Chapter 4: Going Home

As they’d agreed, Marilyn Grant called Andy as soon as she got back to the house from her last exam in December ‘76.

“Andy?”

“I love you. Should I come over now?”

“Give me an hour. I’m not packed yet.”

“There in an hour. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” At 1:15, someone yelled up the stairs that Andy was there. She yelled back that she’d be down in a minute. When she got close enough to the bottom for him to reach, he took the suitcase, and set it on the floor, then he took the book bag and set it on top of the suitcase. She went down a step, and they had a kiss. It wasn’t a very wet kiss; they were in public, and they had lots of time for that later. Then he picked up the suitcase and bag and started towards the door.

“If engineering doesn’t work out, Andy,” Beverly said when he shifted the book bag to his right hand to get the door, “you could make a living giving boyfriend lessons.”

“Yeah,” Laura asked, “but would the guys pay for them?”

“Maybe the woman’s parents would,” Sandra suggested. “If Gary treated me like that, Dad would stop mentioning haircuts.”

Andy was blushing and everyone else was laughing when they walked out the door. “See?” she asked when they were in the car, “they all appreciate what a nice guy you are.” Her kiss interrupted whatever answer he had intended to make. Again, at the apartment, he carried her stuff and also opened the downstairs door and gestured her to precede him up the stairs. She unlocked the apartment door, though.

Inside, they hung up their coats before the next kiss. He explored her mouth, and then she explored his. His hands were all over her, while hers just hugged him. When he began to lift her top, though, she drew back.

“It’s chilly. Faster to do our own.” The bed was chilly, too, and so were his hands. He’d warm them in his armpits if she asked, but she was too hungry for his touch. His lips were already warm, and his hand warmed stroking her. It cooled again when it went between her thighs. She got warm enough with his lips on her tit and his finger stroking her clit. He brought his head out of the covers when she got close. He was staring her in the eyes when the lightning struck.

“Oh, Marilyn,” he said. “Oh, darling.” He rested his hand on her mound with his finger on those lips while she caught her breath. When she had, he kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and then her lips. “Sweet girl, delicious woman.” His finger began to move along the outside of her inner lips, not going between them yet.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said. If they were going to have a conversation, it should be more sensible than that.

“Are you fully packed?” she asked.

“Yeah. You?”

“I want to bring a couple of the tops I have here. I don’t need to go back to the house.”

“They may not be washed. I only did the white stuff. I could do a colored load today.” He wasn’t, for God’s sake, her laundryman. Anyway, his doing the laundry would only save Dee some work.

“Andy, if I came home with no laundry to do Mom would call a doctor. I’m not sure you should be doing my stuff.”

“It’s seldom an extra load. Warn me if anything requires special care. Today would be an imposition, though. It would be time I had planned to spend in bed with you.”

“You’re impossible. Do you plan to spend the time until we head for the train in bed?” Was the man insatiable?

“Well, we’d have to shower, too.”

“And I have to cook for you. Did you buy the groceries on my list?”

“Sure. But we don’t need to eat lunch for hours.” His finger began to move again, and he rose on his elbow to bend over her face. He kissed her, looked at her, kissed another part of her face. All that time, his finger was stroking, stroking, stroking her lips and clit. He was staring straight into her eyes when lightning struck. It was so good, but she knew it would be even better when he was inside. As she relaxed, his hand held her mound without moving.

“I love you,” he said when he could see that she had recovered.

“And I love you, too.” She loved him. Should she marry him? Well, she had more questions. They didn’t really know each other. His finger started moving again. “This time, are you going to come in?”

“You taste better before I do.” Well, she couldn’t argue with that. She didn’t particularly like his taste, either.

“I get the impression that you are just going to use your hand for the next twelve hours.”

“Not twelve. Maybe three.”

“Andy!” Yeah. He was insatiable.

“Well, you look so sexy when I do.” He kissed her then. It was unfair of him to make his arguments and then not let her make hers. Unfair, but sexy. His tongue explored her mouth. When he left her lips, he kissed down her neck. Even before he ducked under the covers to approach her tits, she knew his ultimate destination. Much as she wanted him to reach it, she enjoyed the journey, too. He sucked her left nipple into hot, aching hardness, and then he started on her right nipple. The trail of kisses down her abdomen had her wriggling under his mouth. When she drew up her knees around him, he kissed and licked both thighs.

But when he arrived, the feeling was even hotter. He licked up her cleft, and she pulled his head against her to keep him right there. And when his tongue just touched her clit, fire shot through her. He was sucking it gently when the lightning struck. She couldn’t help wriggling, but his mouth stayed on her. His lips and tongue brought the lightning again and again.

When she couldn’t take any more, she pushed his head away. He turned to kiss her wrist. As she relaxed, he kissed her thigh.

When she’d recovered, kisses started up towards the juncture of her thighs.

“No!” she said. “This time inside.”

“But we have hours.” And he wanted to spend those hours bringing her off. Lunch plans aside, he’d have to carry her to the train. She wasn’t going to say that, though. He’d probably agree to do it.

“I’m going to fix you toasted cheese sandwiches. Now, get up here, or I’ll go do it now.” That was a phony threat, but it brought him up over her. He stopped to kiss her nipples again, but then she was guiding him into her. He parted her lips; he spread her; he filled her. And, when he’d filled her, he kissed her forehead.

“I love you.” Then he was showing that love with slow, firm strokes. When she met them, he sped up. She was pulling him deeper into her by his ass when lightning struck yet again. This was the best yet, and she soared. He drove in and throbbed deep within her.

As she lay there gasping, he was gasping into her ear himself. He was heavy, but it was a weight she loved. She pulled on his ass to keep him in.

When he finally moved off, though, it was a relief. He lay on his side and gathered her into the spoon. The air of the room was still chilly, but it was nice and warm under the covers. Her back was tight against his warmth; his arm was covering half her abdomen; his hand was cupping her left tit, and both her hands were holding it there.

“This is lovely, you know,” she said, “but it isn’t cooking lunch.”

“Lunch isn’t on a deadline. We’ll eat it when it’s ready.”

“And dinner?”

“Can be fashionably late. If we eat at midnight and get to bed late because of it, I’ll still get you up when the alarm rings. You can sleep on the train.” That sounded as decadent as it sounded delightful.

A few minutes later, though, she dragged herself out of his arms. She had warm nightie, robe, and slippers in his apartment. In those and an apron, she cooked lunch. He put on a robe and slippers to sit watching her cook. He made the bed before sitting down, though. When she put the first sandwiches in front of him, he began to eat. She sat across from him to eat hers. Indifferent as he had claimed to be about lunch, he ate twice as much as she did.

While he washed the dishes and put them away, she opened her suitcase and put the tops in. Since he was still working, she went back to bed in her nightie. The sheets had cooled off, and she needed it. He was naked when he joined her. He cuddled her and began caressing her tit through the gown.

“Look,” she said, “let’s talk.”

“Okay. do you know that you have the most delightful, sexy, beautiful breasts?” They were A cups, not sexy at all. But he was just trying to distract her.

“You wanted me to think about marriage. I don’t think we know each other well enough to get married.”

“Well, we’ll know each other better next year. We have a year and a half.”

“That isn’t the question. Are we compatible? How do we know?”

“We felt awfully compatible a half hour ago.”

“Yeah. We’re sexually compatible, but what do you think about children?”

“I like kids. But I’m not the one who would have to carry one around for nine months.” Mothers did a hell of a lot of work after that, too.

“Do you even know what childcare means? It’s fine to like kids when they’re somebody else’s cute twins, but it’s another matter when they’re your responsibility.”

“Now you’re being a little hard on me. I was just another baby when Molly was born, just turned three. April, on the other hand, came just before my sixth birthday. I may have been a little young to change diapers when she was at the diaper stage, but I carried her around sometimes. Read her to sleep later. Taught her to tie her shoes. And, even later, when she got older, I kept carrying her around.”

“Still do.”

“Well, she’s decided it’s not appropriate recently. But, while I had no real responsibility, I did my share of childcare. April’s still my favorite, too, so I didn’t resent the care I gave. Did you do babysitting? Does that make you an expert on childcare?” That question illustrated her main point that they didn’t know enough about each other.

“Actually, I was never a babysitter, and Pete wasn’t enough younger to give me even your experience.”

“Well, I’ve answered your question. My vote goes yes on kids. I may not know enough about what all the consequences are, but does anybody getting married? And, as I’ve said, I know that kids would impose a burden on you that I can’t share. If that’s too heavy a burden, I’ll understand.” Well, she should express her opinion, although they weren’t all that clear so far.

“When I’ve thought of my future, I’ve always pictured kids. I’ve also, however, pictured a career. I’m not sure how those fit together.”

“So, you’re no clearer than I am. Really, you’re not as clear. That must count as highly compatible. We agree on not having a clear picture.” She dug an elbow into him for that quip. He just hugged her tighter.

“So, what sort of town or neighborhood do you see yourself living in?” She figured that he had to answer first. Otherwise he might pretend to agree with her.

“Well, there are limits. I’m going to be an EE. That controls where I can work, but it controls where I’m going to live a lot less. I doubt if there are any electrical engineers working in Evanston. Maybe for the power company, but that’s not the sort of work I’m going to do. I’ll bet there are lots of EEs living in Evanston. Commuting, you know. So, I probably couldn’t live in a real farm community, unless it happens to be near a plant of the proper sort. Anything else, city or suburb, would probably give me an opportunity to get a job. The opportunity, of course, might not turn into a job.” That wasn’t too clear an answer, either. “I really don’t want to live in, or near, San Diego.” That was where his mother lived, and her husband -- a guy Andy hated.

“Well, that’s a generous restriction -- outside San Diego. And what sort of house or apartment do you see yourself living in? In the far future, your goal?”

“Look, Marilyn. You mean well, but you’re not thinking about the guy you’re talking to. I’ll answer the rest of your questions now. The house I want to live in is one in which Marilyn lives with me. That means it has to be one where she is happy. Not unhappy, at least. I don’t think a house can make you happy.

“Look,” he continued, “I went to a professor the other day with a question. He asked me whether I was going to deal with electrical power or electronic information. I told him information. I didn’t consult you. I didn’t think you would be interested. Are you?”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“The two kinds of EEs. But, since you’re not interested, it’s my decision. Even if we get married, I’m not going to come to you to ask whether I should change my type of job. In the same way, what I want from a house -- or from a town if I can find work there -- is that you be in it with me.

“It should keep the rain off my head. It should have a really good furnace so you’re willing to be naked out of bed. But basically, it should please you. When I was getting this apartment, I knew that you liked places to be neat. So, I learned to make a bed. That wasn’t because I couldn’t sleep in an unmade bed. Actually, doesn’t everybody sleep in an unmade bed? It was so it didn’t make you unwilling to visit.” This from a guy who made a bed on a lunch break when he wanted to go right back into it? Something from her disastrous experiment with a blow job rose up in the back of her mind.

“Wait a minute. When I surprised you that time, the bed was unmade and piled high with laundry.”

“Well the laundry was temporary. You know how breaks are necessary when you’re studying. I figured I’d put the laundry away on one or two of those breaks.”

“But the bed was unmade. At night. Had you slept in it since morning?”

“Nah. Sometimes I read in bed, but usually not until an hour or two before bedtime.”

“So, you hadn’t made the bed all day, but you made the bed this time for lunch. And it was the second time today.”

“Well, I knew you’d see this bed. I didn’t know you’d come over that time. It really surprised me.”

“So, the reason you make a bed is?”

“That you’ll see it ... Or, really, that I think you’ll see it.”

“Andy, you’re weird.” She could explain that she wasn’t all that particular, that you don’t have to make a bed three times a day. Then she decided that this meant explaining too much. Let him learn the rules. Save the exceptions for later.

“Maybe. But the point is that what I want of a house is that it pleases you. I don’t dream of a white picket fence, or of green shutters. I dream of you sharing my home and happy to share my home. If that means a white picket fence, or if it means a made bed or plates for meals, then fine. But this is my dream home right now. I have Marilyn in my arms. The washed dishes make the dream better only because it satisfies you more.”

“Andy, that’s quite romantic, but I’m serious.”

“I’m serious, too. Look, I had dreams before I even met you. Those dreams, however, were about becoming an engineer. I thought about girls, sure, or at least about sex. But I didn’t think about marriage or anything like that. I didn’t even think about dating much into the future. I knew I would get the girls who were fairly desperate. I knew what they would let me do. When I thought about sex, it was sex with a centerfold, and I didn’t expect to meet them. I sure didn’t think about marriage or having a family in my future. The distant future was about being an engineer and solving problems and making things work.

“So, when you came along,” It was really Andy who’d come along. She’d been where she’d always been. “I started to dream about dating you. When you replaced the cover girls in my imagination, I didn’t really think it would really happen. It was just imagining things to make my life sexier. Then I wanted you for longer than the next date.”

“You didn’t think about marrying me?” He’d said he had.

“Not for the longest time. I’d just worry about the next date and whether you’d say yes. Then, when the sorority said you’d chosen me, I was so happy -- happy for me, I thought they were treating you abominably. I would have gotten physical, women or no women, if you hadn’t seemed to want to cool it. Then, after then, I thought we might have a future.” That was the beginning of the second quarter.

“Andy, that was early.”

“Well, it was more than a year after we’d talked.”

“Are you saying that you’d carried a torch that long?”

“Well, I’d asked you for a date, but you’d said no. Well, we were both going to be at the U of I. Maybe you’d say yes then. And ... you did. The first time I asked down here.” She’d have to think about that. He was conveniently forgetting Brittany. Well, she hadn’t forgotten Brittany, but she’d let it pass.

“Anyway, that’s the past.” She’d try to get him back on track. “I’m talking about the future.”

“What I’m saying is that there are some things you care about and some things you don’t. Maybe you’re willing to marry me and maybe you’re not, but you wouldn’t be willing to marry me if I worked with motors but turn me down because I work with transistors. In the same way, I don’t care about all sorts of things. I do care about spending my life with you. If that means one sort of house rather than another, then that’s the sort of house I want. It’s not because it has an all-electric kitchen, it’s because it has a Marilyn in the kitchen.”

“You’re sure it’s in the kitchen where you picture me?” When she was in the kitchen, he seemed to want her to go to bed.

“I’m trying to keep this clean, but I like watching you in the kitchen, too. That’s what I keep telling you about studying here. You think it’s just ‘cause we take study breaks in bed. Really, I like seeing you studying at that table. When you’re not here, I sometimes look in the closet or in the medicine cabinet. ‘Those are Marilyn’s things.’” He was getting too deep for her. She’d go back to the mental list.

“And, speaking of kitchens, what do you see as the division of chores?”

“Well, I already know how to do laundry -- dishes, too. There’d have to be more, but you’d have to tell me. Mrs. Bryant could probably teach me anything, and I’ll have the summer. I’ll be working most days when she’s on, but I learned laundry.”

“What can you cook?”

“Well, do you know those frozen pizzas? I learned to heat them up in the oven real good. They have directions on the boxes. Sometime in high school, I got addicted to those.”

“That’s your culinary repertoire?”

“Well, except for heating up peas and canned goods, yes.”

“Hamburgers. Anyone can fry hamburgers.”

“Almost anybody. When I wanted a hamburger, Mrs. Bryant cooked one up. She used to chop up a green pepper to add to them, fix up the patties, and keep a bunch of them in the freezer.”

“Andy, you’re pathetic.” Pete, for God’s sake, could cook more than that, not even counting cooking over the campfire.

“Yeah! Maybe it’s your mission to save me.”

“As if!” The guy wasn’t all that pathetic. He not only got on Dean’s List, he managed to feed himself when she wasn’t around. Ridiculous as his housekeeping was, it kept him satisfied and clean. And, she should remember, the food he ate was purchased by money he’d earned himself -- earned and saved. Then, too, he’d taught three of her sisters successfully -- his sort of subject, but he’d taught them. It should have been the professor’s sort of subject, too, and the professor hadn’t succeeded all that well. The guy had some life skills outside of book learning. But Dean’s List had reminded her.

“How do you think you did this term?”

“None of the finals shocked me, and the grades going in were okay.” Andy’s “okay” probably meant an A. “Another guy and I had to design and wind an electric motor. Neither of us were craftsmen, but it ran. That’s a big part of the grade. The final grade in Anthro depends on the paper, but I did all right on the tests I got back.”

“Dean’s List again?”

“Knock on wood.” And he reached up to the headboard to actually knock. “You?”

“Anything can happen in the finals, as you know. And I had several papers and not enough time to do them justice. The grades going in weren’t that bad. Hell Week didn’t do me any favors.”

“You just don’t do it right. Have the pledges write the papers for you.”

“Whatever you think, the courses I take do require some preparation.”

“Tell me you aren’t thinking of doing that.”

“You’re evil.” He was also teasing her. He pulled her into a hug. “Warm, though.”

“See, that’s why you should marry me. I’ll keep you warm at night.”

“Electric blankets are real cheap.”

“Hey! I live on corn flakes and canned spaghetti. I’m the cheapest guy you know.”

“Or, at least, the silliest.” His hand moved from hugging her between her tits to teasing the nipple on her left tit through the gown. He began kissing the back of her head. “Hey, are you trying to start something?”

“It’s too early for dinner. We’re all packed. What else is there to do?” His way of putting it wasn’t the most romantic possible.

“We were in the midst of dividing up household chores.” When had the subject changed from which chores each was willing to do in order to see whether they were compatible to which ones each would do when they were married? She hadn’t decided to marry this guy yet!

“We answered the question for all practical purposes. You make out a list of what you want me to do, and I’ll learn them this summer.”

“You take out the garbage.” Whatever the rest of the division of labor, she was certain that that was always the man’s job.

“Already do. If I didn’t, the place would stink by now.” He was right. If he didn’t know much about housework, he did that. Her thoughts on housework were interrupted by his hand moving down her belly. “What are you doing?”

“The question you wanted to ask is, ‘Where are you going?’” He pulled up the front of her nightie, and his hand went between her legs to play with the edges of her outer lips.

“I know where you’re going.” And, just like she’d known he would, he parted her lips to stroke her cleft.

“Then there isn’t any question remaining.” He brought her liquid up almost to her clit. Then he repeated the motion. She waited for him to go the extra millimeter, but he kept just missing it. She shoved back when he got close, but her ass was against his firm abs, and she couldn’t move enough.

“Andy!”

“Did you have more questions?”

“Please!” He stroked over her clit. The sensation was wonderful, and -- although he repeated the slow stroke -- he reached her clit each time. She felt herself tightening. “Andy!” The lightning struck. As his finger kept moving, the lightning struck again.

She felt him kissing the back of her head as she slowly recovered. That had been lovely, but it didn’t solve any of their problems. She loved the guy, no doubt about it. Did she love him enough to marry him? They wanted quite different things, but -- if she believed him -- they didn’t want conflicting things. She tended to believe him. First, she’d never caught him in a lie -- outrageous ones, maybe; saying that she was the most beautiful girl on campus -- but never one that was trying to fool her to his advantage.

He was combing the hairs on her mound with his fingers. She pulled his hand up to her waist and went back to her thoughts. Even with the guidance she’d given him on eating, he was more camping out here than creating a household. He said that he had no dreams about that aspect of living. He was adamant on being an electrical engineer, equally adamant -- if not very clear -- on what sort of electrical engineer he would be. And it was damn unlikely that anybody would dream of the sort of life he led. Rebelling, maybe. But if he were rebelling to the extent of not sweeping his floor, wouldn’t he be rebelling in public ways: not bathing, wearing dirty clothes, not getting haircuts?

He’d raised his hand to her tits and was cupping her right one. He’d pulled the waist of the nightie down so that there was only one layer over her tits. His fingers were teasing her nipple.

“Andy. I’m thinking. If I have to get up and get dressed to think, I will.” She pulled his hand to where it held her tit without touching the nipple. “And no kissing, either.” He obeyed, although she could feel his breath on the back of her head. Okay, if two people lived together, it meant endless compromise. All the articles on marriage said that. Hell! The life in a sorority demonstrated that, and they were women; men were altogether more different. And Andy, in some ways, was more different than most.

Much as you might try to avoid it, when her generation thought about marriage, they thought about divorce. Some couples in church had broken up while she was conscious of such things. Kids back in high school, a good fraction of the girls in Zeta, Andy, for God’s sake, were the children of divorce. She’d seen a great many engagements, if few actual weddings, in her first year in Zeta. She’d seen her share of new-married couples in church and two or three others in the neighborhood.

Most newlyweds and engaged couples had a sort of glow when they were together. Even the Pierces, for all their bantering, were clearly still attracted. You could see the attention of one of a couple veer toward the other when they were both in the same room. You could see each of them brighten up. Old married couples -- she’d observed her parents much more closely than others, but you could see the others, too -- weren’t that way. When Mom and Dad were together, they often weren’t paying attention to each other. When they were a couple, and they often did their parenting as a coordinated team, they weren’t pointed at each other but pointed outward.

Now, what was the difference between the couples who stayed together even when they were pointed outward, like her folks, and the ones that split apart? You couldn’t see it. Lisa had been broken up by a phone call that her parents were separating; she said that she’d never heard them quarrel. Denise, who had been her best friend in tenth grade, had parents who would scream at each other in front of her and other visiting schoolmates. They were still together, and probably still screaming, last summer.

Was she saying that she’d marry Andy if he’d stay married to her? Well, she did love him. She knew if they’d break up, she’d date again. Sororities, whatever their problems, were good for that -- if they broke up within a year. She’d pointed that out to enough girls. And she knew herself well enough to predict that when she dated again, she’d fall in love again. Not counting a few early crushes which now made her blush when she remembered them, Andy was the third love of her life. Still, she loved him, and -- at least as important -- she liked him.

He loved her. This almost desperate passion he expressed wasn’t something he’d be likely to fake. He did watch her cooking and watch her studying. He told her that she didn’t need to give him a blow job, though he hadn’t resisted all that much. Then he practically begged her to lie in his arms all night, even at times when he knew that this wouldn’t lead to sex. He loved her, but did he like her? And what would that mean for him?

Then, too, if she turned him down, she would find another, but ... Would that be someone she loved as much? Someone she liked as much? Someone who loved her as much? Colin had really wanted to exploit her. What if the problematic other did, too? Well, when she had decided whether to have sex with Andy, she was careful to go off to make her decision where he wasn’t around to influence her. She sure shouldn’t make this decision, so much more important, wrapped in his arms. She’d be home in her own, lonely, bed soon enough. Actually, a period was due soon after she got home. If, in that unromantic state, she decided to marry him, she probably wouldn’t change that decision.

And, of course, if she decided to keep the decision open, she hadn’t told him any more than that she would think about it. And, he was being good right now -- keeping his hand obediently still. She pulled the hand from her tit to kiss each finger. The middle one tasted a little off, but it was probably herself. She shouldn’t complain.

“Are you back?” he asked from behind her head.

“Silly! I’ve been right here.”

“This...” He swept his hand down her front from her tits to her crotch. “has been right here. This...” He kissed the back of her head. “was a million miles away.” He had a point, though he’d kissed her skull, not her mind. And she wasn’t about to tell him how close her thoughts were to him.

“Well, I’m back. I promised that I’d always come back.”

“So you did ... And so you did.” That was a weird way of repeating himself, but Andy was weird in many more important things than that. He kissed the back of her head again and began stroking his fingers from one nipple to another. She moved a bit so that her left nipple was off the bottom sheet. She liked to be available to him.

Whether she was available or not, he kept his hand on her tits while his mouth wandered to her neck and shoulders. Then he started licking the back of her ear. It tickled. She rolled her head away, then rolled it back where he could reach the ear. It tickled, but it felt sexy, too.

He moved down a bit in the bed. He kissed the back of her neck. He was kissing her shoulder blade when his hand finally went to her mound. She lifted her right leg, and he began stroking her again. He plunged his finger into her and then stroked up her cleft to her clit. The nightie didn’t seem to interfere with his intentions, but it was bothering her.