Part 3

Babysitting for Mrs. Green had several advantages (none of which compensated for the kids being monsters). She was not going to come home early, she was not going to come home drunk, she paid by check at the beginning of the evening, and she had no interest in finding fault with how Shannon had behaved. The last point was becoming more important to Shannon.

By the time Steve showed up at the Green house, he had done some planning. He was glad to see Shannon in a skirt again. He kissed her slowly and sweetly while they were still standing. After loosening her bra, he led her to the couch and eased her down.

Shannon's first thought was that Steve was going to try to do it. When he knelt beside the couch, however, she relaxed and let him renew the kiss. She noticed that he kept his hands outside her clothes much longer than had become their habit. When he did push up her sweatshirt, he took his time on her breasts before he reached their peaks. "Help me," he said, and pushed up the cloth to give his mouth full access. She raised herself enough to allow the sweatshirt to bunch under her arms. She felt his kisses everywhere, beginning on her stomach, before finally reaching her nipple. He stroked her leg, and then her mound, from outside her skirt. He put his other hand on her head and raised himself up so that they were looking each other in the eye.

"I love you, Shannon," he said.

Then, still gazing into her eyes, he stroked down her leg and under the skirt, luckily a wide one. He gave her one short kiss on the mouth and then bent to her nipple. It was her left breast this time, and his chest was pressed onto her right one.

Shannon felt every shift in Steve's position as an arousing movement against her stiff nipple, and his tongue and lips on her other nipple were even more arousing. The overwhelming source of her arousal, though, was the back-and forth motion of his hand on her thigh. His palm was firm on the top, but his fingers trailed lightly across the inside. One finger occasionally brushed the inside of her left thigh as well, sending tremors upward into her belly. Steve's hand was moving back and forth, but it moved upward more on every cycle. Finally, one finger touched her through her panties. She wanted more, she wanted his whole hand on her as it had been last time.

Steve felt her panties with one finger, but it was a finger in a critical position. Even without pressing against her, he could feel those mysterious folds through the cloth. He wanted to clasp her there, he wanted to explore those folds, he wanted to see that heart shape which he had only seen once, he wanted to plunge into her depths. He knew that she wouldn't allow any part of what he wanted. He abandoned her breast to tell her one percent of his feeling. "Oh Shannon," he said.

Without any conscious decision on the part of her mind, her knees raised and spread. She thought that he looked almost shocked, but he kissed her before she could really read his expression. It was a warm, gentle, kiss; Steve licked her lips rather than invading her mouth. When she finally sought his tongue with hers, she felt his hand slowly move to cup her mound.

Steve had been shocked speechless when he felt her legs open for his hand; but not, luckily, shocked kissless. Once touching her center, he could neither leave it nor keep still. Instead, he compulsively petted her pantied crotch. He wanted to seize it and clasp it tight, but he was frightened of the violence involved in his desire.

The way he petted the cloth between her legs reminded Shannon of petting a cat. It was exciting, then it was excruciating; she pulled his arm to get more pressure.

Steve had tried to be very gentle until Shannon grasped his arm. She's going to shove me away, he thought. She's going to push me away and send me out of this house, and I'll never touch her this way again.

Then she pulled him tighter. He knew that this was her acceptance of his desire for her and her expression of her desire for him. Everything was all right. "Shannon," he said. "Love."

She heard his words and felt him bend to her breast again, sucking on it and pressing it with his tongue. Steve sucked her sweet breast and stroked her sweet center. His own arousal was a tightness and a torment, but he had no hand to relieve that torment. It was too much for Shannon, then it was not enough. And then it was just right, and she flew away. When his beloved responded to him in a way that, even to his gross ignorance, was clearly a climax, Steve was in heaven, sharing her joy and experiencing his own pride.

When Shannon came back to the couch, it was suddenly all wrong. She shoved his hand away and curled up to cry.

"Shannon," he said. It had been marvelous, feeling her and seeing her react to him. And then she had rejected him. And then she had cried. Had he hurt her? Had he offended her? "Did I hurt you? What did I do wrong? What do you need? I'm sorry if I was too rough. Shannon, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she finally managed to say. "You didn't do anything wrong, just hold me." So he held her, hugging her head with one hand and her knees with another. She felt his chest crosswise on her back. Steve cuddled her from a very contorted position, but happy that she accepted him again, he was glad for the connection. Finally, she straightened and relaxed. Then she said, "Let me get up." He moved back, accepting that she always pushed him away to put herself together. She sat up and refastened her bra. She would have liked to straighten her panties, too, but didn't want to do it in front of him.

Logically, the brief glimpse of breasts that he had kissed and caressed minutes before shouldn't have stimulated Steve; but logic had little to do with his feelings. Needing a little relief, he headed up the stairs to the bathroom.

Shannon watched Steve leave her, and then she remembered having seen Mrs. Green's diaphragm on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet on a previous evening. If Mrs. Green didn't hide it when she knew Steve was going to visit, Shannon probably had no obligation to do so. Still, she felt that it was a real invasion of her hostess's privacy. "Steve," she called, "can't you use the bathroom down here?"

Steve's reason for going upstairs was to place as much distance as possible between himself and Shannon while he relieved the ache. Explaining that was worse than using the bathroom a few feet from her. He went down the few stairs that he had climbed and shut the door. After his experiences that evening, Steve found that freeing his cock from his Jockey briefs was harder work than bringing it to climax.

He sniffed his right hand, which still retained Shannon's odor, for a few seconds before beginning a vigorous stroking over the toilet bowl. He cleaned up the spatters, used the facilities to piss as well, and washed his hands. The latter was a matter of real regret, but he could hardly keep his hand dirty just to have something to sniff at odd moments. Besides, he was afraid that others would be able to smell it, too.

Each of them was dressed neatly, if in rather high color, when he came back into the living room. They actually got a little studying done before he began to yawn. Their kiss good night left them a little more mussed, but it didn't necessitate any rearrangement of underwear.

Steve dreamed of Shannon that night; Shannon was considering, rather than dreaming.

Shannon remembered something about positive reinforcement from a Social Sciences course in tenth grade. She hoped that attending church with Dad would reinforce whatever effort he was exerting behind the scenes about Albion.

Anyway, she generally tried to fulfill parental expectations the mornings after she saw Steve. "Well," she could say, "you never asked if Steve was there, and -- after all -- the study evening didn't interfere with me getting up and going to church."

Besides, Miss Olson, a member of the church, had been Dr. Wyatt's office nurse since Shannon had been his patient. "Miss Olson," she started out, "could I speak to you privately?"

"All right, Shannon," she said, "what did you want to discuss?" She kept her voice neutral. This could be anything from business for the women's group, of which Miss Olson was currently treasurer, to a request for a secret appointment with Doctor. Shannon had been a patient when she came to work for the Doctor.

"It's little Amy Jensen. What's going to happen to her?"

"And what makes you think that I know?" Information about patients was confidential. Shannon really shouldn't ask.

"She's a patient of Dr. Wyatt. She has asthma bad. Every time I go to babysit, I see Dr. Wyatt's phone number on the pad. She's such a sweet kid, and so young! Couldn't you ask Dr. Wyatt?" Shannon felt like crying.

Miss Olson patted Shannon's shoulder. Curiosity was one thing, sympathy was another. "She is a lovely child, isn't she? But you know the parents. They know the prognosis; ask them. I'm sure that they'll be glad to tell you." Which, without quite breaking confidentiality, should let Shannon know that the long- term prognosis was good. "But Doctor doesn't like me talking about his patients, don't you see? I think that your father is looking for you."

In fact, Wayne had seen Shannon and was waiting for her to join him. Happy to have his daughter to sit with him, he wished he had his whole family. Raised a Presbyterian, he was now a Methodist because Allison had insisted. She, more committed to denomination than to faith, missed more services than she attended. He and Shannon found seats just as the prelude was ending.

The theme of the ball before Christmas break was going to be Santa's reindeer. Ken approached Steve about working on the committee. "I don't think so, Ken. I'm putting in all those hours at the store and trying to keep my grades up."

"Come on, Steve. Every senior should be on one dance committee, at least. It gets you a free ticket, too."

"Maybe later."

"I'm thinking of something like 'Be a Dancer or a Prancer at the Donner Party.' How does that sound?"

"Fine Ken, but not good enough to get me on the committee. I'll come to the dance, though."

The weather, which had been unseasonably mild up to then, turned vicious. Steve reluctantly stored his bike in the garage and took the bus every day. The bus wasn't all that reliable either, but you never got into trouble when the school bus made you late to class.

That meant that Steve couldn't walk Shannon home, couldn't even stay after school to chat with her. On many Wednesdays, he could borrow the car. Those days, he could drive her home but not stay and talk. Wednesday afternoons he had to rush home, eat in an indecent hurry, and get to Hauksbee's.

"Shannon," Mr. Jensen asked over the phone, "are you free next week? I know it's getting close to Christmas..."

"What day next week?"

"Your choice. She won't trust any other babysitter but you. You reacted so fast to the pill matter. We figured that we would ask you first."

"One thing, you said that you didn't mind Steve visiting."

"Of course."

"I'd like him to meet Amy. I don't want her coming down the hall and seeing a man that she has never met. How about Tuesday, he's off that night."

"Of course. And we'll make it early." They didn't need to do that for Shannon, but she knew that this was a lost cause. Mrs. Jensen was still breast feeding Peggy, and expressing one bottle was her limit.

Steve showed up, by design, well before Shannon. Peggy looked a lot like a warm lump to him, and one who didn't smell that nice. Amy, on the other hand, was as bright as Shannon had suggested. Besides, Peggy wasn't going to report any wrongdoing; they didn't need her good will.

Amy was used to playing second fiddle to her new sister. When Steve's attention concentrated on her, she responded tenfold. He used a histrionic voice for reading her books, and Amy was charmed. She was getting in serious lap time when Shannon showed up. Shannon's arrival, which always heralded her mother's departure, was bad news. Ten minutes after her parents were out the door, however, Steve was reading Horton Hatches an Egg for the third time.

Shannon didn't know whether to be jealous of Amy for capturing her boyfriend's attention, or of Steve for having a lap that Amy clearly preferred to her own. Then Peggy needed attention, and each of them had a kid to deal with. "Okay," Shannon said when Amy's bed time rolled around. "Do you want to walk to your room, or do you want me to carry you?"

"Teef!" Amy said, and triumphantly rode down the hall in Steve's arms. Shannon did most of the work, but Steve did the lifting and tucking in necessary to put Amy to bed. They both kissed her good night.

"And what," Steve asked when they were again in the living room, "do Mommy and Daddy do when their kids are tucked in?"

"They check their watches because the four-year-old is going to want a glass of water in five minutes." That wasn't really true of Amy, though, and Shannon didn't mind spending the time kissing, so long as that was all they did. They broke to put Amy's books back on her shelf, but ten minutes later Shannon was lying down with Steve kissing her. When he reached for the bottom of her skirt, she grabbed his arm.

"Do you know when to stop?" she asked.

"When you tell me to."

"What if I set a limit now?"

"Are you telling me to stop, now?" And, he wondered, what is stopping? Does she want my hand outside her skirt? If so, why a skirt?

Instead of answering, she hiked up her skirt. It was tight. She didn't have many full ones that weren't also too dressy for babysitting.

"Are you telling me to stop?" Steve asked.

"Not yet. Just establishing that you will."

"You are weird, Shannon. Beautiful but weird." He was quite happy to go back to kissing her, though. And his lips and hand brought her to her crisis once again. This time, when she pulled his hand from between her legs, she brought it to her mouth and kissed it. That made him feel much better. He knew about wanting the stimulation to stop, and didn't mind that she felt that way; he just didn't want her rejecting him. He cradled her as much as the awkward position allowed.

They stayed like that until Peggy's cries interrupted them. This time she was wet and messy. Shannon changed her and gave her a pacifier, but Steve was holding her when the Jensens came home.

Mrs. Jensen shed her coat and recaptured her baby in one continuous motion. She gave Steve an odd look before hurrying down the hall.

Mr. Jensen drove them home. "Was Amy all right?" he asked.

"She was perfectly sweet," Steve said. "Shannon was right about her."

"Humph," said Shannon. "She tried to steal my boyfriend. There wasn't a sign of the asthma, though. That's what he was asking, Steve."

Steve normally got paid on the third and the eighteenth of every month. Conscious of his employees' needs, Hauksbee got the payroll done by Saturday the sixteenth. Steve got to the bank in the last half hour it was open.

"I'm sorry," the cashier said. "This account needs two signatures for withdrawal." Steve knew that, but it wasn't a withdrawal.

"I'm making a deposit. This is a check. I've done this twice a month for more than a year now."

"I know that it is a check, sir; but, technically, you are depositing the check and withdrawing the cash. We don't enforce that rule when the cash is a trivial amount, but you are asking for more than half the check in cash."

"I need that money for my Christmas shopping."

"Well, I can't give you more than seventy-five dollars."

He took it.

The ball that night was called "Reindeer Ramble." They both enjoyed themselves greatly at the dance, Steve enjoyed himself a little less afterwards. The parking time was spent more in talking than in petting.

"I'm not saying no to you, Steve," Shannon said. "I'm saying no to the time and the place. You do see that?" She'd have to remember this, though, when she bought a dress for the Valentine's Day Ball.

"I see it, Shannon. I love you. Look, I want things that I can't have. I'm willing to wait for things I can't have tonight. Besides, although I shouldn't admit it to you, dancing with you in my arms is a sexual experience."

"You're right," she said. "You shouldn't have admitted it. I just thought that you had brought a sausage in your pocket."

"Shannon!" Steve was a little bit shocked. He was also amused and aroused. "Can we -- at least -- kiss?"

They did, until it was time to take her home. After they parted at her doorstep at precisely eleven, they made their separate preparations in their separate houses to ready themselves for their separate beds. There, finally, they met again -- but only in their separate imaginations.

Steve knocked at the Bryants' door the afternoon of the next day.

"Hello, Steven," Mrs. Bryant said. "Shannon's not here. The church youth group is rehearsing carols. I'm surprised that you didn't know." Shannon seemed to know, Allison thought, Steven's every move.

"That's why I'm here. Could you sneak that under the tree before your family opens presents." He handed her a bag containing a box.

"Come in a moment, won't you." She searched up the present Shannon had bought Steven.

Looking at the gorgeous wrappings, Steve felt guilty. "I had the store wrap hers," he said.

"Probably just as well." Kids, she thought as she watched him walk to his car, had such tender egos.

"I gave Steven your present," she told Shannon when she got home. "He came by."

"What did he want?"

"I'm sworn to secrecy." But Allison was not willing to live with her daughter's worrying for a week about whether Steve would get her a present. She would be bad enough wondering what it was.

Steve's father advanced him the cash for the rest of his Christmas shopping. Steve would sign over his check next payday, and get his dad's check for the difference.

Over the Christmas break, Steve and Shannon got to see each other occasionally and to talk on the phone a lot. Most of their meetings were, however, in public and in the light of day. Mallory was back from college, and Steve's parents insisted that the family do things together. Besides, she hogged the phone and accused Steve of doing that himself.

Saturday, Shannon had another baby-sitting job from Mrs. Green. Steve had previously promised to work that night, relieving Mrs. Thompson, but he could stop by afterwards.

That was the only thought that kept her sane while the little monsters were awake. When she finally got them to bed, however, they slept the deep, dreamless sleep of the conscienceless. Mrs. Green had, indeed, moved her diaphragm from the medicine cabinet, making Shannon's earlier worries unnecessary.

That checked, she put her frazzled spirit back together, finished the dinner she'd abandoned when the boys had finished theirs, and cleaned up the worst of the mess. She checked on the boys one last time and settled down with one of Mrs. Green's bodice-rippers to prepare herself for Steve's visit.

Their first kiss was brief. "Brrr," she said.

"Well, let me get this coat off," he replied. That accomplished, he kissed her again.

"Your hands are still cold as ice."

"Cold hands, warm heart," he claimed.

"And what do cold lips demonstrate?"

"That I'm a healthy dog?"

"That's a cold nose, silly."

"I have that too," he said. "I remember now. Cold lips are an infallible sign that the sufferer hasn't been kissed enough by Shannon."

"Does that mean that I should stop kissing you when your lips get warm?"

"Warm lips are a sign that the sufferer hasn't kissed Shannon enough."

She wouldn't let him put his hands on her, though, even over her clothes. He broke the foolishness to use the bathroom. He washed his hands afterwards, rinsing them for minutes under the hottest water that he could stand.

"Much better," she said when he came out and cupped her face for another kiss. Soon, she was lying on the couch with him kneeling on the floor beside it. Their tongues played together while he slipped his hands under her blouse and up to her breasts.