Ardent

Living with an unrelated person of the opposite sex was new to each of us. After the first morning when she saw me eying her bare legs below the T-shirt she almost never came out of her room without being fully dressed. And unlike the bathroom that I had shared with my sister and brother, there were no stockings or panties left hanging to dry. We respected one another's privacy.

The work-for-rent agreement was fair. Ardy took her turn in the shop and learned quickly. All of us, even Betty, enjoyed having her there. Young Matt stopped by the shop every day after school instead of going home with his stepbrothers. It was obvious he was smitten.

We drove to and from school together because it was too far to walk. Ardy cut down on her evenings at the library to spare me the trip to pick her up. The letters from Bertha arrived each Monday, and Ardy contributed to the food budget. In fact, she took over the shopping and the cooking.

"We were in the same kindergarten class," she confided one Friday night. Her voice was soft and dreamy. She was lying on the couch and I was sitting on the floor, near her feet.

"How could that be?" I vaguely remembered her being in my kindergarten class. "You were always a year ahead of me."

"Not always. I skipped the third grade."

"You had pigtails with red ribbons," I recalled, ignoring her remark about skipping a grade. I caught one of her feet and removed the shoe, making her try to pull back.

"I almost never wore my hair in pigtails because boys like you always pulled them," she said, still trying to free her foot. I rubbed the arch with my thumb.

"That's what I remember, you in pigtails." She relaxed her foot and let me rub the underside.

As we talked, I learned that she had spent the first and second grades in a class for "gifted" children. And, after skipping the third grade she had continued to receive "special" treatment.

"You're a child prodigy," I exclaimed. My twenty-first birthday was coming up in April and she had turned twenty in November. I had removed her other shoe and was rubbing both feet. She tried to change the subject but I could tell she was enjoying the foot massage.

It occurred to me that she knew everything about me while I knew practically nothing about her. She had cleverly extracted bits of information about my childhood until she even knew how I had gotten the V shaped scar on my right knee. I decided to use the foot massage to my advantage.

"You have unusually long toes," I observed.

She closed her eyes and then opened them, peering down at me, "don't tickle, just rub them."

"And you're ticklish. That's all I know about you. You have long toes and you're ticklish."

"What do you want to know?"

"Who did you date in high school?"

Ardy jerked her foot out of hand. "Ask something else," she said, demurely.

"You know all that stuff about me. I told you about my first kiss. I told you more than I should about some girls you probably know. Fair is fair."

"I told you to ask something else." Her voice was soft but firm, almost irate.

"Okay, tell me about your name. Who stuck you with that?"

Her frown was less than cordial. "Do you know what it means?"

"Yes," I said boldly, hoping she wasn't going to test me.

"Will, then you can imagine the dream my dad had for me. He wanted me to be passionate and enthusiastic about learning. He wanted me to be zealous about life. He named me Ardent."

She had spoken about her father in past tense. Did I dare pursue this? I reached for her foot and rubbed her toes again.

"Did your mother object to the name or did she share your father's dream?"

"According to aunt Bertha my father was the dominant one. He was her younger brother and I don't think she approved of my mother."

I nodded, thinking that I understood. Something had evidently happened to her parents and aunt Bertha had raised her niece. I never got a chance to ask because Ardy had reversed the position of her body, interrupting my thoughts. She forced my head back onto the couch cushion and placed her lips on mine, softly, briefly and with minimal lip movement. Then it was over and she was sitting up on her knees. Any attempt on my part to extend the kiss would have been futile.

"That's the first time I've kissed a boy. Does that answer your question about who I dated in high school?"

She looked embarrassed so I mumbled something about her kissing with zeal. We laughed together. Deciding she was a private person, I didn't try to rub her feet or ask more questions.

During one of those late night talks Ardy divulged that she had applied for entrance into the Master's program, but felt the prospect of her being accepted was not strong because she would need another scholarship.

One Saturday Ardy appeared at the breakfast table, wearing her hair in pigtails. She smiled sheepishly, knowing what she was in for. We worked in the flower shop that day and after lunch she came back to work with the pigtails gone and her hair combed out. "You're a bad influence on that little boy," she said to me. Matt had used the pigtail pulling excessively to draw her attention to him.

~*~

Bertha arrived on graduation day. I went to the bus terminal to pick her up while Ardy packed her bags and got ready for the ceremony. They were going to take the bus home that same evening. I was staying at school for the summer.

We had not told Bertha about our living arrangement before her arrival, but she took it quite well. I think it was because our explanation was forthright and truthful. Ardy had taken the room in order to have a quiet place to study and in order to get some much-needed rest. Although we didn't go out of our way to explain that nothing had happened between us it must have been evident.

Bertha sat proudly watching her niece cross the stage to receive her diploma and I was proud too. Afterwards, I wanted to take them to dinner but Bertha wouldn't hear of it so we went directly to the bus terminal. Ardy took my hands to say goodbye but at the last moment she flew into my arms and I felt her lips touch my cheek.

During the summer she wrote twice. The first letter told me she had been accepted as a candidate for a Master's degree. I wrote back to congratulate her. I also told her that young Matt Russell was glad to hear the news although he didn't know what a Master's degree was. He often came to the shop with his dad and was in the habit of asking me if I had news from Ardy.

The second letter arrived in the middle of August.

Dear Jimmy,

I've been trying to find a place to stay this school year but everything seems to be taken. Do you think the Russells would mind if I stay in the house until I can make other arrangements? I'll gladly work in the shop and keep the housework done. Would you mind?

Your friend,

Ardy

There were a number of reasons why I didn't want to even mention Ardy's request to Marty. I had gotten used to living alone again and was not anxious to share my space. Also, I was dating a girl from one of my summer classes who had caught my attention. There was a possibility that she would eventually want to see where I lived. Ardy's presence in the second bedroom would need to be explained.

But down deep it was jealousy; Ardy, from my kindergarten class, was younger than me and she had already graduated. Now she was continuing her education and I was taking summer courses to catch up.

I had been putting off asking Marty for a few days when I happened to mention the request to his young son. Matt's eyes lit up when he heard that Ardy was coming back to school and might stay in the house if we could convince his father and Betty to permit it.

Matt took over the campaign. His father conceded it was the right thing to do, to help a young student achieve her goal. He had seen her commitment to everything she undertook, including captivating the attention of his young son.

Betty was not so easy to persuade but when I reminded her how Ardy kept the house clean she relented. Ardy could stay, temporarily. I drove home to bring her back.

Bertha was less agreeable with the living arrangement. And, unfortunately, I had neglected to tell my parents about the experiment of our sharing the house the previous year or of our intentions to start the upcoming year under the same roof. They gave me more grief about it than Bertha had, stating the obvious, we were of opposite sexes and they feared that we were asking for trouble. They politely avoided the subject that really bothered them.

But when Ardy was able to convince Bertha that our living arrangements were simply a matter of convenience, she was able to sway my parents into understanding that it made sense. By this time I was looking forward to having her occupy the second bedroom, even if only temporarily.

~*~

"I told Aunt Bertha we hardly ever see each other," Ardy said as soon as we were on the road. It was a warm day in August and I couldn't help but notice her brown legs, bare below the tan shorts she was wearing. She was in good spirits. I wondered if it was because we were headed back to school or if it had something to do with us being together.

"That's true. We go days without even speaking," I said smiling.

When we stopped for gas and a restroom break she went into the restaurant with me, something she had never done before, always preferring to eat a sandwich in the car. We took a seat in a booth and when our knees bumped she smiled at me. It was nice to see her relaxed. She talked about her summer job, working in social services. She wanted to know what had happened while she was gone. I told her that Matt had influenced his father to let her move back into the house.

"I'll have to thank him," she commented, beaming.

"He has a crush on you."

She dropped her eyes and wouldn't look at me for several seconds. "That's so sweet. What else has been happening?"

"I've been dating a girl I met in one of the summer classes."

Ardy's head popped up, looking stunned and then she calmed and smiled. "That's great Jimmy! Tell me about her."

There was really nothing to tell. Sandy was also a business student and was beginning her senior year. She lived off campus in a house with other women she dubbed "old maids," because their landlady banned men from the premises.

"What do you do? Does she come to the house?"

"No," I laughed, wondering just what she was asking. Come to the house as in "visiting" or come to the house as in "spending the night?" In either case the answer was no. Not that I hadn't considered the possibility. I had even contemplated how I could sneak her out in the morning without Betty catching us.

Ardy wanted a complete description, what Sandy looked like, what we did together on dates and, in a devious way, how far I had gotten with her? Her curiosity offended me. Her return to the house could lessen my chances of ever needing to deceive Betty.

"Invite her over for supper. I'd like to meet her," Ardy said, making the invitation sound like, "I'll need to judge for myself if she's worthy."

~*~

We settled into a routine, driving to and from classes together, working a few hours in the flower shop and studying. Ardy resumed her duties of shopping, cleaning and preparing the meals. She also assumed the responsibility of looking after me. At first I was annoyed at her constant fawning over my clothes, wanting to hear about my dates when I came home and counseling me on my study habits. But as the weeks passed I began to rely upon her and her upon me. She also became dependent, relying upon me for advice on the minutest of details.

I was right about her intentions concerning Sandy. Finally one day we had Sandy over for dinner. It was more like dining in a fine French restaurant. Ardy served salad followed by a quiche and later chocolate mousse with coffee, all prepared on the spur of the moment as if she had planned the menu while shopping.

"Honey, will you open the wine please? Everything's almost ready," I heard her call from the kitchen, interrupting my conversation with Sandy. I excused myself and dutifully went to the kitchen, wondering what Ardy's reason was for calling me Honey. This behavior was uncharacteristic.

"That girl has a thing for you," Ardy said when I returned from taking Sandy home. The meal had been delicious, flavored with a steady stream of questions. Ardy, the perfect hostess, conducted the interview between courses. By the time the mousse was served, more personal information had been gleaned than I would have been able to discover in a year of dating - even if our relationship had become intimate, which was unlikely to happen now.

Sandy had given me the same third degree. "Does she always cook like that? No wonder you like living with her."

"It's not like we live together," I said defensively.

"I think you like her too," Sandy gave me the knockout punch as I walked her to the door.

I was furious with Ardy. She had gone out of her way to give my date ideas that there was something going on between us. Just wait until she brings a date to the house, I thought. Rather than confront her I vowed to get even.

~*~

As her project, that would later become the basis for her thesis, Ardy had been introduced to Ellen, a single mother with three children. The "Study," as Ardy referred to it was to "observe" Ellen's interactions with her children and others in her circle of friends and acquaintances. The events of Ellen's life became one of our main topics of conversation.

"I shouldn't be telling you this," she would say before plunging into an unsavory chapter of her subject's life.

I became concerned about her spending so much time in the company of Ellen and her friends. From the events she described it sounded to me that she was taking undue risks. I offered to go along or at least drive her there but she insisted upon going alone, on the bus. Sometimes when she was late coming home, I found myself walking the floor, listening for the back door to open and for her to rush in.

Ardy's twenty-first birthday was approaching and I was thinking of a present for her.

"Wouldn't a tape recorder make more sense than taking notes?" I asked one night when she came in late. It was the end of October, only one week before her birthday.

"Ellen is opposed to being recorded. She won't let me take pictures either. So I have to write down what I observe and describe what I see." She was wearing the dark coat we had found in a thrift shop, long and heavy but much warmer than the lightweight jacket she had worn the winter before.

She was removing the coat when a flash of lightning rocked the house. Ardy dropped the coat and jumped into my arms, shaking from fright. Her knees landed belt high on me and her tits against my head. I held her legs and noticed she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. That's when I decided to get the sweater for her birthday. I lowered her to the floor, still holding her close.

"I hate that. It scares me so," she said, her cheek next to mine. I could feel her small body tremble and her warm breath on my neck.

"It's okay," I said rubbing her back.

"Jimmy, would you mind if, can I, don't get the wrong idea, would it be all right if I sleep in your bed?" She whispered, so serious that I didn't dare laugh.

"I guess so if you promise to be good," I said. She must have sensed my reaction.

"Forget it. I told you not to get the wrong idea," she said angrily and went off to her room in a huff.

I went to bed and didn't hear any more from her until sometime early in the morning when I felt her bare feet touch mine. "I only asked to sleep in your bed, not to SLEEP with you," she said as I felt her snuggle against my back.

I couldn't get back to sleep. I was aware that she was awake too. A crack of thunder caused her to jump and her arm went around me, her body fused to mine.

"Ardy, would it be better if I turn over and hold you?"

"Hmmm, okay," she whispered so quietly that I wondered if I had heard correctly. I turned over and took her into my arms. This presented a new problem. My cock touched her inner thigh before I pushed it between my legs and strained to hold it there.

I busied myself by stroking her back, keeping my hands above her waist and trying to avoid the thought of my cock's urge to spring to attention. Somehow I dozed off. I don't know if Ardy slept. When I awoke she was not there.

After trying twice, I gave up asking Sandy for dates. She either had other plans or was conveniently out when I called. I pursued dates with other women but not with enough vigor to achieve desirable results. I found myself at home most Friday and Saturday nights with Ardy. My offers to take her to a movie or out for a pizza were always rejected.

She did, however, make it a habit of visiting my bed, sometimes when it was storming, sometimes for no reason other than to be held. She pretended not to notice my cock when my efforts to control it failed. She never stayed long; at least she was never there the next morning.

One night I made the mistake of bringing a classmate home to work on a joint paper we were working on. Ardy knew about the paper. She also knew there were four of us in the group and the other two were males. She was working at the computer when we arrived.

I introduced my study date, explaining that Ardy and I were from the same hometown. The two females said hi and we sat down at the dining table to work. A few minutes later Ardy excused herself and disappeared to her room.

We were proofreading our work when Ardy came out of her bedroom, wearing one of my T-shirts and if I was not mistaken, nothing more. She apologized for the interruption before leaning against my back and whispering in my ear, "Honey, would you mind if I go to your bedroom and get something I left there last night?"

I'll swear I had not paid a great amount of attention to her tits until that night when I felt them rub against my shoulders.

I was mystified and came close to asking if she had lost her mind. I felt her finger turn my head and her lips meet mine. The kiss was brief but her lips were soft and open. I decided there was no question; she was indeed, certifiably crazy.

"Why did you do that?" I asked when we were alone, after my study date had fled and Ardy had changed back into the jeans and a sweatshirt. I was somewhere between a furious rage and mystified astonishment, remembering how her little tits had bounced on my shoulders and her lips had felt against mine.

"She's not right for you," Ardy said, shifting her head to one side as if to see if a cock-eyed view would improve my image. Apparently it didn't. "Goodnight," she said, leaving me even more bewildered, thinking of how her lips had felt, so soft, barely touching mine.

I wanted to take her someplace to celebrate her birthday but she rejected the idea, saying she would make us something special.

"What about a cake? Should I pick one up?"

"It's not necessary. If you really want one I'll make it," she answered in her big sister tone she often used when she thought I was being childish.

"Will there be candles?"

She misunderstood or feigned misunderstanding. Instead of candles on the cake there were two candles on the table. We turned off the lights in the dining area and ate by candlelight. Until that night when she came from the kitchen with a tray of food, I had never looked upon her as attractive. She had always been the small girl from my kindergarten class with full lips and big eyes and a wide toothy smile.

"I told you to open the wine five minutes ago," she said, authoritatively. "What's funny?" She had stopped, looking at me in astonishment, the same way I was looking at her.

"I'm not laughing. I'm just smiling. Has anyone told you how beautiful you are?" She was wearing the black dress Bertha had sent for her birthday, cut square across the bodice to reveal a hint of cleavage. Her black hair was combed back on the sides with a well-defined center part. Her slender neck was elegantly bare.