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Message-ID: <38215asstr$1031436603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimsonp@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} [sapphic] Love Unexpected (FF, first)
Date: Sat,  7 Sep 2002 18:10:03 -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

As most of you know, I generally don't participate in festivals.
I glanced over the request for participation for the Sapphic
Festival with passing interest, female-female love having found
itself a focus for some of my previous writing. Imagine my
surprise, when Seren, my Muse, whispered in my ear: "We can do
this!"

"Love Unexpected" is the result. Be warned, it doesn't quite fit
into any of the festival categories, but Kelly kindly agreed to
allow it, despite Seren's utter refusal to bend to a ruleset.
Word counts?

"A story is as a story must be," Seren said smugly.

I shrugged, and merely bent to the keys as she continued to
whisper in my ear, completely lost in the words.

And so, I share with you the result. It kind of fits into the
festival, so I hope you'll accept its length. I would apologise,
but stories are as they must be, laments cannot change that.

As usual, this is better for the eyes of Denny. He should not be
blamed for mistakes, I can only take that responsibility, but it
is the best it can be because of him. Again, thank-you, Denny.

Please understand that this is a work of mildly erotic fiction.
There is nudity, sex, and relations between members of the same
gender here. While I'm not sure this is about sex, or about
erotica, by any classic definition, if this may offend you, or
you are too young to read such things, please pass on by. I won't
be offended that you didn't read it.

Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is purely
coincidental. The people involved won't admit it, anyway.

This work is copyrighted in its entirety by Crimson Dragon.
Please respect this, and do not redistribute it outside of my
original offerings via Usenet and my website(s), and in this case
the Sapphic Festival archive site. If you'd like to redistribute
the story, please write to me and ask. I don't bite. Much.

Feedback, comments, rants or dissertations, can be forwarded to
my e-mail address that remains: dcrimson@yahoo.com.

If you are still with me, onwards to the story, - Crimson
(dcrimson@yahoo.com)

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Crimson_Dragon/www
http://members.tripod.com/files/Authors/Dr/wwwagon_Of_Crimson


=================================================================
=======

                              Love Unexpected

                                   FF

=================================================================
=======

                  (c) Copyright - July 2002 - Crimson Dragon
                            (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

                            All Rights Reserved

=================================================================
=======

Sometimes love finds us in the strangest places -- the ring of a
telephone, the smoky haze of a neighbourhood pub, the kiss of
stocking toes light and sensuous below a table, rising and
teasing.

Love is undeniable, rushing onwards, like a proverbial
irresistible force striking an immovable object, shuddering,
insistent. It comes, unbidden, and unthinking, claiming us and
propelling us, crying out to be experienced, as if it were a
lonely beast, awakened by the ring, the haze, or the touch.

And sometimes, love finds us, like a soft kiss, or a gentle
caress, hidden in the delicate curve of the forbidden, where we
are most afraid to peer.

                      <---===***===--->

I watched them all scurrying like ants, moving to and fro,
hailing cabs, jumping into them, and moving away, drones to the
queen. The fluorescent lights behind me hummed softly, banishing
the dimness, silhouetting me against the tall panes of glass. If
one might hover, sixty metres above the concrete, the taxis, the
glowing taillights of the city street below, one might have seen
me as I am, naked while wearing my clothes, a shadow in stark
contrast to the lights behind, fingertips pressed placidly
against artificially cooled glass.

I sighed, and turned away, towards the large desk that dominated
the office. I sat, the leather seat moulding to me, hugging my
hips, almost embracing me, creaking.

Shifting some papers, I piled them neatly to the side. I didn't
want to look at them -- they'd still be here on Monday, waiting
for me. Perhaps, I might trespass here on Sunday -- not because I
wanted to, or out of any sense of misplaced corporate loyalty,
but because I simply had no place else that demanded my
attention.

I leaned back in the chair, interlacing my hands behind my neck,
closing my eyes. The luminescence of the fluorescents retracted
behind my closed eyes, only their soft hum permeating my world.

It was better this way. Alone, not depending on anyone. Nobody to
hurt. Nobody to hurt me.

I sighed, straightening and opening my eyes. My breasts rose and
fell, as they always did, underneath my clothing.

There wasn't any real advantage to going home, but I pushed
myself to my feet, stepping out and sliding the chair under the
desk. The shoes were new, and my heel complained at the pressure,
perhaps a blister forming. I shrugged and paused with my hand on
the knob to my office.

A quick fantasy caught my breath, a janitor, nondescript and
anonymous, opened the door under my hand, taking me wordlessly,
tearing off my clothes, clearing my desk with a sweep of his
muscled arms, pens and papers littering the floor under my naked
feet.

I smiled, even as I shivered. Only a fantasy. My nipples throbbed
for a moment, then settled.

I opened the door, the gentle hum of a floor polisher tickling my
ears.

At home, there was a warm bath, and mindless sitcoms. A TV
dinner, steaming and tasteless, propped on a tray.

I stepped out into the hallway, flicking off the lights as I did.
The gap, ever narrowing as my hand guided the door closed, halted
as the telephone on my desk began to ring.

                      <---===***===--->

"Jake, no. Not tonight," I said into the phone. The coiled
ringlets that formed the handset's tether descended from my hand
like a serpent.

"You haven't even met him," Jake said, his voice insistent and as
whiny as I remembered it. "I know you haven't been seeing anyone,
and I feel bad."

He didn't feel bad, but that was Jake. I shrugged, knowing that
he couldn't see me sitting in the dark, miles away across copper
wires.

"Is he anything like you?"

"What's the right answer?" I could sense the smirk on his face. I
didn't want to see Jake. Couldn't. Not now. I leaned back in the
chair, envisioning the receiver lying in its home. But he would
call back, even if I hung up on him, insistent and hurt. And I
would answer it, because I wouldn't be able to let it ring.

I sighed. "Jake, I'm seeing someone, now."

I wasn't, but it made him pause. There was silence on his end of
the phone, and it made me shiver. But the victory was
short-lived, as I knew it would be.

"Your fingers don't count," he said slowly.

A flush rose up into my face, and I didn't reply. What was there
to reply to that? It was the naked truth, and he somehow knew it,
as he always did. Men like Jake always seemed to be able to read
women; it was how they managed to be successful, how he'd managed
with me.

"Just meet him. If you don't like him, nothing lost. You get a
dinner out of it. Has to be better than those TV dinners that you
were going home to. We're meeting there in twenty minutes. The
Fox and the Hound. It's only downstairs for you."

"Jake ..."

He cleared his throat.

"Alyssa, come on." This was the closest I'd ever heard him to
begging. "We need a fourth, I wouldn't ask, but I've already
invited him."

"What's his name?"

"Michael."

"Who blew you off?"

There was silence again, and he cleared his throat. It was all I
needed to know. I hadn't been his first choice, but I hadn't
really expected it. He didn't answer me, and I swallowed, stung
somehow.

"Is this Michael a leper?"

He laughed, the old Jake re-emerging as I let him off the hook. I
hated myself for even considering it, but Jake did have a point.
TV dinners sucked.

"He looks like me."

That wasn't appealing either, but I didn't say so. Instead, I
twisted and turned towards the plates of glass, back towards the
city. I had the crazy urge to close the door, lock it, and strip,
here and now, stand naked against the glass watching the
anonymous people far below.

"Jake, what happened to us?"

He sighed. "Alyssa? Do you really want to go into this? It's been
a year. You need to move on."

I could close my eyes and see myself, naked, riding him, feeling
him inside me, the climax approaching hard and fast.

Jake.

I shook myself, and opened my eyes. Taillights flickered below --
a sea of red.

"Alyssa? You still there?"

His voice floated from the receiver, a distant grounding to
reality. I nodded, even though I knew that he couldn't see me.

"I'll be there."

"Thank-you," he said easily as if there had never been any doubt
of my eventual agreement.

There was a click on the line, and then the constant drone of the
dial tone. Slowly, I returned the handset to the base, watching
as the red dot indicating a live line winked out.

I sighed and pushed myself to my feet.

Damned if I was going to worry about prettying myself up for
Michael. I stepped out into the hallway.

The janitor looked up from the machine he was pushing, the
polishing pads humming along the tiles. He tipped his head
towards me, and I returned the smile, ducking my head to hide the
flush that I knew would rise if I watched him any more than I
should.

Perhaps, tonight wouldn't be as bad as all that. I wasn't
expecting anything, even if Fate was rushing towards me with the
force of a locomotive.

                      <---===***===--->

I peered at myself in the mirror. Tired? Perhaps. My eyes held
that haunted look that one seems to acquire when one spends too
much time by herself.

I touched up my make-up, despite my promise to myself to damn the
torpedoes of Michael, and I brushed out my hair.

My legs were encased in stockings, itching. Perhaps, a little
risque for the office, not quite risque enough for a date. Not a
date, I reminded myself. But it was, even if Jake had set it up,
the first time out in a long time. My heart pattered under my
clothes, but I wasn't expecting anything. Jake was involved,
after all. I gazed at my image for a moment longer, smoothing my
skirt with my hands. The suit was slightly wrinkled from the
office. C'est la vie.

Presentable, if not beautiful.

I pushed open the ladies room door, stepping out into the
gleaming hallway. The janitor seemed to be everywhere, and for a
crazy moment, I thought that he might be stalking me, had tuned
into my crazy fantasy somehow, and wanted to get to know me
better. A lot better. Sometimes, I'm more vain than I give myself
credit for, even in the face of obvious facts.

He was older, perhaps seventy, and he was far from the muscled
presence that swept my desk clean, me naked upon it. He smiled at
me, and tipped his head. He switched off the polisher -- a
courtesy that set my nerves to jangling.

"A fine night to fall in love," he said.

I looked at him quizzically, but my unease settled. He didn't
look like the raping or stalking type.

"Do I know you?"

"Does a knight know the dragon?"

Puzzled, I laughed almost uneasily. The janitor smiled, and
raised his hand.

"Have a nice weekend, Miss Jones," he said.

I nearly corrected him. My surname wasn't Jones, never had been.
I didn't understand the reference, and I'm not sure that he did
either. But perhaps he did. Dragons have a way of seeing knights
that the rest of us can't.

"And you as well," I murmured, turning away. The polisher wound
up with a sound similar to a motorcycle speeding off into the
distance, the pitch rising behind me as I walked to the elevator
shaking my head.

                      <---===***===--->

Smoky haze filled the pub, raucous laughter surrounding me. I
swept my eyes over the crowd, most of whom seemed self-absorbed
in conversation, or watched the latest soccer match on the wide
screen televisions mounted about the central bar.

I glanced at my watch, surprised. Fifteen minutes late. I
shrugged. They either would have waited for me, or not. It didn't
matter.

"Can I help you miss? Table for one?"

Startled, I turned my gaze to the hostess, a girl in a white
blouse, shorter than I, perhaps only recently out of highschool.

"I'm meeting people here, but I don't see them."

Her eyes appraised me, and suddenly I felt a little
uncomfortable. Then the girl smiled, and said, "You must be
Alyssa. You're taller than he said."

I swallowed, confused. Nevertheless, I followed her, twisting
through the haze, and avoiding tables filled with strange
accents, and pints of lager. At a booth, near the back, she swept
her arm, like a courtesan introducing a queen.

They sat in the booth, none of them smoking, but surrounded in
the haze like fog. The smoke stung my eyes, but I blinked, and
tried to smile. The hostess disappeared, and I barely noticed.

I slipped into the only available seat, crossing my legs under
the table. Jake looked up, relieved, as I wiggled to make myself
more comfortable.

"Alyssa, you made it."

I nodded, then glanced to my left. A large man, not fat, but
muscular, sat beside me, a gentle smile upon his face. With a
start, I realised that this man could have fit my mental picture
of the original janitor, unlike the true elderly dragon that had
stalked me upstairs, and very unlike Jake. I twisted my head. The
girl next to Jake was slender, her brunette hair in a simple
ponytail, her hands cupping a glass of wine that seemed out of
place in this establishment. The men sipped at their beers, the
golden liquid refracting the light, muddy water in a stein.

She stuck out her hand, casting a glance at Jake.

"Alyssa, I'm Cameron, and that's Michael beside you. Jake's being
rude tonight."

She took my hand, the momentary contact warm and inviting.
Cameron almost seemed bored with the table. As she released my
hand, I turned towards the other presence on my side of the
table, extending my hand. He took it, almost crushing my fingers
in his grip. I must have grimaced, because he smiled and eased up
the pressure. Then, before I could react, he raised my hand, and
pressed his lips to the back, my skin tingling. I nearly pulled
my hand back in surprise.

"Charmed, Alyssa," he said, his lips grave in his politeness.

Cameron laughed, and tossed a pretzel at Michael.

"You're such a goddamn phony," she said.

I shivered. It hadn't felt phony -- but rather almost chivalrous.
Michael merely smiled, and turned back to Jake, his hands again
animated in talk, dismissing me lightly. I wondered if he was
aware that I was supposed to be his date. It didn't matter.
Despite his resemblance to fantasy, I couldn't say that the
reality of him struck any immediate chords within me, chivalry
notwithstanding.

The waitress came, and I ordered a white wine, joining Cameron in
her flaunt of the obviously lager oriented establishment. The
waitress, a petite blonde girl in uncomfortable looking high
heels, and a low cut blouse, raised her eyebrows, but scurried
off to get my order. The guys continued some inane argument about
Italian football players. I glanced at Cameron, and she rolled
her eyes.

I pointed at Jake. "You're seeing Jake, now?"

Cameron smiled, as if she was aware of our history. She probably
was -- Jake would have had to tell her.

"Nothing serious," she said lightly. "A few laughs."

I sighed, and hesitated. "It's okay, Cameron, it was years ago."
A bit of a lie, but a year was as good as three, wasn't it?

She smiled, and leaned forward, cupping her lips away from the
guys. She could have screamed, and I doubt if they would have
heard her.

"We've only been hanging out for a few weeks." She hesitated,
gauging me, perhaps trying to determine how she stacked up
against me. It's what women do. I couldn't have been more wrong.
"You want to know if I've fucked him, yet."

With a start, I leaned back away from her. I wanted to swing my
legs out, and run from this pub, away from the smoke, away from
the haze, away from Jake. TV dinners weren't worth this.

My wine arrived, and I drank half the glass without pausing.
Cameron raised her eyebrows, but the guys didn't even come close
to noticing.

She smiled kindly, waving dismissively. She motioned me back
down, and against my better judgement, I leaned forward, my chin
cupped in my hands. The sweetness of the wine battled with the
haze of smoke.

"I'm sorry, Alyssa. I didn't mean anything by it."

But she'd been right. I did want to know. Why? I don't know. It
wasn't as if I harboured feelings for Jake any longer. The
thought of him with another woman didn't really bother me. He was
free to do with his life as he always did. Romance 'em and leave
'em. It was Jake. I wanted to warn this girl, but somehow, I
didn't think she needed warning. Cameron smiled, her lips only
centimetres from mine.

"I haven't," she said.

I swallowed heavily. I wanted to ask her why not, but she
answered without my having to open my mouth.

"I'm not sure he's my type," she said.

I sighed, and looked at Michael. The big man was talking
animatedly, his hands waving, his words indistinguishable. I
tried to picture him sweeping my desk contents to the floor,
lifting me onto the desk. I sighed; I didn't think he was my type
either.

                      <---===***===--->

I shivered, carefully cutting my greens. For some reason, ever
since I'd been small, I always ate the broccoli first, perhaps,
to get it out of the way so I could enjoy the rest of the meal.
The knife slipped and screeched across my plate, and I looked up,
cringing.

And suddenly it was there, light and whispery, like a butterfly.

Jake's head was down, savagely cutting at his steak. Michael,
beside me, couldn't have done it. I glared at Jake for a moment,
then returned to my task. The bitter taste of the broccoli kissed
my tongue, but I ate it, chewing and swallowing thoughtfully.

The stupid part about it was that it was sexy in a strange way,
kindling reaction in all the right places. It was public, and it
was naughty, and it was deliciously secret.

But what about Cameron, Jakey? Don't make me a part of this.

I glanced down, and adjusted my napkin upon my lap. My skirt
ruffled over the nylons I wore. I sighed, and returned to the
broccoli. I tried to ignore the touch, but it rose insistently up
my leg, beginning at my ankle where the straps of my shoe held it
to my foot, and billowing like a sail up my calf to tickle near
my knee. I glanced up again, and Jake seemed absorbed in his
steak, spreading sour cream on to its red surface. That's one
thing I'd always remember about Jake -- not the love-making, not
the midnight fights, but that he ate his steak rare, and enjoyed
sour cream with it. Strange. I'd tried it once, at his
insistence, and nearly gagged.

"Jake," I hissed. The touch under the table pulled away, but
instead of feeling relieved at the removal, I felt empty. I
didn't want him, but the touch sent shivers up my spine. Pure
frustration, I'm sure. In the very least, it wasn't fair. Teasing
me.

Jake looked up quizzically, and I shot him a look that I hoped
was clear enough. Stop. Even Michael looked over at me, and
shrugged, returning to his porterhouse. Jake shrugged as well,
giving me a truly puzzled look, almost one of those
'crazy-female' gazes. He bent back to his plate, and I sighed,
deciding to leave the broccoli for later.

                      <---===***===--->

Shivers shot up my spine, igniting things that I wasn't sure I
wanted ignited. It began as almost a kiss, and the touch lightly
traced up my leg again. I struggled to ignore it, hoping that
he'd desist if I didn't react, but his foot rose slowly and
sensuously up my leg, even slightly higher this time, actually
touching my thigh. I pressed my legs together, and his foot
remained, stymied there. He made no attempt to go further, not
that he could have reached much further, but he didn't pull back,
either.

I thought that he would pull his foot back as I lowered my hand.
Perhaps he was teasing me, allowing me to get close, then pull
back as he sensed my fingers. But I'd see him move, then,
betraying him, the game over.

It was a game. Though, I didn't understand until later the nature
of it.

My eyes widened as my fingers touched the toes trapped between my
thighs. It took a moment for the magnitude of the tactile
sensations to fill my mind.

                      <---===***===--->

Nylon around the toes, smaller and daintier than Jake's could
possibly be. Somehow, my mind bent from the obvious, and I
regarded Michael. Of course, he couldn't possibly be playing this
game, seated as he was. Even if he was double jointed, and even
if he could have owned the toes that I touched, however unlikely,
my mind couldn't reconcile his involvement. I didn't want it to
be him, anyway. Nor Jake.

What I realised were distinctly feminine toes retreated from me,
and I shivered, bringing my fingers back above the table,
knocking my plate as I did. I refused to raise my eyes. Couldn't
face her. I blindly reached for my wine glass, the broccoli
mocking me. The glass appeared in my hand, Cameron placing it
there gently. In my peripheral vision I could see her fingers
wrapped easily around the stem of my wine glass. The taste of the
wine filled my mouth, intoxicating and sweet.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her voice only loud enough for me
to hear. I nodded mutely, and glanced over the side of the booth
to the tiled floor, sunken below where we ate.

A single shoe, white with straps that should have been around her
ankle, fell from beneath the table, lying like a beached minnow,
mocking me. I caught my breath, the implications of the shoe, and
whose it was, flooding into me. She probably kicked it, to ensure
that I understood.

Cameron leaned down, a flash of the white of her chest above her
buttons enough to make me raise my eyes, her fingers reaching for
the shoe. Jake looked up as I reached again for my wine. He
smiled, and shrugged, as if he knew what was going on. He
couldn't, and I knew that, but suddenly I felt sympathy for him.
I don't know why. Perhaps, because he'd met Cameron first, even
if he was a womaniser, and I'd been one of his victims, but he'd
expected something from her that he wasn't likely to get. I'd
talk to him later. Maybe. If I wasn't too embarrassed.

I nearly looked directly across the table, where I was sure that
Cameron was watching me. Instead, I let my eyes travel down the
tablecloth, back to my vegetables. Carefully, I sipped from the
wine glass, the last of the fruity flavour washing my senses.

I shivered. I tried to push the thoughts from my mind, but I
couldn't; they refused to release me, even when I threatened
them.

I didn't want to admit it, not even to myself, but I was
anticipating that silky touch of soft toes beneath the table. I
wasn't likely to get it, unless I gave her a sign, but that, I
knew, I could never do. Not even if Jake and Michael weren't
sitting there, ready to judge me.

                      <---===***===--->

Her toes touched me again, hesitantly, like a first love,
exploring, kissing, full of dread and anticipation. I closed my
eyes, drinking in the sensations of her, wondering what the hell
I was doing, but enjoying the soft tingling.

Her foot rose slowly, kissing my skin, nylon on nylon, slipping
and teasing. I struggled not to move my leg, as one might when
being tickled mercilessly, but this didn't tickle. Not at all.

I sighed, refusing to raise my eyes, enjoying every touch, every
nuance of her. I thought that I could detect her scent, a light
perfume, the kind I knew that Jake liked, floating above the
stink of the cigarettes.

What if someone saw? There was no skirt on the table, no falling
tablecloth hanging low, and we were raised in a booth. A
waitress, another patron?

When she reached my knee, I finally raised my eyes. As I
expected, she was watching me, a faint smile upon her lips. It
was dim in the pub, and it seemed overly surreal with Jake and
Michael eating obliviously beside me, and her nyloned toes so
lightly kissing my knee beneath. A raucous roar of approval rose
from the other side of the pub, a goal perhaps, or a badly timed
penalty. Would they be turned on if they knew? They were guys.
Probably -- even Jake -- especially Jake. I shivered, and held
her eyes.

After a moment, I swallowed, and tilted my head to the side.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I eased my legs apart. Inviting.

                      <---===***===--->

Perhaps she knew, perhaps not. Either way, I thought that I was
going to embarrass myself, an inadvertent moan, a groan,
something that I might have done with Jake in an earlier life, in
the privacy of our bed.

Her toes continued to kiss me, and we stared at each other, her
eyes sparkling with mischief, mine probably shining with anxiety,
or simple tears. Sometimes I cry with lovers. They generally
don't understand, but I think that Cameron might have -- at least
that night, I suspect that she did.

She nodded slightly, and her toes brushed past the tops of my
nylons, under my skirt. I glanced down, and my napkin bounced
once, as if there were a living creature underneath. I was
insanely glad that Michael wasn't looking into my lap. I glanced
over at him, unable to summon up any sort of image with him in it
naked. The fantasy kept shifting, more feminine curves gracing
the participants in my mind. I shivered, my eyes widening as her
toes brushed my external lips through my panties.

I must have gasped, because she smiled for only a moment, then
she glanced quickly at Jake, and then at Michael before her
teasing disappeared from between my legs.

Weak, I closed my eyes, and then opened them again. I tried to
concentrate on my food, but there was no taste there, seemingly
leeched by more intense sensations.

My breasts ached, and my legs trembled. I tried to catch
Cameron's eyes, but she appeared to have contented herself with
joining in with Jake. I couldn't understand their conversation,
and continued to eat. Michael tried to engage me in conversation,
having lost Jake's spiralling soccer arguments. Even after the
waitress had cleared our plates, and offered after-dinner drinks,
I couldn't concentrate, only smiling at his words in all the
right places. He could have been asking me if I enjoyed kinky
sex, or romping around naked in Queen's Park, and I wouldn't have
known any different. I nodded and smiled, and he seemed satisfied
with my responses. My mind drifted.

I leaned back my head, and breathed in the heavy haze that
surrounded me. Sensing movement across from me, I opened my eyes
with a start. Perhaps, I'd dozed, but in the atmosphere and noise
of the pub, I couldn't see how. Perhaps, the wine.

Cameron had pushed herself from her seat. I glanced down. White
shoes encased both her feet, dark nylons enhancing her limbs and
toes.

"Going home?" I said, perhaps too quickly. I prepared myself to
rise with her. She leaned in, her breath sweet against my ear.

"Just going to the little girls' room," she said, her voiceairy.

I relaxed, and settled back into the booth. Jake looked at me
strangely, but I ignored him. Perhaps, I was being unsociable,
but so were the conversations of Italian soccer moments, which
seemed to revive with Cameron's departure.

I think I might have dozed again, the buzz of conversation
surrounding me like a shroud.

                      <---===***===--->

"... too much to drink ..."

I opened my eyes with a start. I pushed myself up, embarrassed
and concerned. My head had been leaning against Michael's
shoulder and Jake was watching me with undisguised mirth.

"Wine makes me sleepy," I mumbled, and Michael laughed. While I
might have consumed my wine a tad quickly, I wasn't drunk by any
stretch of the imagination. I almost wished that I was.

"Quite all right," Michael said, his voice mild. "I don't mind
women falling asleep on me."

"Was I out long?"

Jake shook his head. Cameron's seat stood empty beside him.

"Where'd she go?" I asked, sure that my interest would be
interpreted correctly, branding me. Jake shrugged, unconcerned
about the question. Apparently, I hadn't slept on Michael for
very long.

"She's only been gone for a few minutes. Maybe to the bar? Maybe
to the can?" He laughed. "I'm not her keeper."

No. I didn't suppose he was. Especially, not now.

I sighed, and straightened myself. I felt like I'd been awakened
from a deep sleep, groggy, drugged. But I wasn't. I was tired,
but not enough to warrant my behaviour. I felt like a school
girl, working up the nerve to accept a first kiss, exhausted by
the anxiety, the mental push. My body sang, alive and sensitive.
My nipples throbbed in time with my pulse.

My heart sped up a little as Cameron rounded the corner, mischief
again in her eyes. She talked to one table as she seemed to float
closer, glancing at her watch. Only the time. She flashed me a
smile and slipped into the booth, her left hand at her side, her
right upon the table, toying with her wine glass.

                      <---===***===--->

She didn't look any different, though I'm not sure why I supposed
that she should. Cameron flashed me another smile and glanced at
the boys. They were ignoring us, fighting about Brazil and Italia
animatedly.

"Here," she said mischievously.

I raised my eyebrows, but accepted the folds of cloth that she
handed me across the table. In the dim light, it seemed like the
fabric was pale hued, like her blouse. Was I imagining it, or
were there more buttons undone at her throat than when she'd
left?

I turned my eyes away, and glanced down at my hand.

The unmistakable delicateness of a bra lay across my hand, still
warm from her body. I nearly dropped it in surprise, my sudden
movement attracting Jake's attention. I slipped the bra down
beside me, tucking it under my thigh.

"What's that?" Jake asked.

I flushed and shook my head quickly, shrugging. What's what?

He cast me a sidelong glance that encompassed more than simple
curiosity. He didn't know what I held under my thigh, but he
didn't care. It had only been an attempt to draw me into
conversation. He did care that I wasn't making an effort with
Michael. On the other hand, he wasn't about to push the issue,
perhaps realising that he and his soccer were half the problem.

I swallowed, and turned my attention back to Cameron, as Jake
turned back to his soccer dissertation. My eyes fell to Cameron's
chest, feeling like a guy, stealing a look, groping her with my
eyes. I couldn't tell if she was actually braless. For that
matter, I'm not sure I would have known if she had been wearing a
bra previously, either. Whatever the case, whether I had her bra
under my thigh or not, she didn't really need one. I inhaled
sharply, realising where my eyes were resting, and raised my eyes
to her face.

She smiled easily, her eyes laughing.

I leaned in conspiratorially.

"Cameron, where ..."

She smiled. "The bathroom. It's not difficult. You've taken a
million of them off over your lifetime."

"Maybe not a million."

She shrugged and gathered in her breath.

After a while, she glanced at Jake, and then back at me.

"I don't need it," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"But if you want to return it, I'm staying at the Westin, room
902."

I swallowed and nodded, though at the time I wasn't sure what she
was telling me. I should have. I had her bra tucked under my
thigh, still warm from her.

With that, she pushed herself up and stretched. She reminded me
of a cat, stretching in the sun. I fancied that I might be able
to see her breast, under her clothing, pressing sensuously
against her blouse, the bump of an otherwise uncovered nipple.
She rubbed her eyes once.

"Gotta get some sleep, Jakey," she announced.

He looked up at her, a whisper of annoyance flashing across his
face. Irritated, he pushed himself up to join her, and a flash of
jealousy stole across me. I didn't understand it, but it was
there, green and intolerable. Cameron winked at me, and relief
washed through me. She'd come with him, and she'd leave with him,
but tonight wouldn't end with a Jake conquest. The envy slowly
seeped into sympathy, again.

"Will you be all right?" Jake asked.

At first, his words seemed foreign, without sense, but I nodded.

"I'll take a taxi home. Don't worry about me."

He flashed me a disappointed look, one of those: I-try-but-I-
can't-help-a-girl-that-refuses-to-help-herself looks. He wanted
me to go home with Michael, probably an ill-fated attempt to
force me onwards with my life. In a way, I suppose, it was Jake's
way of being kind. I shrugged.

"Don't let Michael take advantage of you," he said, ironically.

"I won't."

I ewatched them walk hand in hand towards the front of the pub,
and disappear into the haze. My eyes stung, and I rubbed at them.
Michael mistook the gesture for tiredness.

"You want to go to bed?" he asked gently. I turned, eyebrows
raised, and he laughed. "Not with me. Relax."

I nodded. I was tired.

I nearly forgot to pick up her bra as I slid out of the booth,
but before Michael could pick it up and realise what it was, I
palmed it, and held it easily at my side.

                      <---===***===--->

The night remained hot, the heat of the day floating in the dark
air, rising from superheated concrete and steel. While the fresh
air felt like heaven, the humidity stuck my blouse to my skin
almost immediately. I picked at the cloth absently.

We stood awkwardly on the curb. Traffic flowed by, taillights
glowing in the darkness. A thumping bass beat issued from the
Crocodile Rock across the street, drunken patrons stumbling out,
the line stretching seemingly forever to get in.

"I had a good time tonight," I said glibly.

"No, you didn't," he said, but his lips still formed an easy
smile. "I wasn't much company."

I shrugged. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I had the uncanny
feeling that I'd gained, while Jakey had lost. Perhaps, Michael
had lost too, somehow.

"Can I get you a taxi?" he asked. No offer to join me. No offer
for a night-cap. Not even coffee, in a neutral Starbucks, a last
attempt to find solace. I was thankful; I didn't fancy refusing
him, if he had asked, though I would have. Only an offer to
provide a ride home, safe and serene, and alone.

I shook my head. "I think I'm going to walk."

He looked concerned for a moment.

"I should walk you," he said. But he glanced at his watch, almost
surreptitiously. I didn't mind. I wanted to be alone anyway. The
city was safe enough, unlike its American counterparts. A girl
could get hurt, but it was unlikely. Not around here. Night
sounds surrounded us. A drunken party of four hung off each
other, stumbling from the pub behind us.

"Pretty lady ..." one oaf sang out as they passed. But other than
that, they ignored the two of us. I smiled and waved.

"I'll be fine, Michael. I'm a big girl."

Awkwardly, I shifted my weight from foot to foot. What would I do
if he tried to kiss me?

He didn't, but touched my shoulder.

"Alyssa?"

"Mmmmhmmmm?"

"We're different people. I like you, but ... to be honest, you're
not really my type."

We hadn't spoken much in the pub, a physical awkwardness between
us. He didn't like the way I looked. I didn't know why, but it
didn't really matter. I wasn't that insecure. It happened.

"It's okay, Michael. You're not really my type either."

Cameron is.

The thought jolted me.

He smiled, a weak smile.

"Are you sure I can't get you a taxi?"

I shook my head. The night air felt clinging and wet.

He nodded, a regretful expression gracing his face.

"Good night, Alyssa."

"Good-bye," I said easily.

I watched him walk up the street and turn left at the lights.
Normally, I would have felt a passing regret. Instead, I held up
the cloth that pressed between my fingers. Under the street
light, it almost glowed, warm and inviting. I closed my eyes. It
had been around her. Around her, pressed to her body.

I turned in the opposite direction to that taken by Michael, and
like a ghost, I began to walk without destination.

                      <---===***===--->

I stood in front of the eternal flame, commemorating, as the
plaque stated, the lives of fire-fighters lost in the line of
duty. Their lives were as distant to me as Michael's,
insubstantial and waifish. I felt selfish, but I stood and
sighed, trying to make sense of it all.

It wasn't only the fire-fighters. I hadn't been close to anyone
but Jake in a long, long time, and well, Jake was a bit of a
joke. I told myself I didn't mind, that he didn't love any of the
extra tail that he sought. It didn't matter. But of course, it
did. In some ways I missed him, in others I didn't.

I leaned on the protective rail, wondering if it was there to
protect the flame, or to protect idiots from getting burned. I
wanted a protective rail around my life.

Slowly, I turned away, almost surprised that Cameron's
undergarment remained gently pressed between my fingers.

I stared up at the tower, silhouetted by the rising moon. Wispy
clouds scattered the moonlight like a shroud.

I didn't know what I wanted anymore.

                      <---===***===--->

I had no idea how I arrived there, or why I was there. Across the
street, men in red uniforms helped the occasional limousine and
taxi with clients and luggage. I sat on a bench debating with
myself, legs crossing and uncrossing, the feeling not unlike her
nyloned toes teasing my calf.

I glanced up. Ninth floor. I counted carefully, each window
division ticked off in my mind until I reached nine. None of the
windows were lit, all dark as if warding away unwanted guests.

I raised the cloth to my face, and inhaled through my nose.

The scent of smoke was strong, as it likely was even into my own
skin and clothing. But there was something underneath, the scent
of honey and clover and perfume; Cameron.

I sighed and pushed myself up. Rivulets of perspiration ran down
my back under my blouse. I'd undone the top three buttons, aware
of how low the fabric flapped, but not caring.

There was little traffic at this time of night, and I crossed
against the lights, almost jogging across the cross walk.

The revolving door admitted me, sighing as it spun. I considered
simply walking around, allowing it to spit me back out into the
heat. I could go home, and never return. For all I knew, she'd
only be here one night -- perhaps the room originally meant for a
different night, with Jake.

I blinked in the sudden light. There were three men sitting in
the lobby, one reading while the other two played cards. They
looked up at my entrance, but then lowered their eyes back to
whatever they were doing before I'd intruded. Their eyes, though,
had all said the same thing to me. What was this lonely girl
doing here? Even if they'd asked out loud, I wouldn't have been
able to answer them. But, of course, their eyes had said no such
thing, only mild interest at yet another anonymous entrance of
the night.

I sighed, and walked towards the elevator banks.

                      <---===***===--->

I hesitated at the door.

902.

What if she were playing a game with me, giving me a random room,
my knock disturbing the peaceful sleep of a nun and a priest,
celibacy screaming out at me as the nun answered the door rubbing
her eyes? I swallowed heavily, and raised my hand, knuckles
ready.

I couldn't do it. My hand lowered to my side again. I felt
self-conscious here, alone in the hallway. I could feel a
thousand eyes upon me, watching me through the inverted
telescopes in the doors. A thousand eyes accusing me of what I
was about to do. If she were here.

902. Westin. If I wanted to return it.

The fabric hung limply from my left hand at my side, brushing at
my leg. My nylon stockings itched, and I wanted to take them off.
Reach the other side of the door, and I could. I had to knock
first.

What if Jake was there? Had orchestrated a little menage a trois?
Would I step in? Would I accept it, simply to touch her?

I didn't know.

What if Michael was there?

It struck me that what was behind the door, even if it was only
Cameron, was a mystery. Who was she? Where did she come from? Why
me?

I sighed, and turned away. My feet whispered across the carpet,
leading me inexorably towards the elevator.

When the doors slid open, I stepped back, away from the car.
Inside, a nun, wearing only her headcloak, and a normal shirt and
blue jeans, and a priest, wearing white about his throat, both
looking tired, gestured to me to join them. I shook my head,
backing away from the yawning opening.

Stupidly, I didn't understand. How could the nun and the priest
be in 902, if they were in the elevator? It didn't make sense,
and I knew somewhere in my mind that it shouldn't.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

The elevator doors closed with a rumble and a snick, their
puzzled faces disappearing through the narrowing gap. The beast
that was the elevator descended, its growl receding into the
depths of the building.

I didn't know how I had travelled back, must have walked, but I
faced the door again. It mocked me silently. Somewhere, up the
hallway, someone coughed, the sound heavily muted by the
intervening doors.

"I don't need it, but if you want to return it ..."

902.

Westin.

I closed my eyes, and without further thought, let my hand fall,
a single rap echoing up and down the corridor. A thousand
accusing eyes burned into my back.

                      <---===***===--->

Cameron smiled as the door opened. Her hair tumbled free of the
ponytail, falling in damp waves about her shoulders. A red towel
wrapped her from breasts to thighs, her pale skin inviting and
alluring. Her feet were bare upon the worn carpet. She ran her
fingers through her hair, and her face looked almost apologetic,
though for what, I had no idea.

She stepped back, and gestured me in. I hesitated, thinking of
the nun and the priest, but then crossed into the dimness of the
room. A step into another world, one that I wasn't sure that
there was a bridge back from.

The door closed gently behind me.

"I'm glad you came," Cameron whispered.

I forced a smile onto my face, and held up her bra like it was a
talisman. She grinned, and touched my fingers.

"You hold onto it, for now," she said easily. I closed my hand
around it again, and listened. A drip from the shower dropped in
a rhythmic monotony. The cheap television remained silent. No
other breathing permeated the air. She was alone here, that much
I could tell. The scenarios of menage a trois flitted from my
mind as smoke does before a wind.

Her lips looked puzzled.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

I tried to smile, and I nodded slowly.

"Better than in a long time," I said.

She smiled, radiant and pure, pleased.

"I have to dry my hair. A few minutes earlier, and I wouldn't
have heard you, water running into my ears. A few minutes later,
and the hair drier."

Fate.

I nodded, and bent to unlace my shoes. When I rose, she had moved
into the small hotel bathroom. I could see flashes of her skin
and red towel through the narrow gap in the door. She wasn't
naked in there, but the flashes of her sent inexplicable tendrils
of desire into me. I swallowed, and moved into the room, the
carpet slippery and strange under the nylons.

The room was dark, only lit by the ambient light from the
bathroom on one side, and the lights of the city outside near the
windows, filtering between drawn curtains.

In the middle of the room, a bed, a king size playground, sat,
the blankets unruffled, the top sheet turned down, mints like
shadows on the pillows. The television stood darkened upon the
dresser. There was no bag, no luggage. Only her, and me, now.

I moved to the window, where the drapes fluttered, and traffic
noise filtered in with the city lights. Someone shouted below,
and I jumped a little, nervous. I drew back the drapes. The
windows were open, night air shifting around my legs, teasing and
heavy.

They looked like ants below, scurrying to taxis, alighting, and
hunting for their queen. Taillights glowed.

I backed away, conscious of the hair drier halting, and silence
descending like a blanket. My heart began to race, perspiration
again pinning my blouse to my skin.

The air conditioning had been turned off, or was broken, the hum
from the wall unit silent as if competing with the chaos of the
city had beaten its will to live. I ran my fingers over the loose
knob.

"It's not broken," Cameron whispered behind me. "I just prefer it
hot."

I turned from watching the silent air conditioner to face her.

                      <---===***===--->

She moved towards me, like a ghost, her bare feet whispering
across the carpet. I wondered where her clothes were -- I hadn't
seen them as I moved about the room. No blouse. No whispering
nylons. No skirt. Only her bra, still heavy in my right hand.

Cameron smiled, and stood beside me, her eyes taking in the city
stretched out in front of us, below, like a queen surveying her
realm.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

Her fingers stole to mine, lightly holding my free hand. My palms
felt slick with perspiration, but she didn't seem to notice, her
fingers intertwined with mine, gossamer, almost insubstantial,
and cool.

I bit my lip, and watched them below. Her scent rode on the heavy
wind, honey and clover, the scent of clean, the scent of her. I
breathed her in, pretending to watch the people below. Compared
to her, I must have smelled, the stink of cigarettes coating me
like a film. Cameron didn't seem to mind, and I hoped that the
night walk had eased the unwelcome remnants of the pub.

"There," Cameron said softly, pointing.

I followed her finger, and smiled. Below, two girls, perhaps
college aged, walked, their fingers intertwined in the night,
mirroring my own pose. Suddenly self-conscious, I nearly withdrew
my fingers from Cameron, but then relaxed.

To my surprise, the girls kissed, right there on the sidewalk,
their bodies shimmering. Then they parted, and I watched them
disappear, turning up a darkened side street. The soft sound of
their laugh tickled my ears.

I withdrew, my eyes focusing on my reflection, a silhouette edged
in glass. Beside me, Cameron had shifted her pose, no longer
viewing her realm, looking up at me. I turned from our
reflection.

Her eyes uplifted to mine, her body trembled -- I could feel it
through our linked fingers. She released my hand, and it fell
easily to my side, a dead weight. She closed her eyes, and her
hands raised to my shoulders, resting there light and cool
through my clothes.

She raised herself up on her toes, reaching, her lips parted
slightly. I hesitated for a moment, not because of her gender, or
her desirability, but only the hesitation of emotion, of crossing
bridges that cannot be re-crossed. It had been far too long since
anyone had kissed me.

And then her lips touched mine, and all the fears, all the
hesitations, all the apprehensions melted. Somewhere below, a car
honked, and the sound of feminine laughter rose, joining me to
the real world somewhere beyond the room. I dimly felt her bra
leaving my fingers, fluttering to the floor to lay like a soft
reminder against my foot.

Cameron's moan joined the shivers racing through my nerves.

                      <---===***===--->

I sat, leaning back on my hands, the mattress soft and yielding
under my palms.

She stood in front of me, smiling, her arms held out slightly
from her sides. The red towel mocked me, hiding her, teasing me.
Suddenly, I was very conscious that she was naked but for that
towel, her skin teasingly close. She smiled, and tilted herhead.

"You want to take this off me, don't you?" she said quietly.

I didn't know. Kissing her was sweet, forbidden, and my body
tingled in all the right places. I envisioned myself placing a
finger, right there, below the hollow of her throat, below where
her collarbones merged in a symphony of shadow and light.

A quick tug, releasing the easy friction of her covering, and she
would be nude, unclothed before me.

I swallowed, my right hand twitching. I slowly shook my head,
unsure, seeing bridges burning in the night, once crossed, never
to be whole again. I shivered.

"You do, don't you?"

I swallowed again, my heart racing. If not, why had I come here?

Slowly, I nodded, my hair whispering through my peripheral
vision.

"You can, you know," she said softly. An invitation, permission.

I paused, but my hand rose as if it had a mind of its own, my
fingers reaching. She smiled as my index fingers slipped under
the folds of the towel. The towel was still damp, from her skin,
from her shower. She shivered, closing her eyes.

The towel seemed to swirl about her body, falling under the
relentless pull of gravity, pooling about her ankles. She opened
her eyes, and smiled. She stood still permitting me time to look
at her, inviting and bare. Nothing to hide.

I'd only met her, perhaps a few hours ago. I had never been with
a woman before, not even in my experimental days at Waterloo. But
there she stood, her breasts, her legs, he belly -- her. Naked
for me. I shivered.

Without a word, she sank to her knees, and thinking that this was
moving way too fast, that she was about to bury her head beneath
my skirt, I found my voice.

"Cameron ..."

"Shhhh," she said.

Her fingers reminded me of her toes earlier, under a table far
away. She teased my leg, no longer clandestine, no longer
tentative. Her fingers trailed up my calf, tickling my knee. I
gasped, edging my legs apart, inviting her to what? I didn't
know. Weightless as a butterfly, she discovered the ridges of the
top of my stocking, playing there. My mind filled with the
sensations, her fingers, my thigh, trembling.

She raised her eyes to mine, questioning.

"You wear this to work?"

I swallowed, and shrugged. I didn't know what possessed me to
wear them today, perhaps fate. I didn't normally. Too risque.

"Today," I said simply. She nodded, still on her knees below me,
her fingers lightly resting, toying with the tops of my
stockings.

She edged the stocking down, my leg sighing in relief as the
slippery fabric released me from its intimate grasp. First my
right, then my left. I'm not sure, but I think she may have used
her teeth, too, tugging the fabric over my toes, and I sat there
eyes closed, concentrating on the sensations of her. The
stockings might be ruined, torn, shredded. I didn't care.

My arms collapsed, and I fell back on the bed, dimly aware that
she'd pushed my shoulders gently.

"Cameron?"

"Mmmmhmmm?"

She sat beside me, her weight dimpling the covers.

"The rest."

"The rest?"

"Of my clothes."

They seemed tight and restrictive. I wanted to be naked, like she
was.

She leaned down and kissed me, bending over her crossed legs, her
lips airy and soft.

"In time, Alyssa. In time."

I felt like crying. If asked, I wouldn't be able to explain; it
wasn't her gentle denial, but my name spoken upon her lips.

                      <---===***===--->

She hadn't lied; in time my clothing lay in scattered heaps about
the room, my jacket tossed across a chair, my panties lying half
on, half off the television, my bra lying like a talisman across
the foot of the bed. My bare body trembled. I lay on my back, my
hands behind my head, breasts lifted to her, inviting her to
touch. She sat easily beside me, her lips crimson, even in the
dimness.

I gasped, my voice foreign, almost shattering the silence. Her
fingers trailed from my right nipple, over my breast, tickling
over my tummy, to rest familiarly on my thigh. She stroked there,
light and wispy. I couldn't think of anything but her hand there,
forbidden, and sweet.

"Alyssa?"

I looked up, my eyes blurred.

"I don't normally do this."

Confused, I continued to watch her. Her breasts rose and fell
gently with her breathing.

"Seduce my boyfriend's former girlfriends," she whispered,
elaborating, almost wistful.

"Is he your boyfriend?"

She sighed, and shook her head. "I suppose not. Not now."

Relaxed a little.

"How about anybody's girlfriend?"

She smiled and leaned down and kissed me, her fingers still
teasing my thigh. Her breath was minty, the smell of toothpaste
and ice cream.

"Do I ask girls up to my room regularly, instead of the boy that
was the original plan?"

I didn't say anything. Couldn't. She almost seemed like she was
talking to herself. She sat up again. Her fingers paused on me,
and then resumed. She shook her head slowly.

"No. Hardly ever. It's been a long, long time," she said mistily,
as if remembering another time in her life, long ago and far
away. It was something I wanted to know, but suspected I might
never find out. I shifted a little, but her fingers followed,
light upon my skin. I wanted her to move them, a little higher, a
little more. I squirmed for a moment, then forced myself to
relax. In time, Alyssa.

I breathed in, nerves jangling. She might get up and walk away,
putting on her towel, perhaps finding her hidden clothing and
dressing first. She was expecting something else from me --
something I wasn't -- I'd appeared at her door, her bra cradled
in my hand, the message different than the reality.

I plunged.

"I've never ..."

Her fingers left my thigh, and it ached where they'd been. She
touched her finger to my lips.

"Shhh. I know," she said easily. She didn't rise at the
admission, didn't dress, didn't leave me frustrated there. If she
had, I would have understood. Instead, only soft words of
knowledge fell from her lips. She knew. I didn't understand her;
I didn't have to.

With that, she lay herself beside me, her skin gentle, and soft,
pressing into mine. Her breasts pressed into mine. Her toes damp
with perspiration, her calf hot and soft, stroked up my bare
skin, teasing me like she had back in the pub. This time, I
gasped, unafraid of questioning looks from men that I didn't care
about, body alive, begging, and wanting.

                      <---===***===--->

Her tongue teased me, my hips rocking, finding my rhythm quickly
and naturally. I sighed, pushing myself towards her, gasping for
air as her fingers plunged into me, stroking.

Her other hand rose up, searching, teasing, tickling my nipple. I
throbbed to her touch.

Blue light rose up in my mind, like a tsunami racing towards the
beachhead. My voice cried out. Dimly, I was aware of the sounds
from the street below, the ants calling to one another, a horn,
out of place. The air clung to me, perspiration finding my brow,
trickling down my cheek like tears.

As if from a distance, I could hear my own voice, passionate, and
loud, crying out as every muscle in my body contracted, my back
arching. And still her tongue teased me.

"Enough," I gasped.

But she didn't stop, and I didn't have the strength to protest
more.

It took longer the second time, but I crashed into the beach
again, the ocean, and Cameron taking me on the journey where blue
lights sparkled in my mind.

                      <---===***===--->

I lay outstretched, and opened my eyes. Her face appeared like a
Cheshire cat, smiling and open. Below, her breasts swayed. I
wanted to touch her.

"Good?" she asked simply.

I nodded, unable to speak. My breathing refused to calm, my
breasts rising and falling against my ribs, my heart hammering a
quick pulse into my ears.

She kissed me, and I opened my lips to her. I tasted myself on
her, and didn't mind, the musky scent tickling my nose. Without
pausing, I pushed myself up on my elbow, finally breaking the
kiss.

She regarded me, seeing into me, becoming me for a moment. Her
breath came in quick bursts, her lips shiny, her eyes damp.

She whispered, "Alyssa ..."

"I want to taste you," I murmured.

She shook her head slowly, a regretful refusal, a politeness that
I didn't want. "I'll be okay," she said.

"I know," I said. I gently pushed her to the bed, and she didn't
resist. Her legs parted a little, and I bent and kissed her
nipples, one then the other. Her breathing quickened still
further.

                      <---===***===--->

She tasted sweet, and musky. Her lubrication coated my face. I
found her lips, and gently ran my tongue over her soft skin.

Her hips rose towards me, rocking, and pushing, her moans echoing
about the room. I wondered if the ants had heard us through the
open window. Would they care? I doubted it.

Another taxi roared away, tires squealing, breaking the easy
silence. Somewhere, a siren cried out into the night.

I breathed her in, and fixed her pleasure upon my mind, my body
becoming one with her, my fingers in her, touching her, intimate
and close. My tongue found her clitoris, stroking to her rhythm,
so easily sensed.

She paused, her body becoming rigid around me, then pulsing with
a cry around my buried fingers.

"Oh. God," and she crashed onto the beach, her body begging me,
pulling me in.

With a smile, I bent my head back to her, even before she
completed. I wiggled my fingers in her, soft and yielding.

"No, Alyssa," she said, her voice weak. I ignored her, and ran my
tongue over her again. She gasped, but gently touched my head,
her fingers insubstantial in my hair. I raised my head, peering
at her over the bumps of her breasts, my chin resting easily
above her pubic lips. She shook her head once, and then lowered
it, exhausted.

I kissed her once more, fixing her in my memory. She shivered,
and waited. My body aching, I raised myself and crawled up the
bed. Her arms pulled me in, and I lowered my head to her
shoulder, my hair fanning out across her skin. Her skin glossy
with moisture, mirroring mine. Her hands stroked my hair. I
couldn't remember any lover I'd ever had stroking my hair.

I began to say something, something inane, something unnecessary.
She touched my lips with one finger and I closed my eyes.

Her breathing gently slowed under me. Sleep would not claim me
that fast -- sex always causing a rush, my mind spinning.

Soon, she was breathing rhythmically under me, her nipples
relaxed now in my plane of vision, small hills in silhouette. I
smiled, and closed my eyes again, her breathing lulling me.

                      <---===***===--->

The sharp crack of thunder woke me. It was dark, darker than
before, the moonlight invisible. My head still rested upon her
shoulder. Carefully, not wanting to wake her, I rose, my bare
feet whispering across the carpet to the bathroom.

Her clothing lay neatly folded on the counter, a skirt, a white
blouse and nylons. No bra.

Smiling, I reached for a glass, tossing the paper covering from
it into the trash, and drew water from the tap, lifting it to my
lips, throat working hungrily. The water seemed to waken me, and
another peal of thunder echoed across the city. Humidity hung
about me like a damp blanket, heavy and cloying to my bare skin.

I glanced at the towels upon the rack, red and white, all with a
large 'W' emblazoned on them. I considered wrapping myself with
one, suddenly wishing for a strange sense of modesty. It was the
humidity that changed my mind, my body unable to accept the touch
of anything against my skin.

I drew another drink, and carried it out, settling myself into a
chair by the window. For a moment, I was aware of my nudity, odd
sitting naked in a chair, my breasts visible through the open
shades. I reached for the curtains, intending to draw them, hide
myself from voyeuristic eyes, but the silliness of it forced a
smile to my lips. I sipped at the water and watched the street
below where the ants moved slowly, lulled by the lateness, but
some glancing up towards the sky, pale faces in the darkness.

Without warning, the skies opened, a deluge of water striking the
pavement as if Armageddon had arrived, spouting water instead of
flames. The world disappeared in a wall of mist and hissing
water. The humidity leached from the air like a towel spiralling
from naked skin. I watched the rain for a while, then turned.

I watched her sleep. After my departure, she had curled herself
up on her side, facing the window, her bare breasts peeking
between her arms, her cheek cradled on her hands, her legs
crossed, her toes bare upon the covers. She murmured something,
her leg twitching. I started, almost as if I were nervous,
watching her sleep, a voyeur in the dark.

Another crack of thunder pealed through the room, shaking it, the
lightning having struck the hotel, or perhaps the towers
surrounding us. Cameron mumbled, reaching across the bed, fingers
grasping air.

"It's only thunder. It's only thunder," she whispered."Raining."

She drew her hand back in, and I realised that she had been
searching for my warmth beside her. I nearly rose to rejoin her
when her eyes fluttered open. Disoriented, she gasped, then her
eyes settled on me, and she smiled. My hands rose automatically,
to shield my nudity, but of course, she wouldn't be offended. Her
fingers had removed my clothing, as surely as mine had released
the towel from her. I pushed my hands back to rest on the chair
arms, my upper arms brushing lightly at the sides of my breasts.
Gentle tingles from my own touch spread through my body.

"It's raining," Cameron said.

I could feel the rain coating my bare thighs, the wind changing
direction, driving the deluge towards our room, through the
window to touch me.

"Come back to bed," she whispered, her hand reaching. It was in
her eyes, not her words, the unspoken meaning -- while we can
still be together.

I shivered, and wrapped my arms around myself, hugging my
breasts. I shook my head; I couldn't let it go. Not that easily.
She raised her eyes questioningly.

"You won't be here when I wake up, will you?" I said, surprised
at my own words. She pursed her lips, and sighed. She didn't
answer me, but that was answer enough. I felt tears, hot wetness,
fill my eyelids. I didn't want to cry, and somehow, I forced the
moisture from my face before it spilled. Big girls don't cry.

"Come back to bed," she murmured. "Please?"

After a moment, I turned back to the rain, where the world had
disappeared. I pushed myself to my bare feet, and pulled the
curtains closed, muting the rumble of the water outside.

I returned to the bed where Cameron lay. I tilted the glass to
her lips, and she drank, her throat swallowing prettily. She
shifted herself, returning onto her back, pushing away the glass
gently. She seemed about to say something, but I pressed my
finger to her lips, perhaps an apology, an expression of
different worlds. I misunderstood then, but I thought that I did
understand. She wouldn't be the only lover to leave me as the sun
greeted the world, before I woke. Only, the first female one. I
shivered at her softness.

I crawled back into bed beside her, laying my head down again on
her shoulder. I'm not sure if she slept after that, but the soft
rhythm of her breathing, the pounding of the rain, the clean
scent of her, lulled me again, the sandman overtaking me and
kissing me to sleep.

                      <---===***===--->

Cameron was gone when I woke, where she had lain rumpled and
still warm from her body. I sighed, fighting the tears. Perhaps,
the soft closing of the door behind her had awakened me.

I pushed myself up, glancing about the room, hoping that she
would be sitting in the chair by the window, hoping to hear the
waterfall of the shower. Instead, only silence greeted me, the
sound of loneliness and aches. I swung my legs from the bed, and
padded to the window. The humidity had broken with the storm, and
the air had lost the cloying heaviness that had permeated my skin
during our romp in the darkness of early morning. The carpet was
wet beneath my feet where the rain had fallen through the open
window during the storm.

I could still taste her upon my lips, and I ran my tongue over
them. My vagina ached, that sensation that one gets after sex the
night before, satiated and serene. My throat was dry, my head
throbbing a little. Without thought, I pulled open the curtains.

She stood, one ant among many, no longer the queen of the realm,
abdicating into a common life, her face lifted towards the side
of the building, searching for something, someone. Her hair
tumbled loosely over her shoulders, her face pale but somehow
fresh. I nearly lifted my hand, but didn't, knowing that she
couldn't see me from where she stood far below. I didn't care
that I was naked; it seemed appropriate somehow.

I watched her walk away. I only knew her first name. Perhaps Jake
... but I wouldn't call him. Of that I was certain. What would I
say? How could I explain?

I couldn't explain even to myself.

My body ached, and I finally stepped from the window,
self-consciousness invading. I closed the curtains, and lay back
down on the bed. Her fingers still teased me, and my breathing
quickened with the memories.

After a time, I pushed myself up again, unable to sleep.

                      <---===***===--->

The falling water reminding me of the rain in the night,
cascading over my hair, washing all traces of the evening and
morning from my skin. Stale cigarette smoke, and musky beauty
swirled down the drain between my bare toes. I think I cried,
then, but the tears mixed up with the water, and even I'm not
sure that I did.

I turned my face up into the spray, gasping at the heat, my skin
reddening.

Before I stepped from the small enclosure, I twisted the knob,
forcing myself to remain under the spray even as it shifted to
ice. I heard myself cry out, and my fingers, trembling, flipped
the water off.

Shivering, I stepped from the shower, grabbing a big red towel
from the rack, and huddling it around me. I wiped off the mirror,
my image appearing. For a moment, I saw her, instead of me, the
towel wrapped about her breasts, standing barefoot motioning me
inside, the towel pooling about her ankles. Tears rose, unbidden,
and I turned from the mirror, drying myself, keeping my eyes on
my own blurred, bare skin. After a while, the tears stopped.

As I stepped from the bathroom, I almost expected to hear her
soft voice, calling to me. Of course, the hotel room remained
lonely and empty, but for me.

                      <---===***===--->

I gathered up my clothes, laying them neatly on the bed. I stared
at them for a while, not wanting to dress, wishing that I could
step from the room as only me, exposing myself to the world --
take me as I am. But that would get me arrested, and I didn't
feel like explaining to some policeman why I hadn't been wearing
any clothes.

Instead, I settled on the edge of the bed, playing with the floor
with my toes. I saw it lying there, a flash of pale colour
against the mottled, colourless, worn carpet near the window. I
bent and picked it up, a gentle weight in my hands. I lay it
across my knees, staring at it, remembering.

Sometimes, love finds us, like a soft kiss, or a gentle caress,
hidden in the delicate curve of the forbidden, where we are most
afraid to peer.

I pushed myself to my feet, standing naked in front of the room
mirror, in a hotel room far outside of where I should have been,
Saturday traffic noises wafting up and enveloping me in its
familiarity, doors slamming down the corridor beyond my haven as
the hotel wakened itself.

I lifted her bra, watching myself as I did, touching it to my
skin. It was cool, no longer holding her warmth, only a delicate
curve kissing me. It would have fit me. Somehow, we were the same
size, and shape.

Something inside the cup scratched at my nipple, something
foreign, unnoticed until it touched the gentle rise of my breast.
Still I held it against me, knowing that it had touched her,
knowing that it was hers, and she'd left it for me, when she
could have taken it.

With a sigh, I flipped it away from my chest, touching inside,
not looking. A piece of paper, taped to the inside. I didn't know
where she might have procured tape, but it didn't matter.

Suddenly, I knew. She'd put it there last night, before I stepped
across the bridges, before I'd even known that I would knock at
her door. She knew, even before I did, perhaps because I didn't
know.

I didn't want to look, and yet I did.

My eyes misted with tears, my heart hammering in my chest.

Cameron. Still no surname.

And a phone number, seven digits written in a feminine hand.

I sat down wearily on the edge of the bed, turning the whiteness
of the paper over in my fingers. Gently, I pressed it back into
her undergarment, and cradled it in my hands.

I sighed, looking out at the city, and beyond, the freshness of
the rain tickling my senses through the open window. Because she
liked it hot. Sunshine broke through the clouds, bathing the
world again in light.

Still naked, I closed my eyes, my fingers playing with her cloth.
Memories of her fingers, her tongue, her lips, her toes, her
skin, flashed through my senses.

Would I call her? I didn't know. She had given me a gift, losing
her, and setting me free simply by leaving. The piece of fabric
with its message called to me, demanding an answer that I simply
didn't know, perhaps of which I was merely afraid.

I looked at it, such a simple article, cradled in my fingers,
innocent, but not.

                      <---===***===--->

I still don't know what I'm going to do with her bra. 

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