Chapter 6: Practice

When he rang her bell at 10 Thursday, Marilyn was prepared for Andy’s second visit. She was better prepared than last time, she hoped. The perfume she wore was minimal, only on the pulse points of her wrists. She had on her mascara but not her lipstick. A towel and the Airwick were already in the room, and the window was open. The alarm was set for 3:00.

She let him in and locked the door. They had a great kiss. Her top was white and so thin that she’d never have worn it without a bra if anyone else could see her. Andy not only saw her, he felt her through the top. He turned her around and kissed the back of her neck while cupping her tits.

She was in less hurry to get upstairs, this time. But they did get upstairs, he did undress her, and she did undress him. She even took off his tennies and socks, though he resisted. He wanted to kiss her feet and she shouldn’t get close to his? Neither touched their watches. He must have the same thought as she did. She opened the Airwick and pulled back the sheet. His cock was already pointing at her.

“Put me to bed.” He lifted her, kissed her mouth while her feet were about his knee level, and placed her in the center of the bed. She wiggled over a bit to give him a place. He stood looking at her for a minute.

“You are so beautiful.” Then he joined her in bed. While they kissed, he stroked his hand slowly down from her neck across her left tit to her delta. Though she spread her legs, it returned to cup her tit. He broke the kiss.

“Darling,” he said while they both breathed. When he resumed the kiss, he cupped her left tit and then stroked slowly down again. After running his fingers through the hair on her delta, he cupped her delta and pussy. He was holding her center in his hand.

“Yeah,” she said, pressing his hand down with her own.

“Oh, Marilyn.” He spread her lips and began stroking. He started a kiss down her body. He took forever, but she knew where he was going. He stopped the motion of his hand to climb between her legs. Then he spread her lips again, and she felt the touch of his tongue. Fire spread through her. When he spread her lips even further and put in two fingers, fire spread from there, too.

Her whole body was ablaze when the lightning struck. She felt herself fly up as every muscle thrummed. Somehow, although she was rising, she felt his fingers still inside her resisting her clenching and making it feel even better. When she fell back, he rested his cheek on her thigh.

“Oh, Marilyn,” he said. It was really “oh, Andy,” but she hadn’t the breath to tell him so.

Minutes later, she reached down and tousled his hair. He ran a hand -- the other still had fingers buried in her -- up her arm to the elbow. He took her right tit in his hand. Then he turned his head to kiss the top of her thigh.

“So sweet.” He kept kissing. Soon, she was aroused again, and his kisses got to her center. She felt herself getting close as his tongue and lips sent sparks shooting through her and his fingers moved deep within her.

“Andy,” she said. She tugged at his hair, and he moved up her body. He kissed her once each on her belly, between her tits, and full on her lips. Then he was at her entrance.

“Oh, Marilyn.” He pressed into her slowly, too slowly. She felt herself opened, spread, filled. When he had filled her all the way, he kissed her forehead. “Love,” he said. He moved his hands to her shoulders. As he began to move in her, her arousal recovered. Then it spiraled upward. She felt herself burn; she felt every muscle tense.

“Love,” she answered.

“I can’t,” Andy said. Then he pulled on her shoulders as he drove into her. “Darling!” he shouted. She felt him pulse within her, and that brought her over, too. She was still climaxing when he fell sidewards and came out.

When she relaxed, they both lay panting. Only his breath and one hand touched her, but she felt his love embrace her, anyway. She almost drifted off like that.

She could feel a bit of Andy dripping down her ass cheek. When she had the energy, she reached for the towel by the side of the bed and pressed it between her legs. When she got more energy, she pulled one end beneath her and sat up. A lot more of it ran down. Clutching the towel to her, she went into the bathroom. Douched, with an empty bladder, hands washed, she returned to the room. Andy was watching her. The wet spot beside him looked like only a few drips. Good! There was another towel under the sheet. She got her robe.

“Must you cover such beauty?” Andy was being romantic. Well, she hadn’t covered up for the trip to the bathroom and back, and he couldn’t deny that he’d been watching. The kitchen was something else.

“Really, I’m going to feed you.”

“I have what I want right here.”

“Yeah, but we can come back.” And with that promise, he began to dress. She went down in robe and slippers, but she put on an apron before she began to cook. She hadn’t wanted to repeat hamburgers. She really could cook some quite-fancy meals, but she wasn’t going to do it if it meant cutting down Andy time. She’d decided on toasted cheese sandwiches.

She poured cooking oil in the frying pan and turned the heat on high. She lay four slices of bread on the cutting board, unwrapped the individual slices of cheese, placed two each on the bottom slices, and topped them with more bread. Andy came in while she was finishing this.

“Sit down. I’ll only be a minute.” He sat.

“I like to watch you cook.” He liked to watch her, or so he said about everything. She got the sandwiches in the pan and started on the next four. She could only eat three when she forced herself, should probably stop at two with the exercise she foresaw. She figured, however, that she’d never heard Andy say he was full. If he didn’t eat the rest, she’d save them for midnight snacks. Cold, they weren’t great, but they were edible.

When the second batch were in the pan, she sliced the first ones from corner to corner, and piled them on a platter. She put them in front of Andy and got the pop out of the refrigerator.

“Eat. They’re better when they’re hot.” She went back to finish her tasks. She retrieved the platter, piled on the others, and returned to the table. Having removed her apron, she sat down and took one.

“Delicious,” Andy said. They were nice -- edible if not delicious.

“I should have asked if you liked them.” Although, he’d had cheese on the pizza and bread -- or something like bread -- on every burger they’d ever eaten together.

“It’s now one of my favorite meals. Aside from the other associations, I watched the most beautiful woman in the world cook them.” Even aside from being vertically challenged and an A cup, she wasn’t the prettiest woman in her sorority chapter, let alone the entire world. Maybe near the average in the house, which would be well above average for the campus.

“You’re so full of bull shit that I don’t even know that you really like the sandwiches.” He liked them enough to eat them, though. Although he’d started first and ate faster, she sat watching while he went through the last three triangles. Someday, she was going to feed him something until he quit eating because he was too full.

When they’d had pizza at his house, he’d been on his third piece and his dad on his second when his dad had offered her a second.

“I couldn’t.”

“How about a half piece then.” Mr. Trainor gestured towards the one he’d cut in two.

“I’m full.”

“I told you, Dad. She’s a tiny little bit, and hardly eats anything at all.” Andy had seen her down a Whopper and shake; he’d seen her eat an entire restaurant meal. For that matter, a slice of that pizza with 6 toppings was hardly ‘nothing at all.’

“Well, we go through most of a six-incher. When there’s three, it’s only reasonable to order 50% more.”

“One and a third. One and two thirds and a ninth. You got seven ninths more. That isn’t 50%. Three quarters would be 27 36ths, and you got 28 36ths.”

“What diameter would be 150% of a six-incher?”

“I’d have to get my calculator.”

“Well, without your calculator, can you tell me if the place sells that size?”

“No, they don’t.”

“And would the six-incher have sufficed?”

“Three quarters are left. Three quarters of sixteen ninths is -- obviously -- four thirds. No, I’ll grant you that.” Nothing about this had been obvious to her at all.

“Andy is proud of his mental arithmetic,” his dad explained. “What he doesn’t take into account is people’s feelings. Actually, we both ate more than we would have before. Those slices look smaller than a quarter of a six-incher does. Now, with all that sitting in front of you, I’ll believe that you’re satisfied. With the pizza almost gone, I’d never have believed that you’d refused the last slice because you were full.”

Andy had offered her to get her the half slice later in the afternoon. When she’d refused, he stayed out in the yard with her. He’d told her later that he’d finished the pizza by the end of the next day without skipping any meals. The amount he’d snacked on was twice what she’d had for lunch.

Andy rinsed the plates and glasses in the sink while she put them in the dishwasher. He followed her upstairs. They had a sweet kiss before he placed her on the bed again. This being picked up and set down was starting to feel sexy. Then he stripped and lay beside her. He kissed her tits while stroking her pussy. When lightning struck, he let his hand rest on her while kissing all over her face. He ended with a deep kiss with their tongues playing tag. Then he began stroking again.

Twice more, lightning struck. Twice more, he paused, kissed her, and resumed. All that had been delightful. She couldn’t deny that his hands and mouth brought her exquisite pleasure. But this wasn’t what they’d schemed for; this wasn’t what she’d made her elaborate preparations for; this wasn’t what she’d had two separate confrontations with her mother for. This, deeply enjoyable as it was, wasn’t the highest form of pleasure that they could share.

“Andy.”

“Ihm hmm?” He lifted his mouth from her tit, if he didn’t stop his finger from moving. And, really, she didn’t want that finger to stop.

“I want you in me.” There, she’d said it.

“Not quite yet. This time, I promise you, but not quite yet. Do you want to put me in?” That sounded sexy as hell.

“Yeah.”

“Soon. Not yet.” He sucked her nipple, licked and then sucked her other nipple. He kissed her stomach next to the belly button. At least he was moving from one place to another without kissing a trail there. He was also moving down in the bed while continuing his strokes.

She raised her right leg to allow him to move closer to where she wanted him. He shifted his hand so the palm rested on her delta. His thumb started stroking her clit. He seemed to be checking her out, stopping there between her legs but awfully far away. Then he moved closer and took her right hand.

He guided that hand to his cock. It was long but not all that hard. In her hand, it grew much harder and pointed right at her face. He took his hand off her delta. With both hands on the bed, he moved up ‘til his face was almost right above hers.

“Now, my darling, guide it in.” She spread her lips with her left hand and tugged gently. His body went forward and lower. She tried to push him down, but he gave a lot of resistance. She raised herself until they were touching. “Oh, Marilyn!” He moved forwards at the pull until he’d filled maybe a third of her and her hand was against her pussy lips. When she let go, he slid all the way in. She was filled. He kissed her forehead. “Oh, love.”

“Love you, too,” she said. That had been a sexy adventure, but the best was yet to come. And, as he slid in and out, the best came. And, as he slid in and out faster, she came. Finally, as lightning was striking all through her body, he came too.

When he fell, he fell to her right. They lay there gasping for a moment. They touched at only a few points, but those expressed love. She rolled over, reached down beside the bed, and pulled the towel between her legs. Then she backed up towards him. By the time she was there, he was turned to cuddle her. He held her and kissed the back of her head. Actually, she realized, with the window open the air-conditioning was quite overpowered. The temperature made lying naked -- even lying naked together -- more comfortable than the temperature at which she usually kept the room. That was her last thought for minutes as she lay cuddled contentedly in his arms.

When Andy started to stroke her tit, she took his hand in both of hers and brought it up to her chin. He relaxed then as completely as she. He went back to kissing her head, and she sank back into a blissful half doze. When the alarm rang, he jerked. Maybe she did, too.

“Three o’clock,” she told him. “We have things to do.” She pushed her feet off the side and sat up. The towel made that a little uncomfortable, but it was sure to catch any drips.

“What things?” When she didn’t answer -- she was confused by the question -- he asked more particularly. “What do you want me to do?” She wanted him to stay right there for the rest of the day -- the rest of the week, maybe the rest of the year -- and make love to her. She needed him to get up, get dressed, and get out before Mom got home.

“Get dressed. I don’t want Mom to catch us again. Do you want to use the bathroom first?”

“If I might.” He got up and took all his clothes in with him. She heard the toilet and the sink. When he came back, he was fully dressed. She took her panties and jeans in with her, and still clutched the towel between her legs. She used the toilet and douched. She showered fully and dried herself off. When she came back, he was still standing there. Well, she hadn’t told him to do anything. She put on a bra, a new top, and her socks. Then she put on her shoes. She took the fitted sheet, the top sheet, and the pillowcase off the bed. She piled three towels, including the one from under the sheet, on top of the stack and folded the sheets over them. When she picked them up, he took them from her. Of course, she didn’t carry loads when she was with Andy. What the hell! He’d seen things a lot more secret than their laundry room.

“Follow me, then.” She led him to the laundry room. He stopped while she put the soap and powdered bleach in the washer, then piled the clothes in. He distributed them around the washer so that they wouldn’t clump and put a strain on the spinning tub. The guy knew about laundry -- he was full of surprises.

“Want to see if there’s more whites?” he asked. “Seems a waste to run a load for only these.”

“This time, we’re going to.” She started the washer and led him up to the main floor again. “I love you, Andy.”

“I love you, too.”

“But now it’s time for you to leave.” He quirked an eyebrow at her before bending to kiss her. The kiss was long and loving, but he held nothing but her shoulders. When he’d walked out the door, she locked it again. Usually, they left the door unlocked when the house was occupied during the day. This time, though, she’d be busy.

The kitchen showed no sign of Andy but the skillet soaking in the sink. Well, she could fix herself toasted-cheese sandwiches if she wanted to. The dish washer was full enough to justify a load, and she put in the detergent and turned it on. The washer was still going downstairs.

She went upstairs to get herself a new bath towel. The other towels she’d used were beach towels. They’d been luxurious bath towels decades before, but they’d got ragged and been demoted. The supply of those towels was much more than they needed -- Mom had told her that she and Dad had had more towels as wedding presents than places to store them. Not even Dee would keep track of them. And, if she did, they were beach towels. She could keep two in her room for expeditions to the lake.

Mom didn’t get home ‘til almost 5:00. She’d already got both loads of wash out of the dryer. The first thing Mom did was to inspect Marilyn’s room.

“Well, it doesn’t reek of sex. The Airwick is a little conspicuous, and you might close that window.” Fine, although those were both Mom’s suggestions from the week before. She went up, closed the Airwick and put it away in the bathroom, and then closed the window. The air conditioner was still puffing with its effort.

“Really, Marilyn,” Mom said when she came downstairs. “Moving in with the boy is bad enough. His moving in with you is no more moral and much less masculine.”

“He hardly moved in with me.”

“You fed him and slept with him. What more does he want.”

“I’m not going to comment on the second.” Mom had said that it wasn’t detectable, and that had been Mom’s first worry. She certainly wasn’t about to deny it, but their sex life was no more of Mom’s business than it was Pete’s. “As for feeding him, toasted cheese sandwiches don’t compare to all the meals he’s bought me.” Even that many toasted cheese sandwiches didn’t compare to one Whopper in expense.

“You can cook much better meals than that.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to take the time.”

“Do you want to invite him to dinner some night? You can cook the meal.”

“Sure, but we have to wait until after his sisters go home. The family has all sorts of rituals for those visits. His parents are divorced, if I haven’t told you.”

“You’ve told me. Seems to me that his family takes precedent over this romance, and yours doesn’t.” That wasn’t fair.

“That isn’t a fair comparison. They have two weeks together every year. I’ve been invited to join them in more than sitting in church. His dad has suggested that I’ll be invited again this year. The first week we were back from school, he and his dad went out for dinner. His dad said specifically that I wasn’t invited because you would expect me home so soon after getting back. This is the first time that you’ve even suggested that Andy would be welcome in this house. Even when he drives me home, you chase him out -- my guest, not the family’s. Now you want to break up his family in the short time they have together, not for something which is important to us but just to do it.” She damn-well didn’t want to make Andy choose between her and his sisters.

“Seems to me that his parents broke up their family before I’d even heard of him. How long have they been divorced, anyway?”

“I don’t know, but longer than I’ve known him. He and his dad joined the church; I never saw the girls ‘til later.” That wasn’t what she’d meant by breaking up his family. Mom was scoring debate points again.

“Well, think about it. It doesn’t have to be soon, though it can’t be too long. You have to go back in August, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

Sunday, the girls were in church. Molly still looked like a teen, but she looked more like an adult than like a kid. April was the real surprise. Her skin had fewer of the detriments of adolescence, and her shape had more of the advantages. She was taller in her flats than Marilyn was in her heels, and she had a bust and a waist. She didn’t have quite the bust that Marilyn had now, but she had one hell of a lot more than Marilyn had had at 14. April, whose maturity was all physical, wanted to sit between her and Andy. She could tell how that would disappoint Mr. Trainor. It would disappoint her, too.

“Well,” her dad said, “my agreement with Miss Grant is that she and Andy sit with the family, but that she sits with Andy. She can’t do that if you’re in between.”

“Do you want to sit between me and your father?” Marilyn asked April. So, that was how they did it. The family was all in a row, with poor Andy off at the end. She apologized Monday night.

“No sweat. The Moppet got what she wanted, and I’m glad she likes you. Look, Dad is quite fond of you, but it’s nothing compared to what he thinks of April. As long as you have her approval and, besides that, he gets what he wants from her, you can do no wrong.” Sitting beside his daughter couldn’t be that much of a gain, and -- anyway -- she couldn’t think what she wanted of Mr. Trainor that she didn’t get. Would he give her and Andy some hours guaranteed alone in his house? She doubted it.

That Wednesday, she was a guest in their home. The dinner was delicious -- roast beef with all the trimmings. Dessert was hot fudge sundaes on chocolate swirl ice cream. She asked for a small serving, but even that was too much chocolate for her full stomach. When she made clear that she was done, Andy, who had already had a huge dish, finished hers.

After the dinner, they watched TV. April soon asked her to walk around the block with her.

“That’s the family habit for having a private discussion,” Mr. Trainor explained. Did she want a private discussion with April? Well, she’d accepted all sorts of benefits from being April’s counselor last time. It would be churlish to decline this time.

“You said I could ask you anything.” April began.

“I said that about one conversation a year ago. Even then, I made clear that you could ask, but I might not answer. Well, we can have another conversation under the same rules. You have to ask each time.”

“Do you really like my brother?”

“Yeah. That’s not much of a secret.”

“He loves you, and he said he didn’t mind me telling you.” Well, that was nice to hear, although not much of a surprise. He’d said that very often. On the other hand, telling his favorite sister established some permanency. ‘But you said you loved Marilyn,’ was something he might hear, and expect to hear, 20 years from now.

“Do you guys do it?” April asked.

“Do you mean do we have sex?” April nodded. “Listen. You’re going to get a long answer, none of which will tell you what you asked. You don’t ask that question. A doctor might or a marriage counselor in particular circumstances. When a couple isn’t married, the assumption is that they do not. At least, everybody pretends that they do not. When a couple is married, the assumption is that they do. In either case, you don’t discuss it -- not with them, not behind their backs.” Which made her feel hypocritical. She’d discussed others’ sex lives plenty of times. Still, those were the rules.

“Mom and Dad don’t.”

“Well, being divorced is different from being married. And they live in different cities, after all.”

“Should a girl have sex before she is married?” Suddenly, this seemed a question about April rather than about Marilyn.

“You’re 14?” April hadn’t been 14 long, if her memory held, but girls that age didn’t like to be reminded of that.

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to be 20 quite soon. The difference between unmarried women of 19 and unmarried women of 14 is quite large. If someone is married at 14, it’s a scandal -- illegal in some states. Plenty of girls get married at 18, right after graduating from high school. You and I aren’t like that; I need a college education and so will you. But you will know married women who are your age before you turn 20. As I said, you don’t say that they’re having sex, but you assume that they are. If you know several, then that assumption will be dead right about some of them -- maybe all of them, but certainly some of them.

“Okay,” she continued. “There are two questions. One is whether the woman is ready to have sex. If she’s old enough that it wouldn’t be a scandal if she got married, maybe she is. Even if she isn’t married, maybe she is ready. The other question is whether she’s ready to have sex with a particular man. And that depends on the man and the relationship. If the relationship is exploitative, if the guy is out to use her, then she shouldn’t have sex with him. Even if they’re married, she shouldn’t have sex with him. Though, in that case, the problem is with the marriage, not the sex. So, if a guy ever says to you that he’ll walk away if you don’t give him sex, then you be the one to walk away. Indeed, run away. These rules work together. If he’s right to be your first one, then he’ll wait until you’re ready.

“Finally, there’s an easy rule. If you have to ask, then you’re not ready -- maybe not ready at all, maybe not ready with that man.” She hoped that had put a little restraint on April without being too hypocritical. April was way too young, but nobody ever thought that they were too young. ‘Not until you’re married’ could blow up in her face. She was sure that April didn’t know, but when would she find out? Just maybe, she’d find out this visit. ‘Wait for the right guy’ was good advice, but April probably thought she’d found the right guy. Marilyn certainly had thought she’d found the right guy in Colin -- maybe a couple of times before, but certainly with Colin.

“It’s Elliot.”

“Pardon.”

“Elliot. Mom’s husband. Andy calls him ‘The Turd.’” Well, if she was hearing right, that was a generous description.

“What sort of advances has he made?”

“That’s the problem. He’s been clumsy about being a doting parent for years. You know?” She didn’t. Well, maybe she did.

“You mean that Andy picks you up and he picks me up, but he means different kinds of love for us.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t pick me up anymore. Anyway, Elliot kisses me and hugs me. Sometimes he does it when Mom is around. When she isn’t, sometimes it goes a little farther.”

“Well, shit. Above the waist or below the waist?”

“Both. And he kisses me with his mouth open.”

“Below the waist, does he grope you between the legs in front?”

“So far, he only pats my butt.”

“Okay, one. If he ever, ever, puts his tongue in your mouth, bite it hard. Right after, tell him how sorry you are. Tell your Mom that it was an accident that you bit him when he put his tongue in your mouth. If you can get a teacher to listen to your home troubles, tell her that you’re worried because you bit your stepfather’s tongue by accident when he put it in your mouth. Every time you tell it, emphasize that it was an accident and that you’re sorry. But every time you tell it, report that he put his tongue in your mouth.” She figured that The Turd -- she’d adopted the name immediately on April’s report on his behavior -- could deny almost anything. He’d have a hell of a time explaining how April had bitten his tongue if it wasn’t in her mouth. She hadn’t had that class, yet, but she understood that teachers -- Illinois teachers, at least -- were required to report stories of sexual exploitation.

“Now, this is much worse than I’d thought. I was figuring some hormone-crazed kid in your school. Those, you can deal with by slapping their faces. Your stepfather is something much worse. One, he has power over you. That’s exploitative. If he wants sex with you, then that is very bad sex, indeed. Two, he would be betraying your mother. A married couple promises to be true to each other. If you agreed, you’d be betraying your mother, too. Most adultery, the other woman might be doing wrong, but she doesn’t owe anything to the wife. You owe a lot to your mother.”

“If Andy made love to another girl, would you be hurt?”

They were passing the house, but April clearly wasn’t ready to end the conversation.

“Desperately. But, objectively, that would be a lesser betrayal. We aren’t married, you know. Still, I’d bawl my eyes out.” But let’s get this conversation off the subject of Marilyn. “And you said he doesn’t pick you up anymore? Does that bother you?”

“Some. But it bothered me when he picked me up, too. Mom said I was too old; Andy said I was old enough to decide.”

“And so you are. Andy is dealing with two rules.” She was far from certain that ‘rule’ was the proper word, but she had to go with that. “First, his picking you up is part of a relationship. If that isn’t the way you want to express that relationship, then it doesn’t express the relationship he wants with you. He loves you; he doesn’t want to use you, even that way. Second, is a rule for young women. If a woman says ‘stop,’ then a decent man stops. Period. And your brother is a decent man. So, if you want him to pick you up, you can’t say ‘don’t pick me up.’ If you have conflicted feelings -- both want it and don’t want it, I can’t help you there. That’s life. We all have things we want and don’t want, but we can only have them or not have them.”

“Does he stop when you tell him to?”

“Yeah. And, sometimes I say ‘no’ when I mean ‘not now.’ If I’m not careful, he’ll take it as ‘never.’ Now, you can’t talk to him about this. Look, I’ll help you if I can, but I don’t need a third party, even one we both love, trying to help us.”

“You love me, too?”

“I think I do. Remember we talked about how he loved the two of us in different ways? Well this is a third kind of love.” Quasi-maternal, maybe.

“Are you two going to get married?”

“That’s another question which is something you shouldn’t ask.” Although many persons less benevolent, with less personal stake in the outcome, and of greater age than April had asked it. “Anyway, the honest answer is that I don’t know. Remember when I told you that you and I needed to go to college and couldn’t marry right out of high school. Well, actually, we need to graduate from college. And that means that I can’t really think about marriage for the next two years. He can’t either. He’s important to me, but marriage is a big step, a permanent step.” Not that the marriage most important to April had been a permanent step. For that matter, for an ‘honest answer’ this was damned dishonest. She was thinking about marriage, thinking a lot about it. She just didn’t have any answers.