Chapter 4: Couple

“At the risk of using a cliché,” he asked that Tuesday after the movie, “do you want -- are you willing -- to move to the back seat?” She seemed to take the longest time thinking about this. He couldn’t be the first boy she’d sat in the back seat with. She must be weighing how much she liked him. She finally reached for the door handle.

“Sure.” She was in the back seat before he was. When he’d unbuttoned her blouse, he wanted even more access.

“Duck,” he warned her before lifting her onto his lap facing away. With her bra undone, he could stroke her marvelous breasts and kiss all along her neck from her ears to her shoulders. She was enough higher that these kisses involved less bending, which made them even more enjoyable. She shivered to one combination of tongue behind her ear and fingers on both nipples. He put that into a mental file of caresses that made her shiver.

“Oh, Marilyn.”

“I want to kiss you,” she complained. He was kissing her, but she couldn’t kiss him.

“Okay,” he said, “but watch your head.” He let her go.

She turned around on his lap, getting a leg to either side of him. They had a lovely kiss while she settled against him. Unfortunately, she was pressing into his erection. It felt sexy as hell, but she might detect it. She didn’t complain if she did. He held a breast in each hand while his thumbs felt her firm nipples.

“Oh, Marilyn.” She was responding to him. He leaned her back as far as she could go and kissed her breasts. He kissed between them while holding them against his face. His lips traveled over one breast to the nipple and then over the other. When he began to suck on that nipple, she began to writhe. It was the sexiest response he could possibly imagine, and even sexier as she writhed against his erection. He couldn’t stand that for long, however.

“Marilyn,” he warned her. She didn’t understand the warning. Even when he abandoned her breasts, she kept writhing. He couldn’t see what she was responding to, but he was certainly responding to her.

“Marilyn,” he said again as he exploded. He gripped her shoulders as he pulsed against her. He flooded his jeans. When he was spent and let go, she rubbed her shoulders. Had he hurt her?

“Did I hurt you?”

“Well, yes,” she said.

“I’m sorry. I never want to hurt you.”

“It’s not really your fault,” she said. But it had really been his fault. She hadn’t known what she was doing, and he’d certainly known what was coming. He should have got his hands off her. “Just kiss me again,” she said. So, he kissed the shoulders he had hurt and then her warm, forgiving mouth.

They went on kissing, but he was conscious of his soaked pants the entire time. It must not have been as obvious as he feared, though, since she didn’t seem to notice. She even agreed to a second date that week on Friday. He was frightened that she would notice his wet crotch when he kissed her on her porch, but she looked into his eyes instead. He took a robe and slippers into the bathroom with him when he got home. The briefs were filled with the stuff, but the jeans didn’t look too bad. He rinsed them both off under the faucet. He took a brief shower, soaping his crotch and rinsing it off as well as he could direct the water from the shower. He soaked his briefs, wrung them out, and soaked them again. Finally, he hung both jeans and briefs in the back of the closet. He wouldn’t put them in the wash until they were thoroughly dry.

Wednesday was an eight-to-eight day, but he got through it. By Friday, he was anxious to see Marilyn again. When they parked, she got into the back immediately. He wondered how to keep her off his cock, which was already erect in anticipation. He needn’t have worried. She knelt on the seat with her legs to either side of him. She was so small, and his hips and thighs so large, that she wasn’t far up his legs, but she was far enough. And, to make things even better, her breasts were easier to reach with his mouth. They almost glowed in the dark car.

He teased himself, maybe both of them, by kissing between her breasts and then over all the smoothness of both. Finally, though, he got to the nipples which were already pointing up towards his mouth. He licked one, kissed it, sucked it. She began writhing again, and he enjoyed her luscious butt rubbing across his legs. But it was his legs that were being rubbed. He left the one nipple to kiss along a path to the other. She ended the evening early, but she did it with a reminder that he had an eight-to-eight day on Saturday.

He got through Saturday, if not happily. When he got home, the girls were watching TV with Dad. He greeted them, ate some leftovers in the kitchen, and came back to watch the end of the show. Dad turned off the set.

“Tomorrow is another day,” he said. “Let’s get some rest.”

“Do you want to ride upstairs?” Andy asked April.

“I’m too big to have a story read to me.”

“Look, you go to sleep without anybody reading to you 364 nights a year. You have for a decade. Nobody doubts you can. But I enjoy playing that you’re my Moppet. On one night a year, I enjoy carrying you up and reading to you. The question isn’t whether you need that. The question is whether you enjoy it like I do.”

“Really?”

“Really. And if you don’t want to do it this trip, you don’t have to. On the other hand, if you don’t do it this trip, I’ll still want to do it the next trip.” At this The Moppet held up her arms. He carried her upstairs. She went into the bathroom herself and came out with her teeth brushed as well as the other things she’d done in there. He read her the story that they always used. “Sleep tight, sweetheart,” he said.

Sunday, they all waited at the back of the church until Marilyn came in. Her parents glared at him but didn’t say anything in front of his family. The girls and Marilyn got acquainted, and then they all sat down. The order, from left to right, was Molly, Dad, April, Andy, Marilyn. Marilyn, perhaps intimidated by the family, sat with a space between them. It wasn’t a hostile shunning, not even an inch, but their legs didn’t touch. The Moppet did sit so that she was touching him. When he didn’t need his hands for bulletin or hymnal, he sat with an arm behind each of them. They paused behind the middle pews so that the crowd could flow out around them while they talked some more.

“Thank you very much, Marilyn,” Dad said when he saw Marilyn’s parents coming. “Would you like to join us for dinner after services next week?”

“I’d be pleased,” she answered

“What you’re wearing now would look quite fine in the restaurant, but it would be perhaps on the less formal end of what women would be wearing.” Had Dad stepped in it? One only said nice things about what girls were wearing.

“Thanks again,” said Marilyn. Those two got along better than he did with either.

“I like her,” The Moppet said on their way to the restaurant.

“So do I.”

“You do?” asked Molly sarcastically. “I couldn’t tell.” Well, he’d never tried to hide it.

The next Sunday, Marilyn was dressed like she’d been dressed for her party at the sorority. They sat as they had the first Sunday but left directly after the service. Rev. Lawrence didn’t appear to notice that Marilyn was with his family instead of hers. He didn’t know whether preachers played poker, but he’d like to see Rev. Lawrence play against Dad.

Molly rode in the front seat with Dad and he took the middle of the back seat between April and Marilyn. At Manfredo’s, Dad reversed the order in which they’d sat in church. That put Marilyn on his left. Since it was a round table, that put Molly on Marilyn’s left.

“Did you like what you had last year?” Dad asked April.

“Yeah.” Dad ordered it for her. He’d like to order for Marilyn, but she -- seeming quite comfortable with the menu -- ordered the swordfish. He got the Boeuf Bourguignon, Molly took the lobster, as usual. It was the most expensive meal on the menu, which he suspected was why she took it. Molly looked at Marilyn enviously.

“You look like a woman. I look like a girl.” Marilyn did seem to fit right into Manfredo’s ambience.

“Not really,” Marilyn answered seriously. “You look like a teenager. You are one. In twenty years, you’ll be trying to look like one.”

“Is that true? Do women start wanting to look younger? Have you reached that stage yet?”

“Not really. I was a freshman in college. I wanted to be a senior. And, of course, with my height I sometimes get taken for a much younger girl.” Molly didn’t seem to know what to do with that answer.

“I’ll never be as tall as Molly,” April said. Had the Turd hinted his accusations that she wasn’t Dad’s to her?

“Well, you’re already taller than I am,” Marilyn said. “Believe me, short girls can have fun. I get by, and Andy doesn’t mind my height.”

“Bet he doesn’t pick you up, though,” April said. Oops, now Marilyn would see where he’d got that idea. Being picked up by your boyfriend is one thing; being treated like his kid sister is another.

“Bet he does.” Marilyn was keeping up her policy of treating the girls with total seriousness and total honesty. He felt his face burn.

“April, there are some subjects which aren’t appropriate to discuss in public -- especially in a restaurant.” Dad must have seen his blush.

“Well...”

“Your father’s right, April,” Marilyn said. “But, next week, after church, the two of us will go off by ourselves. You can ask me then, and I won’t be embarrassed.” Marilyn didn’t know their schedule for next week, but Dad didn’t say a word.

“Ask you anything?”

“You can ask me anything next week. I might not answer, but you can ask. I’ll answer what I can without embarrassing myself. I know a week is a long time to wait, but you’ve been saying that you’re growing up. Part of growing up is learning how to wait when you want to do something right now.” April took that bit of adult advice better from Marilyn than she would have from either Dad or himself.

After they drove Marilyn home and he walked her to her porch, she smiled at him impishly.

“Do you dare to kiss me with your sisters watching?” There was only one answer to that, and he gave it, lips and tongue.

“I love you,” he whispered as she turned to the door.

When he got back into the car, the girls were full of questions.

“Is she really your girlfriend?” asked April.

“Would she let him smooch her if he weren’t?” Molly responded. “Do you think she’s right? Will I want to look like a teenager in twenty years?” Well, like a teenager -- maybe not like a 16-year-old.

“Something more you should figure out. You said she was a woman, and so she is. But she’s only about three years older than you are. Of course, she’s mature for her years. Many of the girls in her sorority are more childish than you can imagine. But your possibility of acting like that in three years needs nothing more than behaving maturely.”

“And looking like that?” asked Molly.