Chapter 3

It was raining on Saturday morning. I insisted on driving her to her appointment with Ellen because she didn't have a raincoat or umbrella. She said there was no need to leave before nine. Ellen was not an early riser. I told her to come to the shop when it was time to leave.

Her hair was wet and moisture was dripping from her face onto the heavy coat when she came into the shop. She blinked her eyes and more water dripped to the floor. She looked around and must have noticed that the other employees were not there. Marty and I were working on floral arrangements.

"I'll help for an hour and then I'll take the bus since you're going to be busy," she offered.

"Go on and take her," Marty said to me. "There won't be much walk-in business today and these deliveries can wait until the weather breaks."

"I'll take one of those yellow roses," Ardy said, pointing to the storage cooler.

"Only one? Here you go," Marty said as he handed it to her.

"How much?"

"No charge. Don't get it wet. Let me wrap it for you," Marty said as he slipped a plastic bag over the long-stemmed rose to protect it from the rain.

"I have to pay," Ardy said. There was a determination in her voice. She repeated, "I have to pay for it."

"What was that all about?" I asked Ardy about having insisted on paying for the rose when we were in the car.

"It's the principle. First, I'm not supposed to bring her gifts or give her advice but I do those things. I'm breaking the rules and I admit that. But at least I paid for the rose. If I had let Marty give it to me it would mean I was begging for her and that would be worse."

I looked at her and shrugged. Nothing of what she had said made sense to me. Ellen would never need to know if Ardy had paid for the rose, received it as a gift or stolen it.

She made a face. "You don't understand, do you?"

"I can safely say that I do not understand the logic in what you said."

She turned in the seat, making moisture drip from her hair and eyes and nose. "It's the same with us. Aunt Bertha doesn't know I go to your bed because I haven't told her. That's the same as lying. And if she ever found out I'm sleeping with you she would simply."

"We're not sleeping together, not in the way Miss Bertha would find objectionable."

"It's the same. We kiss and I let you put your hands ___ places."

I wondered if I had heard her correctly. The last sentence had been delivered very quietly. She was staring straight ahead at the windshield wipers, busy at work. I extended my right hand and she took it in hers but she didn't look my way.

"Does it bother you Ardy? Is what we do straining that little guilt bone you carry around?"

"It bothers me when I try to tell Ellen how to conduct her life and she rejects my suggestions. I don't know why I do it, the same as not knowing why I want to be near you at night and kiss and let you put your hand places. It bothers me that I can't tell Aunt Bertha how I feel about you."

For a moment I was stunned at her admission, overwhelmed really.

"Then you'll have to stop doing those things. Don't take the rose to Ellen and stop coming into my room. It's more important that you have a clear conscience than to have the good feeling that doing things for others gives you."

I felt her squeeze my hand. There was a look of anxiety on her face. "It's not that simple Jimmy. I need you. You're my somniferous pillow."

"Huh?" She smiled and told me to look it up.

The rain slacked off and I was able to slow the windshield wipers as we entered the south part of town where Ellen's apartment was located. Ardy directed me to turn onto a narrow street.

She closed the distance between us to give me a fast kiss, thanking me for the ride as she got out of the car. Driving away I passed a little boy playing in a rain puddle and looking in the rearview mirror I saw Ardy speaking with him. She was holding the yellow rose and laughing at something he said.

That night was the night she came home wet and cold. I drew her hot bath, made her a sandwich and ordered her to drink brandy in hot water. Afterwards, I dried her, kissed her and carried her to bed, the one in her room as she had suggested.

The night flooded my brain when I awoke after drifting to sleep in her arms, and looked around the room Her room. My God! What have I done? Had I wanted it to happen? Had she? Obviously, she had.

She came in, wearing the T-shirt and socks from the night before and carrying a glass of orange juice. She handed the juice to me, stripped off the shirt and climbed into bed, casually watching as I drank the juice.

"I'm so embarrassed," I said when she came into my arms.

"Why are you embarrassed?" She sounded surprised as she kissed me.

"The way I acted, I was such a brute. I'm sorry," I said, feeling her tits move on my chest as she rearranged her body.

"You were NOT a brute. You were gentle."

"I was. I heard you cry but I plunged ahead. It's not supposed to be like that."

"You stopped. It was me that told you to push." She was snuggling, moving gently against me.

I responded to her kisses, running my hands over her back, down to the cheeks of her ass and between her thighs.

"I hurt you."

"Stop fretting, it had to be done." She lifted herself and peered down at me. Her eyes were glistening and she was smiling.

"Are you really okay? I didn't hurt you?"

"I'm fine. I'm not a little girl any more. You made me a woman."

We kissed passionately and when I rolled her onto her back she pulled my shorts down, freeing my cock.

"Are you involved with me?" I asked as I ran my hand along her inner thigh and felt wetness at the junction.

"Very," she said, pushing her pelvis towards my hand.

I was determined to make up for my selfish actions the night before. I took a nipple between my lips and made it harden with my tongue. She arched her back and stroked my hair, moaning quietly. I massaged her clit with my thumb and sucked her other nipple. She shrieked when I made her come, rewarding me for my efforts with wild stabs into the air and hysterical threat. "You're KILLING me. Keep DOING that." I had never heard her so vocal before.

"Are we involved?"

"YES!"

"Are we involved?"

"YES!"

"Am I possessive?"

"YES! YES!"

"Do you want me to be possessive?"

"YES! I want you to possess me. I want you to own me."

"Are you my woman?"

"YES!"

Later, she saw through me. "You're sad because you got caught up in it and made me say those things, aren't you?"

"I'm mad at myself for putting you through it. We should have talked about it."

"You're being a prude. I'm 21, its time I lost it."

I stopped blaming myself for what I had done. She was a woman and happy for it.

"Ardy?" I said at the breakfast table the following morning. I never tired of seeing her eyes open expectantly when I said her name. "Did I say something last night that... ?"

She was looking down at her plate, her body still. It took me a minute to see that she was trying to hold back tears. But when she lifted her head they were there, one from each eye, running down her cheeks. She nodded.

"I meant it. I want you to know that it wasn't something said in a moment of passion. I really do."

"I love you too, more than you'll ever know."

We drove home, arriving late on Wednesday night before Thanksgiving. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep alone," she said when I walked her to Bertha's door.

My sister caught on as soon as she answered the phone the next morning and had to wake me to take the call from Ardy.

"You're doing it, aren't you?" Karen said as she followed me back to my room and watched me dress. She was engaged to be married in the summer, something she talked about constantly until she made the discovery about Ardy and me.

"I don't ask you personal questions," I said, wanting her to drop it.

"What was the phone call about then?" Ardy had called to whisper that she missed me and wanted to know if we could leave to go back to school the next day.

"She wanted to remind me of something. That's all."

"You've got it bad, little brother."

"Can we drop this?" I had forgotten what a persistent pest she could be.

"Tell me. Tell me everything or I'll stand up just when grandmother complains that the stuffing is too spicy and I'll say, 'Jimmy has some spice he wants to tell us about.'"

I tackled her. "God, you're getting heavy," I said as I carried her to the bed.

"Tell me," she giggled.

"Will you keep your trap shut at dinner?"

"I will if you give me the spicy version." My devious sister had me cornered. I wondered how she had gotten Brad to propose. I told her about my obsession with Ardy, my obsession to protect her, to make her safe and to love her.

My sister was watching me as I talked with a knowing smile on her lips.

I told my sister about a conversation with Ardy that took place shortly after we revealed our love. I asked her why she had chosen me and she said it had been building for a while, but it was the rainy day I took her to see Ellen that she knew for sure. As I drove away I had seen her talking to a little boy.

"Is that your man?" Stephan had asked. He was Ellen's oldest son. Ardy said she paused to ponder his question.

"Yes, he's my man," she answered.

"And that was the night she came home wet and cold and hungry. That was the night I warmed her up and took her to bed," I ended the story.

Much to the chagrin of Bertha and my parents, Ardy and I left for school early the next morning, saying we had school projects that needed our attention. In reality, we had slept alone two nights in a row and hated being apart.

"My sister knows about us," I said as soon as we were under way.

"NO! You didn't tell her, did you?"

"She figured it out. Your phone calls gave her the clue," I said, teasingly. Ardy had called again after a mid-day dinner and again that night.

"You called me too," she reminded me. It was true. I had called her twice between her phone calls and we had talked for 20 minutes, about nothing in particular.

"I think Aunt Bertha suspects something but she didn't say anything. What did your sister say?"

I related my conversation with Karen, ending with her comment, "That's a lovely story."

We resumed our study with renewed energy, brought about by Ardy's drive and her insistence that I apply myself. She motivated me to work hard and I tried to slow her down. But our desire to please one another did little to break our old habits. She excelled at everything while I did enough to get by.

My past sexual experience was limited to two encounters which were exciting but turned out less than spectacular. Ardy attacked the subject like it was one of her courses in school, reading everything she could find, making notes and conducting laboratory experiments which I enjoyed very much. She applied her zest for knowledge to the study of the science of sex. We practiced and became very proficient in all phases of the course.