Chapter 2: Unwritten rules

In the middle of reading about how the Hopi behaved for his Anthro course, Andy had an insight. The Hopi all followed a set of rules, and there was a book mentioned in the text that laid out those rules, a book for anthropologists; Hopi apparently weren’t given the rules all neatly set down any more than Andy had been. Maybe Anthropologists had written down the rules for American culture, too. That would be a great help. He was always running afoul of some rule that hadn’t been laid down.

Professor Kozak had office hours on Tuesday, and he went to see him then.

“Professor, are there any Anthro books on American culture?”

“Well, there are a great many on Native Americans, and there are also some on minority groups. There are Mormon split-offs who still practice polygamy, and they’ve been studied.”

“I mean mainstream American culture, like you and me.”

“There is a field called ‘Urban Anthropology.’ At one point, we left that to sociologists, but they didn’t ask quite the same questions. It’s really not my field, but if that’s where you want to write your term paper, it’s a very good idea. There is a great deal of work done comparing one culture with another from published reports of both, but real anthropology starts with field studies. And a field study for a term paper would be great. You’d have to work on a tiny segment, one fraternity, the interactions of one sports team, something like that.” Those, Andy could tell, were only examples, and examples that were particularly inappropriate for him. On the other hand, if he knew the unwritten rules he wouldn’t be here. Such a paper looked like a guaranteed way to fail.

“That wasn’t really what I had in mind. I wanted to read something to let me know the unwritten rules of this culture. I’d be content with the unwritten laws of the U of I.”

“Well. We have a good library. Look up ‘urban anthropology,’ and follow your nose. The shelves are divided between circulating and reference books, and you should check out both sorts of shelves. Do you know how to get books on related areas in the library?”

“Yeah. Libraries, I can deal with.” Libraries were easy to deal with; they wrote down all their rules. People, with rules far more complicated than the Library of Congress numbers, kept their rules secret.

“All right -- urban anthropology. And good luck. At a guess -- and, as I said, it’s not my field -- you’ll only find very narrow studies. How bus drivers interact with each other and with their passengers and bosses, that sort of thing.”

“Not like a book on the Hopi, but about us instead?”

“I wouldn’t expect that. Maybe, some anthropologist from Mars would write such a book, but there don’t seem to be any Martian anthropologists.”

“Well, thank you, Professor. I’ll check out the library.” And he did, without much luck. Before he went, though, he found out what were the more usual subjects for a term paper.

Marilyn was too busy with her sorority that week to see him, or, at least, that was the story. Actually, it was her period. That she didn’t say so was one of the unwritten rules he didn’t understand. Sure, what was happening in her genitals was something she didn’t want to discuss with a casual acquaintance -- especially a casual male acquaintance. But he’d been in her genitals; it wasn’t as though his acquaintance with her was still casual.

On the other hand, it was only one of a million rules he didn’t understand. She wore lipstick for a date with him, fine. She didn’t want him to see her without her makeup. But, if something happened that meant he did see her without it, she put her lipstick on in front of him.

Saturday was a study day and a study night. His only term paper would be in Anthro, but the engineering courses would each have a project. He wasn’t far enough along to start on one of those, and they required a partner. He would start on the Anthro paper instead.

Many cultures had “cross cousins” as the preferred marriage partners, sometimes nearly the required ones. Well, the father’s sister’s child or the mother’s brother’s child was not only a small pool, it was likely to be unbalanced pool. What happened then? Then, too, most of these cultures had grooms significantly older than brides. What happened to the late-arriving son of a youngest son? It depended on culture, but all the cultures they’d seen in class or in the book had work-arounds.

Labeling a Cross-cousin seemed to be a reasonable comparative topic. He went to the library to look up studies of individual cultures. Then he looked in the index. When he found some reference to cross cousins, he put the book on his stack. Of ten books, probably five would give him something he could use. When he had ten books on his stack, he checked them out at the desk. For almost the first time, the car was a help in his study life. He could have walked to the library, but carrying all those books, he would have staggered home.

He chose one book and took it to the laundromat with him. When he got back, he emptied the laundry bag on his bed and went back to his books. He had several bookmarks in the first book, and he put it in what would be the keeper pile.

He spread the books out and went through them to see what they said about marriage patterns and how the search for a fiancée dealt with numerical unbalances. When he got hungry, he put the opened can of beef stew in some water in the saucepan and turned on the heat. He had a new head of lettuce, but the old cabbage wasn’t quite finished yet. He took it into the kitchen to cut off hunks to eat while the stew was warming. Beef stew was really gross when eaten cold, there were chunks of fat on the top of the can. He ate a second third of the can and went back to the table to work.

He was too deep in the complexities of Tiwi marriage to notice the sounds at the door until it swung open. It was Marilyn!

“Marilyn?” Why hadn’t she warned him that she was coming? He hadn’t cleaned up the room for her.

“Ta da.” That wasn’t quite what he thought of as a clear statement of the reason for her visit. She took off her own coat and closed the door. “Ta da.” She took off her scarf. “Ta da.” She took off her loose sweater. Even though she had a sweatshirt under it, this was beginning to look interesting. When she’d got down to her skin and was completely topless, he started for her.

He tried to hug her, but she pushed the hug up around her neck. They had a kiss. While they were kissing, she unbuckled his belt. She opened the pants and slid them and his underpants down. What was she trying to do?

That much was soon clear. She took his cock into her mouth. The idea was shocking -- Marilyn doing this? The sensations were wonderful -- her mouth was as warm and even wetter than the other mouth was. If her mouth didn’t touch all around, her tongue licked all the most sensitive parts on the bottom of his cock. He’d imagined blow jobs, but never even imagined one from Marilyn.

“You don’t have to do this.” She really didn’t. He loved the sensations, but he was afraid of her seeing his orgasms as something he demanded. She didn’t have to do it, but he put his hand on her head, partly to improve his balance, partly to keep her there.

She continued licking him and moving her mouth back and forth on him as his arousal approached its fated conclusion. He came in four separate spurts. The fourth had hardly ended when she began to rise. She let him go and ran into the john. He could hear her spitting. He regained his balance and stooped to raise his underpants. As he was finishing with his jeans, she ran past into the kitchen. She returned to the john with a glass, and he could hear continual spitting.

“You don’t taste all that good, you know,” she said. Well, it had been her idea. He hadn’t objected; he had, indeed, enjoyed it, but he hadn’t asked for it.

“Sorry about that. Next month I won’t force you like I did this time.”

“Okay, it was my idea. I wasn’t saying it wasn’t. It’s just that you don’t taste as good as I’d expected.” Which seemed to suggest that she hadn’t done it to anybody else, which was good to hear.

“Next month?” she asked in a rising voice. What was wrong? Oh, yes, he’d assumed that this was related to her period. Well, he’d enjoyed it, but he wouldn’t have enjoyed it as an alternative to their usual love making. But he’d stepped in it; she didn’t want any mention of her period. Well, he should explain that. She was usually forgiving when he blundered if she understood why.

“Look, Marilyn, I’m Andy, your Andy. I’m the guy who learns things by reading. I don’t claim to know what menstruation feels like to you. But some things, like every four weeks, some things I know about.” Still, he shouldn’t have brought it up. Really, he hadn’t brought it up; he’d just assumed something, and it had trickled into his words. He was bad at keeping his mouth closed.

“For how long?” She must mean how long had he known about her. Good question. He thought he could remember.

“Well, remember when you used nylons instead of pantyhose? One date, you went back to pantyhose. I was desperate, wondering what I’d done. Then, when you wore nylons again, I figured out why.”

“And you never said anything?” First, he was wrong to have mentioned it; now he was wrong to have not mentioned it.

“Well, you didn’t say anything. It seemed to me that it was your choice -- your body, your choice.”

“You wouldn’t have wanted to touch me there when it was like that.” Now, that was going too far. Her body, her choice; but she was making it sound like his choice.

“Now, you’re putting words in my mouth. If you don’t want to be touched now, I’ll understand. After all, it’s only one week in four, and it’s not like you’re refusing me and accepting other guys. But that’s your decision. I always want to touch you. I love you -- not sometimes but all the time.”

“Andy, you are weird.” Generally, he couldn’t fight that claim. Really, though, he thought the rest of them were weird. In this specific situation, he hadn’t shown any weirdness, even from the perspective of her sorority sisters.

“Well, yes ... But loving you isn’t the weirdness.” And speaking of touching her, how about tonight? “Now that we’re no longer avoiding the subject, can you stay the night? You have church dresses in the closet.”

“I don’t have Tampax.” And she needed some. Well, that was easy to fix.

“Want me to go out and buy some?” If she put on her coat, she’d put on her bra, shirt, and sweater, too. There was no telling how long before she’d take them off again.

“Andy, you aren’t going to buy Tampax ... I’ll get it.” Well, that was it for his seeing her breasts. Still, he could have her company. And, implicitly, she was agreeing to stay.

“I’ll walk you to the store.” She got dressed, and they went to the drugstore. Afterwards, he put his laundry away and gave her hers to put away. The box of Tampax went into the same drawer.

She slept with him nude, but she insisted that he couldn’t touch her below the waist. That rule only applied to his hands, though. They woke much too early since they weren’t going to make love. They did share a shower, and she cooked breakfast while he got to watch. She got dressed -- except for the robe replacing her dress -- before that.

Sunday afternoon, he got back to the Anthro books. None of them could explain Marilyn, though. Even so, they’d got past one unwritten law. And, he hoped, she’d share his bed the Saturday night of her next period, too. She’d left the Tampax in her drawer, after all. Her body in his arms had been restful, which was strange. How could such an arousing experience be restful? It should have been, in one sense it had been, frustrating as hell.

The week went smoothly in class. He got a test back in PDE. Professor Lundgren didn’t give letter grades, but the 92 looked like A territory, especially when he heard the complaints from the other students. Many of the books he’d checked out didn’t help on his tentative paper topic, and he returned them. He went down the shelf and took out two more books that had ‘cross cousin’ in the index.

The truth was that he’d come to the pleasant time of youth that the idiots had always told him was in high school. He was healthy enough that he ignored his body -- ignored it when he and Marilyn weren’t sharing the pleasures of their bodies. Half the bullies of high school hadn’t gone on to college, a few had grown up, and the rest didn’t interact with him. It had been one thing to pass them in the corridors and share gym and other classes with them every day in a small high school; it was quite another to pass them on the walks of a huge university.

Probably the guys who driveled on about high school being the best years of your life had been the bullies in their high-school days. The academic types who regretted the anonymity of the huge lecture halls of the distribution courses didn’t look like they’d ever been bullies; probably they were simply clueless. His fellow students in the engineering and math courses knew him. To the rest of the student body, he was just somebody occupying a seat. That anonymity saved him a lot of grief.

And, just as his-last ever gym course -- Andy lumped Phys Ed into the same category as high-school gym -- had been pleasant, his last-ever distribution course was turning out to be fun.

What Andy didn’t realize was that much of the reason he was finding school more pleasant was that he had more time for it. He was not only saving time by not participating in the recreations that he’d only joined because others had told him that they were fun, he was consolidating his other activities. The mental exercises that he’d long enjoyed were now engineering-course homework. He was actually spending less of his waking time on Marilyn, although spending it more pleasantly.

She was with him more than ever before, but half that time was spent in sleeping. The Marilyn-related orgasms were only slightly more frequent, but three of them a week were in her presence. And, while he spent as much time imagining a bright future with her as he had before, he spent much less time worrying about her.

Of course, he was spending effort on his food and housing which had previously been provided by the university, but he put out damned little effort in that direction. Other than keeping himself fed and dressed, he dealt with only school and Marilyn, and her sorority limited how much he could deal with Marilyn. One visit a week meant that the bed linens were changed, the room was neatened, and the dishes were washed once a week. Something like that much effort was really necessary, although he reused the cereal bowl, cup, glass, and silverware. Similarly, except for his suit which he got to the cleaners once a month and his underwear which he changed daily, he changed to clean clothes each time he expected to see Marilyn. He shaved with his electric razor every morning before class and with a blade before any date and Sunday morning when she was in his room.

When he drove over to the Zeta house to pick up Marilyn, Andy was feeling quite happy with his life. Marilyn was carrying several books when she came downstairs, but he hardly noticed. And there were much more important things to notice for the next hour or so. She got out of bed, though, when he’d have been happier holding her longer.

“It’s not fair, I know,” she said. “But I’m behind in three of my classes. Tomorrow, I’ll catch up in one, but I’ve brought the books for the others with me.” Just why that was unfair, he couldn’t see. He’d rather see her writhe on his bed until he was erect again, but they never spent their time that way. If they weren’t going to spend their time in sex but were going to spend their time together, what the activity they did together hardly mattered.

“Well, we are in school, after all. We’ll study together -- different subjects but across from each other.”

“I haven’t even planned out the dinner.” That a dinner needed planning was another of Marilyn’s odd opinions. She was too sexy to argue with, but some of her notions were very strange.

“Want me to open a can?” The one in the refrigerator had his germs. Besides, there was only one serving left.

“I won’t go that far. I’ll cook, but I’ll cook from your cans. What did you eat last?”

“Beef stew. Why?”

“So, I don’t cook it.” Why not? If she insisted on heating the food, that was one that needed it. Besides, she ate less than he did, and most of the other stuff came in two-meal cans. Left-over beef stew, including the can in the ‘fridge, would be easier to break into meals.

“Why not. It’s really one that needs heating. The others don’t. Besides it and the baked beans come in the largest cans. Having you here to eat one makes sense.”

“Andy, you can’t eat the same thing two nights in a row.” Usually, he didn’t.

“Why not? Not that I do it all that often. Like I said, only baked beans and beef stew. Usually I start a can at lunchtime and finish it for dinner, or vice versa.”

Despite the explanation, she cooked lasagna as well as veggies and a fancy salad. When he cleaned the dinner dishes off the table, she set her books down in her place.

He got out one of the Anthro books which would be really useful for the paper. He started the cards. He’d been going to wait until he’d sorted out all the books he wanted, but that would take too much table space the way he worked. Studying across from her was fun, and he could look at her and see how she pretty she looked when she was concentrating and how she fit in. She even had her regular spot at the table in this apartment. Hours passed.

“Ten O’clock,” he announced when it was. “Do you need more study time?”

“Want to call it a night?” She asked. Well, he really wanted to get down to the main event, but it might gross her out if he said so.

“Let’s.”

She took off her own clothes, not as much fun as his doing it for her, but great to watch. He had to admit, too, that it was faster, and the night was chilly. She took a long time in the john but came out nude. She ran to the bed and climbed in immediately -- a sexy sight. After his time in the john, he joined her. He was erect on his way to bed, and she was watching. Well, turnabout was fair play; she could watch as much as she wanted if he got to watch her.

Since his hands were cold, he confined himself to kisses. His hands had probably been cold in the car, too, but now they had lots of time. As they warmed up, he reached around to stroke her back. When she lay on her back, he kissed her breast. She spread her legs when his hand reached her mound. She was hot there, which meant that he must have felt cold to her. If so, she didn’t say anything.

He could feel her arousal. When he went from one nipple to the other, the new one was already firm under his lips. She stiffened. Under the covers, he could detect her special odor. When she felt like she was near, he moved his head out from under the covers. He watched her face as she got ready. She grimaced, and her mound rose under his hand.

“Marilyn,” he said when she writhed beside him and her face looked pained. Her mound rose against his palm and then dropped as her hips slammed down on the mattress.

Her body relaxed as her expression changed from the intense grimace of her climax to the delightful smile of her satiation. He watched the relaxation take her close to sleep while his arm felt her breathing slow.

“I love you.” And he did love her in all her aspects. He maybe loved her more, though, when she was writhing beside him. He began stroking her again. She responded and didn’t try to avoid him. As she stiffened and her expression started to look worried, she reached towards his cock. Well, if she wanted that, he wanted her even more. Having her handle his cock when it was in this state, though, might bring things to a premature conclusion. He shifted his hips back to escape her hand.

“Okay,” he said, not wanting her to think he was turning her down. He got between her legs and got the sheet and blanket back over them both. Like this, it would need more hands than he had available. “Open yourself.” When she did, he moved until he could feel her lips around him. “Oh, Marilyn.”

He could feel her warmth slide over him. Her hot moisture welcomed him into her. When all of him was in her depths, she clasped the whole length of his cock. He kissed her and rose to arm’s length so he could watch her face as he began moving.

“Love you,” he said. He loved her face, her personality, her willingness to accept him. Most of all, right then, he loved her warm, wet, welcoming vagina.

“Love you,” she replied. And she was loving him with her body as it accepted him, clasped him, rose to meet him. The covers slipped off him from his motions, and she returned them to his shoulders and lovingly tucked them around him.

Watching her lovely face, he saw her glance down between them to where his cock was sliding in and out of her. She always looked sexy, but right then she looked lustful. Then the grimace crossed her face. he could feel her clasp around him more tightly. She was writhing under him and writhing around his cock as it slid in and out.

“Oh, my love.” He stroked all the way into her and out through that hot clench. “Oh, my love.” And he made another stroke. “Oh, my love,” and another. “Oh.” he couldn’t finish as his orgasm took him, drove him into her, poured out of him.

He collapsed, partly onto his elbows, but mostly onto her softness. He lay like that, gasping into her ear and hearing her gasp into his. When he could muster the strength, he moved off. But the evening, delightful as it had been, wasn’t finished even then. He turned onto his side facing her.

“Want to lie in my arms?” And the delightful girl, the sexy woman, moved back until he was holding her. After adjusting the covers yet again, he hugged her and drifted off.

In the morning, she felt delightful. He, however, wouldn’t feel delightful to her. He scrambled into the john, pissed -- not easy in the condition she’d left him in -- shaved, and brushed his teeth. When he came back and hugged her, she wanted her own time in the john. That was fair, and she looked delightful going there and coming back. Then he put his glasses back on the nightstand, and they kissed. She cooperated in the kiss and in everything else, but she put on her robe after they’d made love. She started to cook breakfast.

That, too, was enjoyable.

“I like your breakfasts better than mine,” he said.

“Well, I enjoy cooking for you ... Andy, do you think I do a lot for you?”

“Yeah.” That answer was easy.

“Do you think you would do something for me?”

“Sure.” If he could do it, he would.

“Not so fast. Remember your warning me to ask what the favor was before agreeing to your father’s request.”

“Good advice, although I don’t remember giving it. But that is Dad. I love you, and -- as important for agreeing to something unseen -- I think you love me, too.”

“You think your Dad doesn’t love you?”

“Not in that...” Well, not in the way they usually meant it, but for agreeing to a request, the meaning of ‘love’ was a little different. “Actually, while I love you -- and I think you love me -- in quite a different way, this trust I spoke about is really based on wanting what is best for the other. Dad wants, if not what is best for me, what he thinks is best for me...” Not that he’d ever give the old man something without asking for something back. “Still, bargaining with Dad is fun. I’m not sure I’d enjoy that sort of tussle with you.”