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Message-ID: <37998asstr$1030162204@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Al Steiner" <steiner_al@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The End of the Dryspell by Al Steiner (MF) 2/2
Date: Sat, 24 Aug 2002 00:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

This is the second of the stories I published at ruthiesclub.com since
finishing Aftermath.  This was originally published on February 18, 2002 and
is the first of my Heritage County Tales series, that features the exploits
of a group of emergency services workers in a fictional Northern California
county.  Since this tale, ever story that I've written for ruthiesclub has
taken place in Heritage County in one way or another.  I hope you enjoy it,
and, as always, comments can be sent to steiner_al@hotmail.com and all of my
newer stories, all of them illustrated (not to mention illustrated versions
of many of my older stories, including Doing It All Over), can be found at
www.ruthiesclub.com





PART 2





  Strangely enough, their first call of the day - a 29 year old man who was
complaining of nausea and dizziness after drinking heavily the night
before - did result in a transport to Winton Memorial Hospital.  And as luck
would have it, Darlene O'Brien was one of the nurses on duty and she was
dressed exactly as he had envisioned in his fantasy.  But alas, she did not
invite him to join her in the little-used staff bathroom by the stairway.
In fact, she didn't talk to him at all, didn't even glance in his direction.
Not that this was unusual.  Darlene had never been known to give so much as
the time of day to any mere public servant.



"Isn't that O'Brien chick the shit?" Sydney asked him as they sat down to
complete the paperwork on their hangover victim.  "I'd just love to stick my
face up under that skirt and go mining for treasure."



Jim gave a careless glance at her and then shrugged.  "I suppose," he said
casually.  "I never really gave much thought to it."



The rest of the morning and early afternoon seemed another conspiracy by the
Gods to keep them away from VMC.  They were sent to South Heritage to post,
perhaps one of the worst ghettos in the Sacramento Valley, and they did
nothing.  Nobody shot anybody, nobody stabbed anybody, nobody overdosed on
any drugs or did anything else that required the services of a 911
ambulance.  For more than four hours they simply sat there in the parking
lot of a grocery store, watching the ghetto inhabitants come and go to
purchase things with their food stamps.  Jim read an entire novel while
Sydney balanced her checkbook, paid all of her bills, and browsed through
three magazines.



At last they were given a call at the local alcohol detox center for
seizures, not an unusual thing to have occur in such a place.  They hauled
the sweating, grunting, 48 year old habitual drunk in the midst of DTs off
of the filthy mattress he lie upon and took him to Heritage County Hospital
downtown.  By then it was approaching 2:00 PM, just an hour until VMC clerk
crew change.



And then, just as all hope was fading, fortune smiled on them in the form of
a motor vehicle accident at 2:23 PM.  It was on Windy Willow Drive, one of
the busiest arteries through the suburban zone.  A businessman driving a
ridiculously large SUV had been talking on his cell phone behind the wheel
and failed to stop in time when traffic suddenly slowed in front of him.
His front bumper connected with the rear bumper of a 1979 Nova at the
breathtaking speed of four miles per hour.  The man in the Nova, a 28 year
old, occasionally employed carpet layer who had been on his way to a
discount cigarette store to score a couple of cartons with his welfare
money, immediately saw the possibilities that the collision represented.  He
began screaming that his neck, back, shoulder, chest, and legs hurt, visions
of a future six-figure lawsuit dancing in his head.



The firefighters were already on scene when Jim and Sydney arrived and had
placed a cervical collar on the man's neck to immobilize it.  The captain
gave a quick run down of the man's complaints to Jim and Jim snorted in
disgust as he looked the two vehicles over.  The damage done during an
automobile accident spoke volumes to a paramedic about the potential
injuries that the occupants might have.  In this case the damage was nearly
non-existent.  The SUV had not a scratch on it while the Nova had a small
dent on its bumper and a crack in one taillight.  There simply was not
enough kinetic energy involved to have hurt anyone.



"So you want us to take you to the hospital?" Jim asked him in his monotone
voice.



"I need to see a doctor," the man gasped dramatically.  "I might be
paralyzed."



"I'll take that as a yes then," Jim sighed.  "We're gonna put you on a
backboard and tie you down.  It's kind of uncomfortable," he pointed out.
Sometimes that dissuaded the lawsuit seekers, particularly if they were
claustrophobic.  Not in this case however.



"That's fine," the man grunted.  "Take me over to Winton Memorial."



Great, Jim thought, suppressing a frown.  Not only did he have to schlep
this whiner into the hospital, but it wasn't even the hospital that he
needed to go to.  "All right," he said, resigned to his fate.  "You didn't
get knocked out or anything, right?"



"Yes," the man said immediately.  "I did.  I was knocked out when we hit!"



Jim let loose another sigh.  He knew of course that the man had not really
been knocked out.  It simply was not possible with the amount of damage
involved.  Nor was the man behaving as someone who had been knocked out
behaved.  Such people were usually incoherent for the better part of an hour
after reawakening and would have no memory of the event that had caused them
to be knocked out.  Losing consciousness after a traumatic event was
considered a big deal in medical circles however.  Such people had to be
seen at a trauma center within an hour for fear of cerebral bleeding.  For
that reason when someone claimed to be knocked out - a common event in
accidents such as this one - the paramedic usually gave them a chance to
reconsider lest they end up in a trauma resuscitation room having all sorts
of unpleasant medical procedures performed upon them.  Jim, like any
paramedic worth his salt, had a speech that he gave for just such occasions,
a speech in which the unpleasant procedures in question were graphically
described.  He was in fact opening his mouth to give it when Sydney held up
a hand to stop him.



"He got knocked out after trauma?" she asked slyly, her eyes boring into
him.



"So he says," Jim told her, not catching her drift just yet.



"That would mean that he would have to go to the trauma center, right?" she
said.



"Yes, but..."



"And what's the nearest trauma center?" she hissed.



The light bulb finally went off over his head.  "Why that would be VMC," he
said, suppressing a smile.



"Why yes it would," Sydney agreed.  "We'd better get him packaged up and
delivered right away."



"Yes we should," Jim agreed.  He turned to the man.  "Sir, I'm afraid we're
not going to be able to take you to Winton Memorial.  Since you got knocked
out in the accident you'll have to be seen at a trauma center by the trauma
surgeons."



The man thought that over for a moment and concluded that such a thing would
look good on the lawsuit.  "Sure, sure," he said enthusiastically, with
absolutely no idea of what he was signing up for.  "Whatever you need to
do."



The firefighters all followed this conversation impassively, none of them
catching the undercurrents between the two partners, none of them caring.
Their main interest was in getting the call over with so they could go back
to the easy chairs at their station before the baseball game ended.  They
helped Jim and Sydney extricate the trauma patient out of his car and onto a
backboard where he was then strapped down at the chest and legs and his head
was taped securely in place.  They carried him on the board to the gurney
and then placed him in the back of the ambulance.



"I'm going to have to start an IV on you," Jim said as they started bouncing
their way along.



"An IV?" the man asked, his whiny voice back.  "What do you hafta do that
for?"



"You're a trauma patient," Jim told him, opening up a start pack and tearing
some tape strips.  "It's part of the protocol when you get knocked out."



"Oh, I see," he said uncomfortably, but he submitted when Jim jabbed a 16
gauge catheter into his forearm and hooked it up to the tubing.



Once the IV was in place, he called VMC on the radio and told them that he
was bringing them a 28 year old male who had been involved in a motor
vehicle collision and who was reporting that he had been knocked unconscious
by the impact.  Once the nurse on the other end of the radio heard this, she
paged the trauma team to let them know that a "critical trauma" patient was
being delivered to them in five minutes.  Two thoracic surgeons, one
neurosurgeon, three nurses, a respiratory therapist, an X-ray technician,
and two emergency room technicians all suited up in paper scrubs and
reported to the VMC trauma room on the double where they stood waiting for
their latest victim to arrive.



The moment that Jim and Sydney wheeled in their patient, the trauma team
went to work.  The lead surgeon took a quick report from Jim, hearing that
there was very little damage to the vehicle in question but not letting that
sway him once he heard that the victim claimed to have been knocked
unconscious.  He and his people fell on the man like vampires, everyone
doing something at once.  They cut his clothing off of him, leaving him
naked and shivering in the air conditioning.  They hooked electrodes to his
chest and blood pressure cuffs to his arm.  They jabbed another large bore
IV into his opposite arm and then stuck him yet again to draw blood for
labs.  They jabbed a needle into his upper leg, right at the junction of the
hip and fished around until the femoral artery was found, at which point
they drew more blood for arterial blood gas levels.  They poked and prodded
every inch of his body, squeezing and palpating his most private parts with
their gloved hands, rolling him this way and that, shining bright lights
into his eyes, and finally, for the coup de grace, sticking a lubed finger
up his rectum to test for bleeding and tone.  They shot enough X-rays of his
torso and head to reconstruct his entire body in X-rays.  And then, perhaps
most unpleasant of all, one of the nurses threaded a rubber catheter through
the head of his penis all the way to his bladder.  Through this all he
moaned, protested, occasionally screamed in pain, and actually admitted at
one point that he hadn't REALLY been knocked out, but it was to no avail.
The trauma team was locked on course.  Soon he was wheeled off to the CT
scanner to have his head examined.



"You know," Sydney remarked to Jim as they whisked him away, "maybe we
SHOULDN'T be talking all of these lawsuit seekers out of their losses of
consciousness."



"Yeah," Jim said thoughtfully, "it's kind of gratifying to see justice being
done, isn't it?"



"But enough of this work shit," Sydney said, checking her watch.  "It's
twenty minutes until they do crew change in this joint.  Go find Robin and
get your copulation set up."



"Right," he said firmly.  He found a sink and washed his hands real quick
and then headed off on his mission.



He was of course a little nervous at the prospect of asking someone out on a
date.  After all, it had been nearly six years since he had last done such a
thing.  This nervousness increased in intensity once he saw the actual
target of his mission sitting at her desk in the registration area near the
front of the emergency room.  She was typing away at a keyboard behind a
computer terminal, a bored expression upon her face.  She was dressed in a
white blouse that showed off her impressive bosom quite nicely and a
business skirt that was within a half an inch or so of being too short to be
considered professional attire.  Her bleach blond hair was tied back in a
tight ponytail and her lips were outlined in a bright shade of red lipstick.
Jim halted at the edge of her domain as he saw her.



"What the hell am I doing?" he muttered to himself, standing hesitantly in
the middle of a corridor.  He didn't even know where he was supposed to ask
her to go.  He didn't know if Robin even liked him.  True he had talked to
her on many occasions in the past in order to convey registration
information about his patients to her, but those had been work related
conversations, not personal ones.  Wouldn't she know that he was only asking
her out because he thought that she was an easy lay?  She had to know what
her reputation was, didn't she?  What if she really wasn't an easy lay and
had had that reputation placed upon her by overactive gossipers?  That had
been known to happen.  What if he asked her out and she slapped his face in
front of the entire emergency department?  What if she filed a sexual
harassment suit?  What if...



She turned in her chair to pick up another piece of paperwork from her stack
and saw him standing there.  Her face lit up with a friendly smile.  "Hi
Jim," she told him, turning further towards him.  Her legs, which had been
crossed in a businesslike fashion suddenly uncrossed to shift position.
Seemingly accidentally, as all of her little shows were, a momentary gap
opened up between them, enough of a gap to allow him to glimpse the white
junction where the panty portion of her hose covered her crotch.  "Did you
bring us someone?" she asked.



"Uh..." he stammered, his eyes taking in her form, his mind pulling him in
two directions at once.  On the one hand he was full of doubt about what he
was trying to accomplish here.  On the other hand, the winning hand, his
mind was now full of the vision of her parted legs and that flash of white
between them.  He had a sudden image of himself running his hand between
those legs, of sliding those pantyhose down and off.  Sydney was right.  He
needed to get laid.



"Are you all right?" Robin asked him, her face showing puzzled concern.



"Uh... yeah," he said, stepping forward and handing her the Medi-Cal card of
their critical trauma patient.  "We just... uh... brought a guy from a MVA
in.  Here's his card."



"Thanks," she said, her face brightening up.  "Was it a bad crash?"



"No," he said, shaking his head a little, standing behind her as she began
setting up to register him.  "He was pretty much a whiner that talked
himself into getting the trauma exam."



She wrinkled her face a little.  She had seen the trauma exam before.
"Ewww," she said.  "I guess that'll teach him though."



"Hopefully," he replied, giving a slight chuckle.



Robin asked for the basic information that she needed in order to get the
patient registered in the main computer and Jim provided it for her.  He
stared at her legs as she typed this in, his gaze hovering on the hemline of
her skirt, which was right about mid-thigh.  Finally all of the information
was conveyed and there was no real official reason for him to remain any
longer.  He did not leave.  Nor did he do anything else.



Robin finally looked back at him, her fingers halting on the keyboard.  "Was
there something else Jim?" she asked.



He started a little, finally realizing that he was behaving like an idiot.
It was time to either accomplish his mission or get out and call it a
failure.  He probably would have taken the latter course if not for the
thought that Sydney would never let him hear the end of it if he pussied
out.  "Well... uh... yeah," he said, feeling himself blush.  "Actually,
there is."



She looked at him expectantly.



"Well... you see... I was wondering if... you know... maybe you'd like to...
uh..." He trailed off, his mouth refusing to form the words.



"To what?" she said softly.



"To uh... you know... go out sometime."



"I like to go out all the time," she told him.  "Did you have anyone in mind
that I should go out with?"



He blushed further.  "Well... uh... me," he told her.



"Are you asking me out on a date?" she asked him, her eyes seeming to boar
into his.



"Um... well... yeah," he nearly squeaked, fearful that the sexual harassment
lecture was about to commence.



Instead she broke into a smile.  "I'd love to," she replied.  "What did you
have in mind?"



"Oh, I don't know," he said.  "Maybe a movie and some dinner?"



"How about drinks and dancing at The Faraway?" she immediately countered.
"I just love to go there."



The Faraway Club was a fairly notorious dance club in downtown Heritage.  It
was mostly a meat market where the 21-25 crowd enjoyed getting drunk and
into each other's pants.  It was also the scene of many a call on the night
shift.  One of the most frequent causes for 911 calls to it was GHB
overdoses and assaults.  "The Faraway sounds good," he said casually, as if
he went there all the time.



"You're a sweetie," she said.  "I'm busy on Saturday night already, but how
about Friday?  I'm all free then."



"Friday's good," he told her, not knowing if it was or wasn't.  Although it
was he and Sydney's day off, he had no idea if his partner, his babysitter,
had made plans or not.  "Uh... what time should I pick you up?"



"How about 8:30?" she suggested  "Things really start rocking there at about
9:00.  Until then its pretty dead."



"8:30 it is," he said happily.  "I'll see you then."



"It's a date," she told him with a smile.



They said a few more parting words and then Jim headed off to write up his
paperwork.  He made it about halfway down the hall before she called him
back.  "Do you need my address?" she asked.



He blushed again.  "Oh yeah," he said.  "I guess that might be a good idea."





+++++







For the next two days Jim felt a nervous anticipation of the sort he had not
experienced in many years.  He felt at times like a schoolboy going out on
his very first date, worrying that he was going to do or stay something
stupid, wondering if the girl was going to like him.  In addition to this
giddiness there was the nagging worry that the rumors about Robin were not
really true, that she really didn't sleep with men on the first date, or,
that if she did, that she didn't really not care if the man didn't call her
the next day, if he didn't ask her out for a second date.  Was he being led
on a wild goose chase?  Was he being led into another complicated
relationship?



"Sometimes I wonder," he told Sydney towards the end of their Thursday shift
together, "if getting laid is really worth all of this.  Maybe I should just
stick with the Internet porn instead."



"Quit your worrying," Sydney told him.  "You'll be laid in no time with no
strings attached.  It's all but guaranteed."



"But what if..."



"No but-whats," Sydney barked at him.  "I'm telling you, you're gonna be
sinking into some nice warm puss in a little over 24 hours now.  It'll be
worth it, trust me."



He tried his best to trust her.  It was only the thought that she really
might be right, that he really might be sinking into some female flesh after
two years without it that kept him from just canceling the date.



Friday night came at long last.  Sydney showed up at his house just before
8:00 PM dressed in her normal off-duty summertime attire: a pair of blue
jean shorts and a sleeveless muscle shirt that advertised her favorite brand
of chewing tobacco.  Brooke, his 5 year old daughter, who knew her from
previous visits (Sydney was in fact the only female to have visited Jim's
household since his divorce) greeted her enthusiastically, excited about her
babysitter for the night.



"We're gonna have some fun tonight Brookie," Sydney promised her.  "I
brought over two new Pokemon movies."



"Yay!  Pokemon!" Brooke yelled, clapping her hands excitedly.  "She brought
Pokemon Daddy!"



"I told you Sydney was bad-ass," he told his daughter.



While Brooke looked over the movie cases, Sydney looked over her partner,
taking in his attire of tan slacks and a button up shirt.  "Not bad," she
opined.  "A little square for Faraway maybe, but I think that's the look you
want to go for with Robin.  If nothing else she'll give it to you out of
sympathy."



"Thanks a lot," he said sourly.  "You really know how to build a guy's
confidence up."



"I'm nothing if not honest," she said firmly.  "Now you'd better get going.
Have you got your..." she cast a look at Brooke, who was following the
conversation intently, "your... uh... latex devices?"



"I'll get them on the way," Jim promised.



"You're a good man," she told him.  "Now go out and do me proud partner of
mine."



"Yes ma'am," he said, offering her a salute.



He kissed his daughter goodbye, told her to be good for Sydney, and then
left his apartment, making his way out to the parking lot and his five year
old Honda Accord.  He had washed, waxed, and cleaned it for the occasion and
it sparkled in the fading daylight as he climbed behind the wheel.  He fired
up the little sewing machine engine and a moment later he was off.  He
stopped at an ATM machine in a nearby strip mall and withdrew 100 dollars
that he really couldn't afford to part with.  He then pulled into a liquor
store where he bought a three-pack of non-lubricated condoms.  He took them
out of the package and put the individually wrapped rubbers into his wallet,
hoping that he would have a use for them later.



Robin lived in a two-bedroom apartment in Lemon Hill, about fifteen minutes
away.  The complex was one of the newer ones - built within the last five
years - but it was already falling into disrepair.  The buildings no longer
looked new and the parking lot was filled with older cars instead of the
middle-class sedans that the owner's had once enjoyed.  Jim had no trouble
finding the place.  He had been on calls in the complex more than once.  He
found a parking spot in a visitor area around the back of the building that
Robin's apartment number was located in.  With a final sigh of nervousness
he pulled himself out of the car and headed for her door.



"Jim!  Good to see you.  Come on in!"  Robin squealed as she opened the
door.  She took in his attire.  "You look great," she told him, seemingly
sincerely.  She herself was dressed in a very short, very tight black
sleeveless dress.  Her hair was fashionably styled and hanging down to her
shoulders.  Her large breasts pushed the front of her dress out quite
nicely.  Her legs were bare of nylons and the hem of her dress came to just
above mid-thigh, allowing him to see nearly all of her legs.  They were
slightly thick but by no means chunky or fat, and they were clean shaven,
showing smooth, strokable flesh.  In all, the overall effect was to make her
appear very sexy, almost nasty.



"Thank you," Jim said a little nervously, stepping into her apartment.  The
living room was small, as was typical of modern apartments, but neat and
tidy, filled with feminine nick-knacks and furnishings.  Sitting on the
couch was a mousy looking girl of about Robin's age.  She looked like she
might be pretty if given the chance but it was hard to tell since she was
dressed in a pair of baggy sweats and an even baggier sweater.  Her brown
hair was done up in a ponytail so tight that it looked like her eyebrows
might be ripped off of her face if it was tightened any further.  She had a
thick textbook open in her lap that she was reading out of while she sucked
thoughtfully on the end of a pencil.  She glanced up as Jim entered the
room, her face expressionless.



"Jim, this is Sarah," Robin introduced.  "She's my roomate."



"Hi," Jim said, giving her a friendly smile.



"Hi," she said absently, turning her attention immediately back to her book.



"I'll be just a second," Robin told him.  "Just putting the finishing
touches on my face.  Sit down for a second."



He sat on a chair next to the television set while she disappeared back into
the bedroom.  While she was gone Sarah did not look up at him or acknowledge
him in any way, she just kept reading her textbook and occasionally
scratching something out in a notebook with her pencil.  Jim began to feel
vaguely uncomfortable in her presence.  Did she know why Jim had come there
tonight?  Did she know what Robin's reputation was?  It seemed if she lived
with her that she must.  And what did she think of the men that her roommate
brought home?  Obviously not much if this was her typical reaction.



Robin returned about five minutes later, with no perceptible difference to
her hair, makeup, or clothing as far as Jim could see.  "You ready?" she
asked.



"Sure," he said, standing up.



"Then let's get it on," she said with a smile.



Most of the basics of dating came back to Jim without prompting once he was
in her presence.  He opened her door for her on the car and laughed at all
of her jokes (even though they were pretty tame compared to the raunchy talk
he was used to hearing at work).  He offered to take her out for a bite to
eat before heading to Faraway (and was relieved when she politely declined
since he could hardly afford Faraway AND a dinner).  He held up his end of
the conversation without becoming as awkward as he had while asking her out.
For the most part his nervousness disappeared and he readied himself to
possibly have a good time.



As they drove down the freeway towards the high rises of downtown Heritage,
he found his glance kept returning to Robin's legs in the seat next to him.
Her dress, already quite short to begin with, had hiked up well onto her
upper thighs when she'd sat down, nearly high enough, he figured, to show
her panties if the angle was right.  Nor was she being particularly ladylike
about the way she positioned her legs.  Instead of crossing them or keeping
them tightly together, they remained about four tantalizing inches apart.
He tried not to be obvious about where his eyes kept falling, passing his
glances off as normal conversational looks, but nevertheless he was pretty
sure that she caught him ogling her a few times.  She didn't seem to mind,
she in fact seemed to expect it.



The parking lot of Faraway was filled to capacity when they arrived, forcing
him to park about three blocks away, in a part of the downtown area that was
not exactly savory.  As they walked from the car to the entrance of the club
they passed several groups of transients and general thugs who were hanging
out in front of various closed businesses.  A few of them tried to panhandle
Jim, who refused their requests as a matter of course.



"You paramedics are all the same," Robin said lightly as they passed the
last pair.  "You never give those poor people any money."



"I do good deeds for a living," Jim told her.  "That relieves me of the
responsibility of doing them in my off hours."



They arrived safely at the front entrance of Faraway and had their ID's
checked and their hands stamped.  They then pushed their way inside of the
dimly lit establishment.  The beat and thump of modern dance music played at
screaming volume assaulted their ears the moment they stepped inside.  The
place was filling rapidly with short-skirted or tight pants wearing young
women and stylishly dressed young men.  They occupied most of the cocktail
tables on the far side of the room, all of the seats before the long wooden
bar that ran the length of one wall, and crowded onto the dance floor, which
was the dominating feature of the club.  Couples twisted and gyrated to the
beat of the music on the polished wooden floor, lasers and other psychedelic
pulsating lights bathing them in an eerie, ever changing glow.



"Drinks!" Robin said excitedly, having to nearly yell just to be heard.
"Let's get some drinks and then find a table!"



"Right!" Jim returned, leading her through the mass of bodies towards the
bar.



Jim of course had no illusions about how many times his date had been to
this particular club before but it was still somewhat of a surprise to see
how well known she was there.  Cries of recognition came from no less than
six men before they even made it to the bar.  Two of them came over and
exchanged hugs with her, hugs that were a little more than friendly in
nature.  "Save me a dance later," one of them, a muscle bound kid who looked
like a college football player, said lecherously.  He didn't even glance at
Jim, nor did Robin bother to introduce him.



"You know it Stevie," she told him with a smile, giving him a quick peck on
the cheek.



The bartender too knew her by name and was in fact a close enough
acquaintance to warrant another hug and a kiss on the cheek.  "The usual?"
he asked her.



"You know it," she told him.



"And what will you have?" he asked Jim.



"Uh... a seven and seven," he said.



"Right," he said, reaching down and grabbing two glasses from beneath the
bar.  "One double 7 and one Long Island iced tea.  That'll be nine bucks my
friend."



Nine bucks?  For one round of drinks?  Jim carefully kept a cheerful smile
on his face as he fished out one of his twenties and paid the man.



Robin had most of her first drink in her stomach by the time they made their
way to one of the cocktail tables near the entrance to the dance floor.  It
was not an empty table.  There were two other young women, both of them
attractive, both of them dressed quite similarly to Robin, already sitting
there.  Two young men, both of whom were grinning and sucking on beers, were
sitting with them.  All four of them greeted Robin with enthusiasm and
exchanged hugs with her.



Robin did introduce this bunch, who were apparently regulars that she liked
to hang out with while she was here.  Jim promptly forgot their names as
soon as they were tossed at him.  He wondered if Robin had slept with the
men before.



"Let me guess," one of the women asked him.  "You must be another one of
those paramedics.  Am I right?"



"You're right," he said.  "How could you tell?"



"Robin dates a lot of paramedics," she said.  "And most of you look alike.
Tall, short-haired, clean shaven guys with unhappy eyes."



"Unhappy eyes?" Jim asked, raising the brows on his a little.



"Yeah," she giggled.  "You all have that look in your eyes, like you've seen
it all, done it all, know it all.  Robin really goes for that look."



"Robin goes for just about any look," one of the guys said with a grin,
prompting a playful slap by Robin.



She drank from her Long Island again, sipping through the straw.  After a
moment of this a slurping sound emanated from her glass.  She looked
pleadingly over at Jim.



"Another drink?" he asked cheerfully.



"Please," she said.



He took her empty glass and headed once more for the bar.



Once she had half of her second 5 dollar drink in her Robin announced that
it was time to start dancing.  She led Jim out to the dance floor, greeting
a few other men and women that she knew on the way, and he moved with her
under the pulsing lights to the beat of the music.  Jim had not been dancing
since well before his marriage to Debbie since his ex had not exactly been
into the club scene.  Like with many other things in life however - dating,
bicycle riding, getting laid - the basics of the activity quickly came back
to him.  He was a mediocre dancer at best, that was true, but he did well
enough to avoid slamming into her and knocking her to the floor.



Robin, on the other hand, was a fantastic dancer.  Though not as trim as
some of the other girls on the floor, though not as pretty, the way she
moved her body put most of them to shame.  She twisted and gyrated and
pumped her hips, she moved her legs, she rolled her shoulders and swung her
arms in exacting harmony with the music, seeming almost to become a part of
it.  Even the jiggling of her large breasts was in time with the beat.



"You're pretty good at this," Jim said to her about halfway through the
first song.



"I love to dance," she told him with a flirty smile.  "I could do it all
night."



She was not exaggerating in the least with that statement.  Jim found by the
third song that he was simply unable to keep up with her.  Though not in
terrible shape, his body was simply not up to the task of maintaining
physical activity such as that for extended periods of time.  His heart was
hammering in his chest, his breathing was shallow and rapid, and sweat was
running down his face.  He had to go sit down for a little bit.  Robin was
undaunted by his retreat from the dance floor.  She found another partner to
sway and grind with her within seconds and led him out to take Jim's place.



The night continued on, with ten o'clock passing, then eleven o'clock, and
then midnight.  Robin remained out on the dance floor through most of this,
coming in only to get another Long Island ice tea every thirty minutes or so
or to head off to the bathroom to pee.  Jim danced with her for a two-song
set every eighth or ninth dance.  She became increasingly flirty with him
and increasingly risqu� as the level of alcohol in her system increased.
She danced closer to him, close enough so that their bodies came into
frequent contact with each other.  During one particularly close dance just
before midnight, she wrapped her arms around him and grabbed his butt,
pulling him up against her as she swayed back and forth.  Her breasts were
pressed into his chest and her firm stomach pushed pleasantly into his
crotch, drawing the beginnings of an erection from him.  He would have been
flattered had she only been behaving this way with him, but she wasn't.
Every guy that she danced with - almost all of whom seemed to be on intimate
terms with her - received the same treatment.  One of them even tried
kissing her on her neck but she pushed him away, giving him a saucy smile.



As the one o'clock hour rolled around Robin began picking up the pace of her
drinking.  She spent less time out on the dance floor and more time at the
table swilling down Long Island's.  Her words became increasingly slurred
and her eyes took on the glazed, reddened look of extreme alcohol
intoxication.  She became giggly and uncoordinated, her natural rhythm now
gone when she did venture out for another dance.  At one point she fell
sideways against the rail that guarded the perimeter of the dance floor, her
elbow sliding over and knocking over a drink that belonged to a large,
punked-out gentlemen who looked like a white supremacist.  Jim, in the
interest of not getting his ass kicked or stabbed or shot, bought the man
another drink and apologized.



By the time last call came and went and the patrons began drifting out of
the bar towards the parking lot, Robin could hardly walk and Jim had broken
his last twenty dollar bill.



"You ready to take me home?" Robin asked him blearily after her final Long
Island was consumed, her words so slurred that he barely understood her.



"Sure," he said, having to fight to keep a neutral expression on his face.
She was absolutely hammered!  He had his doubts that she would be able to
walk to the car.



It was a very near thing.  She made it the three blocks to his Honda without
falling or passing out but only by leaning heavily on him and being half
dragged along.  Though her soft body did feel rather nice against his (and
it was much closer than any other female body had been since his marriage),
his hopes of getting laid had pretty much gone out the window.  There was no
way that he could sleep with a woman THIS drunk.  It was unlikely that she
would even be coherent by the time he got her home.



"I had a great time," she told him as he fumbled with the door lock on the
passenger side and tried to hold her up all at once.  "You're a happenin'
guy, you know that?"



"Thanks," he told her, finally popping the door open and folding her inside.



By the time he walked around to the other side of the car, opened his own
door, and stepped inside, she was sound asleep, soft snores coming from her
mouth.  Her head had fallen against the doorjamb and her legs were splayed
widely open, her skirt ridden up considerably.  He could now clearly see her
panties, which were black, the same color as her dress, and very silky
looking.



"Christ," he said with a sigh, staring at the appetizing sight, wanting to
touch it, knowing that he would do no such thing.  Although he knew many men
who would not hesitate to take advantage of a girl, especially a known slut,
in such a condition, he was not one of them.  Date rape was simply not his
forte'.



He leaned across her and grabbed the end of her seatbelt, pulling it across
her body and clipping it into place.  He briefly considered pushing her legs
closed and pulling her skirt down but after another longing glance at her
black panties he decided that he wasn't THAT moral.  After all, he hadn't
put her in that position, had he?



He started the car and began the long drive back to Lemon Hill.  Robin
remained unconscious and snoring as they went.  Every few minutes he would
glance over and take another look at her panties and her smooth upper thighs
and then chew his lip in frustration.



He pulled back into her apartment complex just past 2:00 AM, finding a
parking place that was quite near the entrance to her downstairs habitation.
He shut down the engine, turned off the lights, and then opened the door,
stepping out and walking around to the passenger side.  He opened her door
and leaned in a little, taking in one last stare at her panty covered
crotch, before putting his hand gently on her shoulder.



"Robin," he said, shaking her gently.  "We're home."



He had figured that she would be difficult to wake up.  He had even
considered the thought that she might be impossible to wake up and that he
would have to go fetch her roommate to assist in the extrication process.
But to his surprise, her eyes opened immediately to the first shake.  She
rolled them up to look at him.



"We're home?" she asked, giving a little yawn.



"Uh... yes," he said.  "Do you think you can walk to your apartment?"



"Sure," she slurred, giving him an okay sign with her thumb and forefinger.
She looked down at herself for a moment, seeing the state of her skirt and
her legs.  "Oops," she said with a giggle.  "I guess I was flashing you,
wasn't I?"



"I didn't really notice," Jim said, embarrassed.



This seemed to strike her as funny.  She giggled loudly, her laughter
echoing off of the nearby cars.  "Too bad for you," she said.  She raised
her arms up.  "Give me a little help, will you?"



He leaned down to help her and she put her arms around his neck while he
grabbed her beneath her bare armpits.  Her skin there was soft and feminine
but a little sticky from all of the perspiration she had shed on the dance
floor.  He lifted upward while she pulled with her arms.  Slowly, haltingly,
she came out of the car, although her legs seemed to have some trouble
holding her up.  Once again her chest pushed into his, allowing him to feel
the large mass of her breasts.



"You're strong," she said, tightening her grip around his neck and rubbing
her body up and down against his for a moment.  He felt her bare legs
pressing against his thighs.  Her hands dropped from his neck and slid
slowly down his back until they were touching his butt.  She gave an
experimental squeeze.  "And you have a nice ass too.  Anyone ever tell you
that?"



"Not in a while," he said, a little flustered.  To say that he was not
enjoying the sensation of her rubbing against him and groping him would be a
lie.  His penis in fact, was responding most favorably to the sensation.
Blood was rushing into it, stiffening it up.  "Let's get you inside," he
said nervously.



"Lets," she slurred in agreement, twisting in his arms so that she was
leaning into him from the side.  Her right arm remained on his butt while he
held her up by supporting her under her armpit.



He kicked the car door shut with his foot, not bothering to lock it since he
figured he would be back down in less than five minutes.  True, Robin was
showing some signs of life and even sexual interest, but he still had no
intention of trying to further the encounter with someone so drunk.  He was
going to escort her to her apartment and then say his goodbyes, marking the
night off as a failed and expensive experiment.  And then after Sydney left
his apartment he was going to whack off while thinking about Robin's
panties.



He hauled her across the parking lot to her apartment door, her giggling and
groping, he developing a full fledged hard-on from the attention.  "Do you
have your keys?" he asked her when they finally arrived.



"In my purse," she said, freeing up one of her hands and fumbling with the
small black handbag that she carried.  She tried unsuccessfully to unzip it
several times before finally dropping it to the ground at her feet.
"Whoops," she giggled.



He leaned down to pick it up.  As his fingers closed against it she raised
one of her legs in the air and rubbed her bare calf against his cheek.  His
hard-on took a gigantic lurch as he felt the soft, sexy flesh of her leg
touching him.  He looked up at her and found himself looking directly up her
dress once more, her black panties less than a foot away from him.  His
morality began to waver just a bit.



"Do you like my legs?" she asked him, staggering a little but somehow
maintaining her balance.  "They tell me I have dancer's legs."



"They're uh... very pretty," he stammered, unable to take his eyes off of
the sight she was providing.



She lowered her leg to the ground once more.  "Let's go inside," she said.



He picked up her purse with a trembling hand and then opened it up for her,
reaching in and removing her set of keys.  As he picked through the
collection, looking for the apartment key, he vowed once more that he would
not try to take advantage of her.  He would say good-bye at the doorway and
then go home.



"That's the one," Robin told him as his fingers found the proper key.



"Good," he said, breathing a little heavier than he really should have been.
He put it in the lock and opened the door, pushing it open.  The interior of
the apartment was dark.  A second of groping along the wall inside the
doorway led him to the light switch, which he switched on.  He turned to his
date.  "Well," he said.  "I've had a real good time tonight.  Thank you
for..."



"Can you help me inside?" she pleaded, leaning heavily into him once more.
"I'm not sure I can walk to my room."



He trembled a little but helped her through the doorway.  He left the door
open but her foot arced out behind her, kicking it shut.  She nearly fell
from the effort, causing him to hold tighter to her, which in turn caused
his hand to brush across her breast.  It felt incredibly soft, incredibly
sexy.  "I'm sorry," he said, flushing.



"That's all right," she told him softly, blowing in his ear.  "I kind of
liked it."



He felt his morals wavering once again and then countered the sensation with
a vision of being arrested for date rape.  He could NOT do anything with
this girl.  He could not.



"Help me to my room," she said.  "I need to lie down I think."



"Sure," he said in a voice that was not quite steady.  "Which way?"



She pointed across the room to a small hallway where three doors were
located.  "The door on the left," she told him.



He escorted her across the room, steering around the coffee table and a
chair and finally reaching the door in question.  He turned the knob and
pushed it open, once again groping for and finding a light switch.  It was a
good sized room, probably the master for the apartment, done up in yellow
and white.  A double bed sat against one wall.  Next to it was a small
stereo system and a dresser.  The bed was neatly made with a flowered yellow
spread and matching pillows.  He helped her over to the edge of it and she
turned around, falling backwards onto it, landing with her legs spread in a
very suggestive manner.  He found himself looking at her panties once again.



She patted the bed spread next to her.  "Why don't you join me?" she asked,
her eyes gleaming.



He shook his head slowly, finding it almost painful to do so.  "I can't," he
said, his eyes refusing to leave the view between those legs.  "You've had a
little too much to drink and..."



She scoffed, sitting up and grabbing his waist.  "I always drink this much
at Faraway," she told him.  "Don't you worry about that.  It's time to give
you your reward for treating me to such a nice evening out."  She squeezed
his ass again, palpating it obscenely and then her hands slid around to his
front where they settled on the buckle of his belt.



"No, really," he told her, taking her wrists in his hands and trying to stop
her motions.  "I wouldn't feel right taking advantage of you like this."



She leaned forward and put her face against the bulge in his pants, putting
soft, delicious pressure on his hard-on, sending waves of wanting radiating
through his groin.  She put her mouth right over the top of it and blew
gently.  He could feel the heat of her breath even through his pants and
underwear.  "Don't worry," she whispered, freeing her wrists by twisting
them.  "I'll still respect you in the morning."



"Robin," he tried again, hardly realizing that his hands had dropped away,
"I don't think that..."



"Shhhh," she said, unbuckling his belt.  "Let me do my work."



With the belt opened she unsnapped his pants and then put her fingers on the
zipper, sliding it slowly down.  He made no move to stop her, his mind
trying to rationalize what was happening.  SHE was the one doing this, not
he.  True he was allowing her to unbuckle his pants, but would that really
make a difference if she decided the next morning that she had been raped?
Would she even remember that she had been the one to initiate the contact?
Would...



"Ohh," he said suddenly, his thoughts derailed instantly as her fingers
inserted themselves into his pants and began stroking his erection through
his underwear.



"Mmmmm," she said, feeling all along its length and girth.  "Not too bad.
It feels like you've got a respectable weapon here Jimmy."



"Robin," he grunted, basking in the sensation of someone other then himself
touching his member.  "Don't you think that... I mean maybe we should..."



She put her mouth forward and let her lips touch the patch of bare skin just
above the elastic band on his underwear.  Her tongue slid out and licked
slightly, sending shivers up and down his body.  Involuntarily he thrust
forward a little, trying to increase the contact.  Her fingers left the
shaft of his cock and slid into the elastic, tugging a little.  "Maybe I
should taste it a little," she said softly, her tongue licking at him, her
teeth giving soft little nips.



Without waiting for an answer she tugged downward on his underwear, bringing
them and his pants down to his knees and releasing his turgid manhood into
the air.  She looked at it in admiration for a moment and then slowly put
her lips to the head, drawing it into her mouth.



"Ohh," he said, feeling her soft lips close around him, feeling her wet
tongue swirling up and down.  Thoughts of ending the encounter in the name
of her drunkenness were now pushed to the very back of his mind.



"You like blowjobs?" Robin asked, withdrawing her mouth for just a second
and putting her hand around his bare shaft.



"Yesss," he hissed, thrusting forward at her again, trying to force it back
into her mouth.  He had not had a blowjob since well before his divorce.
His wife had not been a particular fan of them.



"I like giving them," she said, opening wide and taking him in once again.
This time she slowly deep throated him, taking the entire six inches into
her throat.  She pulled her mouth slowly back up and then dropped it down
again, bathing the shaft in her saliva.



Jim could do nothing but stand there and enjoy himself, it felt so good.
Soon she began to bob up and down upon him, sucking and licking with her
mouth while jacking up and down with her hand with just the right amount of
pressure.  Her saliva ran down onto his exposed balls, wetting them.  He let
his hands drop down to her bleach blond hair where it intertwined with the
silky strands.  He began to pump his hips in and out of her mouth, knowing
that if he kept this up he would be shooting his load down her throat in a
matter of minutes.



But Robin had other plans for him.  Abruptly she stopped her mouth action,
pulling it free and leaving his cock dripping and cold in the air.  He
groaned a little at the interruption causing her to smile up at him.



"Why don't we get undressed?" she asked slyly, her words hardly slurred at
all now.



"Sure," he said unhesitantly, his fingers nearly attacking the buttons on
his shirt while his feet worked to kick his shoes off.  The dress shirt and
the t-shirt were pulled off in a single motion and dropped to the floor
behind him.  His pants and underwear joined them seconds later as he simply
let them fall and then stepped out of them.



Robin giggled again, watching him.  "Why don't you go shut the door," she
suggested.  "We wouldn't want to give Sarah a free show if she gets up to
take a pee."



He looked behind him and noticed for the first time that the door was still
standing wide open, allowing a perfect view into the bedroom from virtually
everywhere in the apartment.  Christ, how had he forgotten that?  Paling a
little at the thought of getting caught in the act, he walked across the
room, naked except for his socks, and pushed it shut, latching it firmly.
When he turned back to the bed, Robin was standing at the edge of it.



"Help me get undressed," she said, holding her hands out to him.



He embraced her, putting his arms around her, and began groping for the
zipper on her back.  She brought her lips to his and her tongue shot out,
invading his mouth.  She tasted strongly of alcohol but otherwise was a very
good kisser, seeming to explore every inch of his oral cavity, dueling with
his tongue, sucking on it.  He found the zipper by feel and slid it
downwards, opening up the back of her dress.  He then put his hands on her
shoulders and pushed, sending the dress down her body to the floor.  Her
black half-bra did little to conceal her breasts, leaving everything from
the top of the areole exposed to his gaze.  He reached around behind her
once again, looking for the clasp but she shook her head.



"It's a front loader," she told him, kissing his neck, licking at the flesh
there while her hand slowly stroked his erection.



"Right," he said, sliding his hands back around to the front.  He had to
fumble with the unfamiliar clasp for a moment - his ex had never used these
kinds of bras - before he was able to release it.  Finally it fell free,
revealing those massive mammaries in all their glory.  They sagged a little
with sheer weight but not in an unattractive manner.  The nipples were
large, the diameter of dimes, and very erect, sticking out nearly half an
inch.



"You like my titties?" she asked him, taking his hands and placing them on
them.



"Yes," he agreed with a dry mouth, squeezing them, feeling the softness of
their mass, the hardness of the nipples.  It had been so long since he'd
held breasts in his hands!  Sure he had seen a few pairs as a result of his
job, some of them even nice ones, but he'd not been able to touch them, to
caress them, to HAVE them like he was now having Robin's.



"My panties now," she told him, breathing heavy herself now.  "Take them off
and fuck me."



"Oh yes," he said enthusiastically, now having completely forgotten about
his vow not to have relations with her.  All that mattered was the now, and
now there was an attractive, willing woman asking him to do exactly what he
so wanted to do.



He dropped to his knees before her, letting his hands slide down from her
breasts, across her soft stomach, and to her waist.  He hooked his fingers
into the waistband and tugged downward, slowly drawing the panties down her
legs.  Her bush, in sharp contrast to the hair on her head, was jet black,
as black as night.  It was trimmed neatly into a triangle, her vaginal lips
just peeking out from the curls.  Her odor was very strong, almost biting, a
mixture of sweat from her hours on the dance floor and musk from her
arousal.  Smelling it was like sniffing some powerful aphrodisiac.  Waves of
lust went shuddering through his being.



She stepped neatly out of the panties and then lay back on the bed, her legs
apart once again, her sex opening.  He could now see that her lips were
swollen and ready, her clitoris peeking out at him.  Wetness glistened on
her folds.  She was just as turned on as he was.  "Get a rubber on," she
breathed at him, licking her lips, her finger dropping down to idly play
between her legs.  "Hurry!"



It didn't seem to occur to her that he might not have a rubber.  Had that
ever happened to her before?  If so, what did she do about it?  Did she have
a stash of her own somewhere in her room for just such occasions?  Wouldn't
any self-respecting bimbo keep some on hand in case she encountered a na�ve
date?  He didn't know, and, after less then two seconds of consideration on
the matter, decided that he didn't care.  He did have a rubber after all and
he intended to put it to good use.  He bent down and picked up his pants,
digging through the back pocket until he was able to pull out his wallet.  A
second later he had one of the wrapped condoms in his hand.  He dropped the
wallet indifferently to the floor and ripped open the package, pulling out
the rubber and discarding the wrapper.  Though it had been many years since
he had last used such a thing he expertly rolled it onto his erection.



"Come on," Robin said, scooting back on the bed a little and widening her
legs.  "Fuck me.  Give it to me hard."



He crawled on the bed between her legs and lay atop her, taking his rubber
coated cock in his hand.  He rubbed the head through her wet folds,
lubricating it.  She moaned at the contact.  Her arms came up around his
back and he thrust forward, inserting the head into her.  Her lips gripped
at it eagerly, trying to draw him in deeper.  With a soft push he slid
inside of her body, feeling his cock sinking into a wet, tight cavern.



"Yesss," she said, her fingers gripping at his back.  "That feels so good.
Now fuck me, fuck me!"



He sank down until his pubis mashed against hers, feeling her kinky bush
entangling with his own.  Slowly he pulled back out, the condom now slick
with her juices.  He then repeated the motion, relishing the sensation even
through the thin layer of latex.  He began to pick up the pace, thrusting
harder and faster, producing a wet squishing sound with each repetition.
His mouth found hers again and they began to duel with tongues, exchanging
saliva in an obscene dance.  Her breasts mashed against his chest, the
nipples poking into him.  Her legs came up to wrap around his back.



"Oh God," she said, breaking the kiss for an instant.  "I just love to
fuck!"



He made his hands busy as he moved in and out of her.  He fondled her tits,
squeezing them and tweaking the nipples.  He then slid them further down,
over her flank to her ass, which was bouncing on the bed with his thrusts.



"Yes," she breathed, her tongue licking at his face, her teeth nipping at
his ear.  "Feel my ass!  Squeeze it!"



He brought both hands beneath her, taking a cheek in each one, feeling the
firm flesh and using the leverage to power his strokes.  Her ground into her
forcefully with each thrust, rubbing against her clitoris quite
deliberately.  Though he had been out of practice for quite a while, Jim had
always prided himself on his ability to pleasure a woman in the bedroom and
his skills came back to him now that they were needed.



"Ohhhh," Robin moaned, her hands gripping his ass cheeks now.  "I like that.
Keep doing that!"



He kept doing it, increasing the power and force of his motions until sweat
was dripping from his face onto hers.  Soon her moans became a continuous
cry of pleasure as her body tightened up beneath him and her fingers dug
almost painfully into him.



"I'm coming!" she cried, probably loud enough for her roommate and maybe
even the neighbors to hear.  "Oh God I'm commmminnnnng!"



She reached her peak a moment later, bucking back at him almost hard enough
to throw him off of her.  As she started to relax again Jim, who had been
furiously trying to contain his own orgasm nearly the entire time, finally
let himself go as well.  He began to grunt and groan himself as the waves of
pleasure started to build up.



"Yes!" Robin cried, sucking and licking at his neck again.  "Do it baby!
Come for me!  Come in me!"



With a final grunt and an explosion of pleasure, he blasted himself off into
the condom, his hips an uncontrollable blur, his hands a squeezing,
clenching vise on her ass.



Finally, he too relaxed, allowing himself to slump down upon her.  They
exchanged a few kisses, their tongues playing lightly with each other.



"You're pretty good at this," she whispered to him.  "Most guys can't make
me come just by fucking me."



"No?" he asked, feeling the sweat drying on his back, feeling his heart
slowing down to a normal rate, feeling the pleasant afterglow that only came
from sexual release.



"No," she said.  "Usually I have to do it myself.  Sometimes they can do it
if they eat me, but even that's hit or miss."



"I'm glad to hear I made the grade," he told her, reaching down between his
legs and grabbing the base of the rubber.  He pulled slowly out of her, a
stream of her juices following his wilting member.  He pulled the rubber off
of his cock and quickly tied a knot in the end to keep any of the sperm from
spilling out.  He gave her one last kiss and then rolled to his side next to
her.



He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, not talking, just relaxing and
enjoying the sensation of afterglow.  Five minutes later when he looked back
over at Robin, she was sound asleep once more and snoring, her legs still
spread wide, her pussy still dripping juices.



He covered her up with her blankets and then slowly dressed himself,
starting to feel guilt and worry about what he had done now that the energy
and testosterone had been released.  What if she woke up the next morning
and thought he had raped her?  What if she called the cops and had him
arrested?  He wondered if he should say something to her before he left.
Wasn't that the proper thing to do?



He tried to shake her awake but found it impossible.  Her snores were now
thick and noisy, the snores of the hopelessly intoxicated.  Finally he gave
up.



Carrying his used condom with him he made his way out of her bedroom and
into the still-lighted living room area.  He had a momentary worry about
locking the door behind him - it was impossible to lock a deadbolt from the
outside without a key after all - until he noticed that the door came
equipped with a doorknob lock as well.  He stepped out onto the landing and
gave the lock a twist, closing the door behind him.  He tossed the condom
into a dumpster on the way to his car.



All the way home he continued to worry about what was going to happen the
next day when Robin woke up naked in her bed, possibly with no memory of
what had occurred in her bedroom.  Though he had enjoyed the encounter
immensely, he had no desire to enter the Heritage County jail because of it.
True, she had seemed wide awake and happy to participate while the act was
occurring, but who would believe that she had been that drunk and had come
around just for the festivities?  Her friends from the bar had seen her
being carried out, nearly oblivious to her surroundings.  The bartender
could testify that Jim had bought her no less than ten Long Island iced teas
through the course of the evening.  What fate awaited him tomorrow?  Would
he wake up to find sheriff's deputies from the sex crimes division pounding
on his door?  Would they let a man with a sex crime accusation and/or
conviction on his record retain custody of a five-year-old daughter?



"Oh Christ," he muttered, convinced that his entire world would shortly be
crumbling down around him.  "I should've just dropped her off and gone
home."



Sydney was dozing on the couch when he opened the door, the television
showing a History Channel special on the development of practical field
artillery.  She woke up when he flipped on the light.  Yawning a little, she
looked at her watch.  "3:00 AM?" she said.  "Boy, you better have gotten
laid or I'm gonna kick your ass."



"Sorry Sid," he told her, tossing his keys onto an endtable.  "She insisted
on staying until last call."



Sydney smiled.  "Don't sweat it," she said.  "I was just fucking with you.
I kinda figured that you'd be out this late."



"You did?" he asked, surprised.



"Well sure," she said.  "That's what her rep is.  She likes her dates to
take her out to Faraway so she can get wasted for free.  Well, almost for
free anyway.  So give.  Did you tap her or what?"



He exhaled a nervous breath.  "I don't wanna talk about it," he sighed,
trudging over to the couch.  "How was Brooke?"



"Oh no," she said, shaking her head strenuously.  "You're not getting away
that easy.  Give me the details.  Don't tell me that you're the first man to
fail in the conquest of Robin."



"Sid..." he started.



She sniffed the air as sat on the couch next to her.  Her eyes widened at
what she smelled.  "You smell like pussy," she said happily.  "I'd recognize
that smell anywhere.  So you DID tap her!  Congratulations.  You've just
rejoined the ranks of the sexually active."



"Yeah," he said dejectedly, embarrassed that his partner could smell Robin
on him.  "And I'm real proud of myself too."



"You just got laid didn't you?" she asked him, exasperated.  "So why are you
acting like someone at a freakin' funeral?  What's the problem?"



He looked over at her, the woman who had, through a quirk of strange
circumstances, become his best friend over the past few months.  Though he
was ashamed of himself for what he had done, he needed to talk to someone
about it.  So gradually, in PG-13 detail, he described to her how the
evening had gone, including his fears about what would happen tomorrow.  To
his amazement, Sydney actually laughed when she heard what was bothering
him.



"You think you took ADVANTAGE of her?" she asked.  "Oh my God Jim, that's
pretty goddamned funny."



"What do you mean?" he asked.



"You just described a typical date with Robin," she informed him.  "That's
what she ALWAYS does, no matter who she goes out with.  She gets them to
take her to Faraway or whatever other club happens to be the rage that month
and then she proceeds to drink like a lush at her date's expense and dance
the night away with every guy in the place.  Afterwards, drunk and
staggering, she's taken home where she wakes up just long enough to give her
date his just reward for spending all that money on her.  Shit, everyone
knows that."



"They do?" he asked, surprised.  "Why didn't I know that?"



"Because you never asked," she told him.  "Don't worry, no cops are gonna
come visit you tomorrow, no charges are going to be filed, Robin won't even
treat you any different than she always has.  That's her way, the way of the
slut."



"The way of the slut," he said wonderingly as he pondered what he was being
told.  Could it be true?  Could the progression of his date tonight simply
be the way that Robin operated?  He wanted to believe it, knew that he
should believe it - after all, Sydney kept her ear pretty close to the
ground - but he knew he would still be worried about it until his arrest and
conviction failed to occur.



"You worry too much Jimmy," Sydney said, seeming to read his mind.  "You've
taken step one, getting laid in the first place.  Now we'll start working on
step two."



"Step two?" he asked.



"We're gonna turn you into a sex machine.  We're gonna have women pounding
at your door to tear a piece off of you."



"We are?" he asked, wondering what he was getting himself into.



"We are," she said with a smile.









Al Steiner

11-10-01

-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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