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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 11:
Continued from Part 10
"I'll drive you to school," Steve's dad told him Tuesday
morning.
"I still can't guarantee getting back," he said on the way to
school. "I certainly will try, though."
"You don't have to, Dad. I just thought of the possibility.
I would feel horrible if you got into some terrible accident
pushing yourself to get home."
"I haven't gotten into a terrible accident yet, and I drive
all over half the state."
English class was uneventful. They were starting on
research papers. The next time he saw Shannon was for lunch.
They had a table without her friends around, for once. Of
course, lower classmen took the other seats; but each party
ignored the other. It was as close as you could get to privacy
in school.
They traded disks once again. "I liked your fantasy," she
said after she had stowed her disk in her backpack.
"It looks like Dad is coming home on Saturday. Even if he
doesn't make it, I doubt that I'll know that in advance." That
should be clear to Shannon without anyone who might overhear
getting the drift.
"Well," she said, "you did have another possibility. If
that's our only choice, I can live with it."
"That's wonderful. You trust me, then." And he had better be
worthy of her trust, he thought. After weeks of being deprived
of Shannon, he wasn't sure that he could be.
"Of course I trust you. Haven't you always been trustworthy?"
She wasn't sure what that meant. The one she really didn't trust
was herself. After being deprived of his hands for weeks, after
seeing what her parents thought she was, she wasn't sure whether
she trusted him to stop or feared that he would stop. Still,
there was only so much you could say with an audience around,
even if they didn't seem to be paying attention.
They talked until they had to leave the lunch room. All that
Steve could think of, however, was that Shannon had agreed to go
to a motel with him. His father registered ahead, and he knew
what he was doing. Steve would have to call around. The next
time he could talk to Ken, he told him that he couldn't come to
the meeting that night, but not why.
"We'll miss you," said Ken. The truth was that there wasn't
much more to do until Saturday morning. "You know, you're the
only person who still notifies me that you'll miss a meeting."
"Hey, I owe you. *We* owe you. And if Shannon can get
out on Saturday, we'll owe you much more."
Steve was the first of his family home when the school bus
finally dropped him off.
He ran to his room. Shannon would consider a motel. Maybe
having Dad come home wouldn't be so bad after all.
He pictured them together. He pictured Shannon as she had
been a few times at babysitting houses. But this time there
would be no responsibilities to distract her. This time, no kids
could possibly intervene. This time, no parents could come home
unexpectedly. This time, they wouldn't have to keep one ear
cocked for a car driving up.
How much would she let him take off? He would see her
breasts, touch her breasts, suck her breasts. Would he see her
mound with its lovely hair? Would he touch it?
Would she touch HIM? He could remember her sweet hand.
Hurriedly, he opened his belt and pushed down his trousers and
underpants.
But once he was finished, he still hadn't found the motel. He
had to clean himself up and go get the phone and the directory
from the hall table. He plugged the phone into the back of his
computer and dialed the first number.
What he learned shocked him. The room would cost him upwards
of fifty dollars. "Our checkout time is noon," one bored desk
man told him.
"What is that?"
"If you stay the night, you can stay the morning, too. You
have to check out by noon, though. If you want to stay the
afternoon it's another sixty-two dollars."
After that, he asked the checkout times of the places he
called. Most were noon; one was eleven.
This was much more than he spent for lunch-time treats for a
week; this was more than his Internet service cost for a month.
This was comparable to the application fees at the colleges.
Sixty two dollars for a couple hours of a date was more than he
could think of as a personal expense. But he couldn't turn down
the opportunity. He desperately wanted to have that time with
Shannon.
But the big worry was the problem of actually getting the
money. He still had his check from Hauksbee's, and -- since he
wasn't spending money on taking Shannon out -- a few dollars
hidden in the back of his drawer. He could get the money for the
motel, but then he would risk running out before the next payday.
And he couldn't tell anybody why. Hauksbee had been
unsympathetic when other employees had asked for an advance, but
he would always ask what they had spent it on before turning them
down. The old man was, frankly, nosy. His mother would ask in
even greater detail.
And, *nobody* would believe that he took Shannon to a
motel to make out. A motel meant only one thing. And he could
kiss Shannon goodbye if he even said "make out" in the same
sentence as her name. Wave goodbye to Shannon -- no kiss at all
likely. It was a miracle that the girl would even consider going
to a motel with him; she sure wouldn't like being *known* to
have gone to a motel with him.
Could he tell his mother that he'd lost the money out of his
pocket? Impossible. For one thing, he wasn't that good of a
liar.
There was only one chance. Mr. Jensen had said that he was
grateful. Let him show that gratitude. It wasn't as if Steve
wanted his money. All Steve wanted was the money that belonged
to him, the money in the check. He would go to the bank
tomorrow, and ask for fifty dollars more back than usual when he
deposited the check. He'd better ask for sixty more, just to be
sure. Actually, he was tempted to ask for a hundred more. He
could just picture getting to the checkout counter ten minutes
after noon. Or he could get there ten minutes before noon, and
the checkout time had been changed to eleven.
Anyway, he would deposit the check tomorrow. He would ask Mr.
Jensen for more money back than usual. If he objected, Steve
would ask how grateful he was about Amy. It wasn't as if it was
his money.
When his mom got back, he asked her for a second lunch to eat
after school. He wasn't going to take the bus home before going
to work. "Make sure you pack your toothbrush," she said. Her
concern that he brush after every meal was normally a pain. This
time, it stopped her from asking about other things.
Roger was going to head out again Thursday. Rachel was a
good mother who wanted her family to eat together. It was just
that she was happy to say goodbye to her man while their son was
safely out of the way.
Steve took Shannon's disk up to his room after dinner.
The letter was great. She liked his stories. She didn't
complain that they were too sexy. She liked the gift and the
brownies. She said she loved him, would -- he knew -- have to
say that or break up with him. But saying it was one thing;
approving of him was quite another thing. These days, she seemed
to approve of everything he did.
She said that she would think about the motel. Clearly she
had. Almost, it would have been better if she had said "no."
Then he wouldn't have to tell her that they were too expensive.
On the other hand, he thought about her in a motel room. He
thought about Shannon, her body, her breasts, the neat place
between her legs. Then he had to stop thinking about that. He'd
already done that once, today. And there was a letter for him to
write.
> I'm glad that you liked my gifts,
> although I'm sorry that they were all you got this
> year.
> I've told you before. I'm on your side. Sometimes,
> I think you might have made the wrong decision (not
> about this, about other things long ago.) but that
> doesn't mean that I'm on the side of people against you.
> Well, these are my fantasies. I don't say that you
> should wear your wedding dress on our honeymoon. I
> just have it in the story. As to the blue panties,
> what is wrong with a blue garter? Or something?
> See the story.
> Slowly, he undressed her until she stood before him
> in her last garment. It was a pair of white
> panties. He kissed her ardently and eased her down
> on the bed.
> "White panties," he thought. "White for a virgin.
> She has never been with anyone else before.
> Quickly, he removed his own clothes. Then he lay
> down beside her and kissed her again. Slowly, the
> kisses trailed down over her lovely breasts. These
> responded, she responded.
> Finally, he dragged his attention away from that
> perfection. His kisses trailed lower. Just above
> the line of her hair, just above the elastic of her
> panties, he stopped. "I love you," he said. His
> hands went to her waist.
> "This," she thought, "is it. This is the last
> protection of the virginity I've kept so long. She
> lay there with her legs tight together for one
> moment longer. Then she spread her legs the
> slightest bit. She raised her hips as he tugged the
> panties down.
> As he slowly removed the white panties, he saw her
> lovely hair appear. The sight of those delightful
> curls took his breath away.
> The odor of her arousal was even more stimulating.
> She saw the look of adoration on his face. "Do you
> like that?" she asked.
> "It's the loveliest sight in the world," he said.
> He pulled the panties down over her feet. Then he
> lay down beside her again. They kissed. He took out
> the Trojan and put it on.
> "I've been yours since our first date," he said.
> "Are you now mine?
> "Yes," she said. "I'm yours. All of me is yours."
> She spread her legs.
> He kissed her again while he took his place between
> them. She felt him at her entrance, the place no
> other man had ever been.
> He raised himself up to look her in the eyes. "I
> love you," he said.
> He entered her with one forceful shove. She felt
> him fill her up.
> Totally enclosed, he bent down to kiss her again.
He decided to not write any more. He was getting himself all
hot again. And he still had homework to do.
The news about the wedding clothes could be helpful. On the
other hand, the blue panties weren't what he had in mind.
He deleted the description of the aroma. Shannon might not
like that. Mallory's books -- books sold to girls -- never
mentioned it. He decided not to mention any pain, though the
books did deal with that.
- = -
Shannon read Steve's letter as soon as she got home. Steve
didn't know any more than he had written the first time.
The story was something else again.
> They had been married for more than a year,
> And it was cold in their house.
. . .
> He decided he would never get used to the beauty of
> her breasts. They were round and smooth. He kissed
> them, and then kissed her on her lips. Their
> tongues met. An electric thrill ran through him.
> Finally, he returned to her breasts. He kissed all
> that smoothness before continuing on to the hard,
> red nipples. These responded to his suction.
> Finally, his hands parted her legs. "Oh, yes," she
> said. He stroked there while still kissing those
> rose-red nipples. She was panting when he applied
> the Trojan and moved over her. His tongue returned
> to her lips. He licked all over them before
> thrusting between them. Her tongue met his as he
> made another entry below.
> Filled at all openings, she moved sinuously under
> him.
> "I love you," he said. "Oh, how I love you! Oh!"
> While he was saying that, he exploded within her.
> Moments later, she had her own climax.
> When it was over, he stopped moving. After lying in
> her arms for a minute, he pulled out and away from
> her. When he had helped her put the nightie back
> on, she turned on her side to go to sleep. Having
> disposed of the Trojan, he cuddled up against her.
> They drifted off like that, wrapped together.
> Steve loves Shannon. Oh, how he loves her.
Shannon, at that moment, loved Steve more than ever before.
He was worth everything else. Even being nice to her parents
would be worth it if they allowed her to be with him again.
- = -
Ken had known since the first conversation that he would have
to call Shannon's mother again. He could tell himself, though,
that the call would be better if he made it at some other time.
Tuesday night, however, was as late as he should go. And his
conscience had been pricked by Steve's honest statement that he
and Shannon owed Ken.
He waited until his mother went into her room. Ken wasn't
supposed to know what she was smoking in there. Then he made his
phone call.
"Bryant residence. May I help you?" The voice sounded like
Shannon's; the words sounded like some business. Well, he could
be businesslike, as well.
"Mrs. Bryant, please." A few moments of waiting.
"Allison Bryant speaking."
"Mrs. Bryant, this is Ken Dalton. I'm president of the
student council. We spoke once before."
"Yes, Ken. I remember."
"What I was wondering was whether you had decided about
Shannon's participation in the gym decoration Saturday morning."
Ken would bet any money that Shannon wouldn't show. He could
stand that if it made Steve happy.
Allison hadn't thought about that for days. Once, she had
decided that she would never let Shannon out of the house for
that. Then she had decided that she should do something to make
up to Shannon for spying on her. Then she had forgotten all
about that question.
The evening meal, however, had been almost civilized. And she
needed to decide. Well, she and Wayne needed to decide. Then
she rethought. Wayne wasn't bearing the burden of this
punishment; she was.
"Actually, Ken, I haven't quite. I'll tell you what, Shannon
has permission until she misbehaves again. I'm sorry if that
puts you in a position of uncertainty. But that's the way it
is."
That sounded better to Ken than what he was expecting. If
Shannon got out, Steve would be grateful. If Shannon fucked up,
it would be her fault.
"Well, Mrs Bryant, I have to take what I can get."
Allison thought that it was worth her while to tell Shannon.
After all, she might modify her behavior if there was a reward in
sight. And, if she didn't, having told her would put another
punishment in her parents' quiver.
Shannon had finished her homework. She didn't plan to answer
Steve's letter while her parents were awake. She was going over
the story in her head while she changed clothes for bed. The
knocking surprised her. "I'm not decent!" she called.
"It's Mom."
"Just a minute." Shannon pulled the nightgown down over her
head and stepped into her slippers. She opened the door. "What
is it?"
"I just talked to that Ken fellow again," Allison told her
daughter. "He wanted to know if you were going to be at the gym
on Saturday. I said that it was your choice. If you don't pull
something nasty between now and then, I'll let you go. If you
misbehave, even if you put on one of the moods you've been on
recently, I'll pull the plug."
"Well, thanks for telling me. I did promise, after all."
"So you did. And it is within your power to keep that
promise. I didn't promise." Allison turned on her heel and
walked away. Let her daughter deal with responsibility for once.
- = -
Shannon's resolution to be obedient until Saturday didn't
cover waking up in the middle of the night. After all, they had
never told her not to. More important, that was the time to
answer Steve's letters.
I think I'll be able to get out Saturday.
Mom says that it's a matter of being nice to her and
Dad. Which means that they can pull the plug any
time they want, but they always could. Look what
they did over your visits.
Anyway, I'll be on my best behavior. Whatever I
think up, I won't try 'til Sunday. For that matter,
I'm getting tired of this grounding. I just might
give them whatever they want.
If I can figure out what that is.
Anyway, I'm on for Saturday. Wherever we can be.
The story was nice. I've told you before,
that you don't have to tell stories only about a
married couple.
Shannon loves Steve, too.
Oh how I love you.
And on that thought, she buried the disk in her backpack and
snuggled into bed.
- = -
Steve took two "lunches" with him in his backpack Wednesday
morning. Another student was talking to Mrs. Foster in the hall,
but he and Shannon had both taken their seats already. He turned
towards her and mouthed "I love you." She smiled at him just
before the bell rang. Then Mrs. Foster came in, and they had to
talk about library research.
They exchanged disks at lunch. Some of her friends joined
their table, but they were friendlier to him than they had been
before. He knew his glumness wasn't helping Shannon, but he
didn't want to tell her about the problems with the motel -- not
that he could mention a motel in present company -- until it was
in the past. What if Mr. Jensen wouldn't give him the money?
- = -
Roger was due home for a late lunch. Rachel took off her bra
and inserted the diaphragm during a pause in lunch preparation.
She had the table set when Roger walked in the back door. They
kissed.
"Mmm," he said, touching her breast through the blouse.
"Lunch first." She thought of the meatloaf warming in the
oven. It would dry out in ten more minutes, much less a pause
long enough for lovemaking. Besides, this was his last day at
home for nearly a week, and Steve was out of the way for hours;
she didn't want a quickie.
They sat opposite each other in the kitchen. Occasionally,
his ankle rubbed up her calf. Two could play that game, and her
shoes were easier to remove. They quickly put their dishes in
the dishwasher, working together with the benefit of years of
practice.
"Save room for dessert?" she asked, heading barefoot into
their bedroom.
"Dessert? What's for dessert?"
"I am."
"I always have room for that." He was working on her clothes
by this time. She started on his. Still, he was wearing an
awful lot of them. When he got her blouse unbuttoned, she broke
to take it off and hang it up. He took the time to remove his
own shirt and undershirt. He pulled her against him for the
first kiss with his skin warming hers. She felt his hands grip
her bottom cheeks and his erection press the zipper of his
trousers against her belly.
He felt her nipples against his chest. He'd never doubted she
wanted this; the flirting over lunch had only confirmed their
pattern before his trips. Still, the evidence was welcome. And
the actual feel aroused him. He licked her lips. Her tongue
welcomed his. Her buttocks flexed under his clasping hands.
Rachel fanned her hands up and down her husband's back. She
did enjoy the feel of skin. Then she pushed him back. Long
married, she knew better than to attack his trousers before his
shoes were off. He sat down on the bed and she knelt to untie
his shoes. He ran his nails very lightly over her back while she
did this. She pulled off his shoes and then the socks one after
the other.
She pushed herself up with a hand on his thigh. He stood to
kiss her again. He smoothed his hands upwards, stepping back to
get access to her breasts. She stood looking at his face and
enjoying the sensations of his playing with her breasts. When he
bent to kiss them, she pulled his face against her. Then her
hands strayed to his belt. He didn't straighten until his
trousers had puddled around his ankles.
Then he unbuttoned the waist of her skirt and pulled down the
zipper. He was in his jockey shorts, but she was completely
naked. "Dessert," he said. He stepped forward, leaving his
trousers lying on the floor and bending his right leg between
hers. He pulled her against him in a tight hug. When he
straightened, he was holding her up off the floor. Her thighs
clasped his thigh tightly, and her weight pressed all her
sensitive parts against his leg. She enjoyed the rubbing that
generated as he took the few steps to the bed.
He kissed her forehead. "Dessert," he said. He lowered her
to the bed and kissed her nipple. "Dessert." He kissed a line
down that breast and up the other. Then he kissed down her
belly. He kissed an elaborate circle all around her navel, then
thrust his tongue into it. When she writhed at that tickle, he
kissed further down.
He spared only one close-mouthed kiss for her mound. His
attentions to her thighs, in contrast, were wet. To Rachel, they
seemed to go on forever. Finally, she tugged his hair until his
mouth was where she needed it.
He parted her outer lips with his thumbs. He licked up the
edge of her inner ones. The taste was delightful. He licked
harder and was rewarded with more of her fluid. Only the tip of
his tongue touched her clitoris, and that was as gentle as he
could make it. Still, she shivered.
He lifted his head to say "Real dessert." He kissed her
thighs again, slowly zeroing in on her lips. She spread her
legs, wanting him at her center *now*, knowing that his
slowness would ultimately enhance her pleasure. She hadn't
wanted a quickie, but Roger's schedule might drive her crazy.
Finally, his tongue licked between her lips again. He tasted
one side, and then the other. He moved his arms upwards until
his hands could reach her breasts. He cupped each breast with a
hand, taking the nipples between thumb and forefinger in each
case. He timed it so that he squeezed her nipples very gently
just when his tongue reached her clitoris.
"Oh, yes," she said. "Yesss!"
Rachel was slightly puzzled that Roger wasn't using his finger
yet. She stopped thinking, however, about what he was doing --
much less what he was not doing -- to enjoy the sensations that
were coming her way. She was burning hot in the cool room.
There was a fire in her belly, a hotter fire between her legs.
That fire flared through her body, controlling it, moving it.
He enjoyed her writhing under his face and within his arms.
When she convulsed, he clamped his open mouth over the top of her
genitals and inhaled. Still sucking, he closed his lips slowly
until they were on either side of her clitoris.
The fire consumed her utterly. When it left, it took her with
it.
The tense, writhing, body under him suddenly went limp. Roger
abandoned all contact except to lie with his face on her mound.
She gasped under him; he gasped over her. His deep breaths
brought the aroma of her arousal through his nose. Minutes
later, he moved up in the bed beside her. He hugged her gently,
being careful that he was neither touching the sensitive parts
nor interfering with her breathing.
When Rachel came back, she felt Roger lying against one side
and his hand on her other shoulder. She was contained in his
arms, and in his love. She reached up and squeezed the hand on
her shoulder.
"I love you," he said. "I'm sorry I have to go away." Well,
he had to.
"I'm not sure I could survive another few days of that."
"'Of that!' Woman, we haven't begun."
"Well, I'll die happy."
He kissed first her shoulder, then her face, then her mouth.
By the time he broke that kiss, she was out of breath again. He
kissed a slow trail down her neck towards her breasts. While he
sucked and licked her left nipple, his hand strayed between her
thighs. He kissed a trail over to her right nipple while his
hand was massaging her mound.
She was expecting his entry soon, but his kisses went lower
again. "What are you doing?" she asked.
"Getting another helping of dessert."
But the sweetness was all hers to taste. He licked the
insides of her thighs, then her inner lips. When he stopped
short of her clitoris, she spread her legs and lifted herself
towards his tongue. His fingers entered her. *That* was
what she had been missing.
Roger rubbed over the top of her tunnel until he felt the
little bump which was her most sensitive point. He kept the pads
of two fingers there while moving the fingers in and out
microscopically.
"Ah," she said very softly. Ten years of murmuring into
telephones and nearly twenty of keeping her voice low to avoid
the kids' ears had trained her voice. Still, he knew her
responses. Inaudible outside their bedroom, that exclamation
told him that she was very close. He reached one hand up to
touch a nipple. He licked her clitoris as lightly as possible.
He pressed upwards with one enclosed finger, and then the other.
"Oh!" she gasped. She writhed under his arm and his face.
Then her tunnel clenched at his fingers. Again, and yet again,
she clenched him. When a spasm ran through her, he stopped all
motion. As she relaxed back against the mattress, he removed his
hands.
He moved up the bed beside her. He kissed her panting frame.
"I love you," he said. "I loved my dessert."
"You too," she managed to get out. While they lay there, he
occasionally kissed her shoulder or forehead. When her energy
returned she kissed him. He sucked on her tongue, and then broke
the kiss. He kissed down her neck and shoulder. He spent lots
of time on both breasts before he got to her left nipple. The
gentle suction aroused her. When he kissed down that breast and
up the right one, his hand went to her mound. After the last
one, she'd felt that she would be satisfied for days, weeks,
maybe the rest of her life. Now, she wanted more of his hand.
She wanted him, really, but she'd learned to wait.
Finally, she couldn't wait any more. He was kneeling between
her legs and sucking on her breast. She tugged at his shoulders.
He was loving her response, and loving the taste of her
nipple. When he felt the pull on his shoulders, he abandoned her
breast for her mouth. Her tongue met his outside her lips. He
covered it, explored her mouth. He felt her hand on his cock.
He moved his own hand out of the way as she pulled him into her.
She was smooth, and warm, and running with liquid. She let go
when he passed within her gates. He pressed forward until he was
totally contained. Her hands gripped his butt. He moved his to
cuddle her breasts. Her nipples, still firm, pressed into his
palms. He rubbed over them, exciting them both.
When she rested her feet on his calves, he began the old in-
and-out motion. He tried to move slowly, but she pulled his
buttcheeks whenever he was going in. They sped. When he felt
her convulse around him, that triggered his response. He slammed
into her and erupted. They lay together panting for minutes.
He fell to her right and hugged her. She turned on her side
and pressed into his lap. They must have dozed like that. He
woke chilly everywhere he wasn't touching her. He got off the
bed and pulled the covers up over her.
When he had finished his shower, she was awake. She watched
him dress without getting up. He checked his wallet the last
thing. "Spare any money?" he asked.
"Sure. Leave me the singles." He took her wallet out of her
purse and took a ten and a five out of the wallet. He put the
wallet back down beside the purse.
After he had dressed in outdoor wear, he picked up his
suitcase. She followed him to the kitchen doorway. The windows
onto the back lot were uncovered. He set down the suitcase and
hugged her. His hands traveled over her naked back. "Love you,"
he said. "I'll try to drive back Friday night."
"Love *you*. Have a safe trip. Come home if you can,
but don't take risks."
He picked up the suitcase and went out the door. She waited
until the sound of the Jeep had merged with the other traffic
sounds. Then she shivered and ran back to the bedroom. She
crawled back into bed.
- = -
Shannon spoke with Steve for a few minutes between the end of
homeroom and the beginning of the committee meeting. He was
obviously distracted. Was he tired of their relationship,
limited as it clearly was? Was he developing an interest in
another girl? She couldn't tell, and -- short of blurting out
the question -- she couldn't think of any way of finding out.
"I've got to get to the bank before it closes," he said. "I
still haven't gotten my money for the next two weeks." He left
without touching her. Of course, this was school; he wasn't
allowed to touch her. Still, she couldn't tell whether he wanted
to.
She spent the meeting with her hands busy cutting out hearts
and her ears and mouth attending to other matters. Still, this
was less fun than the earlier ones had been. She was careful to
finish up the hearts she had been working on; this was her last
meeting before Saturday. The kids around her talked of the
coming dance and their coming dates. She knew she wasn't going
to the dance; what she didn't know was whether she would have a
date.
Walking home, she started to feel that the grounding hurt her
in ways she hadn't realized before. It seemed to her that it had
been a contest up to then: her parents had kept her from having
fun, and she had caused them as much trouble as she thought she
could get away with. They had ruined her business after she'd
put so much work into it, but that was a business that wouldn't
have lasted after September anyway. Now, though, she had to deal
with Steve in privacy. And she didn't have any privacy, nor any
chance to get any. Well, not until Saturday, anyway.
She was a little surprised about her feelings. Usually, when
people didn't like her, she *really* didn't like them. She
still liked Steve, even if he was getting tired of her. For that
matter, she had been saying no to Steve for an awfully long time.
Recently, of course, it hadn't been her 'no'; it had been her
parents'. Still, she thought back to the summer when she'd
pulled her shorts up. He'd been saying that she was beautiful --
she'd treasured his expression. Why had she cut it short?
She would need to read his letter; maybe he was worried about
something else. She remembered his problems when she'd got her
period. That had had nothing to do with him, but he'd taken it
personally.
When she got home, however, her mom was there and wanted to
supervise Shannon's cooking immediately. She didn't get to read
Steve's letter for hours. Almost as bad, she had to swallow all
her anger about that. Shannon *had* to talk to Steve
Saturday; so her mom *had* to let her go; so she *had*
to follow the rules as they were invented minute by minute.
- = -
The part of "Romeo and Juliet" that had resonated most with
Steve was the speech about "parting is such sweet sorrow."
Usually he didn't want to leave Shannon for any reason. Even
when he left her arms to go to the john for a little relief, he
had left reluctantly. Parting at the end of class or lunch
period was worse and parting at the end of school was usually
much worse. Usually.
Today, however, he wanted to get to the bank. He wanted to
get a lot closer to Shannon than school rules allowed, and that
was likely to cost money. Not having enough money to pay the
motel and to pay for daily expenses was worse in a way than not
having enough money to pay for the motel at all. How long could
he get away with buying nothing in the cafeteria? A lot longer
than he could get away with not buying gas, probably.
But, damn it, not telling Shannon was worse. He kept talking
about, and writing e-mails about, being married to her. Well,
married people talked about their money. He saw that at home
often enough. When married people got as old as his parents and
stopped having sex, that is what they did share. He wanted a
life with Shannon. That meant that he wanted a life sharing with
Shannon.
Besides, when her dad put her on a budget, she had shared with
him. She'd been a little surprised at where Steve came down on
that one, but she had told him about it. Well, Steve would share
with her. Besides, if old Mr. Jensen came through, it would be
because of what Shannon had done. She would deserve to know it.
When Steve came into the bank, however, Mr. Jensen wasn't at a
teller's window. Steve couldn't see him anywhere. After
looking around a bit, Steve approached the woman at the reception
desk.
"Is it possible to see Mr. Jensen?" he asked.
"I'm sorry, he isn't in today."
"Will he be in tomorrow?" If so, how was he going to get the
afternoon off? He could cut class. Telling his mom that he
would need to stay after school another day would raise all sorts
of questions. It wasn't that he wasn't allowed to do things like
that, it was that he needed a good explanation. It was, frankly,
that his dad and mom were nosy.
"Not for the rest of the week." The answer was in a frosty
tone. He was a customer, but she was an adult. "If you have
bank business, there are plenty of other tellers who can help
you."
"Well, I have bank business. Otherwise I wouldn't come in.
But I also know his baby. His elder daughter, really, Amy. I
wanted to ask how she was doing."
"Oh!" the woman's tone was much warmer. "That's why he took a
vacation at this time of year. They're at the Mayo clinic with
Amy. They think that the clinic can help her greatly."
"Thanks. I'll tell my girlfriend. She's Amy's babysitter.
Well, I still have bank business to do. Thanks."
"You're quite welcome. Is that how you know Amy?"
"Yeah. I had to drive her to the hospital once." Steve saw
that the teller who had already turned him down once was free.
He walked over to the line slowly enough that another customer
got her. Then another teller was free.
He handed across the check and a deposit slip asking for $120
back. He could use more, but that was the least he could get by
on. "I'm sorry, sir," the man said "but this account requires
two signatures for a withdrawal."
He'd had this conversation before. "This is a deposit."
"So it is. And I can accept the check as a deposit easily.
But I couldn't give you that much money back. The money you get
back is the same as a withdrawal."
He had already made out the other deposit ticket. The teller
gave him a funny look, but he counted out the seventy-five
dollars back. Now, all Steve had to do was go two weeks on
fifteen dollars.
The hell of it was that he could have got by easily if he'd
saved up cash in his drawer (instead of only in his bank account)
for a few months.
- = -
Shannon got a break after the preparation for dinner. She
rushed to her room. Steve might prefer to tell her goodbye in an
e-mail. He certainly wouldn't tell her in school. Was this his
goodbye? Had she said no too often to him? The letter didn't
really say. And there was a fantasy.
> I'm glad that you liked my gifts,
> although I'm sorry that they were all you got this year.
. . .
> I've told you before. I'm on your side. Sometimes, I think
> you might have made the wrong decision (not about this, about
> other things long ago.) but that doesn't mean that I'm on the
> side of people against you.
. . .
> Well, these are my fantasies. I don't say that you should wear
> your wedding dress on our honeymoon. I just have it in the
> story. As to the blue panties, what is wrong with a blue
> garter? Or something?
> See the story.
> Slowly, he undressed her until she stood before him in her
> last garment. It was a pair of white panties. He kissed her
> ardently and eased her down on the bed.
> He raised himself up to look her in the eyes. "I love you,"
> he said.
> He entered her with one forceful shove. She felt him fill her
> up.
The comments about the gifts were nice. Still, maybe he'd
figured out that she was already costing him too much. Even so,
she hadn't asked for them. She hadn't even thought of the
brownies. Well, the e-mail didn't *sound* like he was
thinking of leaving her.
As for the white panties, she hadn't said she *wouldn't*
wear them. Such things were her choice, but she could be
reasonable. If white panties were important to him, and if he
could hold back so she could wear a white dress, she could wear
white panties, too. They weren't important to her.
The story went on beautifully. Finally, it got to the
critical part. The "I love you" just before he enteered her was
wonderful.
The "forceful shove" wasn't.
She had been grabbed once, thank you. And however personally
she had taken it, it had been a good deal less personal than a
"forceful shove" would be just then -- and just there. Steve had
been patient. Steve had been gentle. That was one of the things
she liked about Steve. Maybe he was coming to the end of his
patience, but right at that time?
And a fantasy, too. She might have understood his losing his
cool just at the wrong time. She might even have forgiven him,
maybe. But in writing out a fantasy? In cold blood, describing
it as a forceful shove.
Then her dad arrived downstairs. She took out the disk and
turned off the machine.
- = -
"At the end of tonight," Steve pointed out to Mr. Hauksbee
during a quiet time, "you'll owe me about half of the next
paycheck, right?"
Hauksbee just looked at him with an eyebrow crooked up.
"Could you advance me some of that in cash," Steve asked, "say
fifty bucks?"
"Well, maybe I could. But I won't! You knew the pay and
conditions when you hired on."
"I'm not objecting to the pay and conditions. I do the work --
you know I do. I'm just having a little trouble getting the
money out of the bank."
"Your pay is an expense. If I started paying in cash, Uncle
Sam might just audit me. Look, I'm not your parent. If you're
having money problems, go to your parents." If Steve did, of
course, his parents would want to know what he wanted the money
for.
That night, his mom picked him up at the store. She stopped
at the gas station on her way home. "Look," she said after the
gas was already pumping, "I seem to have forgotten my wallet.
Can you pay for the gas? You did stop at the bank, didn't you?"
"Yes." Fat lot of good it had done him.
"Well, could we settle up your car expenses when we get home?
You are a couple of days late on paying them. No sweat! I
haven't hounded you and I'm not going to start. It's just that I
may be a little short of cash. Your father took mine, and I
didn't get to the bank. Could we settle up when you get home?
Want to drive?" If she wasn't carrying her wallet, she wasn't
carrying her license. But he was always willing to drive. They
changed places.
After he'd paid for the gas, he only owed her $8.23. She didn't
even charge him the mileage for that night's trip. With the
money he'd stashed in the back of the drawer, he now had $73.26.
The cheapest motel cost $57, and he thought -- on admittedly
inadequate evidence -- that "cheap" was a good word for that
motel.
If he had to fill the tank once in the next two weeks, he
wouldn't be able to afford to. And every time he stopped for
gas, he filled the tank. He didn't have to, but his mom would
wonder why he hadn't. And she had come to depend on him for
filling the tank; that's why he had owed her so little this time.
There were eight school days until his next payday -- that day
was off -- and four work days. But that gas could be paid out of
his next check, and he didn't *have* to eat school lunches;
he didn't even have to buy desserts.
He'd made fun of Shannon's spendthrift ways, but he didn't
really have many places he could cut back. He could make it,
maybe. Still, he needed to be honest with Shannon. He told her
his news before he even opened up her letter.
> Darling
> I have good news and bad news.
> First, the good news. They've taken Amy to the Mayo clinic.
> According to a woman at the bank, they think that she'll be
> much better when she gets back.
> The bad news concerns the motel. I have enough cash to pay
> for it, but that will leave me short until the next pay. I
> wouldn't bother you with that EXCEPT that if I run out, my mom
> will want to know why. IF I run out, and I'll try not to, and
> IF she asks why, I'll make up something.
> Still, you should know that the secret is a lot less safe than
> I would like it to be.
> Pray for snow. I hate to say that, Dad would probably try to
> drive home through it.
>> I think I'll be able to get out Saturday.
>> Mom says that it's a matter of being nice to her and Dad.
>> Which means that they can pull the plug any time they want,
>> but they always could. Look what they did over your visits.
>> Anyway, I'll be on my best behavior. Whatever I think up, I
>> won't try 'til Sunday. For that matter, I'm getting tired of
>> this grounding. I just might give them whatever they want.
>> If I can figure out what that is.
>> Anyway, I'm on for Saturday. Wherever we can be.
>> The story was nice. I've told you before,
>> that you don't have to tell stories only about a married
>> couple.
>> Shannon loves Steve, too.
>> Oh how I love you.
> I love you,
> I really love you.
> You might want to reconsider Saturday because of what I told
> you above. It's your risk, so it's your decision. But I *do*
> want to get together with you. Not just in school. And I
> can't see another time.
> Wouldn't Ken be surprised if we end up actually decorating the
> gym?
> Whatever happens, whatever you decide, I still love you.
Did his opening sound like he was only interested in making
out? Well, yes. And it wasn't the *only* thing he was
interested in. But he couldn't think of another way to say it.
Her giving up looked like a smart idea. He just couldn't tell
Shannon that. If he counseled surrender, which was the only
sensible counsel by now, she would take it as HIS surrender.
And, while he certainly missed his times with her, she was the
one suffering.
But she would join him in the motel if he couldn't guarantee
that his dad would be gone. For that matter, she would join him
in this house. Would she come to this room? He pictured it,
pictured her sitting here in his lap. He had things to do before
he could complete that picture.
If he didn't need to tell stories about being married, could
that mean what he thought it meant? How far would she go? No,
that wasn't what she'd said. Still....
He did something on his homework, but his heart wasn't in it.
He stroked himself in the shower thinking of Shannon in a motel
room, Shannon undressing, Shannon allowing him to touch her.
There he stopped.
In bed, though, he pictured Shannon in that very room, in that
very bed. He pictured her allowing him to remove her clothes,
pictured her allowing his hands to roam over her, pictured her
hands roaming over him. On that thought, he erupted.
He tossed the Kleenex towards the wastebasket, turned over,
and was soon asleep.
- = -
Shannon reread Steve's letter when she awoke to the sound of
the radio, the radio he had bought for her, the radio she hadn't
paid him for yet.
The letter didn't really *sound* like he wanted to dump
her. It didn't sound like he was looking at another girl. And,
if he was picturing "one forceful shove" into another girl, good
for Shannon.
Still, she had decided that she'd said no to him enough times.
She would be gentle this time.
I love your fantasies, you know I do.
One thing I love about them is that I can picture the two of
us in the stories you tell.
I can picture us as a long-married couple making love after
putting up the stockings for our child's first Christmas.
I can't picture you with that "one forceful shove." *My*
fantasies are always fantasies of your being gentle.
I certainly can't see *me* involved like that.
As far as white panties go. It's your fantasy. We have
*MANY* steps before these are our reality, we've talked about
that.
She went back and changed "steps" to "blocks."
We have
*MANY* blocks to overcome before these are our reality, we've
talked about that. But that isn't one of them.
So, if you want white panties in your fantasy, or a bride
going to the hotel room in her wedding dress, go ahead.
I find those fantasies you write exciting, too.
And if you want the white panties in our reality, just ask.
The wedding dress worn after the reception might be a good
deal harder to arrange. And, of course, getting any wedding,
let alone the dress, would be harder yet.
Still, *I* am not saying no to you. I'm just pointing out the
ways your fantasies don't go along with reality.
She reread the letter. It did sound like she was saying
yes to sex with him, and she didn't want to sound like that. On
the other hand, she had said no to him quite enough times, and
she had to say no one more time about the shove.
For that matter, she didn't want to say yes to sex with him --
not in an e-mail, certainly. But she didn't want to say no to
it, either. She might have said no to him too often, but she
deserved some persuasion for the ultimate yes.
And her mom and dad hadn't left her any friends. They had
punished her for doing what everybody did. So, if Steve insisted
that they go all the way, that was the price she'd have to pay to
keep the one friend she had left. But no forceful shoves.
And, schoolwork almost ignored, Shannon returned to bed to
picture Steve being very gentle. Gently, he caressed her;
gently, he kissed her; gently, just before her finger brought the
climax, he entered her.
Continued in Part 12
Heart Ball
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2001/01/18
2003/02/12
2010/02/10
This is one of a series of files holding the novel
*Heart Ball*.
The next file in the series is:
heart_l.txt Part 12
The first file in the series is:
heart_a.txt Part 1
The directory to all my stories can be found at:
index.txt