Thank God it was Friday. Sylvia Jennings had been through some of the special torments which had originated in the seventh circle of hell, and then been polished by generations of school kids for use on substitute teachers. She did not want to cook; she did not want to make conversation; she didn't even want to drive home though the drizzle. If she could have, she would have stopped off at a hamburger joint on her way home.

But she was living with a man who would expect her home, expect dinner, would get all huffy and macho if she suggested eating out with her paying the tab. And since his money had been deposited too recently, there was no way he could pick up the tab. If she were to lie down for a while after she got home, he would want to lie down beside her and do stuff. Doing stuff was fun much of the time; George was an attentive and imaginative lover. But the class hadn't left her with the energy. Living with a man looked romantic from the outside, but experiencing it had its negative aspects.

George greeted her with a kiss, followed by a hug. "Lovely," she said, "but I have to take off my shoes and start dinner."

"Dinner is almost ready," he answered. "Sit here, and I'll take care of your shoes. No. Lie down."

He took off her pumps as she lay sprawled on the bed. He massaged her feet. They felt better than they had all day. When he lay beside her, she worked up enough energy to respond to his kiss.

"I love this," he said, "but dinner isn't going to cook itself." As if she hadn't had to tell him that! But his greeting had been delightful.

So was dinner. He'd made an extra effort. This was truly coming home. She dozed while he cooked, and she woke to his "Dinner is served."

"Mmm," she said after she'd tasted the meal, "I think I'll keep him."

"You have been keeping me," he said. "I can pay rent now, though. We'll settle up after dinner." That broke her mood a little -- George was so bourgeois -- but only a little. If you had to be nagged about paying debts, being nagged about his paying you was much better than the reverse.

"And how much did your groceries cost?" she asked when they were settling up. "I'll subtract that."

"My treat. I decided. I didn't consult you, and I won't make you put it in your food budget. I don't plan to do this often enough to make a dent."

"Still, it was sweet of you." And it had been sweet of him.

"Then let me be completely sweet," he said, starting to wash the dishes without her participation. That was going too far, but she wasn't about to complain that night.

She was rested though, and she did some housework while George went back to his typing. She headed for bed earlier than usual, still a little embarrassed to be nude in front of a fully-clothed George, 'Dejeuner sur l'herbe' style.

He was equally naked when he joined her, though. His kiss was sweet and gentle at first. When he deepened it, she was eager. "Mmm," he said. "Bed morning tomorrow?" He was caressing her on the way to her pussy. She didn't want that now, she was still a bit frazzled.

"Tomorrow, great," she said. "Not tonight, okay?" Instantly, she was sorry.

"Okay. Cuddle."

"I'm sorry, George, and you were so nice tonight, too. It's just that the week was...."

"Hey," he said. "You don't need to explain. Tomorrow is fine. Morning love is better. Even better, I mean." They settled into the spoon, and he hugged her while she took the longest time to get to sleep. He had used a euphemism; this was love. She woke enough to feel him tucking the afghan around her, then dropped back into sleep. She felt much better in the morning.

"Toast?" George offered when she had had her bathroom time.

"Mmm, butter," she said when she tasted it.

"The chicken required it. So we have a lot left."

"Is that check going to last out the month at this rate?" she asked.

"The quarter. The last two checks are somewhere in some country's mail system. They canceled them and put the whole amount in this one. Anyway, it's not going to be 'at this rate.' I have some special expenses right now, but I'm not going to turn into a wastrel. I came back with one change of clothes, as you well know. I need some more, grateful as I am for your loan. The underwear will pay for itself in fewer trips to the laundromat. I need a robe. I was thinking of a blanket. On the other hand, that afghan forces you to sleep close."

He was right about the blanket, but.... "Rightly, I should pay half the cost of the blanket. Though you're right; we do need one that fits."

"Don't see that. Most of the furnishings are yours. We don't split the costs, and we won't have to split the goods. Have any serious color preferences? Aversions?"

She thought for a moment. "Having everything color coordinated sounds terribly domestic, but it's hard to see where it would start considering what we've got. How about blue? But if you see something cheaper or warmer, go with that."

"Great. Should I get another set of sheets, too? That's the end of my planned purchases." And it had better be.

"Probably. You wouldn't think that two would get sheets dirtier than one, but we do."

"I wonder why," he said. Well, he contributed sweat as well as spunk. "Speaking of which...." But you could tell why he was thinking of spunk this morning.

"You want," she said, "what you missed out on last night." And he deserved it. He'd been real sweet the night before, and he'd fixed breakfast this morning. For that matter, now that she was rested, she wanted him as well.

"What I got last night," he said, "was to cherish the woman I love. I just want more of that this morning. And more of the woman I love; you were down to a remnant after dealing with the classroom all week." He was sweet. How much of that was the horniness talking, she couldn't tell. But one of George's good points was that his horniness showed itself in kindness.

"You're a poet. And the week wasn't that bad." Honestly, it hadn't been. "Though I'll admit I might not have seen it that way last night. Let me have my breakfast first."

"Of course," he said. He was clearly trying to be patient as she had her breakfast. She'd often told herself 'A girl likes to be wanted.' This morning, being wanted was a minor annoyance. Still, it was better than the alternative.

She went into the bathroom again to brush her teeth. She went directly to the bed and started to take off her robe. He always wanted a show, and he deserved one this morning. But he wanted something more. "Let me do that," he said.

Even after he'd taken off her robe, he moved slowly. He kissed her lightly with his hands caressing her back. When his tongue invaded her mouth, his hands kneaded her ass. Then he stroked upward until he was holding her breasts. She'd known where he was going, which sort of spoiled the effect of his patience, but he had been patient. Anyway, the caresses felt good this morning.

"Oh, Sylvia," he said. Still delaying, but not for long, he rubbed downwards toward her pussy. Why not? She spread her legs. And his caresses felt good there. She was beginning to get into this, as she'd known she would.

She enjoyed his caresses more as they went on. Then she wanted to reciprocate. She tried to get at his belt, but smartened up. He could do this much faster than she could. "Lose these," she said. She lay down on the bed to watch. He moved rapidly and efficiently. About the time she could have got his belt undone and his jeans unzipped, he lay down beside her.

His kiss was sweet, then ardent. He only left her mouth to approach her breast, taking his time and kissing all the territory in between. When his mouth reached her breast, his hand reached her pussy. He held her labia and rubbed them against each other. It had been a cool morning when she lay down, but she was feeling quite warm now. And every kiss, every motion of his hand, made her feel warmer.

Then he stroked her clitoris while sucking on her nipple. The warmth turned to fire. "Oh," she said. "Oh, yes."

But she wanted more. When his mouth moved to the other nipple, she reached for his prick. He rolled over, and she could see that he was reaching for a rubber.

"Do you need those?" she asked.

"Don't you have to give the pill time?"

Silly! "Either you ovulate or you don't."

"Oh, Sylvia!" When she reached for his prick again, he cooperated. She could feel it part her lips and fill the entrance. Then he was coming inside, spreading her, filling her.

"Oh, darling," he said. He was the darling. She hugged him with her arms, with her legs, with her pussy. The fire was burning within her now, and he was stoking it with every motion.

The fire flared. George stopped for an instant, and then loved her more rapidly, more fiercely. He pulsed within her.

Then he dropped upon her. Considerately -- George was always so considerate -- he rolled off. "Oh Sylvia," he said. He covered her with the sheet and hugged her. She put a hand on the enfolding arm and held it there until she decided to get up.

When she did, his spunk ran out of her. When she came back from the bathroom, she brought some TP to mop it up. One more thing to remember. When she was dressed, she put 'Kleenex' on the shopping list she kept on the 'fridge.