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From: "R Jacobin" <jacobin2k@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Two for Texas (mf mf rom, repost)
Date: Thu, 15 Mar 2001 14:10:05 -0500
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Two for Texas
Jacobin
jacobin2k@hotmail.com

Standard disclaimers regarding sexually explicit material apply. The good 
reader is reminded in particular that works of fiction often neglect 
real-world risks and consequences which should be taken into consideration 
in any re-creation or work-inspired acts.

This was originally posted 6/2000. This reposting corrects some minor typos 
and random like errors. For more of my stuff, check out my ASSTR site at 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/jacobin/www/ and as this is my third work of this kind, 
feedback is appreciated at jacobin2k@hotmail.com

This work is copyright (c) by the author. You may download and keep copies 
for your personal use as long as the author's byline, disclaimer, e-mail 
address, and these three paragraphs remain on the copies. Posting to 
newsgroups or on websites is permitted as long as no money is charged for 
access and as long as the author's byline, disclaimer, e-mail address, and 
these three paragraphs remain on the story.  Please respect my work as much 
as I've tried to respect the reader.

--

I stepped off my flight to Dallas groggy and disoriented, but my 
step-brother Nick was waiting for me at the gate, smiling his 'I stole your 
Legos' grin, stroking the ugly soul patch under his lip, and I snapped to. 
He was two years my junior at 22, and we didn't look like each other at all 
-- I was the spitting image of my grand-father by way of my dad, lean and 
strong-jawed, Nick of his mother, bigger, oval-headed. He was taller than me 
by an inch at six-three, but was bulkier and probably contained 25% more 
volume. We'd shared personality and environment but not genes, which was 
enough for us.
"Welcome back, Jeff" he said, shaking my hand. We hugged.
"Good to be back," I said. "I think the air filter on my plane was busted. I 
have this weird taste in my mouth, and I'm kind of woozy."
Nick laughed.
"What?" I asked, not in the mood.
"You're going to be real happy when you get outside." We walked on outside 
and I realized what he meant -- though it was just as flat as I'd 
remembered, there was a weird gray haze between me and the distance.
"Holy crap."
"I'm surprised you didn't know. Here and Houston, running up on LA."
"You're kidding. I remember when you could give people directions by 
pointing to the buildings on the horizon... Things have changed."
"Some things," Nick said. "You know who I keep running into? Amy." I blinked 
as he stared at me for a reaction. "Heh, that's what I thought. Keeps asking 
about you. When you're coming back. Why you haven't come back yet." He 
paused for effect. "Do you mention her."
Amy was my first, and only, serious girlfriend through high school, a 
beautiful Italian-looking temper-prone drama student. We'd had a long 
on-and-off relationship that had alternately felt like walking barefoot 
through grass on the first hot day of summer and having a broadsword stuck 
through my chest. We'd broken up finally over coffee the week before I left 
for UCLA.
"I got her number for you," Nick said. He leered at me. "Yeah, you want it, 
don't you?"
"Yeah, I do."
"That girl's trouble, Jeff. Don't do it. I never liked her." He searched his 
pocket for car keys. "You got any other plans while you're in town?"
"I'm going to hang out with Laura," I said. I threw my duffel bag in the bed 
of Nick's skeleton-and-seats massive old Dodge Ram, and got in the open 
door.
"Laura? You're still talking to her?"
"Yeah," I said.
"Laura, the girl we toilet-papered six consecutive nights?"
"Yeah," I said. "She's got an convention out here."
Nick laughed. "Laura, huh? Forget what I said about Amy. Laura-- that's 
trouble."
Laura was trouble. Laura had been my most bitter and capable rival at once 
through our high school days, constantly tearing into each other in classes 
over the smallest difference of opinion, my anarchist streak against her 
liberalism, debate class, semester after semester, our feud carrying over 
into a nasty two-year newspaper (me) versus student government (her) feud 
that resulted in the paper's funding being cut and an intricate set of libel 
lawsuits I barely managed to weasel out of.
But we had made each other better, faster, more sure of our arguments, and 
when necessity had put us on the same team for the state debate tournament, 
we had left a trail of broken, weeping opponents wondering what had hit 
them, and walked away with the first-place plaque. Which she kept, as I was 
not to be trusted.
My entry in Laura's yearbook had read: "I may not like you, but I have to 
respect you."
Laura's entry in my yearbook had read: "You're starting to grow on me, you 
bastard."
We'd actually become better friends while at different colleges, emailing, 
calling occasionally, as the pot-heads and drinkers and morons I'd hung with 
for ease of geography dropped away.
"You thinking about seeing Amy, huh?" Nick said, leaning over to elbow me in 
the ribs. "I remember you two. How could I not? You made enough fucking 
noise!" He leered at me again. "Fucking noise, get it?"
"Christ, you're worse than ever. We always kept our clothes on. It was all 
grinding and chafing."
"Lie to me, your own brother, that's fine. Mom always liked me better 
anyway."

Amy was a mother, I knew. After leaving me and heading to Texas A&M (well 
known for their internationally acclaimed drama program) with her friends, 
she met up with some guy, started shacking up with him all the time -- you 
can imagine what this news did for me -- had a kid -- ditto -- and dropped 
out.

She didn't look like she'd gone through all that. She still had her long 
shiny light brown curls, bright green eyes, that sharp nose, the round 
cheeks that came up into balls as she smiled at my entrance. She was dressed 
modestly, but just from her neck I could see at some point she'd become a 
little more sinewy, her skin not quite as clear. Nights with the kid, I 
thought, motherhood. Huh. But she was still obviously the same girl. I got 
myself something to drink and joined her.
"How've you been?" I asked, sitting down across from her at the same table 
I'd finally ended our long, drawn out breakups. I felt guilty sitting down. 
Woman and emotional connotations - I can't compete. "How's motherhood 
treating you?"
She smiled at me and sighed. "It's great," she said. "Well, it's great and 
it's not so great. I love Doug, but since we had him, Scott's gotten sort of 
distant, we're working different shifts... I feel like I'm raising my kid 
with someone I don't know."
"That's too bad," I said.
"I think about you a lot," Amy said. "I wonder how you're doing."
"Doing good," I said. "I wish I was home under better circumstances, but 
it's fun to be back."
"I'm sorry about your grandfather," she said, leaning forward to put her 
hand on my left, flat there on the dark wood table. Her hand was cool. She'd 
always had cool hands. "Nick told me."
"He had a long, happy, productive life," I said. "We're all more proud of 
him than we are sad." I took a sip of my espresso. As I brought it to mouth, 
it smelled exactly as the last one I'd had here had smelled, the heady smell 
of coffee beans, and it tasted exactly as I remembered it had. I had avoided 
espresso for years for that very reason.
"I miss you, Jeff," she said. Her hand hadn't moved. She was looking at me 
for some reaction she wasn't seeing.
"I miss you, too."
"I feel bad at all the mistakes we made," she said. "If we'd both been a 
little smarter, a little older. I think about what we missed out on."
"Yeah."
"You know Scott's the only person I've ever been with? What would we have 
been like together?"
I blinked at her. Where had this come from? "Probably amazing," I said. "I 
would have died of pleasure." I shrugged. "Oh well."
She sipped her drink and a chunk of knowledge fell on me from the clear, 
open Texas sky. I blinked.
"What?" she said, curious again.
"Are you thinking of leaving Scott?"
Her head moved back a fraction of an inch in shock before she caught 
herself.
"Sometimes," she said slowly.
I nodded. I drank my espresso. My pulse was pounding in my forehead so hard 
I could hear it. I couldn't stop staring at Amy's eyes, looking to me for 
some answer, some rescue. I took care to compose my sentence carefully.
"Are you thinking," I said, "of testing the water before you jump in the 
pool?"
"Yes." She looked away. We waited a long time then.
"As much as I have always thought the world of you, Amy, there are two 
things that are going to stop me from continuing down this path. First, I 
think the way things ended was the right way for that whole mess to wrap up. 
Second, I won't have anything to do with breaking marriage vows. I know 
maybe you're thinking of me because of that one time when you were going out 
with Glenn, but no, no."
She looked at me, around the shop, back at me, and waited.
"I'm sorry," I managed.
"Well, come by, see the place," she said.
"Is Scott going to be there? What's the little guy's name? I could take a 
family photo."
"I'm sorry for what happened, Jeff, but that's no reason to take it out on 
me."
I shook my head. "I'm sorry."
"I know you were hurt with the way we were, the whole break-up and 
get-together thing. I'm sorry. I didn't know what I wanted. But you can help 
me now, and you're holding out on me because you want to hurt me."
"You took some psych classes at A&M, didn't you?" I asked.
"Yes," Amy said. "I feel trapped, Jeff. I feel like I took a wrong turn 
because I was young and didn't understand the future, and now I'm stuck in a 
neighborhood I don't want to be in, living with a stranger, taking care of 
my kid. I want to be free. I want to know what the right turn was."
"I'm not sure--"
"It was," Amy said quickly. "We hurt each other so badly, so many times. It 
wasn't the right thing to do, but that's high school for you."
"It was years ago," I said. "I'm over it."
"You're not," she said. "I saw the way you looked when you saw me again. I 
know what your expression was when word came to you I was pregnant, married. 
I know you, Jeff, because I knew you when you were becoming you."
"I don't want to talk about this," I said. "Maybe, if you weren't married, 
I'd think about dating you again."
"Why?"
I thought about it. "Because the one time you were over after school, doing 
work with me, and when it was time to leave you stood in the doorway of my 
parents' house, and kissed me so well I caught on fire and I stood there, my 
clothes burning, and you said you loved me and I believed you."
Amy's expression was soft and warm, the smile I'd seen then starting to 
crack across her face.
"I love you," Amy said, and I believed her. We looked at each other for 
minutes. People walked by the table on their way in, left with their coffee. 
Staff cleared the tables near us.  "I have always loved you," she continued. 
"I'm sorry."
"It doesn't matter," I managed at last. "I will not be party to cheating. I 
won't."
"When did you get so scrupulous? I remember you stealing fire 
extinguishers."
"I grew into being gallant," I said. "I know how bad I'd feel if someone 
broke up a relationship of mine. I'm not going to be that guy."
"My marriage is dead," Amy said, her voice even and emotionless. "I'll be 
divorced in six months. I've slept with my husband once in two months. I 
work late night shifts which means I never see my kid except when I come 
home in the morning. What difference would it make if you hung out with me 
while you're in town? It makes me feel good to see you. I feel hopeful. Come 
see my place, meet the kid."
"All right."
Amy lit up. "Thanks."

Her house was white, in a development of houses colored off-white, eggshell, 
rose white, and on down that paint aisle. It was just a house.

Amy caught me with my guard down as the front door closed, mashing her lips 
against me.
Amy was the first girl I ever kissed with intent, if you know what I mean, 
and was the best kisser I ever knew. The first time she pecked me on the 
lips in the car when I dropped her off I was paralyzed with pleasure. I sat 
there in the crappy 1980 Monte Carlo, the family write-off for teenage 
drivers Jeff and Nick, aware only that I had just discovered something I had 
to have more of, as soon as I could manage it.
She paralyzed me there, standing stupidly in her house, looking at the table 
by the door, the stack of bills and junk mail, and she kept kissing me until 
I couldn't take it and kissed her back. It was even better that way. She 
told me she loved me. I pulled off her tank top and took her heavy, sensuous 
breasts in my hands, and Amy kissed me again, rubbing my summoned erection 
through my jeans, fumbling with the fly. Her nipples were beautiful, a deep 
red, aroused and puffed to my thumbs. She pulled my jeans open with both 
hands, jerked my underwear down, let them both drop, and started to stroke 
the family-issue seven with one hand.
I felt like I was watching myself there, living out this scenario I'd seen 
grow from that first fiery deep kiss, Amy half-naked in front of me, her 
beautiful breasts in my hands, overflowing my palms, mouth to mine. She 
jerked me roughly with one hand, kissing hard, and then she broke off and 
gave me this conspiratorial smile, the same one she'd shared when we were 
setting up elaborate locker traps for her enemies, sneaking out late at 
night to neck on her patio.
She led me down the hall by my dick, which was the first time that happened 
quite so obviously, to the bedroom, where she laid down.
"Give me some rubbing," she said, and I did, trying to use hip control to 
switch each of her nipples back and forth with my crimson head. She laughed.
"Ah," Amy said. "That's nice. Now between." She pushed her plump breasts up 
and together with her hands and smiled. "Come on now."
I straddled her ribs and started to work my dick in the pressed canyon, 
tight and warm around my shaft, head just out, awkward and difficult. I 
moved short and slow.
"Come on now," Amy said.
I went faster, longer, and she leaned forward to put tongue to head on my 
reaches. It chafed, like our old, frantic rubbing through denim, but it felt 
so good it was only a minute until I came, putting semen onto the pillows, 
her hair, droplets across her forehead in the instant before she leaned up 
and put her lips around my head, bobbing gently as my dick twitched over and 
over, reaching back all the years for old, frustrated sperm.
Amy took her hands off her breasts and they slid sideways, pulling my eyes 
apart. She wiped a drop of semen across her forehead and then licked her 
hand slowly, smiling at me.
"Oh, that's nice," she said. "I so wish I'd known about this when we were 
together. Now give it to me."
"No," I said. "I'm sorry, I want to, but I don't want you to have another 
kid by me, especially--"
"That's fine," Amy said. She stood up, drops of my come streaking down her 
cheek, strands of her hair. She opened a table drawer and found me a condom.
"Here," she said. She stroked my limp, leaking penis with her left hand as 
she used her teeth and right hand to pull open the condom package.
"Come on, Jeff, aren't you hard for me? Haven't you always wanted me? Don't 
you think about me when you're alone, in bed, with a hard-on that just won't 
go away?"
No, yes, and yes, and as she went on, she got the first one, too. Amy smiled 
on me like the sun, warming my skin, the light hair on my chest, and pushed 
the condom on with a practiced, erotic roll of the hand. She laid back, and 
I lined up. Amy reached down, grabbed my wrapped erection, and guided it in.
"Oh yes," Amy gasped. "That's just what I've been wanting." I moved in all 
the way slowly, until the ring at the base of my penis was grabbing my pubic 
hairs and Amy was making the same low moans I'd known from when I'd touched 
her on blankets in fields, on the bed at her parent's house, moving against 
me.
"Harder, come on," she commanded, and I sped up. I didn't feel much -- the 
condom was a Trojan Extra-Thick, I think -- but Amy didn't need much of my 
help. She grabbed both posts of the headboard and rocked against my strokes 
until she came, abruptly coming forward to wrap her arms around my butt and 
keep me drawn in as she yelled "Oh! Jeff! Oh! Yeah!" while bucking on me.
Amy let go of me and collapsed back on the bed, head to one side, eyes 
closed. My semen was smeared, white on her deep tan skin of her cheek. It 
reminded me, weirdly, of Laura, who would walk up to the locker rooms from 
our track practices in the summer heat beaded with white salt crystals from 
the evaporated sweat.
"Oh, that was good," Amy said. "Oh, I've missed you."
I sat against the wood baseboard and looked at her, naked, her sharp curves, 
the lift of her breasts, my still-stiff erection still flagpoling in my lap.
"Oh," Amy said, faintly. "Oh ho ho."

She showered without me, dressed quickly, and we said our goodbye before we 
stepped out, feeling sheepish.

I felt weird Friday, and spent the day with my respective parents and Nick, 
catching up, and when Amy called that evening, I told her I'd promised Nick 
I'd go out drinking with him and get into trouble. We made plans to see each 
other the next day.

I sat at the hotel bar in the Sheraton Laura was staying at, and Nick wasn't 
there. I was nervous, tapping my fingers on the counter. So I lied.
"You have Anchor Steam?" I asked the bartender, a 40-ish man who wore a 
helpful expression only on his smile.
"What's in it?" he replied.
I shook my head. Was that a joke? "It's not a mixed drink, it's a beer. 
Redhook?"
"No," he said, his forced smile starting to slide. This wasn't a joke.
"What's on tap?"
"We have Lone Star, Bud, Bud Light, and Coors Light."
I sighed. He took an order from someone next to me. I looked back at the 
entrance.
I was stunned seeing Laura. She'd gotten a wickedly good haircut pinned 
back, one perfect jaw-length of black hair the color of crow's feathers 
arcing down off her temple to mid-jaw, her grey eyes light and flashing all 
the way across a room of light cigarette smoke. She'd changed since I'd last 
seen her, and I realized that the difference between high school and college 
is the difference between cute and beautiful. She wore a deadly patterned 
green summer dress that made me want to kick something, and it clung to her 
sly curves like it was every bit as attracted as I was.
Laura was shorter than I was by a quarter of a foot at five-ten, but when 
she got fired up and argued with me she would rise until we were 
nose-to-nose, chewing each other out in clipped, raised words. I always 
thought she was cheating, using her toes. Witnesses disagreed.
Laura's smile was thin, lopsided against her arched black eyebrow. She 
stepped purposefully through the Covey conventioneers and the lonely white 
business travelers, and I got off the stool.
"It's good to see you, too, Jeff," she said. She stepped into my space and 
we hugged.
"You look amazing," I replied, back at arm's length. "How've you been?"
"Fine."
"Your man?"
"Dumped," she said. "I didn't like him. He seemed relieved, as if I was some 
great burden. You want to get a table?"
We sat at one of the small, round, black tables.
"You really do look amazing," I said. It was all I could think of, all I had 
to say in that moment.
She smiled, and laugh lines showed. She liked to laugh. "If you hadn't 
proved you were interested in my mind the last couple of years, I'd think 
you were shallow."
"I haven't seen you," I said, honestly. "I had no idea."
"Do they come to us or do we have to go to the bar?"
"We have to go to the bar," I said. "Not much in the way of service here. 
What do you want?"
"Rum and Coke," she said. I nodded and muscled through to the bar. I 
motioned for the bartender and ordered two. I took my drinks and worked back 
to my table.
"Anyway," Laura said, "you look a lot better yourself. There's meat on you." 
She grinned and took a sip.
"You mean there wasn't before?"
"Meat?" She was still smiling at me.
"Whatever."
"Not really. You looked more like a wharf rat, or one of Oliver Twist's 
buddies." She rattled the ice cubes in her cup. "Like an arrogant, 
malnourished thug." She took another swallow of her rum and coke. "Which you 
were. But crew has served you well. You look good, really good."
"If I didn't know you were interested in my mind," I said.
Laura laughed, her eyes glittering in the overhead lights. "This is a 
terrible drink. I'm tired. Can we just go to my room and order room service? 
Get out of this smoke?"
I tried my drink. She was right, it was terrible. "Okay," I said.
We sat out on the balcony of her room, backs against the glass doors, and 
looked at Dallas two hours after sunset, the sky descending from light blue 
to black in the magic hours. I sat close to Laura, our shoulders just 
touching. Her sun dress was short, and with her knees up I could glance at 
the descending line of hem and thigh. It was still seventy degrees and humid 
out. I held Laura's hand.
We sat in silence for a minute, and then Laura scooted sideways, over my 
near leg and leaned her back into my chest. I wrapped my arms around her, 
hands on her stomach, and she put her hands over mine. The sky went from a 
dark blue to a blue-black as we sat.
"I've missed you," I said. "I miss seeing the glares, and sometimes that 
weird look on your face when I'd made some great point, or that satisfied 
one when you'd trapped me. Of all the people I thought I'd miss -- my 
friends, my family -- you're the surprise."
She snorted, and I couldn't see if she was amused or contemptuous.
"We should have gone out," I said.
"We might have, if you hadn't been twisted around that bitch all year," she 
said, spitting bitch off the balcony like a cherry pit. I let it pass.
"The fights would have been incredible," I said, squeezing her stomach 
gently.
"The sex would have been incredible," Laura replied.
My heart raced suddenly, and I knew she knew, leaning up on me like this.
"Are you nervous," Laura said softly, "because I have said entirely the 
right thing or entirely the wrong thing?"
I looked out on Dallas. There were still too many people at work, too many 
lights on in the skyscrapers.
"The right thing," I said. She leaned against me, craning her neck and 
looking back, and she wasn't smiling but expectant. I kissed her softly and 
then again, feeling electricity arc out from my heart across my chest, and 
we kept kissing, circling tongues, gasping against each other as we came 
apart for the saturated air. It was awkward and amazing. I moved my hands up 
to cup the underside of her breasts and she arched her back as I did, 
moaning into my mouth. Her breasts perfectly fit my hand, from chest to 
nipple the width of my four fingers, wrapped. She squirmed, and I squirmed, 
and we kissed harder. I reached down her side to pick up under the sundress 
at her hip, then comeback under to slip under her panties. She was shaved, 
totally, amazingly shear, and aroused, hot and slick. I rubbed her quickly, 
and she stopped kissing me to move forward a little, into my hand, trying to 
arrange her legs for some modicum of modesty. Then she came back to kiss me 
again, and I started to brush her clit, moving my hand from side to side. 
Her hips started to move, and she pushed into my ribs with her shoulder 
blades. She came quickly, breaking our kiss, jaw clenched, obviously 
straining not to cry out into the night and attract attention. She shuddered 
against my hand and then again, and I let off rubbing her as her spasms 
subsided, sneaking my hands back to her stomach.
Laura was breathing heavily, gasping in the evening air. She reached back 
with an arm behind my neck.
I leaned down to her ear. "You've got a naughty streak," I whispered.
"You've always brought out the worst in me," she replied, snuggling closer. 
"I wonder if anyone saw."
I scanned the face of the hotel and saw nothing. People below in the pool 
weren't paying attention. Nobody in nearby buildings.
"Probably," I said. Laura laughed.
"Let's go inside."
She got up, took my hand to help me to my feet - and as she pulled, I 
noticed lines of her muscles come out. Inside the door and behind curtains, 
she pulled her summer dress over her head and stood there next to me, 
expectantly, her hips cocked to one side. She had thin white underwear.

If you're going to do something wrong, go all the way. If you're going to 
risk a friendship you're just as well having a night of unrivaled passion 
you'll remember forever as a single giveaway kiss. If you read this and 
remember nothing else, take that with you.

I took off my shirt. She gave me a mock-appraisal.
"You have filled out nicely," Laura said.
"As have you," I said. I stepped towards her.
"Enh enh," she stopped me. "The pants."
I took off my belt, unbuttoned my flight-suitable khakis, and stepped out of 
them. Laura looked at my bacon-and-eggs boxers.
"Classy," she said. She took out her hairpins and her bob fell around her 
jaw like two short parenthesis. She tucked one side behind her ear. A lock 
fell down, running from forehead to chin.
"Classic," I corrected.
"Fair enough."
Laura reached behind her and unhooked her bra with an easy move, then let it 
fall along her held-forward arms. Her chest was pale, untanned, her breasts 
out and nervous, and she smiled at me, as if she knew that I liked what I 
saw, her confidence a glow even in the foreign hotel room. We stepped into 
each other, arms wrapping around shoulders. Our mouths pressed, we fell into 
the comfy armchair, and Laura stood, pulled off her panties in a quick, 
complicated set of moves as she came onto the chair with me, and then rubbed 
her sheer pussy along my stomach, a trail slick and warm on my skin.
"When did you shave?"
"Waxed," she corrected. "Last week. It came recommended."
I put my hands under her and brought her pussy to my mouth like a chalice. 
She moaned as I took my first taste of her, honey-sweet and luscious, and I 
wanted more. I ran my tongue along both sides of her labia, tracing the 
folds, and then went in for more. Laura was becoming ever more moist and 
started to work her hips against my tongue, and I put my snuck an index 
finger against her anus, and she gasped and then relaxed, and took it in.
"Up," she said, and I moved to kiss the little pink marble of her clitoris, 
unhooding, and Laura pushed her thighs against my head, moving her clit 
along my tongue and my finger in and out of her ass. She came loudly, a long 
steady scream, and then she moved off my hands to lower herself onto my open 
air erection, her entrance so wet I slipped in fast with her weight on me. 
She was tight around my shaft, and we quickly started into long strokes 
together, coming apart and almost out and then I was back in that slick 
passage, each time feeling the fire in my neck crackle along my spine. We 
kissed as we screwed, faster and faster, until we couldn't keep lips 
together and Laura was up in my lap, driving down and I came into her, long 
and then as she rocked her hips against me, I kept coming, softly, catching 
my breath each time, and Laura all the while was holding my shoulder in her 
right hand, supporting her weight with her left arm on chair arm, moving 
slowly until she couldn't take it and then twitching against me, her muscles 
tightening around my dick, still warm, and wet, and happy.
"That," Laura said, "was what I'd always wanted that to be." She blinked, 
let a breath come and go. "That was some good eating, too."
"Thanks," I said, looking around guiltily. "I uh, I always wanted to do that 
to you."
Laura laughed and came forward to me, nipple to nipple, and kissed me 
affectionately.
"I know," she said. "We are such a good fit."
I kissed her back, leaning off the chair into her.
Then we kept kissing, our hands kept roaming, and I never got all the way to 
limp, Laura never entirely stopped moving, and we tried swapping positions, 
not well-practiced to each other's cues, almost falling out of the chair, 
and after an awkward dropping-out I slipped in her from behind, as she 
leaned spread-legged over the comfy arm of the comfy armchair, pushing back 
at me.
"Oh," Laura said. "This is nice."
I felt her squeezing me inside, tighter around me than I could nearly bear.
"Where," I said, moving back out against her grip, "did you learn that?"
Laura looked over her shoulder, back arched. "Read a book," she said, and 
grinned.
"Good book," I said.
I drove more steadily into her now, trying to keep in control of my pace. 
Laura was panting in front of me, head down, and I ran my hands along her 
back, across her breasts, and to her hips, around to touch her clit, feeling 
it rise and fall as I moved in and out. "Oh," Laura said, "that feels so 
good. Please, just..." she squeaked.
Which was it for my self-restraint. I groaned and started to move faster, 
keeping a hand on her shoulder and another against her bobbing knob, my hips 
loudly smacking into her ass at the end of each stroke.
"Yes, Jeff, yes!" she yelled, rocking the armchair as she braced against the 
far arm. "Yes, please, yes, oh, yes!"
I stopped and came inside her again, and she clamped down, milking my last 
stroke, and Laura wailed with me, an up-and-down throaty cry as I felt her 
muscles twitching around me.
Our neighbors banged on the walls for mercy.
Laura stood, my spent erection falling out, her back to my chest, and leaned 
back to bring my head forward to her neck with one long arm. She was 
breathing hard still, and I could see the flush across her chest, the pokey, 
bumped nipples.
"Do you think we've worked out those years of tension yet?" Laura asked me.
"No," I said. "No way."
Laura turned around to face me, both of us naked, sweat following our curves 
-- hers better than mine -- and she kissed me, smiling as she did.
"You want more then?" She kissed me again. "I'm impressed." Her stomach 
growled. "Whoops."
"Let's get some food first," I suggested.
Laura nodded. "Good thinking, Jeff." She flopped down on the bed. "That's 
what I'm paying you for."
I called room service. "I get paid?"
I ordered some pizza, soda, and then I called Nick's cellular. He picked up 
on a noisy background.
"Nick!" he yelled.
"Jeff!" I yelled back.
"Hang on," he yelled, and walked someplace quiet. "What's up?"
"I'm going to be late home," I said. "If anyone asks--"
Nick laughed. "I remember the drill."
"Come back to bed, Jeff!" Laura yelled, and collapsed laughing into the 
pillows.
"Who was that?" Nick said, in his best nudge-nudge tone.
"I'll talk to you later, Nick," I said.
"Dude, fucking tell--"
"Okay, Nick, later."
"Take me now!" Laura yelled. "Now, dammit, now!" She had the yelling voice 
of a baseball heckler.
The next-door guy banged on the walls. Someone overhead stomped on the 
ceiling.
I glared at her, trying not to break up, and she started to laugh 
uncontrollably.
"You better tell me when you come back," Nick said. "If you come back at 
all." He hung up on me. I dropped the receiver back into the hotel phone 
cradle (surcharge for local calls: $1.00, local call access fee, flat rate: 
$2.50/day).
"What is your problem?" I said, laughing, walking to the edge of the bed 
where Laura, naked, was sitting. She reached out to take my limp dick in 
hand.
"My problem?" she said, looking up at me and tugging gently. "You're my 
problem. You going to sit up and beg here or what?"
"Laura, I honestly don't know."
"I know you want to," she said, her voice low and sultry. "I know you're 
going to, for me, because you know that's what you want." Laura smiled at 
me, looked down at her hand and the early success she was finding. "And 
look, here it comes."
"Not for a while," I said.
Laura kept stroking my poor, sore dick, and it finally came all the way up, 
and she laid back on the bed, knees up, legs spread. Her chest moved gently 
with her breath. "We'll see about that," she said.
I crawled up on the bed to kiss her, my hanging erection pressing against 
her inner lips.
"Come on," she whispered, "I don't have all day."
I slid inside her, again tight, hot, and wet around me, and I moaned into 
her ear.
"Gently now," Laura said. "I'm a little sore."
"Yeah, so am I," I said. I worked as far in as I could, gently grinding the 
base of my penis against her clit, and she sighed, her nipples up in the air 
conditioned cold, digging her nails into my back.
"Ah," she sighed. "Lean back a little."
I did, and kept grinding against her softly.
"Jeff," Laura whispered, "you feel so good."
There was a knock at the door. I kept on.
"Don't stop," Laura said.
"Room service," the door said.
"I'm so hungry," Laura said. "I'm sorry, can you get the door?"
I pulled back out slowly, reluctantly, and with a wet pop flopped out.
"Aww," Laura said, and giggled. She burrowed under the cotton sheets.
I pulled on a hotel bathrobe, grabbed my wallet, and shuffled to the door.
There were two people there: a teenager with our food on a tray, and a 
smiling handsome man my age in a nice black suit.
"Good evening, sir," the suit said. "I'm Hal, the night manager here at the 
Sheraton."
The teenager started in and I stopped the cart with one hand. "Just inside, 
please," I said, "the lady is sleeping."
He nodded impassively and put the tray in just inside the door. I 
overtipped, even for the Sheraton. He took it with grace. "My name's James, 
sir, if you need anything else, or if your food's not excellent, please just 
give me a call downstairs."
James withdrew, leaving me in a hotel robe in the hotel doorway talking to 
Hal, the hotel night manager.
"How is everything?" he asked, genuinely interested. The room smelled of 
sex. Lots of sex. This was certainly not the first time he'd been in this 
situation.
"I have a complaint," I said. His expression went from interested to 
surprised. "I've had to put up with my neighbors banging on the walls, 
ceiling and floors, and I can hear their muffled voices yelling at me. I 
came to this Sheraton for the excellent service, which I have been quite 
happy with, the fine facilities, which I'm also pleased with, and for the 
privacy, of which I apparently have none."
Hal blinked at me, his expression slowly tuning back up to smiling good 
service. "I understand completely," he said. "Let me see if I can't upgrade 
you to one of our more private suites."
"That would be outstanding," I said. "Thank you very much for your concern."
Hal nodded. "I'm happy to be of service." He stuck out his hand to shake.
"Perhaps tomorrow, when I've washed up," I said, and smiled. Hal's smile 
actually started to break with laughter, which he caught.
"I'll leave instructions with the desk in the morning," Hal said. "Please 
let me know if there's anything else I can do for you."
"I will. Thank you, Hal." Hal turned to leave and I closed the door on him. 
I brought the food to bed.
"I wish I'd ordered something more playful," I said. "Strawberries and 
cream, maybe."
Laura looked flushed and tired as she leaned forward for the cheese pizza. 
"There's time yet," she said. "I am so proud of you."
"How's that?"
"You're the only person I know who could turn ten noise complaints into a 
room upgrade."
"I'd have rather been finishing the job," I said. I ate some pizza. It was 
tasty, wood-fired.
"I, uh, took care of that while you were talking," she said, blushing. "It's 
a good thing you kept the room service guy out of here."
I grinned at her. "You did." She nodded. "When did you get so sexy?"
She laughed. "I'm not like this," she said. "I mean, not except now. I 
really do have a thing for you." She chewed on the crust, still managing to 
smile around it.
"I really have a thing for you," I said.
We ate and talked, and set aside the box and the Sprite and fell asleep in 
the soft bed, sticking together as we spooned, naked and blissful.
I woke slowly in the darkness later, distantly aware that we were moving 
together, and as I came awake I was already on top of her, thrusting into 
her gently, each stroke taking minutes, and Laura was looking at me with the 
same half-asleep look, smiling. We went faster as we caught up to our 
bodies, and I came inside Laura in minutes, long, soft orgasms as she hugged 
me, pressing our chests together, nipples sparking nerves.
"Oh, that was nice," she said at last, and I moved to her side. The alarm 
clock behind her head read 3:51. I couldn't recall the last time I'd been up 
at 3:51, much less been up at 3:51. The sky was starting to alight again.
"I need to get home," I said. "I'm sorry."
"I understand. Thanks for staying." Laura was looking at me, strong but 
about to cry. "I was afraid you might get scared, and bolt.."
I ran a hand along her cheek. "No," I said. "I'm not that guy anymore."
She nodded, brushed off a tear. "I'm so glad you stayed."
"I have to wash up now," I said.
Laura lit up. "Oh do you. By yourself?"
The shower was fun, lots of playing, soap-dropping, tickling. I was too 
spent to get up again, which was just as well. I kissed Laura a long 
goodbye, and stepped into the hallway a new man.
Twirling Nick's car keys on my finger as I crossed the expansive lobby, I 
saw Hal at the counter.
"How you doing, Hal?"
"I'm fine, thanks. How was your night, sir?"
"Amazing," I said. "Absolutely amazing."
"Outstanding," Hal replied. "See you soon."
I waved, walking by. "I certainly hope so."

It was still quiet at my parent's house. I parked the pickup in the 
driveway, let myself in. I found the guest room, where Nick had taken the 
bed, the greedy bastard, and left me the floor or the couch in the living 
room. I broke out the comforter and sheets and laid on the floor. I 
preferred the Sheraton. Next to Laura. I was still skin-tingling warm from 
the night, and grinning even in my sleep-deprived shock.
Nick stepped on my head when he got up. Light streamed into the room even 
through the blinds.
"Sorry," Nick said. He shuffled on out. I sat up and looked for a clock. It 
was noon. I was sore. I hadn't been this sore since my last week of crew. I 
had never been this sore, jimmy-wise. I got up and found an open bathroom. I 
looked terrible. I showered and shaved. I looked better. I walked into the 
kitchen in sweats. My dad was mowing the dead lawn outside. It was touching. 
I found some bread to toast and peanut butter to put on it.
Nick came down the hall, his hair wet and spiky, grinning. "So," he said, 
taking a stool at the kitchen counter. "You put some mileage on the old 
pickup last night, I hear."
"Do I ask you about your about your sexual misconduct?" I put two more 
slices of bread in and ate my hot toast with gooey peanut butter on it.
"No, but I wish you would. I have some great stories you should hear." He 
was grinning evilly.
"I don't think I do," I said. I ate my toast. There was a knock at the door. 
Nick looked at me expectantly.
"I'd get that," Nick said, "but I'd have to get up."
I got the door. It was Amy. I was suddenly acutely aware that I was dressed 
only in my loose sleeping sweats, no underwear, no shirt. Amy looked at me.
"What happened to you?"
"What?" I looked at my chest. I'd been scratched. There were a series of 
Laura-hand-sized five-fingered scratches across my chest, and another set on 
my stomach. " I got in a fight with Nick. Nothing serious." It was a 
terrible answer. I knew it, Amy knew it.
Nick, thankfully, was more cooperative than Laura had been, and remained 
quiet. I could hear him noisily eating my toast, his price.
"Can I come in?" Amy asked.
"I guess."
"Or did you want to come out?"
"Can I get dressed?"
"Sure. Let's get lunch," Amy said.
"You want me to get my keys?"
"I can drive," Amy said, sweetly.

My lunch, of course, was Amy. It was weird, being back with Amy: I felt 
doped, like I was only catching one second of ten. Before I really knew what 
I was doing, Amy was quickly rubbing baby oil along my condom-clad penis. I 
thought "isn't petroleum bad for latex condoms?" and then I was rubbing my 
dripping cock head against her puckered anus, and Amy was drawing short 
breaths. I pushed through her tight, oiled passage and through her tense 
sphincter. It felt like I'd penetrated a hot, humid corncob.
I'd never imagined I'd have Amy this way, with her church youth-group 
activities and the struggle we'd fought with even taking clothes off.
"Fuck me, Jeff, come on, fuck me up the ass!" she yelled. It took me a 
second to make the connection -- that she could say that, that I could do 
that, and she didn't wait. She pushed back, sliding along my pole, then 
forward, trying to start me thrusting.
"I want it," Amy yelled. She went down on her elbows, even, head turned to 
look back, eyes greedy, trying to give me a better angle. I worked slowly at 
first, not sure what I was doing, but I could feel her muscles tighten 
around me through each push forward, and I started to speed up, feeling the 
tightness on me like pressure building, and I went quicker and harder.
Amy started to swear loudly, just "fuck" over and over, and I felt the 
boiling in my balls as they slapped against her wet, scratchy pussy. Amy bit 
her lip and shuddered against me, trying to drive me in just a little 
farther, and I came, feeling my penis jerk in the little space it had, and I 
stood on the bed on my knees, my head reeling, smelling our arousal with the 
strange tang of ass. I withdrew slowly and reached under between Amy's legs. 
Her juice was dripping off her lips, her pubic mat soaked through. I put 
three fingers in her and pumped her fast as she yelled for me to go faster, 
and she came again on my fingers, panting, yelling, and then fell to her 
side, looking at me with a sweet grin.
"That's my boy," she said. "I always knew you had a nasty side in you."
I smiled back, sat down next to her.
"I love a good fucking," Amy said. "It's important, you know. Every three 
thousand miles. Get a good lube job, oil change. Check the filters. Rotate 
tires. Whatever."
She sat up. "Okay. Well, let's get you home before you actually meet my 
kid." She laughed, just once, and I was acutely aware that I could see, 
across the hall, a kid's bed, little dump trucks, bulldozers on the carpet. 
Amy got up and dressed, and after a minute I did too.

Amy kissed and paralyzed me before she dropped me off in front of my 
parents' house. The dead grass had been mowed. I stood in the afternoon sun, 
feeling sexed, smelling of oil and latex and the smell of houses with kids 
in them.
Nick was grinning at me from the stoop, a six pack of Lone Star cans at his 
feet. I walked across the dead lawn to the house. He stroked his soul patch 
as if he was trying to remember something.
"That Amy?" Nick said.
"Yes," I said. "Let me in, I need to shower and get some sleep before 
tonight."
"What's tonight?"
"Laura."
"Busy man." He opened a beer and offered it to me. "Laura know you're 
hanging out with Amy?"
"Not yet."
Nick took a long drink from the can, still blocking the front door. "We 
should talk about this," Nick said. "I think I need to speak my mind."
"I'm not interested," I said. Nick looked off across the street, his 
expression almost the same but reading, to me, 'pissed' as a six-foot neon 
sign. "Okay, later," I conceded.
Nick nodded, his face returning to his feigned shock. "Don't forget," Nick 
said. He stood up so I could open the screen door and get on in. "And get 
some sleep before the services tomorrow."

In fact, I showered twice. I showered when I got home, scrubbing myself from 
head to toe with my dad's nasty, gritty bar, and then after I napped, I did 
it again, soaping up with my own Gold Dial, the soap of cool guys 
everywhere, ran a comb through my hair, and headed out, traceless.

I felt awkward when I met Laura, leaning up against the tailgate of the 
family discard vehicle. Laura had driven up in her rental, a beautiful white 
Volvo S80. It suited her. Laura stepped out in another beautiful summer 
dress, this one a sky-blue that fluttered in the slight breeze. She sat on 
the tailgate with me as I felt warmer, more comfortable, and my awkwardness 
passed. I walked around the flat campus of our still-standing high school 
with Laura, holding her hand, swinging arms, talking about our fights, the 
infamous suspensions-for-everyone argument in French, and we laughed and 
bumped into each other intentionally.

We ended up laying out on the field, my back up against a goalpost, Laura 
lying with her head on my thigh. My fingertips disappeared in the black as I 
ran my fingers through her short hair. My other hand was on her stomach, 
cradled in both of her warm hands.
"You're still wrong," she said.
"About what?"
"About everything. You're still wrong." She looked back at me. "But you have 
good points."
"I think we agree on some things," I said.
Laura laughed. "Increasingly yes." She sighed. "I don't want you to feel 
like a sex toy, Jeff, but can you do me a favor?"
"Does it involve being a sex toy?"
"Yes," Laura said.
"What is it?"
"When I was going to homecoming-"
"With Tony."
"-yes, with Tony. I was walking up to the gym in my dress and I thought 
about how great it would be to make love on the field."
"With Tony?"
She turned over to sock me in the shoulder. It stung. "No, not with Tony. 
Ew."
"But you remember it."
"Yes," she said. "You were in it."
I smiled. "Was I?"
She nodded.
"How'd it start?" I asked.
Laura laughed. She rolled over and crawled on top of me, head on my 
shoulder.
"It started with me lying on top like this," she said.
"Just like this."
"Uh huh." She grinned at me, and moved to kiss me softly. She continued, her 
lips brushing against mine as she whispered. "And we were kissing, like 
this."
"And then what?"
"And then," Laura said, moving down, "I would get your pants off." She 
unbuttoned my shorts and pulled the zipper down easily.
"I'm not wearing pants," I said.
"That's not the point," she said. "Then I got your shorts off." She pushed 
my boxers down to my thighs. The night air was the barest degree of cool 
against my tense erection, resting against my waist. Laura smiled.
"I hope the mosquitoes don't see this," I said.
"Don't ruin the moment," Laura said.
"Sorry."
"Then you would pull my underwear off," Laura said, raising her hips up. I 
reached to her hips and slid them down. The thin, white panties again. 
Conservative and sexy. She stepped out of them, still keeping low to the 
ground.
"This is more exciting than I thought it'd be," she said. She giggled in my 
ear. "That's not part of what happens."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"Then I'd come down here, and you'd move up --" I pushed up with my hips and 
entered her softly. "Yes," Laura said, "and it would feel good like that." 
She laid flat with me, kissing my neck. "You feel so wonderful inside me," 
she whispered. We made love slowly, trying to keep our movements restrained, 
each move into her driving a cool electricity from my erection into my hips, 
and as we patiently worked together, it grew, spreading through my legs and 
my chest. I was drawing all the way out, teasing her with my swollen head, 
and then I would come up and Laura would press down, and we would stop, 
panting, kiss, and repeat. My teeth started to ache. Laura began to breathe 
into my ear as she exhaled when we would come together, and I lost it 
without warning, coming inside her, stuttering my moans, and Laura smiled.
"You like that one?"
"Very much," I said.
She moved up and then off, and rolled to lie next to me. "Will you help me 
out?"
"Course." I reached over and drew my fingertips across her shorn labia, and 
Laura snuggled into my shoulder and moaned. She reached down and pushed my 
hand so the base of my palm pushed up against the underside of her clitoris. 
Her thighs were hot against my fingertips. She moved my hand in a short 
circular motion and then let go, bringing her arm across my chest. I 
continued the motion.
"I had this other one," she said. Without prompting, her breath a little 
ragged. "We were at state, and I had that debate skirt to distract the 
judges--" I remembered the skirt. It had been a great factor in my strained, 
driven, oratories where I tore into other teams with unearthly volume and 
vigor. "-- and we were arguing. We were -- oh, unh, that's nice -- fighting 
over how we'd done in the round, and then we'd start kissing, and you'd 
reach down to start rubbing me, and I would melt into you, and --" her hips 
began to tremble against my hand, the arm around my chest tightened, and 
Laura choked, squeaked, and bit my lip. She closed her eyes, struggling 
against my hand, and kept on. "And I would come, and come, and come." I kept 
on rubbing, and Laura kept on bucking, and finally drew a hand down to calm 
mine.
"I can't believe," I said, "how hot you are. How hot you were. I wish I 
could go talk to me, then."
"You wouldn't have listened, then," Laura said, and kissed my neck. "Did you 
ever fantasize about me?" Laura asked.
"Yes," I said. I waited, and looked at her.
She glared at me with big, grey eyes and a smile. "Tell me, you jerk," she 
said, furrowing her brow.
"I always had this fantasy that you'd come into the layout room to bitch me 
out about some anti-you article I'd run that month, and we'd be yelling at 
each other, just getting into it, nose to nose, and we'd start kissing, more 
and more passionately, tearing our clothes off and tossing them on the 
layout tables and light boards and computers, and then we'd go at it on that 
table in the middle of the room with all the clippings on it."
"Wow," she said. "That's good." She paused. "You want me to break into the 
newsroom?"
"It's all alarmed these days," I said. I pulled my pants back around my 
waist.
"We can come back during summer vacation," she said. "We'll check in as 
visitors, wander around innocently, then duck in and do it." She exhaled. 
"I'm looking forward to this already."
"I am shocked and amazed at this side of you," I said. "And excited."
"You're rubbing off on me," she said. "Let me ask you something, and I want 
you to be honest. When you broke into the annual and placed that ad for 
yourself, how'd you pull that off?"
I laughed. "When I was in there arguing with you over your refusal to use 
student body funding to support the paper, I used a bottle cap to block the 
latch on the near window so it wouldn't lock. Then I waited."
Laura shook her head. "You were such a bastard. I have no idea where this 
considerate lover came from."
"We should get going," I said. "We're going to be eaten alive by the 
mosquitoes."
Laura picked up her panties and slid them back on. We stood together, took 
hands, and started back for our cars.
"Are you coming back with me?" Laura asked.
"No," I said. "I need to be home tonight. More than that, I need a good 
night's sleep. The funeral's tomorrow."
"We could just sleep. It'd be nice."
"No, I need to be home tonight."
"Do you want me to come with you tomorrow?"
My heart leapt and I almost stumbled. "Yes," I said. "Please."
We walked together to her car. Laura kissed me slowly and then stood there.
"When should I come by?"
"Seven," I said.

It was cool that Sunday morning, light, and the cemetery was shaded, dew 
still on the short blades of grass, wetting the tips of my black formal 
shoes as I crossed the field with Laura on one side and Nick on the other, 
all of us in black, silent. My grandfather was buried in a family plot, next 
to my grandmother, and everyone was there I'd ever seen at a family event, 
and then some - the few remaining Army buddies who'd served with him, 
friends of his I didn't know. After they buried him, I got all the 
consolation, and Nick was ignored, as if my direct line meant I took all of 
the grief for both of us. I hugged Nick when they left us.
"I'm sorry," I said. I felt him nod and we released. "I know."
"Thanks," Nick said.
Laura took my hand and squeezed it gently. We started to walk back to her 
car.
"I remember your grandpa talking to me about the Bulge," Laura said.
"He never talked to us," I said, hurt, then childish for feeling hurt. 
"When?"
"When I was going to write that series for the Dallas Morning News, I looked 
him up in the archives."
"He never talked to me," I said, feeling distant from the conversation.
"I interviewed him after school for a week," Laura said. "He was so helpful, 
once he started talking. I wouldn't have gotten a scholarship if I hadn't 
written that series, and I wouldn't have written the series without him."
I stood there, wobbling.
"I'll give you the tapes," Laura said. "He talks about why he couldn't bring 
himself to talk to his family."
I blinked, feeling my eyes heavy and slick. Laura came around to stand in 
front of me, taking my hands in her cool fingers.
"You look just like him," Laura said.
I nodded. "I know," I said, leaned into her, and started to cry on her 
shoulder. She gracefully put an arm around my shoulders, the other around my 
waist, and I started to lose it, sobbing, and she stroked my hair and waited 
until it had passed. Nick was standing on the other side of Laura, wearing 
his neutral expression again. I sighed.
"It's okay," Nick said. "I got my crying out of the way yesterday."

Nick and I stayed in Sunday, drinking with my parents, arguing about Nick's 
Lone Star ("It's like tap water, Jeff. Every city has different tap water, 
too.") and remembering my granddad. Laura called to check up on me, see if I 
wanted her to come by. My parents wanted to know who it was, I told him, and 
that was a whole other line of conversation: turned out they thought the 
world of her.

It was dark Monday, with forecasts of thunderstorms and black clouds across 
the sky that scared me.
I went to Amy Monday morning, after some difficulty locating her house. She 
answered the door in a T-shirt and shorts, and looked surprised to see me. 
The T-shirt looked good on her, the fabric hanging off her breasts like a 
curtain to her cute stomach.
"You look terrible," she said.
"I feel terrible," I said. I followed her in and sat down on her couch. "My 
granddad's funeral was yesterday."
She looked shocked. Had she already forgotten?
She seemed to be considering how to hug me while I sat there.
"I'll make you feel better," she said. "Here." She leaned over to kiss me, 
but I dodged and shook my head.
"You know what? I don't want to feel better. I have to go."
I stood up. Amy cocked her head to one side, her curls falling all to one 
side, her expression puzzled and still half-seductive.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I have to go."
And I walked out of her house to the skeleton truck, closing the door behind 
me.

Drops of rain like thumbs fell from the sky, filling the air. I was soaked 
through immediately, running to the truck. Driving the short hop home was 
terrible, the throw of the headlights lost in the streaks of the downpour, 
the wipers smearing the water equally across my field of vision. Lightning 
spiked from horizon to horizon. I was lucky to get back to our driveway, 
where I left it parked diagonally and dashed inside.
Nick was in the kitchen, sitting at the counter, chopsticking takeout 
Chinese food into his mouth with one hand, holding a can of beer in the 
other. I dripped on the tile of the entryway. Nick looked up, closed his 
eyes, and sniffed.
"How is Amy?" he asked.
"Fine," I said. I squished down the hall, left my clothes in the bathtub, 
found sweats and came back to the kitchen.
I took a beer from the fridge.
Nick ate for a minute, finished his can of beer, crushed it, and tossed it 
behind him into the dining room. I handed him another.
"Did I ever tell you," Nick asked, "that I fucked Amy?"
I looked at him, feeling the ozone in the air, the condensation on the can. 
"You what?"
"True story," he said. "Don't get up fixing to hit me yet, this is all on 
the up-and-up. When I was working as a bike messenger, I was running stuff 
into hotels all the time. I was buffed out at the time, too, remember, I had 
the bleached hair and the eyebrow ring, plus I was on the steroids and shit, 
I weighted 220 at your height and could tear a phone booth out of the 
ground." He paused. "I miss those days sometimes."
"Keep going."
"Yeah, so this skanky girl --"
"Jamie?" Jamie was one of Amy's best friends in high school, a slimy 
flea-market scamming weasel of a girl.
"Yeah, Jamie. I'm in there dropping off a giant bundle of something, and she 
tells me she's got this friend who's looking for no-strings-attached sex, 
would I be interested?"
I felt a dark, cold place in my heart and my eyes started to sink back in my 
head to give me a better view of my sockets and Nick, drawing smaller.
"So I say yes, sure, because I was on this free-love kick, you know, and I 
meet her at the hotel restaurant, we talk for a minute, and boom, we're up 
in a room, and I'm driving the green, you know, just going at it - let me 
know if I go too far with this - and you get three guesses who she called 
me."
"Me," I said.
"No," Nick said, grinning.
"Scott."
"No."
"I have no fucking clue."
"Ben," Nick said.
"Who the fuck is Ben?"
Nick nodded. "From a public health perspective, my brother, that may be a 
very important question. Let me ask you another question: if she had her 
friends setting her up with bike messengers two years ago, how many Bens do 
you think there were? How many guys was she trailing along for repeat 
visits? I realized who she was when I came home and saw one of the old 
pictures on mom's desk, but she asked me back. Seriously, I didn't know at 
first -- she was lightening her hair then, kept it up, I didn't recognize 
her until afterwards."
I blinked.
"It's better you know," Nick said.
I nodded. "You're right."
"You feel like shit," Nick said. "You've been betrayed. Go take a shower, 
come back, open another beer, and we'll reminisce about the wicked nature of 
women." I turned to go. "But first," Nick said, stopping me. "What's the 
moral here?"
I gave up. "Listen to my brother when he's trying to tell me something?" I 
ventured.
Nick smiled and nodded. "Very good."

I called Amy's house and got her.
"Tell me about when you were having sex with anyone you could get into a 
bed," I said.
There was a long pause as I could hear her breathe on the other end.
"It was about a year after I had Doug," Amy said. "We'd stopped sleeping 
together when I was pregnant and never started again, and I couldn't take 
it. I had to do something."
It was my turn to hold the phone and not say anything.
"You told me," I said, "you'd never been with anyone but your husband."
"Yes," she said, "I did. Is that what you're upset about?"
I hung up on her, and then hung up again, busting the hanger off my parents' 
crappy 1970 Ma Bell-issued wall-mounter. I pulled the phone off its hook and 
disconnected the plug.
Down the hall, the phone rang. I left the house.

I was so happy to see Laura again that I nearly cried for the second time in 
three days, after keeping it in check for years. She looked great, still in 
her conference suit, smart and professional. She carried a black 
cloth-and-chrome umbrella that she leaned on at a jaunty angle.
I hugged her tightly.  She kissed me softly, slowly, and drew back.
"I was worried about you," she said. "You doing okay?"
"I'm fine," I said. "I'm fixing for some dinner."
She gave me a raised eyebrow.
"What were you looking to eat?"
I smiled despite myself. "What have you got?"
Laura looked at me. "I have to change, but come with me, we'll look at the 
menu."
Her car didn't handle in the storm, it ignored it. Laura shot through the 
rain-slick highways at 70 as around us men with hats in pickups drove like 
bluehairs with door-hanging seatbelts. She talked as she drove, telling me 
about how these conferences went, and how it didn't really matter whether or 
not the drug in question was effective in current trials, as it was the 
speculation on the next round that was driving interest, and how she, Laura, 
couldn't have cared less about any of it.
Hal was not at the front desk.
I kissed Laura in the elevator, kissed her nose, her eyebrows, and her 
forehead. She smiled.
"I've never had a fantasy about elevators," she said.
"I'll ask you again in a week."
She laughed. "Okay." I kissed her again.
I held her hand as we walked to her suite, which had a living room and 
everything.
She took off her suit jacket as we entered, hung it up. "You feel like 
something quick before we head out?"
"Like what?"
"Something to tide us over. Until we get back." She took out her diamond 
stud earrings and set them on the table. "Sit down for a second." I set down 
on a couch cushion. She walked into the bedroom and after a minute came back 
out in just the thin white underwear.
"Do you ever wear stockings anymore?" I asked, as she crossed to me.
"Only if you're very good," she said, and moved the table from the front of 
the couch. "Now take off your shorts."
I did, like a good boy, and Laura knelt before me. "I've wanted to do this 
for a while," she said, leaning forward to take my cock into her mouth 
straight on.
I closed my eyes. "I've wanted you to do that forever," I said.
Laura moved up and down before me, dragging her lips, stopping to suck on 
the tip, until I was so hard my dick jumped with each pulse.
"I guess you have," she said, and I could see she had her left hand in her 
panties, moving slowly. She licked her tongue along the underside of my 
shaft, and then she took the head into mouth and moved on and off it, and I 
felt the first surge of pending orgasm.
"I'm going to come," I said. Laura moved off, resting her head on my thigh 
while she stroked me with one hand, the other still down her own shorts.
"I know," she said, "and I want it."
That was nearly it for me, and Laura saw my expression start to slack and 
went down again. I pushed forward against her hand and shot into her, and 
she moaned, eyes closed, and I looked to see her other hand nearly a blur, 
and then she leaned back on the floor, still going, and then laid out, one 
hand running along her body, the other jerking in her panties as she came, 
gasping for breath. I was spent and astounded. Laura looked at me.
"That was good," she said, and nodded. "Oh, man, do we have hot sex or 
what."
I laughed. She stood up. "Okay, I'm going to go change. And brush my teeth." 
I zipped up and sat by myself on the couch, feeling the pleasant afterwarmth 
across my skin, and waited. I could hear Laura changing in the bedroom, and 
slowly, I felt ashamed of myself.
Laura came out in jeans and a cute white polo shirt with her consulting 
company's logo just above her breast. She was smiling widely, as if about to 
start whistling out of happiness. She noticed me and stopped, looked me 
over.
"You want to tell me something."
I nodded. She sat down next to me on the middle cushion.
"Tell me," she said. "Tell me now."
"I've seen Amy," I said.
Laura seemed to deflate, shifted away on the couch to face me, trying to 
compact herself onto the far half of the third cushion. "Is that," she said, 
"a fact?"
"Yeah." I struggled to say something as Laura waited impassively. "Look, 
it's not like we agreed to an exclusive relationship."
"Not technically, no, and I see now that we should have more clearly laid 
out exactly what was going on here. Have you seen her," Laura said, "or have 
you seen her?"
"The latter," I said. "It started before you got in."
"So it's still going on. Fuck, Jeff, I can't believe I didn't taste her."
I winced.
"It's been days. It's not going on now, and it won't again, after I talk to 
her next."
Laura looked at me, none of the warmth in her face I'd grown used to. "I 
want you to do it now," she said. "Call her now."
"Okay," I said, and got up to figure out where they'd hidden the phone.
"No, wait," Laura said. "I'll bet that she got you to her house. I'll bet 
when you didn't have a condom on you because you didn't expect to need one, 
she found one. I'll bet," Laura said. She looked off, thinking. "I'll bet it 
will turn out she took them from her husband's stash. Her husband will have 
suspected her of cheating and counted the condoms. Her marriage will break 
up, and you, Jeff, will be her only hope, and responsible for the whole 
chain of events."
I didn't know what to say.
"Mark my words," Laura said, anger starting to creep into her voice, cold 
and frightening. "I will write this down if it would make any difference."
"How do you--"
"It's what I would do," Laura said, staring at me, "if I were smart and a 
ruthless, manipulative bitch, which is exactly what she is. Do you remember 
what else went on when you were dating? She'd take a fancy to someone else. 
Your relationship would flag. If it panned out, you'd get dumped until it 
ended. If it didn't, you'd patch things up."
"That's not really how it went."
"You're a smart man, Jeff, you'll realize I'm right in about an hour. The 
condom stash was hers. Her husband suspects her infidelity but only vaguely, 
and it certainly is not yet the crisis she will present. If you continue, he 
will figure it out eventually - Amy has likely chosen her chump well, but 
we're all good at sensing these things. Amy intends the divorce to threaten, 
holding you here, in effect maintaining her next husband in a holding 
pattern." Laura chewed on her lip in a decidedly non-sexy way. "She may 
maintain she's pregnant by you, even, that a condom failed. High stakes, but 
if she gets you on the first part, she'll go for it. I would. She has little 
to lose."
The phone was on the side table by the couch.
"Call her," Laura said. "She will say exactly what I have predicted."
I did. She did.
Laura had not, however, prepared me for the fight that followed. I cut my 
losses at ten minutes and hung up. The handset was slick with sweat from my 
palm and hot. I felt sick and cold and clammy.
"You look a little pale," Laura said. "Do you feel better?"
"I do," I said.
Laura sighed, and I saw something in her expression then, just a shade of 
softening.
"That's good," she said. "That's a very good sign."
"I'm sorry."
"That's also good. I'll be looking to you to say this throughout our 
evening, as I bitch you out at length. I'm going to change now."
"Where do you want to go?"
"Is there anyplace here with good beer?"
Laura thought about this. "Yes," she said.

The bitching out wasn't long at all, barely a half-hour, but it was brutal. 
Laura had, impossibly, become even more verbally dexterous in her years at U 
Penn, and dissembled me in front of several tables of shocked and frightened 
patrons of the steakhouse.
Then we ate.
"Do you want to set out some ground rules for us, then?" I asked.
Laura sighed. "You don't get it. See, I wanted to come see you, find out if 
reading between the lines of your mail was giving me the right direction. I 
don't tell you I'm going to come see you. I work out a way to pull it off 
with subtlety."
I drank from my pint of Foster's to cover my reaction.
"Why, Jeff? Deniability. If it didn't work out, I could deny everything. Do 
you see where I'm going with this? You want rules. I want understandings."
I nodded.
"I think you know what I want."
"I do," I said.
"So let's just eat and chat."
I finished my pint and signaled for another.
"Okay. How was your flight in? Did they pay for first class?"
"No," Laura said. She chewed on a bit of my steak. "This is good. You know 
what I hate about flying these days?"
"Poor maintenance practices?"
"The fact that people have to ask how much you paid. It's rude. I didn't ask 
the guy next to me how much he paid for his suit, but he's perfectly 
comfortable bugging me to find out if he paid less for his ticket over the 
net."
"How much did you pay?"
"One seventy-five."
"That's an amazing fare."
"It was one-way," Laura said.
"One-way?"
"I wasn't sure where I'd fly from here." She chewed on another bite of 
steak. "I have a better idea now. You're probably not willing to quit your 
job with Oracle, are you?"
"It's a really good job."
She shrugged. "So I buy a one-way ticket to Oakland."
What about your job, your apartment...?"
She shook her head. "Jobs are jobs. These things are problems to be solved, 
Jeff, that's all they are. Obstacles before the goal. You belong to me, as I 
belong to you. If I fly out with you to make a life in the Bay, we'll figure 
out the solutions. We're both bright people." She paused. "Well, me, 
anyway."

-- Jacobin, 6/2000

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