Part 10

Steve skipped the committee meeting. His attendance had been well above average, and tonight was the night for shopping.

He should buy Shannon something small, something she could smuggle into her house. Still, another thought had been tickling the back of his mind. He would look, at least, at the nighties.

The store was warm after the street, and the women's section felt still hotter. He stood looking at a rack full of nighties without any idea what they would look like on Shannon.

A lot of adults these days looked like kids to Gert. Still, workers didn't wear backpacks; this one was still in high school. She took pity on the kid. "Looking for something particular?" she asked.

"A nightie," Steve said. Suddenly, he felt twice as warm.

"For your wife?"

"My girl. My girlfriend. It's her birthday."

She didn't think he'd meant his daughter. It was none of her business, anyway. Still, this looked like a nice kid; and her conscience would hurt her if she sold him what would break up his romance. "Look, it's none of my business. Still... Think of your girlfriend opening the present. Her friends are looking on, and she gets this from you. She'll blush redder than you're doing now. Take it from me, it won't make her happy. Wait until you're married, and then give her a negligee in private."

"It's not like that." Shannon wouldn't open it in public. She wouldn't have a chance to.

"Okay." She'd tried. "What size is she?"

"About this tall." When he kissed her forehead, the top of her head would come about to his nose. Well, he'd have to bend down. "Maybe this tall."

Gert had seen some of the oddest size-differences in exchanges for women's clothes. Hell! Her husband used to give her size eight clothes before he switched over to kitchen appliances. Well, negligees didn't need to be close-fitting. "What color?"

"White!" Steve was sure about that.

That surprised Gert. She moved over to another rack. "Now, this one is nice and warm."

"Warm isn't precisely what I was looking for." This was starting to look like a bad idea.

The boy was blushing even brighter. White and sexy? White and sexy and sized to fit anybody. "Now, this one is rather sheer." Intended for a bride's trousseau, actually. And it was priced accordingly.

Steve put his hand inside the nightie. He could see it clearly through one layer of cloth. This is what he had wanted. Picturing Shannon in this started him hardening. They were at the cash register before he even asked the price. It was more than he'd planned on. By now, however, he was picturing Shannon wearing it.

"Can you fold it into a smaller box?" he asked. "Something which would fit in my backpack?" If she couldn't, he'd go buy something else. It really cost too much.

"It would wrinkle."

"Wouldn't the wrinkles come out?"

The customer is always right. Gert folded the present which would embarrass her customer's girlfriend into a package which would fit into his backpack. It was a nice sale with a nice markup, but Gert had eighteen years in the store. One of the teen girls who worked the cash registers on the weekends could have handled this one just as well.

Steve had it gift wrapped. It cost a buck more, but he didn't trust his own skills to compete with the packages that Shannon had wrapped for him. Even so, he had much less for his cash- stash than he had hoped. But, then, he told himself, he wasn't taking Shannon to a dance tomorrow.

Walking home didn't take all that much longer than the bus trip, since he went straight. He left the backpack with its secret contents in his room, then he joined his parents for dinner.

Shannon had dropped the martyr pose, and Allison enjoyed the easing of their relationship. The only question which her daughter asked about meal prep was intelligent, and she listened to the answer. Shannon even had a story to share during dinner about school. The kids were up in arms over a bad call during a basketball game.

"And how is the actual school going?" Wayne ventured. "You know, classwork?" Allison, who would never have pushed her luck on the eighth day of Shannon's grounding, waited for the explosion. It didn't come.

"Ask me Monday. The big thing right now is English, and the test's Friday. I mean, I'm working; but I won't see any results till then."

Shannon cleared the table without a single grumble. She was putting the clean dishes away, dressed for bed, when the sports came on. "Mom, do you want me to go to the store with you Saturday?" she asked when Allison came into the kitchen for her snack.

"Why?" It would take Shannon out of the house, but it was the only chore they hadn't assigned to her. This Shannon would speed shopping; the Shannon of the last week was something she hadn't cared to display in public.

"Well, I might not have a party this year, but I still need some birthday cake to share with my friends at school. I'll bake it, which means a simple mix; nothing like what you've fixed the last couple of years. I figure that you wouldn't let me shop by myself, but I could go through the line right behind you. And I'd help get stuff or push the cart the rest of the time."

"Shannon!"

"Mom, it isn't any extra time. It's at school. I'd talk with them, anyway, or talk with Steve. You can't object to my spending less time with Steve."

"Shannon, you're grounded. You have no social life. Period. We aren't celebrating your birthday this year. You are not celebrating your birthday this year. Not at home, not at school."

"But that was a party. That was presents. This is something we've done for years. Most of these girls, I've already eaten their cake." Shannon's face held a genuinely pleading look.

Allison slowly shook her head.

Shannon broke out in tears and ran to her room. Allison finished putting the dishes away. This hadn't been a ploy to escape chores -- Shannon was truly broken up.

"What happened?" Wayne asked when she got back in the living room.

"We are punishing our daughter. I just punished her."

"You spanked her?"

"I told her that she couldn't share birthday cake with her clique at school."

"I told her that last Wednesday," Wayne said.

Still, Allison thought, Shannon had cried harder at this ruling than at anything they had done previously. Maybe they were getting through to her at last.

If teachers had the brains they were supposed to, Steve thought, or even a little common sense, they would schedule tests on Monday and let people study for them over the weekend. Still, he reviewed the play that night. Maybe re-reviewed. He felt he knew this material -- either that or he was fooling himself completely.

This would be the disk that Shannon had over the weekend, but homework hadn't left much time to write. He started a story of Shannon in her nightie, but that would spoil the surprise. He saved it and read the letter before beginning another story.

You really want to do it standing up don't you?
We haven't even
done it the regular way, and you are dreaming of doing it
different ways. Boys are weird, but I think you
are weirder than most.

Only a million?
You used to send a billion. I'm locked up for less
than a week, and your love has decreased 1/1000.

She didn't want special positions. He would remember that when he wrote the fantasy. But first, he should answer her letter. And, if she wanted to play numbers games, he could start the letter on that.

S he has Steve's
H eart all the time and his help
A ny time that she
N eeds it.
N onillions
O f kisses this
N night.

Is *too* a word. 10**30.


He thinks they might let me out for Saturday
prepping the gym. If they do, I'm not going to
spend my time in the gym!!! Where could we go?

That's a good question. Dads missed a lot of
Saturdays this winter, but, of course, that's when I
wanted him home. If he's not here, then you could
be. At worst, we could borrow the Jeep. But
that's really worst.

Gotcha! Steve has a guilty conscience.

Steve has an absolutely clean conscience. Steve has
a suspicious sweetheart.

I just don't know, Steve. You're almost pushing
again. And it's sort of gross.

Gross?
My mouth is gross?

I know that isn't what you mean, but that is what
would be touching you. Let me worry about what
grosses me.

I don't think we'd fit quite like that. You'd be
at my shoulder or something. Right now, I wish
that we were trying it out, though.

Well, we could experiment. How we would fit? Hmm?
I bet you were thinking about fitting different
parts than I'm thinking about fitting.

I love you.

And I love you. I adore you.

He finished up with the story, again in a separate file:

It's an ordinary evening. Work had been neither
exciting the day before nor a particular hassle for
either of them. They'd watched TV for a while
before turning in. He was already in bed when she
came in wrapped in her towel. She picked up her
nightie and then glanced at him.

"You're just going to want to take it off me again,
aren't you?"

"You could put it on afterwards."

She tossed it towards the bed, but it caught the air
and floated down. He reached over to grab it. She
turned away to drape the towel over a chair, but he
got a side view.

Although he had seen her most nights of the past
three years, that hadn't spoiled his appreciation of
her beauty. On the contrary, he had been
overwhelmed by the main erotic zones during their
high school and college years. Before their
marriage, he had never had time to appreciate all
the subtle details. Now, he knew them well. The
smoothness of her thighs as well as the curly hair
between them, the movement of her breasts as she
bent to drop the towel as well as their bold thrust
as she walked straight towards the bed.

He threw back the top sheet to make room for her.
She lay on her side so that they could share a sweet
kiss before rolling over on her back. He kissed her
face and torso before returning to her mouth. When
that kiss turned passionate, he stroked her body.
Just as he could never get enough sight of her
beauty, he could never get enough of the feel of
her. Holding her in his arms night after night
delighted him, but it came nowhere near saturating
his desires.

After a while, he tore his mouth away from hers and
kissed her breasts. He licked and sucked at their
smoothness, but the nipples were too close to
resist. While he was sucking that sweetness, his
hands were busy between her legs. The warmth he
felt there, the smoothness, the welcoming moisture,
drove him crazy. He wanted to kiss her everywhere,
but he had only one mouth. He wanted to touch her
everywhere but he had only two hands. He loved each
thing he was doing, but he couldn't stand delaying
the final act.

Finally, she decided for him. "Darling," she said.
He knew that she wanted him to enter her without
more delay. He reached for the box on the night
table, he applied the condom, he paused between her
legs just outside her entrance.

"I want you," he said.

"I want you," she echoed, "now."

He pressed slowly into her secret space. He filled
her, and she surrounded him. Fully enclosed,
pressed into her, he stopped to look into her eyes.
"I love you," he says.

"I love you," she says. But already they are
moving. Their motion speeds up. His thrusts become
more forceful, she meets them more fully.

"Love," he gasps, unable to say more. The next
moment they reach bliss together. He spasms deep
within her, she spasms tightly around him.

Slowly, they return to earth, his body stretched
above hers. They relax in each others arms until
they are nearly asleep. Then he withdraws,
carefully drawing the rubber with him. He throws it
into the wastebasket. She pulls herself into a
sitting position, and he helps her with her nightie.
She presses back against him as he covers them both
with the sheet. It is a little warm for hugs, but
neither remembers another way of sleeping by now.

Breathing the lovely smell of her hair, he murmurs,
"I love you."

Held in his arms, she answers, "I love you, too."

Each knowing that the other is telling the truth,
they fall asleep.

The end

The soft buzz woke Shannon in the night. Why the alarm and not the radio? Oh yes, she hadn't set anything. She was surprised that the alarm had gone off.

Oh no! Mom was trying to poison her relationship with her oldest friends. Awake now, she got out to answer Steve's letter, or -- at least -- write him one.

I'm not going to answer your letter now.
I'll do that later. All that I can think of right
now is my birthday.

As you know, Dad told me I couldn't have a party.
No birthday gifts for Shannon this year. But,
however angry that makes me, that is something that
they're denying *me*. Nobody can complain that they
weren't invited to my party because there wasn't any
party at all.

This bringing the birthday cake to school is an old
habit. We started in sixth grade. The girls who
didn't make the first lunch period the first year
dropped out. We were almost evenly split our
sophomore year, and we made two groups.

Anyway, we have done this forever. And we *never*
miss. Now I've broken the chain. We're all going
away, I'll never see them again, and all they'll
remember of me is that I broke the chain the last
year.

I love you. Your something special in my life. But
they are something special, too. It's different.
I'm feeling more and more that you'll be part of my
future, and -- no surprise -- they won't. But we
haven't been going together for a year. They are
part of my past. They are my past, except for my
family.

Maybe that's why Mom's jealous. They're a past which
I want to keep. She's a past which I can't wait to
to dump.

Anyway, thanks for the letter. Thanks for the
story. But all I can think about right now is my
friends, and how Mom is trying to break me apart
from them.

Steve hadn't taken the gift-wrapped box out of his backpack. Obviously it couldn't take the crushing he was used to giving the pack. He carried the pack in his lap on the bus.

He waited for Shannon by her locker with the backpack open and in his hand.

"Oh Steve!" she said. How had he known that she needed his comfort?

"Watch out!" She looked like she were heading for his arms. That was great; that was where she belonged. But not in school.

She stopped herself short of him. He moved aside, and she opened her locker. "Mom hates me!"

This wasn't news. But it sounded like something new. "What has she done now?"

"She won't let me have a birthday cake to take to school Monday. We've shared cakes on the days after our birthdays. Always. Now I'm the one who can't do it."

"That sucks." And it did, but it wasn't what he would call a surprise. "Look," it was already too late for him to get to home room on time. "We'll talk at lunch. And happy birthday from me, at least." He handed her the box and left her there.

Shannon was able to get her attention back on Shakespeare's tragedy from her own long enough to take the test. The essay question was "'Romeo and Juliet' was meant to entertain, but great authors do more. What single message do you believe Shakespeare intended to communicate in this play?"

She was tempted to write "Families suck." But the play was really about Juliet's first love, her one love. Shannon had thought about this long enough that her problem was keeping the answer short.

Steve's answer to the essay question focused on the feuding.

At lunch, Shannon told her friends that she couldn't bring a cake on Monday. This time, she was quite willing to sit with Steve, hut all her talk was on the injustice of her mom's ruling and how this had ruined her whole time in high school. "Junior high, too. Our group has been together since grade school."

Steve was, as he had told her, on her side on anything -- much less her parents' punishment for time she had spent with him. Still, this was much more venting than she had spent on being denied a party where Steve and these same girls would have been present. Also, he had expected some reaction to his gift.

"Can you fit the box I gave you into your backpack?" he asked.

"I think so."

"And they aren't going to poke inside to find it."

"They haven't done that yet," Shannon said. "I know where to hide it in my room."

"And no peeking until Sunday."

"I won't." She wasn't all that tempted. She had resigned herself to having no presents this year. It was the 'no parties' which hurt.

"Do you think you did all right on the exam?" Steve asked.

"Okay. It sure didn't help that I spent the night crying over Mom's new cruelty. I was tempted to answer the essay question with some comment on how families mistreat their daughters. You?"

"I think it was all about feuding. After all, the end of the play focused on that; it didn't bring the lovers back to life. And the same goes for the problems. Romeo would have been banished if he hadn't fallen in love, or hadn't fallen in love with Juliet. They died because the Montagues were feuding with the Capulets...

"And because they fell in love, and Shakespeare can't have meant that they shouldn't have fallen in love."

"Oh Steve!" She had told him all about Juliet's pure love, her only love. He hadn't listened at all. Well, it was done now. "I meant how did you do on the test? Aside from the essay question."

"Pretty well, I think. And, if I did, you deserve all the credit."

Then it was time to trade disks and leave for their next classes.

Snow was already falling outside. The number of kids who actually attended committee meetings had dwindled, anyway. Steve was able to get a table all by himself. "Don't want company?" Ken asked when he came by.

"Want yours. What's this about Shannon's parents letting her out of the house on Saturday?"

"We left it up in the air. I'm not going to ask for another week. You still on with Hauksbee?"

"Sure," Steve answered. "I traded this Sunday for next Saturday, I couldn't get out this late if I wanted."

"If Shannon can't get off, would you come help in the gym? I won't cheat you; I'll try my damndest to get permission from her mother."

"Why, Ken! You think she won't come decorate the gym."

"I," said Ken, "think she'll be too busy decorating the Steve."

When Steve got home, his mom had beaten him by only a few minutes. "Dinner's in three quarters of an hour," she said. "Don't bother to shovel; it's still coming down. TV says we'll get better than a foot."

"TV guy doesn't shovel. From where I stand, we'll get worse than a foot." Actually, he was glad for the snow for once. "I'll bet that you'll want me to shovel the walk after dinner."

"You'll have a good, long, time. I can't start the brownies until dinner's done."

"And there might be another snow storm later this year." It was the second of February. They were due three or four serious storms before spring. "And you might want the walk shoveled tonight, and tomorrow morning, and for the next storm as well."

"What do you want? I've already offered brownies."

"And that's what I want. But not when I want them. I want the entire tray of brownies, cut -- cut small for that matter -- but not one piece removed. I want them baked Sunday night for me to take to school Monday morning. For that you get the walk shoveled for this storm and for the next one, too."

Rachel Anderson was hardly the chockaholic that her son was. Still, the cook was entitled to her share; and she had planned to save a few pieces for Roger. Steve wouldn't really get much more than half the tray, usually. Also, shoveling the walk was Steve's responsibility; brownies were a reward, not a negotiable salary. But, if Steve wanted to negotiate, two could play that game.

"Next three storms? This and the two after it."

Steve hadn't thought of that possibility, but Shannon wanted something to share with her buddies. "Done." And he went up to his room to read Shannon's letter.

Which was all about her birthday. This ruling had knocked Shannon for a loop.

I love you. Your something special in my life.

But they are something special, too. It's
different. I'm feeling more and more that you'll
be part of my future, and -- no surprise -- they
won't. But we haven't been going together for a
year. They are part of my past. They are my past,
except for my family.

He just hoped that the brownies would be accepted. He loved them, but Shannon's friends were persnickety.

After dinner, the snow kept falling. He shoveled the entire width of the walk, then a path through the little bit which had fallen since. He set his alarm an hour earlier than usual.

Then he sat down for his letter to Shannon.

What your parents did to you sucks.
I hope I made it a little better. There's not much
more that I can say about that.

You've said that you like my stories. I've been
thinking about one for our wedding night. I can get
the veil off and kiss you. After that, I don't know
anything. All those dresses look two-piece, but
they aren't; are they? I mean, even if they are of
different cloth and all, they are sewed together
aren't they?

And what do you wear under them? A slip? Then bra
and panties and pantyhose? Anything special? I
keep hearing about a garter.

When there is a choice, you don't have to make it
now. These are fantasies. Just tell me something.
I'll use it for the story now.

Maybe I'll write another fantasy later, if you have
another choice. Or even if you don't.

For his story, since he didn't have the answers to any of those questions, he dealt with their second night. She wouldn't see the fantasy before she'd seen the birthday nightie.

Between the crises at home and the major exam in English, Shannon had been neglecting her other subjects. Friday night, after the dishes, she corrected that.

She didn't read Steve's note until she woke up in the middle of the night. This schedule had its problems. Athletic socks and fuzzy slippers or no, her legs got cold sitting at the computer when the thermostat was set for night.

Steve's header, what she thought of as his 'poem, ' was cute. He couldn't help much, but he had tried. She briefly wondered what he had got her for her birthday. Her friends said they were on her side, but Steve was the only one who had smuggled her a gift. And she was perfectly willing to believe him about "nonillions."

Did she want to go to Steve's house? So many things could go wrong. It was better than parking the Jeep somewhere. Damn! She wanted Steve's kisses; she knew from experience she would want more when she got those; but she also wanted to be in control. But she couldn't take a babysitting job, and Steve sure couldn't come here.

Would Steve want more? He'd always been such a good boy, despite her complaints about pushing. He did take 'no' for an answer. And did she still want to say 'no'? She'd been a good girl, too; and it had got her grounded forever. If she'd snuck around instead of telling the clients, she'd be having a party tomorrow and taking a cake to school Monday.

Still, the white wedding had been her dream; it hadn't come from her mother the way the dream of Albion had.

Steve went on and on about kissing her down there. All the novels made that sound so exciting too. Well, at least that solved the problem of the white wedding. Sex was another step after that kiss. And she could still wear white. But the novels seemed to suggest that that step took seconds.

Still, the historical stories, at least, took only a few minutes between the first kiss on the mouth and the first sex. She knew that didn't apply to her case. She made a decision. If she had to give in, she would give in about the kiss. Although she didn't have to give in yet.

Still, it was cold. She would have to thank him for the birthday present, anyway; and she had two more days to write that letter. She took the history book back to bed. Curled up under the blankets, still wearing the socks if not the slippers, she finally got warm.

Steve shoveled the walk again before Saturday's breakfast. His mother drove him and the shovel to Hauksbee's. He had half the walk outside the drugstore shoveled when Hauksbee got there.

"Why Steve, thanks," he said.

"Do you want me to continue?" Steve could picture the old man letting him shovel the rest and then chewing him out for getting inside the store late.

The druggist wasn't sure that Steve had done him as much of a favor as he had intended. The law held him responsible for the state of a shoveled walk, but not for the state of an unshoveled one. On the other hand, the people in the town would like it better, and they were customers. Anyway, he was probably liable for the state of the walk now. And, of course, he was insured. "Please."

Steve finished shoveling but spent more time mopping the floor that morning than behind the cash register as customers tracked more snow in.

He left the shovel in his mother's car behind the dentist's office before walking home. He rewrote his story for Shannon, and then did his homework for the next week. When his mother got home, he shoveled the walk once again. They killed the evening watching TV.

When Shannon got up in the middle of the night, it was -- of course -- already her birthday. Since she only would get one birthday present this year, she should wait to open it until later. On the other hand, she was tired of being a good girl. She opened the box.

It was a negligee, a sexy negligee. Well, she could hardly expect Steve to buy her a sexless one. But should he be buying her nightwear at all? At least her parents wouldn't see it.

And it did make her feel sexy. It made her look sexy, too, when she modeled it for the mirror. The cloth was nearly transparent. She could clearly see the shape of her breasts. She could see the nipples stick out, too; it was cold in the room. After spinning once to see the negligee stand out far from her, she shivered and put the much warmer nightie back on before climbing into bed. Not only had the gift been sheer, but it had an opening down the front, closed by dozens of tiny buttons. She couldn't quite see why; it was large enough that she had donned it without even attempting to open them.

Then she could see why, and shivered again. The negligee was designed to be opened by a husband. A lover? No, she thought, a husband. Those buttons gave him access to all of his wife, but slow access -- teasing access.

The gift was much sexier than she had thought. She wondered whether Steve had seen all of that. Probably! Sexiness was one thing which Steve saw much more quickly than she did. Soon she crawled out of the warm bed to the cold computer. It was time to write Steve. First, she thaked him for his gift. Let him stew over whether she saw it as sexy as he did. Then she grinned. She hadn't felt like a good girl wearing it, and she didn't want to feel like a good girl ever again. She got out his last letter. Then she dug out his previous letter and story to answer. The story would make her feel like a bad girl fastest.

Thanks for your lovely gift.
You do know that this is the only gift that I'm
likely to get this year.

Brosna??
Where did you get that name?

And you seem to dictate all of the woman's feelings,
too.

He loves the feel of her secret
parts, and she loves what his fingers do there.

When she can't resist that excitement any more, she
slides back down his body.

Isn't that convenient?

I'm not at all sure that toddlers should see their
parents entwined in the aftermath of sex. Steve,
you have a dirty mind!

S he has Steve's
H eart all the time and his help
A ny time that she
N eeds it.
N onillions
O f kisses this
N night.

Is *too* a word. 10**30.

Nonillions of kisses back to you.

Gross?
My mouth is gross?

I know that isn't what you mean, but that is what
would be touching you. Let me worry about what grosses me.

I liked your most recent story.

She wrote. What she liked about it, she couldn't quite express.

Anyway, it was better than being caught by Brosna. Where had he come up with that name?

No reason to admit that the word, nonillions, was new to her. And, if he had made it up -- the word wasn't in her dictionary, she'd checked that -- then she was just accepting a word he'd made up.

She still wasn't sure that she liked the idea of visiting his house, his room? Still, making out in the Jeep was a much worse choice. Where else could they go?

And he was still pushing on the kisses. But the novels kept making them seem nice. Nice? they made it sound delightful. And it wasn't -- despite the novels -- something a nice girl would do. Shannon wasn't a nice girl any more, and something which was both evil and felt delightful might be just what she needed. She would read his ideas; whether she would let him do them was another question. Anyway, he was talking about after marriage.

And, in the latest story, he didn't even mention them. Would they be like that as a couple? Would he still think that she was sexy after getting totally used to her?