Alan Ch. 04

Megan Purrs, Kate Begs

Between 3:30 and 5:30 the staff had worked hard, only bothering him occasionally with questions or problems. He was even able to get almost all of his homework done.

Alan stepped out of the office and called home telling his mom where he was. He really wasn't on such a short leash, but his mom was in a fragile state, and he was sure she would appreciate the courtesy. "By the way," Alan added, lying through his teeth, "Mikey Green asked if I wanted to come over tonight to play poker. If you don't need me around I'm going to go." Alan's mom told him not to be silly, almost insisting that he go be with his friends. As he was returning to the office Alan felt a little bad about lying to his mom.

Just as he finished his calculus problem sets Pauline Van Devanter came up to him, and pulled up a chair close. "So, Alan, how's it going? I hope my sister didn't wreck your day."

"No, in fact, just the opposite," he replied cryptically. Pauline moved onto other subjects, mostly concerning reporting assignments for next week's athletic schedule. Alan looked her over. Pauline had the build of an athlete. Trim and petite, she resembled a figure skater or an Olympic gymnast. Alan never knew her to play organized sports, but her older brother Cal was a great athlete, starting tight end on the football team at Truman, and now filing the same role at Dartmouth, indeed, one of the few sophomores to be a starter. Pauline had always idolized Calvin, and she was in many ways much closer to her older brother than she was to her older sister, even though she and Kate were nearer in age. She became interested in sports because Cal was interested in sports, and her life's goal was to be a sports journalist. She hoped to be the next Hannah Storm, and was thrilled when Alan had almost single-handedly installed her as sports page editor. They had been friends since junior high, though Kate had always been trying to get between them.

One of the sports writers called out for her and she went over to him, then made a few changes to his copy, printed his article out and brought it over to Alan. After giving it a cursory glance--he trusted Pauline--she told the writer to transmit it over the network to the layout editor's workstation for insertion. A few other editors came by as well, doing the same dance that Pauline had just performed, i.e. bringing copy for Alan's approval, and then sending it electronically to layout, but none chatted him up as Pauline had. By 5:30 almost everyone was gone. Mr. Bar Levi returned around then and scanned the printouts for content. Finding nothing too controversial, he left Alan and two editors to finish up.

Right after he left, Alan turned to the two, Missy Peters, the managing editor (second-in-command), and Amanda Wallace, the layout editor, and asked them if they could handle the rest of the work without him. He really needed to get home, he explained. They understood, Alan having just lost his grandfather and all, and wished him a good weekend.

He trusted them, especially Missy, a junior, who was slated to succeed him when he graduated. They weren't really friends, but he respected her journalistic judgment and acumen. Amanda, though only a sophomore, was the best layout person he had ever worked with, a maestro with the graphics programs, so he was confident the next edition of the paper would come out fine.

Alan pulled up to his house about an hour before his mom put dinner on the table, and he kept her company as she cooked. She was still a bit subdued, and at dinner Alan's dad attempted to compensate, trying his best to liven up the mood. After dinner Alan rushed to his room to shower and change his clothes for his meet with Megan. He really didn't think of it as a date because they really couldn't go out in public together. He thought about the reaction people would have if they were seen together at the movie theater, or at Starbucks, holding hands, or being affectionate. His friends, he imagined would stare at the two of them goggle-eyed; and her friends and co-workers would probably be horrified, bringing down upon them all sorts of horrors. As he was getting ready he knew he had to be careful. If he dressed too sharply for poker night at Mikey's his parents would become suspicious, but he didn't want to show up at Megan's like a slob. He put on tan pants and a nice shirt, a knit pullover polo-style one, not wanting to lose anymore buttons. The thought made him smile.

It was fairly warm for an early spring evening such as this, and he shed his jacket as he walked to her door, folding it over his arm. He had called ahead while driving over, and she reminded him the door would be unlocked, and he should let himself in discretely. Alan noticed movement in the window of the townhouse next to Megan's; the curtains parted and quickly came back together. As he entered he saw her sitting in the living room, in the overstuffed chair so she could watch the door while waiting for him. Seeing him enter she crossed the foyer, putting her left arm around his waist, and with her right she turned the deadbolt. Alan bent over and kissed her neck, and she purred. They retreated to the living room, walking hand-in-hand, and sat beside each other on the couch, her body draped on his. Megan asked about his day, and Alan related the difficulties at the paper. Since she knew most of the people involved she often interrupted him, offering unvarnished opinions about the players.

"Megan, just when I came in, the person in the house next door, the one on the left, was watching me. Do you think we should be worried?" Megan had an embarrassed look on her face and said nothing. Alan could feel the buzzing in his head again, and was slightly startled realized that he could hear her thoughts.

"Damn," she thought, "I never should have told her about Alan. She'll never tell, I hope, but I don't want to freak out Alan." Alan was flabbergasted about Megan's loose talk. He hadn't breathed a word to anyone about Megan, and with her position he figure she would be just as tactful. "I, uh, I don't think we should worry Alan. That's just my neighbor Leila, and she wouldn't say anything. We're friends." Alan probed her thoughts, finding out all he could about this Leila, and what about him Megan had told her. Convinced that Megan trusted Leila, Alan relaxed a bit, not that he was so tense to begin with.

The doorbell rang, and Megan, full of trepidation looked through the peephole. "It's Leila," she whispered to Alan. "Let her in," he replied, surprising her. "You sure?" she asked back, and Alan nodded.

Up on "The Hill" Kate Van Devanter was awakening. ("The Hill" was the nickname for the section of town where the rich lived.) She realized that Pauline had come into her room and was sitting at the edge of her bed, and that's what caused her to wake.

"So," Pauline said softly, "Are you feeling better?" Kate stretched out and nodded. "What happened this morning. You seemed OK, but mom picked you up during second period." Pauline had a genuine look of concern on her face. She might have thought Kate could be a little bit of a bitch sometimes, especially to Alan Marshall, but they were still sisters, and Pauline cared about her.

"What did happen to me this morning?" Kate thought to herself. For some reason she had followed Alan to the newspaper office, spitting insults all along the way, and then she had practically torn off his clothes, sucked his penis into her mouth, mounted him, and then let him fuck her in her virgin ass. And despite the horror of it all she had had the most intense orgasms of her life, even when he took her ass. Even now, almost half a day later she couldn't make heads or tails of how it had happened. The only thing she really did know was that her body, her pleasure, now belonged to that jerk Alan Marshall. She was his slut, and he could do with her as he pleased. She would crawl across broken glass to feel that pleasure again. She would submit to his every whim just for the small chance to come like again.

She answered her sister in an exceedingly soft voice; Pauline strained to hear her. "All of a sudden I felt faint. I almost passed out. Uh, I was cramping and went to the nurse, and she put me in a cot and called mom. She brought me home, and I've been sleeping since this morning." Pauline bent over and gave her a kiss on the forehead before leaving the room. A few minutes later her dad came in, and also asked what had happened, receiving the same story.

Feeling well enough to go downstairs for dinner, Kate pulled on a pair of old sweatpants and a pajama top. The dinner table conversation was dominated by Pauline's stories of the day at the newspaper. Mom and Dad were very proud of all Pauline had accomplished, both on the paper and her good grades, and asked many questions about her work on the paper. Alan's name came up a few times, and then only in passing, but Kate pricked up her ears at each mention.

Pauline was going out with friends after dinner, to see a movie. Once she left, Kate snuck into her room, found her address book in the top drawer of her desk, and scribbled Alan's phone numbers on a piece of scrap paper. Letting herself out she quickly made her way back to bed. It wasn't until she closed her bedroom door behind her that she realized she had ran the whole way to her room with the scrap of paper clutched to her breast.

Her dad knocked a few minutes later to invite her downstairs to watch a video. He intimated that they wanted to keep an eye on her, worried that she might faint. She agreed, and joined her parents in the den. Her dad started the movie, a tape he had rented knowing Kate hadn't seen yet, and for the first time since waking up she allowed thoughts Alan to float out of her mind.

Leila examined Alan like he was a stuffed animal on display at the Museum of Natural History. He was in good shape, had a nice looking face, handsome even. His dark hair was cut fairly short, and when he smiled over at Megan she could see that he had nice teeth. Megan seemed very uncomfortable with the situation, but Alan couldn't have seemed more relaxed. "So," Leila began, "You're Alan. Do you have sex with all your teachers, or just my friend Megan?" Alan laughed.

"Do you always ask such inappropriate question everyone you just met? Or is it something about me in particular?"

"You didn't answer my question," Leila shot back.

"As a matter of fact, Megan isn't the only teacher I'm carrying on with." A pregnant pause hung in the air. "I'm also seeing Mrs. Stafford, but just on the side." Megan burst out laughing, explaining to her friend that Mrs. Stafford was the school librarian, and was nearing seventy. Alan grinned and awaited Leila's next inquisitorial assault.

Leila seemed lost for words for a second, and Alan went ahead and started scanning her mind. He first planted the command that she never reveal his relationship with Megan to anyone. She and Megan would be allowed to talk about between themselves, but Leila was precluded from mentioning it to any other person. He learned a few things about her: she was twenty-six years old, from New Jersey, now a physical therapist at the big hospital in Valhalla. She was fairly promiscuous, often dating, and sleeping with, more than one man at once, and sometimes (rarely) having one night stands. Leila, flustered by her inability to fling another zinger at Alan, soon left. Once she was gone Megan took him by the hand and led him to the door of her bedroom. Telling him to wait outside she stripped off her clothes, leaving only her new panties, went to her closet and took out her sheerest, shortest nightgown. After lighting a half dozen candles she called out for Alan to enter.

He came in and gave her a wolf whistle. She giggled. She was on the bed, up on her knees and he jumped on, plopping down next to her. She fell over, hugging him, and then reached out to undress him. "I didn't wear a button down shirt, because, you know," he said softly, and she giggled again as she pulled it off him. He opened his pants and she tugged them down, along with his shorts. He had left his shoes on the landing, and he took off his socks by sliding his left foot under the elastic right sock, then used his exposed right big toe to hook under the elastic left sock and drag it off his foot. He sat up and then sat her up, proceeding to pull the nightgown over her head and toss it to the floor. They laid back down, and he began running his hands over her body, paying close attention to her erect nipples. She purred, and her whole body began to warm up.

He got down between her legs and pulled the gusset of her panties to one side. "New panties?" he asked, and she beamed. He lightly blew on her pubis, sending shivers up her spine. Holding her panties to one side he ate her pussy to a screaming climax, then positioned himself to enter her. "Ready?" he asked, leaning in to kiss her before she could answer. He kept his lips plastered to hers as he sunk his cock into her depths, and because of that Megan was unable to answer verbally, humming into his kiss, her eyes communicating her pleasure at this act.

He fucked her for about fifteen minutes, varying his speed and depth of penetration. Megan had a very small orgasm near the start, and as she climaxed the second time he spilled his seed into her. Both of them panting, he collapsed on top of her, the rolled off, laying beside her. He looked at the clock at her bedstand and saw that is was coming up on 8pm. She curled up and put the side of her head on his chest, and he could feel the breath come out of her nostrils. It tickled.

"Megan," he asked, neither of them moving, "Could I ask you a favor?"

She kept still. She was savoring the moment. "What?"

"I'm a bit embarrassed to be bringing this up now, but my favorite TV show is about to start. 'Washington Week in Review' on PBS, Channel 13. I never miss it. Do you mind?"

Megan laughed. "No problem, sweetie. The remote is on the night table. Click away." After he turned on the TV and tuned it to channel 13, she brought her head up to rest it on his shoulder so she could also see the screen. He put his arm around her as the show started. It all seemed so domestic; she closed her eyes and imagined they were a long married couple, watching the tube before turning in for the night. She had even called him "Sweetie" and he hadn't even flinched. When the show ended they made love again, and then both drifted off to sleep. Alan had set her clock radio alarm for midnight, so he could make it home well before his Friday night 1am curfew. They got into the spoon position, Alan behind her, his body molded to her back, his arm draped over her middle.

She walked him to the door. He had turned the alarm off, and then dressed quietly in the dark, but she woke up soon after he did. Wearing a skimpy silk robe she kissed him goodbye.

Alan woke up early on Saturday morning, even before the sun came up. His two and a half hour post-coital nap in Megan's bed meant that in effect he had gone to bed much earlier than usual. Walking to his bathroom to brush his teeth he flipped on the radio for a forecast. The weatherman said that the unusually warm temperatures would continue for the next few days. Alan went down to the garage and pulled his bike down from the wall rack. He spent an hour working on it. First the pulled the cables and tested the tension, then he washed the frame, checking for rust spots. He lubed the pedal clips, and attached the chain lubrication device to the chain and cranked the pedals a few times to run the chain through the brushes.

After showering he donned a pair of shorts and leggings, and pulled a long sleeve poly-weave jersey from his armoire. He grabbed his cleats and headed downstairs. Sitting in the driveway he pulled on the cleats and adjusted the velcro straps. Straddling the top tube he clicked in his left shoe in the clipless pedal, pumped once to get rolling and them jammed his other cleat to the pedal. As he cleared the driveway he hit the button on the cyclocomputer to zero his odometer.

When he stopped to rest and eat one of the bananas he had stowed in the back pocket of the jersey, he glanced down at the odometer and saw that he had ridden 15 miles. Feeling good, he decided to do another fifteen before headed home.

As he was turning on to Westervelt Road, the main drag through town, he realized that he had biked almost thirty miles, with only one break and was barely winded. This was not unusual for him in the middle of the season, a few months into warm weather, but this was his first ride in months. The Seed, he reasoned, had increased his stamina. He had only two more turns before reaching home, and as he turned onto Van Rensselear Lane he saw Pauline, sitting on the bench swing on her front porch. She saw him too, and waved. Riding up her driveway he stopped right at the steps of the porch, dismounted and climbed the steps to sit beside her.

"Jeez., its early," she said in wonder. Alan glanced at his watch and saw it was 7:30. "What kind of miles did you make today?"

Alan told her thirty, but she didn't believe him until he told her to look at the odometer. She skipped down the steps, lifted his bike upright, looked at the readout on the computer and whistled.

"How's your sister doing?" Alan asked as she returned to sit next to him.

"She look really ghastly when I saw her last night, but she seems better today."

They sat quietly for a while, enjoying the warm morning breeze. At 8 o'clock Pauline invited him in for something to eat.

"I'm not really dressed to be going into your house, Pauline." His jersey was damp with sweat, and he had unzipped the front, almost to his navel to get the most of the breeze. His shorts and leggings were tight, verging on the obscene, especially considering his new girth. He and Pauline had been sitting side-by-side, and she turned to give him a good long look. She was somewhat taken aback by his chest, not remembering him as being so toned. As he stood up she noticed the bulge in his pants. Momentarily distracted, she paused before speaking.

"Don't be silly. Come on in and I'll give you a good breakfast. Conchita always makes waffles on Saturday-from scratch. Don't be a spoilsport."

"An offer like that no man could refuse," he said while hooking his arm to hers. They walked in together, the metal cleats on the soles of biking shoes clicking against the floor of the porch. Once inside he shed his shoes, and they went to the kitchen.

Kate almost choked on her waffle when she saw him enter on Pauline's arm. She took a big gulp of milk and fled from the room. "Never mind her," Pauline said as Conchita set out two plates for them. Minutes later Alan was eating his waffle, Pauline had insisted on him taking the next one out of the iron. He ate slowly in order that he not finish his before hers was ready. He helped himself to a cup of coffee, and when Conchita brought Pauline's waffle she also placed two glasses of orange juice in front of them.

"How are you Mr. Alan?" Conchita asked. "I haven't seen you around the house in a long time."

"Well, Conchita, if I knew waffles were on the menu, I'd show my face more often." Conchita laughed.

"You're such a charm boy, Mr. Alan. You and Pauline made such a cute couple. You should go out again."

"Oh, Conchita, you're the living end," Pauline said laughingly.

"Hey Pauline, you busy today? Maybe we could do something?" Alan asked her, only half teasing Conchita.

"Oh, Miss Pauline is free. She'd love to spend the day with you." Conchita quickly interjected before Pauline could respond. They all laughed again.

"Well then," Alan said through the laughter, "It's a date. I'll go home and shower and change, and then come back to pick you up." Pauline needed to do some shopping and they quickly decided to head to the mall.