Jeanette Brennan thought "post partum depression" was a damn patronizing concept. "Post partum exhaustion" had been more like it. Her husband Bob had done what he could; but he was teaching a full schedule, and breast-feeding isn't a task that can be shared. They took to going to bed at nine p.m. so that each of them would get something like six hours of sleep during the next ten.

The tide finally turned, however. Her baby -- The Kitten -- decided that it was possible to sleep without light coming in the windows and to entertain herself without a parent in attendance. She remained on demand feeding, but the demand was becoming more predictable.

Bob rose at seven; if The Kitten didn't wake herself before he left at eight thirty, he changed her and brought her in for a feeding anyway. Similarly, if she seemed likely to wake shortly after their bedtime, they woke her before then.

Given a little sleep, Jeanette's body had completed most of the recovery from multiple traumas, and the metabolic adjustment to milk production was complete.

She began by catching up on the housework which Bob thought that he had done. But years of secretarial work had raised her standards of efficiency while they had lowered her house- pride.

The day came when the windows were open, the diaper bag was awaiting the driver, she and The Kitten had both eaten, and there wasn't a household task until time to prepare dinner. She turned on her computer and corrected the translation which she had stopped in mid-stream two months before. She saved her work when The Kitten cried. Her breasts agreed with her baby, it was time for some nursing.

If not quite so infatuated with The Kitten as Bob, who had been known to go into verbal ecstasies over the baby's kicking her legs, Jeanette found many of her daughter's habits adorable. Perhaps the most endearing occurred during nursing. The Kitten would stop every few sips to look up at Jeanette's face as if to say "Thank-you, Mom."

At first Jeanette had responded with only a silly grin, or a "Pretty baby" or "You're welcome." Over time, however, she'd fallen into the pattern of sharing her thoughts whenever Catherine looked at her. Even in the dark, she'd start talking when the sucking paused, and stop when the sucking resumed. Sometimes that produced coherent sentences with long hiatuses. More often the thoughts went on while the speech was suspended; an eavesdropper would have been reminded of listening to a radio with an erratic connection.

Now she decided that she would speak French to her daughter, at least when they were alone. Maybe The Kitten would understand "Dorme!" better than "Go to sleep." She could hardly understand it less well.

She was as tired as ever that night, but over the next week and a half she learned to pace herself. A little talk or a toy dangled in front of her face kept The Kitten interested and awake for longer periods of the day, which kept her asleep for longer periods of the night.

The Kitten didn't like afternoons or the sound of the vacuum cleaner. Jeanette figured out a way to nurse her in the sling while vacuuming in the morning. The baby adjusted. Jeanette learned to share the afternoon naps. Once a day, she turned on the cranky old shortwave before taking The Kitten to the rocker. Radio France Internationale filled her mind while her baby drained her body. When The Kitten looked up at her, she summarized what the announcer was saying.

Jeanette decided to be sure of her new capacities before telling her husband about them. Bob, teaching the last two weeks of summer school, had his own overload. It was a time for her to think again about their relationship, though.

In the first year of their marriage, Bob had seduced her. The word was accurate. Patiently, tenaciously, deviously, he had discovered or created a sensuality in her that she hadn't known in the previous nineteen years. She, in turn, had discovered a tiger caged somewhere deep within the scholar and punster whom she had married.

Pregnancy had rather spoiled both. From her fourth month on, she had been afraid of freeing the tiger. What had been Bob's techniques of extending their sensuality had become makeshift replacements for real intercourse during the pregnancy. When the makeshifts were no longer necessary, she and Bob had been happy to abandon them.

Bob had comforted her when she thought that she would never be a mother; he had cherished her through mood swings and nausea; he tried to do his part of caring for the baby and the household. She knew what he wanted, and she had enjoyed it too. He deserved to have it. As for her, she wanted her tiger.

As she laid her plans, she included Bob's other appetite. On Friday she put a napping Kitten into the Snuggli and visited the corner grocery.

Whether Bob Brennan were remarkably unperceptive or not is a matter of one's priorities. Frazzled as he was, he enjoyed the taste and feel of his wife's lips and tongue during his welcome- home kiss. He appreciated the spring of her hips under his hands. He noticed that she didn't need to be comforted with a chaste hug after the kiss, and even that it had been days since she had. That thought brightened his outlook. Willing as he was to hug away Jeanette's depression, he much preferred to see her happy.

He didn't notice that she was wearing an office dress or that the dining room table was set.

"Love you," he said.

"I love you, too. Now go look at your daughter while I finish up." Ten minutes later, she called him to dinner.

"I can't," he called back. "I'm trapped."

"Goofus!" she said as she removed his little finger from The Kitten's tiny grasp. "She's asleep. Let's eat while we can."

"Isn't she the cutest baby in the whole world?" Bob asked once again.

"Yep. But it is possible that we are prejudiced."

"Objective reality," said Bob. Then, when he saw the meal on the table: "When did you get corn on the cob?"

"Today," she answered in conscious parody of his style. But he was too taken by her cooking to mind.

"And the dining room. And spare ribs. What's the occasion?"

"Last day of class; we are proud parents; sun is shining; I'm glad I married you. One of those."

"You didn't have any choice about marrying me. I cleverly monopolized your time through three years of high school until all the desirable boys were taken."

"Say grace."

"Grace," Bob said, as she knew he would; but then: "Almighty Father, We thank you for the food that is before us, the baby that you have given us, and the wonderful wife that you have given me. Amen."

Jeanette's "Amen" was the last word that was spoken for the next ten minutes. Then Jeanette brought up current events. Once the staple of their dinner conversations, this had been abandoned five months before. Bob raised his eyebrows but dealt with Jeanette's issues, mostly he just asked what she had heard. He resolved to catch up on Newsweek.

They were still talking when the baby cried. "I'll get her this time," Jeanette said. "You get the dishes." Bob washed and dried the dishes before settling down to write the tests for the summer classes. "Your turn," Jeanette said sometime later. He changed The Kitten and returned to work. When he saved his text and turned off the computer, Jeanette and The Kitten were playing. "Ta tette," Jeanette was saying, touching the proper place, "ton bras, ton coude, ta main. Veux-tu jouer avec papa jusqu'a tu as faim?"

"'Jouer, ' indeed," Bob responded. "Maman wants your diaper changed before she feeds you." His tone, however, was adoring. He took over the game. "This is Catherine's nose, this is Catherine's finger, this is Catherine's knee."

When he brought a recently-diapered Catherine into the bedroom, Jeanette turned to her side and placed the baby's mouth on her breast. Barely noticing that the car seat was by the head of the bed, Bob gazed at his family with adoration, and a tiny tinge of lust.

"Your lecherous papa is staring at us like a voyeur," Jeanette told The Kitten. "Are we going to exhibit ourselves to a totally clothed audience when you're wearing only a diaper, and I haven't a stitch on under this sheet?" She cocked her head toward the small one at her breast. "She says that you'll have to strip if you want to stay."

"Tell her not to talk with her mouth full," replied Bob. "I didn't hear a word that she said." But he was already stripping. " ... haven't a stitch on under this sheet," sounded much more arousing than "covered from the waist down by a sheet" would have. By the time he crawled carefully over to the far side of the bed, he was stiffening.

"I told you that Papa was lecherous," Jeanette confided in her totally oblivious daughter. "I bet he is wishes that he were in your position."

"I certainly do."

"Well, that's taken. You'll have to find somewhere else."

Bob took that challenge. He started with Jeanette's hand and kissed each knuckle. He traveled up her arm in slow stages heading for her neck. Kisses there brought quite satisfactory shivers. Then he licked the back of her ear.

Jeanette forced herself to wait while Bob kissed a path downward at his own slow pace. When he reached her hip she parted her legs. When he started kissing the insides of her thighs, she threw off the sheet so she could watch him. Soon his head was pillowed on her left thigh, his body sprawled behind her, and his lips inches from her lower ones. She could see his eyes, but they were focused on her mound.

Bob was already hard before he inhaled the wonderful odor that told him that he was desired as well as desirous. He expected her to stop him and call him back up, but he was going to enjoy this while he could. Parting Jeanette's outer lips with his fingers, he found her wetter than she had been in months. One lick along the crinkly line of the joined inner lips brought him the heady taste of his love. He tried to ignore his throbbing erection and keep his licks gentle. After parting her inner lips, he looked up along Jeanette's body.

Jeanette had watched Bob's head while she felt his lips and tongue. Their eyes locked just as his tongue touched her core. Love poured out of her through that connection as warmth flooded up her abdomen. The Kitten, first hunger sated, was playing with her nipples and only occasionally sucking hard. Bob alternated licking her inner lips and blowing across them. Borne on these erotic sensations, she floated away from her cares and plans.

Perversely, the gradual realization that she wasn't going to stop him this time hardened Bob until he wanted to be inside right then. Staring into her love-filled eyes, he willed himself to concentrate on her feelings. When she finally looked elsewhere, he noted the tightening of her belly muscles. Her unused nipple seemed less prominent than before, but it was still dark red. He licked up toward her clitoris, hard on the way there -- gently when he was near. He saw more tension. He blew a warm, gentle stream of air across the top of her labia. She shivered. He licked gently until her face took on a look of worry. Then he sucked in the entire front portion of her lips. She tensed even more and looked as if she were in agony. Even when her thighs closed about his head, he continued licking and sucking. He was rewarded with distinct tremors through her body and moans that reached his ears despite the thighs pressed against them.

Jeanette felt every individual sensations from breast and vulva warm her entire body. Then she felt only the heat. It pulsed, burning within her. Then she was the pulsing flames. She cried out in time with the pulses. Then she was gone, and there was only the flames.

Then there was nothing, nothing at all.

When the trembling stopped, Bob felt the tension go out of the legs squeezing him. Although the weight was still a discomfort, he didn't move. Having had that close-up view of Jeanette's orgasm filled him with awe. He felt that a crick in his neck or a sore ear was a minor price for the privilege and feared that mentioning them might lessen the frequency of his chances. When Jeanette raised her right leg, however, he moved quickly. Experience had taught him that she wanted a little cuddle right now.

And cuddle they did.

The Kitten, whose first nine months of existence had -- after all -- included a lot more motion than her last one, no longer objected to a little shaking while she was being fed. She fell asleep with her father's hand, as well as he mother's arm, on her. "Bob," Jeanette whispered, "her car seat is on the floor by the head of the bed, do you think that you could put her in it."

"Sure," Bob whispered back. He was vaguely aware that The Kitten, once she had decided to sleep, would sleep through a rock concert. The occasion seemed to call for whispering anyway.

He doused the light and reached for the little box before returning to bed. They resumed the cuddle, but Bob's hands strayed. He made space for Jeanette to roll over on her back, then came forward again so that he could kiss her. There was another break while he rolled on the condom.

"Love you," he said.

"Love you. Want you," she replied.

Positioned between her legs, he kissed each breast once before moving forward. He found the spot and slid inside. "Stop," she said when he was fully sheathed. It took an effort, but he stopped. She wrapped her arms about his chest and her legs about his hips. "Now," she said. The multiple sensations in this position more than compensated for the restricted movement. Clasped in every way possible, he stroked in her slick softness.

Jeanette was filled with her lover and sheltered by him. She hugged him and guided him. She luxuriated in the slow motions across her sensitized breasts, against her swollen labia, and deep within her. Then the particular sensations merged into one glorious whole.

Bob felt her stiffen beneath him and tighten around him. Then all he felt was his own throbbing ejaculation.

Jeanette felt Bob drive into her. She heard him grunt. He shivered above her and throbbed within her. That brought her to her own culmination.

They lay panting for a bit until Bob gathered enough energy to clasp the end of the rubber and pull out. Then they rearranged the sheets and cuddled in a spoon. "Love you," he said.

"Love," she murmured back.

Minutes later they were asleep. Hours later The Kitten woke them.

Bob usually avoided the laundromat on Saturdays, but having put it off until after the last class he had little choice. He packed three weeks back copies of Newsweek, since they were discussing current events again. Jeanette napped while he was gone, figuring that he would appreciate a rested lover more than a neater house.

After discussing the world at dinner, they got around to their own day. "I felt like a wuss," Bob said, "taking the car the three blocks to the laundromat." Bob's standards for being in shape came from summers as a road construction worker in his late teens. "The laundry is heavier these days, though, despite the diaper service."

"It is remarkable how The Kitten goes through clothes, seeing as I often keep her in just a diaper."

Bob laughed. "God, but I'm glad that I married you," he said through his chuckles.

"Me too." They had time for a long kiss and a light hug before Bob started the dishes. Then he checked out the tests that he had written the night before. The first was too long, the second too short; both needed to be balanced on periods and type of question. Bob had long ago found write-and-rewrite faster and more effective than write-carefully-once.

The Kitten awoke while he was at the computer. He broke to change her sopping diaper -- he often marveled at how the kidneys in Catherine's tiny body could process such a huge volume of water -- and deliver her to her mother. He had work to do and not an excuse in the world to stay and watch the two of them in the rocker. But pictures of Jeanette's bare breasts with the Kitten sucking on one interfered with his work for the rest of the evening.

Jeanette was similarly distracted. The thoughts that she shared with her daughter were all about "ton papa," "le tigre," "librai," "feroce," and even "seduirai."

The thoughts that she kept to herself were much more explicit. She decided that she would encourage Bob to take her through one climax orally. That was teasing all by itself, and her plans might not allow her to have an orgasm while he was inside. She would delay him even after that until he was really desperate. Then she would hold his phallus, maybe apply the condom herself, at least guide him inside. Finally she would touch behind his scrotum when he began moving quickly. She appreciated her gentle, caring, scholar; really she did. But it was time for a change.

She wouldn't have a husband for a while; she would have a tiger. And he wouldn't have a climax; he would have an explosion. "Ton pauvre pere," she whispered to her daughter who had finally let the nipple escape her lips. "Il ne soupcone rien." And then it was time for another kind of change.

"I," she told the unsuspecting father after she had laid the baby down, "need a shower. Your daughter is a sloppy eater." She was expecting, indeed inciting, a response about "your daughter." Bob disappointed her.

He had other things on his mind. He could picture in exquisite detail the area that Catherine had got "sloppy." Rather than repelled by the slobber, he was attracted by the long, erect, nipple. The word, "shower," evoked images of a totally bare Jeanette under cascades of water. He could see, much more clearly than the screen before him, the stream running down her belly and soaking the furry mound before concentrating between her thighs. Jeanette had a habit, perfectly innocent and quite practical, of parting her legs and thrusting that mound forward into the shower's path when she wanted to rinse that area. This memory evoked other memories of similar motions responding to his thrusts.

"Y'know," he said "I always feel grungy after working in the hot laundromat. I should shower, too."

"Do you want to go first?"

"No."

"Bob!" Jeanette said two minutes later.

"You asked if I wanted to go first; I didn't." She looked as sexy as he had imagined, even sexier a moment later when she started laughing. Giggles always shook her breasts enticingly.

Jeanette thought fast. She had created an elaborate scenario for evoking her tiger. She knew that her considerate husband would back off if she told him that she had their evening planned. There were drawbacks, however.

"Do you want me to wash your back?" he asked.

"Would be nice. I've already washed my front."

"You know, we can't be too careful of the cleanliness of anything which is going into the mouth of a tiny baby."

Jeanette was not impressed. Blankets, stuffed animals, and her own toes went into that baby's mouth. "You mean that we shouldn't allow any other mouth to leave its germs on such things?"

"Well ... we don't want to be fanatical about hygiene. I'll do your back." But he also did her legs, starting at her feet and moving up her thighs. She decided to put her scenario on hold. Backing off was a poor start for a tiger, and there was a certain charm to being the pursued.

Bob moved the washcloth up Jeanette's left thigh until she stopped him. He began again at her right foot and washed up her leg. This time she didn't stop him. He soaped her delta with elaborate care.

"I had already washed there," she said.

"Then we have to rinse it twice." This took so long that the hot water began to run out. Bob hurriedly washed while Jeanette stepped out. He was shivering when she met him with a towel.

"Sorry," she said. She began to dry him vigorously.

"Hardly your fault."

"I was thinking that a cold shower would be appropriate. But," she said as her brisk rubbing with the terry cloth skirted his erection. "it didn't seem to work."

"Worked fine. I wanted to dry you."

"Still can." He took the towel that she handed him and patted softly at what dampness remained.

"The cold shower worked. I was absolutely, totally, cured of any concupiscence by the shower. Then I stepped out and found the most arousing girl in the state of Michigan (as well as in the state of nature). A saint, a statue of a saint, would have responded as I did." Jeanette took down her robe while he was spinning this blarney. "Uh, that robe looks heavy, do you want me to carry it for you?"

Jeanette laughed, but she didn't put the robe on for the short trip to the bedroom. She also rolled her hips exaggeratedly. Bob actually considered her normal walk sexier, but the explicit invitation thrilled him.

Their kiss in the bedroom was entirely different from the friendly calm of the one at the end of supper. They stood naked, with his leg between hers pressing her well-washed mound. Meanwhile their tongues dueled, and played tag, and tasted each other.

He broke that kiss to cover her cheek with tiny pecks. When he reached her breasts, he kissed an elaborate pattern all over the smooth skin without touching her nipples. He knelt to continue lower.

Her arousal had begun, not in the shower, but in the rocker as she plotted his seduction while nursing baby Catherine. Most of the evidence had been washed away, and her abdomen was devoid of taste as he kissed and licked there. As he approached the twice-washed hair, however, he detected the maddening scent of absolutely fresh arousal. He grabbed her hips to hold her to him as he pressed his lips against her mound.

Jeanette's legs were beginning to feel very shaky. "Bed," she said.

"Rocker?" he responded.

"Man has lovely ideas," she thought but only said "rocker." It took a minute for Bob to fetch the Trojan and sit in the rocker. Then she sat on his knees while watching him roll the rubber onto his erect phallus. "Looks easy," she said. "Bet I could do that." He hissed at the thought, and she giggled. She leaned forward so they could share a long, teasing, kiss while he parted her labia and stroked between.

But she was beyond any need for foreplay. She moved forward and settled over the wrapped erection. "Slowly," warned Bob even though this position never produced deep penetration. And she did move slowly, sinking down, impaling herself on her husband. Finally, when she was resting completely on him, Bob started the chair rocking.

Bob felt her touching him, guiding him inside, engulfing him. Surrounded by the smooth, slick, softness, he gripped her hips before starting his motion. Every time the chair rocked, her nipples brushed him as he moved within her. His hands left her hips and stroked up her back before caressing her breasts.

"This one," Jeanette said lifting her left breast towards him. He took it in his hand and kissed the tip before sucking it into his mouth. He nursed where his daughter had an hour before. At first, the touch and taste of the nipple were enough. But then, rocking harder, he sucked firmly. It was only a tiny taste of milk, but that taste was so warm and sweet. His phallus swelled within her warmth in anticipation. His hands slid down to her hips again.

Every motion of the rocker was transmitted to Jeanette through motion of Bob's chest on her nipples, his thighs under hers, his groin rubbing across her swollen labia, and his manhood inside her. When he held her breasts, recalling which one had to be preserved for The Kitten's immediate need took all the attention that she could apply. Once Bob's talented tongue and lips were adding to the sensations, her connection to the outside world frayed even faster. The acceleration of the rocking was capped by the sensation of her milk flowing.