning  
preoccupation, he had never treated his cock the way Shannon had.  
It was glorious; it was agony.  "Anyway, when we do it for real,  
you will be around me, gripping me all the way from top to  
bottom.  What I usually do," hint, hint, please! "is try to  
imitate that, moving my hand up and down."

Shannon knelt in a good position to see.  She tried to do what  
he had said, holding it down on the base.  However light her  
grip, however, her fingers seemed to bring the skin with them  
instead of sliding over it.

Steve was in heaven; Steve was in hell.  Shannon slid her hand  
up to the top and tried again.  The same thing happened, and --  
anyway -- the thing was jerking around.  She took a firmer grip  
and pumped a little harder.  "Oh Shannon.  Now.  Now.  Now!"  And  
it was now; and Steve, feeling his whole body pulse out through  
her hand, reached the tissues out to catch it.

The sight of the drops squirting out didn't impress Shannon,  
especially as Steve was catching them very close to the source.  
What *was* impressive was the sight of his body as he  
clenched every muscle and rose off the couch.  His head and feet  
must have touched, but Shannon saw -- even felt -- his belly and  
groin rise.  His face looked odd as well.  A minute later, all of  
him relaxed.

The part in her hand relaxed so much that it got some of the  
goo on her fingers.  Babysitting had taught her not to mind  
bodily wastes.  She dropped it and looked into Steve's smile.  "I  
love you, Shannon," he said.  She moved back to her old position  
where she could hear his heartbeat.  It was strong, but slowed  
while she listened.

Steve had never come like that.  And, in the aftermath,  
Shannon cuddled him where he lay.  This was love; this was bliss.   
After a while, though, he had to get up to wash the mess off.   
That was fairly clumsy.  He got to the bathroom with a lot of wet  
tissue in his left hand while holding up his pants with his  
right.  When he came out, it was time to go home -- past time  
really.

He'd come to a decision, though.  "When we really do it, I'm  
going to cuddle you all night afterwards.  This having-to-leave  
bit sucks."

"I'll miss you, too,"  she said.  "Can't you stay here and let  
Mrs. Green drive you home?"

"What if she won't?  What if she does, and then says, 'Steve  
was a real burden last time; he can't visit you any more'?   
Besides my mother expects me home.  They don't set a curfew like  
your parents do, but they do have their limits.  Dad said once  
that your having a curfew was enough to get me home.  Anyway,  
where do you sleep here?"  If they could share a bed, even fully  
dressed, it might be worth the hassle.

"She has real trouble finding babysitters.  I doze on the  
couch."

"I've walked it before.  Just don't get dressed any more until  
I go.  Do you want to see it limp?"

When he got it out, however, it was partly firm, angling down.  
"It's limp as a string most of the time," he said.  "Just not  
around you."

He finished dressing: undershirt and shirt, shoes, and  
sweater. For their last kiss, he tightened and loosened his hands  
on her hips while pulling her against the near-firmness of his  
organ. He put on his coat, had one more brief kiss, and walked  
out into a serious snowstorm.

She shivered in sympathy, made sure that the door was bolted,  
and went into the john to get her bra back on.  Dressing fully to  
go to sleep, she thought, was a silly act.  She checked on the  
boys, who were -- unfortunately -- perfectly safe.  She repacked  
her backpack, adjusted the lights, and pulled her coat over 
her.

After flicking a brief prayer upward about Steve's immediate  
future, she thought about his -- and her -- immediate past.  How  
had he got control?

She remembered all his kisses, his tender holding of her  
breasts. Beyond kisses, she recalled those nibbles with his lips  
on the back of her neck and the corner of her shoulder.  She  
shivered once again.  What had he said about her rules?  No, not  
yet, not now.  Well, the jeans were a 'not now'; and he had  
conquered her by showing all his love to the parts above her  
waist.

You would never cast Steve as Romeo.  He was more a can-do  
kind of guy.  Configure Shannon's computer?  Steve could do that;  
had done that.  Reduce Shannon to a puddle of lust?  That seemed  
one more task he could do. And, if he needed to do it without  
going below her waist, that only made Steve's problem more  
difficult.  Or, she thought suddenly, did he think of that sort  
of problem as 'more interesting'?  She'd heard him use that 
term.

Yet she *had* exercised control at the end.  He always  
claimed that she made his heart beat faster, and now she had.   
With the hospital not far out of town, there must be some place  
you could buy a stethoscope around here.  She wondered how much  
one cost.


Why did her alarm clock suddenly have a bell?  She slapped  
out to shut it off and almost fell to the floor.  She was on a  
couch; the ringing was a doorbell; She was at Mrs. Green's.  She  
staggered to the door and peered out.  It was Mrs. Green.

"Damn lock froze.  I'll check the kids while you get dressed.  
The car's running."  She trotted down the hall while Shannon  
struggled into her coat and gathered up her backpack.  "Took you  
long enough to answer the bell.  What if kidnapers had broken  
in?"

"You wish!"  They walked out into a blizzard, the snow coming  
sideways at them.  Steve!  He'd walked home in this.  "My  
boyfriend visited tonight," She said as they got in the car.  "I  
told him that you would be glad to give him a ride home."

"In this?  Why don't you put him up?  Where is he?"

"Walking home... in this!  Dad says to remember that I can sit  
for only one night a week."  They were there.

"Get home.  I'll call you in a few minutes."  Shannon had to  
struggle to open her door as well, but she was inside and  
standing on the hot-air grate when the phone rang,

"Bryants'.  Shannon Bryant speaking."  Her mom had drilled  
telephone technique into her long ago.

"Hi.  This is Mrs. Green.  Look, I have a social life, too.   
What about if you sat for a few hours, not all night?"

"Eleven o'clock is my curfew, firm.  And *I* have a  
social life, too.  But I'll ask my dad.  And we have a dance  
coming up this Friday.  The big one is February. 10.  And, of  
course, other customers can always get there before you."    
Driving Steve home in this weather would have been a *big*  
favor, but that didn't make Shannon happier about the refusal.   
She was glad to give her all the bad news she could think of  
right then.

She couldn't sleep without knowing that Steve was safe.  She  
couldn't call at one in the morning.  Well, there were only two  
choices.  She called.

"Hello."

"Mrs. Anderson?  I'm really sorry to call so late, but I just  
saw the storm outside.  Steve walked home through that, and I  
have to know that he made it."

"A little late to worry.  Yes he made it, and I gave him a  
piece of my mind.  Shannon, the two of you haven't a brain cell  
between you.  Normally, I wouldn't scold you, but you did call me  
up, What time is it anyway?"

"A little after one.  I'm really sorry to call at such a time,  
but I had to know that he was safe."

"Well, I can understand that.  Good night, Shannon."

Before she could respond the phone clicked.

And now Steve was really going to hate her for calling.


                              - = -  


"Steve!  Steve!" Rachel Anderson shouted outside the door of 
her son's room.  She opened the bedroom door halfway.  "Oh, 
Steve."

At that point, he would have screamed if he were even half 
awake. She marched up to the head of the bed.  "Oh, Steven," she 
called in a saccharine voice, "time to wake up."  She squeezed 
gently on the soaked washcloth she held.  The falling water 
splashed off his forehead.  He pulled the covers higher.  Pulling 
them back down until his total face was out in the light, she 
squeezed harder.

"Holy hell!" said Steve.

"Shannon called this morning.  Said she was worried about 
sending you out in the blizzard."

Shannon on the phone?  Steve started to pull himself out of 
bed, then realized that he was stark naked under the sheets.  He 
pulled the covers back up again.  "Mom!  Tell her I'll be there 
in a minute."

"Tell who?  Shannon?  She called about two.  I told her that 
her concern was a little after-the-fact."  Steve was probably 
awake now, but a little more effort now could save her from 
another wake-up in three minutes.

"Dammit, Mom."

"That's 'Mother dearest' to you."  His concern over the nudity 
taboo was silly.  She'd seen all that he was hiding, washed the 
poop off a good bit of it.

"Mother dearest, maternal source of my very being, would you 
please grant me the favor of a little privacy?  Before I wet the 
bed!"

"If you do, you'll clean it up."  She waved goodbye from the 
doorway, but she shut the door after her.  When she did, Steve 
clambered out of bed, pulled on the jeans he'd left on the floor 
the previous night, and hurried into the bathroom. After 
showering, he returned to his room and dressed.

He logged on.  Nothing from Shannon, something from Dad.  He 
wrote Shannon,


 
  
 
  

Dearest,  
Don't concern yourself about me. The storm 
is messing everything up, of course, but  
not causing me  any trouble personnaly.    

L&K*10**9"     

 

 
 


He was never sure that Shannon would keep his e-mails out of 
her father's hands.

His dad wrote that he had stopped in Mattoon, and also that he 
had written Mom separately.  He, despite a good amount of 
computer literacy, had a blind spot about carbon copies.

"Dad wrote," he told his mother on his way to the kitchen. 
"You'll have a copy in your mailbox." 

                              - = - 

The snow had stopped falling by the time that Wayne and 
Shannon Bryant left church Sunday noon, but it was still blowing 
around. "Isn't it silly that the one waiting on the sidewalk 
wears special boots?" Wayne asked his daughter, "And the driver 
has to get by with simple galoshes over office shoes?"

"Well, they make practical dress boots for men.  Let me drive, 
and I'll go get the car for you."

"And let the whole congregation decide that I'm a cripple?  
Tell you what, we'll walk out together.  You can still drive." 
Shannon wasn't too skilled a driver in the snow, he thought, but 
she had to learn.  Today was extreme in one sense, but nobody was 
going fast enough to make a collision really dangerous.  "And my 
clothes budget doesn't run to fancy boots."

"Look, Chick," he continued while they stumbled over the 
covered ruts in the ice, "if you have decided that you 
*won't* go to Albion, keeping your mother in suspense is 
really pointless."

"Absolute secrecy?"

He hated that, but he had brought the subject up.  "My lips 
are sealed."

"Steve may still be accepted at IIT," Shannon said.  "If he 
is, and he accepts, then I *do* want to go to Albion.  It's 
no farther from Chicago.  But choosing Albion *because* of 
Steve...."

They reached the car at that point.  "Let it warm up," he told 
her when they were both inside.  "You know. most people 
*don't* end up marrying their high-school sweethearts."

Unless they married them right after high school, but Shannon 
didn't want to do that.  "Dad, do you think that I don't know 
that?  Do you think that we don't?  Look at this hand; notice 
that there is no ring."  She revved the car once and then 
relaxed.  "We never quite say the word -- well, almost never. 
We've spent a year together, if you can call that 'together' -- 
and you and Mom treat it as if we spend every minute with one 
another.

"Anyway, I haven't quite stopped changing *physically*.  
We're going off to college where everybody is supposed to change 
mentally.  Steve and Shannon love each other now, but what will 
be left of Shannon and what will be left of Steve in four years? 
And then, of course, it doesn't really stop.

"I can't see to drive," she finished suddenly.  Her eyes were 
full of tears.

"That's okay.  I got gas yesterday."

"Thing is.  What did the preacher say about God last 
month?"

"Talks a lot about God.  What in particular?"  If she wanted 
to change the subject, he would let her; although it was a long 
time since they had talked this way.  He missed that.

"He makes people with free will because he loves free will. 
Well, one thing that I love about Steve is that he is changing. 
If he stopped changing it would be a change for the worse.  Does 
that make any sense?"

"Plenty of sense.  And you're changing too; even if he 
stopped, it wouldn't guarantee a match.  You love Steven 
desperately, but...."

"You think it's puppy love."  She didn't think it was puppy 
love.

"Not at all.  It's just that he might be out for something 
else."

"That doesn't change things.  Yes, Steve wants into your 
baby's diapers, but it's *my* diapers; he wants to make love 
to Shannon. That's my one gift from Curt."

"Must you be crude?  And I didn't know you got anything good 
from Curt."  Concern for your daughter doesn't stop.  He didn't 
think of her as a baby, she was just the woman who *had* 
been his baby.

"Nothing he intended.  Curt told several stories about me, 
after we broke up.  But, even to the guys who wanted to think the 
worst, one thing was clear:  He tried to get something from me, 
he didn't get it, and he made me walk home.  So, when Steve asked 
me out, he wasn't looking for a quick lay.  He may want my body, 
but he didn't choose me because he thought that I was an easy 
target.

"Anyway, we talk.  We don't talk nearly enough since the 
summer, but we talk about things.  Lots of things, not only that.  
There is no way that Steve would talk the way he does if he only 
wanted one thing from me.  And, as I said before, if he only 
wants one thing, he could find plenty of places to get it more 
easily. Even now, though it's awfully late, he could probably 
break with me, find another girl, and get her into bed.  So, if 
getting Shannon into bed was his only goal -- which it isn't, it 
would still be about Shannon.

"Does that make sense?"

It made quite enough sense that Wayne didn't want it explained 
any more.  Okay, Steven wanted -- beyond the obvious -- a 
sympathetic ear.  When Wayne had been his age, he'd have taken 
any sympathetic ear offered.  And, if they didn't *only* 
talk about "that," pretty clearly they talked a lot about "that."  
On the bright side, while he wanted to thrash Steven for daring 
to want to get into Shannon's panties, the wording implied that 
he had failed.

Shannon, of course, was guileful enough to use that wording 
deliberately.  If that was the case, what was he going to do? If, 
weeks before her eighteenth birthday, their daughter was still a 
virgin, Allison and he were luckier than most.  Hell, they had 
Shannon; they were luckier than most anyway. "Meanwhile, you help 
Steven on his English."

"And he helps me in math."  Having said that, she hoped Dad 
wouldn't ask when.  "Really, he wasn't doing so bad until 
Shakespeare.  Now, I think he's got it."

"How long do you have?"

"The test's Friday-after-next.  Coming week's Act Four and 
start of Five.  Week after ends the play, then review, and the 
test."

"And you got through what the other night?  Act Two?"

"But Steve got the idea.  He's worked more since."

"But how do you know that he understood the later part?" Wayne 
didn't really want Steven to fail English.

Blabbermouth! she thought.  And she just hated to lie, 
especially since she hadn't talked with Dad like this in ages.  
"We talked on the phone."

"Well, if you want to have him over again, I'll speak to your 
mother."  Not that Allison would object, but this conversation 
was under seal.

"Thanks, Dad."  She put the car in gear.  "By the way, you 
know you said only one night for Mrs. Green?"

"Yes?"

"She wants to know whether that applies to shorter 
nights?"

"How will she manage that?"

"Well, she dates sometimes.  If she gets home before eleven, 
does that count?  I don't see that it should, but I said I'd 
ask."

"Do you want me to say yes or to say no?"  Sometimes kids 
deserve the excuse, 'my parents won't let me.'

"What do you mean?"

"I thought that those kids were monsters.  And she won't pay 
so much for shorter hours."

"But I'll start later too, so I won't see the kids so much." 
Shannon said.

"I know that you can study during some babysitting times, but 
you need to study more; and you need to enjoy yourself, too.  I 
was afraid that you were going to cut way back on babysitting 
when you figured out the size of your surplus.  You seem to be 
going out of your way to get more."

"I like to see money coming in."

"And a penny saved?"  He wondered suddenly whether Shannon had 
ever heard that term.

"Is just sitting there.  It's only real when it is coming in 
or going out."

"I haven't talked to your mother about this."

"You said you wouldn't!"

"I'm changing the subject.  I haven't spoken to your mother 
about this suggestion which I am about to make.  You know all 
this talk about your babysitting money.  I'm going to propose 
that you set up a budget for the next year, what's coming in and 
what's going out.  I think that you should calculate special 
expenses and regular expenses -- some mad-money too.  Then I 
think that your mother should dole out the money according to 
that budget."

"An allowance."  Shannon had *not* enjoyed those 
days.

"Not quite."

"You want to put me back on an allowance, only an allowance 
that I have earned.  And you are nice enough to mention it to me 
before you and Mom decide."

"No!  This will be much harder on you than that.

"What I'm suggesting," Wayne continued, "Is for you to decide 
this allowance.  I want you to budget it.  I'll ask your mother 
to help; I suspect that I'm not the best choice for knowing what 
a girl will need her first semester in college."

"Can I think about the idea, or are you going to tell Mom 
now?"

"Think away.  Now, let's go in; she'll think we've died out 
here." 

                              - = - 

Rachel's e-mail ran: 
  

Dearest,   

I couldn't out run the storm and got stuck here.  It was a long 
night -- much too late to call.  

The phone here is  217-677-1116 The extension is 236, which since 
the room #  is 36, must be direct-dial in.  It's direct-dial out, 
so call me, and I'll call back if you hit an operator.   

I'll want to make the rest of the run in the early afternoon.   
So call when you can get privacy and we'll chat.   Only local 
trips for the two weeks after this swing.   I keep telling 
myself.  And home Wednesday.  Keep that in mind Until then, 
kisses everywhere.   

Roger, WLY   


She looked out Mallory's window to check the sidewalk.  It was 
buried nice and deep.  Steve was coming up the stairs carrying an 
ice-filled glass of root beer.  In January!  She shivered.  "Well 
dear, your walk home last night must have worn you out terribly. 
Maybe you should stick to essentials for the next week."

Steve knew the drill.  Either he was exhausted and needed to 
cut back on his dating, or he was full of pep and ready for any 
chore.  Probably it was shoveling the walk.  "Oh, I think I'll 
recover by tomorrow."

"Why don't you test your recovery with the snow shovel?  
Now!"

"Let me log on and finish this drink."

"Okay," she said.  "Fifteen minutes."  If only all 
negotiations were so easy.

Half an hour later, Steve pressed the shovel into the first 
bit on the top step.  From the door to the street was a pleasure; 
it was  untouched and fluffy from the cold.  He didn't mind the 
exercise, really.

His mother had the special phone with the headset in her room. 

"Hello?"

"Roger?  It's Rachel."

"Darling!  Give me a minute."  She lay back and adjusted the 
headset so the earphones were comfortable.  The sound quality 
wasn't quite so good, and she did love the sound of Roger's 
voice.  But, really, talking to your husband was a two-handed 
job.

"So," she said, "you'll be home on Wednesday.  Before school 
lets out?  Your son will be home for dinner."

"That's strange.  I was planning to eat at the Y."

"After two weeks away from home cooking?"

"As an appetizer for home cooking," he said.  "God bless old 
Hauksbee!  And where is Steve right now?"

"Shoveling the walk."  While she was here in the warm bed 
stroking her own smooth breasts and wishing that they were 
Roger's hairy arms instead.

"Unnatural mother!  Sending your poor son out into the cold so 
you can listen to dirty phone calls."

"Your poor son walked home," she told him, "apparently across 
town from Shannon's house, at the height of the blizzard.  Got 
home near midnight.  He crashed.  Then she called me up at one-
thirty -- I checked.  Said that she hoped he got home all right. 
Gertrude had battery problems.  Earlier in the night, I 
mean."

"He walked there, knowing he'd have to walk back?"

"He's your son."  She'd wouldn't mention the garage man; the 
story was long enough as it was.

"You sure about that?"

"Absolutely, totally positive.  We came home tipsy.  You drove 
the babysitter home while I checked on Mallory.  And you came 
back just drunk enough.  You lasted and lasted and lasted.  I 
came, and then I came.  And when I was climbing again, I reminded 
you that I was open for your seed...."

"And you held my nuts to show what seeds."  His voice showed 
that he was in it, too.

"And you shot and shot and shot.  I felt that you'd filled me 
twice over.  First you, then your seed.  That was the night. That 
was the fuck."  The memory excited her.  His cock had rubbed her 
right there, where her finger was now, and rubbed there 
forever.

"Talking dirty are we?  Did I fuck you then?  Did I screw you? 
Did I dick your cunt?  Make love to you?  Swive you?  Put the old 
sausage in the hole?"

"No," she said.  "You Rogered me.  You drove me up the peak, 
and over.  Not once, not twice, you rogered me to climax 
*three* times.  Oh Roger!"

"Is it on?"

She flicked the switch on her magic wand.  "Is now."

"Rub it over my favorite creampuffs.  First the left one....  
Now the right."  She brushed the wand over her breasts to his 
directions.  The rush was building, she felt her skin get warmer 
under the cold sheets.  "Don't touch the strawberries until... 
Now!  Are they nice and puffy for my lips?...  Are they straining 
upwards for my teeth?"  He had never actually bitten her there; 
neither of them wanted it.  But the *idea* of teeth slicing 
into her nipples drove her wild.  She dialed up the speed on the 
wand, which drove her wilder as she stroked those nipples.

He crooned to her over the phone lines.  She wanted more; she 
needed more; if he didn't speak, she would break away to get 
more.  "Now your thighs.  Let them carry the vibrations to your 
lips. You haven't touched your lips yet, have you?"  She hadn't, 
but it was a struggle.  The vibrations shook her thighs, which 
shook her lips, which shook her clit; but she needed more, more 
force, more directly.

"Put the vibrator on your right knee, slow it down.  Is it 
there?"  It was, and the slower vibrations shook her whole leg. 
"Now draw it towards you, slowly, slowly, more slowly yet as it 
gets closer....  Tell me when it touches your labium."  As she 
drew the wand downward she lost all consciousness of anything but 
those vibrations.

And then the wand touched her groin.  Fire sprang though her, 
fire filled that lip, fire burned her clit.  "Oh yes!" she 
said.

"Now take it up to the left knee and move it downward again. 
More slowly this time."  She tried to keep it moving slowly.  It 
sure *felt* like a longer time; it felt like damn-near 
forever. She was on the edge, so close that she couldn't catch a 
breath.

"That's me you're holding, Rachel" he said.  "Turn it down 
now; turn it down, and put it in."  He didn't have to tell her to 
do this part slowly; she was stabbing herself.

But she did ease it in.  She did feel those vibrations fill 
her. "Tell me," she gasped.  "Oh Roger, tell me."

"I love you, Rachel.  I love all of you."  The wand was almost 
filling her.  She let go to clutch the sheet.  "I love your 
luscious cunt.  I love your daring spirit."  Her body lifted 
itself, thrusting the wand's handle towards the ceiling.  "I love 
you.  Oh, darling!"  She was spasming now.  He kept cooing over 
the phone, "Come for me,  That's it.  Come again."

She spasmed, spasmed again and again.  Finally, she pulled the 
wand out and almost flung it away.  Roger, who had been 
encouraging her the whole time, said a final, "I love you, all of 
you; and I always will."  Then he left the phone while she tried 
to gather her breath and then her mind.

Roger returned to the phone.  "Yours?" she asked.

"No hurry," he said.  "You almost carried me with you.  The 
lotion is too hot, anyway."  Well it would cool fast enough on 
his hand. 

                              - = - 

Steve took a ten-minute break to warm himself when the walk 
was more than half-way shoveled.  When he came back the second 
time, his mom greeted him.  "Did you get it all?" she asked.

"Not that the wind won't cover it over."

"My hero."  Just because she had to reach up to kiss his jaw, 
just because it was a little bristly when she did, didn't mean 
that he wasn't still her little boy.  Steve moved back to unzip 
his coat.  These demonstrations embarrassed him, and he suspected 
that his embarrassment only added to Mom's enjoyment.

"Don't like my kisses?" she asked.  "Now, I know how to get 
you some you'll prefer.  Save one of your brownies for 
Shannon."

"Brownies?"  He could manage Shannon's kisses on his own, 
thank you.  On the other hand, a pan of brownies -- with both Dad 
and Mallory out of the picture -- were worth shoveling a walk any 
day.

"After lunch.  They aren't even done yet."  But she was 
laughing when she said that.  She didn't act like this often, 
especially when Dad was gone; but she did have these funny moods.  
She looked excited, with a high color.  Of course, that could 
simply be from the heat of the stove -- or the heat of the 
shower, he could tell she'd taken one from the smell of her 
special soap.

"Going somewhere tonight?"  he asked.  Why shower in the 
middle of the afternoon?

"Tonight?  Those guys are lucky I'll show up for work 
tomorrow! Speaking of which, you'll never get home and back to 
Hauksbee's on time.  Do you want to pack a dinner?"

"I'll get something in town."  He had taken a bit extra out of 
his paycheck.  Unlike Shannon, he didn't need to be spending 
money to enjoy it.  On the other hand, learning that much of his 
check wasn't available to him had been something of a shock.  An 
extra thirty dollars in the back of his drawer would cover 
emergencies like a gift for Shannon's birthday.

Lunch was great.  It wasn't really Sunday dinner with Dad 
away, but the stew was plentiful.  He only had room for two 
brownies afterwards, so he carried a plateful up to his room. 

                              - = - 

The bus took forever to get to school, and he totally missed 
Dave that morning.  He was late for English, too; but he took 
another minute by his locker to shuffle Shannon's cards and get 
the book into his hands.  "So, Steve," Mrs. Foster said, "finally 
honoring us with your presence?"

"The bus was late."

"Sarah was on the same bus, and she beat you here."  The girl, 
who still had her coat with her, gave him an apologetic look.

"I stopped at my locker, Mrs. Foster.  I had to do it 
sometime."

"Perhaps you could tell us what is going on in the play."

"Which scene?" he asked.  "I just walked in through the 
door."

"Act Four, Scene Three."  Her tone implied that knowing the 
scene wouldn't help him.

"It's a very short scene," he said.  "First she gets rid of 
her nurse.  Then she comments on all the dangers of the poison -- 
fake poison, but she's not sure of that.  Then she drinks 
it."

"What are those dangers?"  Mrs. Foster was using a much 
gentler tone, but he could tell he wasn't out of the woods 
yet.

Carefully, he kept his eyes on her.  He knew this wasn't on 
the cards anyway.  "Well," he said, "she's not sure that Father 
Lawrence didn't give her a real poison to hide that he'd married 
her."  That didn't sound right.  "Her and Romeo.  And maybe the 
potion wouldn't work at all.  And maybe she would wake up locked 
in a dark tomb surrounded by the corpses of her family."

"Very good, Steve.  I just hope that you'll read the rest of 
the play, now that you know you can."

Steve brought out three brownies at lunch.  He cut one of them 
in half and passed the whole lot over to Shannon.  She took the 
two halves.  "You can have more, really," he said.  "I'm saving 
two for supper."

"Two brownies apiece.  Just that mine are smaller.  Really, 
Steve, that's not an adequate dinner."

"Yes, Mama.  I'm eating at Terry's Diner.  That's just 
dessert. Mom thinks I couldn't get home and back in time.  I 
agree."

"Want company?" she asked.

"Love it."

"I felt like kissing you in front of the whole English class," 
she said  "You did great!"

"Well, we could find another time.  Anyway, I didn't do 
anything. It's all your doing.  Almost said so, but she might not 
have liked hearing that you cleared up the play for me when she'd 
left me totally in the dark.  You're the one who deserves 
kisses."

"Well, I'm sure that we could sort out that problem.  Get my 
message about babysitting?"

"What's this about not wanting to see me?"

"Ask me there, okay?"  She suspected that what was bothering 
Mrs. Jensen was nursing Peggy in front of Steve.  She could 
understand her embarrassment; heck, Shannon didn't want to 
discuss this in the lunchroom.  Even though, she thought 
suddenly, it was about lunch.

That flicker of a smile accompanied by downturned eyes and a 
half blush got Steve every time.  Phil could have Tanya.  Shannon 
was sexier.  She never explained what had caused those looks, but 
he'd triggered them a few times himself.


Dave caught him as he walked out the door with Shannon.  
He gave back the disk on the sidewalk across the street from the 
school.

He ordered the chili-mac with a side order of hashbrowns when 
they got to the diner.  "Cherry pie if you have it," said 
Shannon, "a cup of coffee -- plenty of cream, and a separate 
check."

"Come on Shannon!  You're my guest."

"I suggested the whole thing.  If you'd let me, I would pay 
your way too.  Don't fight about this, and I won't ask what's 
going on with Dave."  Not that she, and most of the girls, didn't 
know about Dave's little porn game.  Boys had the weirdest taste! 
Even Steve.  She saw that she had won.

"You're as bad as my dad," she continued.  "You know the money 
that I saved up from babysitting?"  She decided that amounts 
would embarrass Steve; she made more than he did.  "Anyway, I 
made a good deal more than I've spent.  He wants that money doled 
out to me like an allowance again.  Instead of seeing something 
and buying it, he wants me to budget everything ahead of time." 
She looked over at Steve for sympathy, forgetting that this was 
Steve.

"You want polite?" he asked, "or you want true?"  She turned 
her hand up.

"Look.  Look down the road a few years.  You're married.  
Maybe not to me, but to somebody.  You make a salary; he makes a 
salary.  You say to him, 'Don't worry about me; I'll pay for my 
clothes and such.  All you have to do is pay the mortgage, 
groceries, car, insurance, things like that.'  Do you see a 
little problem there?"

"I'm not as selfish as you think I am."

"Shannon, there isn't a selfish bone in your body," he said. 
"The problem isn't selfishness.  The problem is that everybody is 
on a budget.  Somebody is going to control what you spend.  It 
can be you; it can be someone else.  We could set it up so that 
you get so many dollars a week, even so many dollars a day.  When 
that's spent, it's gone; and you wait for the next amount.

"But you already have two parents, and that's not what I want 
to be.  I don't think anyone else is looking for that job either. 
Will you try out a budget?  Just try it for me?"

The waitress saved her from answering.  When she sipped her 
coffee, Steve said:  "That would keep me awake all night.  I 
don't know how you do it."  He was going to let the question 
drop, which somehow pushed her more than insistence would 
have.

"Somehow doesn't go with cherry pie," she said when he offered 
her another brownie.

She went home to a real dinner.  He went off to work. 

                              - = - 

Shannon spent a good deal of thought on the budget issue in 
her spare time over the next day.  In the first place, she'd been 
right when she told her dad that Steve was thinking about her as 
a wife -- well, that wasn't quite what she'd told Dad, but close. 
That was very nice to know, but it was not so nice that he was 
thinking about her in a wifely role where she didn't meet the 
standards.

She was far from as stupid as people seemed to think she was. 
She knew she was irresponsible about money; half the fun was 
flaunting her irresponsibility about money.  Besides, she was 
responsible as a driver and as a student.  She was quite 
responsible answering the phone, which was important to her mom 
and an area in which Steve was simply awful.  She was responsible 
in managing the business of babysitting, and -- especially -- 
responsible in how she dealt with her tiny charges.

If you were responsible about *everything*, what was the 
use of being seventeen?  And she wasn't one tenth as irritating a 
daughter as her parents were irritating to her.

But Steve had raised an important point.  She was quite 
prepared to go on as a flibbertigibbet daughter for the next four 
years; she had no interest in becoming a flibbertigibbet wife. 
And there were two side issues.

In the long run, if she did end up married to Steve, she wanted 
to be the one buying his clothes.  Wives did that, and it wasn't 
as if Steve cared.  It was more that he bought the first thing 
that fit.  Lots of wives bought their husband's clothes, but 
probably not many wives who couldn't be trusted with the family 
money.

In the short run, it was the white wedding thing.  She would 
never say, "I went on a budget to please you; stop there to 
please me."  Steve would probably change his mind about budgets 
*fast*.  But making a few sacrifices to keep them together 
set a pattern.  More accurately, *never* making the 
sacrifice set a pattern.

She was fairly certain that she could operate within a budget 
if she had to.  Right now looked like the time to prove it. 
Besides, if she found it really hard, her parents would give her 
more leeway if she had proposed the plan herself.  Steve, also, 
would be a lot happier with a plan that she had accepted because 
he asked it than with a plan her dad had forced on her.

She thought this out during TV commercials, while walking to 
school, during class, and other spare moments.  She broke it to 
Steve when classes ended on Tuesday.  They were on their way to a 
dance-planning meeting.  "You win.  I'll talk to Dad about 
setting up a budget."

"It's not exactly winning," he said.  She looked at him.  "I'm 
not on his side against you.  I'm on your side against the world. 
I just think that this is something that you really should do. 
And I told *you* so.  But we're not all ganging up on you.  
I'll never gang up on you."

"You think that I should do it, but you don't think that I 
should do it because you want me to?"  She could almost see that.  
There were things she wanted like that; his phone calls for 
instance.

"Oh, it's perfectly all right that you do it because I want 
you to.  Better if you do it because it makes sense, but I'll 
take what I can get.  It's just that I didn't *win* 
anything. Certainly not win anything against you."

"Well, you and one part of me beat another part of me.  I 
really enjoyed being a spendthrift."  Her mournful tone was 
mostly a joke, but not quite all of it.

He caught the tone and the past tense.  "Well," he glanced 
around, "this isn't the place to kiss the spendthrift goodbye. 
Tonight?"

"Tonight."

They got to the meeting after it had already begun.  Heather 
Swanson was talking and holding up a picture of a Cupid.  "Well, 
Shannon -- oh there she is -- asked me to make one and find how 
long it took.  This took me five or six hours for just one.  So 
I'm withdrawing my suggestion.  It's way too much work."

"That's a problem," said Ken, "but it's not the problem that I 
saw."  Shannon saw Mr. Babaian wince, but Ken ignored that and 
went on.  "Heather can draw this, and it is beautiful.  Who else 
thinks that they could make one?"  There was only one hand raised 
in the whole meeting.  "So we can't have a lot of them.  On the 
other hand....

"Heather, could you make one more?  A reflection in the 
vertical line, but not quite?"  Heather looked pleased but 
puzzled.

"I so move," Steve began, "that the committee ask Heather to 
make another drawing and to let us use both of them in our decor.  
The drawing could be a mirror image, and she can ask for 
suggestions from anyone she wants to."

That passed.  "Do I have a motion to go with the hearts as our 
main decor?" asked Ken.  Several people moved that, and that 
carried as well.

"Now," said Ken, "how many slow dances?  I'm going to assume 
that everybody wants some percent.  Lets vote with our feet this 
time. Mr. Babaian, will you be our midpoint?  Everybody who wants 
more slow dances than fast come to this side of Mr. Babaian, and 
everybody who wants more fast dances go to the other side of 
him." By having people move past the advisor, Ken got the 
committee to show that slightly more than half wanted more than 
65% slow dances, and a solid majority wanted fewer than 70% 
slow.

"Well, can I have a motion to play 65% slow dances?"  Shannon 
made that motion, and it carried.

"Work session the next three days after school," Ken said.  
"Make two of them."

Gary had a ride for both Ken and Steve, "if you're leaving 
right now."  Still on school property, Steve and Shannon said 
good bye without a kiss.  Ken and Gary were both surprised how 
brief that parting was.

"I'll call you, Heather" Ken shouted.

"I owe Shannon big time!" Ken said in the car.  "You can tell 
her so."

"What happened there?  We got in one minute late."

"Heather's been bugging me about her decor scheme.  Much too 
fancy.  Instead of telling her why it wouldn't work, Shannon 
called her up and asked her to show how it would.  I'm supposed 
to have the brains in this school.  But, anyhow, Heather tried it 
out, figured out the hours involved, and could see that it 
wouldn't work.  But isn't it a work of art?"

They agreed that it was a work of art.  Ken got out first, and 
then Steve. 


 

Continued in Part 6
Heart Ball
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2001/02/07
2003/01/25
2010/01/30

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

The next file in the series is:
heart_f.txt Part 6  

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