The Problems of Utilitarianism
by Uther Pendragon
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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, 1998, 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 recently dead is strictly coincidental.

The Problems of Utilitarianism
by Uther Pendragon
[email protected]
with help from Kitty ([email protected])
and John Stuart Mill

Johanna Mill was five foot four and on the pill. When her father saw the pill case drop from her purse, he blew his top. "How could you?" he thundered. "Has all the time and effort that I put into your education gone to waste?"

"Hardly. I haven't had sex yet, and you wouldn't have found this out if my purse hadn't spilled. You are not considering this rationally. Frankly, I don't expect to have sex any time soon; but I know too many girls who had unexpected and unprotected sex. I'm not going to risk that just to preserve your illusions. I haven't needed the pills, but it would cause both of us a good deal of unhappiness if I needed them and weren't taking them. I'm an adult now, and I'll make my decisions in a responsible manner. Don't you trust your years of teaching?"

"I really feel that I should have put more emphasis on sexual ethics."

"Well, it is too late now," Johanna said, "unless you have been instantly converted to the lecture method. I'm not going to discuss my sexual preferences and desires with my father. It is too embarrassing, not to mention vaguely incestuous."

"Would you discuss this issue?"

"With you? Not on your life."

"With someone else who could point out the moral consequences of your decisions," Dr. Mills said. "This is an issue where rationalizing can look a lot like rationality to the person doing it."

"You mean like a man rationalizing his desire to have his daughter remain a little girl into some great ethical principle? Look, if you hadn't engaged in sex, I wouldn't be here arguing about it with you.

"It's not worth discussing" she continued. "If you want me to talk to a doctor or some woman counselor, I will. I'm your daughter, anyway; if I'm rationalizing, I'm good enough so that no one but a logician will find out."

"How about Mr. Bentham? You respect him, I respect him. He isn't a fond papa hating to see his daughter grow up."

"Talk to Mr. Bentham about sex?"

"Why not? He'll talk about anything. And we both respect his moral judgment."

The discussion took another two days, and it took another week to make the appointment. By the time it came, however, both of them were satisfied with the arrangements.

"Come in, Johanna," said Mr. Bentham. "It's nice to see you again. Now let me get the ground rules straight."

"I talk to you, you give me your guidance. What I say to you is private. I don't guarantee to follow your advice, and my father won't know what it is. Neither you nor I tell him anything. On the other hand, both he and I respect you tremendously. I know that you'll be objective, Dad knows that you'll not give way to popular culture."

"I can't express how much James' trust gladdens me, but I really would have expected it. Yours gladdens me all the more because it surprises me. Well, have a seat and fill me in." She took a chair, and he sat on the couch opposite her. "You are what now?"

"Almost eighteen."

"Then you'll be graduating soon."

"I graduated last year. From college. I'm in a graduate program in economics now."

"Oh yes, James' educational program."

"Which makes all of this a little silly. Either the boys won't look at me because I'm too young, or they look at me with horror because I'm too bright. Some of them do both."

"Dissatisfaction with one's looks is more a matter of being eighteen than of how one actually looks. I would describe your appearance as delectable. Are you telling me that a girl as pretty as you isn't asked on dates?"

"It isn't that bad now. But all three college years were a mess. Look, a high-school freshman is awkward. Compared to the freshman boys, however, a girl is a social paragon. I should have been going to the school dance with a boy who hoped I would let him kiss me good night. I was in college at that age, with boys who wondered if their girls would go all the way. I was jailbait. Flat-chested jailbait."

"Neither is true any longer."

"Sure. My second year, I blossomed physically. I was already in class with seniors. They had their relationships worked out for the most part, but I hadn't been kissed seriously. I did start going out in the spring. I dated more men, and had fewer second dates, than any other girl in my classes. We would have a meal or go to a campus event, park a while, kiss a while. He would want to go further than I would. After two or three dates, he would give up and go after another girl."

"And you didn't find that satisfactory? If what you wanted was mild dates, it seems to me you were having mild dates."

"Well, Mr. Bentham..."

"Jeremy, please. We have known each other for fifteen years, even if we haven't seen each other often."

"Well, Jeremy, I didn't want to go even as far as I went. But I wanted to want to go much farther. Does that make any sense?" All he did was nod. "So I talked to some of the girls, mostly ones who were in permanent relationships. They were nice. I think that they were happy to have some arena where they were ahead of me. And, after a while, I restricted my requests for advice to those who looked happy about their lives."

"That makes sense."

"What most of them told me was that they had set limits, and then a boy -- not necessarily the one whom they were dating at the time they told me this -- swept them far past their limits. That's when I decided to go on the pill. If I meet the boy who can sweep me over my limits, I won't get a baby out of it."

"I can understand your father's being upset, but it seems a quite rational decision to me."

"That's my problem. I'm too rational."

"How so?"

"No boy is going to sweep me over my limits by whispering in my ear, nor by telling me how he'll die if we don't have sex, nor even by great sexual technique. I've lived all my short life by rationality, and I'm not dropping it now! Even though I sometimes want to."

"But you're unhappy with your present situation?"

"Very much so."

"Tell me. When the boy kisses you, do you enjoy it?"

"Sometimes."

"And when he caresses your breasts?"

"If I let him, I always enjoy it. I don't like to be grabbed." Sometimes the sensations had surpassed 'enjoyed.' She recalled the last date with Howard. Even today, the memory of her ecstasy while he sucked on her breast dampened her center. And even today, the memory of why it was the last date dampened her spirits.

"And do you enjoy the next stage? When does your enjoyment stop?"

"I don't enjoy emotional arguments. That is what comes soon after. I'll be honest with you; sometimes I enjoy being caressed on my legs, even between them. But when his hand gets that far, we are about to have a fight about going to bed. And worrying about that spoils all my pleasure."

"Let me try an experiment. Come over here and sit by me." She did as he asked. "Now, I'm going to give you a kiss. Tell me if a kiss from even an old man is pleasurable."

He kissed lightly over her mouth and chin before settling in for a long kiss. She returned it until he broke their juncture. He kissed her forehead. "Did you enjoy that?" he asked while putting his glasses on the end table.

She was a little flushed. "Let's repeat the experiment to check the result." She had enjoyed it, the pleasure of the sensation nearly matched the compliment of an admired man's attention.

He had to get his chuckles under control before he could. She took the opportunity to remove her glasses and put them next to his. He kissed lightly on her lips before slipping his tongue between them. The taste of his tongue on hers was a renewed thrill. When he withdrew it, it was to explore the insides of her lips.

When he drew her towards his lap, she rose and followed the silent directions of his arms. She was surprised, though, to find herself facing mostly away. He moved her hair aside to kiss the back of her neck, and she shivered. His mouth moved over that area, kissing, blowing, licking her skin from the back of her ear, to the nook where her shoulder met her neck, to the vertebrae. She didn't know where his mouth would land next, but she became certain that she would enjoy it.

His hand traveled up the inside of her right arm, and then down her side. He stopped kissing her when he slid it forward. Given a clear choice, she pulled his hand away and held it in hers. "Father wouldn't like this," she said.

"Would you enjoy it, though?"

"I think so, but we need to consider his happiness as well."

"I am. Would he wish to believe that you would find pleasure from my hand, but that you had refused the pleasure?"

"I don't know."

"I think it unlikely," he said. "A sacrifice which does not increase, or tend to increase, the sum total of happiness, he would count as wasted. So, he does not wish that you sacrifice the happiness which petting would bring you; he wishes that you were still a young girl who would find no happiness in petting at all."

"I think that is close to the mark," she conceded.

"And since that wish is contrafactual, we cannot give him the reality. By being reasonably discreet, however, we can leave his belief undamaged. Or, at least, we can leave it as undamaged as it was after he found your container of pills."

"Is illusion ever a pleasure?"

"Disillusion is often a pain. But I think that concealing the action is neither more difficult nor more dishonest than concealing the fact that you would have enjoyed it."

"You are right," she said, and placed his hand on her breast. He kissed her neck again before moving his hand. They sat like that for a while: he stroking, nuzzling, licking her ear, hefting her breast, blowing across her hair, tickling her nipple through blouse and bra. Her feelings went from pleasant excitement to desire, and then to need.

She pushed his hand away and half rose. Before he could react, she returned to his lap, facing him as much as the couch would allow. "My turn!" was all she said. Not bothering to copy his gentle approach, she drew his head forward and pressed her lips onto his. She waited a moment after she opened her mouth; but, when his tongue stayed back, she stretched hers to find it. The kiss was long and dizzying, especially since she could hardly breathe in that position.

"And when is it my turn again?" he asked when she broke for air.

"It might be better if we both participated."

"So it might," he said. He pecked a kiss on her chin. His hands caressed her side and back before coming around to find the buttons on her blouse. He wasn't grabbing. She knew that she could stop him, but did she want to? Apparently not, since they sat there staring into each other's eyes until the blouse was undone to her waistband. She pulled it out and unbuttoned the last button herself.

This time, he held her face in his hands and drew her into his kiss. He nibbled at her nose for a minute, and brushed her lips with his before licking them. His fingers played with her ears while his tongue explored her mouth. He pushed her back gently and gazed into her eyes again before brushing her blouse off her shoulders. She had to unbutton the cuffs before she could remove it completely.

While her hands were doing that, she pushed her shoes off and moved her feet onto the sofa. When they kissed again, she was facing him even more directly. In that position, she could feel his erection against her left thigh. She hoped briefly that he wasn't going to press it against her like an importunate undergraduate. When he had unsnapped her bra, he cuddled her to him and deepened the kiss. His other hand tickled on her stomach before it reached her breast. It soon tickled there, as well.

Her left breast was beginning to feel lonely when he broke the kiss and urged her up. He moved forwards on the couch until she was standing between his knees. After removing her bra completely, he buried his head between her breasts and kissed her sternum. After a long period of that embrace, he kissed both breasts and then kissed a line up her chest and neck to return to her lips. He rose during that kiss, and ended with a little peck on her forehead.

Standing, he towered over her. "This will really work better, if you lie down here," he said. "Where should we put your clothes?" She moved the blouse from the couch to the end table that didn't hold any eyeglasses. For an instant, she wondered if he wanted her to take off the rest of her clothes, and whether she should if he asked. Instead, he helped her lie down on the couch and gave her a throw-pillow for her head. He knelt on the floor next to her.

Touching the crown of her head with one hand and her chin with the other, he moved her head from side to side as he scattered kisses over her face. He brushed across her eyebrows, and her ear, and her nose before settling down at her mouth for a serious kiss. While his tongue played with hers, his hand passed over her arm and torso before settling on her left breast. This he clasped for a long moment before his finger rose up to touch her already-turgid nipple. "Oh Jo-jo!" he sighed. It was the first time that she had heard her baby name in years, but she liked the sound of it coming from him.

Now her right breast was missing the attention. After a long kiss and a trail of kisses down her cheek and throat and chest, he finally reached it with his mouth. The nipple strained for his attention while he licked lightly over her areola, then slipped gratefully into his warm mouth.

His hand went on another journey while he sucked her nipple and blew on it and rubbed it between his lips. It went first down her side and her left leg, then over to her right knee. He broke his play with her nipple. "Could you rise a little," he said. "I think that your skirt is too tight." She lifted her hips and pulled the skirt towards her waist. He pulled the top to tighten the material under her. She thought that ought to give enough room for his hand, but he said: "Do that again."

When she did, he ignored her skirt to kiss her taut abdomen. She collapsed down in laughter. "It's not funny," he said. "Your belly looks adorably sexy when you lift yourself like that." He blew across her still-shaking navel. Then his kisses strayed upwards, passing her lowest ribs on his way to the bottom of her breast. Instead of returning to that nipple, he kissed the bottom of her left breast. By slow degrees, his lips climbed it until he reached that peak. Only then did his hand begin stroking upward over her panty-hose. The palm warmed her right thigh as it approached the juncture, and then his nails lightly tickled her left as he returned downward. Meanwhile he teased her nipple with tiny licks, light breath blowing across it, and the gentlest of sucks.

When he finally reached her groin, however, he clasped it while he sucked the whole top of her breast into his mouth. She gasped at the thrill that ran through her. He stroked her through panty-hose and panties while alternately kissing one breast then another. She grew hotter and hotter until she couldn't keep her hips from moving under his hand.

He made one of his rare excursions to her mouth while clasping her again. Her movements now provided the friction. "Darling girl," he asked, "if I promise that we won't have an emotional argument, could I remove these impediments to my hand?"

If he didn't remove them soon, she would have to do it herself. She nodded. His erection was obvious when he stood up, but neither of them mentioned it. He pulled down her panty-hose while she lifted her hips. Surprisingly, the panties didn't go with them. He whipped the pantyhose through the air to straighten them out before placing them on her other clothes. She pushed her panties down to her knees while he was doing that. He smiled as he removed them the rest of the way. "Touch but don't look. Is that the rule?"

She had actually been trying to speed the process; but considering it now, that rule appealed to her. She nodded.

At least he didn't repeat the stroke-up-and-down delay now that she was open to him. His hand brushed up her thigh once, and then he clasped the junction again. "Oh, Jo-jo," he said. He kissed her mouth deeply and then licked each nipple once. "Let me tell you how silken your hair feels. And the delicacy of the tiny slick edge of your inner lips. I would like to see their beauty, but I can feel enough beauty to satisfy any man." She knew that he was feeling it. One finger ran very lightly between her outer lips and just tickled the sensitive rim of her inner ones. She wanted to pull his hand against her until he crushed those lips. In place of that, she pulled his head against her breast. He responded by sucking there, but his hand still brushed her very lightly.

Finally, he parted her labia and inserted one finger. Starting at the very back of her valley, he stroked upwards. He paused in the middle and returned via the sensitive outer edge of her lips. Each stroke moved slightly higher until she was moving her hips to bring her center of sensitivity across his finger. This failed of its intent, and the failure left her in an agony of need. Finally, he sucked hard on her nipple just as his finger crossed her clitoris. She moaned.

He kissed her mouth briefly but fiercely. Then he moved to her other breast as his finger resumed its slow strokes. By now the motion of her hips was beyond her control. Then they rose and stayed off the couch as every muscle in her frame tightened. His finger circled her clitoris as she shook in delight. Then he held her there as she gasped for breath. "Oh Jo-jo, sweet Jo- jo," he said.

"Just Jo." She could have bitten her tongue. Such a sweet man, such a sweet moment, and she had to spoil it over a detail of name.

"What?"

"My name is 'Jo' now. Or 'Johanna,' but I'd rather you called me 'Jo.'"

"Then I shall. Lovely, lovely Jo."

"It's I who should be praising you. I never felt like that. It's not at all so strong when I do it to my..."

"Darling girl! You are blushing. I know that you do it yourself. Otherwise, you would not be half so responsive to my hand. And I love your responsiveness. Don't be ashamed. It certainly gave you pleasure; the results give me pleasure. Who was hurt?"

"I've thought that out for myself. Not the part about you. I'm not really ashamed of doing it, but having others know about it makes me ashamed. And then I'm ashamed of being ashamed. And...."

"Well," he said. "If it is any comfort, I enjoyed your blush. Which might be selfish of me, but maybe you won't be ashamed of being ashamed if you know that your blushes increase the happiness of at least one other person."

"If we're going to talk instead of.... If we are just going to talk, I think it would be better if I got dressed."

"I won't stop you if you insist, but I don't think that we are finished with our other forms of communication."

"I'm not sure that I want to.... I don't think I'm ready yet for...."

"Actual intercourse?"

"Yes. I mean, that is the word that I was looking for."

"Oh? I thought that it was the word that you were avoiding. Dear girl, you are blushing again." She could feel the blush. It was bad enough that he could see through her words. Having him see all her skin was too much. She pushed against his chest, and he let her up. She draped her blouse across her front.

"Could I go somewhere else to get dressed again?"

"If you insist, but there is much more that we could do without penetration. I think, in any event, that our conversation is not over."

"Compromise," she said and slipped the blouse on. She buttoned it over her unencumbered breasts. The blouse stuck to her nipples, and she realized that they were still wet. He looked away when he saw her embarrassment.

"Another compromise," he said. "I shall not look at you, but I'll sit like this." He faced forward with his hand stretched across the back of the couch. "You remember that I would rather have you closer to me. When you feel comfortable with doing so, move closer."

"I decide how close to sit? Why is that a compromise?"

"Because, dear Johanna, you are an honest person. If you say that you will do it, you will come as close as feels comfortable, with no false modesty. Now tell me your objection towards full sexual intercourse. It can't be pregnancy; is it the fear of disease?"

"That is part of it with some of the boys I date." She wasn't being as honest as he'd credited her with being. "But not any large part. I talked with many classmates. Women, I mean. Almost none of them had stopped sex for very long periods after they had begun. Some did because they didn't have anyone, some did because they were committed to someone who was elsewhere, but those talked of the unhappiness of that absence. It's almost a one-way street. I want to be very careful before I take it."

"Let me see if I understand what you are saying. Is it that most of your female classmates who have experienced both intercourse and abstention prefer intercourse?"

That was a marvel of understatement. "Something like that."

"Yet, that very observation could argue in favor of 'taking that street.' What means are there of determining which is the intensest of two pleasurable sensations except the general suffrage of those who have experienced both? What is there to decide whether a particular pleasure is worth purchasing at the cost of a particular pain, except the feelings and judgment of the experienced? In this case, the experienced seem to have voted heavily on one side without persuading you."

"I believe that the intellectual pleasures are higher, if not so intense."

"And I believe this as well. But are you forced to choose? Some of the women that you consulted chose the pleasure of loyalty over the more intense pleasure of intercourse, and I would not try to gainsay them. But are you gaining that pleasure? To whom does your continence demonstrate loyalty?"

"Well, there is always my father. He would prefer me a virgin."

"And a virgin, moreover, completely devoid of desire. Is that your reason for abstinence? That doesn't match the discussion which led to your coming here."

"No, it does not," she admitted. She liked to think of herself as one who acted on rational decisions, but she wasn't showing that side of her today. Suddenly remembering her earlier promise, she moved to his side and pulled his hand down to her shoulder. "I used to consider myself too rational, and not emotional enough. Now I'm not sure."

"If it's any consolation," he said, "one can't be entirely rational. Rationality can provide means, but not ends. First, one must have desires to be satisfied. Once the brute needs of food, drink, and warmth are supplied, the ends tend to be the satisfaction of emotional needs. The rational person meets as many of those ends for oneself and for others as possible. Now the only question is what are your ends." He gave her a hug.

"I think that they are incompatible."

"That is close to a description of the human condition. So what are your preferences, your priorities? Let's stick to this arena."

"You mean: would I prefer to think of myself as moral or to have the sort of pleasure that you gave me ten minutes ago?"

"Are those incompatible? I would think not. The moral ideal is to have the greatest happiness for the greatest number. Certainly, your own happiness is one part of that. Indeed, the times when any person has it in his power to multiply happiness on an extended scale, in other words to be a public benefactor, are exceptional; and on these occasions alone is he called on to consider public utility. On every other occasion, private utility, the interest or utility of some few persons, is all he has to attend to. I was very happy with our actions. If you were, which I have reason to believe, what other persons were affected?"

"Wouldn't this apply to any clandestine activity? This moves us perilously close to rationalization."

"Whichever side one takes on moral issues, one risks rationalization.

"As for clandestine activities," he continued, "many of them affect others even if they are not found out. If we were to plot together to burglarize a neighbor, then the neighbor would be harmed. So mere secrecy does not guarantee that an action -- even a discussion -- will affect only the participants. Would you like it if I were to tell a confidant that you were still a virgin?"

"You promised not to discuss this."

"And I certainly shan't. But the point is that you would be damaged if I did, even if that conversation never got back to you. I did use the subjunctive, after all."

"All right."

"And the other point is that any knowledge of one's sex life is an intrusion into one's privacy. You wouldn't want our latest activities known far and wide, and you wouldn't want your masturbation known; but you wouldn't want your virginity known either. It's less a matter of shame over the particular state of your sex life than your sense of privacy regarding all of it. And you are not alone. Just because a couple is married does not mean that they are indifferent to voyeurs."

"That is one reason that I moved back home after a year in the dorms. I overheard too much."

"That is the other side of the privacy issue," he said. "Not only does another's knowledge of my sex life invade my privacy, but so does my knowledge of his. The law punishes both the voyeur and the exhibitionist. And in that matter, if not in all, the law is perfectly correct."

"It would seem to me that people would seek out more privacy than my roommates did, though."

"Were any of them rubbing their dates' groins in the public lounges?"

"Heavens no! Not even in the central room of the suite. But I could hear them making love."

"That was probably all the privacy that they could achieve, or at least all that they could afford. In an earlier day, men weren't allowed in women's rooms and vice versa. Students did engage in mutual masturbation in the public lounges. Like your dorm-mates, they substituted a pretense of privacy for the real thing. Everybody pretended that they didn't see, as students today pretend that they don't hear. Never assume that something is not a value to a person just because another thing is a greater value to her."

She could see where that argument was leading. Her roommates valued the happiness of the sex act above the pain of being overheard. And, for that matter, above the pain caused by the embarrassing intrusion of overhearing two others. If she had been sexually active, would she have traded the freedom of that dorm room for the privacy of her home? Or would she have found some way to combine both? Sneaking a boy into her father's house would have been dishonest, but would she have done it? Whatever the behavior of her experienced friends, she couldn't imagine beginning her sex life in either situation.

"I see where you are going," she said.

"Is not that where logic is taking us, given your observations?"

"I suppose so. You did promise me that you wouldn't make an emotional argument."

"I took it that emotion was the essence of your objection. Argument, in the sense of debate rather than acrimony, was a predictable part of any discussion with me."

How true. For that matter, any discussion of hers was likely to be a debate. "It was the only predictable part. Thank you for the rest." And, truly out of gratitude, she kissed him. The last hour, however, allowed scant room for kisses of mere gratitude. Her passion rose as his tongue explored her mouth.

Soon their arms were entangled in an attempt to hold each other in that clumsy position. He broke the kiss and rose. Before she could protest his absence, he pulled her up into his arms. In this position, he needed to bend over to reach her face with his. When he straightened and pulled her into a tight hug, the feel of his stiffness against her stomach was a pleasure. She pressed herself against it while he kneaded her buttocks. After he broke the hug to give her another deep kiss, he led her down his long hall.

On her way, she wondered if she were going to yield to him. Everything so far had been fine, indeed luscious. But he seemed to take her consent for granted, and she hadn't consented. This conflict faded when he gave her another kiss in his bedroom.

"Sorry for the mess," he said. "I hadn't expected this." The room was certainly fit for company by dorm standards. Only two books were on his bed, and the three on the floor were closed and piled neatly. Most of the books not shelved were on the night stands, and the only clothing in sight was a bathrobe. It even smelled clean.

When he resumed the kiss, his hands went to the buttons on her blouse. His mouth followed his hands. He was kneeling in front of her, kissing her breasts, when her knees sagged. He gently helped her lie down on the bed.

He kissed all of her face before returning to her mouth. Then he kissed her ear and neck on his way to her breast. With her left breast in his hand and her right breast in his mouth, he seemed to have reached a plateau of contentment. At least he made no move to go further until her own need made her clutch his arm. He raised himself from her breast, which was not what she had wanted, and looked her in the eye. "How do I undo this skirt," he asked.

This was the critical point. She had been swept past her limits, just like other girls. It hadn't really taken logic, just a little patience. Well, she was on the pill; and Mr. Bentham, "Jeremy" she corrected herself, would never tell. He moved up as she rolled away from him. Then she reached back. "I'll undo it."

He helped her off with the skirt, and moved to hang it over a chair. She took advantage of that moment to rise and remove her blouse, which had become rather wrinkled. Then she rolled the bedclothes down to give them a clean field of action. At least she hadn't been swept past her limits in the back seat of a car.

While she was standing there, he kissed the top of her head and hugged her from behind. His hands swept up her belly to hold her breasts. Then he helped her back on the bed. Her legs were still over the edge, which seemed a strange position. Also, he was still fully dressed. But while he kissed her and stroked her, the sensations of the present were much more interesting than some mechanics in the future.

His tongue touched hers gently while his hand rubbed up and down her body. She spread her legs in silent invitation, but he ignored that gesture for a moment. When his hand did pass downward, it was with his nails tickling her belly. They combed through the hair on her mound. Then he clasped her intimately. However much she had desired this, however much she wanted his caresses there, however much warning his approach had given her, she also felt modest and timid. She closed her legs, trapping his hand.

"Darling Jo," he said. "Dearest Johanna." His mouth left hers then, not down some teasing path but directly onto her left nipple, which had been aching for it. She sighed and relaxed her legs. At first the licking and sucking at one breast, the pressure of his chest against the other, the hand holding her so warmly, satisfied her needs. Soon, they merely intensified them. His mouth moved to her other breast while his fingers played over her labia. Never stroking, never still, he lightly touched one lip, gently pressed the other, and then pushed hard against her mound.

He kissed across the underside of her breast and down her abdomen. When he finally parted her labia and two fingers stroked inside, she forgot his mouth entirely. Her hips pushed her mound against his hand, trying to rub around his fingers harder and faster than he was willing to move.

He was kneeling between her legs. "At last," one part of her mind said; "but he didn't ask!" another complained. If she was not sure that she was ready to accept him within her quite yet, she was eager for the stimulation that entrance would bring; anything to relieve the slowly-building, teasing, tension. Then she felt his lips on her mound and found that she had not even considered his actual intent.

Something was wrong with this. "Dirty!" she said, and began to push him away.

"I brushed my teeth just before your visit," he said. That wasn't what she had meant. As his tongue touched the apex of her sensitivity, though, she forgot her objection. When she lifted her hips off the bed to ease his access, she stiffened. Then fire shot through her.

She was distantly conscious of being in his hands as she trembled in joy, and trembled, and trembled, and trembled. The tension flowed out of her into his mouth. When all that tension was gone, he kept sucking and licking; she kept shuddering and writhing.

When he finally lowered her hips back on the bed, she lay like a rag doll. The only muscles she could use were those gasping in air. He kissed thighs and mound and belly. Then he rose and swung her into the bed. He kissed her forehead as he tucked a sheet around her.

There was a period while she got her breath more nearly under control, that she couldn't spare any attention for him. Either the lassitude or the suffusing pleasure would have taken all her attention by itself. When next she noticed him, he was getting into bed beside her and throwing a comforter over them both.

She gradually organized her consciousness again while he kissed her forehead and upper face. She pulled his mouth to hers for a real kiss. Soon, however, she had to break it to breathe again.

Her left arm was trapped under the covers. "Give me a little space," she said. Obediently, he rolled away. She pulled her arm out and rolled so she was facing him with that arm under her pillow.

She could figure out their positions by this time. For some reason, they were near the foot of the bed, far from the headboard. She had a pillow, though. He was under the comforter but on top of the sheet, dressed in a tee shirt. And what else? When he had kissed her, she had smelled soap and toothpaste. That reminded her. "You weren't what I meant was dirty."

"I know, but that would have been a more reasonable worry. Many more germs reside in the mouth than in the vagina, and the mouth has more protection against infectious invasions."

"But you washed afterward."

"I found your taste and odor ambrosial," he said, "and intensely aphrodisiacal. I think that almost any man would have found it the same. Whether you would is another question. Also, while I find it attractive -- because I find it attractive -- I also find it disturbing. Then too, it satiates the olfactory nerves after a while; one can't have that particular sensation all the time. I prefer to save it for when it is appropriate."

She had listened to nothing after the word, "odor." "I smell?" Then, remembering Johnson's distinction, "I have an odor?"

"A delightful one. If humans had the olfactory acuity of dogs, you would be attracting suitors from miles around. Luckily, we don't. Actually, it is the basis of your lovely taste. Have you ever noticed that most of your favorite foods taste like cardboard when you have a bad cold?"

She knew that the nuances of taste were in the nose, and suspected that he knew that she knew. "Are you trying to change the subject?"

"Well, yes," he admitted. "In our culture, odor is always taken to be a bad odor. Anyway, you taste delightful. Experience tells me, however, that you wouldn't if I had a cold. I won't say that it spoils all the pleasure of the sex act, but it reduces a sensuous delight to mere rutting." She could suddenly see the point to his diversion. If the sense of smell was critically important to his enjoyment, then her odor couldn't be offensive to him. She had, after all, showered that morning.

"Even so, I'm glad that we have lost that acuity of smell."

"Quite right. You wouldn't want passers by in the street knowing that your vulva smelled particularly erotic. Nor would you want them knowing when it didn't. We are back to the matter of privacy again."

"I don't know. I can understand what you are saying, I certainly feel that I want my privacy. But there were a lot of times in my life when I didn't want my father to know what I was doing..."

"And most of those times you were doing wrong?" he guessed.

"Pretty much. How do you distinguish between what is really in the interests of privacy and what is really your trying to keep your wrong-doing secret?"

"Let me answer that from an extreme case." She nodded. "Take a case when a popular boy with what looks like a promising future breaks into a neighbor's house and trashes it. Having come home to a violated house, the neighbors aren't particularly mollified to discover that the damage was done by a kid that they had liked; the parents of the boy, on the other hand, have their lives destroyed by the revelation that their pride and joy is a criminal. Is there not more pain than pleasure in revealing the truth?"

"You make it seem so, yet I would expect the police to reveal it if they had that knowledge."

"Your instincts worked well on that question," he said, "but your mind shouldn't have been fooled by my prestidigitation."

"You directed my attention away from the community?" Didn't he mean something like "prestilinguation"? And that described more than his speech.

"Yes. There is a fairly good chance that the undetected juvenile delinquent will repeat his crimes. More to the point, every honest person has the desire to live in a community where any burglary is solved. Solving a particular one contributes little pleasure to any particular person not intimately involved, but it increases the rate of solution. So any revelation of the identity of burglars increases in small measure the happiness of a great number of people."

"And revelation of the identity of persons engaging in sex does not?"

"Does it make you particularly happy unless you hold a grudge against the parties?"

"Not really."

"And so say most of us," he said. "All honest persons have the desire that burglars be known. Most of us have the desire that sexual activities, or sexual inactivity for that matter, be secret. Now, if you were eight rather than eighteen, the general desire would be to have any activity with another person be known. At your age, however greatly James wishes that you maintain your purity, he doesn't really want to know whether you have. The generality of the race merely wishes that their own privacy be unbreached; that is best served by having everybody's activity in this arena kept decently secret."

"Call 911 when you see a burglary, and pretend ignorance when you see a rendezvous?"

"That sounds like a good rule of thumb."

Their heads were about a foot apart. She could see his individual eyelashes despite her lack of glasses. "I can't believe that I am having this discussion in bed. It sounds like a seminar."

"You will find, dearest Jo, as you go through life, that people discuss anything and everything in bed. Poets may call it the shrine of Aphrodite; couples find it is the last chance to discuss mortgage payments before they drop off to sleep. Anyway, this is the discussion that you scheduled with me."

"More or less."

"Yes. I tend to digress. From the moment that I kissed you, however, my motives were suspect. You had grounds for suspecting that my arguments could be used to justify anything."

"And you showed that they didn't."

"And so, if I show that they justify our having intercourse, that argument will be more credible, intellectually."

"Is that where this discussion is going? What if I'm not emotionally ready?"

"Then some young man will reap the benefits of my labor. The total happiness of mankind will still be increased. Anyway, it seems to me that we have only covered the intellectual dimension of the morality of what you had already done. We set ourselves a more difficult task when we scheduled this appointment."

"There have been distractions."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Well, I'm not. I enjoyed those distractions very much. I suspect that I owe you some distractions of your own, but ..."

"You don't owe me a thing, except to answer my questions seriously. That is what you promised. As for the 'distractions,' I enjoyed them as well. Anyway, the objections to full intercourse that you have raised so far are that your father would object if he knew, and that commencement seems to imply continuation. Are there others?"

"Well, somehow, this discussion seems awfully cold-blooded. And it's my body!" This discussion hadn't seemed to acknowledge that.

"Certainly. You decide. We are only discussing the abstract ethical question. If my comments haven't acknowledged your control, it is because the level of moral principles must presume that. Of course, I shouldn't rape you. But we were discussing not what I should do (or not do); we were discussing what you should do. Which presumes that you are in control. And I suggest that this level of discussion should be cold-blooded. Or would you want an emotional argument?"

"Hoist by my own petard, am I?"

"Really, you know," he said, "the ethical question is not whether you should have intercourse, but whether you should resist having intercourse. For that matter, should you resist the levels of intimacy that you have accepted heretofore? When you are on the threshold of crossing your limits, should your moral convictions lead you to resist? Nothing that I have said is intended to imply that you should engage in intercourse when you do not desire to.... Although I could warn you that, having gone this far, I am in serious medical danger if we do not complete the act."

Coming at the end of his serious discourse, this caught her off guard. "But could you tell me that with a straight face?" she asked through her laughter. Only this morning, she suddenly realized, she could not have imagined Jeremy as speaking with anything but a straight face. Of course, she couldn't have imagined calling him "Jeremy" either.

"So, you are the one to decide. Is that a reason to decide that you will always resist?"

"It doesn't seem to be."

"Deciding in advance is coldblooded. (An interesting opinion from a woman who is taking the pill just in case.) Is that a reason to decide to resist letting your emotions sweep you overboard?"

"It doesn't seem so."

"Going forward would increase the chasm between reality and your father's illusions. Is that sufficient motive for you to deny yourself what your contemporaries tell you is a great pleasure?"

"No!" She was very sure about that.

"Is it sufficient to delay that experience?"

Damn! He had put his finger on a sensitive spot there. (She had thought of that metaphor quite innocently; but the sensitive spot where Jeremy had put his finger tingled at the memory.) She shouldn't be giggling now; this was serious business.

She had been delaying. Really, she would have dismissed any possibility of a vow of chastity. But neither being found out nor keeping an embarrassing secret had been particularly attractive. But Dad had found out, found out more than was true; and she might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. "No," she said quietly. The consultation was really over; she'd made her decision.

"The commencement appears to be irreversible. That creates an asymmetry between 'yes' and 'no.' That is a reason to delay the commencement. Is it a sufficient one?"

"No longer."

"And the commencement can be painful. Is this reason, or are the sum of the reasons remaining, sufficient to hold you back?"

"Not really. And my 'commencement' won't be painful. When I went to student health to get a prescription for the pill, I talked with the doctor...."

"And she cut your hymen?"

"He told me how to stretch it." She found herself blushing again. Mercifully, Jeremy didn't mention it this time. He must have seen it, this entire discussion had been conducted at a remarkably short distance.

"That leaves only one question," he said. She had hoped that it would leave none at all. "Would you find it offensive if I were to attempt to entice you over your set limits?"

She wasn't sure that she had any limits still set. Still and all, his enticements had been delightful up to now. Maybe he could try that oral thing again, and she would erase all her limits in return. She didn't want to say so, though. She was still somewhat loath to express such thoughts; and bargaining over such matters, however likely to increase the sum total of other pleasures, was unpleasant itself and would dampen her ardor.

On the other hand, he was a man who had proven he could give her pleasure -- indeed ecstasy. He was also someone she respected. And he already knew almost all her secrets and could be trusted to keep that one as well. But this discussion, however convincing, was quite recent. She knew herself well enough to know that she needed time to internalize her decision, to take the intellectual convictions into herself. But wasn't the question of what she would take into herself the whole point of contention? She smiled.

He had been following her expression, and answered her smile with a wider one of his own. The dear man had misread her. Well, she was glad that she wasn't completely transparent to him. "You can try, but I can't guarantee my mood." She leaned over to kiss him. The kiss met an open mouth. He had been about to say something but soon was cooperating in the kiss. She petted his side through the thin undershirt. At his waist, she met belted trousers.

She broke the kiss to comment: "You removed nothing but your shirt."

"And my shoes and socks. You don't have to guarantee your mood. Only that my trying is not offensive to you."

"You've been trying all along, and it hasn't offended me yet."

"Very trying."

"My line."

"Don't telegraph it then. Your mouth was better employed a minute ago." He returned her kiss, beginning closed-mouth. By the time that he came up for air, he was cupping her breast through the sheet. His face was just at her focal distance when his thumb rubbed across her nipple. He probably saw her face respond; he certainly felt the nipple stiffen. His smile was triumphant. "Must see," he said. After lowering the covers to just below her breasts, his hand returned to her breast and brushed her nipple again. It responded, she responded, and he smiled again. Then he kissed her left nipple while tweaking the right one. Arousal shot downward from that double stimulus; she felt burning hot. She caressed his side, but could only feel cloth. It wasn't fair.

"It's not fair." He abandoned her left breast to look her in the eyes again. That was almost as arousing as his kiss had been. His eyebrows signaled a question. "You have petted all of me, but I can't touch your skin."

"That has been for your sake, not mine," he said. He rolled away from her to sit on the other side of the bed. She pulled the sheet up to cover herself. Although no one else could see her, she felt more embarrassed by her nakedness when he was paying her no attention. He flipped the comforter off the bed, but had the sheet over his waist before he began removing his clothes. He was back beside her before she had seen anything more private than a blurred glimpse of his buttocks.

She could see the top half of his chest in the present situation, though. It was pale (this was a man who seldom left his study except to visit a library or to give a lecture) and surprisingly hairy. He was watching her face again. "You know now; I wasn't depriving you. Your seeing me is not fair exchange for my seeing you."

"I was talking about touch." And when she did touch him, he felt warm. Even on his shoulders there were hairs which she couldn't see, and they tickled. The patch in the middle of his chest felt wiry. Jeremy and she were lying on their sides now, facing each other. Her left arm was under her pillow, but he had both arms free. As she played with the hair on his chest, his right hand matched her motions.

Feeling daring, she moved her hand upwards across his nipple. His hand took longer to make the trip, but then it had to move in two dimensions. The thrill that his fingers produced as they slid over her breast no longer surprised her, but the stiffening of his nipple did. It was tiny, about the size hers had been when she was a little girl; but it seemed sensitive to her touch. She hadn't known that men's nipples were at all responsive. When her hand wandered further, his stayed on her breast, cuddling it and brushing over the areola and nipple.

When she passed below his navel, though, his other hand caught hers through the sheet. "Let's not do that quite yet."

"But you did."

"Quite right. And will do so again, but the idea is to sweep you over your limits, not to sweep me over mine. And your touch could quite easily do that. Even if you think that you are ready for me, isn't it reasonable that my experience qualifies me to set the schedule?"

"I suppose, but you seem to be going awfully slow."

"I just stopped to allow your hand a little time for touching." He placed her hand on his shoulder and moved closer. He kissed her nose before her lips. Soon, his tongue was exploring her mouth; when it withdrew, hers pursued. He sucked it gently while licking the underside.

When he broke away to kiss and lick a path towards her ear, she found that they were in a close embrace. Her breasts were pressed into his hairy chest, her legs were against his, but he was bent enough so that their middles were apart. He licked her ear until she squirmed. Her left arm was feeling trapped, but when he pressed her back she could move it down. She put both hands on his face and brought it back where it belonged. This kiss was longer but calmer. His hand now rested on the upper slope of her left breast with only his thumb moving on her nipple. His other hand moved continually, though, petting her side down to her hip before moving up to tickle her ear or brush over her nipple.

When he left her mouth this time, it was to kiss her right breast. He nibbled down from her shoulder, up the slope, licked the areola for a moment, pecked at the top of her nipple, and then kissed down the underside. After licking that area, he kissed back up towards the top. As he got near, his fingers combed over her mound. He brushed his fingers down the insides of her thighs while he licked all over her areola. His fingers came up as his lips enveloped her nipple, and his mouth began a gentle suction. His hand pressed between her thighs, just touching the lips between them.

Her nipple followed his rising lips until it popped out.

"Johanna," he said very softly, but making it sound like a call from far away, "Jo Hannn Na!" She spread her legs, spread them a little more when he pressed against them. His hand brushed upwards again, and paused with his fingers against her outer lips. He kissed her nose, and then her mouth lightly. "Thanks."

Then he was kissing the lower slope of her left breast, moving upwards as slowly as he had done on her right. Meanwhile, he parted her outer lips and then her inner ones. He sucked hard on her nipple as he stroked upwards within her valley. He stopped the suction just before his finger slid across her clitoris. Each sensation increased her excitement.

He kissed her mouth while a finger, and then two fingers, slid through her valley. He explored it all, only occasionally touching her most sensitive point. His kiss firmed, becoming much more aggressive than his mouth ever had been with hers, just before one of his fingers slid inside her. She felt occupied, and a little stretched. She must have reacted, because he broke the kiss. "Hurt?" he asked.

"It's not quite a hurt. It's just pressure. I didn't stretch myself as much as I had thought."

"I think that the skin is gone. The muscles are still tight. That's all right, muscles are made to stretch and recover. Let me take care of it." And take care of it he did. He kissed each breast in turn while his finger pressed her in every direction. He withdrew his finger to stroke up her valley and then returned. His second entry seemed easier, and each one after that easier still. On one withdrawal, he began kissing down from her breasts across her abdomen. Then he had reversed himself in the bed to lie with his face against her hip.

His hands urged her over on her side and raised her right leg. She cooperated eagerly, anticipating his mouth. Resting his head on her left thigh, he began to lick her outer lips. She had to let her leg fall, but he didn't complain.

His groin was within eight inches of her face. It was the first adult phallus that she had ever seen live, as opposed to photographed or drawn. She owed herself a close examination, but the sensations from his mouth and wandering hands were too distracting.

One of his hands played with her nipples while another clenched her right buttock. His tongue stroked her valley from top to bottom. Her body tensed and straightened when he pulled her against him for a long sucking kiss right there. Then his tongue was flicking rapidly back and forth over her core. She flamed, flamed again, flamed repeatedly until she collapsed.

He rolled her over, got them both covered. He had two fingers inside her before she could breathe again. He kissed her face gently. The odor was barely detectable. Then his fingers were moving inside her, and his tongue was licking her breasts. This was too much. His fingers were more than she could comfortably hold; his teasing was more stimulus than she could handle. She really didn't have any strength left for the response he was seeking.

On the other hand, and the expression brought a smile to her lips, the pleasure that he had brought her was light years ahead of what she could summon by her own hand. She'd stop him if there was any real pain. What she felt was more like fullness. It was only slightly uncomfortable, and also faintly sexy.

Then he sucked on her nipple and brushed her labia with his thumb. Make that quite sexy. He rolled his fingers around inside her, paused while he sucked the other breast, pulled against the front of the tunnel and then pushed against the back. He kissed her mouth, and the taste was a bit stronger than the smell had been. It tasted tart and not at all erotic. He licked his way to her ear and then down her neck. She writhed from the tickles, but it was arousing in its own way. By the time he reached her breast, she was comfortable with the slow motion of his fingers within her. They merely wriggled against each other.

By now, the alternation of licking and blowing on her nipple held all her attention. She now knew what the tension in her abdomen presaged, and welcomed it. Indeed, she yearned for it. Then, when it felt inevitable, Jeremy abandoned her breast to stare into her face. His face was dear, his attention to her more so; but how was she going to finish without his attentions to her breast? "Dearest Johanna," he said. "Come for me, Jo. Come now." And she did.

Her tension doubled, arching her back. Then she shook. Fire blazed within her. It flared from her loins to her breasts. Her skin burned. Her belly throbbed. Her breasts ached for his touch. And, when he did suck the left one, she throbbed all the more. The arm not touching him was thrashing around on the bed. Then he abandoned her breast. A new fire throbbed through her, slamming her legs down as it raised her belly. When the throbbing had slowed, he was kneeling between her legs. His phallus was thrust out proudly, and he was rolling something white down it. He didn't need to do that.

His fingers withdrew to her entrance. They were replaced by something cooler and slicker. "Say yes, Jo." Unable to speak, she nodded; when he didn't respond, she nodded more vigorously. "Oh darling!" he said.

She was stretched a bit more, but that was less important than his face with beaming eyes coming closer towards hers. His hips were pressed into her thighs, and she let them ride higher as they hugged him. Then he was kissing her, filling her mouth as he filled her tunnel. He straightened above her, rising a little and gazing down. He rolled back and forth a little, ending even deeper within her and with a hand on each breast. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine. When are you going to move?"

His answer was silent. He withdrew slowly and pushed back inside even more slowly. She found that she was more comfortable with her legs around his waist. His hands toyed with her breasts as he moved more nearly out and more fully in. The motions began to excite her, in a way slightly different than his hands or mouth had done. She pushed back against his motion, clumsily at first. Then she crossed her ankles and pulled him into her with her legs. Catching his rhythm, she moved her body to meet his and her legs to clutch him to her.

"Oh Jo," he said. And then a long "Ohhh" on his withdrawal followed by "Jo - Hann - Na" on his thrust. His gaze rose from hers, and she found herself watching his chin as it moved from the level of hers when he was barely within her to the level of her eyes when she was totally filled. She was tensing; the long slow strokes which had delighted her moments ago were no longer enough. Something changed in his motions. Then he rolled to her right.

He abandoned her left breast to clutch her thigh. She felt his finger part her lips as his stroking continued. But it was still too slow. She pressed up at him sooner, pulled her legs into his buttocks more firmly. He sped up, but never enough. She found herself grasping his hips with her hands. "Johanna," he said, "Darling Jo!" Her skin was burning. He sped almost enough. She could feel the fire on the other side of some immaterial wall, but it was not burning through. His finger touched her center. The fire raged hotter. He stroked her again.

The fire burned through! She soared. She throbbed. And this time she could feel that she was throbbing around something. Her hands clutched his buttocks. Her tunnel clutched Jeremy himself. "Johanna!" he said. Now he was going fast enough. He rocked back despite her clutching hands and tensing legs. He drove into her. Now he, too, was pulsing.

"Jo," he said. "Jo. Jo! Oh Johanna!" The last was nearly a scream. Then he was lying fully on her. She throbbed around him again. Then a pause as if at the top of a cliff. When she throbbed once more she could feel him slip out. The waves still ran through her, but more slowly, more weakly. Finally, they stopped.

He lay on her for another minute, maybe more. He moved off despite her attempts to hold him. He hadn't needed to do that, but it did make breathing easier. He held her arm, kissing her wrist between gasps. Then he pulled the sheet over them both. She had been getting chilly.

"Dearest Johanna," he said. She had been almost asleep. He kissed her forehead. "I can't say that I feel the least regret that I forced the pace this morning, but I feel more than a little guilt."

"Don't. The multiplication of happiness, as my father always taught me, is the object of virtue. I'm happy. I think that you are...."

"More than words can express."

"And no-one else is really involved. There are only two more things that I could desire from this um... interview."

His smile broadened. "Your father's continued ignorance and..." Yes, that too.

"Well, three things then. I guess I'm spoiled in some ways. I haven't had a huge clothes allowance, or a private phone since my tenth birthday like many of my classmates. But my curiosity has been satisfied all of my life. I've seen pictures."

"You want to examine my genitalia. Fair enough, but let me get cleaned up first." He got out of bed on the other side, but came all the way around it before removing the condom. Implicitly, he was allowing her to observe this action before he was clean.

"You didn't need to do that, you know."

He didn't answer until after he had come back. "I thought that you might be curious about that, too. I brought a soft cloth; do you want to wipe yourself off? I am more than willing to do that job."

She took the cloths. Modesty was incongruous by this time, but she felt modest all the same. He turned his back and rummaged in his closet while she wiped herself with a damp cloth and then a dry one. He returned with a robe. "I prefer you au naturel," he said, "but you have your choice." He didn't look away while she put on the robe.

"You didn't need to use it at all. I'm on the pill."

He lay on his side atop the sheet. "Your best protection against disease," he said while she began her inspection, "is to avoid partners with any likelihood of having a disease. Condoms are insurance." His phallus was smaller than it had looked earlier, and dangled down sideways. When she came further forward, he opened his legs.

"May I touch? Did you think that I might have a disease?"

"It would have been rather late in the day for me to worry about that. It was more for your future protection. You won't want to tell your next partner that he has to wear a condom because you only let men you trust enter you unclad." That took care of the next question as well. The two of them didn't have a future. Well, she hadn't expected any relationship when she had knocked on the door. He rolled on his back and spread his legs. "This position is better for touching."

When she moved it aside to examine his scrotum, his phallus felt so limp. It had felt so firm entering her. It also seemed to twitch in her hand. The testes were loose in his sack, even after it seemed to shrink slightly at her touch. "Be very gentle with those," he said. "The other you can't hurt unless you really try to. And what was the second thing? Third counting your father. Or should I wait until you have finished your explorations?"

"I just wondered whether we would do this again." His phallus twitched then, too. It must be something that the male organ did occasionally.

"That is your decision. I certainly would want to see you again. On the other hand, there are clear limits on our relationship. I couldn't ask for an exclusive one. Think of the many boys who would be deprived of the pleasure of your company. And, consequently, I can't offer much of a social life." She took her time examining the head of his phallus. It wasn't much different from the pictures in the books, but she needed time to answer. Then she had it.

"Next time, can I see you erect?"

"Darling girl. You can see anything that I can provide. Next time, will you tell me how your social life has progressed?"

Quid pro quo? "You want me to sleep with other men, don't you?"

"It is, as you noted, your body. I want you to give younger men the chance of sweeping you over those limits. I care for you. If I foresee -- even if you disagree with me -- that you have set yourself on a path that will lead to your future unhappiness, then I will be unhappy in the present. (I could have described the time sequence better there.)"

"I understand it. I care for you, too."

"So long as we understand that a great deal of these feelings are paternal and filial, we're in agreement. When you find a partner you think is worthy of your exclusivity, my feelings will be quite ambivalent. Do you want to shower before you go?"

Here's your hat, what's your hurry. Was that his attitude now? "I think so."

"It's almost lunch time, and you don't want to go out right after a shower. Why don't you shower now, or the tub for that matter? I'll get lunch started. There's nothing fancy, I'm afraid. Use the blue towels, they're clean." He wasn't hurrying her out, although the world's demands would do that soon enough. He bustled into the kitchen, and she fetched her underclothes before starting the shower.

They would talk at lunch. The future was tenuous, but futures usually are.

The End 
The Problems of Utilitarianism
Uther Pendragon 
[email protected]
1998/11/30 
2001/07/27
2002/08/05
2004/08/09


For another story involving a woman's first 
time, see:
 "Berries"  

This story is indexed in the subdirectory: 
 Mf: Older -- Men Younger Women  

The directory to all my stories can be found 
at:
 Index to Uther Pendragon's Website