Invisible Girl (An Erotic Romance), Pt. 13 free porn video

Peter was torturing Jane.  Nicely.

Right after he’d slid the full length of his cock into her and made his joke about Father Brian he pulled it out again, saying, “There—I believe that was under ten seconds...was that all you wanted?”

Jane could no longer see his face but had known he was grinning at her.  

Well, two can play this game, she thought.  “ I’m not sure,” she replied, her voice seemingly casual.  “There might have been something else...”

“Well, you’d better think of it soon, it’s getting late,” he replied.  

Then he took his cock in his hand and had used the tip to gently separate the lips of her vagina, but instead of entering her again he’d simply begun to tease her there, slowly raising and lowering his cock so that the tip barely brushed against the inside of her lips in a way that made her want to sit up and pull him down on top of her.

After a minute or two he pulled away again for a moment. And now he was doing the same thing as before, only with the length of his cock, pressing tightly against her there and sliding up and down between her lips with maddening slowness.  With each upward stroke the head seemed to touch a particular spot that was making fireworks go off in Jane’s head. 

She’d once seen a game at the state fair where men would hit something with a big hammer and a weight would rise up and strike a bell.  She knew how that bell felt now.

Her breath was shuddering in and out of her as if she were freezing, although the opposite was more the case.  She desperately wanted him back inside her, to bring her to the climax that seemed so close and yet not...quite…  Oh god, it was driving her crazy!  But she was resolved not to beg, not to say anything.  It was a contest of wills and she was going to wait until Peter was too excited to resist entering her again.

Well, she was going to try...

A moment later Peter pulled away from her again and Jane thought, at last—assuming that he was repositioning himself to enter her.

Instead she heard him say, in a teasing voice,  “Well, I guess you can’t remember.  It’s time to go home anyway.”  

And with that he reached down and pulled her panties back into place, then grabbed her wrists and slid her forward so that she found herself standing in front of him.

Oh, no you don’t, thought Jane.  

She threw one arm around his neck and pulled him down to her while curling the fingers of her free hand around the shaft of his cock, which was still slick with her juices.  She kissed and fondled him for a long moment, then whispered into his ear, “I think I remember now...”

“Is that so?” he replied, gently disengaging himself from her.  “Well, you can tell me all about it on the way home.  And if I’m still in the mood maybe we can do something about it then.”  And he turned and started walking towards the car door, holding his pants up but not fastening them.

Jane heard the challenge and hurried around to her side and got in.  

Oh god, she thought, he’s going to make me ride through town in my undies.  

Not only through town, as it turned out, but right past Suzy’s house, where the party was still in full roar.  Peter even slowed down and leaned across Jane to call out a greeting to someone on the sidewalk he knew, and for a moment Jane thought he was going to stop and talk to him.  

She pictured Peter’s friend coming over to lean in the window and seeing her wearing only her sexy underwear, with Peter’s still-erect cock tapping against the steering wheel.  She knew Peter was just teasing her with that very possibility but she was relieved (and maybe just a little disappointed) when he continued on without stopping.

She noticed Chrissy’s car as they drove by and though Jane wasn’t sure she thought she saw Chrissy sitting in it and figured she was getting ready to leave as well.

Then they were past the corner, and the lights and sounds of the party faded into the darkness behind them. Peter said, with comic casualness, “Now, what was it you were trying to remember?”

Jane immediately slid over next to him.  She wanted to keep him aroused, but she also didn’t want him to get so excited that he drove into a ditch.  

She leaned over and whispered in his ear, “I’ve been kidnapped by a bad man.  He made me take off my dress and get into his car.  Poor me, I don’t have anything on but my bra and panties.  And he’s making me put my hand on his cock while he drives.”

She reached over and began to delicately stroke his shaft with her fingers—checking out of the corner of her eye to see if it affected his driving.  He seemed to be doing all right, aside from the fact that he was breathing through his mouth and staring ahead a little fixedly.  And seemed to be driving a little faster.  She decided to keep going.

“Oooo, he’s such a bad man,” she cooed in his ear, “making me touch his cock like this,”—giving it a little squeeze and smiling as she heard him take a sudden breath.  Then she continued, “I sure hope he’s not taking me somewhere where nobody can see us.  Because then he could do anything he wanted to me.”

She fell silent then and let him think about that while she devoted herself to seeing how many ways she could think of to stroke and tease his cock.  One fingertip.  The back of her fingernails.  A little four-finger tap-dance…

When they pulled into the darkness of the driveway leading to Jane’s house, she cried out in mock-distress, “Oh no!  A dark deserted road!  Oh please, Mr. Bad Man, don’t stop here!”

This, of course, was Peter’s cue and he took it.  

He stopped the car and turned off the engine.  But he left the headlights on.  Then he opened his door and stepped out, grabbing Jane by the wrist and dragging her across the seat toward him as he held up his pants with his other hand.  “C’mon, you!” he growled menacingly, falling into his role as Mr. Bad Man.

Jane scrambled out of the car and onto her feet, protesting, “Oh, please don’t, Mr. Bad Man!  Don’t, please!” only to be pulled roughly around to the front of the car and made to stand between the headlights with her behind against the car.  

Then Peter stepped back from her, his face a convincingly lustful sneer made scarier by the headlights, his pants sagging around his thighs and his cock showing in high relief against the shadow it cast on his stomach.

“Turn around and put your head down!”   His voice was nasty, guttural, and Jane shivered with delight as she turned and rested her head on her arms on the hood of the car, pretending to whimper with fear while she imagined him staring at her behind, now pressed tightly against the red lace of her panties.

“Spread your legs.”

She did so, as slowly as she could, turning her face to him and pleading, “Oh, Mr. Bad Man, please don’t...”

“Shut up.”

She did, and put her head down again, knowing what was coming next.

“Pull down your panties.”

Jane was, of course, dying to do just that, but she wanted to savor the anticipation just a little more, so she stood up and turned around. 

 “Oh, please Mr. Bad Man, please don’t make me pull down my panties,” she pleaded, knowing full well the effect this would have on Peter.  And sure enough, he grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, spun her around and forced her to bend over again while he used his foot to knock her feet apart.

Jane was delirious.  “Oh no!  Please don’t!” she cried.  “Please don’t pull down my panties!”  She whimpered again as she felt them being yanked down.  “Stop!  Oh please don’t...”

There was a pause.  Jane became aware of the night sounds again, the cool breeze moving over her skin, the heat rising from the hood of the car.

Then the nasty, leering voice behind her:  “Anything else you don’t want me to do?”  Mocking her.  

Then his tongue, licking her from the base of her spine to halfway up her back before withdrawing, leaving her shaking with desire for him.

“Please....don’t...” She raised her head to be sure he heard.     “...Fuck me!”

Jane had no idea why she loved being taken and used like this—bent over a car hood, panties down around her thighs, while Peter/Mr. Bad Man ravaged her from behind—but she did.  Loved the whole dirty fantasy of it.  

Loved it when he pulled out of her, turned her around and made her sit on the bumper, cold against her naked behind, and take his cock into her mouth.  

Loved the way he held her head with both hands as he pretended to force his way in then reached down and scooped her breasts out of their brassiere and fondled them roughly while sliding in and out of her mouth.  

Loved it when he lifted her back onto the car hood, tore off her panties and finished her there, both of them crying out as they climaxed.

Afterwards Peter raised his head from her chest and said, “Hmm...kidnapping.  We’ve got to remember this one.

And Jane had whispered, “Oh, yes.”  Then added, “You bad man.”

Peter had stood then and reached down for his pants, which had long since fallen around his ankles.  Then, after fastening them, he’d gone around to the driver’s side of the car and Jane, still lying on the hood, saw the light from the headlights disappear.  Then in the resulting darkness she heard the jingle of his keys and his footsteps again, seeming to recede.  Heard the trunk open then close again, followed by the sound of his footsteps approaching.

“Sit up for a second.”

She did so while Peter unfolded a cotton blanket behind her, then she lay back again and lifted her hips so he could spread it beneath her behind as well.  She untangled herself from her bra and handed it to him.  She heard him toss it in the car window, then bend down and fumble around on the ground—to retrieve her panties, she assumed.  She heard something else being tossed into the car and guessed she’d been right.

Then he was wrapping the blanket around her and climbing up to lie beside her on the hood of the car.  He put an arm around her and pulled her close so she could rest her head on his shoulder.  The night was clear and moonless and a long swath of the Milky Way was visible overhead between the tops of the trees.  They lay in silence for a long time, looking up.

Then Jane heard him say, almost to himself, “...the odds...”

“Hmm?”

Peter seemed to realize then that he’d spoken out loud, because he laughed a little, then said, “Oh, I was just thinking that most people on this planet are never going to be as happy as I am right now...”

Jane snuggled closer and said, “As we are...”

Peter tightened his arm around her, leaned over to kiss her on the forehead, and continued, “Right.  As we are.  And then I was trying to figure out how it happened.  You know: if I hadn’t seen you going through pockets in the coat room at the dance that night...”

Jane jumped in.  “If you hadn’t chased me into the bathroom and made me do all those nasty things...”

“If you hadn’t agreed to do them,” Peter topped her—adding, with a smile in his voice, “...you little slut.”

“Hey!”   Jane sat up and said fiercely, “I am not a little slut!”

Peter, surprised by her vehemence, began to stutter,  “I...I know that, I was only...”

Jane threw off her blanket and, naked except for her sandals, rolled over on top of him.  

She put her face close to his and whispered.  “I’m your little slut!”  Then she put her tongue in his mouth.

It wasn’t all that late when Jane, fully-dressed—if a little sloppily, a result of putting her clothes back on in the dark—trudged up the steps to her house.  Still, she was surprised to see so many lights still on; her parents were usually quite regular about their bedtime.

She was wonderfully tired—and a little sore, though she didn’t mind.  

Their last lovemaking had been slow and sweet, with her kneeling above him, straddling his hips.  It had also been a little noisy near the end, as their passionate motion had caused the hood of the car to buckle and rebound with loud boinging sounds.

Peter had helped her to dress afterwards, then driven her the rest of the way home.  They were both going to sleep in on Sunday, but planned to get together in the afternoon. They’d murmured sleepy endearments to each other as they parted for the night.

Jane entered the house quietly, and the first thing she noticed was an odd clicking sound coming from down the hall.  She followed it to the closed door of the little room she and her parents called the office.  It was used as a sewing room more than anything else because that’s where the sewing machine was kept, but there was a desk and chair in there which Jane’s mother used for correspondence and paying bills.

Jane stood outside the door and listened.  Typing, that’s what it was.  But at this hour?  Who...  

And then she remembered.  Opening the door silently, she peeked in.  And sure enough, there was her mother, seated at the desk, her back to Jane.  As Jane watched, her mother continued to type for a while, then stopped, and Jane heard her muttering to herself as she reviewed what she’d written before beginning to type again.

Jane was smiling as she softly closed the door again and headed upstairs.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Well, Miss Herlihy!  And what brings you here of a Sunday?”

Chrissy smiled at the sergeant at the front desk.  “Hi, Uncle Finn.  I just remembered I didn’t put some files away, and you know how Dad is about leaving things around.”

“Too right you are.”

Finn wasn’t really her uncle but had been a friend of the family for longer than she could remember—and an army buddy of her father’s before that—and thus had always been ‘Uncle Finn’ to her.  She patted his shoulder as she hurried past him and down the stairs that led to the File Room, where she worked.

It felt strange to be here in her Sunday clothes, strange to have the basement all to herself.  But a thought had been nagging at her all morning; she had woken up with it and had been distracted by it all morning, through both church services, and had finally decided that she couldn’t wait until Monday to follow it up.

She used her key to unlock the door and enter, then switched on the lights.  

She hated this room; it was overheated in the winter and clammy and smelled of mildew in the summer.  And even though it was a large room it had no windows and she always felt as if she were suffocating.  Plus the fluorescent lights were old and made a ghastly yellowish light and flickered at irregular intervals, which gave her headaches.  But the two other women with whom she worked never complained, and they had been there for over twenty years so Chrissy didn’t dare to do so.  She knew from past experience what her father thought of ‘whiners’, as he called them.

So she had no desire to stay there one second longer than necessary.  She hurried down the rows of alphabetically arranged filing cabinets that filled most of the room until she reached the ‘M’ section.  There she quickly narrowed her search to a particular drawer, pulled it out and flipped through the files.

There.  Yes. She’d been right.  She had no idea why the name had stuck in her head, but there it was.  She pulled out the manila folder and took it back to her desk.  It was the right name, but was it the same family?  She had to be sure.

Whenever Chrissy felt overwhelmed by boredom or needed to distract herself from her own thoughts while working, which was often, she would open whatever folder she was supposed to be filing and read it.  Or sometimes when she recognized a name she would do the same thing.  It gave her a sense of power to know things about people in her town that she wasn’t supposed to know.  She knew, for example, about Jane’s father’s arrest for drunken driving many years ago.

And now, here was the name she knew she had seen before:

McIlvray.

She opened it and began to read.

Chapter Thirty

For a change, Jane woke up well before her parents.  She climbed out of bed and yawned and stretched.  It felt a little painful to do so; she was stiff from her lower back to her thighs and, remembering why, she smiled.  But aside from the stiffness she felt wonderful; she loved someone and was loved in return.  She had slept well and she was...famished.

She took a quick shower and hurried down to the kitchen.  She looked in the fridge, saw a container of fresh blueberries and decided to make pancakes.  As she was assembling the ingredients for the batter she realized she wanted more: she wanted a huge breakfast.  So while she was flipping pancakes she also scrambled some eggs and fried some bacon and put some coffee on to perk.

Her father was the first one to follow his nose downstairs.  Anticipating this very possibility Jane had made a large amount of batter, and gave him the first batch of cakes to start on while she put on some more eggs and bacon.  She had just sat down to join him when her mother shuffled in, looking half-asleep, and was given coffee immediately to go with her breakfast.

Finally they were all seated at the table.  Jane’s father said to her mother, “I heard Jane come in last night but I must have been asleep when you came to bed.  What were you watching that kept you up so late?’

Jane’s mother stifled a yawn before replying.  “I was writing,” she said with a smiling sideways glance at Jane.  “There was a big discussion about Vietnam at the Democrats meeting the other night.  Nobody actually came to blows but it got pretty hot for a while.  The party seems really divided about it—nationally, I mean, not just here—and I thought it would be interesting to write up the main points on both sides.  You know, flex my writing muscles a little before we tackle the book.  It was fun—made me feel like I was back at college.”  Jane smiled at this and her mother, seeing it, gave her a wink.

“Good idea,” Jane’s father replied.  “Speaking of which, maybe you and I can start making notes and sketching some kind of an outline today.”

Jane’s mother nodded.  “Just let me wake all the way up and have a shower.”  She turned to Jane.  “And how are you doing, honey?  Did you have a good time last night?”

Jane nodded and said, “Yes.  But I think the party was bigger than Suzy’s mom and dad had planned.  They were a little overwhelmed.”  She described the scene of wall-to-wall noisy teenagers eating everything in sight in a way that made her parents laugh out loud.

Jane’s mother asked, “What are you going to do with your last day of freedom?” and Jane’s father chimed in, “Oh, that’s right—you start work tomorrow.  Not much of a summer vacation.”

Jane replied, “Oh, that’s all right, I think it’ll be fun.  And I’ll be fabulously wealthy by the end of the summer,” she added, smiling.  She turned to answer her mother.  “I don’t know what I’m going to do.  It feels weird not to have any homework waiting for me.”  She shrugged.  “Peter will probably come over later.  Maybe we’ll go for a walk or something.”

“He seems like a pretty bright lad,” her father offered.  “What year is he in?”

“He just graduated—well, graduation’s this Friday but, you know, he’s done.”

“Oh.  And what’s he planning to do next?”

And there it was: June, July, August...and gone.  It was still a small cloud on the horizon but a cloud nonetheless.  

Jane tried to smile as she answered, “He’s going on to a regular college.  His father went to Kenton College in Ohio and got him a scholarship to go there too.”

Her father said, “Well, that’s a pretty good school, from what I’ve heard,” but it was obvious from the glance he shared with her mother and the sympathetic look he gave Jane that he’d heard what she hadn’t said.

After the dishes had been done Jane’s father read the paper while her mother showered and then the two of them withdrew to the office to begin on their book.  

Jane, feeling pleasantly aimless, puttered around all morning: reading, doing some laundry and–a particularly enjoyable task–putting away all her school materials for the next three months and throwing away what she no longer needed.

After such a big breakfast no one was particularly hungry at lunchtime, but Jane made a salad and some sandwiches and after setting some aside for herself brought the rest into the office for her parents to snack on later.  Peter called shortly thereafter and arrived on foot a little while later.

They went for a walk in the surrounding woods.  Jane took him to her favorite place, a tiny sunlit meadow with a stream running through it.  She had brought along a blanket and—as she was still scratching at a few mosquito bites she’d gotten last night—some insect repellent.  Intuitively they each knew the other was sated with sex from the night before, but it was still a pleasure to undress each other and apply the insect repellent to each other’s skin.

They lazed in the sun, listening to the stream, talking quietly and exchanging occasional kisses.  Jane told him about her trip to Boston and her appointment with Doctor Weissman.  

Later, still naked but for their footwear, they walked in the woods some more, holding hands and joking about Adam and Eve.  Jane thought that in some ways this was more intimate than anything else they’d done together.  To just be naked together because they wanted to be and walking around as if it were the most natural thing in the world, the sunlight dappling their skins in ever-changing patterns as they walked...it suddenly seemed so beautiful that Jane felt tears spring to her eyes.

“Peter...”

“I know.”  He stopped and embraced her.  Then they simply stood there, looking into each other’s eyes, swaying slightly back and forth, listening to the forest sounds and loving each other with all their hearts.

Chapter Thirty-One

The sodden bottom of the cardboard box fell out the moment Jane lifted it and ‘12 Dozen Duncan Yo-Yos’ fell clattering to the cement floor.  Jane blew the air out of her mouth in a sigh of exasperation.  This was not how she’d imagined her new job.  She’d pictured herself holding up pretty dresses in front of adorable little girls while their mothers oohed and aahed, not hauling damp cardboard boxes around in the basement.    

There was already a streak of dirt on the sleeve of her white blouse and the pantyhose she had forced herself to put on that morning made her feel as though she were suffocating from the waist down.  She resolved to buy a garter belt; it was bound to be cooler—and she had a feeling Peter would like it as well.

As she crouched to gather up the fallen toys she told herself that it wouldn’t always be like this.  

She liked Suzy’s mother, Mrs. Jorgenson, who had a warm, outgoing manner similar to her daughter’s.  She had apologized to Jane for not speaking more with her the night of the party and set about making her feel at home in the store.  But then the shipment had arrived at the back door almost simultaneously with two sets of customers who required Mrs. Jorgensen and Suzy’s attention so Jane had been sent out back to receive it and bring it all downstairs.  She’d had to move some things around to make room in the storage area, and that had led to the small mishap she was now attempting to straighten out.

The rest of the morning went better.  Jane learned the layout of the store and how to use the cash register.  She helped Suzy and Mrs. Jorgenson wait on customers and even sold a bathing suit by herself to the mother of a crying, squirming five-year old without flinching once.  

At noon, while Mrs. Jorgenson looked after the store Jane and Suzy took their bag lunches to the park nearby and chattered amiably while they ate.  Jane found herself beginning to recover the sense she’d once had of really knowing her friend the way she had when they were younger, and it made her happy.

What didn’t make her happy was spotting Chrissy waiting outside the store when they returned.  She had her back to them and was peering in the store window with her hand to the glass as they approached.  When Jane greeted her she jumped as if frightened and whirled around.

“Oh, hi Jane, hi Suzy—you startled me,” she said with a nervous smile.  “I was just passing by and...remembered you were working here and thought I’d say hello.  But I really have to get back to work now.  It was nice to see you, though.”  

And she’d hurried off.  Jane noticed that she was carrying a manila envelope under her arm.

She and Suzy turned to each other, shrugged, and went back inside.

At the end of the day Mrs. Jorgenson let Jane out the back door into the alley, where Jane had chained her bike, and bid her goodnight before closing up.  It took a moment for Jane to get the ancient lock on her bike chain to work, but it finally let go, and after storing it she walked her bike between the buildings to reach the sidewalk.

Where she found Chrissy waiting for her.

She looked almost as nervous and ill at ease as she had that Sunday morning in Jane’s basement, and she had trouble meeting Jane’s eyes.  

She said, “Let’s go to the park,” and Jane sensed that this was not a request, despite Chrissy’s timid demeanor.  Something had changed and Jane thought she’d better find out what it was.  So she walked her bike next to Chrissy as they made their way to the park.  Neither of them spoke but their glances sometimes met, and Jane noticed that Chrissy was carrying the same manila envelope as before.

The sky was overcast, and the wind smelled of approaching rain.  Jane hoped that this wasn’t going to take too long.  

As they entered the nearly deserted park Jane headed for the closest bench, then put her bike on its kickstand and sat down.  She looked with frank curiosity at Chrissy, who sat down next to her but looked straight ahead, holding the envelope in her lap.

“I want to see Father Brian,” Chrissy said, still seeming to look at something directly before her.

So what else is new, thought Jane.  She said, “I know, Chrissy, but I told you, I don’t know where...”

“You’re lying.”  Chrissy’s voice was matter-of-fact, emotionless.

Jane stopped short, and Chrissy went on, without turning her head or changing the colorless quality of her voice. “I know what you did, you and your friend.”

Oh no, thought Jane.  

She began to stammer, “Chrissy, I-I’m sorry...” 

 Then she stopped as a thought struck her: If she knows what really happened, why is she still asking to see Father Brian?



Chrissy continued as if Jane hadn’t spoken.  “Tell your friend that I want to see Father Brian.  Soon.”

Jane found this last remark eerie; why was Chrissy referring to your friend and Father Brian as two different people?  It frightened her a little.  Still, even though she was sorry she had gotten into this situation, and she knew it was her fault, Jane was going to put a stop to it right now. 

 “Look,” she began, “I’m sorry about what happened.  I know I...”

“Does your friend know about this?”  Chrissy lifted the envelope and without looking over placed it on Jane’s lap.

The wind gusted just at that moment and almost tore it away before Jane could grab it.  Inside were what appeared to be official forms of some kind.  They looked old.  Clipped to the front of them was a set of pictures of a woman, one of her facing the camera and one in profile.  There was a disembodied arm at the bottom of each shot holding a card with numbers on it.

Mug shots, Jane realized with a start.

In the first picture the woman seemed distraught; her hair disarrayed, her eyes glassy and unfocussed, seeming to look at something above the camera.  Jane was sure she’d never seen her before.  What does this poor woman have to do with...  



Then she looked more closely as she noticed something familiar about the woman’s features.  No—it couldn’t be.  She flipped up the pictures and sought out the name on the forms.

McIlvray.

Jane quickly read through the form, trying to decipher the blurry copy and the official euphemisms of the report.   

Subject taken into custody in Piggly-Wiggly grocery store, 307 West Main Street...  

She read on in dismay. According to witnesses Peter’s mother had been wandering around in the store, muttering to herself and glaring at the customers for nearly half an hour.  And when the store manager had finally approached her and asked if she needed help, she had turned away from him, taken a steak knife from her purse and stabbed him with it, screaming that he was the anti-Christ.  He had later died from his wound.

Jane let the papers fall to her lap.  She was horrified.  She was sure Peter had never been told the true story; that he believed, as he had told her, that his mother had had some kind of mental collapse and was in a sanitarium only because she couldn’t take care of herself.  

And he’s already so ashamed, Jane thought.  If he were to find out the truth...



The papers and the envelope were lifted from her lap.  Jane turned and saw Chrissy stuffing all the forms back into the envelope.  

Chrissy then stood up and, still not looking at her, said again, “Tell your friend that I want to see Father Brian.”

She started to walk away then turned back and for the first time looked Jane in the face, speaking loudly to be heard above the rising wind. “And don’t tell him anything else,” gesturing with the envelope for emphasis.  

The implied threat was clear:  Peter was not to be told that Chrissy knew.  Jane looked into Chrissy’s eyes and saw for a moment the same dislocated look she had seen in the picture of Peter’s mother.

Then Chrissy turned and was gone.

Jane continued to sit on the bench, stunned, until the first drops of rain caused her to jump up, get on her bike and hurry home.

She was distracted all through dinner.  Her parents asked her a few questions about her job, but fortunately were soon deeply involved in discussing the outline for their book. 

They made no comment when Jane excused herself early, saying she was tired from the first day of work—which was true—and headed up to her room.  

She needed to think.

Peter needed to be protected, that was the most important thing.  And Jane couldn’t see any way to do that without letting Chrissy have what she wanted.  But that meant lying to Peter, or at least misleading him—letting him continue to think that Chrissy didn’t know who ‘Father Brian’ really was—because telling him the truth would lead to other questions, such as why Jane was asking him to see Chrissy again.

Chrissy.  

Jane had always found her odd, but now there was something scary about her.  That Chrissy would resort to blackmail just to…  And this whole business about ‘your friend’ and ‘Father Brian’.  Jane was sure that Peter had been right when he’d guessed that Chrissy needed to be ‘punished’ by a ‘priest’ in order to justify it to herself.  If Chrissy met with ‘Father Brian’ again, would she wear the sleep-mask and pretend—to herself as well as to Peter—that ‘Father Brian’ was a real priest?  It seemed likely under the circumstances.

Jane shook her head in wonder.  All this blackmail and self-delusion for the sake of a few erotic thrills.  What Chrissy needed was a boyfriend like Peter.

But not Peter.

Jane emphatically did not want to share him with Chrissy again.  But she didn’t have any choice that she could see. And she was sure Peter would enjoy repeating his performance as Father Brian, as long as she presented the idea properly.  

And even though she was furious at Chrissy for blackmailing her, and more than a little afraid of her apparent craziness—or maybe even because of those things—she found herself becoming more than a little excited by the possibilities. 

All right Chrissy, she thought, you asked for it. You got off easy last time.

But this is only going to happen once more, she told herself.

The phone rang and she answered on the first ring, assuming, correctly, that it would be Peter calling to see how her first day at work went.  The bookstore was open nights, unlike Mrs. Jorgenson’s store, so Peter, as the summer help, would often be stuck with the late shift and had just gotten home.

They didn’t talk long as they were both tired.  Peter told her his schedule for the week—he had Wednesday night off—and they made plans to get together then.  Jane told him about her day: what it was like working with Suzy and Mrs. Jorgenson and how the customers and their children behaved.  But she hung up without saying anything about Chrissy.  

She had plans to make.  

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chrissy arrived at work early, carrying a jacket she didn’t need over her arm to hide the manila envelope she was carrying.  She hurried downstairs, let herself into the File Room and quickly replaced the McIlvray file in its proper folder.  Only then did her heart begin to slow down.  If her father ever discovered she had taken it out of the station, never mind what she had used it for...

Still feeling a little faint, she sat down at her desk and covered her face with her hands.  She had taken an awful chance.  Still, she had done it!  She was sure Jane would do anything to keep her friend from finding out the truth.

Chrissy replayed the scene in her head.  She felt bad about forcing Jane to do it, but Jane didn’t understand, couldn’t understand that Chrissy needed Father Brian!  Needed him to chastise her and purify her again so she could be good!  Wasn’t that reason enough to do what she had done?

A small voice in the back of her mind, the same voice she had been trying to ignore since taking the file, said, You know very well that ‘Father Brian’ is only...  But she clamped down on it, her hands curled into fists on either side of her head as she shook it back and forth, trying to throw the nagging voice out of her mind.  I need Father Brian!  I need Father Brian!  She repeated it over and over to herself, hoping to drown out the other voice even as it replied in counterpoint: You want Father Anthony.  You want Father Anthony...

No!  She wouldn’t listen!  She filled her mind with memories: memories of being humbled and shamed...and then cleansed with pain.  Being tied to that sawhorse and scourged—like the martyred saints, she thought.  I offer You my suffering, Lord.  I do this in Your name, that I may become worthy in Your sight. 



 She tried to recall the pain of her punishment:  The stinging slaps that hurt so much at first and then as she surrendered to them were transmuted into fires of purification that started to suffuse her whole body with grace; the sudden distraction and return to earthly shame as her panties were yanked down, leaving the source of her sinfulness exposed; then the deeper, harder scourging that stoked the purifying flames higher and higher until Light suddenly burst out of her every pore and she was cleansed.  

Forgiven...

She heard footsteps on the stairs.  Quickly she opened her eyes and made a pretense of being already at work, grabbing the first available folder...and resolutely not noticing that the hand she used had emerged from beneath her dress.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Tuesday went by quickly for Jane.  She already felt more familiar with the store and had discovered, to her surprise, that she felt quite comfortable dealing with the customers and their children.  

She found that if she made a game of it the children would submit more willingly to all the measuring and general fuss that clothes shopping involved.  To little girls she would say, while pretending to speak to the mother,  “Oh, what a pretty little doll you brought me to play with—I think I’ll dress her up in some of my nicest outfits.”  And when the girl giggled or protested that she wasn’t a doll Jane would act surprised and say, “Ooo, a talking doll!  That’s even better!” and generally charm her into playing along.  Boys were more difficult but Jane could usually at least distract them with one of the toys kept behind the counter for just that purpose.  Mrs. Jorgenson was pleased with Jane’s facility and told her so as she let her out the door at the end of the day.

There had been no sign of Chrissy at lunchtime, for which Jane had been grateful, but she wasn’t particularly surprised, as she wheeled her bike out of the alley, to find Chrissy waiting in the same place as before.

Jane thought Chrissy looked as bad as she had on that Sunday morning: nervous, pale, eyes restless and smudged underneath from lack of sleep  And despite everything that had happened yesterday Jane found herself feeling sorry for her.  She walked her bike up to where Chrissy was standing, greeted her and told her gently, “I’m sorry, I haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet.  I’ll be seeing him tomorrow night, all right?”

Chrissy stared back at her as if having trouble understanding her speech.  Then after a moment she looked down, nodded briefly and turned away.  

Jane drew alongside her and walked next to her in silence.  She wanted very much to understand what was happening to Chrissy, to help her if she could, but couldn’t find a way to begin.  Finally she said, “Chrissy, are you sure this is what you want?”

Chrissy, without looking over at her, nodded sadly and kept walking.  Jane tried again.  “Look, I understand how you feel.  I really like it when Pe-“—she suddenly remembered Chrissy’s strange designation—“uh, my friend spanks m...”

Chrissy suddenly whirled on her and hissed, “You don’t understand anything, you little whore!”  

Then she turned and ran down the street.  Stunned, Jane watched as Chrissy hurried across the street, jumped into her car and roared off, tires squealing.  She didn’t turn to look at Jane as she drove by, but even from that distance, and without her glasses, Jane could see that she was crying.

Jane was thoughtful as she pedaled home, and even more doubtful of the wisdom of going along with Chrissy’s demands.  Chrissy was moving from the ‘Weird—Occasionally Scary’ category in Jane’s mind to one marked ‘Really Scary.’ 

But she didn’t know what to do; was there some way she could tell Peter that Chrissy knew who ‘Father Brian’ was without having to explain the hold Chrissy had over her?  Or should she just allow the meeting to happen and trust Peter's sharp wits?  

If the latter, she was definitely going to advise Peter to start by tying her up.  Tightly.

When she arrived home she found her parents seated at the kitchen table.  They seemed to be in a celebratory mood.  In fact, as Jane entered the kitchen her father was holding a glass of lemonade up towards her mother as if about to make a toast.  When he saw Jane, though, he put down his glass and held out a section of the evening paper to her, grinning broadly.  Her mother was looking down, but she too was smiling and, apparently...blushing.

Mystified, Jane took the newspaper.  It was the local news section of the Ridgeton Ledger.  At first she couldn’t see what the excitement was about, but then her eye was caught by a headline: “LOCAL DEMS DEBATE VIETNAM POLICY”.  And underneath was written, “Special to the Ledger by Eva Harkin.”

“Mom!  Oh my gosh!”  She threw her arms around her mother’s neck, almost whacking herself in the face with the newspaper in the process, and jumped up and down until her mother exclaimed, in a muffled voice, “Please, Jane—let me live long enough to write another one!”

When Peter called later that evening Jane again said nothing about Chrissy.  She wanted to bring it up—as diplomatically as possible—in person.  Instead they tried to make plans for the next night, when Peter would be free.  

He said, “Well, I was thinking about taking you to the drive-in but Dad needs the car, and anyway...” Jane could hear a smile creeping into his voice.  “You’re kind of dangerous to have in the car—you’re liable to get kidnapped or something and we’d never get to the movie.”

Jane deepened her voice seductively and said, “That would be terrible, wouldn’t it?”  Then after a pause, she said softly, in her normal voice, “I loved that.”

“God, me too,” he replied.  “Believe me, you are in serious danger of being kidnapped again in the near future.”  Then, in his Bad Man voice he added, “Oh yes, I have plans for you, my dear...heh-heh-heh.”

Jane thought he sounded delightfully creepy. 

 “I can hardly wait,” she told him sincerely.  

Chapter Thirty-Four

They had made plans to meet in town after work, eat something and maybe see a movie.  But a little before closing time at the store Jane got a call from Peter: his boss, who was supposed to take the night shift, had some kind of family emergency and had to go home, so Peter was going to have to stay at work until closing time.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Jane commiserated.  “A twelve-hour day!”  She thought for a moment.  “You won’t even get a dinner break, will you?  Would you like me to bring you a sandwich or something?”

“That’d be great—I’m starving,” he replied.  “And that way at least I’d get to see you for a little wh-- Hang on a sec.”  

She heard his voice, more distant, saying, “Nero Wolfe?  Yes sir, that would be in the Mystery section over there.  You did?  Oh. Sir, you need to look under ‘S’—the author’s name is Stout.  Yes, Rex Stout.  You’re welcome, sir.”  

Then he was close again, saying, “Sorry, it’s rush hour here.  I’ll see you in a while, okay? “

“Okay.”

Then, more quietly, “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Jane hung up the phone, turned to go back out on the floor...and almost ran into Suzy, who was smiling at her with an amused expression.  “Sorry, didn’t mean to eavesdrop.  Same lucky guy?”

Jane smiled.  “Mm-hm.  He has to work late so I’m going to bring some dinner.”

“Well, that’s nice of you.”  Suzy looked puzzled.  “All the way to Haverson?  You don’t have a car, do you?”

Jane wanted to smack herself in the forehead.  She looked at Suzy, hesitating—and decided to trust her, at least a little bit.  She saw that Mrs. Jorgenson was busy closing up the cash register for the day, so she took Suzy’s arm and let her away from the counter.

She spoke quietly.  “Suzy, I’ve been wanting to tell you, but I...listen, can you keep a secret?  I mean, really keep a secret?”

Suzy looked at her for a moment then nodded, her face serious.

Jane took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh before saying, “All right.  My boyfriend doesn’t live in Haverson.  He lives here.  His name’s...” She couldn’t help hesitating, but made herself speak the words.  “Peter.  Peter McIlvray.”

Suzy put her hand over her mouth to cover a gasp.  “Peter McIlvray?  Wow!  Oh my gosh!” 

She looked so excited that Jane thought she might start jumping up and down so she put a hand on her shoulder to calm her and made a shushing gesture, indicating Suzy’s mother with a tilt of her head.  Suzy subsided a little, then said, “I wondered why he wasn’t dating anyone!  Oh Janey, he’s so cute!”  Then she looked puzzled again.  “But why are you keeping it secret?  Don’t your parents like him?”

Another choice to be made.  Jane was tempted to say that Suzy’s guess was correct.  It was certainly a much simpler explanation than the real one.  But finally she gave a mental shrug and said, “No, but there’s someone else who...whose feelings we didn’t want to hurt.  I guess it doesn’t matter now—she knows about us—but keep it to yourself anyway, will you?”

Suzy nodded again and said, “Sure.”

Jane could see she was dying to know more, and Jane appreciated the tactfulness she was showing in not pursuing the subject.  Jane wondered if Suzy could handle hearing the whole story without recoiling in horror.  Not yet, she thought.  Maybe a little at a time, and see how she takes it.  She sighed inwardly, and wished again that she had a girlfriend with whom she could share all her secrets.  But she liked Suzy very much.  Maybe someday...  

She put an arm around Suzy’s shoulder, gave her a quick hug and said, “Thanks.”

Suzy returned the hug, then surprised Jane by leaning her head over until it was touching Jane’s and saying,  “I’m glad we’re getting to be friends again.”

Jane found tears prickling in the corners of her eyes.  She turned to face Suzy and said, “Me too,” and they hugged again.

Mrs. Jorgenson came up behind them and said, “If you two long-lost sisters can tear yourselves apart I’d like to close up now.”

Jane pedaled home quickly.  She hadn’t really expected Chrissy to be waiting for her but had nonetheless been relieved to find the sidewalk empty when she left the store.  When she got home she went up to her room just long enough to peel off her much-hated pantyhose—she hadn’t had a chance to find a garter-belt yet—and hurried down to the kitchen.

Her parents were just about to sit down to dinner.  Her mother said, “I thought you were going out with Peter tonight.”

Jane nodded as she headed for the refrigerator.  “I was, but he got stuck at work.  I promised I’d bring him a snack.” She started pulling sandwich makings out of the fridge.

Her father made a show of being impressed and said,  “What service!  I hope you get a good tip,” and laughed.

Jane’s mother said, “Hey, I fed you constantly in law school and you never tipped me once!”

He grinned back at her.  “Whaddya mean?   I tipped you lots of times!  Onto the couch, onto the–”

He ducked as Jane’s mother threw a grape at him.  “Nasty man!”  She turned to Jane and held out her hands in mock-martyrdom.  “See what I’ve had to put up with all these years?”

Jane’s father had caught the grape in mid-air and now popped it into his mouth.  He tilted his head back, blew the grape more than a foot into the air then caught it again in his mouth as it came down and smiled clownishly at his wife and daughter. Jane had seen him do the same trick a hundred times at least but applauded anyway.  

Her mother said, “Great—let’s get you out of the lawyer business and put you on Ed Sullivan where you belong.”

Jane could see Peter through the big front window of the Word Works bookstore. There was a raised dais enclosed by a waist-high counter in the center of the floor, and Peter was standing in it, ringing up a sale at one of the two cash registers.  He looked very nice in a tan sport coat and brown-striped tie, but his hair was falling down over his forehead and he looked somewhat harassed.

Poor thing, thought Jane, having to run the store all by himself.  She opened the door and went in, carrying the brown bag with his dinner.  Peter, preoccupied with the sale, didn’t look up and Jane quickly walked farther into the store where he wouldn’t spot her unless he turned around.  She was getting the glimmerings of an idea.

She studied the enclosed area where Peter was working.  At the back was a short set of steps leading up to what must have been the entrance, even though from where she was standing the counter wall looked solid.  The idea was obviously to have the staff standing high enough to be able to see everywhere on the floor and thus be able to spot shoplifters.  But it also stood to reason, she thought, that people on the floor wouldn’t be able to see over the counter.  

Hmmm...

Two more customers had queued up at the register.  Peter would be busy for some time–now was as good a chance as any.  

She strode briskly toward the steps.  She was still wearing her work clothes from that day—a navy blue skirt and a white blouse with a frilly collar and cuffs—so she thought she could pass for an employee easily enough.  She mounted the steps in a business-like way, as if she belonged there, but secretly putting her feet down as quietly as possible.  

The hinged section of the counter swung open easily and silently—Thank goodness, she thought—and closed behind her in the same manner.  She immediately crouched down as if looking for something on one of the shelves then knelt on the floor, carefully placing the bag beside her.

Made it, she thought.  Now what?

She considered quickly slipping out of her blouse and skirt and stretching out on the floor behind him—when he turned around he would find himself standing between her legs, looking down at her slim figure clothed only in bra and panties.  She was seriously tempted; the thought of displaying herself to him in a public place with so many people just a few feet away was extremely exciting.   And she was pretty sure Peter would like it too, especially since the underwear she had on was, she thought, particularly attractive—white, with lots of white embroidered flowers and lace trim.  She’d put them on that morning when she was expecting to go out with him.

But finally she decided against it, mainly because she wasn’t one hundred per cent positive that Peter was the only employee in the store.  Potential embarrassment aside, she didn’t want to do something that might get Peter fired.  Still, she hated to pass up an opportunity to make life interesting for him.

She moved closer to Peter and sat cross-legged directly behind him.  Something about the situation and their relative positions reminded her of that day in the school library when he had hidden under the table and done all those wonderful things to her.  

On impulse she reached out and carefully slipped her hands under the cuffs of his pants, then gently grasped his ankles.

Peter had apparently been just about to hand some change to a customer because a number of coins suddenly rained down on and around Jane.  She heard him say,  “Oops, must have hiccuped.  I’m sorry about that.  I’ll be right back.”  

She pulled her hands away as he swooped down to crouch beside her.  Before he could say a word she leaned forward and kissed him, then grinned wickedly at him and began to pick up the coins.  As the customer was waiting Peter had no choice but to join in, though the look on his face was something she would treasure. When they had gathered them all she gave her share to him and without a word he rose to his feet again and returned to his customer.

She waited just long enough for the next customer to begin a transaction before slipping her hands back under Peter’s pant legs.  She began running her palms smoothly up and down his calves and shins.  When she grew tired of that she withdrew her hands, shifted to a kneeling position again and began massaging the backs of his thighs through his pants.

Then, leaning forward, the fronts of his thighs.  

Then the insides.

She heard him say, “Ma’am?  Excuse me, I think I gave you the wrong change.  Sorry, I don’t know where my mind is tonight.”

Jane decided to help him find out.  She moved her hands onto his zipper and continued to massage him.  She heard Peter clear his throat, and when he said, “Next, please,” his voice seemed to crack a little.

Then Jane heard a feminine voice asking, “Do you have Hard Times?”  This was immediately followed by an apparent coughing fit on Peter’s part.  

Jane stopped what she was doing and clapped her hands over her mouth to keep from laughing.  After a moment she heard Peter manage to say, “Sorry.  That’s Dickens, isn’t it?”  Jane heard no reply, but Peter then continued, “It should be about half-way down the wall on that far set of shelves there.”

The feminine voice replied, “I’m sorry, but I’m very near-sighted and I don’t have my glasses with me.  Would you mind showing me?”

“Of course, ma’am.  Be happy to.”

Jane had just enough presence of mind to scoot out of the way as Peter turned and headed for the door of the counter.  Jane assumed that the customer would be too near-sighted to notice that Peter was having hard times of his own.

Which were just beginning, Jane thought to herself with a grin.

When Peter returned he found Jane ensconced directly beneath the cash register so that in order to use it he was forced to stand right in front of her.  Taking in her purposeful smile he gave her a wide-eyed and slightly panic-stricken glance before beginning to ring up the sale.  She let him finish and move on to his next customer before launching her next assault.

His erection had, unsurprisingly, all but disappeared during his travels but Jane soon massaged it upright again.  Then she pulled down the zipper of his pants, very slowly, making sure Peter understood what was happening.  

She was a little disappointed when she pulled the flaps apart and saw his usual white briefs—what she was planning would have been a lot easier without them.  She couldn’t take the chance of undoing his belt and unbuttoning his pants because he might have to go out again.  

Oh well, I’ll just have to do what I can, she thought, reaching in with the tips of her forefingers to snag the elastic of his briefs.

She pulled the front of them out and then down as far as she could and was pleasantly surprised at how much of his erection popped into view.  Still, she figured that in an emergency she could have him tucked away and tidied up in a few seconds.  She looked up...and saw him looking down at her, his face held carefully blank. Jane assumed there were no customers at the counter just then.  She smiled up at him...then stuck out her tongue.

Without taking her eyes from his she used the tip of her tongue to flick the head of his cock just hard enough to make it bounce a few times.  

She did it again.  Then she batted it back and forth a few times so that it swayed like one of those inflatable punch-bag toys with sand in the bottom.  

Peter seemed fascinated, as if it were happening to someone else.

She saw him suddenly look up and then heard him say,  “Oh, h-hello, Mr. Sanders, what have you got today?”

Jane thought he sounded a little breathless, but she wasn’t feeling inclined to be merciful.  She ran the tip of her tongue up the length of his shaft, just barely touching it, with what she hoped was excruciating slowness.  When she reached the head she held just the very tip of it in place with her lips and began teasing him there with great delicacy.  

After a while she became aware that Peter wasn’t saying anything, although she could definitely hear him breathing—somewhat raggedly, she thought.  She hoped that meant that there weren’t any customers and not that he was standing there looking preoccupied while they stared at him.

She allowed her tongue to dance around the head of his cock for a little while longer, then opened her mouth wide and wrapped her lips around it.  

She heard Peter take a sudden breath in through his mouth, then felt his hand drop to the back of her head and begin caressing her hair.  God, how she loved him!  Realizing that any interruption beyond this point would be difficult to deal with, she began to work quickly, sliding as much of him in and out of her mouth as she could while deftly employing her tongue to stimulate him.  

She felt his hand leaving her head and glanced up to see that he was now supporting himself with both hands on the countertop while pretending to study something there.  His face was covered in sweat.  She began to work faster, being careful however not to make any loud slurping noises.  She wished she didn’t need both hands to hold his underwear out of the way.  

Hmm...  

She slowly wormed one hand inside and began caressing his sack...and heard him make a sound that would have been a gasp if it hadn’t come out of his nose.

Then his hips began jerking slightly and she adjusted to his rhythm, which quickly grew faster and faster, and suddenly both of his hands were on her head and she began rhythmically squeezing his sack...

And a moment later heard him sigh,  “Ohhh...” and she tasted salt-sourness as his semen began spurting into her mouth.  She became very still then, holding him quietly in her mouth until he was done and then using her tongue to gently tease out the last few drops.

When she felt him beginning to subside she removed her mouth from his cock and gave it a final kiss before carefully putting it away and zipping him up.  

Then she crawled to the back of the counter area and straightened her clothing before standing up, picking up the bag with Peter’s snack as she did so.  After a quick glance around she walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder, saying loudly,  “Here’s your dinner, Peter.”  

Then, as if he’d asked her to join him she added, “Oh no, I’m not hungry.  I just had some juice.”  She gave him a brilliant smile, reached over and gave his forefinger an affectionate tug beneath the counter, then turned and stepped out onto the floor.

Just as she did so an elderly gentleman, apparently thinking she was an employee, approached her.  She listened to his request and then directed him to Peter, adding a few choice words of her own before taking her leave of him and making her way out of the store.

The old man approached the front of the counter where Peter was standing and said, “I’m looking for a book by W. Somerset Maugham: Of Human Bondage.  Your lady friend told me you’re something of an authority on it.”

As she rode home, smiling to herself and eager, despite what she’d said earlier, to get some supper for herself, Jane suddenly remembered her promise to Chrissy.  The sudden change of plans had messed everything up.  Well, she would just have to bring it up when he called after work.

And she was very sure he would call tonight.

“Very funny,” were the first words she heard him say after she picked up the phone.   “That old geezer bent my ear for twenty minutes about that book, thanks to you, and I had to pretend I had some idea what he was talking about!”

“Oh, poor Peter,” said Jane, laughing.  “Maybe you’ll have to read it when you get to Kenton.  Think of how far ahead you’ll be!”

“Well actually, he did make it sound kind of interesting,” Peter admitted.  “Maybe I’ll borrow it from the store.  Still, that was a slimy trick.  I think you need a visit from Mr. Bad Man.”  

Peter’s voice dropped into the nasty leer of Mr. Bad Man and continued, “I’ll show you some ‘Human Bondage’, little girl, heh-heh-heh.”

Jane ignored the goosebumps rising on the back of her neck.  Business before pleasure, she told herself firmly.  

“Oh no, anything but that,” she said, just to finish the exchange, then shifted gears.  “Speaking of punishment...guess who’s still bugging me about Father Brian?”

“Still?”  Peter sounded impressed.  “Wow.  Maybe I should go into business.  I could...”

Jane cut him off.  “She really wants to see you...uh, him again.”

There was a pause.  “And...you’re saying...that would be okay?”  Peter sounded perplexed.

Not really, Jane thought.  “Well, I don’t know,” she said out loud.  “I feel kind of sorry for her.  She can’t just do what she wants like we do—she’s all mixed up, you know?”

“I’ll say.”

“It’s like she has to pretend she doesn’t want it, so she can pretend that it’s good for her.”

Another pause—a longer one.  Then Peter said, “Jane, are you sure we want to get into this again with her?”

Too late—we already are, thought Jane.  

“Well...” she pretended to hesitate.  “It’s just that it really seemed to help her some—that’s what she told me, anyway.  I mean, even if she doesn’t really know why.”  She made her voice more playful.  “And it was kind of fun, wasn’t it?”

Again Peter didn’t reply right away and when he did his tone was thoughtful.  “It was, yeah.  But remember what we talked about later?”

“Of course I do,” Jane replied.  “Peter, I don’t want to share you with anybody else.  You know that.  I only did it that first time because I thought you’d like it, and I thought it would help Chrissy.  And it did, and that’s the only reason I’m asking you now, because I promised Chrissy I would.”  

Well, the last part’s true, thought Jane.

“And...you’re sure you’re okay with it?”  Peter still sounded doubtful.

No.  Not at all.  “Peter, I really don’t think you’re gonna fall in love with Chrissy and break up with me, you know?”

“True...”

She forced herself to smile.  “Besides, you know I’d kill you if you did.”

“Hmm...good safety tip.  I’ll keep that in mind.”

“But you know it’s up to you.  If you don’t want to...well, that’s fine—all the more for me.”  

She hated having to hope that he would say yes.

“Well...” Peter began.  Jane held her breath.  Then suddenly heard him sing, in a high falsetto, “Two girls for every boy...” and burst out laughing in spite of herself.

“Oh,” added Peter.  “I forgot to thank you for the sandwiches and cookies.  Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“They were good...but I think I enjoyed your little snack more...”

They both laughed, and Jane said, “Little?” which made them laugh again.

Peter said, “You really are crazy, you know that?  I mean, right in the middle of the store, my god...”

Jane grinned to herself and replied, “That’s nothing—I know a guy who did something like that right in the school library.”

There was a pause.  Then:  “Oh yeah.”

-->