Part 9

Freshman girls occupied the front seats of the bus Steve rode, well away from the freshman boys in the back. When the bus paused for a slow freight, one of the girls approached Steve shyly. "Are you the Steve who saved Amy Jensen?" she asked.

"I'm the Steve who drove her to the hospital," he answered. "Shannon saved her, Shannon and the doctors." The girl went back to her seat and whispered to her friends.

"What's this, Steve?" one of the few juniors on the bus asked. "Robbing the cradle? She looks like she has a crush on you." Steve, unable to come up with a sensible response, gave no response at all. The crossing gates began to clang, ending the incident.

Steve hurried to English class. Shannon got there a minute before the bell. Steve grinned when he saw her, and she returned that smile with interest. They traded disks slowly enough for each to feel the other's fingers, but quickly enough to be in their own seats before the bell had finished ringing.

Mrs. Foster saw some of it, but decided against commenting. Students were always exchanging things; this exchange was technically outside of class time and didn't stretch the PDA rule much. She'd make a comment if either showed that they hadn't read the assignment.

They were both on top of the material, of course. Steve, who hadn't many other chances to shine in front of his girl, had moved English from his last homework priority to his first.

The next chance to see her was lunch. By the time they had transferred the clock-radio from his backpack to hers, she was joined by two of her friends. They had heard of Shannon's grounding by now, and they were being supportive. Steve wished that they would be supportive some other time.

To top it off, Heather joined them. "I heard about your grounding," she said. "That sucks."

"We were looking forward to the Ball, too," Shannon said. "Now, it looks like we won't be going."

"Ken and I will miss you two," Heather said. "We owe you a lot."

"Ken and you?" Steve asked.

"Yeah. He asked me to be his date to the ball. And that wouldn't have happened without Shannon."

Shannon picked up her own tray when he picked up his, they -- all knowing he would normally take her dirty dishes back with his -- guessed that she wanted the moment alone with him. The two of them left the others still sitting at the table. "Love you," he said as they walked towards the wash area.

"Likewise," she said as they were suddenly surrounded by a mob of kids moving in the opposite direction. Then they parted for the rest of the day.

Steve couldn't read Shannon's letter until after he got home from work and shoveled the walk. When he did read it, he was devastated. She didn't want the talk about their future sexual activities, and most of his last letter had been just that.

He wrote a heartfelt apology. But he did end up with a set of questions:

> We've said that we might get married, and we'll
> talk more about that when we know what it means.
> Well, if we did, we'd have to settle some questions.
> I'm not trying to settle them right now, I'm just
> taking an opinion poll.

> Where would you like to live? A chemist can live in
> lots of places, just not all places. They live in
> cities and small towns. Not, as I hear, the
> *nicest* small towns. And in all sections of the
> country. I couldn't make a living here.

> Do you want children? When I see you taking care of
> kids, I can tell how good you'd be with your own.
> Anyway, I do love you and want to be good to you.
> I'm just not totally clear how.

It had been harder to get to sleep at nine o'clock than Shannon had expected, and it was harder to wake up at two- thirty. She'd read Steve's letter as soon as possible, but turned to homework and the housework her mother assigned her right afterwards.

Now, she decided to put off her excursions into the rest of the house and only deal with the letter. She wanted to save the fantasy and, after thinking for a minute, decided to save the entire letter onto a disk she could keep.

It had been awfully fresh of him to sneak the kiss down there into the letter. On the other hand, it was sexy to think about. It was a little dirty, too; but Shannon was feeling a lot happier about being dirty these days. Look where being a good girl got her, after all.

Still, that didn't mean Steve got to decide whether she would permit that.

> S weetest girl in whole world.
> H eart's delight.
> A wesomely beautiful
> N aiad of the
> N uzzleble nape
> O f the
> N eck.

> I'll do better when I've got farther in the
> dictionary. But I wish I were nuzzling your nape
> right now.
>

I wish you were, too.
You're sweet.

The whole letter was sweet. She didn't grade Steve on his love notes, whether being called a naiad was really a compliment. Intent was more than enough. And his intent was clear.

> As I didn't go to the dance last night, I'm
> swimming in cash. Don't think about the cost of
> the clock until YOUR cash flow revives.

Mr. Jensen paid me $100 in cash, I've got it hidden in my
room. So I'm in fine shape. And don't you even dare *think*
about going to the dance.

> If this doesn't bug you, write what you are wearing
> each time. What do you wear to bed, anyway? We
> have a thermostat, but still my room gets colder in
> colder weather. (Parts of the hall get hotter in
> cold weather, go figure.) Anyway, I wear pajamas
> in January, but I sleep in my skin much of the year.

> Of course, none of this does anything for girls,
> does it? Anyway, write what time you bathe, too.
> Shower or tub? Then I can picture you like that.

That was a little weird. Boys were a little weird. But still, she answered him.

It does a little for me, the bare skin, but
you in your pajamas and robe?? I'm wearing a
nightgown, robe and slippers. The nightie and robe
are both warm. No panties, if you like that.

I usually take showers. 8:30 or so these days. P.M.

She hoped he liked that. She wanted him to think of her as sexually desirable -- maybe not sexually available, but sexually desirable.

Did she want him imagining her taking her shower? What was sexy about taking a shower? Boys, she told herself again, were weird.

Weirder still was the bit about the store manager embarrassing his wife. He couldn't enjoy making her blush like that could he? Would Steve embarrass her in front of other people because he liked to see her blush?

On the other hand, she liked the fantasy and would tell him so. She couldn't expect him to write her fantasies -- or anything, really, if all she told him was the parts she didn't like.

You men!

Don't you ever do anything like that to me.

But your fantasy was *Hot!*
I loved it.

> kissing her all over, Steve picks Shannon a beauquai
> (My spell checker doesn't have that word.) of

"Steve!
Bouquet. B O U Q U E T"

Some times he was so smart, and other times he acted like such an idiot.

> They have brought her climax in this fashion often
> in their married life, but not this time. He licks
> her sweetness until she is writhing in desire, and
> then

That was the problem. Would she let him? Her mother wouldn't tell; the bodice rippers made it out to be so special; but the idea was so gross. Whatever, it was her body and her decision. He couldn't say that they would.

You can't sneak that in that easily. I haven't
decided about that. You can't just say that I will
just because it's your fantasy.

> Later that day, she sprays his back where the sun
> burned it. She sees, brown of the old tan against
> the brighter red, the prints of her hands where she
> had held him.

His tanned back would get burned, what about the insides of her thighs? Still, it was his fantasy and his sunburn. Wouldn't do to admit that, though.

And what about my sunburn? Seems to me that it
would be worse.

> "I love you," he says. "I know," she replies.

"I'd say "I love you too." I always do."

> Anyway, that's MY fantasy for tonight.

That was *lovely*.
It will be my fantasy for tonight, as well. Too bad
it is Sunday for you and Monday for me.

> And I love you in reality as well as in fantasy.

And I love you. The real you and the loving husband
in the fantasy.

And she did love them both. It didn't hurt that he was fantasizing about being married to her, either.

Tuesday morning, Steve checked with his mom about inviting Ken home with him. "Of course," she said. "We haven't seen him for a while."

Steve got a big smile with his disk. He was puzzled as well as apologetic. But there wasn't time to talk.

"Must you two pass those disks around during class?" Mrs. Foster said.

"No, ma'm. We'll wait until lunch next time," Steve responded. Mrs. Foster hadn't been asking, and the answer communicated to Shannon.

All they could trade was 'love you's as they left class.

Neither Shannon nor Steve had been at all reticent about Shannon's grounding and the reason. The story had spread, as had Mrs. Jensen's version. In the way of stories, complicating details had been lost. A few kids, on the distant ends of two different communications chains, learned two stories. In one, two seniors had saved a baby's life by rushing it to the hospital. In the other, a babysitter and her boyfriend had been caught stark naked fucking on the living room rug when the parents got home early.

Most of the stories had them discovered by the child who came out feeling sick. No student, not even the occasional virgin who had herself snuck a boyfriend into homes when she was babysitting, was willing to consider anything short of naked coitus. The story demanded that much.

One oasis of disbelief consisted of Shannon's close friends. Diane summed up the consensus. "Steve might get her into bed, but he's not getting her onto some sofa or rug in a stranger's house. Not Shannon!Matter of fact, Steve probably should start saving up now for the silk sheets."

Most of Steve's friends didn't believe that there were any virgins (except, in some cases, themselves) in the senior class. But among that group Ken's question made some impression. "Let's see. Steve, Shannon, and the baby are there. That's all. Steve's not telling this; Shannon's not telling this; the baby couldn't tell this. Who's telling this?"

"Ken," Mr. Babaian had said after hearing that response, "I foresee a great future for you in abstract math. But I'll never understand either your success in student politics or your interest in it."

Meanwhile, the subjects of all this gossip met for lunch. "Sorry for that letter," said Steve. "I hadn't read yours about not pushing yet."

"Well, you shouldn't have pushed anyway," Shannon answered, thinking about the genital kiss. "But I loved the rest of the story anyhow."

And, before Steve could figure that out, they were joined by another two of her friends. "Don't you wish that you could come to the committee meetings, at least?" Steve asked.

"I'd kill for that," she said.

He looked a little odd at that remark, but neither of them pursued the subject.

"Look, guys," Steve said after a little chatter, "I think we're all agreed that Shannon's parents were way out of line. I certainly think so, but Shannon gets to brood on that 24 hours a day. Can't we talk about something else?"

For a minute they couldn't. Then one of the girls started talking about the digital camera she had and the pictures of the group that she had taken. The pictures were on her web page.

"That's another restriction," Shannon said. "I can't browse the web except for homework, and my mother watches to make sure. Can you send those pictures to Steve? Steve, would you pass them on?"

"Sure!Just put 'Shannon' as the first word on the subject line. I'm on a few spam lists, and I might toss it otherwise." He wrote down his screen name for the girl. Then the two of them passed out a few more copies for anyone who might want to write her. "It takes a long time," he warned them. "You'll see her before she gets the disk, let alone reads it." Still, getting mail again was a little more freedom.

"I have other friends, though. With you guys, I don't really need e-mail. But my dad cut off my computer from the phone lines. I can't access that account at all."

Steve clamped his jaw to keep from correcting her. 'Not in front of her friends, ' he kept telling himself.

Joyce wasn't so reticent. "It doesn't work that way. Tell her, Steve."

"You can connect from anywhere. My dad connects from all over the state. Well, half over the state. That's why you use a password."

"Could you?" Shannon asked. "I mean connect from your computer?"

"I couldn't. I don't know the password. But you could."

"Why don't you know the password? You gave it to me."

"You didn't change your password? I told you to."

"I didn't see the sense," she said. "Besides, I liked what it said." Steve buried his head in his hands. By now, he was sure, the entire table knew the password was stVlvSshN. Well, maybe his trick of capitalization hadn't been spilled yet.

"She trusts you, Steve," Joyce said. "Not that she has any secrets to keep. Honey," she turned to Shannon, "you don't share your password with anybody. Even if you don't have any secrets there, it's just a bad habit. And you should have changed it more than once since then. I bet Steve has changed his."

"Since September? Three times," Steve said. Shannon was taking this lecture from Joyce a lot better than she would have taken it from him.

"As for the rest of us," Joyce said. "We can bring our own disks to Shannon. Going through Steve would only complicate things."

"But you could download my mail?" Shannon asked.

"I'll download your mail. And I'll change your password. Just be a good girl, or I won't tell you what the new one is."

She stuck her tongue out at him. If they had been truly alone, off school property, he would have kissed it. The memory of doing so started to harden him. Luckily, the girls were chattering so much that he could just listen for a while.

After the committee meeting, he and Ken caught the same ride to their neighborhood. "My mom said that I could invite you over," he told Ken. "Want dinner tonight?"

"Sure!" It had been a long time since Ken had visited Steve's family. At first, he'd been so embarrased by the last visit he'd turned down some invitations. Then, Steve had stopped asking him.

Steve's mom commented on the length of his absence. "Steve prefers Shannon's company to mine," Ken said. "I can't blame him at all."

"Well, you're welcome here. Don't you have to call your mother?" Actually, he didn't. But the phone call was much easier than admitting to Mrs. Anderson that he didn't.

At dinner, Steve's parents complimented Ken on his selection by the U of C. Steve had told them about early selection, the scholarship, and everything. Ken didn't mind telling it again, and they were generous in their praise.

"Chicago made the only decision it could," Steve said suddenly. "All the suspense was whether they would see you for what you are. What I want to know is what Heather sees in you."

"Steve!" his mom said.

"It's all right, Mrs. Anderson," said Ken. "When you find out, Steve, tell me."

"You aren't as hard to like as you think, Ken," Mrs. Anderson said.

This was too close to the comment which had led Ken to embarrassing himself on the earlier visit. He clamped his mouth shut, and the conversation moved away from him.

Afterwards, they went off to Steve's room. "You said once that you owed Shannon big time. I figure that the debt has only grown bigger."

Ken raised an eyebrow.

"You can sic that famous brain of yours onto people when you want to bad enough. Figure out a way to get her mother to allow Shannon to come to Committee meetings. Come on, I know the woman; she is not as bright as her daughter is. She sure isn't as bright as you're supposed to be. Figure out a con. You said it, man; you owe Shannon."

Ken looked at Steve. Did he really think that Ken owed Shannon that much? Did Steve really think that Ken would do something for Shannon that he wouldn't do for Steve -- that he wouldn't do for Mrs. Anderson's son? Maybe not. He hadn't asked in school; he had brought Ken home for a meal with his parents before asking the question. "I'll try," he said.

Soon after he got home, he tried. "Mrs. Bryant? This is Ken Dalton. I'm the student-council president at Shannon's high school."

"I'm sorry, Ken. Shannon isn't permitted to receive phone calls. We've restricted her social life."

"Yes ma'am. You are the person I wanted to talk to. You see, when you restricted her social life, you excused her from an obligation she had made to the school. Shannon was on the committee to plan and work on the Valentine's Day ball. She participated in the planning; her opinions got into the mix. Now that there is work to be done, she is grounded."

"You meet after school, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am. That's the only way to get a group from across the school together. We've been meeting after school. Of course, we don't expect every student to show up every day. But we do expect three days a week from every member of the committee for work projects, as well as the Saturday morning before the ball. And committee members sign up under that understanding. Now, you've taken one of my committee members away. And another committee member has already begged off work on the Saturday morning."

"Well, you can blame someone else for that," Allison said. She didn't know why she was still listening to this boy.

"Blame wasn't on my mind, ma'am. But I don't think Steve Anderson would have backed out if you hadn't acted. Steve was willing to lose a payday to take Shannon to the ball. He isn't willing to lose a payday to prepare for a dance he won't attend."

"But he stays after school?"

"He did tonight. He doesn't Mondays and Wednesdays. You do know that he works at Hauksbee's don't you?"

Had Shannon's parents been deaf, they still would have heard all about Steven's work schedule. The discussion went back and forth. Allison was quite surprised to find that she had agreed that Shannon could stay after school the next day and also Monday and Wednesday of the next week.

"I'm very grateful, ma'am. And you'll keep Saturday morning in mind if Shannon behaves well for these days?"

"I'll think about it."

"That is all I ask," said Ken.

Allison had second thoughts, although riding herd on Shannon had been as hard on her nerves as it had been on Shannon's. She waited until Wayne was in bed to broach the subject. "I did tell him I would let her," she said. "But now, I don't know. I do know that I should have asked you."

"Well," said Wayne, "really this is only permission until she misbehaves the first time. I don't mind that you decided for us. I've told you before, I trust your instincts."

"After what she pulled on us for half the year? You trust my instincts?"

"Well, dear, I don't really trust them. I just trust them much better than my own. Besides, that's three days when you don't have to ride herd on her so early. You can leave the realtor's office at the normal quitting time.

Since Shannon seemed to be sleeping longer hours to avoid them, Allison waited until morning to tell her.

Steve was watching TV with his dad and mom when 8:30 came. He couldn't remember a thing about the upstairs bathroom at the Bryants'. So he pictured Shannon getting into the tub at his own house. He hardened at the image of her removing bra and panties to stand there in her glory. He pictured her raising her arms and turning to let to let the spray hit under her arms; her breasts, high and firm when she stood normally, rose and pointed when she did that. At that point, however, he needed to either pay more attention to his cock or less attention to her body. He went back to watching TV.

When he did go to his room, he downloaded his mail, and then Shannon's. He figured that luV%ewE was good enough for her new password. Then answering her disk was the first priority. He had already read it as he ran the new margins. Shannon hadn't understood what he'd said about that, and no wonder.

> Just keep on the way you have been doing.
> It works just fine.

>> It does a little for me, the bare skin, but you in
>> your pajamas and robe?? I'm wearing a nightgown,
>> robe and slippers. The nightie and robe are both
>> warm. No panties, if you like that.


> I LIKE that.
> I'll dream about Shannon lying next to me with no
> panties on. I'll dream about pulling up the
> nightie. You don't wear the robe to bed, I'm sure.

> And I'll wear nothing at all. I've decided that, if
> we are only going to have fantasies for the next few
> weeks, I'm going to leave off fantasies about the
> winter months. Dec. excepted.

> Wouldn't want to miss Christmas.

>> I usually take showers. 8:30 or so these days.
>> P.M.

> I'll be picturing you. At least when I'm not at the
> store.


>> Your fantasy was *Hot!*
>> I loved it.

> IM glad. I'll try to keep thinking them up.

>> You can't sneak that in that easily. I haven't
>> decided about that. You can't just say that I will
>> just because it's your fantasy.

> We don't have to do it.
> I've said that I won't push. But the couple in the
> story were MARRIED. You wouldn't stop your husband
> from kissing you anywhere would you?"

Confused about what she allowed and didn't allow in these fantasies he sent her, he decided to put it in a separate file. He finished the letter, spell-checked it, and saved it. Then he tried to be hot again.

> They are visiting friends and go to bed in the spare
> room. He's wearing PJs for once; she's in her
> concealing nightie -- after all they are in someone
> else's house. He pulls up the skirt of her
> nightgown and opens the pajama pants so that he is
> lying against her bareness. After he caresses her
> for a while, she turns and kisses him. The springs
> squeak when she turns.

> Her nightie rides higher, his hands roam lower.

> They are both getting very hot. She turns onto her
> back and spreads her legs. The springs squeak.
> "Shhh!" he says.

> He leans over to kiss her mouth in the new position.
> The bed squeaks. "Shhh!" she says.

> She wants him inside her, finishing what they have
> started. He wants to enter her, aches for the
> feeling of her around him. They both know that the
> squeaks will be heard. Can they lie without moving?
> Can they move without the rhythm?

> Finally, he has an idea. He climbs out to a pattern
> of squeaks. He leads her out and over to a desk
> across the room.

> Getting the idea, she rests her head on the desk.
> He stands behind her in his PJ shirt, his hands
> under her pulled-up nightie. He plays with the
> nipples on her breasts. He moves one hand to her
> even-more sensitive parts. Finally, she can't stand
> the waiting.

> She reaches back and guides him inside her. Then
> they move back and forth. He strokes inside her,
> she grips around him.

> They both come, suppressing their groans. She sinks
> down onto the desk, he leans on it as his knees
> almost buckle. They are pressed against each other
> as much as they ever are in bed, but the parts which
> touch are different.

> Slowly they recover and stand up. He puts the
> pajama pants back on before they curl up together in
> the bed.

> "Love you," he whispers.

> "Love you," she replies.

> He nuzzles her neck as they fall asleep.

Steve spell-checked the story and buried the disk in his backpack. He did what he had to on his homework, distracted by flashbacks to his fantasy.

Shannon found it easier to go to sleep that night, and easier to wake up when the music came on softly. She turned the radio off as soon as she was awake, and lay for a minute listening for any motion from her parents.

She would have been glad to turn over and go back to sleep. There were things to do, however. She put on her robe and slippers. Once she got downstairs, she knew what she wanted to do first. She got the glass from the kitchen and poured an inch and a half of creme de menthe into it. The bottle was half full, and her father might notice any greater depletion. She took it back up to her room for the first phase of her misbehavior.

She took a generous swig from the glass, and almost spit the bitter stuff out of her mouth. A little creme de menthe had added complex flavor to a large serving of ice cream. Taken straight, it tasted awful. She poured the rest down the toilet, rinsed her glass twice, and used the facilities. She brushed her teeth to get rid of the last of the taste. Whether she had got rid of the penetrating odor, she couldn't guess.

The bourbon hadn't tasted quite that bad, but it had tasted bad enough. She decided not to sample it again.

Here she was, up when her captors were asleep, free to do almost anything. Except that almost everyone else was asleep, too. It was winter, and she had no desire to wander the empty streets. Her first choice for being a bad girl had tasted awful.

The most fun thing she could imagine was answering Steve's e- mail. All alone in the house, and her best temptation was answering mail. If the devil was the tempter, as some Sunday- school teacher had said, he sure wasn't interested in Shannon.

And Steve's letter was much less tempting than his previous one had been.

He was very apologetic for the pushing, but a little confused about it too.

>> All talk about anything down to here.

> I'm sorry, darling. And my last letter was far
> worse. All I can say is that I hadn't read this
> then.

Your last letter
wasn't bad at all. (Except for the kisses in my
private place. And even that wasn't as bad as the
pressure.)


It wasn't as bad as you make it sound now.

I do know that you love me. And having your
support is a consolation.

> Okay!
> I won't write any more about that.

> I'm serious about that. I'm not saying that I
> don't WANT what we aren't going to discuss after
> this letter. I am saying that I want a lifetime
> with Shannon. I won't throw that chance away for a
> night.

> Again, I'll follow your rules, but I'm not terribly
> clear what those are.

I'm not terribly clear either.
I can feel them, but I can't say them clearly.

> Anyway,
> We aren't talking about that right now.

;-) ;-) ;-)

> Where would you like to live? A chemist can live
> in lots of places, just not all places. They live
> in cities and small towns. Not, as I hear, the
> *nicest* small towns. And in all sections of the
> country. I couldn't make a living here.

I don't know. I don't want to live in a city;
that's for sure.

> Do you want children? When I see you taking care
> of kids, I can tell how good you'd be with your
> own.

I keep thinking of myself with one daughter. Not
that mothers get to choose. But that's because of
seeing Mom with me. Yes, I do love kids. I want
at least one.

> Anyway, I do love you

And I love you.

This has been a bad day,
even though I got to see you. I had this thing all
planned out. I'd get up at 2:30 and have the house
to myself. Well, I have the house to myself, but
what is there to do? I prided myself on being a
good person, on resisting temptation. Now, I can't
find the temptation to yield to it.

And, no, I'm still not going to yield to *that*
temptation, keep your dirty mind to yourself. Not
that I could get you in here, anyway.

On second thought, I'm still not going to yield to
that temptation, but I like your dirty mind more and
more. So keep those fantasies coming.