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From: "George Carter" <gcarterofoz@hotmail.com>
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X-Original-Subject: :  {ASSM} (Aniv - Party)  The Gift  (MF cons) by George Carter
Subject: {ASSM} Anniv-Party: The Gift  (MF cons) by George Carter
Date: Fri, 10 Nov 2000 23:10:07 -0500
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<1st attachment, "gifttxt.txt" begin>

Copyright 2000 George Carter

THE GIFT  (MF, cons)

By George Carter

(Note: a glossary of Australian slang terms appears at the end of the 
story.)



What do you do the day after your heart breaks?
What do you do when the person you love more than your own life tells you 
she doesn't feel anything for you any more?

Well, I can't speak for everybody, of course, but I tried to forget about it 
for a while.  The French Foreign Legion seemed a little extreme, not to 
mention cliched, so I took extended leave from my job and moved to Sydney, 
where I'd lived before I ever met Kate.  We'd sold the house and I was left 
with some spare cash after settling the mortgage.  Eight years of bliss, and 
now I was living in a flat again.  I'd lost touch with most of the friends 
I'd known in my bachelor days.  Sydney's a bastard of a town to be lonely 
in.  It's just too damned pretty.  It's made for walking around with a girl 
on your arm.

I tried to smile and get on with my life, but it was a doomed effort from 
the start.  I'd not only lost my compass, but my sails and most of my keel 
as well.  I was becalmed and aimless, pushing forty with a bulldozer, and 
miserable, but in denial.  Rather than sit at home and masturbate, or worse, 
contemplate suicide, I decided to take on some volunteer work  That way I 
figured I could keep busy long enough for the pain to go away.

So it came to pass that I became one of the thousands of volunteers at the 
Olympics, where I met a woman I admired very much but whom I'd never dreamed 
I'd ever meet.  This rare, amazing woman ended up giving me the most 
precious gift anyone ever received.  What was it?  Be patient.  I'll tell 
you in the end.


*****


I'd ended up drawing 'Spectator Support', which was as good as anything on 
offer as far as I was concerned, so on day one I was running around Homebush 
Bay like a manic rabbit.  It was pure chaos.  There were hundreds of little 
tasks and little respite: lost kids, lost adults, enquiries, arguments, 
wrong tickets, wrong days, and quite a few language barriers.  And guess 
what?  The pain in my heart didn't have the common decency to ease off one 
little bit.  I kept going, all right, but I felt like I was made of glass.

For early spring, it was a bloody hot day.  I'd taken a swig of water from 
the plastic bottle at my hip and was fanning myself with the broad-brimmed 
uniform hat.  It was the first time I'd had a minute to myself all day.

The voice came from behind me, strong but definitely feminine.

'Excuse me... '

I turned, essayed my best smile and started to offer to help.  To my 
surprise, I was looking straight at my questioner's chin.  She had to be 
four inches taller than me.  I looked up and held her gaze, then started 
again.

The woman's voice said she was either American or Canadian, probably the 
former.  She had untidy, dirty-blonde hair, eyes sparkling with amusement 
and the smile of someone who thoroughly enjoyed her life.  She was wearing a 
  plain gold t-shirt, faded blue jeans and worn running shoes.  She looked 
strong and fit.

'Sorry to bother you,' she continued,  'but I've gotten a little lost.  This 
place is so big, it's overwhelming at times.'

'I know just what you mean, and it's no bother, it's what I'm here for.  My 
name's George, by the way.  What can I help you find?'

'Mine's Jane, and I'm looking for the residences of the U.S. swim team.  I 
came from there, but I've just kinda got turned around.  Clueless, huh?'

I liked the way her nose crinkled when she said that.

'Not a bit.  How do you think I'd go if I hadn't had  a week's training in 
getting around this place?'  The sun beating down on my crewcut reminded me 
that I had my hat in my hands, in an old-fashioned gesture of etiquette.  I 
must've looked pretty sheepish.  I put the thing on my head pretty quick, 
and her smile widened.  She had great teeth.  'This way,' I continued.

We took our time strolling to the residences.  'Fifteen hundred?'  I asked, 
apropos of nothing.

'Pardon me?'

'Your event.  You look like a long-distance specialist.  I'm sorry... that's 
impertinent of me, but you're one of the athletes, right?'

She blinked, and for the first time looked a little wistful.  'Not any more. 
  I'm with the coaching staff.'

I realized I'd said the wrong thing, which was par for the course for me 
with women lately.  I decided to shut my big mouth, and soon we'd found 
Jane's bungalow.
'Well, here we are, Jane.  Maybe I'll see you around the place.  I hope you 
have a great time while you're here.'

'Thanks, George.  Keep your nose clean and your hat on, OK?'

I didn't really want to leave, but I turned on my heel.  Then I saw a figure 
I'd seen once before, a rotund, balding man - assistant chef de mission I 
thought, clearly agitated about something.

'Jane Urquhart!  I've been looking all over for you.'

Jane turned to speak to him, and I felt my stomach do a little jump.  I 
recognized that name... I couldn't believe it. The coincidence was too 
great, suspension of disbelief factor would be blown out of the water if 
this was a story.  It couldn't be her.
And yet, this woman did look like the picture I'd built in my mind of the 
woman whom I'd admired for a long time.  If this was an enormous 
happenstance, then I'd be a fool not to at least ask.  Hell, what did I have 
to lose besides my dignity?

I waited until the man had finished speaking to her before approaching her 
again.

'Umm... Jane,  I'm sorry to bother you again...'

She waited.

'But... I couldn't help hearing your last name, and I think you're someone I 
e-mailed a couple of weeks ago.  My full name is George Carter, and I'm 
either an embarrassed fool or your biggest fan.'

Her face moved slowly.  An eyebrow twitched.  One corner of her mouth moved 
upward.

'Naaah,' she answered, 'I have much taller fans.'

'Ooooh,' I laughed, 'a height joke! Not fair.'

'Well, at least you didn't mention those damn yellow raisins... everyone 
else does. Pleased to meet you, George,' she continued, sticking out her 
hand.  I took it.  It felt like... a woman's hand.  I ordered myself to reel 
my tongue in, I probably looked ridiculous.

'You're the guy who wrote me that nice e-mail,' Jane pondered.  I thought 
she must get hundreds of nice e-mails, and probably some creepy ones as 
well, but it was fine to be remembered. 'You said that you write yourself, 
but you were pretty dismissive of your own ability.  Hmm.  Tell you what.  
I'm gonna be real busy for the next week, while the swimming events are 
on... but the second week's a vacation, really.  Why don't you get some of 
your stuff together and slip it under my door one day.   Put your phone 
number on it, and I'll call you when  I've read it. What do you say?'

I said, 'Thank you.'  In moments of crisis, dialogue should be basic.


*****

Over the next week, my life became a little easier to face.  Part of the 
reason was a burgeoning sense of patriotic pride.  It was impossible to be 
an Aussie and not to be proud of the job we were doing with these Games.  
 From the opening ceremony on down, it was just superb.  And my countrymen 
weren't doing too badly in the pool, either.  I was lucky enough to see the 
men's 4 x 200 metre relay, and it was the finest swim I can remember.  
Turning conventional wisdom on its head, we sent our fastest man, Ian 
Thorpe, out first, and it was a stroke of genius.  He had the race won 
before the end of his leg.  He demoralized his opponents and drew the very 
best out of his teammates, and we ended up beating the world record by two 
seconds... and the old enemy, the USA, by nearly five.

The seppos were doing pretty well too, just quietly.  Susie O' Neill, 'Madam 
Butterfly', had to settle for silver in her favourite event, beaten by a 
plucky American longshot named Misty Hyman.  The first time I saw that name 
I did a double-take.  Misty Hyman?  What were her parents thinking?  That 
was a porn-star name if ever I'd heard one!  It gave me the first good belly 
laugh I'd had in far too long.  It made me think about Jane. I bet she had a 
great line in belly-laughs. I hoped that she would make that call, but I 
wouldn't blame her a bit if she didn't.  After all, she didn't know me, and 
I could be any kind of ratbag.  I mean, I knew I was the harmless kind, but 
she didn't.

The days were pretty good for me.  Being at the Games was an experience that 
could cheer anyone up.  It wasn't just the events, the feats or the 
athletes.  It was the spectators as well.  I'd never seen such a vast, 
heterogenous mass of humanity being so good-natured.  It was touching.  I 
was working hard, but it was what I needed.  It wasn't healing, but it was a 
kind of solace.  And it felt like I was losing weight.

The nights were a different story.  I used to like being alone in the night, 
once upon a lifetime.  I'd stand on the flat roof of a block like the one 
where I now lived and stare into the heavens, feeling good... feeling 
complete.  I'd been part of a pair for too long to feel that way anymore.  
The night I once loved now only made me feel empty.  I tried several things 
to fill the emptiness.  I tried drinking, which just made me maudlin and 
ill;  I tried staying up all night, only to find you can't get away with 
that at age forty any more;  I even tried fantasizing about Jane, but Mr. 
Happy wasn't in the mood. If he didn't watch his step, I'd have to rename 
him. Finally, I turned to the word processor and started writing.  This was 
slow, almost painful in its progress, but it was creative rather than 
destructive, and it helped a little.  The trouble was that little things 
here and there kept reminding me of Kate.  She gave me my desk lamp.  Some 
of her old books were in the bookshelf, God knew why.  Every time I thought 
of her I missed her all over again.  Why?  That's all I wanted to know.  
Just why?


*****

The first week passed, and with it the swimming competition.  By Monday of 
week 2, I'd pretty much accepted that Jane wasn't going to call.  It was 
okay, in her shoes I probably wouldn't either.  Must be just a little too 
surreal, to meet a fan in the flesh and wonder just what kind of person he 
really is, then read his fantasies.  It was great to have met her, but I 
didn't really expect anything else.

So, naturally, the phone rang on Tuesday night.

'George Carter.'

'Hello, George... Jane Urquhart here.'

'Jane! Hi... How're things?'

'Just great, thanks... I love this place.  The team does too.  We're having 
a lot of fun, but some of these kids are running me ragged, trying to keep 
'em out of trouble.'

'Heh', I replied, 'at least you don't have to worry about any of them 
defecting.  Lots of other teams'll have that problem.'

'I never thought of that... anyway, George, I managed to read the stuff you 
gave me.'

'Uh, oh...  be brutal, I can take it.'

'I took a few cold showers over the weekend.'

'That's sweet of you', I laughed,  ' Now tell me what you really think.'

'I think we should talk about this, but not over the phone.  I've marked up 
your hard copies with notes, and it'd be easier if you could see them.'

I paused for a moment.  'How about we meet at the food court in the village 
for lunch tomorrow?  That's where I've been eating anyway.  Hundreds of 
athletes'll be there... just in case I turn out to be a dangerous 
pree-vert.'

She laughed.  It was a good laugh,  honest and infectious.  Not a 
belly-laugh, but maybe I'd hear that later.  ' One o' clock okay?'

'Great.  See you there.'


*****

The next day dawned with me, uncharacteristically, fussing about my 
appearance.  Normally I didn't worry too much about this.  My mantra was 
'neat, clean, smell ok' and that was about it.  I stared into the bathroom 
mirror, and the rational part of my mind argued that there wasn't much to be 
done.  My hair was low-maintenance; it was very dark, almost black, and that 
was as much as I liked about it.  It was also dead straight and very fine, 
with no body at all, and some years ago I'd adopted the number 2 buzz cut as 
the best of a few bad choices.  A few hairs had turned silver at the 
temples.

My eyes were a dark blue, and the skin around them was a little pouchy.  The 
eyes looked a little like Robert Mitchum's.  They had the same kind of 
world-weary look.  They, and the grey hairs, were the only giveaways to my 
age.  Fortunate heredity meant that my face gave the impression of a man 
perhaps ten years younger.

I looked down.  My body was not that of an athlete.  It was squat and broad. 
  The legs were a little too short, but strong.  The arms were a little too 
thin.  I sometimes felt that I'd been assembled from spare parts.  There was 
still a little belly there, that said  I like beer and pasta, but that was 
about it for visible fat.  The same fine, almost black hair  lightly covered 
my body.  I snorted to myself at this display of vanity.  As if she was even 
going to look twice at me... honestly.  This was a married lady. Definitely 
a lady. And even if she were in the market,  she could do a lot better than 
me.


*****


It was another busy day, no surprise there, and quickly enough Mickey's 
little hand pointed to 1.  Jane was waiting at the entrance to the food 
court, a large buff envelope in her hands, dressed in similar fashion to our 
first meeting.  She wore that which she found comfortable.  Good for her.  
Personally, I  always thought that the necktie was a perverted instrument of 
torture, probably invented by a woman with a cruel sense of humour; but that 
just might be because I have very little neck.

She said 'Hi', I said 'Hi', and that was it until we'd gotten our meals and 
found a table.

We were halfway through the seafood mornay when she started with a 
disclaimer.  'Of course, I'm not a critic, so this won't be a professional 
review.'

'That's fine with me.  You've done what I want to do, so your opinion means 
a lot to me,' I replied.

'Okay.'  She dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin.  'Well, you've 
got strengths and weaknesses.  Actually, I think you've got a lot of skill.  
You write the erotic scenes like you've done it all, and taken notes... 
which worries me a little, 'cause there's some pretty raunchy stuff here.'  
She gave me a sly, sidelong grin, and Mr. Happy gave a little twitch.

'Research, research... it's a tough job,' I smiled back.  I looked at her 
and suddenly realized that there was nothing affected about this woman at 
all.  What you saw was what you got.  Like her stories, she was honest, 
good-natured and funny, and I found that very attractive.

'Well... to list your strengths, you write clearly.  Your technical  skills 
are all there... grammar, syntax, punctuation.  The action scenes are great, 
and I like what you've done with some of these characters. If I had to point 
out a weakness, it'd have to be that there isn't a whole lot of emotional 
depth here.  It's the difference between porn and erotica, and I believe 
that erotica is what you want to write.  Having said that, I can see that in 
your later work, you are addressing this more... like you've diagnosed the 
problem yourself and you're working on it.  Can I ask...?'

'Yes?  Ask away,' I implored.

'How long have you been writing this kind of thing?'

'Well,' I replied, 'I've been meaning to for years, really since high 
school.  But I've only really been writing for about six months.'

Jane fixed her gaze on me.  'Then, there's only one piece of advice I can 
give you.  Write.  Write every single day.  Set yourself an amount to write 
every day.  That's what you need.  It may be the only thing you need.'

She reached out slightly to my hand, and noticed the wedding ring.  The sly 
smile returned.  'Does your wife know you write this stuff?'

I closed my eyes.  'She doesn't care,' I replied.  'We're separated... a 
couple of months now.'  I hadn't meant to sigh.  I wasn't fishing for 
sympathy.

Jane blinked, and paused.  She finished her tea, and asked, 'Do you want 
anything else to eat?  If not, do you want to get out of here?  I can't hear 
myself think.'

We got up and left, and were soon strolling through the village.  At least, 
Jane was strolling.  What I was doing was just about power-walking, trying 
to keep up with shorter legs.  She stopped, and at first I'd thought she 
wanted to give me a breather.  I was wrong.

'Do you want to talk about it?'  she asked.

'About what?' I replied stupidly.

'Your wife.  George, tell me it's none of my business if you want, but I saw 
the look on your face when you said you were separated.  It said... 
clearly... that the separation was something you weren't happy with.  
So...?'

'Nothing much to tell.  She wanted out.  I didn't.  But what I wanted didn't 
matter very much.'

'How long...?'

'Were we married?  Eight years.  Eight years,' I repeated, bitterly.

'George... I'm sorry.'  She reached out to touch my arm, then thought better 
of it.

'It's okay.  I don't want to bring you down, whinging about my little 
problems.  Not here.  Not now.'  I tried on a smile.

Jane paused, then her face brightened.  'Okay, if that's what you want.  You 
can do me a favor instead.'

'Jane, I owe you.  Name it, ' I offered.

'Well,  I've got responsibility for some of the members of the team, kinda 
like a house mother.  Their events are over, and they're getting a little 
antsy.  I was wondering, could you suggest any good, fun touristy things we 
can do in Sydney?'

'Yeah... I know a real good one.  You know the harbour bridge?'

'Uh huh... the "coathanger", I've heard it called.  What of it?'

'How would you like to climb up to the top of it and look down on the 
harbour?'

'Wow!  That'd be amazing... you can't do that, though?'

'Yep... sure can.  How many people we talking about?  I'll set it up for 
you.'

'Ahhh... about six?  And can I ask you one more thing?'

'Sure.'

'Come with us?  Can you get away?'

'Hey, that'd be huge! I'd love to meet some of the team.  I'll be there.'

We talked a little more, and worked out that the best time would be about an 
hour before sunset. After we got back down we could have supper on the quay, 
or at the Rocks.  I advised Jane to dress for hot weather, wear sturdy shoes 
and that, unfortunately, they couldn't take cameras, or anything else loose 
like handbags.  They were forbidden, as dropping one from the top might do 
serious damage to somebody down below.

As I farewelled Jane, I realized that for the second day in a row, I was 
really... really looking forward to the morrow.


*****


Dawes Point is the name given to the protrusion of land at the south end of 
the harbour bridge, and it was there that I waited for Jane and her 
entourage.  It would be a fine thing to meet some of the young athletes that 
the Games were all about, but I had to be honest with myself.  I was really 
looking forward to spending some more time with Jane.  She had a sense of 
joy... of enthusiasm, that I felt, almost painfully, in contrast to the 
emptiness I felt in myself.  I felt like I was without hope, and without 
hope, nothing is possible.  It was a strange attraction... the attraction of 
a vacuum for matter.

I shook my head and chided myself.  How pompous could I be, for heaven's 
sake?  Fortunately, Jane had chosen that moment to arrive, so I could 
abandon this dangerous introspection.  Oddly, she was alone.

'Hey, over here,' I called, and waved.  She jogged up to me, looking like a 
million bucks.  American dollars, not Pacific Pesos.

'Hi, George.  Looks like we got a good day for it.'

'Yeah.  Uh, Jane... where's the rest of the group?  Are they catching up, or 
what?'

She looked a little sheepish.  'I'm really sorry, George.  The team had a 
function this evening. Short notice. They couldn't make it.'

I became worried.  'Aren't you supposed to be there too?  Do you want to 
bail out?  I don't want to cause you any trouble...'

'No, no... it's fine.  I can get away with not being there.  I'd rather be 
here.  I got you something, by way of apology... here, I hope it fits.'  She 
was wearing a small backpack, and extracted something from it.   It was a 
U.S. team t-shirt, the back covered with autographs.

I was really touched.  'Thank you, Jane...  what a thoughtful gift.  Thank 
you very much,'  I repeated.  I felt like kissing her, but I brought myself 
up short.

'Here,' said Jane, 'let me put that back in here till later.  By the way, 
are you going to have any trouble about there just being two of us?'

'Huh?  Oh, no problem.  There's a charge, but you don't pay in advance.'

'So, George... how did you set this up on such short notice?  There must be 
hundreds of people want to do this.  I would've thought you'd have to book 
ahead.  Out with it... how?'

'Easy... soon as I mentioned foreign athletes, doors opened.  This city is 
keen to show you guys what it's got.'

'But... we have no 'foreign athletes' now.  Won't that be a problem?'

'No.'  I grinned like a schoolboy.  'I told 'em you were an IOC delegate, so 
just remember to look a little self-important.'

'An IOC... you didn't!'  Jane giggled.  'How could you... you're pulling my 
leg.'

'Jane, one thing you have to know about Australians.  The country was 
originally settled by convicts.  There's a national tendency to buck against 
authority... to tweak its nose when you can.  It was fun.'

'You're a bit of a dark horse, Mr. Carter... aren't you?'

'Nooo... if I was any kind of horse I'd have been put down long ago. Legs 
are no good. Shall we go?'

It wasn't a tough climb by any means.  We entered at the base of the 
south-east pylon, a hollow concrete pillar which appears to be one of four 
which supports the bridge.  Actually, they're dummies... they look good, but 
it's the tensile strength of the bridge's steel construction which holds it 
together.  We walked up, and up, a long flight of stairs inside the pylon.  
There was no hurry, although I could go quicker than we were, and I was sure 
Jane could go lots faster, but we were constrained by those in front of us.  
It was single file all the way.

Finally, we were at the observation platform.  Only the painters and riggers 
went any higher.  The sun was beginning to set over the Parramatta River to 
the west.  We looked down, onto what's probably the most beautiful natural 
harbour in the world.  For a little while, the height and the sight left us 
quiet.  It was a comfortable, reflective silence.  I realised that I was 
staring into space, and I wasn't feeling empty.

'George...'

'Jane?  Are you all right?'

'Yes.  But you aren't.  Tell me about it.  I'll listen.  Maybe I've been 
there, or somewhere like there.  Get some of that weight off your shoulders 
before it breaks you.  Please.'

I turned to her, about to refuse, and then I saw something in her eyes which 
made me want to talk.

'I...  I  used to be someone, you know?  I had a good job, a woman  I loved 
very much, a network of friends and co-workers, a home.  Everything a man 
could want.  Kate even had two sons from her previous marriage.  They were 
twelve and ten when we were married.  We were so happy.  Life was so simple 
and good.'

I paused to collect my thoughts.  'I moved away from Sydney before we were 
married so we could live closer to the kids.  Largely turned my back on my 
local friends as a result.  But that was okay.'

'What happened?' Jane asked softly, although I suspected she had an idea.

'Kate moved on, I suppose.  The boys were grown, and maybe I wasn't very 
attentive to her.  She found herself another man, and one day, just told me 
it was over.  I was devastated... I still am.  Anyway, we split up.  Sold 
the house, and I couldn't stand to stay in Newcastle any longer.  I took 
long service leave from my job, but I know I'm not going back.  So in what 
seems like an eyeblink, I've lost just about everything that used to define 
me.  I turned forty the day before the opening ceremony, and now I'm 
starting from scratch.  I used to be someone.'

'And you still are, George.  Look at yourself.  Look what you've done.  
You've been hurt badly, but you haven't crawled into your shell and given 
up.  Lots of people would have, believe me.  You're fighting.  You don't 
complain... and you've never once said anything disparaging about your wife. 
   I ... think you're admirable.  But you're being such a man about this... 
and I don't mean that in a good way.'

She touched my cheek, and continued.  'You have to get some help.  You need 
to talk to a professional about this.  You've got all this emotion that you 
won't let out.  You... you have to let yourself grieve.'

It was wrong.  I knew it.  Not what Jane said... what I was doing.  I found 
myself putting my arms around her.  Her eyes spoke to me in a language older 
than speech. I moved my lips toward hers, slowly, giving her plenty of time 
to move, or refuse.
As long as I live, I'll never forget that first kiss.  Her lips were soft, 
lush, yielding, and tasted like mead.  I felt like someone had jump-started 
the dead black thing between my lungs, and it was working time-and-a-half, 
making up for lost time.

Not only did she not turn her head, but she kissed back, her lips gentle but 
insistent.  It was wrong, but I didn't care any more, and neither did Jane.  
Eventually we broke the kiss, but were reluctant to release each other.

One of us had to be the first to speak.  It was me.  'Jane... there never 
were any athletes coming today, were there?'

That sly smile again.  'My friends call me Janey.'

Gulp.

'George, I wanted to see you again. I ... needed to see you again.  Then you 
suggested this, and it was just perfect.'

'But why, ... Janey?  Was it because...?'

'Don't you dare spoil this moment.  Don't say what I think you're about to 
say.  Not everything is about you, you know.'

She turned from me and looked out over the harbour.   'It was a bad idea for 
me to come to the Games, in retrospect. I don't really know anyone in the 
team.  They're nice kids, but they're... kids. And they're a constant 
reminder that I can't compete any more, and that upsets me.  Until you came 
along, I thought I was going to be lonely and miserable for the whole two 
weeks.  And there you were... polite, funny, someone I could talk to, who 
knew about the other side of me.  And I read your stuff.  Believe me, the 
cold showers didn't help.  I wish now I hadn't wasted so much time, but I 
was afraid... afraid of you.  Afraid of myself.  You must think I'm 
terrible.'

'Janey... I think you're a miracle.'

She turned to look at me.  A single tear fell from her cheek.  I wanted to 
hold her again.  I did.

We kissed again, hungrily, with passion.  Somebody nearby gave an ironic 
cheer, but neither of us was listening.  We were too busy discovering.  
Jolts of white energy were shooting down my spinal column, and ... 
miracle!... Mr. Happy was shaking off the cobwebs and getting ready to greet 
the day.

Once again, we ended the kiss.  'So... what now?' I asked, stupidly.

'Now... we stay here for a little while.  This place is wonderful.  Then, we 
find ourselves a cool drink and a light meal.  After that, I want you to 
take me home.  And if you need instructions after that... I've misjudged you 
badly.'


*****


I decided on the Lord Nelson, at The Rocks.  Depending on who you ask, it 
may be the oldest pub in the nation.  It was cool, and we found a booth that 
was fairly quiet.  They brewed their own beer, and their Pilsener was dry, 
hoppy, and very cold.  While we were waiting for our medallions of lamb to 
arrive, we made small talk like we'd known each other for years instead of 
days.

'So, what's the story with the football here?'  Janey asked.

'That's a bigger question than you know.  Which code?'

'Code...?'

'Australia is, as far as I know, the only country in the world where no less 
than four codes of football are played professionally.  Describe the game 
you're thinking of.'

'Uhh... about  thirteen guys on the team.  There's a ball involved, but it 
looks like the object of the game is to kill each other.'

'Ahh... Rugby League.  Good choice.  That's the game we favour in this 
state.  It's pretty easy to explain.  Think of gridiron.  The same principle 
applies, you score by running the ball over the goal line.  You get six 
tackles... you would call them "downs"... and then you have to hand over the 
ball to the other team.  You can't pass forward.  You can't tackle or 
interfere with a player who doesn't have the ball.  There's lots of other 
rules, but those are the basics.  I used to play a little in school.'

'Really?  What position?'

I didn't think.  'Hooker.'

She didn't spray beer over me, but it was a close call.  She did laugh, 
uproariously.  'HOOKER?  You're joking.  You don't have the legs for short 
skirts or fishnets.'  She laughed again.
'Hooker... that's good.  What, pray tell, does a hooker do?'

I tried to act hurt, but the truth was, I'd been waiting for that belly 
laugh, and I wasn't disappointed. 'For your information... the hooker is 
called that because he "hooks" the ball out of the scrum with his legs.'

'The scrum... yeah, I've seen that.  Looks like six guys on each side.  The 
ones in front butt heads with each other, and the ones in back look like 
they have their heads stuck up the other ones' butts... weird.'

'Not a bad description.  The hooker occupies front row centre.'

Janey looked at me like I was Evel Knievel or something.  'Isn't that 
dangerous?'

'It is if you do it right...  Here's our food, great.  I'm starving.'
The lamb was cooked just right, and sat on a bed of vegetables stir-fried 
just a little past raw.  It was delicious.  On any other occasion I would 
have savoured it. Just then, though, my breath was short and my chest was a 
little tight, and I found it difficult to sit still.


*****


The trip from the inner city to Maroubra was fairly brief.  Thankfully the 
traffic was behaving along the run down Anzac Parade south-east to the 
beachside suburb, and soon we pulled up outside the block of flats.  If I'd 
had butterflies in my stomach before, they were flying-foxes now, as I 
opened the door and let Janey in.
She looked around the living room and remarked, 'George... this is very neat 
for a bachelor pad. It's even dusted.'

'Must still be trained', I shrugged.  'Would you like a drink?'

'No', she whispered.  'Come here.'  I did, and she embraced me.  After a 
little while, we sank down to the sofa.  Her lips were soft and knowing; her 
tongue, a dancing nymph.  We were very close, our hands tracing the contours 
of each other's backs.  After each long kiss, I placed another shorter one 
on her lips, like a punctuation.  It was sweet, it was tender, but the heat 
between us was increasing.  The kisses became ravenous, the caresses grew 
more insistent.  Janey broke the embrace and started pulling at my t-shirt, 
getting it over my head, and off.  'Show me', she said, so I removed my 
shoes and socks, and then my shorts.  My briefs weren't really concealing 
anything, as I was fully erect, but off they came too.  'Turn around, 
please,' she asked, so I did a slow three-sixty.  She smiled, and stood with 
her arms held loosely apart, inviting me.  I removed her shirt.  Underneath 
she was wearing a powder-blue bra.  I ran my fingers over her breasts.

'You are... so beautiful', I murmured.  I meant it.  She was magnificent.

'No.  My boobs are too small and my butt's too big.'

By this time I'd discovered that the bra unhooked in front.  Such a joyous 
discovery!  As I freed her breasts, I answered, 'You're crazy... just look 
at these.  They're so firm, the perfect size... and the nipples are just...' 
  I had to stop talking there, as my tongue had started tracing an aureole.  
Janey shivered a little and stopped arguing.

After a few minutes of pleasant exploring, I crouched down and started 
removing Janey's shoes, and then her shorts.  She helped me by stepping out 
of them, leaving herself clad only in matching powder-blue cotton panties.  
I left them on her for a little while, and caressed her mound with my 
fingertips.  Mr. Happy was starting to drool a little... he has no manners.  
Finally I hooked the fabric in my thumbs and pullled down, revealing a very 
neat little blonde bush.  Once Janey was completely unclad I asked her to 
return the favour by turning around.  'Too big be damned...your bum is 
perfect.'  I stood then, and embraced her once more.  Then I took her hand 
and led her out of the living room.

She said, 'Do you think we could shower first?'

I was embarrassed by my stupidity.  It had been a warm day, and we'd been 
active.  I must have smelled pretty ripe... I thought she smelled great, but 
maybe all the blood in my cock was starving my brain. I fetched a couple of 
towels and opened the bathroom door.  The shower cubicle was quite small, 
and I doubted we'd get both of us in it at once.  'You go first,' Janey 
offered, so I did, making it quick.  I scrubbed myself dry and retired to 
the bedroom, thanking providence that I was house-trained and that the flat 
was neat and clean.  Not that I thought she'd be scared away by a reasonable 
amount of bachelor squalor, but her comfort and her approval were very 
important to me.

I only had to wait a few minutes before Janey walked inside.  I was 
surprised a little to see that she was holding her backpack in front of her 
mons.  It was an endearing display of modesty, which made me feel a little 
foolish, lying on the bed loud and proud as it were.  She favoured me with a 
small smile, and said  'I hope I do this right... I've never been with a 
hooker before.'

'Less of your cheek, young lady... or I'll perform Australian foreplay on 
you.'

She lay on the bed beside me and said, 'I'm game... what's Australian 
foreplay?'

I nudged her in the ribs with my elbow and said, 'Are you awake, love?'  It 
was a very old joke.

She laughed, like music, and said 'All things considered... I prefer the 
traditional kind.  Please?'

'There's a lot to be said for tradition,' I replied, as gradually I began to 
trace the terrain of her calves with my fingertips, moving upward slowly, 
then just touching on the backs of her knees.  Her thighs were strong, yet 
the skin as soft as everywhere else.  I was in no hurry, and right then, 
giving this woman pleasure was my only priority.  My hands had found her 
inner thighs and were stroking gently, with just the occasional touch of my 
tongue.  I avoided her centre, teasing, and asked her to turn onto her 
chest.  Then my fingers started tracing her spine, starting between the 
shoulder blades and working down.  It was the lightest of massages, but I 
could feel her relaxing under it, making little inarticulate noises into the 
pillow.  I reached the coccyx, the very base of the spine, and brushed with 
no more pressure than a butterfly's wing.  This time I heard her sigh.

Gently, but insistently, I pulled her arms out from her sides so I could 
reach her armpits with my fingers.  It seemed like an unlikely erogenous 
zone, but it had worked for me before, and as I stroked, I knew it was 
working this time.  She was totally relaxed and a little aroused.   My hands 
sneaked down to the sides of her breasts and pressed, just a little.  Then I 
gave her a tiny smack on the bum.  Slowly she turned herself over.  I took a 
pillow and placed it under the small of her back, and we both knew then what 
was next.

I got my head between her thighs and gazed on the mystery and majesty of a 
woman's sex.  Once again my fingers played with her inner thighs, and this 
time one or two found her perineum, and brushed against her buttocks.  She 
sighed, content for now with this passive role, and I kissed her sweet cleft 
briefly, as a harbinger of what would come soon.

Janey made little inarticulate sounds of encouragement as I raised my head 
and guided my fingers around her labia, stretching, stroking and testing the 
sensitive skin, but studiously avoiding the clit.  All things in good time, 
and I could already tell that Janey was much more responsive than Kate had 
been.  She was starting to moisten and part slightly, so I moved my hands 
away and up, stroking instead around her navel.  Up again, along her ribs, 
and then I had a breast for each hand - how convenient! - and a prominent 
nipple to tease with each thumb and forefinger.

A growl started in the back of Janey's throat, so I moved back down, 
extended my tongue, and tasted her.  Nectar.  I lapped, from the back of her 
cleft to the front, and again, and then zeroed in on her clit, and suddenly 
her arms moved and her hands were on my head.  She couldn't seize my hair - 
it was far too short - so she settled for stroking it while I tongued and 
kissed her most sensitive spot.  I sneaked a finger inside her, then two, 
and stretched her a little while I brushed her perineum with my thumb and 
described tiny circles with the tip of my tongue.

As I said before, Janey was a lady, so I'll not repeat what she said as she 
reached the edge of orgasm, except that it was most encouraging.  She 
panted, moaned, and for a moment I thought I was going to lose an ear.  My 
fingers, inside her, knew it first as she spasmed around them, and 
immediately she cried out in that cry that could be pain, but was something 
else entirely.  I felt her heat and then her body's stillness.  I raised my 
head after her spasms ended and saw the tell-tale flush of her chest... and 
for the first time in far too long, I felt like a man.

She took a few minutes to recover.  I played with her hair,and touched her 
face, using my dry hand.  No hurry at all, we had all the time we needed.

'Get...'  she caught her breath.  'Get your ass on that bed... it's your 
turn.'

I scootched  over to the warm place she left as she rose.  She turned to her 
backpack and extracted a strip of condoms.  'Fifty-one.  That's how many 
they supplied for each and every one of us.  Australian hospitality is 
really something else.'

I knew the story.  'Seventeen days... three per day.  And after the first 
week, the Cubans complained they'd run out already.'  We both chuckled at 
that.  'Just trying to intimidate you Yanqui imperialists, I bet.'

She laid the little square in easy reach, straddled me, and laid a soft, 
tender kiss on my lips... then one for my throat... then over my heart.  
Splaying her hands, she ran them slowly over my chest, her thumbs meeting 
and travelling down my stomach to my navel.  My penis was stiffening again; 
she found it with one hand and encouraged it further.  I exhaled, groaning a 
little, and if I'd had a tail it would've been wagging.  Janey grinned at 
this and moved back off me.  I had a reasonable idea what to expect next and 
closed my eyes, waiting.

Hmmm... that was nice.

Her tongue had found my scrotum... gentle and warm.  I started breathing a 
little heavily.  Slowly, tantalizingly, she laved my balls... and then she 
found the underside of my cock with her lips.  She moved upward, her lips 
following the bulge of the urethra.  I couldn't move if I'd wanted to, and I 
thought I was going cross-eyed with delight.
Then she took me into her mouth, and I said something clever like 'ohhhh'.

She kept me in there for only a little while, then placed a kiss on the 
underside of the glans.  I opened my eyes in time to see her self-satisfied 
smile as she rolled the condom on to me.  Then she lowered herself gradually 
onto me... filling herself.  For a moment or two, she stayed still, both of 
us simply enjoying the feeling of being joined so intimately.  Then she 
kissed me with infinite tenderness and started to move on my cock.

It was so good it was almost torture.  I had my hands on her buttocks, 
stroking her there, but my mind wasn't on it.  I was watching her face... 
burning it into my memory forever, associating the sight with the sensations 
I was feeling just then.  Tiny beads of perspiration were appearing on her 
forehead, and her blonde hair was flowing like sentient flame as she rocked 
and tossed her head.  My heart leapt in my chest and I wondered at that 
moment... was I falling in love with her?  Then something started happening 
that chased the thought from my head.

Not all orgasms are the same.  Women have told me this, but the same is true 
for men.  They're all good, of course, but it's a matter of degree.  Some 
are quick, hurried and, I suppose, concentrated is the word.  The one I was 
starting to feel was something else again.  It started as something not 
unlike an itch at the base of my penis, along the urethra.  My breathing 
quickened, and Janey stepped up the pace, just a little. The itch became 
stronger and started travelling up the shaft.  I groaned inarticulately, and 
noticed that Janey was getting a little flushed and was making little noises 
from the throat.  Her too...?

The itch was almost a burn now, and it was starting to concentrate in the 
head of my penis, approaching the tip as the sensation became almost 
unbearable.  It reached a plateau, so good it was close to pain... and 
stayed there for several seconds.  The hallmark of a truly rare orgasm... 
not so much the Rolls-Royce, as the turbo-charged Carroll Shelby Ford Cobra 
of orgasms.  I closed my eyes and let myself relax totally... and then let 
go.  It was unbelievable.  The feeling in my cock peaked, went past the 
peak, and I emptied myself... I thought I was going to cry.

Janey kept going after I'd finished coming, and the feeling was really pain 
now, but it was pain I could bear.  It was pain I wanted to bear, as I knew 
she was seconds from her own orgasm... seconds that she was granted, as I 
stayed hard enough for long enough to help her to her climax.  She collapsed 
onto me and I kissed her gratefully.  'You're beautiful,' I said, with 
little breath.

'That's.... my line,' she gasped.  'You're beautiful too.'

I hugged her to me and didn't want to ever let go.  After a few minutes we 
got under the covers and cuddled.  It felt so warm and soft and safe, and I 
was totally relaxed.  Maybe that was why it happened.

Without any warning, my chest got tight and I was filled with emotions I had 
no names for. Too many, too much, all at once. I shook, and started to cry 
like a baby, bawling uncontrollably.  I was embarrassed by it, which of 
course just made me worse.  Crying my little heart out.

Janey, bless her, just held me.  She didn't say anything at all, but with 
loving patience, just let me go on until I was finished, knowing that I 
needed her touch more than anything else to get me through this.  By the 
time I was finished, I felt  lighter, so much lighter, like I'd lost a 
millstone from around my neck.  Janey got up, turned the lights off and 
returned to bed.  We held each other again and started talking... really 
talking, like old friends and confidants.  I don't know how long we talked 
like that for, but thankfully, it wasn't all about my problems.  It was 
about lots of things, and nothing... it was a d&m, and a bull session, all 
at once, interspersed with a lot of snuggling and the occasional warm kiss.

After what must have been hours, we ran out of things to say, and I was sure 
that I loved her. Not  'I can't live without you'  romantic love... more the 
love you feel when you've just discovered one of the very few first-rank 
friendships of your life.  I was starting to doze off, feeling content and 
serene, when I felt an elbow jab me gently in the ribs, and an awful attempt 
at an Australian drawl said 'You awake, love?'

My oath, I was awake.


*****



That would have been a good point at which to end the story, but life is 
seldom as neat and convenient as the movies.  We woke the next morning and 
showered, and I made breakfast: poached eggs, bacon and a plunger of  
Darjeeling.  We talked about how little time we had left before Janey had to 
go home, and we agreed that the previous night would be our first and last 
time.  Not that it was wrong, not that either of us felt guilty about it, 
but we really had very little time left, and neither of us wanted to dilute 
the memory of that one heartfelt night with any hurried, furtive repeat 
performances.  It was bittersweet, but it favoured the sweet.  I wouldn't 
pine for her when she was gone, because she never belonged to me, but 
instead I'd keep her in my memory box, folded and cherished like a love 
letter.

I drove us to Homebush Bay, parked, and walked Janey to the village.  We 
stopped outside her bungalow and looked at each other, suddenly not knowing 
what to say.

'How are you feeling?'  Janey finally started.

'I'm... good.  I feel good,' I replied.  'You?'

'Good... bad.  Torn.  Are you going to be all right, do you think?'

'Yeah.  I'm gonna be fine.  You haven't heard the last of me... I'll e-mail 
you, and I'll keep on writing.'

'I'll look forward to it.'  We embraced, and she kissed me on the cheek.  'I 
guess this is goodbye.'

'Maybe one day... you never know your luck,' I answered.  Then I kissed her 
properly, and placed my Akubra hat on her head.  'Goodbye, Janey.'

She turned, opened the door and went inside, and that was the last I saw of 
her.


*****


The night was warm and soft and dry; I'd taken a deck-chair out on the flat 
roof of the block so I could look at the stars with a beer or two.  I looked 
inside myself for the old pain, and confirmed what I'd found before.  Where 
it had been like a poisoned wound, hot, festering and refusing to heal... 
now it was different.  It still hurt, but it was clean, and the pain held 
the promise of a future without pain.  Sure, there'd be a scar, but scars 
aren't bad, they're nature's way of reminding us not to repeat our mistakes.

Okay, I'm winding up the story, and you want to know what Janey's gift was.  
Well, I'm not talking about the t-shirt, although that was very nice.  It 
wasn't what we did with each other.  I wouldn't cheapen that by calling it a 
gift.

Janey's gift was a number of things, all thanks to her generosity of spirit. 
  She gave me encouragement.  She gave me friendship, when I dearly needed a 
friend.  Most of all, she found the hope I'd lost and gave it back to me.  
Getting that hope back was the greatest gift anyone could ever receive... 
because with hope, all things are possible.

What do you do the day after you get back your soul?

I didn't know yet, but I was about to find out.  And it was going to be 
good.


THE  END


I have permission from Jane Urquhart  to use her character, 'Janey', in this 
story - GC

If you'd like to comment, please write to gcarterofoz@hotmail.com


GLOSSARY OF AUSTRALIAN TERMS


Flat:   noun.  Apartment.

Seppo:  noun, slang.  semi-affectionate term for an American.  'seppo' is 
short for 'septic tank', which is rhyming slang for 'Yank'.  (Note: the 
author is well aware that not all Americans are Yankees, and that some find 
the term offensive.  Most of us foreigners don't give a toss about the 
distinction. Sorry.)

Ratbag:  noun.  A disreputable person.

Whinge, whinging:  verb, pronounced  winj.  To complain, especially in a 
whining manner.  An activity which is anathema to most Australians and which 
we associate with our English friends.

Pacific Peso:  noun.  Disparaging term for the Australian dollar, which, 
along with the Euro and most other currencies, is copping a beating right 
now from a certain eight-hundred pound gorilla called the US dollar.

Flying Fox:  noun.  Type of fruit-eating bat native to Australia.  The 
biggest bats in the world.

D&M:  adjective, noun.  Stands for 'Deep and Meaningful'.  A conversation 
that is... well... deep and meaningful.






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