He was big and going deep, getting deeper, getting there, getting her there, and then the alarm went off, and it was just a dream ... mostly dream. She was wet and swollen and tingly, but empty, and she worried the cotton panty-cloth into the heart of moisture. The alarm’s buzz wasn’t right for this. She sighed and swiveled out of bed.

Bob’s shower rattled. You better not be jerking off in there, MaryLee thought as she slipped into her robe. “Want company?” she called. “Company?” she repeated. Bob killed the spray. “Can’t,” he said, “Busy day ... Could you find me a towel? Maybe pack me a lunch?”

MaryLee spread the jelly thick, just the way he liked it. “Green apple or red?” she called, thinking about his cute wobble. “Kindergarten doesn’t start ‘til one,” she shouted crimping the sack. “Come home for a quickie,” she whispered, “If you’re not busy. Oops, forgot the damn napkin.” “What?” he said from the hallway. Smiling, MaryLee shucked off her red panties, tucked them into the bag, and hurried to the door. “Your lunch, sir,” she said as Bob shrugged into his coat. “And a kiss.”

No question Jerry’s new receptionist had a lovely ass. And big bright eyes which always made Bob blush. Today she wore linen slacks, tight, and thin. When she turned Bob admired the hint of panty line way high up. “We’re going out for lunch,” Jerry announced. “Got something from home,” Bob said, waggling the bag. “Give it to Jeanette,” Jerry said, “She complained earlier about only having yogurt.” “Didn’t complain,” Jeanette said softly. Bob handed her the brown sack. Her fingers were long and thin and cool, and Bob felt his groin stir.

Afternoon kindergarten went OK. Amanda brought in a bumblebee big as a cloverpuff lying dead in the bottom of a jar—two holes in the lid and a sharp blade of grass inside.

—He wasn’t dead yesterday.

—Did he sting you?

—Babies come from bee stings.

—Do not!

—You rub your button it gets all buzzy and hot and tingly, and then it bursts and out come the baby bees.

—What button?

—Your belly button, silly.

—How many bees?

—Five hundred.

“How was your day, honey?” MaryLee asked. “Did you enjoy the lunch?”

“Jerry took us out.” Bob handed the sack to MaryLee. “He offered my lunch to his receptionist, but I guess she doesn’t like peanut butter and jelly ... Said she liked the apple, though. What’s for supper?”

MaryLee took the sack to the kitchen. The apple was gone. So were the red panties. But in their place, another pair, wispy, green, with a deep clovery smell in the crotch. In a twinkling MaryLee slipped out of her own underpants and into the wispy green. A perfect fit.

“C’mon,” she said, getting Bob. “There’s something I have to show you upstairs. A furnace full of bees.”

“I thought the furnace was in the basement,” Bob said.

“Shortcut,” MaryLee whispered. “Hurry. Not one more word.”