. 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.

Tuesday morning, the alarm went off at a more normal hour. We got up, shaved, got dressed and ran, came home, showered, ate breakfast, and went to classes.

I had been right. Professor Goldberg assigned us to write papers from our outlines, to be ready in one week. She discussed in some detail what she wanted, and she said that sometimes in actually writing a paper from an outline or even a first draft, a student might want to make changes. In this case, she asked that we not make such changes without getting her approval first. Well, I thought, I have the paper and it follows the outline. It was within her length limits, if just barely.

The rest of the class was more or less the usual, Professor Goldberg going over material from the books, doing some bringing together but not much more. However, I asked a few questions to get deeper on some points, and a little to my surprise some others did, too.

At the end of the class, Professor Goldberg dismissed us a minute or two early, having come to the end of a section. "Phil, please remain," she said.

When everyone else had gone, she said to me, "Phil, this is simply a guess, but I feel fairly sure that you have already written this paper. Is that correct?"

"I haven't printed it, but yes, it's done otherwise. I might look it through one last time before I print it."

"Thank you. I think I'm going to have to make my assignments less predictable, somehow. And thank you for your contributions to this class. That's all I wanted to say."

Professor Bailey's class was actually pretty enjoyable. He tried asking questions about what lay behind the material he was covering, and several people were prepared to answer. Pete, Tammy, and I all occasionally put in questions of our own, and to my surprise a couple more people did as well.

At the end of the class, Pete and Tammy asked if they might come to lunch with Ellen and me.

I said, "Of course, unless Ellen finds something private we need to discuss. And a public lounge is, well, public. Thursday, if you recall, you kind of interrupted us, and at this point I don't mind saying that I had been venting about being the only one answering Professor Bailey's questions. That had led into some more personal issues, I admit, so we shut up when you came in. My point is that if she has something urgent and private, either we'll leave or we'll ask you to be nice enough to leave."

Of course, when we got down there, Ellen enthusiastically welcomed them. I'd known things were still going well, from their demeanor. They had both enjoyed the discussion in class and appeared happy, and when they arrived Pete's arm had been around Tammy's waist, and neither of them had appeared to even notice that. Then, on our way down, they had walked along independently as we talked, except for little, fond touches, very occasionally.

It seemed Ellen had sized things up the same way within about two seconds of their arrival.

"I take it last night went well, too?"

Tammy said, "It was wonderful. Maybe not quite as great as Sunday night, just as sex, but for me anyway it was an emotional high—with really good sex attached. Again, thank you both so much.

"I know it can't possibly stay this great indefinitely, but I'm really grateful that it's starting off that way. You know we were in love for a long time, even if I was too blind to see it in myself, and this is helping us bond. My feelings are flying high, and occasionally I'm so giddy you'd swear I was on LSD or something."

They had both spoken quietly enough that anyone in the hall outside would be unlikely to hear, and Pete continued the same way as he said, "I'm happy to be getting sex of any kind with Tammy, but she's right, it's really good for both of us right now. My thanks also."

We got to eating lunch. I said that some of the students in Professor Goldberg's class had shown just a few signs of waking up and paying attention, and then described what she'd said to me after class.

Tammy kind of stared at me. "You mean you have the paper all written, and she hadn't even assigned it?"

"Well, she assigned an outline. I had to wonder what conceivable reason she could have for that, except as the basis for a paper. And I had time, so I wrote the paper when I finished the outline.

"Then she asked me to see her in her office, and asked me about the outline. Um, you do realize that I went a little beyond what was assigned, don't you? Because the assignment required zero thought, and I did some following up on some things. But she basically asked me why I'd gone beyond the assignment, said I'd done a good job, and warned me to stick at least that close to the assigned topic in the future. I think she may have—no, can't be. Anyway, I did some minor corrections on the paper, and caught myself about to print it. I thought I'd better wait for that until I had the assignment. It should be fine, but it's barely within her maximum length." I had suddenly wondered whether she allowed so much extra length for the paper just in view of my outline, for the paper that would go with that outline. But that was ridiculous. Wasn't it?

We chatted about Professor Bailey's class, too. I said I was glad that a number of others, besides the two of them, were apparently preparing enough to answer questions like those, and that some of the answers were pretty good and showed that some work had really been done. They agreed, strongly.

I suddenly realized that it was just the three of us talking, though. In one way reasonable, because we had courses and professors in common. But pretty rude.

"Ellen, I'm sorry! We're talking shop, and it's our shop, not yours. If we could back up about fifteen minutes, I'd ask you about your own studies. Tonight I will, I promise. Please forgive me for ignoring you."

"Phil, gladly. It's not that what you've been saying isn't interesting, and it's not that there aren't psych classes like that. I think the average amount demanded in my classes is a little higher, maybe, but they're still catering to the students who really don't want to think. And some of the topics they cover are interesting and worth talking about."

We got ready and left for our afternoon classes—or, in my case and Ellen's, to find places to study for the next three hours. Whatever improvements Professor Bailey's and Professor Goldberg's classes had shown, my last class that day remained a simple lecture summarizing the material in the books. That professor, in particular, appeared to resent questions from the class, and had taken to ignoring my raised hand. I had already decided to ask Professor Wheeler whether it was possible for me to avoid his classes for the rest of my time there. The worst of my Monday-Wednesday-Friday professors wasn't quite as bad. She would kind of sigh when I asked something, but she did try to answer, albeit usually as briefly as possible.

Ellen and I normally walked home together, but I needed to go to the library and check out the philosophy books I had reserved. She had already started fixing dinner when I got there, but she made me take over. Ah, the price of being a famous chef! I was tempted to just turn everything off and carry Ellen off and have her for dinner. I told her how noble I was being in resisting this temptation.

It turned out she had good reason for making me cook, though. She called a lot of people. She started with Sam and Jenny, just checking in—after all, three hours later, their time. I could listen and even talk some, but I couldn't have managed the phone while I cooked. Sam talked about her discussion with Steve. I thought she was getting plenty of encouragement from her professors and fellow students, but still, hearing from a real, professional artist had been a big boost for her. They'd also talked about his work.

Jenny talked about her classes, what she was learning, how she was enjoying them—and not a word about any personal life beyond. Ellen and I discussed this after they'd disconnected, and we both thought this probably meant she had a boyfriend and was somehow ashamed of the fact, but we couldn't be sure without asking her, and neither of us had wanted to ask that right then. And what more could I have said than I already had, to tell her that was fine and that we really wanted to know?

She, or we, called Deedee and then Ellen Manning, who were both enjoying school and some degree of social life. They had each had a few guys ask for dates, and accepted some, and had fun. They had each kept things at the level of a few kisses, not very intense, making it clear from the first that there wouldn't be anything more than that for the immediate future. I knew that for Ellen, in particular, that had to be hard. They both, at that point, wanted to find the right man before going further, not to have sex with lots of guys in hopes that one would be the right one. Interestingly—to me, anyway—each of them had quickly narrowed things down to one guy who was willing to accept that without pushing for more. In each case, they thought the guy would have gone as far as allowed, right off, but the limits hadn't scared him off or made him act resentful at all.

Having heard that from Deedee, we said to Ellen that it sounded the same for both of them. Of course, they'd been talking to each other a lot while we'd been busy with things and forgetting to call so many people, so she just agreed. They both were doing things they liked with guys who were good company and apparently interested in them, not just in sex. She thought that for her things might change fairly soon, and she needed to sit down with her guy and do some serious talking. Deedee was happier with things as they stood.

By this time dinner was ready to dish up, so we didn't make any more calls then. As we ate, I apologized again for how I'd ignored her at lunch, and asked about her own classes. We talked about those, she of course doing most of the talking, as we ate.

When we were done eating, I let Ellen start cleaning up while I called Aunt Sally and Uncle John. Of course, Ellen took part, too.

We talked about how a lot of things were going, including the dance the past weekend, mentioning Pete and Tammy as friends from my classes who had invited us—looking like being really close friends. Neither of us felt that their relationship to each other should be raised, but of course that wasn't missed. We did mention having had breakfast at Pete's and Tammy's apartment, so it was obvious that they were living together.

We talked some about Sam's second drawing. Of course, they had talked to Sam about it, too, and she had told them that the idea for trying to sort out her feelings, which had led to it, came from me. I told them that she'd said the first drawing had come about the same way, but that I hadn't known that then. They understood the point of the drawing, of course. In fact, Aunt Sally said, very gently, "Phil, I'm pretty sure that you're one of the things in those saddlebags."

"I'm sure of it," I told her. "And I think that's harder on her than it is on me. A lot harder. At least for now, and I hope permanently, I've got Ellen, for one thing. And I want to see Sam happily settled where she should be, whatever that means, so if she goes the way I expect I'll be comforted by knowing that she really needs to. But I don't think that will make it any easier on her."

We talked about some other things. I eventually said, "There's time, but I can't keep putting off asking you what we should bring for Thanksgiving. And also, you're expecting us to arrive that Wednesday evening, aren't you?"

"Yes, that's what we were expecting, but you could arrive Thursday morning if there's any reason. Just let us know. And really, what you bring is kind of the same. We'll have turkey and kind of the usual side dishes and desserts. I'll trust you to pick something that will go well, but it would be nice to know, just so as to avoid duplication."

"I'm assuming that Ellen doesn't really want to be responsible—" Ellen looked a little alarmed at that, "—and what I was thinking of was a sweet potato casserole with ham and apples and stuff."

"That sounds wonderful, and I'll just let that be the sweet potato dish, then. We'll have mashed potatoes, too."

"How many should I prepare it for? And may I actually make it there? I think it will be fine reheated, so if your kitchen space will be tight, I'll make it here."

"I'd rather you do that, if you would. I probably will welcome some help in the kitchen, but Sue may be enough for that. Seven people in all, and if we don't eat all you bring, you can either take leftovers home or leave them here. We'll be sending other leftovers home with you, of course."

"We're really looking forward to it. Thank you very much for inviting us."

When they had disconnected, Ellen said, "How pressed are you for time, Phil? I'd really like to call Barbara—Wilson, I mean—except I'm pretty sure she'd rather talk to you with me chiming in than to me with you chiming in. And I'm assuming you got her number—you did, didn't you? I didn't."

I said, "I did, and you're right, she's one we should be talking with. And tomorrow, or sometime soon, Jim. But do we say anything about Tammy and Pete to her?"

"Actually, let me call Tammy and ask." So she did that. "Tammy, do you have a minute? Phil and I were calling a lot of friends we've been neglecting, and we were going to call the friend we told you about Sunday, and we wondered whether we should say anything to her about you and Pete. I'm pretty sure she would be interested, but if you're uncomfortable we won't, period."

"It's fine with me, and Pete certainly wouldn't object. In fact, if you want, go ahead and use our names, though I'd prefer she not pass those on to others. You can tell her I'm still keeping under cover with everyone else. And thank you for asking." We said goodbye and disconnected.

So I called Barbara. She sounded pleased—if surprised—to hear from me, but said she wasn't where she could talk at the moment, and asked if she could call back in half an hour. I agreed, and we disconnected.

We turned to studying. It was somewhat longer than half an hour before Barbara called back.

"Hi, Phil. Sorry, I was in a little meeting. A group assignment, kind of reminiscent. I'm home, now. What's up?"

"Well, first off, I should say that Ellen, um, Ellen Chan, is here with me, and I put it on speaker." They greeted each other. They'd been on good terms, though not all that close—but they'd been on a first-name basis, after all.

"And I apologize for not calling weeks ago, just to ask how things were going."

"I'm enjoying my classes fine, except that they're too easy and slow-moving. From what I hear, almost everyone has that complaint. I mean everyone I've talked to from our class. My current fellow students don't think so, or a lot of them."

I briefly told her how I was trying to handle that, some moderate success, some flat failure. She laughed. "I'm sorry not to be there to see, and to cheer you on. It sounds like some of your professors would like to see things speed up."

"Not so much speed up, I think, though they might welcome that. But what I get from a few of them is that they want less of just reading the book and listening to lectures summarizing it, and more thought and research and preparation. And especially with one professor who asked some questions that required that, my own shining example seems to have kicked some people in the pants. I had one couple come to me to show them how to study and prepare, I kid you not, and we think they're going to turn into really close friends."

Ellen put in, "Phil, they already have. Barbara, I think what he meant is that they'll stay that way and maybe get even closer."

"Anyway, they're stirring things up too, at least in the classes I share with them, but I'm pretty sure in their other classes, too. And some other folks in one class showed up ready to really discuss, too, and it's continued.

"But I wanted to bring them up—the couple I mentioned—with you, specifically. Barbara, this is for you only, please. From almost right away, I'd been noticing one thing a little funny about them as a couple. They were always together—I wonder whether they actually have exactly the same schedule. But they didn't act like you'd expect a couple to. They never touched at all, that I could see. Not holding hands or brushing against each other, never mind a hug or a kiss. I mean, Ellen and I don't exactly stand around making out in public or anything, but there are plenty of occasions for a quick peck either on the cheek or even the mouth. Or just a quick hand squeeze."

Barbara laughed. "What, she hasn't made you have sex on a table in the library or something yet?" She laughed again. "But can I guess where this is heading, since it's me you're telling it to? They're gay and trying to keep it under wraps?"

"So close you get credit. She is. He's straight. But in high school, well, she saw a couple of of older girls being teased about being lesbians, and how a lot of people reacted. What's even sadder about it is that she said she had no idea whether they actually were or not, they might just have been good friends who weren't into boys yet, not that much, anyway. High school sophomores, this would have been.

"Anyway, she'd realized that she was, and all this made her determined to keep it a secret. Oh, I asked, and she said I could give names, and she's Tammy. Anyway, the guy, Pete, and she had been really close friends from very young, and she finally told him. I'm guessing she did that because he had romantic feelings for her, and she knew he'd be hurt if she just kept rebuffing him without any reason. But also pretty much for sure because it's really lonely keeping a secret like that from everyone, with no one to talk to. Not that I need to point that out to you!"

I told Barbara how Pete had played the part of a boyfriend for her, and kept doing so, and how hard it was on both of them. I described the dance, and what I had finally spotted, and what happened when I asked Tammy what I had.

"Honestly, it hadn't occurred to me that she would nearly have a heart attack! They were worried that we'd heard it from someone, or that we would talk, or that someone else would spot what I had. So anyway, we agreed to get together with them for breakfast the next morning, this past Sunday, and talk."

Ellen broke in, "Barbara, they suggested Sunday afternoon, and, well, I assume you know what week last week was, and why I wanted the afternoon with just Phil and me." She laughed. "And Tammy was kind enough to suggest talking over breakfast and beyond, instead. These really are nice folks."

I went on. "Anyway, we talked a lot in general about their history and situation. And Ellen and I told them about you. No names. If you, or Barbara Dearie for that matter, ever were to come to visit, the name won't suggest anything to them.

"After she told them the whole thing—well, I added some, too—I said that I thought she must have been suggesting that Tammy think about her feelings for Pete. I gave them some advice in case they were minded to try sex—most of it was already in what Ellen had said, though. My biggest point was a caution. You and I made love that first time because it was an assignment for a class, and you were reluctant but willing, and it worked out far better than either of us had hoped. When you asked for another go, well, if it had been a bust we would have been on a friendly basis, too bad it didn't work and thank you for trying, no feelings hurt on any side. But with Tammy and Pete, he was in a very awkward and uncomfortable situation already, and if they tried making love and she found it too horrible, it was likely to hurt him, maybe a lot.