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Message-ID: <37353asstr$1026900602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: cyan@protgp.com
Subject: {ASSM} Any Time
Date: Wed, 17 Jul 2002 06:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Any Time
by Cyan
http://cyan.protgp.com
Copyright 1997 by Cyan

Leah--married finally.  I stood there in the door, no help at
all, my mind awed by that fact.  She'd certainly taken her time.
I found myself staring at her: the wedding dress, as she looked in
her dresser for something.  And expecting me to help her change.

She was so beautiful in that dress.  Too beautiful.  That shouldn't
bother me, but I couldn't help it: after all there had been that
incident.

Just one time: one night.  I don't know what sort of mood got us
to try it: I know we'd been drinking.  And silly: we'd been silly
that night.  And somehow it had happened.  And the next morning,
I'd found myself lying in my bed, shaking with embarrassment.

Me with a woman!  Leah!  My best friend for years!  The horror of
that morning still haunts me: what was going to happen?  How could
I face her?

I should have called her right away: talked to her.  But that's
not me: I found myself avoiding her.  Slipping away when I saw her
coming, coming up with an excuse to get away whenever she started
a conversation.  But inevitably she noticed what I was doing.
And caught me once, as I was trying to slip away.  I still remember
her words: "Don't leave."

So serious.  Leah asking me not to leave when I'd just told her I was
late for, well, something or other.  She tried to lighten things up
again by telling me she just wanted a second to tell me something.
I didn't answer: just felt panic inside.  She was going to try to
arrange for us to get together.  Just what I'd wanted to avoid,
but I couldn't run out on her after she'd said it like that.
"Please listen to me," she said, still sounding serious.

"Leah..." I started.  I *had* to tell her what was what.

"No: listen.  I know you've been avoiding me--because you were
afraid-- afraid that I might think we were going to... continue..."

Even though her voice had trailed off to silence, I couldn't make
myself answer.  She took a breath and went on.  "Please don't feel
that way: I don't want to lose you as a friend.  It was just one
time: it doesn't have to be any more than that."

I found myself studying her face.  She was so serious.  Did she
really mean this?  I wanted to be relieved, to go back to our
longstanding friendship.  "OK?" she said.

"OK."

"A one time thing: no need to remember it."

I think I must have shown my relief.  She smiled at me, evidently
feeling satisfied with my response and I couldn't help but smile
in return.  "But just one thing, OK?" she added.

"Yes?"

"I'll never say this again," she said.  Then, she said, almost in
a whisper: "If you do ever *do* feel like it, call me.  Any time,
any place.  3AM if you feel like it."

My heart was in my throat again.  My God!  I think my mouth was
hanging open.  She smiled again, but it was a little forced.
Then she said: "But it was just a one-time thing: don't worry
about it.  OK?"

But she wanted me.  Or was willing, or something.  My mind screamed
at me.  She looked at me, expectantly.  "OK," I lied.

"Don't give it another thought."  We split, but I still found myself
avoiding her.  But not as much, and soon we were back to our old
shopping trips and lunches.

And now she was married.  And I wasn't--not anymore.  I found myself
hoping hers would last longer than seven months.  She turned toward
me, smiling.  Waiting for my help.  The dress.

I complied: memories of that one night no longer bothered me.  And I
was grateful: she was the one friend I'd have most hated losing.
Now she was married, just a month after my divorce.  We'd still be
friends: we always would.  It just would be a little different.

She could look so good in jeans: she'd have Ron drooling.  Obviously
she wanted to look just right for the beginning of their honeymoon.
I helped get the dress into the closet.  And it was time to go.

She paused before we left the room.  We found ourselves looking at
each other.  "Listen," she said, "I feel so guilty: going off to
have such fun, leaving you like this..."

"I'm all right."  It had been good to have her around with the
divorce and all, but I had to make sure she wasn't feeling guilty
about her own honeymoon!

But there was concern in her face.  "Are you sure?  I *hate*
leaving you right now."

I smiled.  I made myself.  "Go," I said.

"Listen: *you're* the one who *deserves* some attention.  I'll be
with Ron and you'll be all alone..."

"I said *go*!"

"Just a minute," she said.  She hugged me and I felt the warmth
of her body.  Then she drew back, but left a hand on my back.
"Can I talk, just this once?"

I wondered what she meant, but then she went on: "It was so
beautiful; I loved kissing your breasts so much..."  That night!
She had been so passionate: that night I'd learned how much she
absolutely loved sex.  She'd sucked on my breasts: I think she would
have done that all night.  She'd been so wild and uninhibited when
she came!  And she could come: I remembered how easily my touch had
made her come, again and again.  I just knew it was the same with
men, with Ron: I sensed that that was the way she was.  She went on:
"I... think about your body--you don't mind?"

We shouldn't talk about this.  Not again: we should never speak
like this.  I mulled over how to gently get out of this.  My eyes
were on her fingers.  She had a button undone on her blouse.  And was
undoing another.  "Just one more time?" she said.  "We have a moment.
You deserve it."

Before I managed to find the right answer, my hands had darted
out and grabbed hers.   Stopped them from undoing those buttons.
We ended up clasping hands, looking at each other.  "Go to Ron,"
I said.  Those were all the words I could find.  And I realized
they were the right words.

I stood there in the doorway after she'd left.  And I looked back
at her bed.  Her old bed--she was already practically living with
Ron and now she would only be back here to collect her stuff.

I lay in that bed.  On my side, my arms holding my knees against
my chest.  I thought of those fingers unbuttoning that blouse.
And the way she'd been that night all those years before: coming over
and over again.  The house was empty.  They were gone for two weeks.
I knew no one would find me there that evening, in her bed, my hand
between my thighs...

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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