Jeanette Brennan turned from the stove as Bob came staggering in with the laundry bag over his shoulder. "Wrong holiday, Santa. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving."

"Funny." He dropped the bag on the couch before meeting her at the doorway. "I'm getting out of shape. Maybe I'll go back to working road construction next summer instead of office stuff."

They kissed. "Tired of me already?" she asked. He kissed her again and reached for her breasts. "Pot's boiling," she said. He followed her into the kitchen and watched her dump the macaroni into the water.

"You have a point. I couldn't go two days without you, much less a season."

"Bag would be lighter if you washed every week."

"Time would be almost twice as much, and the cost would be greater." She wasn't sure that the inconvenience was worth it.

"Well, you let me manage my side of the household chores. I guess I can't fight about your managing the laundry part."

"I love you, Mrs. Brennan."

"All you want is my body."

"Not all."

"Speaking of the other one percent, go away! Dinner is coming together." He took no offense at her wanting space to work. While she cooked and served, he remade the bed with new-washed sheets.

The dinner conversation was mostly about Jeanette's supervisor who expected a normal week's output in four days. "You have a four day weekend, though. What do you want to do?" she asked. The smile spreading across his face turned into a leer before she continued. "Well you can't. I have to work Friday. Anyway, your professors expect a little studying. Do you want the games tonight, though? It is the end of your week."

"This week is your choice. Is that what you want?" Bob felt that he was walking on eggs. Jeanette often asked for something by offering it. On the other hand, she occasionally convinced herself that her disliking something was proof that he wanted it. Then she might be a martyr giving him something when he could easily wait until Friday.

"I think it is. Do the dishes first, though. I'll need a clean kitchen tomorrow. Thanksgiving dinner as a late lunch okay?"

"Great. Fixing a treat?"

"Turkey slices. We're living high on the bird."

She was appreciating the smell and feel of new-washed sheets when he came in. The "games" were choices of sexual behavior, new positions on the Fridays when he chose, mostly old ones on her weeks. "Game?" he asked.

"Do you think that you could be very gentle with your wife?" She wanted to curl up in a ball and have him hug her. She thought that she might just scream if he touched her. Why had she asked for games on a night when she didn't know what she wanted?

"Do you mean let you alone?" He thought that was carrying "games" a little far even for Jeanette, who had called her first game "Missionary."

"No. I mean be gentle."

Jeanette seldom showed emotion. Her style was to take it all until she exploded. Tonight, however, she was visibly frazzled. After lighting the candle and turning off the overhead light, he got in bed beside her and petted her far side. His hand didn't even pass near her breasts. He had, perversely, a raging erection. Her most seductive advances had seldom had the effect on Junior that this request for gentleness did. He ignored it as best he could and concentrated on her.

His mind searched for a subject interesting enough to gain her attention yet far enough from them to relax her tension. "Have I ever told you how the Battenbergs became the ruling house of Europe?"

"No. Didn't know that they had." So he droned on the story of how Prince Albert's branch of minor royalty had come to genetically dominate the royal house of England, then those of Russia and Greece. It was a splendid choice. These were people of whom Jeanette had heard, but about whom she didn't care. She let the day become the past. The next day was a glory, not a worry. She hadn't planned enough fancy dinners to see one as a chore.

He shifted on to his back with her head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head. His caresses began to include her breasts. Under his slow seduction, her relaxation moved to a different sort of tension. He rolled her onto her back and scattered tiny kisses over her forehead and cheeks. Her legs spread for his hand as her mouth opened for his tongue.

He clasped her entire vulva when they first kissed. Slowly, two fingers parted her outer labia and traced the line of her inner ones. He parted these as well, entering into her warm, moist valley. Slowly, and as lightly as possible, he stroked that moisture upward. Her tongue pressed against his, following it as it retreated to his mouth. He sucked it while reminding himself "Gentle, be gentle."

She forgot even the morrow as the present moment became sweeter. He resumed lip kisses when her tongue retreated. She spread her legs wider, her leg brushing his phallus as she did so.

He responded by easing one finger into her tunnel, then widening that opening by pressing down. He withdrew that finger to spread the juices it had found up to her clitoral area. He had long experience being gentle there. He smoothed the moisture into the surrounding folds, just missing the clitoris itself. Then he returned for more lubrication before he stroked, ever so lightly, over the bud itself. She gasped in his mouth and tensed under his arm. His tongue returned to explore her mouth as his finger repeated its journey.

Soon, she tugged at his shoulders in silent signal. He clambered between her legs as she spread them further and raised her knees.

His hand returned to spread her labia. He held his torso above her as he eased himself into her. Rooted in her, nestled into the cradle of pelvis and thighs, he shifted his arms so that his elbows held him up while his hands cupped her breasts. When he began his slow movements, she matched them. He brushed her nipples with his thumbs while he stroked within her warmth. She tensed and started to speed their tempo. He drove in and out forgetting all about gentleness. His culmination came an instant before hers. He was already pulsing as he buried himself fully into her clasping depths.

She felt him fill her, throb in her. She felt the sweet pulse of his seed hit her before her own tension peaked. Her hands clutched his shoulders as her center clutched his. She was all tension, and then she collapsed.

He held himself above her as they both gasped for air. He was ready with tissues when she squeezed him out. Then they lay side by side. He carefully patted her on the shoulder. Avoiding the sensitive areas seemed part of being gentle.

She knew he cared for her. She loved him, and felt much better about the rest of the universe, too. The relaxation, however, was only partial. She wished that she could have more. She reached for the patting hand and moved it from her shoulder to her groin.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought you had." He used to ask. When she said that his asking bothered her, he tried to pay special attention. He'd done so, and it certainly had felt like she'd had an orgasm.

"I did." She immediately regretted asking. He had done what she asked. Now she knew he was spent. She wondered if he felt inadequate. He shouldn't. Would he feel annoyed at this demand when he wanted to drift off?

He finally understood that she wanted more of him. The darling! He knew that he could arouse her passion, but it was a rare treat to be asked for his. "Oh love," he said. It was much too soon for Junior to be engaged in this one, but it stirred at this evidence of Jeanette's sexiness. "Wonderful woman, should I still be gentle?"

"Please."

"Tell me when anything isn't." He rolled so that he could kiss her again. He played with her outer labia while engaging in short, separate kisses in her mouth. He had hardly kissed her breasts tonight, and remedying that oversight would be a pleasant task. He kissed a spiral up the far breast. Before he reached the nipple, he parted her labia. He realized that the plenteous moisture wasn't all hers. He spread it upward, managing to brush her clitoris and suck her nipple at the same instant.

The twin touches sent a shiver through her. She felt herself start on the familiar journey. As she slipped deeper into her passion, she relaxed more into trust of her husband's comforting guidance. Her relaxation freed her passion. The spiral sped toward the inevitable conclusion. "I love you," she heard. Then the suction was on her other breast. She passed from shuddering tautness, through undulating pleasure, to blissful repletion.

He watched her accept him, then forget him as she sensed only herself. He made a mental note that he had to do something especially nice for Jeanette as gratitude for her expression of desire and trust. He felt her belly tighten and then her hips buck. He felt and saw her utter relaxation. He'd had dried cum on his penis, he did not want it on her clitoris. He slipped out of bed and returned with a wet handkerchief. "Do you want me to wipe you, or do you want to do it yourself?"

"Me."

"You want more?"

"I want to be hugged." He blew out the candle and complied.

"Am I pushing the idea of games too far?"

"No. You may be seeking relief under the wrong statute."

"You sure that you don't want to be a lawyer? You lost me on that one."

"'I, Robert, take thee, Jeanette, ' something, something, 'Wilt thou love her, cherish her, comfort her and keep her, as long as you both shall live?' When you need comfort, I'm supposed to be here. Not a matter of what day it is, who chooses the game. When you need cherishing, I've sworn to cherish you."

For a moment, she thought that he had mixed up the wedding formula. Then she knew that he had the spirit of the vows engraved on his heart. She snuggled harder against him, and pulled his arm where she could hug it as he hugged her.

"I suppose you want a song too," he said. He wondered what he would do if she said "no."

"The whole nine yards." She was luxuriating. She knew that she was taking more than her share that night. She made a note to find something nice to do for Bob. She knew that he was keeping his promise, not making an exchange; but she had taken the same vows.

"Bob loves Jeanette," he droned. "Bob loves Jeanette, Bob loves Jeanette, and I love you." When he started the second verse, Jeanette kissed each of his fingers once.

Bob kissed his sleeping-in wife and started his morning. While he showered and ate, he struggled with a problem. Jeanette had only meant to tease a few weeks ago. "I'm captured by a sex maniac," she had said, "and he pretends to be such a Christian, too." He'd ignored "sex maniac." He should have ignored the second part as well.

Instead, he had said, "Ah, but Christians believe that sex within marriage is right."

"You don't pray that way" was all she'd said. Three things had been clear to him immediately. Jeanette was right; Jeanette didn't care, she was only teasing; he did care. He wanted to be the adult whose faith was founded on scripture, reason, tradition, and experience. He was still mostly the adolescent whose God was a projection of his snickering peers.

He was still elated because Jeanette had asked for his petting. Would he give thanks for the meal, fine as it would be, and not for the greater pleasure?

The coffee maker gurgled its readiness. Jeanette had had her extra hour. More brooding would take him nowhere. He poured a mug and took it to the bedroom.

"Coffee," she said. "I knew there was a reason I married him." She gulped the mug and then headed for the bathroom. Benefited by the extra sleep, she realized that this was a special day by her second cup. She shooed Bob out of the kitchen and began to work. Jeanette had been planning this feast since Bob had turned a birthday bonanza over to the household accounts. It featured plenitude; they would have peas and corn on the cob, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, and (Stovetop) stuffing, turkey to make it Thanksgiving, and mince pie to make Bob really thankful. (Remembering his cherishing of her the night before made her extra happy about that touch.) She made her own coleslaw and her own gravy. Jeanette gloried in being a housewife when she had the materials. When she fetched Bob, he looked truly impressed. He seated her, and she waited for grace.

"Look," Bob began. "Pastor Jim warned us about this, but I've done it anyway. My family goes around on Thanksgiving and everybody says what they're grateful for from the past year. Not one thing, but sort of a list.

"Brennan Senior rules aren't our rules, and it's not fair to spring it on you, but I'd still like it if we did that."

"It's not exactly the weirdest thing that your family does. Do you want me to go first?"

"Please. I'll sort of put my list into the prayer."

"The year? Well I've been planning on being married to you for years, and this year I am. I'm grateful for Greg's gift. All the disasters which didn't happen. Finding a job. And I'm grateful for your cold. Now you'll know that when I'm negative about messy sex it isn't rejection of you."

He waited, then raised an eyebrow. She nodded. "Almighty Father," he began. That was the easy part. "You have given us so many gifts that I should be grateful for, health, sight, a roof over our heads and food on our table. But You, who know everything, know that all my real gratitude this year is for the woman who shares my life.

"And most of all..." Here he took a breath, started to go on, and then exhaled and took another breath. "I am most grateful for her passion and her acceptance of mine. I know that she said no with no help from me for years when that was a virtue. I know that this trained her to say 'no, ' and that this is mostly my fault. I know that her first impulse is to say 'no.' But her mind and her love for me have overcome that.

"I thank You for that mind and for the body which says 'yes' so often and so well. I thank You, as I thank her, for her cheerful acceptance of an unfair share of the pressure that money brings on our house. In the category of things I'm not grateful enough for, I thank You for all the housework that she does.

"I thank You for my father's continuing life and health, for the gifts that Jeanette has mentioned, and for the feast which is before us and the cook who put it there. In Jesus' name, amen."

"Amen," said Jeanette, but she reached for his hand rather than a fork. They looked at each other for a minute, but everything seemed to have been said. "I love you," she finally said. It seemed inadequate, but it was the truth.

"I love you, too," he replied. She knew that. He'd even told his God so. They dug into their feast.

They ate to repletion and went for a walk. What good the exercise did for their digestion was undone by a late supper of the leftovers. A few slices of turkey held over for sandwiches, two sweet potatoes, and a third of a pie were all that the refrigerator saw of the great feast.

They went to bed late. Their lovemaking, although restricted by both torpor and bloat, added one more comfortable satiation to the holiday.

Bob's torpor continued through most of Friday. He read the assigned material for two classes and produced a fair amount of note cards for an upcoming paper, but he did all that lying in bed. It was mid-afternoon before he finished putting away the laundry which he had washed Wednesday. At this point, he felt a twinge of conscience; he'd not been acting as grateful as he'd said he was. He neatened the apartment according to his lights, if not up to Jeanette's standards.