Chapter 20

In the end, it was generally agreed upon that Bob and Jennifer's continued presence at the hospital wasn't going to produce any gain, as far as the patients were concerned. Life needed to go on, where it could, while other lives would remain on hold until healing was well enough along that they could complete it at home.

So it was, that night, Bob and Jennifer prepared to stay their last night in the Best Western motel.

The mood was a little like what some people feel on a Sunday night, knowing that the next morning the freedom of the weekend is over and they have to go back to work. Sometimes people overdo it, on those Sunday nights, trying to wring as much pleasure out of the weekend as possible before the real world takes over, or at least intrudes into their lives again.

Not that they overdid the sexual part of things. That would have been pretty difficult to do. Jennifer had been pulling Bob between her welcoming legs two and three times a day, not counting sleeping with him each night. One might have thought she had a new hobby of sorts.

No ... to explain their thought processes that night, it is helpful to return to the example of what might be called Sunday Night Syndrome. At some point on Sunday night, the alarm clock is set. Perhaps clothing for the next day is picked out and prepared, or what you're going to have for breakfast is reflected on. Maybe you think about what it is likely you'll have to face when you get to work.

In other words, you make plans.

And so, as Jennifer crawled into bed with the man who, only a week earlier, had been "Uncle Bob," a man she knew well and liked a lot, her natural bent was to ... make plans.

In one sense the desire to make these plans was even stronger, by virtue of the fact that they had, subconsciously or not, avoided making plans up to that point. Making plans requires that you make decisions, and making decisions requires that you face facts, and facing facts is sometimes very painful.

Her hand landed on his chest as she snuggled against him, and drifted slowly toward his groin. There seemed to be some kind of magnet down there that drew her hand. She loved everything about his penis, from its differing textures to the warmth and taste. And she loved how it made her feel inside, too, of course. She cut pretty much right to the chase.

"So what are we going to do?" she asked.

"We, Princess, are going to go on with life, while your parents get better," he said. Bob had more experience with Monday mornings and, correspondingly, had more experience at not facing them until the last moment.

"That doesn't tell me anything," said Jennifer.

"I know."

"Tell me something," she pleaded. "Lie to me if you must, but give me something to hope for."

"Women!" he snorted. "First you tell me not to lie to you, then, a few days later, change your mind."

"I'm being patient, Bob," she said, squeezing his penis, "but my patience is not going to last forever." Her hand moved to cup and gently squeeze his balls, and the threat was clear.

"I don't want to lie to you," he said.

"Why can't we be happy together?"

"Who said we can't?" he asked.

"My father, for one," she said.

"He's just dealing with the idea that some big hairy man crawled between his darling daughter's pristine white thighs and rutted in her like an animal."

"That's an awful way to describe it!" she said forcefully.

"It's how dads imagine it," said Bob. "I'm not a dad, but up until a week ago, if someone had told me you weren't a virgin any more, that's probably what I would have imagined, too. So I think I know how he feels." Bob squeezed her with his arm. "It will take some time, but he'll get over it."

"So tell me how it will be," she said, wistfully.

"How about you tell me how you'd dream it would be, instead," he suggested.

"What if you don't like my dream?" she sighed.

"Why wouldn't I like your dream?"

"Because it involves you."

He squeezed her again. "Well, just to clear the air, I find myself somewhat attracted to you, so being part of your dream isn't all that scary."

She squeezed what was now a partial erection. "I can tell," she giggled.

"So tell me about your dream," he said.

She lay there quiet, long enough that he was afraid she wasn't going to answer.

"Don't laugh," she said, to preface her next words. "But something you said today kind of got me thinking." He encouraged her with his silence to keep talking. "It was when you said you dream things up-bike designs-and then the guys have to make it work." She moved, like she was trying to get more comfortable. "I was thinking you need an engineer ... somebody who could help design things so that they would work the first time you tried."