What Do You Do When Your Brother's Wife Will Do Absolutely Anything To Pass College Algebra?

I would have liked to help my assistant, Tommy "Two Times" Johnson, with this problem before he actually tried to handle it himself. I think things would have gone a little better for him and his family. With Tommy's permission, I'm gonna share his story, so that perhaps, in the future, you'll know better how to handle this situation.

As a Doctor of Psychology, with an extensive practice, I must often utilize assistants from time to time. I have three assistants; Wally Mammoth, Tommy Johnson, and Connie Cryer, and all of which are students and/or teacher's assistants at the university. By the way, I also teach at the university from time to time. But like I said, my practice is quite extensive, and now, to go along with that, I've also started working on my first published work, that of which, you are reading right now.

Tommy Johnson, though he is much smaller in stature than Wally Mammoth, can still pack quite a punch. This is one of the reasons why he's so essential in my research. Take, for instance, what happened with his sister-in-law.

According to Tommy, this all happened about a year ago. Tommy, who is still an undergrad, had been putting off some of his gen-eds. One of those gen-eds was college algebra. It's not that algebra was particularly difficult for him. It's just it was tedious, or so he says.

Anyway, the time came where Tommy could procrastinate no longer and signed up for a summer session of college algebra, figuring this would make the class shorter, which in a way it did. Unfortunately, Heatherly, Tommy's sister-in-law had the same idea. And so, on the first day of class, Tommy, who was full of dread over taking the class, suddenly heard a familiar voice he couldn't quite readily place.

"Well, hello there," her mousy voice sang out.

Tommy cringed at the sound, as it somewhat startled him. Then he glanced over, and standing there was Heatherly, his sister-in-law, in all her brightly colored glory.

"Hi," Tommy uttered dryly.

"Jake was tired of me hanging around eating Bon-Bons all day. It's funny too, because I don't even know what Bon-Bons are. He told me, 'Heatherly, why don't you go do something. Get your nursing degree. Something. And maybe you can help out a little with all these bills.' To which I replied, 'Bills? Why, I thought bills were your department. While kids are my department.' Then he said, 'Well, do you see any kids running around here?' I told him, 'Nope, but that doesn't mean we won't be seeing them someday soon.' 'Right. Well while we're waiting, you can go get your nursing degree and help out with some of these bills.' Isn't your brother just a hoot?"

Tommy wasn't sure how to respond. His brother was just sort of a jerk. At least that's what Tommy thought of him. But he was big. And prone to fighting. Tommy knew that all too well from growing up being Jake's number one target for butt-kickings.

With nothing else to say, apparently, Heatherly decided to sit down next to her brother-in-law.

Once the class was underway, Mr. Jensen, the instructor, started laying down the class rules from the syllabus. After about fifteen minutes or so, Heatherly nudged Tommy's foot. Tommy sighed. Then he looked over. Heatherly was rolling her eyes as she sat hunched to her side and leaning against her arm.

"I'm so bored," Heatherly whispered a bit too loud.

Tommy nodded. "It's just the syllabus. It'll get better. I think."

"It better!" Heatherly sighed. "My first day of college and I'm already bored out of my mind."

After class, as folks were gathering their things together, Tommy was doing the same, thinking all the while about riding his bike home to see if he could catch Connie Cryer, one of my other assistants, on the phone, so he could talk to her while he masturbates, which was something he liked to do. Tommy has always been quite fond of Connie.

With these thoughts racing through his head, Tommy suddenly got a tap on his shoulder.

"You're gonna walk me to my car, right?" Heatherly asked, waiting.

Tommy nodded, reluctantly.

Not much was said as they walked to Heatherly's car. Then Heatherly decided to say, "Wow, feels like we've been walking for miles."

"Yep," Tommy uttered.

"It's true. I betcha I parked a good mile from our class. These parking lots are bigger than the mall parking lot, I swear!"

"Yep. Lots of students. Lots of parking."

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm not looking forward to this class."

"It's college algebra. It shouldn't be too hard. You took algebra in high school, didn't ya?"

"Yeah. I think. But that was what, ten years ago?"

"I think it'll all come back to you."

"You're so sweet."

Tommy shrugged.

"You know, I was really dreading this whole college thing. I mean, seriously dreading. But then I saw you there. And I thought to myself, 'You know what, Heatherly. Maybe this won't be so bad after all.'"

"Good," Tommy said, still thinking about Connie and what she might be doing and what she might be saying whilst, unbeknownst to her, he's beating himself senseless.

Heatherly continued, "I mean, how can I fail when you'll be right there, next to me, to help? I mean, you are gonna help me, right? You wouldn't let your own sister-in-law sink and drown right there next to you, would you?"

"I'm sorry. What? I was thinking about something else."

Heatherly looked disappointed.

"Help you? Yeah, I'll help you."

"Good, because Jake said he's gonna be pissed if I don't pass all my classes. That'd be pretty bad if I didn't pass the very first one, huh?" Heatherly laughed.

Tommy smiled, stilling thinking about Connie.

As the weeks passed, and the class progressed, it wasn't long before Tommy realized, no matter what, the compounding difficulty of an algebra class was more than likely impossible for Heatherly. This realization was a bit of nuisance to Tommy.

Plus, there was the issue of his own work being affected. To Tommy, the class wasn't all that difficult. The material came back to him from high school. Just like he thought it would. The problem was hiding this fact.

When he got papers back, he had to do his best to hide them from Heatherly. If she saw how well he was doing and how bad she was doing, well, instant depression would come over her. Tommy couldn't concentrate on his studies when Heatherly was sitting next to him contemplating driving her car into a tree on the way home.

Then, things took a turn. About midway through the semester, Heatherly's demeanor seemed to change completely. And Tommy was perplexed. He thought for sure she was just going to drop the class at some point. But no. Heatherly kept coming to class. And her hopeless descent seemed to miraculously turn around. How was it possible? Was she somehow getting it now? Perhaps, she was finally sticking with it instead of giving up before she even started. Tommy was pleasantly surprised and alleviated by the turn around.

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What Do You Do When Your Friend Asks You To Fill In For Him With His Wife On Scrabble Night While He's Away?

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What Do You Do When You Accidentally Titty Fuck The President's Daughter Twice?

Now, a lot of this is top secret stuff, so I'm gonna have to be a little discreet. I rather not disclose which president's daughter I accidentally titty fucked twice, so I'm gonna purposely be vague about the time period. I'll do my best not to give anything away. It's a matter of national security, maybe.

At some point during my career as a world renown clinical psychologist and intimacy expert, I was invited to have dinner at the white house. And let me tell you, it was quite a special occasion. My wife at the time, which I won't name, adhering to my need to be discreet about the time period, was very proud of me.

When I arrived in Washington, I went straight to the hotel. Compliments of the president, I  was given a room at one of the finest, most prestigious hotels in the area. There in the room, I discovered a tux hanging on my bedroom door. The dinner was to be that very night, so I got a shower and dressed and was ready to go. Also compliments of the president, I had my own personal limo, which picked me up at the airport and when it was time to leave, took me to the white house.

When I arrived at the white house I was amazed by all the elegance. And also by all the other people invited to dine with the president. I have to admit, I thought, perhaps romantically, that it would be a somewhat intimate affair. Unfortunately, I was wrong. It was grand. And I was a bit lost in the sea of shimmering dresses and sparkling jewelry and any other means of advertising ones wealth. Far too wealthy for my usual crowd.

It stood to reason, if I was invited to this gala than certainly there should be other members of the academia present. I didn't recognize one.

I really wasn't sure what to do or how to keep busy. I was starting to wish they'd just start dinner so I could be done with the whole thing.

Somewhat nervous, I eventually found refuge on the outskirts of the crowded hall. There, I could remain even more anonymous than I already felt and quietly sip my wine. While I stood there, however, I was approached by a young woman.

The young woman was extremely beautiful. She was dressed in a long black gown. Her hair and makeup were like a movie star's. And her breasts, which were quite enormous, dominated the shape of her upper frame and formed a long line of cleavage, which there didn't seem to be any way of hiding in such formal attire. If I had to guess, I would put her age around 20-25.

"Hello," she said, somewhat nervously.

"Hello," I said.

"Aren't you Dr. Mosely Untreu?"

"Yes."

"We've been reading some of your work at school. I find it fascinating."

"Thank you."

"I'm Chloe," she said, though it is an alias for the sake of this story. In actuality, she gave me her real name but I hadn't a clue it was the same name as the president's daughters, since I never knew the president's daughters' names.

In preparation for this event, it's true, I had planned to study the names and faces of those who most likely to attend the dinner: ie, the first family, prominent cabinet members, prominent politicians. However, such intentions were lost, in favor of doodling on the computer and last minute packing for the trip.

"Hello, Chloe," I said, as polite as could be.

"I'm sure you absolutely hate it when people do this," Chloe continued. "But I'd really like to pick your brain about a few things."

"All right."

"First, let's find a quiet place."

"All right."

The young woman led me through a series of doors and hallways until we ended up in a large bedroom. I looked around, a little curious as to whose room it was. However, after a few spinning glances, I saw nothing that might personalize the room. Regardless, I said nothing.

Chloe sat down on the bed.

I stood.

"Why don't you sit down?" she asked and smiled, a bit unsure.

"I rather stand," I said, still holding my glass of wine. I set it on the computer desk. I noticed there wasn't even anything on the desk to personalize it, as if it could easily pass for a hotel computer desk. I surmised this must be a guest room, though it seemed themed for a girl, with the large canopy bed and pink motif.

"Sit. Please," Chloe asked again, somewhere in the neighborhood of pleading.

"All right." I sat down a few feet away from her.

"Only because I feel awkward if you don't," she added. "With a bosom like mine, I'm always self-conscious when someone's head level is above mine. Just a quirk of mine."

"I understand."

"And I simply can't stand up for another second. Not with these shoes. Speaking of which, I'm sorry but I must insist I take them off," Chloe said as she peeled her shoes off and set them on the floor.

"That's fine. Now, what did you want to discuss?"

There was a short pause, as she rubbed her feet. "Well, as I'm sure you've noticed. How could you miss them? I'm certain they're the first thing everyone sees when they look at me. Of course I'm talking about my enormous bosom."

"Yes, I've noticed." I smiled. "And I'm sure they're lovely."

"Thank you."

"So, what is it about them that you would like to discuss?"

Then Chloe proceeded to slide her gown straps down her shoulders and let her gown slowly fall free, buckling on her lap. Now, she was in a strapless black bra. Her large, fluffy breasts were barely secured, as the bra hugged the young woman tightly and her breasts even tighter.

"Do you mind?" Chloe asked.

"No. Whatever makes you feel comfortable."

"Well, I would like it very much if you looked at them." Then she reached behind to unfasten her bra, struggling at first, but then freeing her huge avalanche of tits, which jiggled with her every movement, as her fully erect brown nipples, which were quite large in their own right, fluttered about.

"Just as I thought. They're very lovely," I said.

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What Do You Do When A Girl Seems To Only Wake Up If She Can Taste Come In Her Mouth?

This particular study has definitely been the cause of much interest over the years. Perhaps above even my most famous studies. And I'm happy to add it to my sex guide, so that everyone can benefit from what I learned.

When I was still living in California, back when the fissures in my marriage to my second wife, Jennifer, were but an insignificant scratch here and there, a very interesting case fell into my lap. 

A young woman by the name of Winnie Marks was having a very difficult time with what some thought was narcolepsy at first. However, it was soon realized, her excessive sleep mostly occurred as an extension of sleep in the morning. Eventually, her sleep became so ubiquitous, she often missed whole days of school before she finally came to. Then, one day, her mother, Angela, realized she hadn't woke up the whole day and they were already approaching the next day. Winnie had slept around the clock for the first time. As Winnie reached her late teens, her parents decided it would be best if Angela quit her job to take care of Winnie full time. Given that Winnie needed around the clock care, a state agency agreed to provide care for part of this time, in an attempt to spell her mother.

Everything was going the best it could. Winnie was for the most part catatonic, and needed assistance feeding, showering, and bathrooming. That is, until a fateful discovery was made. And it was made in a most horrific way.

John Janick, a state worker, who had, over time, gained the family's trust, to the point where he was eventually permitted to stay home alone with Winnie, violated that trust. To quite a disgusting degree. And that's when the horrendous, yet amazing discovery was made that eventually turned the matter around in one fail swoop. And also, landed John Janick in the state prison.

I think I'd be remissed if I failed to mention one important detail to the case. Winnie was incredibly beautiful. Almost other-worldly beautiful. By the time I got to meet her, she was all of 19. Those in her family simply called her "Beauty". Shortened from when she was catatonic and everyone affectionately referred to her as "Sleepy Beauty." As I stood in the family's front room, and Winnie suddenly approached, I couldn't help but marvel a bit. She was flawless, with almost a magical face with smooth porcelain skin. She had long and flowing blond hair, which wrapped around her and down to her legs. She had a petite, yet shapely body, with above average size breasts.

"Hello!" Winnie said with vigor, perhaps too vigorous for her age.

"Well, hello there," I said, somewhat surprised.

"What's your name?" she asked me.

"I'm Dr. Mosely Untreu. You can call me Dr. Mosely."

"That sounds like mostly untrue. Are you mostly untrue, Dr. Mosely?" Winnie quipped.

Though I'd heard that same comment probably a thousand times in my life, the way she asked, so innocent and yet playful and biting, I couldn't help but laugh a little. Then the others in the room laughed.

We had a nice time, as I got to know Winnie and her family. And when it was nearing 5pm, I excused myself, making plans to see them in the morning.

I arrived at the nearby state prison shortly before 5:30p. After a short screening process and mini interview, I was permitted entry.

I met John Janick in a private room.

"Hello," I told him.

"Hello," Janick said, somewhat paranoid, not sure who I was.

"I'd like to talk to you about why you're here."

"Yes. Okay."

"According to your police statement you claim that the victim-"

"Winnie!" he interjected.

"Right," I said. "Winnie Marks put a spell on you and that's why you violated her while she lay there unconscious and utterly helpless?"

"Helpless? No. She wasn't helpless."

"How was she not helpless? She was unconscious. She was completely and utterly at your mercy."

"No! I was completely and utterly at her mercy. She made me do it!"

"She made you..." I glanced at the report, "Pick her up from her bed and lie her down on her parents' bed and have sexual intercourse with her and end the act by ejaculating in her unconscious mouth?"

"Yup." Janick folded his arms and sat back. "What the fuck are you doing here? I've told everybody about this and they think I'm fucking crazy. If they knew the real truth, they never would have locked me up. I had no damn choice in the matter. The woman put me in a magical trance and told me what to do every step of the way. I had no fucking clue what was going on until it was all over."

"And what happened when it was all over?"

"Winnie came to life. Basically. She was running around the house and I was sitting there watching her."

"And what happened when Winnie's parents came home?"

"At first it was cool. They were happy to see Winnie up and about. Then one of them, I think her father, noticed some come on her pajama lapel. Then he looked around, especially their bedroom, and figured out, basically, that we had had sex. And I still had no fucking clue."

"You don't remember the sexual encounter at all?"

"No, I do. And I don't."

"Explain."

"I remember it happening. Vaguely. But not because I remember doing it. I remember it like I remember what happens in Last Tango In Paris. Only instead of Marlon Brando and that French girl, it was me and Winnie... doing stuff."

"Like you were watching a movie?"

"Exactly!

"An out of body experience?"

"That's it! Exactly!"

"Okay. Thank you," I said. "You've been very helpful."

"What about me? Are you gonna get me out of here?" he asked, sounding a little frantic.

"Mr. Janick, I'm an intimacy specialist and sex therapist. I have no pull with these people."

"What the fuck! You're a what?" he asked, all confused as he stood up. "Why are you here?"

"Mr. Janick, if there's something I can do for you. I will try."

"Okay. Thanks." Janick sat back down and dropped his head.

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What Do You Do When A Job Applicant Lists Fellatio As One Of Her Additional Job Skills?

Recently, I've been toying with a little hypothesis of mine. Something to combat, what I feel, is a growing epidemics in today's business world. And that is sluggish productivity. My theory is simple, but I would need an assistant to, well, assist me in conducting the experiment. And that's where Connie Cryer came in.

Once my wife, Jennifer, and I moved to New England, my practice really started to pick up. I was building a substantial practice and there was no looking back. Then I was approached to teach some classes at the local university. I decided to give it a go. I guess I was feeling pretty indestructible. This is when I first started utilizing the help of assistants. My assistants would help me research, compile data, conduct experiments, review clients, and whatever else was needed to continue in my psychological endeavors.

So, on that fateful day, when I was in my home office, easing back and reading through the applicants, there was one in particular who caught my eye. Her name was Connie Cryer.

For the most part, her credentials were pretty standard. She was a grad student at the university. She had done some work in the field. But frankly, it was her resume which particularly caught my eye.

Really, it was quite serendipitous. Right there, listed among her additional job skills was, of all things, fellatio!

After an extended game of phone tag, I was finally able to get Connie on the phone. To my delight, she sounded very well-spoken and appeared to know her stuff. I scheduled an interview for the very next day.

The next day, Connie arrived on time and dressed exquisitely. She wore a very respectable business suit and short skirt, with a white blouse that opened up low but not too low, revealing just enough cleavage to hold ones attention, which I thought highlighted her willingness to slut it up, while exercising just enough discretion. When she first arrived, I have to say, I was a little alarmed by her height, which couldn't have been more than 5 feet, which she attempted to combat by wearing very high heels. Her long dirty blond hair was corralled neatly and her makeup was very slight, very professional. I especially made note of her piercing blue eyes, which seemed to suspend me where I sat.

Connie's demeanor couldn't have been more pleasant. Her attitude reflected that of a very receptive, eager to learn person. To my delight, she was already quite a fan of mine. She was prepared to recite my history in the field of psychology, including my landmark discoveries and published essays on interpersonal relationships and intimacy. I was surprised when she mentioned a seminar I spoke at, when I first arrived in New England, and how she hoped to one day meet me, and if she's lucky, work with me. Sure, it could all be bullshit in order to get her foot in the door, but I was willing to accept her words on faith they were genuine. Cleavage can sometimes have that affect on a person.

"All right, well," I said as the interview was coming to a close. "Let me say, Miss Cryer, you strike me as a very impressive person, let alone candidate for this position. In fact, I'm tempted to forgo my other interviews and offer you the position outright."

"Go ahead. I won't mind." Connie smiled with a quick wink.

I smiled, seriously thinking about it. Especially since there were no other candidates I was considering. "Well. There's the matter of due process. And due diligence. As you start out in this field, especially with me, you will learn that I like to be thorough, and try to cover all our bases."

"Of course." Connie nodded, projecting disappointment.

"Oh, but be of good cheer. You've done extremely well for yourself. And I wouldn't be surprised if I'm calling you late this very day and offering you the position."

Connie lit up and then shot to her feet to shake my hand. "Thank you so much, Dr. Untreu!"

"Thank you, Miss Cryer."

And so, that's exactly what I did. After I shot a round of golf. I made the call and offered Connie the position, to which she accepted immediately, sounding as if she might be jumping for joy.

"Miss Cryer, there is one condition I failed to menion," I added.

"Yes. Anything!" she said, still sounding ecstatic.

"You must be available to start tomorrow. I have a hypothesis I've been anxious to start working on and I simply cannot wait any longer."

"Absolutely, Doctor! Whatever you say. Whatever you want. I will be there."

I choked a bit. "Splendid," I struggled to say.

The next morning couldn't come quick enough. I was thinking about my hypothesis the entire night. The logistics. And if it could even be done. I would know soon enough.

Connie arrived at 8 on the dot. My wife, to my disappointment, hadn't quite left yet. From what I understood, she would be going on a shopping trip to the Lakes Region with her niece, Kimberly, who had been living with us for some time now. Last minute, Kimberly got called into work at the veterinarian clinic. However, there was still a good chance my wife would be going anyway.

Regardless, I told my wife I would be busy working in my office all day and I wasn't to be disturbed. My wife, who might have already been starting to grow tired of me and my work, didn't say much about my request. However, I was pretty sure she'd honor it, either way.

Then I returned to my office, where I had asked Connie to wait.

Connie was wearing a more informal outfit than the day before. A similar blouse and long skirt and boots. Her long, wavy, dirty blond hair was down this time. She was sitting by the window where I had set up two chairs, overlooking the garden outside. I found it to be a peaceful place for my sessions. I sat opposite her.

"Hello, Connie," I said.

"Hello, Dr. Untreu," she said.

"You look very lovely."

"Thank you."

"By the way. I usually have my clients call me Dr. Mosely. I just like the way it sounds better."

"Absolutely. Dr. Mosely."

"Splendid." I opened up my folder. "Now, for my little hypothesis..."

Connie sat up, eager to hear about it.

"The problem is sluggishness. In the work place. Our task is to figure out what we can do to help increase productivity. And so, here's my hypothesis."

Connie listened intently.

"As you know, my specialty is in the arena of intimacy. So, my solution, naturally, is going to be related somehow to intimacy."

Connie nodded.

"And in this situation, what could possibly be added to the equation to remedy all this sluggishness. A little something to inspire workers to press on, and keep working?"

"I'm not sure."

"Think about it. What does a man desire?"

"Women?"

"Certainly. More specifically?"

"Women's breasts?"

"No. It's something that women do. Something to breathe life into an otherwise deflated man."

"I couldn't say."

"Of course you could say."

Connie thought about it. She considered her thoughts. Then, while still looking askance, "A blowjob?"

"Bravo! Give the lady a prize!"

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What Do You Do When Your Pastor's Wife Is Constantly Complaining About The Lack Of Anal In Her Life?

My wife, Jennifer, who is a devout Christian, has always been a pillar of morality in my life. And that can be a valuable resource at times. I myself, I've never been very religious. However, when we first started dating, it became readily apparent if I intended on continuing the relationship, I would be expected to attend church. After my first wife, Naomi, who was practically a liberal, feminist, closet-lesbian, anarchist, Wiccan, I was probably feeling the need to compensate in the other direction, to a more straight-lace, conservative, WASPy woman. Hence Jennifer, my second wife.

Early on in our marriage, prior to venturing out to the east coast, we decided to attend an average-sized, about 400-500 people or so, Pentecostal church, in a remote town in Northern California. The church appeared, for all intent and purposes, to be very conservative. Although the women weren't made to wear dresses or skirts, they all did all the same. And although the women weren't made to keep their hair long, they all did all the same. For the most part, everyone dressed very conservatively, nothing too flashy. Not a lot of makeup. Not a lot of frills. Only a few women in the church failed to get the memo concerning these church-wide, self-imposed restrictions, my wife among them, and surprisingly enough the Pastor's wife also, Sister Rebekah, who I always felt I shared a certain affinity with.

As much as I tried to "surrender" myself to this church and its ways, it just seemed futile after a while. Sure, I had my moments of weakness, when the church and all its churchiness seemed to lull my sometimes sleepy mind into believing this whole rigmarole was authentic. But in the end, my mind would always wake up just in time to talk some sense into me. After all, the whole thing, especially when you approached it critically, seemed a little far-fetched.

Still, for Jennifer's sake, I continued to attend church with her. I had to at least try to please her in this way. It was obviously very important to her. I mean, it's not like she, all those years ago, when we first started dating, she didn't present herself as this sort of woman. It was quite plain. I couldn't blame her for my own idiotic need to give her the impression I would be fine going to church with her. Forever. And ever.

On the bright side, as a psychiatrist, just starting a practice in Northern California, the church provided an abundance of potential clients. It seemed that amidst all this oppressive conservativism, there were several folks who were just itching to get out, away from the church. Even if, all they needed was to leave the church, there was no way the thought was going to occur to them on their own. And for the most part, I didn't feel like telling them. Probably, because down deep inside, I knew that they knew it, too. And I was waiting for them to figure it out for themselves. In the mean time, their want and desire to leave the church manifested itself in other ways like alcoholism, wife-beating, stealing, fighting, bigotry, adultery, etc..

In the case of Sister Rebekah, the Pastor's wife, things were a little different.

I met Rebekah the first day we attended the church, when the pastor and her stood by the exit to bid farewell to all the folks attending the church.

Rebekah was somewhat tall and very beautiful. By far, she was the flashiest attendee in the church, wearing flashier clothes and a bit more makeup than any of the other women in the church. In addition, her dresses seemed to show slightly more chest and leg than any of the other women in the church. But she was the pastor's wife. And for the most part, this made her above reproach. Except of course for the members of the church who struggled with gossiping, which was basically 90% of the church.

Through the years, attending the church, and seeing these folks at various church functions, Rebekah always seemed to take a shine to me. And at times, she showed surprising candor. This always threw me for a loops, since everyone in the church, apart from those I saw in the office, seemed profoundly fake or delusional or both.

At one particular event, I believe it was a church picnic, I noticed Rebekah standing alone, by the brush along the lake. As bored as I was, I decided I'd approach her. After all, I had always thought we shared a certain affinity toward each other, as two, seemingly lonesome honest people stuck in a sea of the opposite.

So, I started, "Hello there."

"Oh, hello, Brother Mosely," she said, noticeably glad to see me.

"What might you be thinking about?" I asked.

"What does every man or woman or child apparently think about?" Then she discreetly gestured at something out on the lake and smiled back at me.

I followed her eyes and saw a teenage couple, out deep, with their arms around each other. I peered a second, and smiled, realizing they weren't just embracing but were actually fucking. Their intermittent looks of strain and pleasure were the giveaway.

"So sweet and so innocent," Rebekah said, marveling at the teenagers.

I smiled and looked a little closer at Rebekah.

"What?" she asked.

"Sweet and innocent?" I asked.

"That's Brother Scoll's son, Peter, and Brother Tanner's daughter, Willa. They're a sweet couple. They've been going steady all summer. I think it's cute."

"Rebekah?"

"Yes, Brother Mosely?"

"Forgive my French, Rebekah, but Brother Scoll's son and Brother Tanner's daughter are fucking right in front of you. In front of all of us. I don't know if I'd call it sweet and innocent, but I'd call it bold."

Rebekah peered out at them, watching for a moment. As she watched, at a certain point, she raised a hand to her chest in shock. "Brother Mosely, you're right. What should we do?"

I waved it off. "Do? Nothing. They're teenagers. That's what teenagers do. Fuck like bunnies."

"Brother Mosely, your language."

"Sorry. It just seemed like the appropriate terminology to describe this type of sex."

"Premarital sex?"

"No, fucking. Look at them, Rebekah. They're fucking."

Rebekah watched them for a while longer. This time biting her lips a little and clenching her fist tight. That's when another congregation member joined us. Rebekah didn't say a word about it.

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