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From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Jen -- Uther -- MF rom
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Date: Thu, 22 Apr 2010 21:10:07 -0400
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This material is copyright, 2010, by 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.

If you have any comments or requests, please e-mail them
to me at nogardnePrethU@gmail. com .

All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted
as public figures in the background, are figments of my
imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is
strictly coincidental.



Jen
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail. com
MF rom


David Blake was worried that his near-sightedness
was getting worse. His solution was to make his
eyes work more by wearing glasses less often. He
needed them for riding his bike, let alone for
driving his car. But he tried to teach his courses
without them. It wasn't a totally successful
experiment. He was still wearing the glasses when
he followed two students into the seminary one
Monday. He thought he recognized their voices.

"We know so much more, now," said the guy whose
voice sounded like Craig's. The words sounded like
Craig's, too. He was always sure he knew more than
someone else.

"Yeah," said the guy who sounded like Ben."They
had Mary riding a donkey in the last days of her
pregnancy."

"Those guys who wrote the Bible never knew what we
know now," Craig agreed. David had been right; they
were turning together into his classroom. This was
more important than strengthening his eyes. It was
even more important than his syllabus. These
characters were students in Garrett-Evangelical
Theological Seminary, for God's sake. Or for
somebody's sake; God didn't seem to have much to do
with it for some of them. A Sunday-school class
should know better!

"Let's spend a minute on the gospel stories before
talking about Corinthians," he began."What Gospel
contains the story of Mary's riding the donkey to
Bethlehem?" A few kids started scrabbling with
their Bibles."Come on! There are four Gospels in
all. Which ones had Christmas stories."

"I can recite the Christmas story from John,"
Barbara said. She looked as competent as she
usually sounded, although that claim was total
hogwash. Barbara was an older woman on a second
career. She'd been president of a district UMW when
most of her classmates were in high school.

"I'd like to hear it."

"And the word became flesh and dwelt among us."
Okay. David wouldn't call that a Christmas story,
but Barbara sounded competent again.

"I'll buy that. Who here can quote the Christmas
story in Mark?" There was a dead silence. Maybe the
folks riffling through their Bibles thought that
there wasn't any Christmas story in Mark -- that
was the most charitable interpretation. David
waited for a few heartbeats."Well, you are all
correct." For the first, and probably last, time.
"There is no Christmas story in Mark. He begins
with John preaching in the wilderness and Jesus
going to him to be baptized. That leaves two
Gospels. Not to draw this out, Matthew has Mary and
Joseph already living in Bethany. So, pregnant Mary
travels to Bethany in only one gospel. How does she
travel?" There was a silence.

"How many people know that Luke reports that she
traveled there on a donkey?" A couple of hands went
up."How many of you can find the mention of that
donkey in the book of Luke?" Given permission, a
few more people looked in their Bibles. David let
them look until enough blank faces were turned to
him.

"It isn't there," a beautiful girl said. The voice
was Jen's.

"It isn't there," he echoed."The picture of
pregnant Mary riding on a donkey is on many
Christmas cards, but it isn't in the Gospels.

"Now, I won't embarrass anybody by mentioning
names, but I heard two members of this class
discussing how much more we knew than the biblical
authors knew because they had a heavily-pregnant
Mary riding a donkey. We are supposed to know much
more now. And, it is understood that some people
know more about some things today than anybody in
the first century did. Quantum mechanics is only
one example. Any of you know quantum mechanics?"
There was another dead silence.

"So 'we know more than they did' is better phrased
as 'some people today know more than they did about
some things. ' How many of you have ridden a
donkey?" A few hands went up."How many of you have
ridden donkeys for miles and miles for days and
days?" Nobody put their hands up.

"It's quite likely that Matthew, Mark, Luke, and
John had all taken trips on donkey-back. Maybe not.
Certainly, they knew people who had. Now a few of
you have experienced pregnancy, all of you have
known others who have. But -- really -- there is
less pregnancy today than there was in the first
century.

"So, rather than knowing more than they did about
pregnant women riding donkeys, we know a damn-sight
less. Instead of bragging about how much we know
because we live in the twentieth century along with
people who do know some things, things we haven't
studied, we might respect what the Gospel writers
knew. And one thing they knew was the scriptures of
their time. Maybe, just maybe, we would look a
little less asinine if we knew the scriptures
available to us today. And, while the Gospels are
important, today's assignment was on Corinthians."

And he got through most of his intended material,
if rather superficially. Later, though, he thought
he'd been too supercilious. Not in suggesting that
Craig was an asshole; he definitely was. But, if
these guys were attending seminary with less
knowledge of the Gospels than he thought should
qualify them for a Sunday-school certificate, was
he all that much better. He was teaching New
Testament; the writers of the New Testament were
steeped in the Old. Was he steeped in the Old
Testament? Hardly. There were parts of it he hadn't
even read. He decided to read the Old Testament
straight through.

His other decision was to cancel his experiment of
life without glasses. He needed to see his
students. He needed to see Craig; he wanted to see
Jen. She had a pretty face, beautiful, long, hair,
and what looked like a pretty shape. Sitting down
and wearing a sweatshirt, she didn't reveal the
shape. Well, with glasses he could see her between
classes. She'd be walking then. Whatever hints the
sweatshirt gave about the shape of her upper body
it wouldn't give to his blurry vision. Maybe he
could find some other time to ditch his glasses,
housework? meals? He started reading Genesis in his
Greek Bible that night. Paul had read Greek. He
hoped Paul hadn't read scripture in Hebrew outside
the synagogue; David's Greek was rusty enough. His
Hebrew was non-existent.

That Wednesday, he got to the classroom early. It
wasn't used the hour before. His view of Jen going
to her seat was obscured by the other students
coming in at the beginning of the hour. Friday, he
stood in the doorway. He saw a hint of Jen's shape
through the sweatshirt when she was coming towards
him, enough to guess that she was wearing a bra.
That was too bad, but radical feminism wasn't her
style. The view going away was much more
satisfactory, even though she wore a backpack. He
was happy about his glasses decision; her backpack
obscured his sight of her butt until she was six
feet away. She had nice thighs, though, and the
tight jeans showed them off. And the sexy hair over
the backpack almost compensated for the view the
backpack hid.

He was beginning to obsess on that one student,
which wasn't healthy. He belonged to a group
protesting Nestle's contribution to the infant-
formula crisis. The meetings of Chicago INFACT drew
more women than men, and the organizers were
female. Most of those females were taken, but he'd
enjoyed their company at every meeting. He found
himself comparing their looks unfavorably to Jen's.
This was neither fair nor productive. Girls, women
if he were to speak aloud, whose looks and company
he'd enjoyed now pleased him less.

During actual classes, he kept his mind on his
lectures. Sometimes, he despaired that he made any
difference. They learned so little, forgot so much
of that after the test, and -- many of them --
cared not a whit about what Paul wrote. Some of
them, like Craig, since they were certain that they
knew more than Paul did. Others like Pete, didn't
need to read what Paul had written because they had
already learned what he had meant. David had long
suspected that people who claimed -- proclaimed --
that they believed in the inerrancy of Scripture
really believed in the inerrancy of their
interpretation of scripture. He tried to show Pete
the difference.

"That's what you think he meant. What did Paul
say?"

"He said that every bit of scripture was inspired
by God," Pete replied.

"Let's look at that. Read me verses fifteen and
sixteen."

"'And that from a child thou hast known the holy
scriptures, which are able to make thee wise unto
salvation through faith which is in Christ Jesus.
All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and
is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for
correction, for instruction in righteousness. '"

"Now there are two things here. Notice that
Timothy knew the scripturesfrom childhood. What
scriptures?The Septuagint. That's what Jews
outside Palestine read. Our Old Testament and our
Apocrypha. The second thing is that scripture is
inspired by God. Paul doesn't say that it is
dictated by God, and Paul damn-well knew about
dictation, he did it himself. Now you may think
that he really meant that the Old Testament and the
New Testament were dictated by God. But that isn't
what he said. And there is something paradoxical in
claiming that Paul is telling us that the Epistle
to Timothy was dictated by God, but Paul used the
wrong term by mistake."

Pete fell back on "direct verbal inspiration,"
which used the word that Paul had used -- or that
the translators had used for Paul's word -- with
the meaning that Pete, and other fundies wanted to
read into it.

Well, he wasn't hired to break these kids from
their irrationalities. He was hired to have them
learn a few of the passages of the New Testament.
He tried to earn his salary. And, he tried to earn
the extra enjoyment that he got from the Pauline-
Epistles class where he could see Jen by working a
little harder on that class.

If his students weren't turning from opinionated
blatherers into theologians, some theologians were
turning into opinionated blatherers. Just 'cause
Albert Schweitzer had shown how fatuous the
Historical-Jesus movement was at the beginning of
the century, didn't mean that it had been
abandoned. Indeed, a group calling itself "The
Jesus Seminar" had decided to pool their guesses.
That was supposed to establish certainty.

He decided to try to insulate his current classes,
at least, against this newest idea. He typed up
some passages to let the students guess where The
Jesus Seminar would come down on the basis of the
teaching of liberal theology. All he typed were the
chapter and verse. The students needed the practice
of looking these up for themselves; and they needed
the opportunity to see them in context, although he
doubted whether many would take that opportunity.

"You might have heard," he began in each class,
"the story about the man whom the police arrested
for bank robbery. 'You might as well confess,' the
cops said. 'We have an eye witness who can
identify you positively.''What does he know?'
said the man. 'I was wearing a mask. '

"Well, back in the nineteenth century, there was a
serious theological movement called 'The Historical
Jesus. 'Writers could tell you what Jesus really
taught, as opposed to what the first-century Gospel
writers thought he had taught. Since the nineteenth
century was the acme of science and human
understanding, they could strip away the
encrustations and reveal the real teachings.

"Then a theologian named Albert Schweitzer wrote a
book analyzing their teachings. You've heard of
him as a medical missionary, but he was a concert-
level organist and a major theologian as well. What
he did was to compare what the historical-Jesus
writers had said about questions on their own with
what they said Jesus had taught. Guess what?In
every case, although what Smith attributed to Jesus
might be different from what Jones attributed to
Jesus, it was identical to what Smith taught on his
own. They hadn't stripped away the encrustations
added by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John; they had
stripped away the teachings that offended them.
They'd added a few encrustations of their own, as
well.

"Now, today, there are still people doing
nineteenth-century theology. But they've decided
to wear masks. The group calling itself 'The Jesus
Seminar' are voting on what Gospel teachings they
want to call into question. You won't get Smith's
votes to compare with Smith's positions. You'll
only get the majority opinion. But I figure that I
know what the majority of these theologians teach.
I figure that most of you have some idea, too. So,
I've taken a few passages from each of the four
Gospels. I want each of you to vote on them. Not
on whether Jesus actually said them; on whether the
Jesus Seminar people will vote them in or out."

He couldn't grade on their responses, not even on
whether they responded or not. Most of them did
respond, however. They'd gone through high school,
college, and anywhere from a half to three-and-a-
half quarters of seminary by then. When a teacher
gave you an assignment, you turned it in. You
probably didn't think, but you turned it in. He
handed back the average of the class guesses on the
Jesus-Seminar guesses. Ted, a fellow teacher with a
more traditional stance than most of Garret's
faculty had, stopped him in the hall one day.

"I hear that you are planning to rewrite
scripture."

"The ecumenical council of David Blake. It has a
certain ring, but I wasn't really planning on
calling it. What leads to this idea?"

"A four-page sheet of chapter-and-verse citations
with a choice in or out."

"The Schweitzer game? I carefully wrote on each
sheet the question of whether the student thought
the Jesus Seminar would approve of the scripture or
disapprove of it. Did you really not read the
question?"

"I read it. One of your students didn't. He thought
he was being asked whether to take the passage out
of scripture or not."

"Ted, you and I disagree on a good many points, but
we're both professors at an institution of higher
learning. Criticize me for what I say, not for what
some idiot hears."

"I'm not criticizing you. I'm teasing you."

"And getting a good rise out of me, too. Sorry.
I've been dealing with idiots too long, didn't mean
to count you among them." And, whichever student
had run to Ted to complain, several had returned
the sheet with every "in" circled.

The only good things about this quarter were that
his book on Philemon was accepted and that he could
still see Jen in one of his classes.

Then even this reward was cut. Really, Jen's hair
was cut. It looked like a beauty-shop cut as
opposed to a take-out-the-shears-and-to-hell-with-
it cut. She was probably moving slowly towards
looking more professional. Well, she could have
started with wearing blouses instead of
sweatshirts. She was still pretty in short hair,
but the long tresses had been one of the few bright
spots in his week.

He kept his opinions about that to himself most
times, even though keeping his opinions to himself
wasn't one of his strong suits. Once he slipped.
Sally was expressing her opinions just as if she'd
formed them herself rather than picking them up
second hand. They were on Colossians, the last
book they'd read before Romans.

"Well," she said, "Paul was a sexist. We shouldn't
try to follow his teachings about women."

"I think you're reading him anachronistically," he
replied."The people who claim that Paul was
transcribing what God dictated for the twentieth
century are consistent -- I don't agree with them,
but they are consistent. On the other hand, saying
that Paul wrote on his own authority but he was
wrong about the position of women in the twentieth
century shows a little confusion.

"Now, as I emphasized in our study of Philemon,
Paul is always ready to say that believing might
add obligations; he never teaches that it removes
any. A woman who believes has all the obligations
that she would have as an unbeliever, and a first-
century Greek woman had the obligation to obey her
husband. Were the husband also a believer, that
put some obligations on him; it removed none from
her."

"I'm here to clarify what is my theology," Sally
changed the subject."And I must say that you
aren't helping."

"Good!Well, really, I should be indifferent
rather than favorable. There is no reason that I
should care why you are in class, so long as you
aren't here to disrupt it. I'm here to teach what
Paul wrote. Barbara might be here to polish her
shorthand skills for all I care. If you go out of
this class knowing what Paul wrote, I've fulfilled
my obligation to the seminary."

"And your obligations to us?"

"None. Oh, I've the same obligations that I owe
you on the street as a Christian and as a citizen.
But my obligation as a teacher is to the seminary.
Their obligation to you is to give you the
preparation to be a preacher of Christian doctrine,
of Methodist doctrine in particular. I must have
overlooked the place where they promised to help
you work out your private theology. Just to satisfy
my curiosity, and not part of the course work, what
do you plan to do with that theology when you have
determined it?"

"I'm going to be a pastor, of course. How could I
do that without working out my own theology?"

"Well, it's none of my business. As I said, I
hired on to teach Christian theology. But I should
think you would have a hard time making a living as
the founder of The Church of Sally."

"It's not The Church of Sally. I'm going to be a
Christian pastor. It's just that I have to decide
what my theology is. Then I'll preach that."

"I don't see why you expect some congregation to
pay you for that. They are more likely to expect
you to preach the theology of the church. Now,
look at Jen. Plenty of parishioners would like to
look at her. Even if she grew her hair back out,
though, I doubt that many people would pay to hear
her opinions. They want to hear the Gospel. For
that matter, I have a D. Min. just like you'll
have; I studied years after that. You don't seem
terribly anxious to hear my opinions."

When he'd said "Now, look at Jen," he naturally
had. (He looked at Jen often without such a good
excuse. He wished she'd participate more, both as a
teacher and as a man who could use the excuse to
look at her. Instead, Sally did a lot more
talking. ) Jen had not been pleased with his
comments. Quite likely, the other students had
sensed his interest. Most of the male students
probably agreed with him about her hair -- about
looking at her, for that matter.

He started the very next session of that class with
more of the issue. It was, after all, the context
of the entire course."Catholic moral theologians
make a formal distinction among Jesus' precepts.
Some of them are 'monastic counsels,' going the
extra mile beyond what is required of ordinary
believers. I don't know of any Protestant system of
Christian ethics which makes quite that overt a
distinction. Still, many Protestants make some sort
of distinction between the rules that you're
expected to follow and the rules it would be nice
if you followed once in a while. That distinction
might always be invidious, but it is particularly
invidious when it is made about quite parallel
passages in Paul.

"There have been people, men, claiming that 'Wives
should obey their husbands' is an absolute, and
that 'Husbands should treat their wives gently' is
good advice except in special circumstances.
(Which, too often, comes to mean these
circumstances. ) Aside from the viciousness which
this excuses, it is intellectually dishonest. I
don't for a minute oppose feminists' objection to
this. Where I think they go astray is in blaming
Paul for the ideas that idiots read into his clear
writing." This discourse didn't seem to make any
impression. Neither the feminists nor the fundies
seemed convinced.

Well, that was his last excursion from the
syllabus. The test was coming up, and the final
paper.

He gave Jen a B for the course, a grade she'd
clearly earned, even without much class
participation. He Xeroxed her final paper. He had
no excuse for asking for a photo, even one after
the haircut. Unfortunately, she didn't sign up for
another course of his the next quarter. He mentally
shook himself. He'd been spending too much time on
daydreams and too little time on publishable
scholarship.

For Philemon, he'd dealt not only with the -- quite
skimpy -- book itself; he'd dealt with everything
Paul had written about slavery (or everything which
had come down to us). Paul had written much more
about marriage. Maybe he should analyze that
without hanging the argument on a single book.

And his experiment in reading the Old Testament in
Greek was a failure. All that hard work had yielded
only the experience of having struggled with Greek.
He went back to Genesis, but in English. He used
the New English Bible translation. His copy
included the Apocrypha, which Paul had obviously
had available to him.

His sights of Jen were rarer. They were, however,
sights of Jen walking. That got him a better view
of her flexing hips than he'd had while she sat in
his class three days a week. One Spring day, he
found himself trailing her through the halls. when
she turned into a classroom, he went past. Then he
shook himself and turned around. He got to his
classroom late, but the class didn't mind. Few of
them actually wanted to learn about The Letter to
the Hebrews.

He tried to keep himself under control. It was
natural for a man of his years to desire a
beautiful, young, woman. The problems were (1) that
she was his student, and (2) that it was totally
unnatural for a young woman to desire a man of his
years, especially a bookish man with little
machismo. An actor, a politician, a TV personality
would have a chance; a theology professor would
not. So, he should stop dreaming of what he
couldn't do and start working on what he could.
Paul's view of marriage really required some
background. What was the view of marriage in the
first-century Jewish community? What was the view
in the larger Graeco-Roman world?

By the summer, when he got time to really
concentrate on his work, he decided to let it
simmer. His degree was in the New Testament, not
merely in the Epistles. He would concentrate on the
Gospel of John. The liberal dogma on John was that
it was written much later than the other Gospels,
intended as a supplement for them. Without holding
any brief for the fundy argument that it had been
written by John himself, David was dubious. If he
bought the argument that Matthew had Mark's gospel
in front of him because so much of Matthew's gospel
included Mark's stories, then he couldn't buy the
argument that the author of John had the other
three gospels available to him because the book of
John included almost none of the stories included
in the other three. Was there a third possibility?
He made a list of the oddities, "the disciple whom
Jesus loved," foot washing, "she is your mother,"
"so a report spread among the followers of Jesus
that this disciple would not die."

What if the book had been written by converts of
John soon after his death? The good Greek would be
explained by those converts having been Greeks,
rather than diaspora Jews. The stories would be
stories they had heard from John, for the most
part. The Gospel quoted Jesus as saying to all the
disciples, "As I have loved you, so must you love
one another." If John had frequently testified that
Jesus had loved him, could his converts have taken
this to mean that Jesus had loved him to the
exclusion of the others? He decided to go through
the Gospel with the possibility of that authorship
in mind. Did it make sense of some of the
peculiarities? Did it raise other contradictions?

He spent the summer and the early fall on that
project. He finally got his arguments into a paper,
"The case for the antiquity of John." When the
paper was accepted in late January, he used it as
the first chapter of a book on the gospel. His
publisher agreed to publish the book shortly before
the school year ended. At graduation, he saw Jen
for the first time in more than a year. Her face
looked as lovely as ever; the robe left her shape
to the imagination. That night, he was shocked at
how graphically his imagination rose to the
challenge. He was used to wet dreams, but usually
the memory that remained in the morning was quite
vague. Oh, well, she was no longer a student. he
would never see her again.

He'd been working hard. He borrowed six novels from
the library, stocked up on groceries, and neither
read anything serious nor left the apartment until
all six novels were read. By then, it was warm
enough to take the next six novels to the beach,
one at a time. His tan was restored, and his sleep
debt was cancelled by late June. He took his
vacation in Colorado, hiked every day, and finished
the Apocrypha.

He'd read every part of the Septuagint, had it
helped? Some. Even where there hadn't been any
surprises -- and he had, after all, taken courses
in the Old Testament years before -- he now had the
certainty that there would be no surprises. On the
other hand, he had no illusions that his
acquaintance with those books compared to Paul's or
Matthew's. They had read the books and heard the
books many times. They had let the books address
their lives. Letting them address their lives
sounded to him something like the process of lectio
divina. He should look that up when he was back in
Evanston.

In Colorado, he found himself dreaming of Jen more
often. The first time that wasn't a wet dream
shocked him as much as the first wet dream had.
Well, his vacation was a deliberate attempt to let
his mind idle, and 'an idle mind is the devil's
playground. ' Back in Evanston, he'd buckle back
down on the first-century ideas about marriage.
That would take his mind off Jen. She was totally
out of his life, after all.

He achieved his primary purposes. However
bastardized his version of lectio divina was, it
got him a feel of the passages. He read a chapter
from the Apocrypha, selected a passage from that
chapter, read that passage repeatedly, asked what
it meant to him, and then asked what it called on
him to do the next day. It might take an hour a
day; it might mean years of work before he got
through the entire Septuagint, but he'd be a decent
scholar some day. An Evanston rabbi was happy to
put him in contact with a professor who recommended
books that would give him first-century rabbinical
sources on marriage, among many other things.

His secondary purpose didn't seem to be within his
reach. Instead of having fewer wet dreams starring
Jen, he began picturing her in some of the
situations described by the rabbinical sources.
Well, maybe he should go see her again. Where was
she anyhow? Would Garret know? Would the office
which knew be open before school started? He was
puzzling out that question when his phone rang.

"David Blake." In his present mood, he'd welcome a
telemarketer. He felt like swearing, and he
shouldn't waste the words on empty air.

"Professor Blake, this is Donald Emery." The
District Superintendent for the Northern District.
David swallowed his vitriol."I was wondering
whether you were available for pulpit supply?"

"This Sunday? It's short notice, but. . . ."
Methodist laymen were entitled to a service. If
their pastor was sick, some other preacher would
fill in. And, far from his own conference as he
was, he was still a Methodist preacher.

"Not this Sunday. Fred Bright is going into the
hospital, and I'm setting up his replacements.
Would you be available September eleventh?"

"Sure. Send me the details, would you? Address and
a bulletin would be great. With that much warning,
I'll preach from the lectionary."

"Thanks. I wish the less prepared were as faithful
to the lectionary as you are. I'll have my
secretary get it in the mail."

That led to another thought. Where was Jen?
Somewhere in Northern Illinois, probably. And, if
so, the Conference office would know precisely
where. He contacted the Conference office and got
the name of her church, Independence United
Methodist, and then the address of that church. It
was in the western part of the state, but not too
far to drive. He set his alarm early that Sunday,
dressed in a suit, and found the place.

Her hair was still short, the clerical robe hid her
figure, but the face was as pretty as ever. Her
sermon sounded as though she were preaching the
first draft, but it was nothing wild. Her voice was
neither strained nor the sickly-sweet that some
people thought was appropriate for a preacher.

She shook hands with the congregation as they filed
out the door. None of the congregation rushed away
before she could, which was one advantage of a
church in the country."Nice to be here," he told
her when it was his turn.

"Nice to have you here," she responded."A visit
from the faculty is a rare honor this far out in
the country." Which told him that she, at least,
remembered him. Her response was friendly enough,
too, and he got to touch her, which he'd never
done. On the other hand, the situation called for
civility; that might not be her real feelings. And
a handshake was hardly a kiss.

That night, his wet dream actually woke him. All
that he remembered even then, was a kiss from Jen.
Well, he couldn't have a kiss, but he could have
more contact until she told him to go away. He
could, at least, phone her and ask her to lunch. On
the phone, she might be friendlier; her tone with
none of her congregation listening might
communicate that she found his attentions -- even
these light ones -- unwelcome. What did he have to
lose? But he went home from his last class before
he'd got his nerve up. The phone number was on the
bulletin from Sunday, but he had to look the area
code up.

"Independence United Methodist Church." It actually
sounded like Jen herself, but politeness was always
advisable. Besides, it permitted a longer
conversation.

"Reverend Saunders, please."

"Speaking."

"David Blake here. Once your professor in the
Epistles. Yesterday, I visited your service."

"Yes, Professor Blake."But he didn't want her
thinking of him as 'Professor Blake. ' Well, it was
better than not thinking of him at all, but
still. . . .

"I wanted to tell you that I enjoyed your sermon,
Reverend Saunders." And nothing would be worse than
her hearing him slighting her professional
position.

"It's Jen, Professor Blake. You always called me
that." Good! (1) she wanted him to call her 'Jen. '
(2) He got to hear her voice that much longer. (3)
He had a chance to suggest 'David. '

"You were my student, then. You're a pastor, now.
My pastor, at least last Sunday."

"I'm still Jen." And, sounding friendly. Besides it
was a perfect opening.

"And I'm David. I enjoyed your sermon, Jen."

"That's nice to hear, David." Victory! That name
made the phone call worth while, even if she turned
him down."Do you have any suggestions?" Now, that
was a trap. He'd given her quite enough correction
when it was his job. On the other hand, she'd never
believe that he had agreed with everything she'd
said. She'd been in his class long enough to know
that this had never happened.

"I disagree with everything I hear. I have
disagreements with some of what Barth wrote in Der
Romerbrief (in dem Romerbrief? -- never mind). But
not something for you to work on. If you want to
work on a weakness, you need to increase your
confidence. You're a preacher; you're their
preacher. Go with it!" And, if this went no
further, much as he'd be disappointed, that one
piece of advice is what she needed to hear.

"Thanks."

"Anyway, I enjoyed hearing you. I wanted to ask you
to lunch after the service next week. Do you think
you might go?" He held his breath until he felt
faint. Even after he resumed breathing, she didn't
respond. Was she thinking about it? Was she looking
for a polite way to avoid it?

Her response wasn't encouraging when it came."I'm
really sorry. I've accepted another engagement for
that time." Still, she sounded sincere. He should
accept it, but too much was riding on this.
Besides, if she didn't like it and he called again,
she would feel stalked.

"Well, I'm not available the next Sunday. I'm
going to be preaching that day and won't even get
to hear you. How about the Sunday after that?
Twenty days from now?" If she claimed to be booked
up that day, it would prove that she didn't want to
hear from him. He had her pinned down; he could
walk into the service and listen to her all he
wanted. But did he want her for his victim?

"I'd be quite pleased."

"It's a date, then." Which probably sounded more
like what he intended than what he wanted this to
sound like. And, if she were still being polite,
he'd give her an out."Do you want my phone number
in case something comes up?"

"Please." So he gave his apartment phone number to
her. She could call and leave a message when she
was fairly certain he'd be at the seminary.

"Well," he said when he realized that he was
extending the conversation simply to hear her
voice, "I'm keeping you. Nice talking to you, and
nice hearing you on Sunday."

"Thanks for calling. Goodbye."

"Goodbye." Now, she probably accepted dozens of
dinner invitations from parishioners. Probably
accepted some from men younger than himself whom
she thought of as old, settled, dull, parishioners.
On the other hand, he'd have lunch with Jen. And,
with that to look forward to, he should get his
intellectual life in order before classes started.
He bought a Jerusalem Bible at the seminary
bookstore. (He already had their translation of the
New Testament, just what he didn't need now. ) He
began doing his lectio divina on that translation,
beginning in Genesis.

The next week, he attended her church again. He
took communion from her hands. They shook hands
again as he filed out. It was nothing to her, a
touch of lovely skin to him. The Sunday after that,
he substituted for Fred Bright.

The Sunday after that, Jen's sermon was from
Timothy. Not bad. If he hadn't known better, he'd
have thought she had a good teacher of the Epistles
of Paul. Afterwards, he hung back while the
regulars filed out."Enjoyed your sermon," he
said."Can you have lunch with me?"

"Yes."

"My car? What do you have to do here?"

"Ten minutes to lock up." She took even less time
than she'd said. On the other hand, she had changed
her robe which only gave a suggestion of her shape
to a coat which hid it all. When they were in the
restaurant, 'Jerry's,' though, he got to hang up
her coat with his. He'd been right years ago. She
looked better in a blouse.

He recited grace. They began to eat. He had her
alone, but the conversation should be on her."So,"
he said, "are you enjoying being a pastor?"

"Some of it. Preaching is still a chore. I find
that I like making hospital calls, though. So many
of them, especially the old people, are more of a
comfort to me than I am to them."

"'You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din. 'Well,
a better something. I found being a pastor the
hardest part of being a minister. Now, preaching -
- I could do preaching. But, then, I have opinions
on what the texts mean. You might have noticed."

She smiled at that! Her face was even prettier when
she smiled.

"I did notice." She obviously didn't realize what a
boon it was to be noticed by Jen.

"Anyway, you're enjoying your job, then?Not
everything, obviously. But it would be horrible to
find you'd prepared three years to qualify for
something you don't want to do."

"Oh, yes. It's rewarding. I even found out I'm
using stuff I learned. Your course, for instance."

"That must have been a shock!Find yourself
preaching the Epistles a lot?Quite frankly, that
surprises me. I'd think you'd stick with the
Gospel your first year, maybe your first three." He
had, and then -- since he was on his third church
by then -- mostly started over on the gospels
again.

"Well, yes. I was thinking of something else. But
this church, that church, gets a new pastor every
year. Not only new to them, mostly newly ordained.
If new pastors stuck to the Gospel, they'd never
hear the Epistle or the Old Testament lessons at
all.

"Anyway, I meant something else. I was
counseling."She stopped. If she was counseling,
she owed the people confidentiality.

"Smith and Jones," he said.

"Except it was Smith and Smith. And only one Smith
showed up. So I found myself quoting a certain
professor on Paul's only answering the question of
your responsibility."

"And Paul got that from his Master. 'Who made me a
judge over you?'"

"Well, yes. And I said that he could come for
counseling, but not for counseling on how she
should behave."

"Great!That's one time you resisted temptation."

"One time out of how many?"

"One time I've heard of. Anyway, you only have to
resist one time at a time." God! He was babbling.
"I could have said that better."

"It communicated." Which was a kind response to
that sort of drivel. They both returned to their
meal. After dessert, he watched her conceal her
figure again. Then he went to get the car. He
turned the heater all the way up before returning
to her.

"Did you leave your car at the church?" he asked."
I didn't see the parsonage."

"It's not far."Which was a pity. The heat had no
chance of persuading her to open her coat. He drove
there at her direction, got out, and opened her
door. He watched her until she shut the parsonage
door. Then he got back in, turned the heat to a
more reasonable level, and spent the drive back
cursing himself. He was one of her congregation,
however temporary; he was a former instructor who
had experience in the field she'd entered.

All that earned him the right to take her to lunch.
And, if he'd taken a girl to lunch under any other
excuse, he would have walked her to the door and
kissed her on the porch. She would have considered
that only a fair return for the meal.

But you kissed neither your pastor -- why had the
church abandoned the kiss of peace? -- nor your
former student whom you were counseling. He'd set a
David trap for Jen, with the same result as Pooh's
trap for heffalumps. He was caught, himself.

That night, he gave up. Rather than mess the sheets
with a wet dream with no more reward than the
memory of the dream kiss, he stroked himself into a
Kleenex while awake. His imagination went too
slowly, however. He erupted before he'd got more
than her bra off.

He called her the next day to invite her to lunch
in two weeks. He got an acceptance! That couldn't
be mere politeness. When David Emery called him
about preaching that Sunday, he told him that he
was booked. He suggested leaving him at the bottom
of Emery's emergency call sheet for a while. David
felt a little guilty about that, but he'd probably
done more than his share. He wasn't even a member
of this conference.

The second lunch went as the first had done, except
he needn't ask for directions and he didn't play
the failed heater game. He watched her into the
parsonage, and drove home plotting. For one thing,
he couldn't keep taking her to the same restaurant.
For another, he had to figure out a way to turn
these luncheons into dates.

He was a member of Wyoming Annual Conference, but
had a local membership in the charge conference of
Covenant UMC. He usually attended there when he
hadn't another duty. As he wasn't likely to be
there anytime soon, he called up the church and
left a message on the machine.

"Bruce, this is David Blake. Things have come up,
and I don't think I'll be seeing you for a while.
Occasionally, you've asked me to do something; so I
thought you should know."

Should he consider moving his membership to Jen's
charge conference? No. That would require her
approval, and would necessitate the question of
'why?' He didn't want to say 'so I can court you. '
Maybe she didn't want him to court her. Take it one
lunch at a time.

The next week, he got to church early and asked
several of the other early arrivals about
restaurants in the neighborhood. He drove around to
look them over after the service.

When he took Jen to that restaurant, he didn't have
to ask for her recommendations or for directions.
Still, pleasant as the conversation was, pleasant
as the company was, he was still trapped talking to
his pastor and his ex-student.

He had a date in two weeks, listened to her preach
and shook her hand afterwards on the intervening
Sunday. When he got back the next Sunday, however
he had a shock.

"Professor Blake?" A man whom he vaguely recognized
greeted him as he came in the door."I'm Joe
Englehard, chairman of pastor-parish relations."
Great! He looked serious, but -- if he had a
problem with how David had been treating Jen, and
he'd only been treating her indecently in his mind
-- he should take it up with Jen.

"Yes, Mr. Englehard." Englehard might be way out of
line, but David didn't want to cause any problems
for Jen.

"Jen is sick, too sick to lead the service. She
suggested that you might be able to lead the
service."

"Well, I can give you a service. How good a service
is quite another question. May I have a bulletin?"
Englehard gave him one, and he checked out the
scriptural passages. None of them were ones he'd be
comfortable winging a sermon about. Well, he'd been
reading Exodus. What had struck him most clearly?
Yeah, Moses' stammer. That might be appropriate for
a stammering sermon.

David was a man who spoke briefly when he didn't
have much to say. (More men than not go on at great
lengths when they don't know what to say. ) some of
the prayers were printed in the bulletin, and he
used those; others just said that the pastor would
say something, and he said something."Your sins
are forgiven because Jesus Christ has sacrificed
himself in your stead," might be the briefest
absolution spoken that Sunday, but it was as
orthodox as the longest one.

When it was time for the sermon, David began with,
"Your pastor is ill today. She asked that I
substitute. I'm not going to preach from the
passages we've read. Instead, I'm going to deal
with a bit of Exodus. the context is Exodus,
chapter 3, verses 1 through 6." He read them.
"These are merely the context, you know who is
talking, and where they are talking. Now the
passage I'm going to deal with is Chapter 4, verses
10 through 12." Then he read those.

"So Moses stuttered. He thought that was a
disability that shut him off from leading the
Hebrew people at all, let alone leading them when
that meant confronting Pharaoh. In the parlance of
my day, Moses was a 4F. But God wasn't your usual
draft board. God had decided on Moses.

"My job is teaching in the seminary. Every once in
a while, some student will tell me: 'I'd never do
that. Sp God couldn't have done that. ' Well,
usually, I wouldn't have done that, either.
Sacrificing your only son? But, while I would never
have done that, I know that this fact has nothing
to do with how God acts. . . ."

He went on like that until he thought the point had
been made. Then, brought it to a conclusion. People
said nice things when the service was over, perhaps
-- he cynically thought -- because they got out
early. Englehard waited at the end of the line to
thank him.

"No problem. Is someone checking that your pastor
gets whatever medical care she needs?"

"That's my responsibility." Of which David was
quite aware, he had been trying to remind Englehard
of that."If it means visiting a woman in a house
by herself when she ought to be in bed, I'll think
I'll have my wife do the actual checking." Fair
enough. David gave him his card, and copied down
his number.

After handing him a service to lead on something
like five minutes warning, Englehard would be hard-
pressed to ever complain about how David behaved.
Jen, on the other hand, might get justifiably angry
over a phone call dragging her out of a sickbed to
ask about her sickness. He did, however, read the
lectionary for the next week. Remembering what Jen
had said about the danger of Independence never
hearing anything but the gospels, he considered the
passage from Thessalonians. He held off calling Jen
until Wednesday, and contacted Englehard for a
report first.

"This is David," he began when he got her, "I hope
you are feeling better."

"Better," she replied."Not good."

"I've been going through the Old Testament --
lectio divina -- so I preached on Exodus. It
wasn't a passage from the lectionary, but you
didn't give me much warning."

"I didn't have much warning, myself."

"Well, they were kind afterwards. They did get
some sort of service. Anyway, Sunday is the first
Sunday of November. You celebrate Communion on the
first Sunday of the month, don't you?" He knew she
did. He'd taken communion on the first Sundays of
September and October.

"Yes."

"Do you want me to do it?Frankly, you still don't
sound recovered." She sounded far from recovered,
and Englehard thought it would be another week
before she did.

"Could you? And I'm sorry to miss the lunch."

"I'll call your district superintendent and
establish my bona fides." She seemed to like him
personally. Finding him useful in her professional
life could only increase that."Don't worry about
the lunch. I'm sorry, too, but I'm more sorry that
you have to go through the sickness."

"It's only a cold. I keep telling myself. It feels
more like the black plague."

"I'd bet against the black plague, but have
yourself checked out. It's an upper respiratory
infection; I can hear that over the phone. But
people die from the flu, and you could have
pneumonia."

"I've been to the doctor."

"Good. I'll call your DS."

First he called the Conference office for the phone
number. Jen had to have it close at hand, but he
didn't want to strain her even that much. Then he
called the DS's office. He was put through.

"Ed Campbell speaking."

"Reverend Campbell? I'm David Blake. I teach at
Garrett and have been attending Independence UMC.
When Reverend Saunders was taken ill, she asked if
I could conduct the service, and I did. She's still
fairly ill, and doubts that she could handle this
coming Sunday. Well, anybody can preach, but the
sacrament is another question.

"I said I'd check with you to establish my bona
fides. I'm a member in good standing of Wyoming
Conference. Reverend Emery has used me for pulpit
supply. Would you mind if I presided at
Independence this coming Sunday?"

"Yes, Professor Blake. I've heard about your coming
in at the last minute. Good reports on your
sermon."

"Well, it was short. That guarantees someone will
like it. I had something between five and ten
minutes warning. If I do say so myself, it sounded
like I'd had much longer, maybe half an hour."

Campbell laughed."I'd have loved to hear it. Too
bad it wasn't recorded. Anyway, it's Jen's pulpit.
If she says you can occupy it, that's what the
Discipline requires. I'll check with Emery, but I
don't seriously suspect a Garrett professor of
claiming credentials he doesn't have. And thanks
for filling in."

"You're quite welcome. Actually, I feel it's part
of the contract between clergy and laity. I'm
guaranteed a job; they're guaranteed somebody in
the pulpit. Well, I'm keeping you. Thanks and
goodbye."

"Goodbye."

Now, he got seriously to work on a sermon. He dealt
with his lessons, but he set Paul and Exodus aside.
That Sunday, Jen attended, but he led the service.
He was about to suggest that Englehard drive her
back when another man took the responsibility.

Jen, however felt able to handle the service the
next week. She looked as though she'd recovered,
and he took the chance of calling that Monday.

"Independence United Methodist Church."

"This is David. You sounded much better,
yesterday. Have you
recovered, or was that a false dawn?"

"You always identify yourself. And it's never
Dave. I think
I've recovered. It was only a cold."

"One of those things which they describe as, 'it's
not fatal; you only wish it were. '"

"Pretty much."

"I wondered if you think you'll be recovered enough
next Sunday to go out for another lunch. That was
supposed to be an invitation; I'm sorry if it sounds
so convoluted."

"That's the potluck. Are you coming?"

"Of course!Where two or three Methodists are
gathered together, there shall a potluck be
also." Shelaughed." I'll bring my famous
Pauline chile."

"Who's Pauline?"

"You don't know her. I chopped her up to add to
the chile. No. 'Pauline' is an adjective. I make
the chile according to the directions of St. Paul."
And then, hating to  end the conversation, but
needing to leave the joke to simmer, "Well, I'm
keeping you. Bye."

He did produce a large pot of chile, using half as
many jalapeno peppers as he would use for the same
quantity for himself. He might be wronging them,
but the congregation looked fairly bland to him.
Jen looked healthy on Sunday and preached a good
sermon. He considered joining her table, but that
might be seen as an imposition. He repeated and
extended his "Pauline Chile" joke, however so that
Jen could hear it.

"I tried to follow the advice of Paul. He says to
cook chile a long time over very low heat so all
the flavors mix in -- but the dish isn't scorched."

She bit."I had a thorough introduction to the
letters from Paul taught by an excellent
professor." Hot dog! That 'excellent professor'
was worth the drive and cooking the chile."The
course didn't mention chile."

"I can't see how it missed it. Somebody have a
Bible?" Someone at his table pulled out a pocket
New Testament."Excellent, please read First
Corinthians, Chapter seven, verse nine."

The man holding the book looked it up and laughed.
Then he passed the book to David."You read it."

"For it is better to marry than to burn." He got
groans out of that. Jen groaned more loudly than
most, probably because he'd let her marinate in the
joke longer. But that started others off on bible-
based humor. Fools tried to get friendly with
"regular folks" by pretending to be "regular
folks," themselves. David never made that blunder -
- maybe because he was so far from being "regular
folks." He was, however, a joker, and people were
glad to relate to him as a joker.

He stood by his pot while all the rest was being
cleared up. When Jen looked ready to go, he offered
her a ride. She declined on the grounds that the
parsonage was close. So, he put the pot in his
trunk and walked her back. She accepted that. Even
better, when they got there, she turned to him.

"Would you like to come in?" She meant in the
parsonage, but the answer was still yes.

"Thanks."

And when the door closed behind them, he took her
in his arms. He kissed her. It was the sweetest
kiss he'd ever had, well worth the slap if she
slapped him. Instead, she hugged him. Through coats
and all, but it was a hug.

"You don't know," he said when he had to abandon
the kiss, "how long I've wanted to do that."

"The first day?" The lady wanted a declaration.
Why had he bitten his tongue so long?

"Not quite." He should be honest with her."I tried
to teach the course without my glasses. No reason
for you to remember. Anyway, fourth or fifth
class, I gave up. I wore the glasses, and could
see you clearly. Stupid of me to have deprived
myself of that sight for so long."

"You never showed it." He was not so sure. Still,
of all the complaints from students of which he had
heard, none mentioned ogling a coed.

"Well, I tried not to. What would your classmates
have said? Still, I'm not sure I hid it all that well."

This time, she initiated the kiss. His cock
twitched at the thought. He initiated the tongue-
kiss but she cooperated in that. When she stepped
back it was to open her coat. He tossed his towards
the couch.

When they kissed this time, he could feel her shape
-- the shape that had haunted his dreams for so
long. Her breasts were soft on his chest while he
stroked down her back and cupped her bottom. He was
stiff as a board. The only good way to end this was
in bed, but his car was still parked at the church
and people knew where he had gone. Besides, that
Jen had cooperated in the kiss didn't mean that she
was ready to fuck. He had to get away while his big
head still had some say in what his body would do.

"It is as good as my dreams," he said."I'm going
to leave while I can. I'll call." And he walked
out. He put his coat on outside, then got his car
from the church. The first half of the drive back
was spent recalling the kisses. Then he began to
plan. They'd gone about as far as they could go
in her parsonage, one hell of a lot further than
was wise for her to go. And, if he could get a
kiss at the end of his dates, he wanted more dates
than every other week. More Sunday afternoons would
meet with revolt from the church members; they
expected to host her then.

Well, weekday evenings were a better deal in many
ways. He could move up to one a week without
messing her meeting schedule up too much. If the
roads kept clear, they could eat in Chicago. They
could even eat in Evanston, maybe in his apartment
in Evanston. When he got back to his apartment, he
called Jen. He got only her answering machine and
went through a moment of panic. What the hell?
There were many more plausible reasons for her not
answering the phone than that she'd had a relapse
in the last hour.

Still, he breathed a sigh of relief when she called
back.

"I didn't mean for this to be on your bill," he
told her."I'll keep it short."

"I'm in a comfortable chair," she replied."I meant
for it to be a long call. Minimum salary isn't that
minimal." Which certainly sounded like she enjoyed
talking with him, and not -- from her tone -- to
scold him for taking advantage of her.

"Well, I'm not too bright, but sometimes ideas do
get through. Y'know, your congregation wants to
feed you on Sundays. There is no reason that I
have to compete with that. I know about
committee meetings; Lord, how I know. Still, are
you available any week nights? What's your schedule
this week?" There was a pause, but not a daunting one.

"I have trustees on Wednesday and choir practice
every Thursday."

"I have late afternoon classes on Tuesdays and
Thursdays. Would Friday cut into sermon prep
too much?"

"Friday would be fine."

"Expect me then. Parsonage at five o'clock?" She
agreed. She didn't seem to be in any hurry to end
the conversation, either.

Now, if only the weather would cooperate. He'd get
there through a blizzard if he could, but he
couldn't expect her to come back to the Chicago
area unless the roads were clear and the sky looked
like they would stay clear. Disaster, for once,
didn't strike. He showed up a few minutes before
five, and she didn't keep him waiting.

"Look, I'm sorry for springing this on you," he
said as soon as they were both in the car," but
I wanted to see the state of the roads first.
How would you like to eat in Chicago?"

"That sounds lovely. But it means two round trips
for you."

"No bother. The roads are fairly clear. Probably
less driving than you do on a hospital-visit day,"
he pointed out. Then he changed the subject.

"Have you ever eaten Korean?"

"Bulgogi?" Well, she had eaten Korean.

"Bulgogi is to Korean cuisine what McDonalds is to
American," he told her."Feeling adventurous?" he
asked.

"Let's.

"You were a great hit on Sunday," she continued.
"People were talking about you before and after the
trustees' meeting."

"My popularity didn't extend to my cooking. I
don't think anyone but myself took seconds on
my chile."

"You know what Johnson said about women preaching?"

"When a dog walks on its hind legs, you don't ask
how well he does it?"

"Right. Well, I think these people regard a man's
cooking the same way. Ted Jackson and George Blum
are widowers. They brought the store-bought desserts."

"My mistake was trying to vary the recipe for what
I imagined the crowd would like. I used half the
jalapenos that I would have used for myself."

"The hot peppers?"

"Yeah. I figured that bunch for favoring
blandness, so I only used two. And I cut
them into very small pieces, too."

"Yours wasn't the only chile there."

"I noticed two bean dishes. They looked identical
to me."

"Mrs. Benson's chile. She brings a smaller pot
without any chile powder for the people who don't
care for it."

"That must have been the batch I took. But I
thought it was better to take from the larger
pot."

"That's chile in Independence. A sprinkling of
chile powder for the adventurous."

"Look, Korean food might be a mistake."

"That's Independence. I'm Jen. Anyway, they liked
your jokes."

"That's Independence, you're Jen."

"And they said you preached a good sermon, too. A
couple of the men were talking about 'Dave,'
though. I wondered whether I should correct them."

"The good reviews were generosity. The only virtue
of the first one was brevity. I've been going
through the Old testament, and was on Exodus.
Still am; it's forty chapters." Well, he'd stopped
briefly; he really should start again.

"You said something about Lectio Divina."

"A sort of bastardized version. I read a whole
chapter -- you can't do Lectio Divina on that
much. Then I look for the passage that addresses
me that day. Then I read the passage three times,
sometimes a fourth. When I'm home, I read aloud.
Then I meditate on what the passage means. Then I
ask what the passage is calling me to do that day."
They were talking an awful lot about him. He must
sound like a typical egotistical male to her --
maybe an exceptionally egotistical male.

"I think of you dealing more with the New
Testament, and more. . . ." Jen paused.
She needed a nice antonym for 'spiritual. '

"More intellectually?"

"Yeah."

"Sort of is intellectual study of the new
Testament. The New-Testament writers
were. . . . What did Paul say to Timothy?
'Remember that, from early childhood, you
have been familiar with the sacred writings.'
The New-Testament writers were familiar
with the scriptures. They had allowed -- no
invited -- those scriptures to address their
lives.

"When -- in Romans -- Paul recounts a list
of the heroes of the faith, we can go back
and read those particular stories to illuminate
what he was saying about faith. But that
isn't what Paul did. He had read those stories
so many times that they were engraved on
his memory. And not those stories alone. He
omitted much more than half of what he knew.

"Now, some new archaeological discovery about
Jerusalem in the time of David might be
important to your preaching from Samuel.
You should certainly keep up on that sort of
thing. But -- if that knowledge was lost by
the time of the first Herod -- it hardly
will matter to my studies.

"And I could read those passages asking myself what
they meant to Paul, what they meant to Matthew. But
that would be a sort of game, and they definitely
weren't playing games with them." She'd heard enough
lectures from him. Here he was offering her a
date and delivering another lecture.

"Anyway, I'm talking about me. What I did was to
think back on the week's study. I was on the
burning bush thing then. I preached on Moses'
stuttering. God chooses unlikely messengers.

"And don't bother to correct mistakes about my
name. They need to learn a lot more than you can
teach them in a year; prioritize. But let's get
to the more interesting person in the car. How
was your week?" At last!

So she told him a little, if not enough, about her
life.

"Where there are no eyes, there is no caste. Would
you like to share a bottle of wine with this meal?"
He suggested in the restaurant. He described the
dishes for her comments. After all, new tastes
might be ones you liked or ones you hated; you
couldn't predict beforehand."As long as you like
some of it, you can eat that. My descriptions
aren't going to do much good; how do you know
whether you'll like the taste of
seaweed if you've never eaten any?"

"That's kimchi." He pointed to the dangerous side
dish." You think my chile was hot?Try a little
and have a forkfull of rice ready.
Drinking water doesn't work."

She took a little, seemed to like it. She took more
later.

He kept talking rather than listening, though."We
think of consonants as fixed. There is a 'K'
sound, and there is a 'G' sound. Korean, however,
has a sound half-way in between. Is that kimchi,
or is it gimchi?Really, it is not quite either."
What the hell? She, at least looked interested. He
didn't have looks or youth to offer; he could offer
a diversity of experience.

"Care to have some dessert at my place?" He asked
her as they were leaving the restaurant."I love
Oriental food, but they don't really have desserts
for the Yankee taste."

"Thank you. I'd like that." And so they headed for
his apartment.

The coffee was all ready except for turning it on.
After he'd done that, he came back and put their
coats in the closet. Then he welcomed her, verbally
at first.

"Welcome to my humble abode." The real welcome,
though, involved a sweet kiss. She cooperated,
opening her mouth to his tongue. Once again, he got
to feel all of the body he'd spent a quarter
guessing about from inadequate glimpses. Only the
coffeepot kept him from stroking the delightful
breasts that pressed into his chest.

"Coffee's ready. Come in there."

Along with the coffee, he offered her ice cream.
She chose the chocolate fudge swirl over the lime
sherbert. His kind of girl, she went for the
abundance of taste. Well, he'd try to give her an
abundance of sensation later on. For now, he took
some ice cream, too. Really, though, what he wanted
to taste was her.

And, when she'd finished the bowl, he took his
taste. He stood beside her, and she got up to be
kissed. The taste was delightful, and he had his
hands all over her back and her bottom. He loved
that, but bending over became tiresome.

"We'd be more comfortable in the living room," he
said. And they were more comfortable sitting down.
Besides, that way she wouldn't notice his erection.
He hugged her with his right arm and stroked her
with his left hand. She made no resistance, not
even any formal objection.

When his watch alarm sounded, he stopped
reluctantly. He did stop. though. He didn't want
her regretting this date the next day.

"Nine-thirty," he told her."We really should go.
I still have to get you home, much as I've enjoyed
this." She didn't say that she'd enjoyed it, too.
But she didn't deny it either.

He let her use the bathroom first. When he'd used
it, she was ready to go. He got into his coat and
retrieved the car. On the way to Independence, they
compared schedules for the next week. She sounded
like the next week would be busy. On the other
hand, she might be gently avoiding another date.
Probably not. Meetings were listed in the bulletin.
But he'd give her a chance when she wouldn't see
herself in danger of being abandoned at night miles
from nowhere.

 "It looks like Monday or the week after. Look,
I'll call youtomorrow." They parted quite
circumspectly at the parsonage, He spent the first
half of the drive home reliving the evening. He
devoted the second half to planning. If he called
for her earlier, they would have more time for
kissing. Take-out would increase that time even
more. Bedtime was spent on recall and anticipation
of much later, more serious, dates, but he had his
plans -- and alternative plans if something he
suggested didn't please her -- ready before his
call on Saturday.

"Independence United Methodist Church." He could
understand why the Connecticut Yankee could dream
of hearing 'Hello Central. ' That response was a far
sweeter sound than anything on the radio.

"This is David. Would Monday be too soon?"

"Monday would be fine."

"How long has it been since you had a real deep-
dish
pizza?"

"Far too long."

"Howsabout we pick up a pizza and eat it at my
place?"

"Sounds delicious."

"Dress accordingly. Is four o'clock too early to
pick you
up?"

She agreed. She agreed to everything. Such an
agreeable girl!

They were pastor and parishioner when he went
through the line on Sunday. But they were a dating
couple when he picked her up on Monday. She was
wearing a warm coat but also the tight-fitting
jeans he remembered from his classroom.

"My mouth has been watering ever since you
suggested it." she said in the car."This is part
of my childhood."

"You a Chicago girl?"

"Better believe it! You're not."He wasn't even a
Chicago boy.

"Never saw Chicago until I came here for the Ph. D.
Indeed, I'm still a member of the Wyoming
conference."

"You don't sound like a Westerner." He grinned. He
was used to the confusion.

"Not unless you're from New England. Wyoming as in
the Wyoming river, not as in the state. It's in
upstate New York."

She picked a nice assortment of toppings. They
drove to his apartment, and he unlocked the door.
Juggling the pizza box and the keys was a little
much.

"Get the key, will you?" he asked her. He put the
box in the middle ofthe already-set table,
started the coffee, and returned to collect his
keys and her coat. She was wearing a sweatshirt.
That both reminded him of the student wh had
captured his heart and concealed her sweet shape.
Well, what his eyes were denied his hands would
have to discover.

The kiss was delightful and the hug afterwards was
sweet. He could look forward to more after her
hunger for pizza was satisfied. When the coffee
announced its readiness they went into the kitchen.
He poured coffee and dished up pizza.

"Want to sing the grace?" he asked. They sang "Be
Present at our Table, Lord." She had a nice singing
voice, which he would have guessed from her
speaking voice. Then he watched her enjoy her
pizza. He ate, too, but her pleasure was more
enjoyable than the taste in his mouth. He fed her
dessert, too. When she looked replete, he asked her
if she wanted more. When she shook her head, he
introduced the main event.

"Let's take the coffee out into the living room."
She seemed quite agreeable. And, when he sat down
beside her and began to kiss her, she kissed back.

Soon, she cooperated in his getting is hands under
her sweatshirt. Her belly was smooth; her breasts
felt delightful through the bra. For the longest
time, he kissed her mouth and toyed with her
nipples through the cloth. When he wanted to go
further, she cooperated. Her bra clasp almost
defeated his left hand, but she showed her
willingness throughout his efforts.

"Sweet Jen, sweet, sweet Jen," he said when he was
holding her naked breast at last. He caressed it,
played with the nipple, gently lifted it until he
was supporting the slight weight. Then he had
similar pleasure with the other breast. But he
needed to kiss them, too.

"Lift your arms," he said while holding her
sweatshirt. When she did, he removed both shirt and
bra. Then he kissed her face, down her throat,
along her shoulder, and down to the near breast.
All of the journey was sweet, but the destination
was sweetest. Her nipple, already firm, twitched
between his lips. When he licked it, she slumped
back against the couch. He lay her down and knelt
beside the couch.

With not the slightest protest from Jen, he kissed
both breasts and the rest of her torso. He kissed
her mouth while his he had a breast in each hand
until the discomfort of kneeling there overcame the
delight of the sensations of touch.

"Let's get more comfortable," he said. He got to
his feet, braced himself, and lifted her. Getting
her through the door into the bedroom without
banging her against the doorframe was a struggle.
But he finally set her on the bed without having
done her any injury.

When he lay down beside her and kissed her, she
hugged him. After that, he kissed her all over, her
face, her throat. All of her was adorable, but most
adorable were her breasts. When he got to one, he
kissed it while holding the other. Then he kissed
over her belly. He'd like to kiss lower, but that
would require some doing.

So he started to complete her undressing. First her
shoes and socks. Which revealed some quite kissable
toes covered only by pantyhose. He took only a
short detour to visit her breasts before kissing
down from them towards her belt. He struggled with
her belt and the waistband of her jeans while
kissing her navel.

"Let me," he said when he'd undone the jeans.
"Again," when those were removed. Then he slipped
her pantyhose down and he had all of Jen's beauty
before him."Sweet Jen. Beautiful Jen. Delectable
Jen." He could kiss only one place at a time, so he
started on the thighs. Then he lay down beside her
and petted her while kissing her breast.

Soon, his fingers were stroking between her labia.
She was delightfully juicy there, and he stroked
some of that juice up to her clitoris. She tensed,
and he shifted nipples while still stroking her
center. He wanted to kiss her there, but delayed
until she'd had an orgasm. While she was trembling,
he kissed her upper mouth once before heading for
her lower one.

Delightful to feel, her secretions were delicious
to taste. Her odor had him hard as a rock, but he
kept enough control to keep his pants on. When his
licking was rewarded by more trembling, he inserted
a finger to stroke her G-spot. She responded
sweetly and repeatedly.

Then, she pushed his head away. Immediately, he
dropped his stimulation to lie beside her and hug
her. As she came down from her excitement, he felt
her relax and heard her breathing ease. The sound
of her breath went from pants to gentle evenness to
the unmistakable deep breath of sleep. He enjoyed
holding his love in his arms until his lust drove
him to find relief. A few strokes standing in front
of the toilet remembering her delightful climax
were enough.

When he checked the bedroom again, she gave no sign
of waking. The view was delightful, but this was a
girl who'd just recovered from a cold -- maybe the
flu. He covered her and went out. He desperately
wanted to make total love to her -- when she was
awake, of course. He didn't have any
contraceptives. Were drugstores open at this hour?
That was only a minor part of the problem. What
would she feel like if she were to wake with him
gone? And what would she feel like when he returned
and she found out why he had left?

He straightened up the apartment and put the dishes
in the dishwasher. She had had a third piece of
pizza while he had stopped at two. He now took his
third. It wasn't refrigerator-cold, but it wasn't
what he'd call eating temperature, either. Still,
cold pizza with Jen under his roof was better than
pancit all by himself. Which was an idea for
another meal. He knew where he could get Filipino
take-out. He sat down to grade a quiz he'd given
today. He'd done his Tuesday prep already,
expecting to have no time this night. He'd hear Jen
when she awoke.

When he got up to use the bathroom again, he
checked the time. It was after midnight! He'd been
remiss. On the other hand, Jen had had some sleep;
she wouldn't be a total wreck tomorrow. When he
went back to his room, she looked like an angel. He
went and fetched her clothes. Then he hardened his
heart and shook her awake.

"Time to wake up," he told her."I have to get you
back."

"What time is it?"

"Nearly one. You've been asleep for hours." He
paused to let that sink in. Had he paused too long?
She looked like she was dropping off again."I've
put your clothes at the foot of the bed. Are you
going to go back to sleep?"

"I'm awake."

Delighted as he would be to watch her dress, it
would be certain to discomfit her. He left her
there. Minutes later, she came out half-dressed and
looking anxious. He pointed towards the bathroom.
When she came out of the bedroom a second time, he
handed her her coat and put his on. He grabbed the
pizza box from the refrigerator and led her
downstairs.

"Wait in here," he told her before going to the
car. He drove around the block and stopped for her.
"I'd have offered you a shower," he said when she
was inside the car, "but I was afraid you'd catch
your cold back in this weather."

He couldn't decide whether to apologize or let her
go back to sleep. When the second looked unlikely,
he decided on the first.

"I'm sorry," Actually, he was not the least bit
sorry. He was ecstatically happy. Start over."I
got carried away."She neither accepted the
apology nor rejected it. He concentrated on his
driving, then, as he sometimes did when alone in
the car, started to hum.

"Sing it," she said suddenly.

"Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine." The next line
was appropriate for the occasion."Oh what a
foretaste of glory divine."

"Would you like to sing another?" she asked when he
was done. She snuggled down in the seat while he
serenaded his love with standard hymns. When he got
to a place he could take his eyes off the road
safely, she seemed asleep. He lowered his voice but
kept singing. It wouldn't do for him to fall asleep
with this precious cargo in his car. She definitely
was asleep when he stopped at the parsonage. He
shook her.

"Jenny, we're there." He shook her again. She
stumbled out of the car and up on the porch. He put
the pizza in her refrigerator and kissed her good
night."Love you. I'll call."Then he left for
the long trip back.

When he dropped into bed, it retained her perfume.
When the alarm woke him in the morning, however,
all he had was his memories. They were so much like
his previous imagination that only his obvious
sleep deprivation convinced him that they were
real. The sleep deprivation and the fact that his
memories included so much but no intercourse. His
dreams had included intercourse for the past month.

His classes didn't get the school's money's worth
out of him that morning. In the afternoon, he
called Jen.

"Independence United Methodist Church." He loved to
hear her voice.

"David. Can you talk?"

"It rings in the parsonage, too. I'm all alone."

"No calls from the D. S. asking what you were doing
being
driven home after 2:30?"

"No. I think they were all asleep."

"Lucky them. This seminar isn't going to get much
from me today."

"I'm sorry!"

"I'm not." Sleep-deprived, deeply infatuated, horny
as hell, but far from sorry."Look, I already know
that the rest of this week is shot. Could I prevail
on you for another date next Monday?"

"I'd be honored."

"Same time? Maybe another nationality's cuisine?"

"What nationality is pizza anyway?" Jen asked. Good
question.

"American. Chicago isn't a nationality."

"Tell Da Mare!" Jen was obviously thinking of
Daley, not Byrne."Anyway, I'd be honored."

Now, he only had to get through another six days --
five, really, since he'd see her Sunday.

First, though, he'd have to attend the Covenant UMC
charge conference. He owed a report to them and a
report to his home conference. David never saw any
reason to write different reports; they all got
copies of the same thing. Thursday, he was called
on to give a verbal report at the charge-conference
meeting.

"You can read the courses I've taught in the past
year, if you're interested. In terms of using my
ministerial credentials, I've preached at Student
Church at Garrett twice. Both were communion
services. I've preached elsewhere in Northern
District five times. One was a communion service.
I've preached in Western District once, and in
Aurora District twice. One of the latter was a
communion service. I've performed no baptisms this
year." He had no idea why the Discipline emphasized
baptism and communion in its section on special
assignments, but he kept that in his report. Emery
had looked at him oddly when he mentioned the
Aurora district, but he just thanked him for the
report and moved on. Probably Campbell, Jen's DS,
had talked to him. David wondered how much time DSs
spent gossiping.

Friday, he bought condoms. He would give Jen a
chance to refuse intercourse, but she hadn't turned
down anything he'd wanted yet. And what did he
want? Her body, sure. What man wouldn't want her
body? But she was more than a body -- more than
sweet breasts, slender thighs, and a firm bottom.
She had a mind, although she sometimes seemed
afraid to use it. He'd let her get away from him
once. Was he willing to let her get away from him
again? And, if not, that meant marriage. UM pastors
didn't really have long-term affairs outside of
marriage.

Well, one step at a time. The first step was
Sunday, when her handshake sent a tingle through
him. The second was stashing the Trojans in both
nightstands. He didn't want to fumble in the drawer
while reaching across her. the third step was the
call before leaving Monday.

"On for four?" he asked.

"Oh yes. Dress casual?"

"Casual is fine."

He was a few minutes early, but she was ready. They
were proper going to the car, but she talked like
his lover, not his pastor, when they drove away.

"Was I too demanding on the ride back?" She had
demanded nothing on the ride back. She'd demanded
nothing on the entire night, which was convenient,
because he had been unprepared to give her what he
-- at least -- had wanted to give her."I loved
your singing, but I was too out of it to think that
you might strain your voice. And then I fell
asleep on you."

"I kept singing. It kept me awake. How did your
day go?"

"Last week?I was rather slow in the morning, but
I
felt wonderful. I did some hospital visits in the
afternoon and perked right up by the evening
meeting."

"And today?"

"Great" she said."I had this to look forward to."
Which was nice to hear.

He'd ordered the food earlier, and it was waiting
for them. He paid and drove to the apartment. The
closest parking spot wasn't all that close. Again
she gathered his keys and shut the door while he
was putting the food down and turning the coffee
on. He came back in time to help her off with her
coat. The outfit was stunning.

"If that's casual," he told her, "I'm one of the
casualties."

"It's old."

The kiss was sweet, and he could feel an extra
softness against his chest. She'd come braless! He
was seriously tempted to skip the dinner and drag
her to bed. Luckily, the coffee maker recalled him
to his responsibilities.

"Taste each," he said after he'd dished her out a
sample of each."Take as much as you want for
seconds."

"Chicken adobo," he told her about her first
choice.

"I'm glad you waited until after I'd tasted it. It
tastes delicious, but 'adobe' doesn't sound
appetizing."

"Adobo is different. I think the names are a
coincidence. Now that," she'd got to his favorite,
"is pancit. The Greek gods ate ambrosia 'cause
nobody on Mount Olympus could make pancit." Then
he stopped jabbering to watch her enjoy her meal.
The girl enjoyed food --enjoyed life. And she
was such a pleasure to watch

"Want dessert?" he asked at the end.

"No. Want me to take the coffee while you clean
up?"

"That would be kind of you." But, when he'd put the
food in the refrigerator and the dishes in the
sink, she wasn't in the living room.

"Jen," he called, close to panic. When he looked
around, though, she was in the bedroom, sitting on
his bed. Well, that answered a lot of questions,
avoided a lot of negotiation, and saved him a trip
carrying her delightful -- but hard-to-maneuver --
weight. He got into the other side of the bed and
nodded towards the cup on that nightstand.

"My cup?"

"Yeah."

My woman? But it was too early to ask that
question. He kissed her, first. Their tongues met.
He stroked one breast through the dress and reached
around to touch the other one. His hand was on bare
flesh, but not quite the peak. He kissed her face
until she pulled her mouth from his lips. Then he
indicated her dress.

"Don't want to get this wrinkled." She cooperated
with the removal. Then he had both lovely breasts
to kiss. Leaving dessert to last, he spent a long
time on the smoothness until he couldn't resist the
peaks. He licked and sucked each nipple in turn.
His hand strayed lower as his mouth went higher.

His tongue played with hers as his hand caressed
her thigh. She spread her legs for that. The
delightful girl was giving him cooperation instead
of a tussle. He caressed both thighs through the
panty hose some more, then stroked upwards toward
their junction. His mouth returned to her breasts
as he stroked her through her panties. Still, he
wanted even more intimacy.

"These are lovely," he said of her lacy panties,
"but aren't they in the way just now?"She raised
her middle for him to take her panties off, and
again for him to roll down her pantyhose. Every
revelation of her skin looked delightful, but the
contrast with his clothes made him feel
exploitative. He stripped his top. No reason for
her to see his erection.

This kiss was especially delightful, her breasts
pressed against his chest as her lips pressed
against his. Then he kissed down to her breast as
he stroked down to her now-bare mound. He managed
to resist the nipple while he could concentrate in
the delight of feeling the dampness of her labia.
She was enjoying this, too. Indeed, when he sucked
her nipple while stroking over her clit, she
gasped.

"Lovely Jen," he said."Delightful Jen."She was
delightful, responsive as she was lovely. As he
continued licking and stroking her, he felt her
belly tauten under his arm. That should feel even
better under his lips. He kissed down in that
direction. It did feel and taste delightful, but
further progress required a major sift in position.

Jen didn't try to stop him as he moved between her
legs. Of course, he was wearing his trousers at the
time. But he got whiffs of her arousing aroma as he
kissed one thigh and then the other, but always
upwards. When his tongue parted her lips, the taste
was even better than the scent.

Her belly was inches from his eyes. He could see
her breathe and watch her abdomen tense as he
licked her sweetness from her lower lips and up to
her clit. Even so, he was surprised when her mound
shoved up against his face. He put a hand on her
hipbone to warn him. Then he licked her through a
long series of spasms. He sucked her clit gently
while she gasped.

When she collapsed, he lay back down beside her. He
fumbled in the night-stand drawer for a moment for
the Trojan. He held it in one hand while hugging
her with the other arm. When her breath evened, he
held the Trojan where she could see it -- couldn't
avoid seeing it.

"Jen, sweet Jen," he crooned."Jen, lovely
Jennifer, say yes."For the longest time, she
didn't. But she didn't say no, either.

"Yes," she finally said."Yes, David, oh yes!"

On his back, he stripped off trousers and shorts.
Then he opened and applied the Trojan. Kneeling
between her legs, he kissed her sweet breasts once
more. Then he got into position.

"Oh Jen!" Then he was inside her sweetness. Even
through the rubber, he felt the smooth glide of her
walls around him. Fully in her, absorbing her
warmth, he shifted so he could hold a soft breast
in each hand."Sweet Jen," he murmured before his
rising passion forced him to move. He paused at the
top of his strokes to enjoy the clasp of her lips
around his tip, paused at the bottom to enjoy being
fully embraced by her warmth. Engulfed, he would
shift sideways to enjoy another sort of friction.
Then he would begin another stroke.

And she welcomed him. Not only her warmth
surrounded his cock. Her arms held him as his chest
brushed over her firm, responsive, nipples. Her
legs came up to clasp his hips, and she crossed her
ankles behind him.

As his desire accelerated his pace, she responded.
Her feet dropped to the mattress, and her loins
thrust up against his on every down stroke. Her
sweet, soft, hands turned to claws scratching his
shoulders. When he was gritting his teeth holding
himself back, desperately certain he could not for
three more strokes, he no longer had too!

She threw herself against him even more strongly.
Then he felt her contract around his retreating
cock. He drove in more strongly as he felt her
spasms around him.

"Oh," she cried. Then, with a final thrust of his
legs, his spasms joined hers. He was rigid over her
rigidity as he pulsed his life into her.

Then, he was limp over her limpness. He finally
managed to roll them over. He came out. Sometime
later, he realized he'd come out of the Trojan. He
reached back to her center to remove it.

"Oops. Shouldn't matter. Some might have spilled
out of this end, but it couldn't get into you.
You're delightful. Give me another minute to get
my breath back, and I want to kiss you again."
In lieu of that kiss, he captured a hand to kiss.

What got him moving was a complaining bladder. He
returned to the bed to do the real kissing. Jen let
him, but she had to go to the bathroom, too. He
loved watching her bottom flex as she walked away.
Probably, she didn't enjoy the exhibition as much
as he enjoyed the sight. Love was supposed to be
serving the other's desires, not just your own. He
better get something for her. Only his robe was
available. He brought it to the bathroom door and
knocked.

"I'm leaving a robe hanging on the doorknob," he
said."It's
mine; sorry." He brought his clothes into the
kitchen. While he was dressing, he heard her dainty
footsteps return to the bedroom. When he was done,
he sat down. She came in fully dressed. He rose,
kissed her, turned her around to kiss her throat
while his hands could cup her breasts.

"We have a while, yet," he told her."You could
have more food, or the ice cream, or we could stand
like this." When she didn't say anything, he
continued to pet her. But he couldn't keep his
mouth closed.

"I should apologize for the time mess last week. I
didn't know what to do. I'd never expected it to go
that far."

"Tonight surprised you?" She didn't sound like it
had surprised her. She was leaning with her back
against his chest and letting his hands take their
pleasure.

"Can't claim that it did. The depths of the
pleasure, sure. Your beauty is always a
surprise. Not that you are beautiful, I've
known that since I first wore glasses to
class. But the extent of your beauty. Even
when I've seen it earlier, that is always
a surprise. Anyway, the extent of your
beauty might be a surprise, the depth of
my pleasure might be a surprise. But the
basic outline of our activities has been my
dream for a week. I had to make a purchase,
after all. This evening was lovely.
Last week was lovely too; it's just that it
was something I hadn't anticipated."

"Well, I didn't anticipate it, either," she
replied. They stood companionably until his watch
alarm rang. When she straightened, he turned it
off.

"Nine-thirty," he told her."We really have to go
soon if we are going to get you back before
midnight. Want some of the leftovers for
lunch?" She declined. They had one last kiss before
bundling up. Downstairs, she waited inside until he
had the car in front of the door. She walked
towards him before he got the door open. They said
nothing while he drove. Well, what was he waiting
for? Still, this wasn't quite the time for a
proposal. Earlier perhaps, in the apartment. And he
had one more step to make.

"Do you want me to lower the heater a bit?" Which
avoided the subject entirely.

"A bit."

"Look, what does this Saturday look like? Do you
think you could give me a good block of time? Can
you finish sermon prep by Friday?"

"I think so. Is that an invitation?"

"Not a very specific one, I'm afraid. I'll call
you in a day or so." She said nothing about Saturday.
After a while, he changed the subject: "If nothing comes
up, I ought to get you back home by midnight.
Don't want your people mad at me."

"Seems to me you take more effort being
ingratiating with a bunch of people who
have no power over you than you did with
your students and fellow faculty members."

"Ah, but they do have power over me. I don't want
to be a drag on you."

"I'm less careful."

"That's you. If you offend them, and offending is
one part of the job-description for a preacher,
then that was your decision. I just don't want
to be a drag on you."

"And if you offend? That's your decision. But I'm
surprised that you didn't get in trouble over
the Schweitzer game."

"Well, a student took it up with another
professor."

"Craig?"

"He didn't say. I didn't ask. Besides, I can't
remember Craig. The only way you can keep
track of present students is to forget
the former ones."

"You remembered me."

"That's different. You're special. I'd have
noticed you passing in the street. Anyway,
was Craig one of the fundies? The guy who
complained was a fundy."

"Huh?"

"I was surprised too. So was the professor he went
to. He explained that -- whatever my manifold sins
from his perspective -- this particular scheme
was aimed at The Jesus Project. Anyway, he had to
break it to the kid that there was no way to
discipline me for not believing in inerrancy -- not
at Garrett. Really, the admissions office should
weed out kids with that low a reading comprehension."

"That low?"

"He thought I was asking what passages should be
kept in the Gospels," he explained."Wasn't the
question on the sheet clear?"

"It was clear to me."

"Editing the Gospels isn't my business."

"You don't seem to like any cutting. The first
sermon I ever heard you preach was off the
lectionary. The very first part of Luke."

"Well, the lectionary is a different matter. If
you follow the lectionary, your congregation
hears a good solid chunk of the Bible over
three years. In general, I'm suspicious of pastors
who don't follow it. Their congregations are
likely to hear only a few passages."

"That's assuming they come between Easters."

"That's assuming they come every week, or -- at
least -- on a regular basis. If they only come on
Easter, they'll only hear one story, but --
if they can only hear one story -- the
Resurrection story is the one to hear."

"But you don't consider yourself bound to the
lectionary."

"I'm not bound to it; I don't preach often enough;
I don't have a congregation which needs to hear
the whole thing. Give me a little warning,
though, and I'll preach on the lectionary when
I'm substituting."

"Sorry!"

"I wasn't thinking of you. I do a little
substitute preaching. Anyway, you didn't
get sick to stick me with an impossible
assignment.

"Anyway," he continued, "I don't believe in dropping
the lectionary to preach every week to the same people
on your few favorite passages. On the other hand, I
don't see where the committee's neglecting a passage means
that should never be heard. A few of the lists in the Old
Testament, maybe; Paul's personal greetings to individuals,
though I might try one of those on a bet; but there isn't a
passage in the Gospels which isn't worth a sermon."

"Matthew's genealogy of Jesus?" she asked after a
minute.

"You won't believe this." And he told her the story
of preaching on Jesus and his stepfather. Okay, it
was bragging, and Jen caught that.

"You're proud of that, aren't you?David can
preach from any text." Okay, he was bragging. But,
also, he was setting a standard. You should be able
to preach from any text. The next time Jen looked
at the lectionary passages without any inspiration,
she'd look at them again. Jen was that competitive,
at least."Want to preach my sermon Sunday?" she
continued."A nice passage from Leviticus on the
kosher laws?"

"Not this Sunday, thank you." He had other business
than planning a sermon this week."That what you're
going to preach on?I haven't looked at this
week's lectionary." When she was silent, he thought
of another pleasure he could give her.

"Want another hymn?"

"Oh yes!"

So he sang her four hymns. He was afraid he'd put
her to sleep, but she got out of the car under her
own steam at the parsonage. She invited him in, but
he'd left the Trojans at home. Anyway, they should
be circumspect in Independence.

"I'll call," he told her when he left. Before he
did, he had matters to deal with. That night, he
listed jewelers from the Yellow Pages.

First thing in the morning, he contacted his mutual
fund. That money was for emergencies and
opportunities, and this was an opportunity. Most of
the balance would be deposited in his bank account
the next day. Then he contacted his credit card
companies to find out his current limit, and if
they would extend it by the amount of a cash
deposit. Everyone told him that electronic transfer
of funds was quite acceptable.

After his first class, he drove to the jewelers
he'd found listed The second one he tried took
MasterCard and had a selection of which he
approved. Now would Jen approve? Would Jen even
accept? But the jeweler was understanding.

"It's part of the business of selling engagement
rings. Call and make an appointment, like you
suggested. If the woman turns you down, let me know
that you can't make the appointment. You know what
my business would be like if I only sold to people
who intended to wear the themselves?"

He got his body, if not much of his mind, back to
Evanston in time for the seminar.

Wednesday, after the first class, he called Jen.

"This is David," he said."I want to thank you for
our last date.

"I was wondering if I could have your company again
on Saturday? Would one o'clock at the parsonage work
for you?That would mean a late lunch, can you
manage until two?"

"You don't have to feed me."

"I do if I want your company for the meal. Anyway,
I have to feed myself. I want your company for most
of the afternoon, and that fits my schedule. Does
it fit yours? I don't want to impose."

"It can fit my schedule as well. I'll just have to
do sermon prep and hospital visits earlier."

"Thanks."

"Why don't you make it one o'clock at the church
instead? Would that be a problem?"

"One o'clock at the church." Now, he had all her
acceptances but the important one. He called the
jeweler to set up the appointment.

Thursday, he bought a robe and slippers for Jen.
She'd been cute in his robe, but it looked like two
of her could have fit in. Still, the slippers were
a problem. slippers came in sizes and 'dainty'
wasn't a size.

He rehearsed his speech in the car going to the
church, but it seemed to require more context every
time he went over it. Maybe it didn't require that
context; maybe he was afraid of her answer. If she
wasn't ready for marriage, would she go on like
this? Maybe if she wasn't ready for marriage, but
what if she were ready for the married state, but
not with him. After all, he was not the easiest guy
in the world to get along with.

Jen was ready when he got to the church. First stop
was a restaurant on the expressway. Going there and
eating there didn't seem the right time for a
conversation which would decide his whole future,
hers too, if her answer was yes.

On the other hand, he couldn't drive her up to a
jewelers and ask her to select an engagement ring
she thought looked nice. He'd always thought
himself brave, if not physically then intellectually.
He'd dueled distinguished scholars with contradicting
papers, stood up to faculty committees, told a board
of trustees who thought they were Baptists that they
were in charge of keeping the building repaired, not
of running the congregation. Now, he needed to talk
to the sweetest woman in the world, one who had never
contradicted him. And he was scared shitless. Well,
it was time to begin.

"Look," he began when they were on the expressway
and moving with the scant traffic, "I was attracted
to you long ago. Maybe it was all physical back
then. Since then, I've gotten to know you. And I
like what I've gotten to know." Which wasn't really
getting anywhere. But, at least, he was on the
subject at last.

"I think this attraction is mutual," he continued,
maybe not as great, but you seem to like me, too."

"Of course, I like you," said Jen. Well, if not a
surprise, it was a good start.

"You've done all the marriage counseling thing,
taken the courses and all that, done some
counseling yourself this year." Which was
yet another context.

"Yes."

"You know that attraction isn't the be-all and end-
all. But it's a great start -- maybe a necessary start."

"Yes," She paused, then maybe changed the subject.
"David, didn't you once say that one should get to
the central point of a paper by the second
paragraph, first paragraph, preferably?"

"Yeah. So what's my point? Is that what you're
asking?"

"That's what I'm asking."

"Jen, would you marry me?"

"Do you mean would I possibly consider it?Or is
that a proposal?" Now that he'd asked the question,
he hadn't asked it clearly.

"It was supposed to be a proposal. I'm doing this
really badly."

"Well, I would possibly consider it. And, since
that was supposed to be a proposal, this is
supposed to be an acceptance."

"Good. When we've picked out the ring, I'll ask
you in better form. So long as you say yes, I
don't care how many times I have to ask. I may
just do it every day for practice."

"And when will we be picking out the ring?"

"That's where we're going. I made an appointment
with a Chicago jeweler. Sorry I didn't warn you,
but I couldn't. I did this badly enough anyway."

"That's all right." She was so accepting. A girl
deserved a romantic and eloquent proposal, and she
hadn't had one. But she had accepted more than his
clumsy speech. She had accepted him! When he
noticed that the car was overtaking others, he
checked the speedometer. He was going way too fast
in his happiness. He slowed down to legal speed.

The jeweler had several sets on hand within his
price range. The price tags were off, and all of
them were three-ring sets.

"That's not for you to worry about," he told her
when she asked the price."You want to consider
what it would look like on your finger for the rest
of your life. If you want time to think, that's
fine. Just look now." But Jen was decisive. She
settled on one almost immediately. She had only one
question.

"You're sure you want to wear a ring?" He'd thought
of this as an offer, but he'd not spelled it out.

"If it means I'm married to Jen, it will make me
proud."

It turned out that her choice was significantly
below his limit. That was just as well, he would
still have a honeymoon to pay for. When the rings
were theirs, he took the engagement ring in his
hand.

"Jennifer Saunders, will you marry me?" The
question was easy when he wasn't panicked over the
answer.

"David Blake, I will."

He put the ring on her finger, and they were
officially engaged. They each took a box with the
other's ring in it. Back in the car, the engaged
couple had no appointments.

"What do you want to do with the rest of the
evening?" he asked her."I'll admit that this was
my priority. I'll drive you back, if you want.
Still, I'd rather have a date with you. I haven't
had a date with my fiancee, yet. Would you rather
go out to eat?Would you rather take out something
and eat at my place."

"I'm not really dressed for a fancy restaurant,"
she said, "and we did eat lunch late."

"Want to go back to my place?I'm a little nervous
walking around with the band in my pocket. We can
plan the rest of the evening there." And they
could spend the rest of the evening there.
indeed, the afternoon wasn't dead yet.

"Let's."

They were in no rush, he reminded himself. they got
out of their coats and he hung them up before they
had their first kiss. That went on and on, her
hands were on his bottom as his were on hers. When
they broke, he invited her into the kitchen while
he prepared the coffee. While it was brewing, he
renewed the kiss. Then he held her breasts in his
hands while his leg was pressed against her bottom.

"You liked those better without the bra?" she
asked.

"Yes," he admitted."I liked them even better
without the dress. Still, this is nice,
too. I even like the way you look with
your hair cut."

"But better with it long. I had it long enough to
sit on in college. You'd have loved that."
He would have loved that.

"Sweeping the ground when you walk." As long as
they were talking dreams.

"Gee, thanks!It was hard enough to care for when
it was half that length." She was no longer
talking dreams."I can imagine combing dirt and
twigs out of it every night."

"Well, I said I like how you look now. I wasn't
talking about practicalities, I was talking about
looks. I like the way you're dressed now; I
liked the way you were dressed Monday better; and
I liked the way you were dressed Monday in the
bedroom best of all. Still, I wouldn't
suggest you go out in this weather
without a coat."

"I'll forgive you." And, the forgiveness must
entitle him to a kiss. He kissed one ear and then
the other. The coffee was ready before they could
get more serious. That was all right; they had time
for both coffee and seriousness. When he poured the
coffee, he thought of other resources.

"There still is ice cream in the freezer. Don't
want you to spoil your dinner, but you could have a
bowl."

"'Spoil your dinner. 'You sound like my mother."

"At the risk of being repetitive, do you want me to
get a pizza?" That as the cheapest take-out. They
really should celebrate their engagement. On the
other hand, she'd expressed more pleasure over the
pizza than over the fancier meals.

"Pizza?Did the man say pizza?I might propose."
He'd guessed right.

"Can't. You're wearing an engagement ring. What
sort of
topping?"He consulted the take-out menu."Green
peppers?"

"Yes."

"Mushrooms?"

"Mmm," she said, "mushrooms."

"Anchovies?"

"Are you going to read me the whole list?"

"Why not?"

"Pepperoni. That should be enough."

"And cheese?" he asked.

"And cheese," she agreed."Isn't a pizza without
cheese."

"Cheese, pepperoni, mushrooms, green peppers.
Sounds like a heartburn special."

"Now you do sound like my mother. A heartburn
special would have to include hot peppers and
onions."

"Want them?"

"Heavens no," she said. She was eating the ice
cream. They had lots of time, and he had an idea
for the sherbert she hadn't cared for. But he
wasn't finished with the pizza order.

"Deep dish?"

"Is there another kind?"

"There is on the menu." That handled the dinner,
but maybe they could manage to entertain themselves
before dinner time."If I wanted to really sound
like your mother, I'd send you to bed without your
supper."

"I'm willing," she said when she'd decoded the
invitation.

He held out a hand to her. She took it, and he
helped her to her feet. They had a delightful kiss
before he led her into the bedroom and another
there. That might be a lesser pleasure, but it was
one he'd denied himself far too long. Then she sat
while he removed shoes and socks. If she were ready
for bed, the bed was not ready for her. He took
care of that before gesturing for her to rise for
another kiss.

This one was equally sweet, but he had to bend too
far. Jen was shorter without shoes. During the
kiss, he explored her dress. It had a zipper that
he pulled down to her sweet bottom and a hook at
the neck he hadn't expected. Well, one of the
things marriage would teach him was how Jen's
clothes fastened, or -- at least -- unfastened. He
knew more about bras. When he had opened both, he
stepped back for her to remove them properly. She
handed them to him, and he placed them on the chair
on the other side of the bed. He had to bend even
more to kiss her breasts, but the experience was
worth it.

"Lovely." he said."See, you look even better this
way."

"They aren't too small?" Jen could find so many
deficiencies where he only saw perfection.

He tried to get one in his mouth. It wouldn't fit.
He tried the other, just in case -- not at all
because he liked the sensation. It didn't fit,
either."They're too big to fit. What more do you
want?"

"I want you to do that again." Well, he was duty-
bound to please his fiancee. He kissed them again,
quite thoroughly. The nipples were so responsive
when he licked them!

Kneeling before her, he removed her panties. Then
he started her pantyhose down. That revealed her
pubic hair in its naked glory. He kissed it.

"See," he pointed out, "your hair doesn't have to
be long for me
to love it." Then, practicalities intervened."I
think, though, that this would work better if you
were sitting down." It did. And, when the pantyhose
were gone, there was a whole new section of Jen to
kiss. He kissed a line up her leg until she blocked
him by closing her thighs."I think you were sent
to bed," he said. She got into bed. She was wearing
only her watch and the engagement ring. Suddenly,
he thought this was too much.

"Do you want to remove your watch?" When she did,
there was only Jen and his claim on her. He almost
came in his pants at the sight. He kissed that
hand. He lay his glasses on the nightstand before
joining her in bed. There, they had another kiss
her tongue tasted delightfully sweet. He kissed a
line down to onebreast, across to the other, and
then back to her mouth again.

He held her sweet breast while he caught his
breath. Then he kissed and licked another line down
her throat. She writhed at that. What he could see
of that writhe looked delightful but he regretted
removing his glasses. His sight of her loins was
fuzzy. When his kisses got to her breast, he
smoothed his hand down over her belly to her pubic
hair. He played with that as long as he could
resist going further. When he did, she was moist
for him. She interrupted his enjoyment of this
moisture by gripping his shoulders. He stopped his
motions, but removed neither hand nor mouth.

"You're still dressed," she said.

"Ihm hihm." It was early days, yet. He'd love to
bury himself in her and flood her with his release.
On the other hand, he could only do that once a
night. Oh, well. He could afford an engagement ring
at 36. He couldn't have even afforded an apartment
at 16. And Jen would have been what back then?
Grade school, maybe even kindergarten. They'd
definitely met in the right decade, even if he had
less sexual stamina now. for that matter, he now
had some skills to make up for his lost stamina. So
he tried to use his skills.

As he stroked between her labia, he switched
breasts. Jen relaxed to accept his ministrations.
She was going to get pizza tonight; he was entitled
to his dining choice, as well. He moved between her
legs to access it. When he began kissing one thigh
a little above the knee, Jen spread her legs and
bent them. Delightful girl! She was so open in her
acceptance of his attentions. He teased himself,
maybe both of them, with a slow approach that
occasionally switched legs.

When he got to her labia, the taste was as sweet as
he'd expected. When she pulled his head against
her, he stroked up her torso to her breasts. He
played with her nipples. He licked her open and
lapped up the sweetness. He licked to his left; he
licked to his right; he licked up the groove
between. Every time his tongue crossed her
clitoris, her she pulled harder on his hair. When
she did that, he rubbed her outer labia with his
chin. But he needed a rest, and she'd enjoy it more
if the build-up lasted a minute longer. He turned
his head to kiss her thigh. He cupped each breast
with a hand. The lady seemed to grow impatient if
her assault on his head was any indication. Damn!
It was great to feel wanted.

"Sweet Jen," he said."Sweet, sweet, Jennifer and
her special
sweetness."The taste was only part of that
sweetness; her willingness to express desire for
him was another. And, in response to the second
sweetness, he resumed tasting the first. He played
with her breasts again, feeling the stiffness of
the nipples as he drew his fingers lightly over
them. But he was also conscious of the tautness of
her belly under his arms and how the rise their
demonstrated slighter and more frequent breaths.
When he thought she was nearly there, he kissed her
clitoral area and sucked.

He'd been right! The tension under his arms was of
a radically new form. She shuddered beneath his
mouth. He kept licking her and stroking her nipples
as the shudders turned to rhythmic contractions. He
remembered the first time in his apartment, when
she'd slept forever. So, when she arched up into
his face, he broke contact.

Soon, she relaxed. She was going to sleep again. He
covered her carefully. She looked so sweet in his
bed.

"Guten abend, gute nacht, mit rosen bedacht. . . ." He
sang the lullaby through twice. By that time, she
was asleep. He visited the bathroom to use the
facilities and to wash hands and face. It was a
shame to remove Jen's sweet odor, but he was going
out. He didn't want another man smelling her
private scent. That would be his monopoly, his as
long as they both shall live.

He called the pizza place to give his order. He
left a note for Jen on the kitchen table: "Love
you. Gone for pizza. Love you."

She hadn't stirred when he got back. He set the
table, dished the pizza, poured the wine. She
looked so sweet sleeping: too sweet to wake, but
much too sweet to deprive of her pizza. He washed
his hands again, not that Jen was likely to object
to pizza on hands which touched her. He got out the
robe and slippers. Then he shook her gently, then
not so gently.

"Jen! Jen, wake up!It's dinner time. Pizza's
here!" She woke slowly. Poor girl probably needed
her sleep. He was sure she hadn't cut back any
pastoral work to make time for dates, which meant
she probably cut back on her sleep."I have
something for you. Look."He was held out the
robe."And slippers. I figured that you needed to
keep your feet warm." They looked nicer when she
was in them. He told her so when she got back from
the bathroom.

"You look delightful. Want to eat dressed like
that?"

"I have to go with you to get the pizza." Jen had
no idea of how long she'd been asleep.

"It's in the kitchen." She went with him to the
kitchen to see. She looked around but didn't sit
down.

"How long did I sleep?"

"Little more than an hour. Hungry?"

"Yes. Should I dress? Did you get the wine on the
same trip?"

"I already had the wine. Not opened in case you'd
want to eat something else. You are dressed, darling."

"Did you buy the robe and slippers especially for
me?"

"Yep. Hope the slippers fit."

"Actually, they're a little small."

"Good!" She seemed to like all his sexual advances,
but knowing that she was willing to say that
something was wrong made that more believable."You
have a petite build, but the slippers looked
awfully tiny when I compared them to my feet. Can
you wear them
tonight?"

"Sure. Slippers aren't that size-dependent."

They sang "Be present at our table, Lord . . . ,"
and sat down.

"Delicious," she said after her first bite of
pizza.

"So you are, but it's not modest to say so." Then
he got serious."You need to plan how you're going
to tell your congregation. Merely wearing a ring
and waiting for people to notice might work for
somewomen, but it's probably not what you want."

"And how are you going to handle your end?"

"I'm not. Oh, I'll tell my family. Basically,
though, I plan to let this year's supply
of students depart thinking I'll always
be an old bachelor, and next year's supply come
to class to see a man who looks like he's
been married forever. Not that many
students check you out to see whether you're
wearing a ring. Especially men teachers."

"A long engagement?" she asked.

"You're in charge of schedule -- within reason. It
should be
obvious, though, that if you want a decent
honeymoon you'll have
to wait 'til the end of school. Of course, we
could marry
earlier and just take a vacation when we can both
get off.
Honeymoon's are a tradition, they aren't an
essential part of
marriage.

"Look, there is what David wants, and what Jen
wants, and what David's situation requires, and
what Jen's situation requires. My bottom line was
satisfied when you said you'd marry me. I might
have preferences besides, but I don't have other
requirements. You are going to find that your
situation lays a lot more demands. I'm just
looking ahead at some of them. Your congregation
is going to expect that their church is the scene
of the wedding. Your parents might well expect
otherwise. I'm not being demanding; I'm exercising
forethought. I've had more time to look at what
this will mean, after all."

"How long have you known you would propose?"

"Known?Not long. We couldn't get married without
knowing we
were sexually compatible, could we?" Not really the
reason he'd dithered, but -- even now -- he didn't
want to lay out the reasons she shouldn't marry
him."Been considering it? Not as long as I should
have. I'll swear that I wasn't thinking about
marriage when I first looked up what church you'd
been assigned to. It was nowhere in my mind those
first lunches. Now, looking back, it should have
been. I couldn't let this girl go out of my life; I
had to see her again -- and again and again. So how
else could I keep her in my life?When you think
of it, I was an idiot for not seeing that.

"On the other hand, dreaming of kissing you was
frustrating enough. If I had been thinking of
marriage back then, I'd have driven myself crazy.
There were too many obstacles."

"So all of this was a plot?"

"Well, no. That's what I just said. Or, and in one
manner it was, it was horribly done. I just wanted
to see you again. Then I wanted to take you out.
Then -- well really not then -- I wanted to kiss
you. I'd wanted to kiss you much earlier, but I
never thought I'd be able. And asking your pastor
out for lunch is easy enough; dozens of families in
your church do it. Kissing a woman you've taken to
lunch is easy enough; she might not like it, but
she likes you enough to go on a lunch date. It
isn't as if it's a great step. Kissing a woman
you've taken to lunch because she's your pastor is
impossible."

"Well, when you hid your feelings, I couldn't
respond to them." What had happened to liberated
women and sexual equality?

"And if I had stated them explicitly, it would have
been sexual harassment." Then he laughed.

"You can't guess what I'm working on now, though."
He could finally see how he'd sublimated his
interest in marrying Jen when his common sense
would have told him it was impossible.

"What?"

"A book on Paul's views on marriage. A fairly
ambitious one. The nature of marriage in the
Hellenistic society of his audience, in the Roman
law which more-or-less controlled them, in the Old-
Testament background and contemporary practices of
Palestinian Jews. Then Paul's admonitions in light
of those practices. I'm not dealing with one
Letter, nor with what he says on other subjects in
the Letters I mention. I didn't see the connection
'til just now. It's a fair question, an important
segment of his teaching. I'm obsessing over an ex-
student I'll never see again, and I -- just
coincidentally -- set out to investigate what Paul
says about marriage. So, I wasn't consciously
thinking of marrying you until fairly recently."

After a long pause which he'd thought was her
thinking about what he'd said, she asked, "could
you cut one of those slices in half?" He could and
did. While she was eating it, he filled their cups
and dished out a little sherbert. He'd been
thinking of a use for the sherbert for some time.

"Let's adjourn to the bedroom," he said when she
was finishing. He took his coffee and the bowl with
him. She brought her coffee and wine. They set
their servings down on opposite nightstands. They
shared a kiss. As a married couple, they would
probably each undress oneself. This was too new,
though, for that practicality. He undid the sash of
her robe, started to remove it. She began on his
shirt. When she'd done what she could, he stepped
back and removed shirt and undershirt.

This kiss was even better. Her soft breasts were
pressed into his chest, and he could feel her skin
everywhere they touched. Each hand held a cheek of
her lovely bottom. He caressed upwards until they
held her breasts. When she stepped back, he folded
the sheet down again. She lay on the bed, her head
on the only pillow. He'd not made all the purchases
he should have.

"I'll have to get another pillow. I used to imagine
you in this bed, but I considered those daydreams.
I didn't prepare for it."

As he kissed her one more time, he got the
sherbert. He dripped some of the just-melted
sherbert from the spoon onto her breast. Some of it
missed, but landed on skin that he was quite
willing to kiss.

"Hey!" lovely Jen said.

"Sorry," He bent to lick and kiss up the spills.
Lime sherbert had never tasted so good. And the bit
on her nipple tasted even better. He reached for
the bowl to continue his dessert.

"No way!" said lovely Jen."I don't want to catch
cold again." Well, she had a point there, which
made three. Besides, this was about them, not about
David. Anyway, if she objected to this, her lack of
objections to other sexual activities meant that
she had enjoyed them.


"Okay." He kissed her mouth again. Then he kissed
all over her face and down her throat. He continued
on to her breasts. From her near breast, he kissed
a line to the far one. He took enough detours to
make sure that all the sherbert was gone from her
skin. That nipple, which -- after all -- had been
chilled by the sherbert, deserved to get warmer. By
the time his mouth left it, it felt positively hot.
Then he returned to the near breast.

When he kissed her mouth again, Jen unbuckled his
belt. He could do it aster, but her actions were
far sexier than any he'd ever achieved. When his
pants puddled around his knees, though, he got up
and stripped. He was wearing only his watch when he
knelt again between her legs. He had started
kissing a line from just above her knee to her
lower lips when Jen intervened.

"I," she said, "want you in me." Her expressing an
idea with which he agreed so enthusiastically was a
great omen for their upcoming marriage.

"Yes," he said."Soon." He sped up the line of
kisses and extended it to her breast without any
pause at her center. When he was there, he could
support himself on one hand and his knees while he
dug in the nightstand drawer for a Trojan. When he
got it in his hand, he returned to her center by
way of her navel. Meanwhile, he was tearing the
packet open as soon as his balance didn't require
one hand on the bed. He put the Trojan on with his
right hand while his left played with her labia and
clitoris. When he was satisfied that the
contraceptive was in place, he supported himself
with both hands while he kissed and licked her
lower lips. She was close; he heard her gasp when
he first licked her clit. He raised his head to
speak."Like that?"

"Oh yes," she answered. Let's see what more she
would like. He returned to her labia, giving each a
separate lick. Then he licked the groove until he
reached her little red bud. He could feel her
tensing under his face, but he could no longer
resist his own tension. He was moving up her body
as she spoke.

"Now, David."

"Now!" And it was now, and it was here. He slid
into her warmth, feeling her contain him and
embrace his entire length."I love you, Jen," he
said when he had pierced her as fully as he could
go. He rocked from side to side, but his passion
drove him to the primeval in-and-out motion. His
chest slid over her firm nipples as he moved. She
hugged him with arms and legs. She hugged him more
deeply where he was moving in her. She was
adorable, and he had to express it.

"Love," he told her. Almost as if in agreement, she
clutched around him. Her face looked pained, but
her vagina was clutching around him. He took two
more strokes through those sweet contractions. Then
some force drove him deep into her where he pulsed
and pulsed. He lay on soft, sweet, uncomplaining
Jen until he could gather enough energy to roll
over. This he did holding the Trojan on his
shrinking penis. He hugged her with one arm until
he could gather the energy to do more.

He tossed the Trojan towards the waste basket. He'd
have to keep that closer to the bed if he wanted to
entertain Jen again without leaving a mess on the
carpet. When he pulled up the covers, Jen turned
towards him. They shared a hug. Too bad they
couldn't stay like this, but there was a cold,
cruel, world out there.

"Sweet Jen," he said after he got up."I have to
get you back. You'll want to call your staff-
parish committee. Do you want a shower?"

"Please." She took one while he got dressed. In the
kitchen, he put the other half of her last slice on
his plate. He'd take the pizza to her parsonage;
the wine would stay here. No alcohol on UM
property. When Jen came into the kitchen, dressed
and smelling delightful, they shared a chaste kiss.

"Look," he said when they were in the car and on
the expressway, "we really are embarking on two
activities. One is a wedding; one is a marriage.
I'm available for planning the first, but I expect
that you'll have others better equipped to do that.
The one decision I sort of forced on you was that I
would wear a ring. Sorry about that; I saw it more
as something I was offering you. If it bugs you,
tell me. I want anybody who's interested to see
that you are off the market. I really want that.
I think it's only fair to show that I'm off the
market, too. Students don't matter, as I said,
they know their teacher is unavailable to them.
Present company excepted, of course."

"You aren't going to wear the ring in class?" she
asked. Why?

"I'll wear it everywhere. It's not as if chalk
qualifies as dangerous machinery. I doubt that
they'll look. Anyway, I only brought up the
ring because it's something I pushed into the
wedding. Both rings, actually, though yours is
fairly universal. You know what I mean. Anyway,
I probably have other things I'm assuming about
the wedding. If you really want something
absolutely non-traditional, that's negotiable. If
you want something that's a variable within the
tradition, that's your decision. I only need to
be told if you need me to do something. And,
as I said before, 'your decision' doesn't mean
'your desires. ' Some other people will have
expectations, as well. But, even here, those are
your decisions. Making them happy will help
your career." He was talking too much, but
this was necessary. And more was necessary, too.

"That's the wedding," he continued."Now, as to
the marriage, you may not have noticed, but you are
engaged to one opinionated son of a bitch. My only
saving grace is that I know I'm an opinionated son of
a bitch. I want some things for the marriage; I think
marriages are a certain way. You've done enough counseling
-- hell, your courses should have pointed this out -- to
know that the second bit is more of a problem than
the first. Anyway, we'll have to decide all sorts
of things. Don't accept something 'cause I feel
strongly about it. I feel strongly about
everything. And one thing I feel strongly about is
that I want this to make you happy."

"Well, I notice that you waited until after I'd
accepted to say that."

"Well, yes." She should be able to see the
negatives of being married to him, but he was
damned if he was going to point them out in his
proposal.

"But I'd already figured out that you have strong
opinions."

"And the only way to deal with that is to have
strong opinions of your own and let me know them."

"Word on you back at the seminary is that you don't
take off for arguing with you."

"Take off?I hope not. That's called
'participation in class. ' Well . . . some arguments
aren't. Even so, if I get off on a tangent, a
student's following me along the tangent is not
the sort of mistake I can take off points for.

"And one problem is," to get back to the subject of
marriage, "that I have strong opinions -- not
exclusively, but especially -- in your field. If -
- no when -- I tell you that you are doing
something wrong in the church, remind me that you
are the one appointed to be the pastor."

"I asked you for feedback on my sermon once; you
wouldn't give it to me."

"I gave you feedback. There are all sorts of things
you could improve, obviously. There always are.
There will be for the rest of your life. The one
thing, though, that you need to realize is that you
already do a good job. Polishing, everybody can do.
I'll help you with your tuckpointing; you don't
need a gut rehab. Pardon my metaphor."

"I'll pardon it. It speaks."

"Now I'm doing it again. Do you want to continue as
a Methodist preacher?"

"Yes."

"Good. I wasn't saying you had to. I was assuming
you wanted to. Do you feel especially called to
town and country work?"

"No. I'm a city girl; I have more to offer in the
city."

"Would you mind asking for an appointment close to
my job?You're a traveling preacher, I realize.
Still, cabinets make some allowance for
preferences. Sorta have to."

"Sure. I'll ask for that."

"Tell you what. I'll make a list of what we have to
decide about our future. You make one to. The
questions, not the answers. We'll merge the lists.
Then each of us will fill out the answers. Then
we'll look at where we'll have to compromise."

"Sounds like a man who's taken a marriage course."

"Taken more than one. Counseled a lot, too. Always
felt inadequate. Bachelor telling a married couple
what to do. Telling a married man was bad enough. A
married woman!"

"Didn't seem to bother your friend Paul."

"I hope it didn't seem to bother me either. And --
though I hate when people say this -- it may have
been easier in Paul's time. A wife's role was
well-established; so was a husband's. All he had to
add, and that was a lot, was that a Christian acted
on behalf of the other. What are the roles today?
And what happens if the socially-defined roles
change? Or they see their roles out of different
subcultures. He says, 'I want to be married to
you'; she says, 'I want to be married to you. '
What if they don't mean quite the same things
by those words?"

"So you want us to get everything down beforehand?"
Jen asked. Then her tone got a lot more serious.
"You haven't been married before, have you?"

"No. Not even close."

"We really don't know a lot about each other, do
we? I mean, I know your theology fairly well. I
know a little about your taste in food. I don't
know where you grew up, all sorts of things."

"Getting to know you," he sang, "getting to know
all about you." Then he forgot the rest of the lyrics. He
told her so.

"You sing other things than hymns?"

"Yeah. Grew up in a time and place where all my
contemporaries were into rock, and the choir
director wasn't. Made me much more important in the
choir than I'd have been in the fifties. Anyway, he
did some non-church stuff. Music teacher in the
high school, too. I was his favorite soloist for
all of it. You?"

"I sing well enough that the director wants me to
sing with the choir. But that's Independence."

"That's anywhere. I like your voice. Liked it,
speaking voice that is, before I liked your looks.
That was just the glasses, though."

"Coming to church tomorrow?" she asked much later.
They were driving up to her place.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." She pulled off
the ring. Damn! He had risked losing everything by
playing those stupid games with the sherbert.

"Darling," he asked, "what did I do?"

"I'm not breaking the engagement. Bring this with
you. I worked hard on that sermon yesterday. If I
make the announcement before it, nobody will hear
one word. So bring the ring with you and be ready
to come up front."

"You still have to tell your staff-parish
committee." He was still telling her things --
things she probably already knew. Anyway, Englehard
looked like a nice-enough guy that he'd complain to
her rather than to the DS.

"I'll call them."

He left her at the door without even a kiss. Well,
tomorrow they'd be publicly engaged. He supposed
he'd be allowed to kiss her in Independence, if not
in the church, after that. When he got home and
started to clean up, he found a bowl of melted
sherbert and a half-full glass of wine on the
nightstands. He drank the wine and poured the
sherbert down the toilet.

He set the alarm for an hour early and went to bed
without a shower. He took the shower in the
morning, dressed in his best suit, and put the ring
in the suit pocket. He found himself checking the
pocket compulsively on his way to Independence. He
sat in the train-station parking lot until it was
almost time for church. He got there and sat in his
usual place in back. Jen's sermon was all right,
and he was deeply distracted. Probably the
congregation was impressed. At the end of the
service, Jen paused before the benediction.

"I have an announcement to make. David, would you
come up here?" He came forward, palming the ring.
"Did you have a question?" she asked.

"Jennifer, will you marry me?"

"Yes David, I will." The congregation -- in church
or not -- broke out in applause. He placed the ring
on her finger and kissed the back of her hand. They
shared a tender look before he stepped back. Then
she spoke the benediction from up front. Nobody
looked in a hurry to leave.

Among those who came forward were an elderly couple
whom he had never met. Jen introduced him to her
parents. They withdrew a few steps to get
acquainted while the parishioners were admiring the
ring and congratulating Jen.

The end
Jen
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail. com
2919/04/22


The index to almost all my stories:
http://www. asstr. org/~Uther_Pendragon/index. htm

Jen's side of this story:
http://www. asstr. org/~Uther_Pendragon/Gjt/bla_01f. htm
Blake
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