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Heart Ball
IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do something else. This material is Copyright, 2001, Uther Pendragon. All rights reserved. I specifically grant the right of downloading and keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long as this notice is included. Reposting requires previous permission. All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. |
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Heart Ball
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Her daughter, Shannon, was coming towards her carrying two cans of soft drinks. "Oh, hi, mom," she said. "I didn't expect you home." She headed up the stairs. If she hadn't expected her home, why did she have two cans? And they were one Coke and one root beer. Shannon had some weird tastes, but she wouldn't drink both at the same time. Allison followed her up the stairs. "Getting it?" Shannon asked. "I think the modem is plugged in," came a boy's voice from her room. "Try it, and I'll stay here." There was a boy lying on Shannon's bed! "What are you doing? And who are you?" "Oh, hi, Mrs. Bryant. I'm Steve Anderson. We're trying to get Shannon's new computer set up." Why she asked who he was, Steve couldn't tell. He'd met her and Shannon's dad on his first time taking Shannon out. Damn near gave him a third degree, too. Oh, Steven, Allison thought. He looked different lying down with his arms stretched out. Well, it could have been worse. Shannon wasn't on the bed with him. Still Allison wasn't happy seeing a boy in her daughter's bedroom, much less her daughter's bed. Shannon sat down at her new computer. "What should I type?" "Don't use the keyboard," Steve said. "Use the mouse. It should say something like 'Internet Explorer' or 'AOL' on one of those boxes." "It has both." Shannon thought that Steve should give her step-by-step directions. All these choices were more than she wanted. And couldn't her mom go do something else? Steve would set her up next. Allison was frustrated. These kids were ignoring her, ignoring that she could see what they were doing. Well, what they were doing seemed to be getting a computer up and running. Still, did they have to be doing it in a bedroom, for God's sake? Steve was uncomfortable. He'd said that he would set up Shannon's mom on AOL, too. But he had to deal with one computer at a time. And hiding the phone jack under the head of Shannon's bed was idiotic. Still, setting up the computer was his business -- rearranging her bedroom was not. And he hadn't had his root beer yet, and Shannon shouldn't have opened her Coke right over the computer keyboard. Still, he wasn't going to nag her in front of her mom. "Click on the Explorer." He wanted to be at the computer when he set up AOL. "Did that." "Let me look at the screen." Steve got up from the bed to see the Explorer log-in. "Okay, click the top-right X. We don't want to use it, we wanted to know that the modem connection worked." He turned to Shannon's mom, who seemed to be waiting for him to go to work on her installation. "I'll take a while here. Then I'll do yours. Your office, right?" Shannon got up, and he sat down at the keyboard. Allison knew when she had been dismissed. She just wasn't about to be dismissed from her daughter's bedroom in her own house by a teenage boy. "Look," she said, "do you have to do this here?" "Mom," asked Shannon, "where do you expect me to set up my new computer? Where do I have any space if not here?" Steve could see a fight brewing, and he didn't want to be in the middle of it. Shannon was right, and her mom was being unreasonable -- as Shannon often told him she was. Still, if he was part of the argument, even an audience for it, then her mom would remember it when they wanted to extend a curfew or have another privilege. "Where is your AOL disk?" he asked Shannon to distract her. She handed it to him, and he went to work. He'd already chosen a password for her, "stVlvSshN." It didn't matter that her mom knew her password, he'd tell her to change it anyway. Still, he didn't want her mom seeing that message. Seeing it in the middle of a fight would be worse. "Now, you want screen names for each of your parents, too?" he asked. He turned to her mom. "If you get an account with AOL, you get multiple screen names. Shannon asked me to set each one of you up with a screen name. All your identity online is that screen name. Each one has its own password. I'll give you 'SHANMOM' and your husband 'SHANDAD.' Change those passwords. Nobody should know yours, and I certainly don't want to. I'll set up the accounts from this machine, and then we'll go install AOL on your machine. I understand that your husband can get AOL from work." "I think he already has an account from the hospital." "Maybe so. Shannon told me to set each of you up with your own account. He doesn't have a computer here?" "Not one connected to the Internet." Allison was angry enough at this boy invading Shannon's room; she certainly wasn't going to invite him into hers. "I think he likes it that way." "That's fine." In the first place, the man worked with computers, big ones; he couldn't be so ignorant that he couldn't set up AOL. In the second, while this was an easy way to impress Shannon, Steve didn't want to do any work which wouldn't gain him anything. In the third, the obvious reason that a man with Internet access at work might want one at home -- downloading porn -- wasn't one he was about to suggest to the man's wife and daughter. He didn't want Shannon even suspecting that he, Steve, was aware of the possibility. For that matter, her dad might not have any interest in that sort of stuff. "If you want me in your office, I'll install AOL on your computer. You could probably do it yourself." She couldn't be as computer-ignorant as Shannon, but -- then -- maybe it ran in the genes. Allison thought it weird that he would think nothing of being in Shannon's bedroom -- Shannon's bed -- and then ask politely whether she wanted him in her office. But that seemed the only way to get him out of the bedroom. Anyway, she did want an AOL connection. "That would be nice." "Let me drink some of this." Steve moved to the center of the room before he popped the tab on his root beer. "You don't want pop anywhere near a keyboard." He hoped Shannon would take that hint. "You're already set up -- 'bryant-dash-a at AOL dot com.' It's all lowercase letters -- small letters. That's how screen names work. But you can't access from your own computer until AOL is installed there." Steve had told Shannon this several times. He suspected it had flown in one ear and out the other, and repeating it to her mom was one way to repeat it without expressing how deep he felt Shannon's ignorance was. Deep, and a little weird; Shannon got good grades in school, better -- if anything -- than his own; you'd think she could get this stuff which was so simple. Steve installed AOL on Shannon's mom's computer, finished his root beer -- he'd left the can on the hall floor, and took his leave. He'd expected a kiss from Shannon. Hell, he'd deserved one; but he knew he wasn't going to get it with her mom watching. For that matter, her mom seemed in a bad mood. When he'd walked his bike to the sidewalk and pedaled away, Shannon turned to her mom. "He did me a favor -- did you one for that matter. You didn't have to treat him like dirt." "I come home to find a strange boy in your bedroom, and you criticize how I act?" "You knew I was getting a new computer. You wrote the check." Shannon had savings from her job, but the money was in her mother's account. Money in Shannon's hands tended to be spent very quickly. "Did you really expect me to set it up myself?" "I come home to find a strange boy lying in your bed." "Steve isn't strange. Well, he's strange in some ways -- he could set up a computer, after all. But we've been going together for months now. You've met him before. And he was plugging in the cord for the modem. Do you think he should have been lying on the floor? There isn't space. You have a bedroom and an office; when you want to entertain your friends, you can do it in the living room or the dining room. I have one room. This is my office, my living room. It's the only room which is mine. When I told you that I was going to put you and dad on AOL, you said it was generous of me. Then you object to my being on AOL." It had been generous of Shannon. Allison might worry about her daughter's spendthrift ways, but you couldn't deny that she was generous. And it was the only place that she could set up her computer; they'd even discussed where it would go. Still, she was seventeen, a high-school senior. Didn't she have any consciousness of appearances? For that matter, Steve -- he'd called himself Steven -- Steven was a senior, too. Did he think that he should be lying on a girl's bed in the presence of her mother? And lying on her bed when her mother wasn't home was worse. She never doubted that Shannon petted; she came home from a two-hour date much less neatly dressed than she did from a full day in school. But she wanted limits. She figured that she and Wayne had taught their daughter limits, but what they taught and what Shannon learned were two entirely different things. Steve had invited Ken over. He'd visited less this last year than he had before, but he was one of the kids his parents really liked. Several of the teachers liked Ken, too, which was something of a puzzle. The kids liked him because he was a joker, often in trouble. You'd think that the adults would hate him for that reason. In Steve's room, Ken talked about beginning AP calc that week. Steve enjoyed the idea of taking calc; he'd need it for what he wanted to do. Actually enjoying the subject, the contents of the course? That seemed to go against the unofficial high-school code of conduct. "You're going to be busy, taking AP in both calc and physics," he pointed out. "Do you really want to run for student-council president?" "It's too late to change my mind about that. I've been running for the last two years. Besides, the schools look at that when they are doing admittance." "You could get in anywhere. You got an 800 on the junior math College Boards." "Everybody applying to Chicago did something like that. Remember Jerry, president of the chess club our freshman year?" "Yeah, and first board. I could see working at being first board; club president looks like more work, and less prestige, as you should know." "I asked him that. The players respect first board; they don't much respect president, and non-players laugh at the entire club. Well, he told me that schools look at things like that. He'd been a good student with no extra-curricular activities. Mr. Babaian thought up the chess club to give him an office. First board wants to be president, you vote for him." "You were first board by the end of that year. Why didn't you run for president?" "I did. I just took my time. But, if president of the chess club will make the schools look at you, a major office will make them look closer. So I looked at the major offices." "And you're running for the highest one." "Class president is less prestige with more competition. Anyway, I supported people running for class offices in return for their promise of support for me later. They aren't all keeping their promises, but enough are. And the chess players and the jokers are supporting me. You should run for student council; it would look good on your record, too." "No. I'm not even sure I can keep up in the chess club. I'll be working for Hauksbee in the drug store as much time as I can and he'll let me." "And as much time as Shannon lets you free." "Shannon knows I have to work. She ushers, too. She's an understanding girl. And didn't inherit that from her mom." "Mom doesn't like dear daughter dating a dork?" "It's not that." And Steve told him the whole story of his working on Shannon's computer. "And I can't understand it. This is my room. Now, my mom and dad like you; but they'd never say who I can have visit here. They haven't since I was a little kid." "Yeah, but her mom is a married lady." "So what? Most moms are." Not all moms. His mom wasn't, which Steve knew. She'd never been, which he'd never told Steve. He kept few secrets from his closest friend, but that was one of them. "You won't talk about my reasons for running for council president?" he asked suddenly. "No. What about Shannon's mom? What did you mean?" "Well, she's a married lady. She has sex in her bed. That's what a bed means to her, what a bedroom means." Not that they had to be married to have sex, not that they always kept sex in the bedroom. He'd heard his mom too many times, seen her once on the couch with a visitor, not that he'd ever say any of that to Steve. "Wouldn't you have funny feelings about Shannon riding in the back seat with another boy? Perfectly innocent use of the back seat -- but you have another experience." "Boy! Have you ever seen the back seat of a Honda? I don't get in the back seat with Shannon. I don't know if she's ever even sat there." "But you get my point." If Ken had things he didn't share with Steve, Steve had things he didn't share with Ken. How far had they gone? Ken didn't know, and Steve didn't say. Unlike a lot of kids who'd tell you all about their conquests -- imaginary conquests, probably. Steve had been known to refuse to say whether he'd ever kissed Shannon, which was ridiculous. The school had rules about "PDA," public displays of affection on school property. Some couples protested by ostentatiously kissing as soon as they were across the street and off school property. Steve and Shannon had soon tired of that game, but they'd played it for a few days in the spring. "I'd rather have you on the Council than not," Ken said, reminded that some kids liked and/or respected Steve. "Still, it's your decision. You will campaign for me, though?" "Sure. I've said so. Even though I still think this is one of your elaborate practical jokes." "Would I do that to you?" Ken didn't bother to deny that he'd do that to the student body. "Yup!" At which time, there was a knock on the door. It was time for supper. Steve often bitched about his parents to Ken. Ken listened, that's what friends did. Still, he envied him his parents -- even his dad. There were two or three teachers who had been a great help to Ken, all of them male. His own dad was a programmer; Ken got -- aside from the checks which only his mom saw -- two weeks a year with him, even if those weeks were fun. Steve's mom was the closest thing to a mother figure in Ken's life. "So, Ken," said Steve's dad, "Steve tells us you are running for president of the student council. Isn't that a major step? Shouldn't you have done something lesser beforehand?" "Well, I am president of the chess club. Was president last year and the vee-pee the year before. But I think I've got a good chance at this. Besides, you have to understand what student council is." "And what's that? It's the government of the school." "Not quite. Look, school is a bunch of classes. It's more, but that is the center. Now, the principal is in charge; he's paid more than the teachers, and can give them orders. But he can't control how Mr. Babaian teaches physics. He doesn't know what goes on in the classroom day by day; he doesn't know enough physics, for that matter." "So?" "So, everything which is really important is out of the principal's control. All he can control is Mickey-Mouse stuff. And, as Steve will have told you, that means that the school is full of Mickey-Mouse rules. I'll bet the president of your company doesn't have a loudspeaker which he gets on a half dozen times a day to make announcements to the factory workers. So the teachers control what happens in class; the principal and his administration controls what they can -- making up rules for the most part. That doesn't leave much for the student council to decide. They mostly run the dances; that and they have great fun with parliamentary rules. I'll bet the average student-council member raises more points of order in a year than the entire US Congress." "Your take on school government is interesting," Rachel Anderson said. "You don't intend to tie the council in knots just to prove your point do you?" "Well...." "Promise us you'll do the best job you can if you do get in." "Oh, he'll get in," said Steve. He had great faith in Ken's scheming. Some of the schemes blew up, though the t-shirts they'd tried to turn into guncotton hadn't. He wouldn't take any bets against unintended consequences, but the direct results of one of his schemes was fairly certain to be what Ken intended. He wouldn't make the mistake of counting his votes wrong. "I didn't hear his promise," said his mom. "I promise. I'll be the best student-council president I can be." "When you get older," said Steve's dad, "you might see the point to some of the rules which seem pointless now. I can remember Steve complaining about the PDA rule." "Oh, I can see that one. Not that it limits me in any way. Before you can display affection, you have to have someone you feel affectionate about. And nobody is ever going to feel affection towards me." "You aren't as hard to like as you think, Ken," Mrs. Anderson said. "Roger and I managed." "You have a generous heart. With two kids of your own, you looked at the stray your son brought home with him and opened another ventricle of mother-love." "Ken!" Mrs. Anderson looked as shocked at what he had said as he felt. He'd always had a problem evading the truth around her. He took a deep breath and settled down. Steve's next question was about chess, and he answered it well enough. He didn't reveal himself another time during the meal. Shannon was a little surprised at the energy Steve put into Ken's campaign. She didn't put in any great effort, herself. For that matter, Ken didn't seem to put out any effort, either. He won on his reputation as a joker -- but also he got support from a surprising number of leaders in the sophomore and junior classes. The important part of student government went on substantially unchanged. The dances were held on schedule. Steve took her to the first one. They danced the slow dances together, and they sat out half the fast dances together. They parked on their way home. Steve didn't really think that making out was something that Shannon owed him. As much as he wanted to bare her lovely breasts, he didn't want her to permit him because he had taken her to the first dance of their senior year. But still.... Shannon buttoned her blouse up again, before moving back into his arms. She really liked Steve, loved him, loved his kisses. But she felt so exposed in the seat of his mother's Honda. "But this summer, you... we...." Steve said. |
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"It's not the same, Steve," she said, wondering why he couldn't see that. It was one thing to be alone in the meadow, sharing all their thoughts, no one to see them but God; and then they shared some other things, too, things that she wouldn't have mentioned to another soul. "We were clean, then." "After a five-mile bike ride? I showered before picking you up tonight." "We were sweaty, but what we did was clean," she said. "Now we are just a couple of kids making out in a car. And anybody could come by. It's not the same. And I have to be home in fifteen minutes." The last was inarguable. He kissed her with closed lips and with his hands off her covered breasts. "I love you," he said. "I don't understand you, but I love you." He started the car. She loved him, too. She even understood him a little bit, sometimes. She had enjoyed their summertime making out, and it didn't make sense to feel more exposed in the dark car than she had in the sunlit field. She just did. And, he did back off when she asked. Finally she said, "I love you, too. Just have a little patience with me." He'd thought that the conversation was over. They were nearly to her house, having driven in silence. "Patience" didn't sound that bad to him; not good, but better than "never." They kissed chastely at her door. Her parents might be watching. As a matter of fact, her mother was. She was favorably impressed that Steven always walked Shannon to the door as Curt almost never had; she was happy that they hadn't made a spectacle of themselves for the neighbors. Still, Allison Bryant didn't think for one minute that this kiss represented the extent of the last hour's activities. "Did you have a nice time at the dance?" she asked. From the state of Shannon's hair and lipstick, she'd clearly had a nice time afterwards. "It was great," Shannon said with a lack of enthusiasm even she could hear. "Actually, it was. It's just that neither Jones at the theater nor Hauksbee at the drugstore have much respect for their peons' social needs." Which was a constant annoyance, even if not one that she had thought about that night. Steve stopped his mother's car at a gas station to fill the tank. His earnings, after current expenses, went into a savings account intended for college. The money in there was probably enough to buy a beater; he was tired of having to explain to his parents before every date just why he needed to use one of their cars. Kids who worked much less than he, younger kids, kids doing worse in school, kids who had been in trouble with the law for God's sake, drove their own cars to school every day. Later, lying in bed, he thought that his having to ask for the car was typical of his life. Bill, a year ahead of him in school and Hauksbee's delivery boy two years ago, had worked in the store and been trusted with the cash register his senior year. With Bill gone, Hauksbee or Thompson handled the register. Steve was still just a delivery boy. Steve got good grades, and had been sent to the principal's office only twice in the three previous years. Both times were with Ken, and the principal had little to say to him except "Stay away from Ken; he'll just lead you into trouble." Now Ken was president of Student Council, and Steve was nobody. Well, that was unfair; he'd helped Ken win, and Ken had wanted him to run for Council. Steve just hadn't wanted to put in the time. And Ken was even brighter than his grades showed; when Mr. Jenkins was teaching them the evils of sentence fragments, he'd handed one of Ken's themes back with the comment: "Laughed out loud; grade of F." Ken had written the whole thing in sentence fragments. But still, Steve colored within the lines and got diddleysquat. Even Shannon (especially Shannon because Shannon was what mattered most) didn't want them to be "a couple of kids making out in a car." Well, what did she think they were? That was as good as saying that she would give him less than his classmates were getting, and some of those guys treated their girlfriends like shit. To be fair, though, some of those girlfriends were shit. And some of the others were nice girls except for a terrible taste in guys. But not one of them was as nice as Shannon. That was the problem, really. It wasn't only that he wanted to touch some breasts; he wanted to touch Shannon's breasts. To be honest, he wanted a lot more than that. He wanted to fuck her, but Shannon wasn't the sort of girl who would do that. Not now, at least, and it was too long to wait for any future in which she would. He could imagine it, though. And he did. He would remove Shannon's bra and see those smooth breasts again; he would kiss them until she was panting, much more excited than she had ever been in the summer. Then he would strip her flowered panties down and see the heart-shaped hair again. |
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Someday, she wouldn't stop him. He would remove her panties completely and kneel between her legs. Then her hands would replace his, guiding his cock into her and he would stroke and stroke inside her. At that point, he reached for the Kleenex. He wrapped it around the head of his cock and imagined his entrance into Shannon's body one more time. He erupted, and then stroked until it all had come out. Satisfied, but somehow feeling dissatisfied, he slid into sleep. The next week, Hauksbee began showing him how to operate the cash register. Kevin, a junior whom he knew slightly, started working one night a week on deliveries. It was how Steve had started. He got a fifteen-cents-an-hour raise, but still was making less per week than he had made in the summer. His parents fought his idea of buying a car when he brought it up Sunday afternoon. "You need that money for college," his father said. A representative of a fertilizer company, he was getting ready to start a three-day road trip visiting dealers. "You don't need a car." "What would I have done if I hadn't found a job?" he responded. "I'm tired of having to get down on my knees every time that I need a car. I want my own." "That's quite an exaggeration. It's not your car; you have to expect to ask." "That's just the point. The cars aren't my property. So I can't say that I will drive somewhere with my friends or tell Shannon that I can take her on a date. I have to tell them all that I will try; I will ask. "I'm not going to break the law, speed, run away from home. I just want a car which I can decide to drive somewhere; which allows me to tell people that I will go there tomorrow or next week." It didn't work; talking to his parents almost never did. He was still in a negative mood when Ken turned his way as they left AP Calculus the next day. "You know, we really need your input on the Harvest Ball," Ken said. The school had dances to records more Friday nights than not, but the fancier, rarer Saturday-night "Balls" were done by committees. Ken was responsible for getting those committees together and having the dances a success. It was the real work of the student council president. The idea of Ken being responsible was funny on the face of it, but not funny enough to lighten his mood. "Not this time, Ken. I'll ask Shannon to the dance, but I don't have time to be on a committee." Ken was actually walking away from his next class; not having much time to argue, he switched lanes and hurried back. Wednesday night, Roger Anderson muted the commercial. "Getting down on his knees," he said to his wife. "You ought to make him get down on his knees next time he asks." Rachel had almost forgotten the exaggeration, but she had been thinking about the incident. "I can see what Steve means about making plans. Still kids have very flexible positions on property and privacy. What's yours is theirs; what's theirs is private. He was rooting around in our closet just the other day for one of your ties." "Well, he did ask after he found it." "Still, would you dare go through his closet or drawers if he had forgotten to return it?" She wondered if she should mention the incident with their daughter when she was home from college. "Nope." Roger said, and clicked "Ed" back up. She was the one who clicked the ending commercials down. "Mallory is just as bad, maybe worse. Last summer, she was looking through my lingerie drawer for a half slip...." "Hmmm." "She found the vibrator," Rachel continued. "And you caught her with it in her hands?" "No. She confronted me with it. She thought it was disgusting that a woman of my age used one. But she knew what it was, and never considered that it had another use." The straight-wand shape wasn't that suggestive. "And she had been looking for a half-slip." "Huh?" He'd been thinking about the vibrator. They only used it occasionally, but he had spent the last two nights in motels. And Steve was out of the house for more than the next hour. "A half-slip, my dear innocent, is what a girl wears so the boy can reach her breasts without fully undressing her." As Roger should have remembered, she thought as she clicked to change channels. "Do you really want to watch 'West Wing?'" Roger asked. The picture of some boy molesting Mallory's breasts was disturbing. The picture of her with the vibrator in her hand was almost as bad. But the vibrator evoked other pictures as well. Not when she considered the alternative. "Is there anything better on?" "I thought we might check out whether Mallory damaged the vibrator. Whether it still works, you know." He was in pajamas when she came back from inserting the diaphragm. She dug out the magic wand while he took his own bathroom time. The shower didn't run three minutes. He shed his pajamas to join her in bed. Skin a little cool for a hug, he gently scratched her back. All Rachel's emotions melted into a puddle; this was bliss. Minutes later, she reached her leg back and parted his with her foot. "Mmmmm," she said. "Don't really need the vibrator." But much as the scratching pleased her, it had never seemed to him that she was actually turned on. Grateful, yes, receptive, but not eager for him. Besides, vibrator times were special. "All that tells us is that the fingernails still work." They took a while, kissing, fondling, rubbing, before he started the tests. The vibrator still worked on her breasts, and it still worked on her thighs. As he stroked it around her lower lips, he kissed from one breast to the other. The taste of the prominent nipple, combined with his sense of her arousal, was almost enough to keep him firm. The move dropped his dick onto her thigh; the quivers ran from the vibrator, down her thigh, and onto the sensitive head of his dick. She was enjoying the feeling of his lips on her nipple when he finally brought the wand to the top of her thighs. Much as she loved that climbing excitement, she didn't want to climax empty. She reached over to where his erection was pressed against her leg. She brushed up the shaft to reach his balls, while he raised his top leg to accommodate her. She cuddled the sack, letting the balls move against her fingers, while the shaft hardened against her wrist. It would be there when she needed it. Meanwhile, she relaxed her attention to let the wand carry her higher and higher. He was kissing her tightening belly when her hand shoved his away. He turned off and dropped the vibrator while climbing between her legs. Guided by her hand, he journeyed the route he knew best in all the world, so familiar but always dramatically new. The light touch of her fingers in his shaft, the moist caress of her lips, the mock-resistant hug of her portal, the slick yielding of her tunnel -- all built the same excitement in him, each contributing in its own unique way. She led him just where she needed him most. The warmth, the breadth, the humanness gave her sensations which the wand never did. Slowly, he entered her; slowly he widened her; slowly he filled her. And every millimeter scratched an itch more acute than he ever scratched on her back. Only when he was fully inside, his groin pressed against hers, pushing her legs outward and upward, did she reach for the wand. She turned the speed all the way down before turning it on. When he heard the growl of the vibrator on low, Roger pulled out half way. Rachel raised her knees around his waist. Then she moved the wand slowly across her hips towards him. She could feel the shaking deep inside her when the contact was made. With the vibrator against the bottom of his dick and her warm slickness trembling around him, Roger stroked in and out as his excitement soared. Her mind knew that she needed only the shaking of his organ deep within her to take her over, but her body still answered his. She dropped her feet to the bed to drive her groin up around his organ as it drove down into her; it dropped back as he withdrew. Meanwhile, her spirit soared. Surrendering to his needs, and hers, Roger stroked faster and faster. Much as he luxuriated in the slick friction, the shaking, the warm grip and her drive against him, he knew that even more was coming and he wanted that. He desperately needed that. Then it came for her first. Rachel spun upwards, tightening as she rose. Then the tightness caught her and shook her. She dropped the wand, clutched the bed, spasmed as Roger drove into her and into her. Roger felt her clutch around him once -- he pulled back, almost coming out -- twice -- he drove into her, felt his knees slip on the sheets from his force -- thrice -- then he joined her, his dick pounding as he thrust again and again. It was a long time before they parted. He recovered the vibrator, turned it off, wiped the fluids off its surface. "That was something, but I need you," he said. "I need you, too, darling. This is a banquet. Alone it is like the meals, MREs, you ate in the National Guard. It satisfies all the physical needs, just not very tasty." He checked the clock. "Steve's still in the store. He won't get here on his bike for half an hour." "You know," Rachel said, "he won't really be able to handle the deliveries when it's two feet deep in snow. He couldn't last year." She snuggled back against him. "So let him get down on his knees." "I think we might be a little more permissive. Staying home on his work nights isn't that much of an imposition, and we still have your car when you're here." And her car, Gertrude, didn't sneak into the driveway like his bike did. Still, she felt protective of her little Honda Civic. Roger felt generous towards all the world, so long as he didn't have to move. "It's your car." She rolled over to lie on his shoulder. In that position, his fingers just reached the sharpest curve of her butt. Later, though, he scratched her back a few more times. Arching her back in response pushed her breasts tighter against his side. While Steve rode up to the house, he toyed with the idea of joining his parents for the end of "Law and Order." The rest of his homework could be done afterwards. Once inside, he found that they had already gone to bed. He renewed his decision that he wouldn't let himself turn so sedate and inactive when he got old. He went up and finished his homework. But, conscious of being the opposite of sedate, he took a centerfold to bed with him to study before he turned off the light. Shannon had once thought that getting paid to watch a movie was heaven on earth. But she'd seen too many, and the hours sucked. "I have a date Friday night," she told Mr. Jones. "Cancel it!" he said. "I have only so many usherettes, and Cathy can neither work an R-rated show nor handle the booth. Besides, this one will be full without the high-school crowd. When the show starts, come out and take the booth from Julie." Julie, older, was allowed to watch the show. She also was paid significantly more because she handled the booth. Jones didn't say anything about paying Shannon a bonus. "I'm going to quit the theater," Shannon told her mother the next evening. She'd started dinner as a peace offering. "What are you going to do for spending money?" Shannon bought her own clothes, school lunch, and incidentals. "Babysitting. It is less regular, but it pays more per hour. What's my balance these days?" Her mother was also her banker; Shannon shopped on her mother's charge card, and -- until the double employment of that summer -- she'd run a deficit more often than not. "Besides, I can do homework there, half the time; and I can set my hours better, instead of always working when Steve's not." "I think that you are letting your life revolve around Steven." Well, she knew that Shannon was; she just wished that she weren't. "I know that you do." Actually, while many of her thoughts revolved around Steve, almost none of her actions did. "Well, it's your life." Mrs. Bryant wanted so much for her daughter, and feared so much for her. And she realized that neither the hopes nor the fears would make a damn bit of difference. Oddly enough, Steve's question was the same as her mother's. "What are you going to do for money? Will your parents put you back on an allowance?" "No, silly. But I saved a ton over the summer, and I have nearly two weeks coming from the theater. More than that, I have old babysitting customers and can get more. Anyway, lay out your schedule for me." He was glad to do so. But he had to check with Old Man Hauksbee first. "You two getting serious, aren't you?" the druggist asked. Once, Carl Hauksbee had been serious about Carol Thunborg. He had been a pharmacist at County Hospital, courting a girl who wanted a solid place in the town in which she had grown up. Winning one of the lesser prizes in the then-new lottery, he'd used it for the down payment on the drug store and to establish himself in the town. He felt a little nostalgic, and more than a little jealous. "Well," he continued, "it depends on Mrs. Thompson's health, and Kevin of course. But I can use you Saturday mornings and Monday and Wednesday evenings, regular. Your girl going to forgive you if there is an emergency?" He was a lot more protective of his employees than he wanted anybody to know. No kid was going to work for him two school nights running and ruin his grades. "I think she would." Steve hoped so. Shannon was really not one of those demanding girls who got jealous of jobs and parents. On the other hand, it was going to be hard to persuade his folks that he should date on Tuesdays when he had work the day before and the day after. Even so, Fridays were what counted most. "But not forgive me?" Hauksbee asked. He figured he could live with that. "Now, you would have to get up early on Saturday." "Not really early." The place opened at nine-thirty, sweeping out started at nine; weekdays, he had to be in school at eight- fifteen. He didn't find that particularly difficult. "Can you work those hours and still get your schoolwork done?" his mother asked. "Sure I can. I just have to actually study during study hall." It was a concept which would ruin his reputation if he spread it around, but he'd done it before. "Look, you know my schedule. It's still my car, you have to ask, but you can assume that you can use it when I don't need it." Shannon found that getting babysitting business back was harder than she had expected. She had abandoned everyone else for Mrs. Green in the spring; other girls were now the regular sitters for her old customers. "Just keep me in mind," she said. "And, if your friends ask, please give them my number." Finally, out of desperation, she considered Mrs. Green. But Mrs. Green's hours ran from four to midnight. "Mom, remember when I babysat for Mrs. Green?" "Indeed I do. And your dad and I were real proud about how you kept it up despite the boys' behavior." "Remember how I got up early the next morning?" "Well, you could nap there." And Shannon had got up early for Steven. Allison Bryant wasn't sure that any other motivation would have worked. The negotiations took some time, partly because Allison checked with Wayne before giving permission. "I know that you have a regular sitter, but I'm not ushering anymore. So, when you need me, I might well be available one night in a week. And could you tell your friends about me?" She figured that Mrs. Green's friends would respect the skills of anybody who could handle those brats. The first job, however, was for Mrs. Lundberg whose older kid had changed critically in the year since Shannon had seen her last. Cheryl's added height was nothing, but her added curiosity was a problem. Shannon told Steve about it when he took her out on a burger-and-movie date. They'd picked up the food and driven out to where they could watch the sunset while they ate. She was in the middle of describing her embarrassment at being the target of sex-related questions when he looked at his watch. "Look," he said, "this is entertaining me more than the movie would, but you already know the punch line. Do you want to get back in time for the start of the show?" "I don't care if I never see another movie again. Can I finish?" "So what did you do?" Steve was nowhere near as bored with movies as Shannon was, but the change in plans suited him quite well. Shannon's tales from the front were always entertaining, and this particular one was somewhat arousing. While neither he nor Shannon had any ignorance of where babies come from, that wasn't something that they usually discussed. "For ten minutes, I wished that I was back sitting for Mrs. Green. She's a nurse, I know that she would want her kids told. Anyway, Billy was listening to Cheryl's question, and he started in...." It was funny, and she took a while to finish the whole story. They did nothing more physical than hold hands until the last light from the sun was gone. When they finally kissed, however, it was intense. Whatever reservations Shannon had felt over being a couple of kids making out in a car faded with the glow of the sunset. This was Steve, and he had dropped his plan for the evening as soon as she had asked. His mouth was salty on hers, and the kiss was thrilling. Even through the bra, his hand excited her breast. So, when he finally unbuttoned her blouse, her only response was to lean forwards so that he could reach the bra, too. Again, he felt those smooth breasts. He was so hard that he ached, but that was only one sensation. Her tongue welcomed his back into her mouth; her nipple firmed against his palm. Shannon got back home fifteen minutes before her school-night curfew of ten. She was neatly dressed and unmussed, albeit with a grease stain on her blouse. She had enjoyed the date more than any since school began. It was strange. She and Steve talked almost every day in school, but sitting in his car talking made her feel closer to him than dancing with him for an evening. And talking had been the key to the evening, if not the whole thing. She dressed in a nightgown and brought a history book to bed with her, but more recent events held her interest. She remembered the exciting feelings when Steve had held her breasts and brushed her nipples. She tried to evoke those feelings with her own fingers, but they weren't quite the same. For one thing, nobody was kissing her. And Steve's kisses had been particularly exciting that evening. Soon her right hand wandered to the center of her excitement. For the first time, she pretended that Steve was the one touching her. Even in imagination, it was a little embarrassing; she would hardly want Steve to feel the moisture that she produced. Soon, however, she swept herself up to the peak. When she returned, she had a vague memory of calling Steve's name, or imagining doing so. She desperately hoped that she had imagined it. Steve had come home from the date particularly happy. His very-real enjoyment of Shannon's imaginary presence in his bed had been tinged with belief that his goal was nearer if not near. He greeted the next morning more cheerfully than he had greeted any in weeks. The morning didn't reciprocate. It was a dull and dreary day with light rain. His father gave him a ride to school in the Jeep. Coming home was another matter. He forgot that he was without his bike until after the bus left. He had to walk or hitch; and he didn't connect to those of his friends whom he could ask. His walk home soaked him to the skin despite his raincoat. Dried and fed, he rose from the dinner table to go to his work. "Do you want to drive Gertrude?" his mother asked. The rain was coming down nearly as hard as it had been when school let out. Steve's long raincoat was hanging in the entrance hall still wringing wet; he'd have to wear a jacket. She didn't want her son working for three hours after having been soaked below the waist. She had Wednesdays off from her job. Maybe, on days like this, when the weather was too rotten for her to go out anyway, she'd let him drive to school. "Thanks Mom. You're wonderful." And she usually was, although he never would understand her. She fussed over his borrowing the car when it was a social necessity, and then volunteered to lend it to him when it was a minor convenience. He used the car for deliveries and left it for his mother with less in the tank than he would have wanted to. He left a note, however, warning her of that. He ended: "I'll pay. I just wasn't carrying the cash last night." "The car was fine, dear," she said the next night. "Why don't you just take the mileage off the speedometer. If it's close to empty, fill it up and leave me the receipt. We'll settle up the balance." Since Steve's savings weren't going to cover anywhere near the cost of tuition, the difference between her purse and his savings was merely a matter of his learning about the real world. Settling up on his paydays was a fine way to teach him what he had spent. Steve figured that if his father hadn't yet taught her the difference between an odometer and a speedometer, she wasn't going to learn from her son. Besides, she was being nice. He bit his tongue. Kevin missed too many days. Mr. Hauksbee hired another junior named Martin, but Steve was back on delivery duty much more often than he worked inside for a while. "Listen," Hauksbee told him one day. "Not the booze and cigarettes, which you can't buy or sell legally, not the prescription drugs of course; but anything else in the store that you want, but maybe don't want to mention to me, you take it and ring it up on the register. I'll trust you to do it right." Steve bought a few magazines that way; but, as time went on, the boxes of Trojans kept catching his eye. Not that his need for them seemed immediately pressing. He and Shannon watched a few more sunsets. The dark, which came earlier each time, brought more making out and more kisses. One Thursday, nearly drowning in her welcoming mouth, he petted her breasts and felt the nipples harden in response. When she broke the kiss to breathe, he nibbled all over her face and neck. A greater smoothness was calling him, though. "Please, darling," he said, "let me." He felt her stiffen before he dropped his head to kiss the softness of her breast. She gradually relaxed in his arms, and then stiffened again as he sucked on her nipple. Shannon had completely misinterpreted his request. She'd fought her way out of the haze of desire in a desperate effort to protect her virginity. Before she could say a word, however, she realized that her breasts were his only goal. How could she deny these to him when his tongue and lips there brought her such pleasure? Only when he had walked her to her door and she had climbed to the safety of her room, did she remember her error. And she wasn't sure that her reaction had all been negative. In bed, she remembered Steve's hands and mouth on her breasts. Then she imagined Steve's hands caressing her more intimately. She tried imagining Steve entering her, but went back to his mouth on her breasts and his hand between her legs. With the stimulus of her real fingers supplemented by Steve's imagined ones, she climaxed with a moan. She got a call from an old customer the next night. "This is William Jensen, Amy's father. I hear that you are babysitting again." "Yes." She was puzzled. The Jensens had a new baby and were staying home. "Mrs. Jensen told me that you weren't going anywhere these days." "That's the thing. We aren't, but she needs to. I think that she would trust you more than someone new. You know about Amy." Amy, four by now, had a serious asthma problem. "Peggy really is no bother at her age. A few changes. Theresa is breast-feeding her, but we'll leave you a bottle." "When were you planning to go out?" "Listen, Theresa needs to get out of the house. She trusts you. It might not look like it, but it is more trust than she gives anyone else. So what days are you available? And I'll work around that." "It's six dollars an hour for two children." Which was her rate, though not quite fair, being what she charged Mrs. Green. On the other hand, Amy and a small infant were serious responsibilities, if not serious pains in the butt. "Anyway, I'm usually free Monday and Wednesday evenings, if I haven't taken other assignments." "Anything scheduled for this coming Wednesday?" "Not yet," she said. "I'll try to get her to agree. I'll call you back either way." "Look," Steve told his mom one night, "I'm going to be away at college next year. I'll be running my own life, setting my own schedule." "Yes, dear. Are you looking forward to that?" "It seems ridiculous to have you set the schedule this last year. I'm going to start so many other things then.... Why not start this now?" "Well, what do you have in mind?" Rachel was willing to dicker. Dickering was fun. On the other hand, kids not only think that they are adults, they also have no idea of the constraints on real adults. Maybe she was being a little hard on Steve; he certainly had been responsible in his job. "Simple. I set my hours. Not my hours at work, Hauksbee sets those. But my hours at home. I can go on dates when Shannon is available, not when you think I should go." Rachel could hardly remember the last time she had refused to let Steve go out on a date. He asked to borrow the car, sometimes; but he told her when he was going out, not asked her "Well, you want a lot of freedom. With freedom comes responsibility. You'll still have to do your household chores." "Of course." "And you'll have to keep your grades up." Actually, this was a good time to deal for him to keep his grades up. Steve wasn't -- despite his words about going to college next year -- thinking that far ahead. Rachel was, though. Once Steve had sent off his transcripts, the grades for the second half of his senior year hardly mattered. He'd need to graduate, but that wasn't a problem for Steve. If he ever wanted to transfer to another college, he'd need his total high school transcript. You couldn't expect a teenager to consider such contingencies, though. "Why don't you write down what you are proposing? Include what you guarantee in the way of grades. I'll show it to your father, and we'll decide if that is enough. Include a list of your chores, as well; but we'll add a clause that you're accountable for other chores I assign on an emergency basis." Steve couldn't think what an emergency chore would be. Still, this had gone much more easily than he had expected. Mr. Jensen drilled Shannon before he left. "Tell me about the inhaler," he said. She did. "Tell me about the pills." She did. "We'll be seeing the early movie; they'll flash us on the screen if they have to. The number is by the phone. Peggy will wake in about an hour. The bottle is in the 'fridge, but you'll have to heat it. Help yourself to the munchies, but don't let Amy see them. Graham crackers are okay. Dr. Wyatt's number is by the phone, as well. Same place as always." Amy didn't really remember Shannon, and made a fuss as her mother left; but soon afterwards she was cuddling into Shannon's lap for a book. Shannon lavished her with attention and told her stories about when she had sat with her before. Peggy was a dear, a drenched dear, but still sweet. Amy could now brush her own teeth, if not too effectively. Shannon got to see most of "Friends." Then she settled down with her homework. The Jensens came home rather early. With their worry about Amy, they had never been particularly remunerative customers. On the other hand, he calculated her hours from the time he picked her up until the time she got out of his car after he drove her home; she had never seen either of them drunk; he never made a pass at her; he waited in his car until she had closed her door. She finished her homework in her room. She took college catalogs with her to bed. Having taken the college boards in the spring, she had some idea where she would have a good chance at admission. Her mother was an alumna of Albion, and Shannon hoped that she could follow her there. That, however, would require financial aid. She needed back-ups. Steve bought a Penthouse when there were no customers in the drugstore. When he got it home, he still had physics homework to finish. His parents were up. When he came in, his dad was scratching his mom's back. That made him conscious that his back itched. "I'm next," he said. His parents exchanged odd looks, but his dad scratched his back through his shirt. It felt wonderful. "Dad," he asked, "what's so special about the way you scratch backs?" Apparently, the main thing was to have the nails pointing away from the direction in which they moved. They practiced on a wall, then on his stomach. After he watched JAG with his parents and they went to bed, he practiced again. He did all the physics problems, but not so thoroughly as was his habit. Then he enjoyed his magazine purchase until his climax led to sleep. He regretted that neglect on Thursday. Mr. Babaian, his physics teacher, gave a pop quiz. Steve, who had been hoping for a strong A for his GPA and maybe a letter of recommendation out of the class, knew that he did poorly on that quiz. That night, he buckled down to learning what he should have learned the night before. |
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