The L Word
Chapter 3: Moving in

Copyright© 2018 by Uther Pendragon

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 3: Moving in - The L Word Uther Pendragon MF rom coll "Your whole life is in upheaval." Mom asked Amanda. "How has Bret's life changed? What is he giving up for you?" It was a good question, though Amanda didn't admit it to Mom. She loved Bret, and would follow him anywhere. Did he love her? Would he give up something for her?

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Heterosexual   Oral Sex   Safe Sex  

Wednesday, they had dinner, and then they sat in a movie with Bret’s arm around her shoulders. It wasn’t a bad movie. Then, he drove her back to the dorm and kissed her. The kiss went on and on, as though he was trying to make her sorry that they hadn’t gone back to his apartment. Well, she’d put her pills into her handbag just in case he asked her, but he hadn’t.

The dance Friday was as much fun as dancing with Bret always was. The kiss afterwards was as hot and as long.

They drove Saturday nearly the entire length of the city. Red Twist Theater was a couple of storefronts joined together, and the play was dark and modern. The restaurant was one storefront, and not a large one. The food was good, though, and Thai.

“I ate here when my first game sold,” Bret said. “And wasn’t that a mistake?”

On the drive back, he explained. “I suppose that the guys who work for game-selling companies writing shoot-em-ups get paid like anybody else. Two weeks, and you get a paycheck. I free-lance, though. First, I had to convince one of the marketing firms to carry my game. Then, they send it out to seasoned players to get their response; that’s called ‘beta testing.’ That comes back with their questions, complaints, recommendations. Then, you change that. Then the company spends some money on the package, etcetera. That comes off the top; they don’t charge you, but they take all sales until that’s paid for.

“Anyway, I get the letter saying that they liked my game and would put it out. I go out to celebrate. Then comes the note that the beta-testers want certain changes, some in the game, some in the directions. I make the changes. Later, I could accept or reject those suggestions, but this was my first game, and I had nowhere to stand. Then they put it out on the market. Then, they deduct the up-front. They sent me an accounting of the up-front in November, but I was still behind. They send the checks -- snail-mail -- on the 15th of the month. So, here it is the 18th, and my landlord is talking eviction. I get the first real check. I take it to my landlord and tell him I can deposit it that day. I’ll write him a check dated when the funds are available. He doesn’t buy that, and I suggest that I sign the check over to him and he write me a check for the balance.

“What we settle for is that he deducts December rent, late fee, and January rent. Then he gives me a check for the balance. He didn’t take out February rent ‘cause the balance was less than that. I walk his check to the bank, and I take out every penny that was in the bank up to then. That’s what I lived on -- that and the PBJs and ramen that bought -- for another month. I never got that short again, but I didn’t eat at a restaurant again until the check came that involved payment for the second game.”

“Lean times,” she said. “I thought you got a lot of money from those games.” She thought, indeed, that he’d paid his own tuition. She didn’t know anyone else who had earned their own tuition.

“Well, the third game paid well. I called it ‘Mansions.’ You can’t depend on a blockbuster, but one can come along. You do the right things, and you can make a living with the normal games, but there is one hell of a lead time. They’re still selling some of the first game today, and they’re still paying me a little on it.”

“I don’t understand you,” she admitted.

“You don’t get me, but I’m easy to understand. Once, I had very little. I closely examined what I needed and got only that. Later, I got more resources. I bought some things I wanted. I really wanted a car, and I bought one. Toasters were cheaper, but I didn’t want toast.”

“And now I’ve made you buy one.”

“No!” he said. “Now, you’ve told me that you’re more comfortable with toast for breakfast. Now, I want you happy in my apartment. Now, I need a toaster.”

He’d said ‘need,’ not ‘want.’ When he walked her to the dorm door, she put as much passion into the kiss as he did. A group of women students back from a hen outing broke them up, and the girls teased her waiting for the elevator afterwards.

“That’s okay. You’re just jealous.”

Thursday, she went back for another wax job.

Friday, they went to a pop concert on campus. Sometime that night, the number of orgasms she had received under Bret’s mouth passed the number that she had received from all -- well, both -- his predecessors in going down on her. She liked him very much the next morning, and she made French toast. She’d brought the syrup as well as the box of Equal. The combination seemed ironic to her. The sugar she was replacing with the Equal was only a fraction of what she poured on her toast.

“Delicious,” he said. The French toast had been okay, much better than another day of sunny-side-up eggs. She didn’t mind them, but they did get repetitive. ‘Repetitive’ didn’t seem to bother Bret.

She stopped him with a gesture when he started to get up.

“Bret,” she asked, “you’ve only had sex with one woman before me?” In some ways, that was hard to believe; in other ways, easy. The guy was a sexy kisser, a sexy dancer. He had, for God’s sake, an apartment to himself. What was the only reason that a bachelor lived without a roommate? He was older than she was, and more sophisticated in the ways of Chicago outside their neighborhood. On the other hand, he didn’t seem like the sort of guy who knew much about boy-girl relationships. If he’d brought previous women to his apartment, why hadn’t he offered them toast for breakfast?

“Only one.”

“And you always used a condom with her?”

“Yeah, And, I might point out, I’ve always used a condom with you, too. I’m no paragon, but I am responsible.”

“Never said you weren’t. Go wash your dishes.”

First, she had her bathroom time, including carefully brushing her teeth. Her toothbrush hung from the holder beside his. It looked very domestic.

In the bedroom, she stripped naked and slid into the sheets while he was brushing his teeth. He had already shaved. She slid the drawer of the night stand open.

“Bret,” she said when he came in the door. Deliberately, she took the condom packet from the night stand where it was lying. She dropped it into the drawer and slid it shut.

“Mandy, you can always say ‘no’ to me. I’m not a fucking rapist. This is a damned cold time and a damned cold way to say it, though.”

She sat up a little to let the sheet slip to her waist. She held out her arms. “I’m not saying ‘no’ to you. I’m saying let’s let my pill take the precautions for us.” After all, the late pill had been on last month’s sequence, and it probably hadn’t made a difference, anyhow.

“Oh, Mandy.” His tone was entirely different.

He climbed into bed, and they had a long kiss with their skin touching all her length (and most of his). He broke that kiss to kiss all over her face and to her ears. When he started down her neck, his hand went between her legs. As he kissed a line up her breast to the tip, his finger was stroking her. When he moved over to sucking her right nipple, the fire broke.

She convulsed, and the heat shot through her. “Mandy, Amanda darling, you are so responsive, so sexy.” he said. He moved his head back when she collapsed. His hand was still on her mound, but he didn’t move it at all. He kissed her forehead, then moved her head so he could kiss her ear.

He wasn’t moving his fingers, but his hand was resting on her mons, her bare mons. Somehow, the absence of the shielding layer of hair made this intimacy more arousing. Maybe it was more arousing because it was Bret. He was the only man who’d ever touched her like that.

He moved the palm over her, pressing hard enough -- and moving small enough distances -- that the skin on top moved with his hand. That started all sorts of interesting feelings in the parts underneath. Then one finger delved between her lips.

“Oh Mandy,” he said. “You are so warm, so moist.”

Well, delightful as his hand was, it was time for something more. She reached for him.

The radio blared.

Actually, she realized the next instant, the radio wasn’t that loud. It was just that they’d been whispering.

“Your program,” Bret said. She would rather have him than “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me,” but he wasn’t making any moves. She soon realized that she could have them both if she took them in order. They listened to the show both conscious what would follow it. He had his cock pressed against her thigh and his hand roving for most of the hour.

He got all three limericks. “I’m not certain that it’s a compliment to me that you can think that clearly when you have me naked in your arms,” she said.

“Motivation. It’s your program, and I figure that I should get a prize for being right.”

“Should I record an answer for your voice mail?”

“I’ve got something else in mind.” And he cupped her while he was saying that. His mouth went to her breast, and she was revved up as she’d been when the radio interrupted them.

When he got on top of her, she helped him in.

“Mandy,” he said.

“Yes, Bret, yes.”

“Oh, you are so warm, so smooth.” He was warm, himself, if not so smooth as the lubricant had been.

And that warmth rubbed in and out of her as the heat rose. She grabbed his legs and smoothed her hands up them until she was gripping the hips driving him in and out.

The fire flickered, erupted. She convulsed. “Mandy!” he said, “Mandy love.” He drove in through her clutches and throbbed deep within her.

He fell to her right, and they lay side by side gasping.

“Now, THAT is motivation,” he finally said. “After that, I’m going to pay attention to limericks all the time.”

She sat up, and the ooze of him out between her lips became a gush. “I’m going to shower,” she said. She left a big wet spot on the bed, but considering the choice he had, she didn’t think Bret would mind. He seemed to have been real turned on by the bare ride.

She came out of the john fully dressed and took her back pack to the kitchen table. Bret left her alone until she went into the bedroom to get him.

“Hungry?” he asked,

“Yeah.” She pulled out her cell, and it was nearly two.

It was raining out, and he got the car and pulled it in front of the door so she could rush out.

“I don’t think the Point today,” he said, “Have you ever visited the Oriental Institute?”

“Yeah, and I wouldn’t mind going again, but I’m on a roll. I’d just rather keep at it, if you don’t mind.” She realized that the way she was studying, he couldn’t get a snack, couldn’t watch TV, would look really weird going out. Well, her spending Saturday in his apartment had been his idea.

“Need the computer?”

“I turned that paper in,” she said. “It’s all books right now. I brought back your flash drive.”

“I’d rather collect rent.”

“Promised my dad before I turned 16 that I would never kiss the driver when the car was in motion.”

He waited until she had burned out in studying before collecting his rent. It seemed to her that she’d been kissing him fairly regularly over the days that she had kept the flash drive, but paying the rent was too much fun to complain about details.

The dance was as arousing as it had been, when Bret pumped his groin, she imagined him driving his bare cock in and out of her.

When they got home, instead of Bret’s undressing her, she went into the john with her back pack, and came out in the nightie, robe, and slippers. When Bret came into the bedroom, she was lying under the sheet in her nightie. They had a fine kiss before he helped her off with the nightie, and then an even finer one with nothing between them.

He moved to her side and cupped her for another kiss. The heat began to rise as his kisses trailed down to her breast and his finger began to delve.

“Amanda!” he said as the fire broke free and she convulsed. He swept the sheet aside, and she spread her legs in anticipation.

Instead, he began to stroke her again with his finger. “Yes, my darling. Yes, my Mandy. Let me see it. Come for me again.”

She couldn’t resist that voice, and she really couldn’t resist that finger. The fire erupted again, and -- as he cooed encouragement -- again. She managed to push his hand away before she died of an overdose of sex. He pulled the covers over her and cuddled against her form as sleep took her utterly.

The next morning, it was the end of another idyllic weekend. She should feel less bittersweet. After all, the pause this time was only one week.

“You are going to ask me back next weekend, aren’t you?” she asked Bret as he was frying the eggs.

“Yes, indeed. Should I ask at a different time?” He normally invited her to the next event while driving her back to the dorm.

“I dunno. It sorta seems like we have something regular going.”

“I certainly hope so,” he said. “On the other hand, I don’t want to be seen as taking you for granted.”

“Bret, asking a girl for an entire weekend on the Wednesday before, that’s taking her for granted,”

“Well, the situation kinda took me by surprise. I’m glad you didn’t turn me down because of that.” He served them their eggs and sat down across from her.

“I’m sort of glad I didn’t, too,” she confessed.

“Well, can we do this again next week? I’ll have the particulars available by Wednesday.”

“Sure.” Leaving her nightie here was already agreeing to this. Maybe, that was why he wanted her to.

“And another movie Wednesday?” he asked. Well, if she didn’t take this opportunity to change him, she’d never get a better one.

“How about we use Wednesday for the Oriental Institute?”

“Okay. I’ll check the hours. Maybe we’ll have to go earlier and eat after. When do you get out of your last class Wednesday?”

“Three.”

“I can’t quite make it that early. I’ll check times, and call you Tuesday night with a specific invitation. You seemed to enjoy the movies.”

“I do,” she said. “It’s just that we’re sort of getting into a rut. I really liked the idea of the Institute. I haven’t seen it in years.”

The Oriental Institute was a fun experience, more fun with Bret. If she didn’t have his arm around her like she did in the movies, they did have their hands in each others. They got out at 5:00, and went to a Chinese restaurant early. They stayed there until the place was so full that they were keeping another couple from being seated.

In the car going back, Bret handed her a packet and a small bag from the store.

“What are these?” she asked. She didn’t really want gifts from him. On Christmas would be great -- even her birthday if they were together that long; flowers would be great. Other sorts of gifts when she was sleeping with the guy would start to feel icky.

“Two different things, or -- rather -- two different sorts of things. How’d you like to be chair of the committee on not getting into a rut? Y’know, a guy asks a girl to a movie, he hopes she wants to see the movie enough that she’s willing to accept his company to see it.”

“Or, just maybe, she wants his company enough that she’s willing to see that movie again as long as it’s with him.”

“Yeah,” he said. “And really, it’s hard to tell which. I think I can tell when you’re enjoying yourself, but that’s partly the part of the day before I see you, too. If you get out of class with a headache, I might figure that you don’t like the play that I took you to. Anyway, here are some things I’ve printed off web pages of museums. See what you’d like to visit.”

“You’re sweet, Bret.”

“What I am is repetitive. I’ve eaten Cheerios for nearly every breakfast for the last year. When you eat eggs for breakfast three times in two weeks, you want a break. Well, I don’t want to impose my repetitive nature on you, but I’ve run out of ideas about variation. Then, too, just because it’s a new experience doesn’t mean you’ll like it.”

“You’re saying that maybe I should choose the dates?” she asked. She wasn’t sure she wanted that.

“What I’m saying is that you have options. Use them if you wish to. That goes with the other package, too.”

She opened the bag. It was a pair of bedroom slippers. That was not only a present, but an extremely intimate one. Sure, she told the girls that she was sleeping with Bret, but that didn’t give him the right to hint to them that he was sleeping with her. And that was what wearing a gift pair of slippers would mean.

“You drag a pair back and forth,” he said. “If these are all right, they could be yours in my apartment.”

“Why thank you,” she said. “That will be great. Don’t buy me anything else to wear there, though.”

With the nightie and the slippers, she thought, he was moving her into his apartment one piece of clothing at a time. Well, the toothbrush had been first. Did she want to move in?

They said -- well kissed -- good night for the longest time. It was still early enough that the girls who interrupted them were coming out rather than coming in.

One thing that had attracted her to the Oriental Institute was that it was a free date. The other museums which Bret had considered were not. She didn’t want to go back; it was small enough that you saw it on one visit. Still, he’d invited her to diversify their experience.

Thursday, Bret diversified all on his own She and her roommates always shared a table for lunch Tuesdays and Thursdays. She must have told Bret which dining hall she used, and she knew that they had compared class schedules so that he could guess the time.

Bret was waiting for her when she got to the dining hall. He followed her through the line and paid for them both. She’d never spent a penny in Bret’s company.

He followed her to the table, and she introduced him to Sharon and Candace.

“Is it ever Candy?” he asked.

“Not twice.”

“That’s ‘cause people who call her ‘Candy’ don’t live long enough to repeat their mistake,” Sharon supplied.

Alicia arrived and was introduced. Bret seemed to have expected to share a meal with her, but didn’t demand her attention when the pattern of the table became clear. The girls, who had heard all sorts of intimate things about him, were fascinated. He was much more interesting than what they would have discussed if he weren’t there. Indeed, he was one of the things they would have discussed if he weren’t there.

“Mandy tells us you dropped out and earned enough without a degree to come back and pay your own tuition,” Alicia said. “How did you ever accomplish that? I’m graduating this quarter, and the job market makes me plan to move back home.”

“Well,” Bret said, “how I did it isn’t for everybody. I designed computer games free-lance. It’s not the sort of thing you select out of a job list. If you don’t think that way, nobody wants to hire you and train you to do it.”

“Oh,” Candace asked, “what games? Mandy didn’t tell us that.”

“A couple. My best-known one game was called ‘Mansions.’ It was a sort of treasure-hunting game. Actually, it was a set of treasure-hunting games.”

“Mandy!” Candace said. “And you told us he was such a nice guy, too. He’s a fiendish sadist. I played that game, multiple times, and I got through only twice.”

“I’m not a sadist. Sell to masochists, maybe. If you got through, you should have stacked your treasure in the exit room, taken your weapons with you, and gone back. The directions tell you that you can do that. What it is, he said to the other girls, is a five-dimension torus.”

“Torus is a donut? Right?” Sharon asked.

“Yeah. The surface of a donut is a torus. In computing, we do it this way.” Bret pulled out a notebook and drew a 4X4 grid on a blank page. “When you get to the top, the next locus is the bottom of that column; when you get to the right, the next locus is the leftmost locus of that row.” The other girls, even Sharon who’d known the answer when he started explaining, looked as confused as she felt.

That night, Candace apologized to her in the study. “I was a little hard on your guy. Yeah, I definitely did not enjoy that game; on the other hand, some people did. You know, it might look like you’re dating a geek...”

“Dating a geek at the U of C?” Sharon exclaimed. “Who would think of that?” The University was not a party school, and they often were proud of that -- seldom when they were discussing dates.

“ ... but some people would think you were dating a celebrity. ‘The designer of Mansions’ is a description with a cachet in some circles.”

“She’s dating a celebrity geek,” Sharon said.

“Well, yeah.”

She wasn’t dating a celebrity geek. She was dating a nice guy who was looking forward to a job she -- and they -- didn’t understand. If a woman married a structural engineer, was she expected to know structural engineering?

Not that she was going to marry Bret. Just, since she wasn’t, she had even less reason to understand his field.

Friday night, in the restaurant before the dance, it was Bret who apologized. “I thought it would be a meal and a conversation we could share. Instead, it was all about me.”

“It wasn’t all that bad, Bret. The girls were all interested in you. We all know each other so much better.”

In the dance, though, it was she and Bret who knew each other well. She knew how he would move and knew that he knew how she would. Then, too, the dance moves were metaphors, and they would make those moves familiarly later.

 
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