. 03

Author's note:

This is, in all its seven parts and their many chapters, one very,

very

long story. If long stories bother you, I suggest you read something else.

No part of this story is written so as to stand on its own. I strongly suggest that you start with

the beginning of Part 1

and read sequentially—giving up at any point you choose, of course.

All sexual activity portrayed anywhere in this story involves only people at least eighteen years old.

This entire story is posted only on literotica.com. Any other public posting without my permission in writing is a violation of my copyright.

Somehow, that night, I managed to go all the way to the Thursday morning alarm without waking up for a run to the bathroom. Sam actually got up first, in fact. But at that point, I had to hurry downstairs.

When I got back to our room, Sam took charge herself. She knew, by that time, that if I objected to what she was doing I would say so clearly. If I took charge, I really had to pay attention, because I couldn't always trust her to do that. We kept things quick, but she got her satisfaction.

When we went out to run, we ran at our normal paces, so I ran farther than she did. I made the same loop we had been, then started it over. Since I didn't run anywhere near twice as fast as she did, I waited until she had passed me returning on the other side, ran a bit farther, then crossed and followed her back. I caught up with her before she was across from the house, and slowed down to finish up together. Before we went in the door, outside where it was still cooler and there was a breeze, she turned and kissed me—still not in any close contact besides our lips, and her hands on the sides of my face.

We went in and shaved and showered—yes with a quickie, once time and the water had cooled us off enough—and dressed. We kissed for a minute or two before we left the bathroom. She told me quietly, "Phil, I love you. I'm going to miss you, but I'll also miss the sex. I really do hope and plan not to just go looking for someone because I'm horny. But I also really do expect you to remember that Ellen was your partner just as much as I was—as I am!—in the end."

"It depends on Ellen, too," I reminded her. "After what she saw, she's been, um, skittish, and she may decide to avoid me. And if she does, I won't push her, and that's flat! Much as I love her—or I should say, I love her too much to do that. I know that she still loves me, enough that if she wants to avoid me I could still overwhelm her."

Sam insisted on that quickie. She pointed out to me that in our usual position, her feet weren't even on the floor, and mine didn't really need to be up to the edge of the tub. I wound up with my hips thrust farther forward than usual, which felt a little awkward and a little out of balance to me, but we didn't fall over or even come near it. Sam could be very determined, and in this case she was proved right.

We took our gym clothes upstairs, hanging them to air, and came back down to get breakfast. We were both reading from textbooks for classes we expected to be taking. We occasionally discussed bits we found interesting.

Uncle John and Aunt Sally came down to breakfast, too. We just chatted for a bit, and Uncle John raised the question of jobs available to history majors and especially newly-minted history PhDs. It was plain enough that Professor Wheeler was right, that I needed to have a goal. I still thought teaching was likely, but that needed to be tested to see whether I could do it. There were many jobs in the area of politics, which I wanted to avoid at all costs.

We discussed writing. "I haven't read anything you've written, but from hearing you speak at length I'm perfectly sure you can do that well. If you do go for the doctorate, you would want to be writing for academic historians—papers for journals, that sort of thing. The popular market is another kind of thing entirely." He said that, especially those days, it was a tough market, and either a serious reputation or contacts within the publishing world were probably necessary, however good my writing might be. He smiled and said, "I would guess that you will have to learn to edit yourself, to cut out what's only somewhat relevant, however important and interesting it seems to you, and trim down to the essentials."

We talked for almost an hour. I pulled up some of my more recent history papers, and we went up to his office and transferred them to his computer. Everything he said was very helpful.

Then he offered to call someone he knew who owned a car dealership. He asked me a few questions about what I was looking for, and once again I had to admit that I lacked enough experience to pin that down. He made the call. "You can go in any time this morning," he told me. "Of course, you'll have to wait if he's with other customers." He gave me the name, and the name of the dealership, and some directions. "But I think Sam knows where it is. And she will probably want to go along."

"You bet I do!" Sam put in.

He told me that the man was a close friend, a leader in his church, someone he knew would deal honestly and openly with anyone, but especially in this case.

I really had no clue about how to buy a car. I thought I could do research, but I knew the amount of data out there was overwhelming, and I didn't know what I could trust. I took along checkbook and credit cards. I knew most people financed their cars, but I thought I shouldn't be paying more than I could afford up front. Then again, I might learn something. Sam drove me to the dealership.

Mr. Williams was just finishing talking to other customers when we arrived. One of the salesmen—or I guess I should say one of the sales staff or something since she was a woman—took us to a little lounge area. They had donuts and the like and coffee, but also hot water and tea bags, so I made myself tea. We only had to wait about five minutes beyond what it took to get coffee and tea and get settled. There was a large television blathering in the corner of the room, but we ignored it. Daytime programming hadn't improved since I was in middle school.

Mr. Williams came, made sure we didn't want donuts or anything else we lacked, and took us to his office. Sam took care of the introductions. "Mr. Williams, I know you remember me. I'm Samantha Bruja, but I go by Sam now, and I'm John and Sally Goodfriend's niece. This is my close friend, Phil Morris, who is staying with us this week and next, before I fly off to my college and he moves in at his." She named the universities. At that point she shut up.

"I understand you think you need a car, Phil. That's your business, and ours is to sell cars, but since you're here at John's request and recommendation, I really should ask why you think you need one."

"That's a fair question, and the answer may be be a bit complicated. I was there when Mr. Goodfriend spoke to you, so I know what he told you. Of course, you may know some of this from previous conversations, because of Sam.

"We've both spent four years at a year-round, residential high school. But I'm entering as a junior, not as a freshman." He looked surprised. "That school's academic program is intentionally tough and rigorous. They think it's a serious problem that American education has been, in their view, dumbed down, and they want to not be part of that. I should say that I agree with their view of the situation. Whenever I got to go home, I got together with guys who had been my friends through middle school, and the kind of studying they had to do was a disgrace." I told him where home was, and that I was here, now, because my parents were out of the country.

"I've looked at the apartment I'll be living in. It's very convenient to the campus, and there are some restaurants and a small grocery nearby, but I can see that sometimes I'll need to get around town. That grocery is better than a convenience store, a lot better, but it's still not geared to anyone actually cooking for himself. I'll sometimes want to go to other places in the general area, too. It doesn't make sense to me to spend two years or more there and not see anything beyond the campus. Sam's aunt and uncle have really welcomed me, and have also given me a standing invitation to visit when I'm able, and I really hope to do that. I have a few other friends from school who live a good deal farther, but still driving distance rather than flying.

"I appreciate your thinking of that for me, and I agree that having a car is a bit of a luxury rather than a strict necessity, but it really will help me. Just getting to school next week—I have an appointment with my advisor, and moving some stuff in, and then finally finishing moving in on Friday—I either need to rent a car or depend on someone else for transportation."

He dropped that, I suspected less because I convinced him than because he had done his duty and beyond by asking me. I really did appreciate his question—and it helped convince me I could trust him.

We talked about what I could afford, and what I really wanted or thought I needed.

I ended by saying, "If I were home and my parents were there, I would ask one of them—preferably Dad—for advice. And I would be wanting to look more than I really have time and resources for, now. I've never had to think about anything like buying a car before. It's the same as preparing to live in apartment. I always lived with my parents, except when they were away—Dad's job took him away a lot, and I lived with my grandparents then. Now I've been in a dorm for four years. I like to think I'm not stupid, but the need to buy linens and dishes and cookware took me by surprise. I just didn't think about limits on the word 'furnished.'

"So I very much appreciate your taking time to discuss all that with me. I still don't know enough about cars and what's available, but I didn't even know what I wanted before."

He told me that for the sake of what I wanted to pay, a somewhat older used car would be best. He said that if it was too old, the price dropped a lot, but so did reliability, and maintenance costs went up—as well as inconvenient breakdowns. He gave specific examples, as different manufacturers and even different models varied in this. You can bet I listened hard to what he was saying, and took a few notes. Sam may have taken more, since I was part of the conversation.

He said, "The problem is that for the most part we're selling newer models than you would want—or want to pay for—in our used car inventory. But there are actually a few that we've taken in trade very recently that might be good for you. We normally would be selling them to used car dealers, or to brokers who would then sell them to the used car dealers. But since they're here, let's look at them."

The first was kind of a sports car. He spoke of it a little disdainfully. "This is in the general price range you'd like, and in some ways you would find it convenient, I think. Trunk and rear seat are both pretty small, in terms of toting your stuff around. Cars like this tempt a lot of people into driving faster than they realize. And reliability on these is only so-so, and repairs may be expensive."

I decided to skip a test drive, at least until I'd looked at other things. I'd already decided that it had way too much stuff on the dash. I was sure I could learn to sort it all out, but there were a lot of virtual dials and touch-screen type controls. I did discover as we went on, however, that the dash clutter and knowing which button to push had come to be pretty universal problems. This one actually had a TV built into the dash! Apparently it could show many useful things, maps of your route and so on, but I wondered how many drivers were out there watching programs instead of the road.

I wound up test-driving two. Mr. Williams was pleasantly surprised that I could handle a stick shift. Apparently most people didn't bother to learn how any more. I actually liked the other one better, though. The price was more than I really wanted to pay, but I thought that was going to be true unless I spent a lot of time looking, and I certainly could afford this one.

We went back to his office. He told somebody to get some initial paperwork together. We sat and talked while this was being done.

He finally asked, "Samantha. Excuse me, you said you go by Sam now. Sam, then, you've gone along with us on all this. What's your part in it? If you don't mind my asking."

Sam had mostly kept quiet, but she had pointed out things she spotted that she thought I might have missed, occasionally. She had been very pleasant and respectful to Mr. Williams and a few others we had spoken to.

"I'm here just as Phil's close friend, one of his closest from school. I've rented a car, so I've been his transportation, and I'm interested in seeing that he gets what he needs, but I'll be far away in just about a week. So I'm just here to help."

She paused a moment, and then went on. "Mr. Williams, my aunt and uncle don't gossip, but I'm sure you know that ever since I came to live with them I was a problem for them. I had huge attitude problems, and I was just wild and out of control. Phil came in for a lot of that from me, and endured it with more longsuffering than I can describe. And some things happened that really brought home to me how wrong it all was. I shouldn't go into them, but I've really done all I could to repair what I've done, and to behave differently, and to ask forgiveness from those I wronged most. I suspect your question came out of not seeing me act the way I used to. Anyway, that's part of why I'm Sam now, not Samantha. I hope to be able to live up to this change for the rest of my life. I don't remember giving you specific trouble, but I may have. If I did, I'd like you to talk to me about it, not now I mean, I know there's not a lot of time, but I do want to settle it. And I hope you'll forgive me."

He was kind of staring at her as if in shock. I wondered just how rude she had been to him in the past, or worse than rude. Or had been to others, in his presence or to his knowledge. He finally said, "Sam, I'm very glad to hear that, and sorry you won't be around more for me to see it. Phil, if you had any part in this, and it sounds like you may have, then thank you. John and Sally did their best with her and for her, and it often wasn't enough. Be assured I'll pray for you both. And of course I'll forgive you for the small troubles you gave me personally."

The papers came in. It was at this point merely an agreement to buy the car for the stated price, with other costs filled in. He went through it with me, pointing out that I would need to arrange for insurance immediately, and that the agent would need to fax them a certificate. Even though I was paying cash—actually a check—they needed to run a credit check on me. There were a number of other things. I signed it.

They accepted a down payment, or technically a deposit, on a credit card, the rest to be paid when I collected the car. He said, "If you can get the insurance taken care of today, that will help a lot." He recommended a local agent. My copy of what we had signed would be needed for that. He went on, "I'm going to have our shop do a more thorough check on the car. Here's the car's history, which you can also get yourself on line for a small fee. That looks fine. If we find anything expensive wrong, we'll consult you, but we'll expect to tear up what you signed and return your deposit. The extra examination is a favor to John Goodfriend—personal from me to him, but also because he's been a good customer over the years.

"We probably won't have everything together tomorrow, but we may by Saturday. We're only open until 2:00 Saturday, and closed Sunday. If we're ready in time, we'll call you Saturday morning."

We stood up and shook hands. I thanked him, and Sam and I left and went home.

I asked Uncle John about insurance, and he suggested the same agent. It developed that this was also someone in their church, whom Uncle John trusted. I called him and explained my situation. To my very great surprise, he had heard of our school and had dealings with one or two of its graduates in the past. From my mention of my schooling, he asked about the school by name.

He asked about my plans for driving, and we discussed this. He wanted to look over my options some, and promised to call back during the afternoon.

I went back into Uncle John's office to report on progress. He asked me to sit down—well, us, since Sam had come too. He put aside whatever he was working on, and we spent a very interesting time, probably an hour and a half, just talking. Some of it involved issues from the history papers I had given him to look at, which he had browsed through. He asked questions about my courses, both those from the high school and those I expected to be taking, and we discussed those—mostly the former, naturally. And we talked about his own teaching career and his own particular areas of interest. These centered in church history, which really wasn't surprising, and particularly some parts of the Reformation. This was all very thought-provoking, in many ways. The discussion was mostly between the two of us, but Sam spoke up from time to time, and it was obvious that she was following this discussion, which was often rather technical, with interest and understanding. I could see that Uncle John was very pleased with her part in this.

At lunch we talked more generally, all four of us, but after a while he turned the discussion to me.

"Phil, I hope you won't find this rude or too personal. If you do, please say so, and we'll drop it. I hope we've made it clear that both Sally and I are pleased with what we've seen and heard from you, and very glad for your friendship with our niece, and your part in, ah, the reformation of her character. That's badly put, but you both know what I mean.

"You surely can't help realizing that the intellectual position you've put yourself in, regarding religion, isn't tenable in the long run. As we've talked in general, you've often used teleological language. For example, sometime after you told us about your friend Barbara, we asked you about your own views on homosexuality. What you had said in talking about her invited that question. And you said in part that you thought it was a distortion of the way people are made, or are meant to be. You recognized all kinds of situations that lead people into homosexual behavior—you mentioned Barbara's friend in that context. And you said that their behavior often changes the way people think.

"But doesn't speaking of how people are made, or how things are meant to be, require some kind of maker, who is the one who means things to be that way?

"I don't mean to be attacking you. I do want you to consider the issues in this light, and I hope to nudge you toward letting go of agnosticism in favor of faith, of course. There are obviously many more issues you need to consider, too."

I said, "That's obviously

ad hominem

, but it's not something I can or would object to. I've thought a lot about all these issues. I'm certainly not a deist of the sort that some of the Founding Fathers were, denying

a priori

any kind of supernatural intervention into the world, saying that all we can know of God comes from reason. This sometimes led them to really silly places. I'm sure you know that Jefferson produced his own version of the New Testament, or at least the Gospels, literally by cutting out all the miracles, and all mention of the supernatural—and all of Jesus' claims to divinity—to leave only the moral teaching. Given that the miracles are constantly adduced as the most important reason for even listening to the teaching, that's spectacularly ridiculous. He said, basically, that everything else had been added to Jesus' words.