"I don't know."

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, my love." She crawled onto him. She straddled him, upright on her knees, her light cotton skirt draping him and keeping out the morning chill. The heat of their bodies seemed to mingle in the air beneath it. Larry knew, somehow, that she wore no panties. He ached for her to sink down, to impale herself, to let him plunge high up into her slick, hugging warmth.

But she didn't. Not yet.

Smiling down at him, she drew her sweater up. He watched it rise slowly, unveiling her sleek belly, the rise of her ribcage, her breasts.

They were twin, creamy mounds with pink nipples standing erect. They lifted slightly as she pulled the sweater up past her face. Keeping her arms high, she slipped out of the sleeves. She tossed the sweater to the floor.

Larry raised his hands to her breasts. Lightly, he caressed them. He thought that he had never touched anything so fine.

Smiling down at him, Bonnie guided one of his hands to the smooth valley between her breasts. She moved it up and down, stroking herself with his fingertips. "Not even a scar," she whispered.

He remembered the stake.

"Oh," he said. "That's right."

"I'm as good as new. And I'm yours. I'm yours forever."

She began to ease herself down.

Larry groaned.

This is wrong, he thought. I can't do this. Even if Jean never finds out...

But Bonnie was moving slowly lower, lower. He squeezed her breasts. Lower. He felt as if his penis were being sucked toward her dark, waiting center.

The alarm clock blared.

Larry's eyes flew open.

Bonnie was gone.

A dream. It had only been a dream, and the alarm had cheated him out of its best moments. His chest ached. He felt as if he might weep.

But he felt lucky, too. A few more seconds and there Would've been a mess.

He was sprawled on his back, covered only by a sheet. The sheet jutted up like a tent over his groin.

If Bonnie had slid down onto him...

He rolled onto his side. Jean was braced on one elbow, her back to him. As the alarm went silent, she flopped faceup and closed her eyes.

Larry reached out and put a hand on her belly. Her skin felt hot through the thin fabric of her nightgown. Her head turned toward him.

Her eyes opened a bit and she made a lazy smile. "Morning, fella," she whispered.

He said, "Mrnmm," and moved his hand up the slick nightgown to her breast. Not like Bonnie's. No fire coursed through him when he touched it. But Jean's breast was soft and warm and familiar, and he felt a fresh stir of arousal as her nipple rose stiff against his palm. He brushed the strap off her shoulder and slipped his hand inside the loose pocket of fabric. Jean moaned. She squirmed as he caressed her. Then she rolled toward him.

"We're sure feeling our oats this morning," she murmured.

"Yeah."

Her fingers curled around his erection. "You'd better shut the door.

Lane'll be getting up any minute."

On his way back from shutting the door, he watched Jean kick the sheet down to the end of the bed and pull her nightgown up. When it covered her face, Larry's mind flashed an image of Bonnie taking off the songleader sweater.

Their bodies looked very much alike.

Don't think about Bonnie, he told himself. That was just a dream.

And it's crummy to think about her. It's like cheating, like adultery.

But he couldn't stop.

He didn't want to stop.

He closed his eyes as he made love with Jean, and the woman under him ceased to be his wife. She was Bonnie, the Bonnie of the yearbook photos, the Bonnie of his dream: eighteen, beautiful, innocent, eager and gasping and writhing with lust, ramming up against him to meet his thrusts. His Bonnie. His Spirit Queen.

He seemed to explode. He flooded her.

When they were done, she hooked her legs around Larry as if to keep him inside forever. She hugged him hard. He opened his eyes.

Jean gazed up at him, looking haggard and happy.

He kissed her mouth.

He felt like a total shit.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Just that I've gotta go back to the library today. I hate wasting time with research."

"Why don't I fix you a nice big breakfast before you go?"

"Great."

Lane smelled frying bacon as she struggled into her jeans.

They're having breakfast? she wondered. What's the big occasion?

She left the zipper down to give herself breathing room, sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on the new, blue denim boots she'd bought after school yesterday.

Standing up, she admired the way they looked with her white jeans.

Too bad I didn't wear this stuff yesterday, she thought. A blush spread up her skin as she remembered standing on the stool in her short skirt and loose blouse, Mr. Kramer standing below her, and the disarray of her clothes after the fall. Then she remembered his touch.

She still felt warm, but her embarrassment turned to pleasure.

Known he'd play doctor, she thought, I would've fallen sooner.

Lane smiled and shook her head at herself as she stepped past the closet mirror.

She took a bright blue and yellow plaid blouse off its hanger, stepped back in front of the mirror and started to button it.

And stopped.

What if I take off my bra?

The idea made her stomach flutter.

Don't be a dork, she thought. Nobody'll even realize except Jim, and he'll be wanting to paw me. Mr. Kramer probably wouldn't even notice the difference.

Mr. Kramer doesn't have anything to do with it, she told herself.

It'd feel good, that's all.

Besides, my ribs are sore.

Good enough reason.

She took off her blouse and checked herself in the mirror. Sure enough, the side panel of the bra was pressing against her bruised ribs.

She reached back, unclasped the bra and pulled it off. Holding it between her knees, she slipped into her blouse again. She buttoned it, tucked it in, and fastened her jeans.

She smiled at herself.

Aren't you the daring one?

The soft fabric, taut against her breasts, felt very good.

Should do this all the time, she thought.

No way. With most of her blouses, it would show. But this one had dark, bright colors, and a pocket over each breast. With the double thickness of the fabric there, it was hardly even noticeable that her nipples were erect. Nobody'll know the difference, she thought. Just me.

It sure does feel good.

She turned in a circle once for a final check, then returned her bra to the dresser drawer. Grabbing her handbag, she headed down the hallway.

What if Mom and Dad notice?

They won't. Ease up.

The aromas of bacon and coffee made her mouth water as she entered the kitchen. Her parents, still in their robes, were seated at the table, bacon and fried eggs on then-plates. "What's with breakfast?" she asked. "This doesn't feel like Sunday."

They both looked at her. Neither seemed interested in her chest.

"I'll be spending the day at the public library," Dad said. "Mom figured she oughta fill me up."

"Yeah, I'd hate for him to perish among the tomes."

Stepping up beside her father, Lane said, "You could sustain yourself with bookworms."

"Come on, I'm eating."

"Mind?" she asked, and reached for a strip of bacon on his plate.

He jabbed his fork at her hand. He stopped just short of poking her.

"I wish you wouldn't fool around like that," Mom complained. "You might slip."

"I might indeed," he said.

Lane took the bacon and bit it in half.

"There goes my nourishment."

"Hey, I'm a growing girl."

"I could certainly start making breakfasts for you," Mom said. "Just say the word."

"The word is 'yuck.' Who can stomach food at this ungodly hour?"

"You seem to be stomaching my bacon all right," Dad said.

"Gotta go." She bent down and kissed his cheek. He swatted her rump. She hurried around the table, kissed her mother, then grabbed her lunch bag out of the refrigerator and hurried from the kitchen. "See you guys later. I'll probably be late again."

"Have a good day, dear," Mom called after her.

From Dad, "Have fun."

"I'm going to school, guys," she called from the living room. She checked her book bag, dropped her lunch inside, then took the car keys from her purse and rushed outside.

The sun felt warm on her shoulders. The mild breeze stirred her hair. A gorgeous day.

The back of the car seat was cool through her blouse, reminding Lane of the missing straps. As she waited for the engine to warm up, she squirmed against the upholstery, savoring how it felt against her back.

Nice.

She cranked her window down and eased slowly out of the driveway.

She headed for Betty's place. On the radio Anne Murray was singing "Snowbird." Lane joined in. She swung her arm onto the windowsill and felt the blouse pull snug against her left breast.