Chapter 27: Selecting a Volunteer

On Monday morning I overslept. Having had my bedtime delayed by Petri's telephone call and having it interrupted by Ollie's telephone call and being awakened again by Laura's hand around my cock in the early morning gave me three good reasons to turn off the alarm and go back to sleep.

Petri's call came early and was welcome. She was alone and wanted someone to talk to. I was alone too. Unbeknownst to her, Petri supplied some helpful information. Huley was out with Jake Trainer and had taken action to deceive her parents. Her plan was to sneak into the house long after her parents came home.

Ollie's call was reactionary. Having concluded that Huley must be with me, his attack upon me was punctuated with abrupt bluster. When Huley arrived home Ollie dropped the phone to confront her for coming home so late. Rosita apologized for her husband's mistake. I took advantage of the situation and learned the name of Ollie's lawyer, which I wanted in case I had to ask Mr. Waite to intercede in our dispute.

Laura's interruption of my sleep was a welcome interlude. She stripped me of my shorts and gave me step-by-step instructions as to what she wanted me to do to scratch the itch she claimed to have had for days.

When I left for school Laura was sleeping and Charles was working on the picket fence. He was putting it together in sections and said someone from Jimmy's crew would help him fit them together.

At lunchtime I checked the cafeteria, hoping to return the book to Huley but she was not there. I wondered if she had slept in after the late night or if it was something more serious, like Ollie striking her again. I hoped that she had merely decided to get some rest.

I tried to get Katherine's attention in the library but she would not look at me until I was standing in front of the table where she was sitting.

"You can talk to me, I handed the paper in this morning," I said. The paper was not due until the end of the week but the subject was beginning to bore me. Having found out some of Mrs. Davenport's quirks, I decided to play it safe and not stray from the formula Katherine had suggested.

She furrowed her brow, "It would not be a good idea. Sheila asked me to read the papers again. She has spies everywhere."

I moved away and took a seat across the room. Twice, when I looked in her direction I caught her watching me. She smiled and bowed her head, embarrassed. The second time it happened I smiled back. When I looked again she was not there.

I got home early because of our dinner date with the Waites. I knew something was wrong immediately. The tears in her eyes I saw when she came into my arms were uncharacteristic. She was shaking.

I didn't have to ask. I knew it had to be something to do with Ollie. I held her. Neither of us spoke.

We must have stood in the middle of the kitchen for five minutes, Laura shaking and me trying to console her.

She stepped back, her face serene but awash with stains and strain. Her eye fastened to mine as she came back to me. She balked when I tried to steer her toward the bedroom, her body resuming the shaking that I had witnessed a few minutes before.

She took me by the hand and led me to the second bedroom. It took her seconds to shuck her clothes and when I did not follow her lead she tucked the tip of her tongue between her lips and made short work of stripping me, letting my clothes drop to the floor.

"Hold me," she said. With only the sheet over us it made the heat our bodies generated noticeable.

She stopped me when I stroked her back. "Just hold me. I want to be reminded by the chill that you can not shield me from my past."

"But I can," I protested, moving my hands down her back. Her body went rigid, telling me to stop. The palm of my hand was at the small of her back.

She signaled that she wanted to take her favorite position, me on my back and her head resting on my chest. I could feel the ends of her hair tickle my thumb.

"Don't do that," she cautioned lazily when I pulled a strand of her hair gently. "Let me feel the chill."

"Because the chill represents your past and you want to be reminded of it?"

"That's right. You're helpless to erase it. Don't move your hand. Don't do anything to make me more comfortable."

This made no sense. How long did she need to feel the chill? How long did I need to feel it? I was hungry.

"Want to kiss me?"

"No, kissing you would be enjoyable and that would make me comfortable."

"Want me to move my hand from you back?"

"No, leave it there but don't move it."

"What does my hand being there represent?"

She was silent. I felt her breath move the hair on my chest. I wondered if she heard my question. Was she asleep? "It tells me you would like to wipe the slate clean but you can't. If you could you would rub my back and make the goose bumps disappear. You would rub the cheeks of my ass and make me forget. But you can't do that. Keep your hand there to remind me that you care."

"That's deep," I said as soberly as I could, afraid that a snicker would generate heat and thereby make her more comfortable.

"It's not deep. It's just the way I feel right now. By indulging me you are showing that you care."

"Getting goose bumps for you shows that I care? What about kissing? Wouldn't a kiss or two show you that I care for you?"

"It's not the same at all. Kissing would express our feelings for one another but in so doing it would make me more comfortable. It would take the goose bumps away. I need the goose bumps right now. Indulge me."

The areas where our bodies touched were warm. I could feel heat being transferred from her face and tits on my chest and where my hand rested in the small of her back but my legs were beginning to get cold. The single sheet did nothing to stave off the cool air that I realized, was due to the heat having been turned off. Was this Laura's doing? When had the telephone call arrived? I was cold and hungry.

"Can I move my legs?"

"My legs are cold too but we mustn't move them."

"Can I put my left hand on you butt? I would like to squeeze it."

"That sounds delicious but you mustn't."

"Imagine how good it would feel. Is your butt getting cold?"

"Don't talk that way. Don't make me think about how good it would feel. It's none of your business if my butt is cold."

At least she was not mad at me for bringing about Ollie's most recent phone call. She had not met me at the back door with fists flying. Was this her way of punishing me? Why was she punishing herself?

"Why aren't you mad at me?"

"It's not your fault, it's mine," she said, sliding her body up to plant her lips on mine and feeling my hand on her ass. "Stop that."

"You're the one that moved. My hand stayed where it was and ended up on your ass," I reasoned.

"Get your hand off of my butt," she demanded. I complied, moving it to the small of her back. She propped herself on her elbows to kiss me again.

"Are you expressing your feeling toward me or making me more comfortable?"

"Both," she said between kisses.

Hearing this I decided the punishment was over. I rolled her onto her back and began kissing her. Laura's protest was drowned out, not by its noise but by the shock of hearing the doorbell ring. We dressed hurriedly in our pants and shirts and Laura answered the back door with bare feet. I followed with her socks and shoes. It was Sylvia. She was delivering Laura's dry cleaning that she had picked up after work.

"Did I interrupt something?" Sylvia wanted to know, a quizzical smirk on her face. We explained that we were in the midst of dressing for dinner but when we saw her skepticism we admitted that we had been in bed and thanked her for the interruption. We had less than an hour to get ready.

Laura would not go near the answering machine. I had to bring underwear, stockings and shoes to the second bedroom where she dressed. I dressed there too because I loved to watch her roll the silk stockings up her legs before stepping into her panties. She smiled and held the bra, offering for me to help her put it on.

"I hope it doesn't take you that long to take a girl's bra off," she chided me as I fumbled with the fasteners. I had deliberately reached around her, blindly attempting to connect the two sides of the bra together.

"Brush my hair," she said, handing me the brush as she took charge of fastening her own bra. Instead of turning, she stood facing me.

She watched me work for a few moments before she spoke. "I need to ask you something."

"Go ahead," I said, wondering if I was missing rumpled hair that I could not see.

"Tell me, if I go off of the pill can I trust you to make sure we take precautions?"

I stopped brushing, letting what she was saying sink in. She took the brush from me and began to brush her hair. What was she saying? I didn't know she used the pill for birth control. I had never seen her take them. What's more, I had never seriously considered the possibility that she could become pregnant. Did this mean she wanted to get pregnant? No, she had asked if she could trust me to make sure we took precautions.

"Does that mean we need to stock up on rubbers?" Immediately regretting having asked that question, I retreated. "Forget that. Why are you stopping the pill?"

Laura was walking and brushing. She honored my request to disregard my first question. "I'm a one man woman now. There's no longer a reason to take the pills unless you have doubts that we can control our urges."

"I didn't know you were on the pill," I said, evading her question.

She handed the brush to me and adjusted my tie. "I've taken a lot of chances but that's not one of them. If I ever have a baby I want to know who the father is."

We continued the conversation in the car while Laura applied lipstick and touched up her eyebrows.

"What precautions were you thinking of taking?" I ventured to ask.

"I was thinking of a diaphragm." She paused to appraise my mind-set. "If you don't think we can do it I'll stay on the pill."

"Is it up to me?"

"Yes."

"Don't put it on me. It's your body. If you want to stop the pill, we'll find a way to deal with it."

"It's not just you. I'm questioning my own self-control. I'm asking if you can be the adult. Can you?"

We were stopped, parked next to Mr. Waite's Lincoln at the restaurant. I smiled at her. "Please don't wrinkle your forehead. You're pretty and I want you to stay that way. Don't worry, I'll be the adult."

She became maudlin. "There's something you need to know. If I should become pregnant there's no turning back. If I'm fortunate enough to go full term, I'll have it."

I noticed two things about Laura as we walked into the restaurant to join the Waites. I would need to say something about her hair. It was longer that I had ever seen it. And, the cloud that hovered above us had disappeared. For now, Ollie was not haunting her.

The Waites greeted us warmly and treated us like family. The only business discussed was Harold's suggestion that Laura and I should consider taking a real estate course. I took this as more of an order than a suggestion and filed a mental note to find out where such a course was offered.

Wanda and Laura spoke seriously about how Mollie Foster, the former madam, was progressing while Mr. Waite engaged me in conversation about the courses I was taking.

Suddenly, Wanda burst into an enthusiastic laugh, causing Mr. Waite and I to turn to her to see what had caused the uproar. She could not tell us. In hushed tones Laura bent over the table and told us the story that concerned Mollie. One night at the brothel she was trying to get rid of a drunk who refused to leave. He wanted one more fuck. Mollie became so exasperated that she offered to fuck him herself. The drunk stumbled out of the brothel and Mollie bragged to Ralph that she had taken over his duties as the bouncer.

Hearing Laura tell the story again made Wanda collapse into another round of cackles. Mr. Waite and I were more amused at Wanda's hooting and snorting than the story.

Everything went fine until Laura accidentally spilled brandy on her dress. The brandy was seeping into the folds of the pleats when she discovered it. With a shriek she rushed to the lady's room.