. 05

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 I managed to sleep all the way to the alarm Monday morning, but I hurried to the bathroom then. For once Sam didn't awaken when I got back into bed, but I heartlessly snuggled against her back, hands on her breasts, kissing the back of her neck until she woke. She went off to the bathroom and came back, and we cuddled a while before making love—or more accurately, as the first step of making love.

We got up and went out to run. I ran ahead of her, then on the second lap caught up with her and slowed down. I really missed both Jenny and Kitty—well, not just as running partners, but that's what I was thinking of right then. I needed to push myself to go a little faster, and it was hard to remember to keep it up. And I just plain missed running alongside someone, either of them or both, for conversation and simply for company.

So I really wasn't all that hot and sweaty when we went in. The slower pace and the breeze from moving had cooled me down a lot. Sam noticed and told me, "I love having you there while I'm running, but you need to go faster. You'll never keep up with Ellen if you let yourself get out of shape." Of course she was teasing—she knew as well as I did that I'd never keep up with Ellen no matter what. And that was a pity. Or maybe she didn't mean running.

We went in and shaved and showered. By the time Sam was clean, she was ready to go, but she washed me, too. We didn't linger too much—it was awkward enough making love in that shower—but we didn't rush through it, either. Sam got to enjoy herself several times before I came.

When we were dressed, she took me in her arms and said, "I'm really going to miss this. The sex too, of course, but just having you, and having time. Having Jenny and Ellen as partners was wonderful—you know I loved it, and really, I was proud of you most of the time with the others, but I'm glad I'm getting these two weeks with you all to myself. Phil, I know Ellen will come around, and I don't know what will happen with me, but I love you, and for now you're mine. Thank you. You've been good to me forever, and I'll never forget that first night, when things finally worked and you were so happy."

She was crying a little on my shoulder. I thought it was happiness, not sadness at how short our time was.

In a minute or two she kissed me once more, and we went out. She reminded me that laundry was that day, and I took our gym clothes up to the hamper. I also got some of my clothes I'd worn the past week, which I might have worn again but might as well have washed. Sam had gone into the kitchen to see about breakfast for us.

Bacon and eggs and toast, with fruit. She knew very well how I liked everything—she'd seen what I chose in the cafeteria, often enough—and it wasn't long before we were both eating. I thought that these two weeks were a lot like being married in some ways, so different in others. Like being on a honeymoon, with the privileges of being married but not the responsibilities yet. I wished that could be true. Jenny and Ellen also loved me. Things with Jenny could never be quite the same again, I thought. And part of that was that however much she wanted to, Jenny herself would never quite feel the same about me. Part was my fault, though. It was a lot like my early problem with Sam. I wanted to forgive Jenny through and through—I meant to—but deep down something would always be wondering whether she would just dump me again, or when.

Sam somehow saw that something was wrong, and asked me what. "You're reading minds, now?" I asked her.

"If I could read your mind, I wouldn't have to ask what's wrong! Anyone can see you're brooding. Anyone who really knows you, anyway. And I probably can't fix it. If it were something I could fix just by taking you to bed again, you'd have told me right off. But please tell me anyway."

I told her what I'd been thinking. She said, "You're right, I think. It really is kind of the same. You really did forgive me, but something in there was so afraid of getting hurt that it wouldn't relax. I wish I could come up with something to help, the way Bella did that time. All I can think is what you'll do anyway. Trust her as far as she gives you opportunity, and see. But opportunities may be scarce for a long time, and that's not her fault. Or yours."

After we cleaned up from breakfast, she asked me to just walk with her outside. We just wandered around the property, looking at things. When we were way toward the back, screened all around by a lot of trees and brush, she backed me up to a tree and kissed me, very thoroughly. She said, "You know I want you to be in charge and decisive, most of the time, but will you please let me have my way right now?"

She unfastened my belt and pants, and pulled them down. She knelt down and sucked on my cock for just a couple of minutes. Then she pulled off her own pants and underwear, and put her hands on the same tree, bending over, and said, "Please, right now, come in." So I did that. She came a couple of times, keeping her moans to just whispers, and again when I came.

Then she backed me up to the tree again, and knelt down and sucked on me again, eventually getting me ready, and taking me down into her throat until I came. She cleaned me off with her mouth, and said, "There. I don't know whether we'll manage something like that again this week, but I really wanted you, and I've wanted for days now to get you out of the house for something like that." She checked to make sure she didn't have anything on her face, and we got dressed.

I kissed her again. "How did you know I wouldn't just go in your ass instead?"

"I knew you could—it was there, exposed, after all. I trusted that you wouldn't, but if you had I would have done my best to enjoy it, even with no lubricant and no way to clean you up. It made me feel vulnerable, if you must know, and I enjoyed that. A lot of the enjoyment was only possible because I could trust you so much.

"But if you decide you want to, can we please do it in the house, with lubricant, and a shower afterward? Or later today, in your apartment?"

"I'd forgotten all about that! We need to get going!"

We hurried back to the house, and made a couple of trips taking loads of stuff to the car. Uncle John and Aunt Sally were having breakfast, and we went in to say goodbye. Aunt Sally gave us each a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for taking such good care of Sam," she told me. I wondered just what she was thinking of.

I decided I'd better say so. "You know I try, any way I can, but I'm not sure what you have in mind right now. But thank you for taking care of her, for years, and of me for a week now."

We got in and drove off, and they waved from the doorway. I told Sam, "I wish I felt as much at home with anyone in my own family as I do with your aunt and uncle. Thank you—again—for inviting me to come. It's a lot better than just fending for myself at home for a week and more, of course, but they've been wonderful."

We drove a while, and then Sam said, "Just in case, let me tell you. I stuck in a tube of lubricant, and for that matter I've got another and I'll leave this one with you. I meant what I said earlier."

"I guess the only thing I can say is thank you. If that's really what you want me to do, tell me, whenever the time comes. It's pretty unlikely I'll propose it. I admit I was briefly tempted, but it didn't take much thinking to know what you'd prefer, and which would really be better for me, and how I'd feel afterward if I'd done that."

"Thank you. I know you'd want to take it really slow, work the lubricant in, and work up from a finger, too, if you did that. And thank you! But I should remind you that I was forfeit in the game, more than once, and the guys lubed up and didn't just shove right in fast, but they didn't take it all that slow and they definitely didn't work up to it. And since I knew it was coming, it wasn't really all that bad—after the first time, anyway. And if it were you, it would, um, just knowing that would make a big difference to me.

"And I'll refrain from pulling you over to kiss me, or climbing over into your lap, and let you drive. Phil, I—never mind. I love you."

We got to my advisor's office with about fifteen minutes to spare, too close for my peace of mind since we might have hit traffic tie-ups—but we hadn't. I asked the department secretary, as we went past her office, and she told me she thought he didn't have anyone with him, so I knocked.

Professor Wheeler greeted us both, pleasing me by remembering Sam's name. I said, "Before we get into serious discussion, and while Sam's still with us, I need to say something else. I apologize for my ignorance the last time I was here. Sam lives with her uncle and aunt, and I've been staying with them, but I hadn't realized he's a historian too, retired now. He asked me to greet you for him. He says you probably remember him, because you were a student in a course he once taught as a visiting professor. His name is John Goodfriend." I said where he had normally taught.

He was taken aback for a moment. "Of course I remember Professor Goodfriend! That was a course to remember, and he had a tremendous influence on me, just through his teaching. And through his writing, which I sought out after that semester. Professors at that kind of college are expected to put more energy into teaching than into research and writing, so he wrote a lot less than most professional academic historians, but he's a brilliant man and scholar."

He turned to Sam. "I was impressed with your insight last week, Miss Bruja. Had your uncle discussed history with you often?"

"Actually, never, as far as I can remember—before this past week, when he was talking to Phil and I jumped in occasionally. I was only living with them after my parents were killed, four or five years before I went off to high school, and I was rather a handful to bring up, I'm sorry to say. I knew he was a professor of history, and where, and that was about it."

"Well, in any case, why don't you both sit down. Unless one of you would rather that Mr. Morris and I talk alone?"

We sat down, and I told him a lot of what I had thought about, regarding what I might use history degrees for. I summarized Uncle John's remarks, remembering to call him Professor Goodfriend when I referred to him. And I tried to tell him my concerns about my own choices.

"I think my real interest in history is kind of abstract, seeing the patterns of events and their causes and effects. I'm a little concerned about being able to keep, well, keep the actual people in mind as people who matter, as more than just actors on the world stage with their own lines to recite and nothing more to them.

"I discussed something like this, sort of parallel, with one of my instructors, who among other things tutored students in philosophy. I hadn't known that, but I saw her reading Quine and Wittgenstein and Austin, and once Kant, and I asked her. Anyway, we discussed a program she had come up with at one point—an activity for students I mean, and I was one of them. It had accomplished its intended purpose, to a great degree, but it had a number of very serious drawbacks and problems, which had had some ramifications for her—big and unpleasant ones. And she said that those had been very painful, but had given her one of the most important lessons of her life. She had failed to remember that real people were real people—her words for it—and she had designed rules for the activity without thinking what might happen when people disobeyed or exceeded the rules, for example.

"Well, of course, academic historians generally aren't responsible for that kind of program, any more than philosophers are. Except, of course, that they often teach or otherwise influence the people who do that, and sometimes even act in the political sphere themselves. And I find movements in the field of history attempting to read many different ideologies into history—Freudian, Marxist, feminist, fascist, you name it—I find all of these rather frightening and horrifying. Not primarily because I think the ideologies are wrong—as I usually do—but because they are very consciously insisting that only facts which serve their ideologies should be allowed and remembered. Real, individual people only matter insofar as they fit into the grand scheme. It looks to me as though a great many university history departments have been taken captive by such thinking.

"So I think teaching and research are where I would like to be, but I'm not sure where and how I would fit in. There are lots of other careers I read about which I might enjoy and do well at, but I would prefer that. And I know this is basically the same answer I gave you last week."

Professor Wheeler laughed. "And here I was looking forward to pointing that out to you! But really, it isn't the same answer at all. Last week, when you said teaching, you made it obvious that you hadn't really thought about the alternatives, and that was just a default choice. Today, your answer is that you have looked at many alternatives, and some of them hold some attraction, but you think teaching is probably what you would choose. And you've thought about difficulties you might find in teaching, too. It sounds the same, but it is very different."

We went through my proposed schedule with this in mind, and he approved it. He approved the addition of a philosophy course I wanted to take. He said, "Please, feel free to come and talk to me at any point, about where you are going or want to go, or most anything else. You don't need to wait until it's time to settle next term's schedule."

As we were leaving, he asked Sam for her uncle's phone number. "I hadn't realized that he lived so close by," he said. "I should have, since I knew where he was teaching. I hope that I can arrange to go and spend an afternoon or so talking to him."

It was time for lunch, and this time Sam hadn't made arrangements for us. We drove to my assigned space in the apartment building's lot, and unloaded the stuff we had brought and carried it up. This time we took the elevator. I was pleased to see that the place was good and clean, with faint odors of cleaning chemicals lingering, but not freshly painted.

That accomplished, we went and knocked on Art's door. He appeared to be out. We went to Ellen's apartment. We had verified the number she had given us by looking at the names on the mailboxes in the lobby.

Ellen was in, and asked us in, smiling really big. When we were in, she hugged Sam hard, thanking her for hospitality on her journey, and then practically flew into my arms.

"Phil, I'm sorry. First that I was so standoffish the last few weeks of school, and then for being unwilling to make up my mind where we were headed. I owed you an answer, and I'm so sorry I didn't give you one. The answer is yes."

"By this time, I'm not sure what the question is to which a simple yes or no can apply, Ellen."

"I mean that if you'll have me, I'm your partner. With Sam and Jenny, if they're still in, or anyone else you choose. If you decide you're going to go with someone else exclusively, I may come and cry at you for a while, but I won't say you owe me anything. If it comes about that we get married, I'll insist on that being exclusive, but I won't run away from it. You're right, I'll do it because I want you that much, not because some prophecy says I will—even if it really is a true prophecy. I'm as much yours, and you are as much mine, as you'll allow. I'll trust you with anything.

"I know I said I needed to talk to you a lot before I could decide, but I realized that was totally wrong. I know you very well, well enough to know what you would say to the questions I had. I know what you would feel you could give me, and what you would feel you can't. The problem wasn't you, it was me.

"Over there," pointing at the bedroom, "on my bed are the sheets you lent me. I have new ones now, but I'm hoping to wait to change them until I've had a chance to mess them up with you. Then I'll wash them and return them to you."

Sam said, "I was kind of hoping for a chance with Phil a little later, after we get lunch. Ellen, if he's agreeable, I'll gladly let you have him instead. Phil, I know I said I was really glad to have you to myself, but I couldn't ever complain about once out of two weeks, not when it's Ellen."

Ellen looked startled, and I said, "Sam, sweetheart, you aren't thinking. You've switched your pills around, but Ellen didn't have any reason to do that."

Ellen hugged me again and said, "Sometime Sunday, I hope. But if you wanted, well, something else now, I won't say no. I'm through saying no or even maybe to you, about sex. Forever, I hope." She must have seen in my face what my answer to that was. "Well, Sunday, then."

Sam said, "Well, let's get lunch somewhere. But if you like, afterward, you could come along and watch if you want."

"Thank you. Not quite like a few months ago, but I'd love that. But why go anywhere for lunch? I've got enough for sandwiches."

So we had sandwiches with Ellen. I was afraid we had eaten her lunches for the next few days, and said so, and she said, "These are things I brought from home. They were in a cooler, with ice, including an overnight stopover, and then Sam's aunt let me keep them in the fridge overnight, and gave me more ice in the morning, but they still should be eaten up soon."

When we were done, I did the dishes. Ellen wanted to object, but she plainly would need to do dishes later that day, and I told her not to be silly. When that was done, we all went up to my apartment.

Once we were in the door, both of them kissed me at considerable length. Sam looked at me, and at Ellen, and said, "Ellen, feel free to say no if it will be too frustrating, or for any other reason for that matter. But why don't you come into bed with us? This isn't one of those super-narrow beds we had at school, it's queen size. I admit I haven't slept in one, by myself or with anyone else, but, um, we did make use of this one last week, and I'm sure three can lie down comfortably. Sleep, I don't know. And thinking about last week—" She went off into the bathroom, and emerged with two largish bath towels. "These were here when we first came by last week, and we had been told that anything left behind that we didn't take would be pitched. I guess these were a little frayed, and someone thought they weren't worth taking."

She turned down the covers and spread the towels on the bottom sheet. Sam and I got undressed quickly, and after half a moment Ellen did, too, leaving her panties on. I went and kissed her as amorously as I could, stroking her breasts. She gasped, and I said, "If at any point you decide you need me to stop touching you, just say so." Sam and I got in bed, and after a moment Ellen got in on the other side of me. I concentrated on making love to Sam, but worked hard to give Ellen some attention too.