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Message-ID: <38881asstr$1035274204@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: david@f-e-mail.com (David Shaw)
Subject: {ASSM} RP: "MANHATTAN MAN HUNT" (M/F:  Rom) {David Shaw} (MF:  rom)
Date: Tue, 22 Oct 2002 04:10:04 -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


"MANHATTAN MAN HUNT" (MF:  rom)

By

David Shaw (david@f-e-mail.com)


Toni Lindroth, once Toni La Rocca and now Toni Lindroth again, passed
the last of the newly signed documents back across the desk.

"Is that it?"

Anita Ruger, her counselor in law, nodded. "All signed, sealed and
delivered. Your divorce is final and you're a free woman again.
Welcome to all the joys of being a single NBCR female in Manhattan."

"NBCR?"

"No birthday candles required."

Toni smiled ruefully

"Over the hill or not, I'll take a break before I start picking up the
threads. I've been promising myself a good long holiday in Europe when
the chance came. But before I start packing I'd like to thank you for
everything you've done, Anita. You've been a great lawyer and a true
friend."

Anita tapped the papers together in a neat pile with her long
fingernails. "I hope you feel the same way when you get my bill.
Divorce is always an expensive option."

"Is that why you've never married yourself? It seems odd that a gal as
good looking as you has never gotten herself hitched."

Anita had a set answer for such questions - one delivered with just
the same sort of painful smile as Toni's. "Earlier on I guess I was
too busy building a career. And now - well, now is now."

"But you like men?"

"I like them fine - for one thing they're all so predictable. They
make a pass at me, they find out I'm a female lawyer specializing in
divorce settlements and they all respond the same way: one hand over
their wallet, the other one over their balls and then backing off
towards the nearest exit as fast as they can. It doesn't help either
that my legal associates keep on referring to me as the Wicked Witch
of the East Side."

"Well that's your own fault for boasting about  your apartment's
history. But there's something I'd like to talk about with you before
I go. I guess I'm finding it hard to open the subject up - I feel kind
of shy about it."

The lawyer raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise. Toni was tall and
darkly beautiful with a very strong personality and a track record of
running her own highly successful public relations business. She'd
also gone after her ex-husband's assets with an aggressiveness which
would have made a starving shark look shy. All in all, it was
difficult to believe that Toni Lindroth could be diffident about
discussing any kind of subject. 

"You see, Anita, I'm going to ask you to do something for me which
sounds as if  I'm asking a favor from you, but it's not quite what it
sounds like on the surface. I can't tell you anymore though - I'd just
like you to trust me the same way I've trusted you all through the
divorce."

Anita held her hands out to show her willingness to go along with
whatever Toni wanted. After all, it was true that she'd become a
friend as well as a client.

"No problem. What can I do for you?"

"I'd like you to look after Beech for me while I'm away, please."

Anita tried to hide her true feelings. As dogs went Beech was about as
good as they came, a placid natured basset hound with the permanently
mournful expression of all his breed. But as far as the lawyer was
concerned dogs, cats and anything else in the way of domestic animals
could pass straight through without stopping anywhere near her. And
especially not in her beautiful apartment.

"I'm not really a pet person, Toni. Not in the city, anyway. My horse
upstate is good enough for me."

"Believe me, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. Beech is totally
house trained and you wouldn't have to walk him. My dog person would
stop by every night about seven p.m. to do that. And it's only for a
week or two."

Anita gritted her teeth, decided to add an appreciable amount to
Toni's settlement bill and eventually conceded defeat: "OK, but just
remember that I didn't push myself forward for this job. Is your dog
walker usually on time?"

"To the second. Tristan's always on time. I've got to dash now but the
pair of them will be around to the park tonight to drop off Beech.
OK?"

"OK." Privately, Anita was wondering how she'd managed to become a
lawyer at all if she could be sweet talked into such a stupid deal.
Conned by a client! It was a disgrace.

Even the passage of several hours and the solace of a martini did
little to sooth Anita's irritation with herself. A fine thing if she
couldn't get away at the weekend to practice her dressage because of
some lousy mongrel. She stood at the window in her apartment which
gave the best view over Gramercy Park, a view which usually cheered
her up but which was doing nothing for her mood tonight. The brunette
with the sharp eyes and tight lipped mouth reflected in the darkening
glass was doing really well - a solid legal career, a rapidly expiring
use by date and the only meaningful relationship she had was giving an
occasional sugar lump to a horse. Oh yes, and now she could look
forward to sharing her gossip with a sad assed basset hound.

Which reminded her of another thing. Tristan, for God's sake! Was she
going to have to try to make sense of some Hispanic girl's
explanations in Spanish about Beech's likes and dislikes? Damn Toni
for letting her in for this and damn herself for letting it happen.

The intercom buzzer sounded exactly at seven. Well, at least the
wretched girl was on time.

"Hello."

"Ms Ruger? I've brought Beech over."

Anita's spine quivered. The voice she was listening to sounded exactly
like Sean Connery's when he was still 007. What the hell? She selected
the video display, nearly spilling the remains of the martini in her
rush.

Six foot and more, bulging out of a leather jacket at the shoulders
and arms and not a surplus inch around the trim waistline. Neatly cut
fair hair, a facial profile like an Air Force recruiting poster, and
twenty one or two at a guess. This was Toni's dog person?

"Jesus Christ!" Anita whispered.

"I'm sorry, Ms Ruger, I didn't catch that."

"Uh - yeah, right. Come on up. You know the number."

"Yes, I've got your number, Ms Ruger."

And Anita asked herself how come he'd got it? Was this some kind of
joke by Toni? Was this guy a strippergram guy and the dog only an
excuse to get in? But it was definitely Beech's portly shape dragging
its ears on the sidewalk beside him and Toni would never have turned
her beloved dog over to some guy she'd just rented from an agency.
What the hell was the deal here? Or was she getting a distorted
picture from the surveillance camera, maybe from the high angle? Maybe
this guy was really only four foot tall and had more body odor than a
dead goat?

The first question was answered as soon as she opened the door - his
body filled the doorway as if it had been designed for the job without
an inch to spare. The shoulders of the leather jacket almost brushed
the frame on either side, the tight fitting denim jeans would have
made two pairs for Anita and the top of her head didn't even reach his
Adam's apple. Anita wondered about his other Adam specific anatomy, a
passing thought rapidly overborne by a more immediate concern that
maybe it hadn't been a very smart move to let Terminator Three into
her apartment. But he was smiling gently at her with that
soap-opera-leading-man face. And when he knelt down to unfasten
Beech's lead the dog licked his hands with obvious affection. Then he
stood up again and slid off a backpack.

"I've brought along Beech's basket, some food for him and a couple of
other things. Maybe you've got somewhere I could put them down where
they'll be out of the way?"

"Yeah, sure, this way."

I wasn't wrong, he does have a brogue like Sean Connery. Where had
Toni dug this character up from and what the hell was she going to
find in Europe that was better than this?

"Tristan. Is that really your name?"

"I'm sorry, I beg your pardon, I should have introduced myself. Yes,
I'm Tristan, Tristan Yorstan. My mother got the stupid name from a TV
series."

"Well, nice to meet you, Tristan. I'm Anita. Can I ask what TV series
that was?"

"It was about some vets in Yorkshire. Tristan was one of them and my
mum decided she'd take the name without bothering about copyright."

Tristan grinned like an embarrassed kid and knelt down on the kitchen
floor to begin unpacking the back pack.

"No reflection on your mother, Tristan, but it kind of sounds to me
like that Johnny Cash number about a boy called Sue. I was expecting a
girl to come round."

He chuckled: "I guess it's one of those things. To tell the truth,
every time I look at my birth certificate I feel lucky. Tristan's
brother in the TV series was called Siegfried. Being called Siegfried
Yorstan is a heavy load to carry through life."

He opened a packet of dog biscuits and poured them into a bowl then
took another bowl from the pack. "There wouldn't be any water at all,
would there?"

"Surely." She took the bowl from his hand. "You're British, Tristan?"

"Ah, well. British by passport, Scottish by nationality and forever
and always an Orcadian."

"Orcady - is that a place in Scotland?"

Tristan smiled and patted Beech's head as the dog began gobbling up
the biscuits: "An Orcadian is someone who lives on the Orkney Islands,
Ms Ruger. Orcady is a planet occupied by green skinned monsters with
long tentacles who keep pestering George Lucas to shoot the next
episode of Star Wars in their solar system."

Anita felt the tension slipping out of her stomach as she smiled back
without reservation: "Oh dear, I've made a fool of myself. I guess
geography never was my strong point. And please call me Anita."

"OK, Anita, the next time you meet an Orcadian you'll know that the
Orkneys are a group of islands just off the northern tip of Scotland."
Tristan was still smiling.

"If it makes you feel any better, when the Falkland Islands were
invaded we had an urgent phone call from a London newspaper editor
asking us if the Argentinians had landed on the Orkneys as well. We
never did find out if he thought the Orkneys were near South America
or if he was under the impression that Galtieri was attacking
Scotland."

Anita chuckled, trying to keep from spilling the water bowl. Tristan
carefully took it from her hands and put it down on the floor. "There,
that should keep Beech happy for a while. Will it be OK if I come
around at the same time tomorrow to walk him - or would another time
suit better?"

"Oh - I guess this time of day would be fine. Would you like a cup of
coffee, Tristan?"

"I'd love one, if it's no trouble."

"No trouble at all. Go through and take a seat in the lounge."

"The kitchen might be better, my shoes are a little dirty. Can I sit
in here."

"Surely. Yorstan - I don't think I've heard that name before either."

"It's probably Norwegian. The Vikings owned the Orkneys until the
fifteenth century. I suppose they must have been very desirable
properties when the Gulf Stream was warmer than it is now. There are
monuments on the islands that were already old when the pyramids were
being built in Egypt."

Vikings! Anita had a sudden picture flash across her mind, an image of
Tristan in chain mail and a sword in his hand, blood stained and
triumphant in battle, seeking the traditional Viking booty of pillage
and rape - the cup on the saucer in her hand rattled and she stared at
it in disbelief. 

Get a grip on yourself, girl! This isn't happening and you're not
going weak at the knees just because of some Scots hobo who happens to
walk some stupid dog.

"That's interesting. So how long have you been in New York?"

"Only a month. I was working as a crewman on a ferry boat between
Stromness and the Scottish mainland but the company went broke. There
wasn't much else in the way of jobs around and I'd been talking to a
guy on the internet for a while who lived in New York. He said if I
ever wanted to come over for a holiday I could stay at his place. So
when I came to work one day and there was no job anymore I decided I'd
come over and take a look at the big apple and see what it was like. A
kind of a holiday before I went into serious job hunting mode."

Anita switched on the coffee maker and leaned forward on the kitchen
counter. "So how come you're walking Toni's dog?"

"Ah, I'd have to be explaining that when I got here it turned out to
terrible timing. The guy who'd invited me over happened to have a new
girl friend move in with him almost the very day I arrived on his
doorstep, which was not a convenient situation for anybody you'll be
understanding, with him living in such a small apartment. The girl
herself was very nice about it and asked me to stay on for a while,
but it wouldn't answer. So I had a scout around with my guide book and
managed to rent a room down in alphabet city on the Lower East Side.
But what with having to pay rent and with all the attractions here in
Manhattan I was soon running out of money and needed to find work.
Except that being only a visitor I wasn't supposed to be working. It
was a real puzzle, especially being so new in such a big place and
wandering around like a lost soul."

"Oh, I see. Sit down, sit down."

Anita could have sworn she heard the antique chair groan underneath
his weight as Tristan settled on it and leaned forward to scratch
Beech's head. The dog whined with pleasure: it occurred to Anita that
she might well do the same herself if given the same treatment.

"So what happened?"

"Well, I saw all these people walking their dogs and I remembered I'd
heard once of people who were paid to walk pets for owners who were
too busy to do it themselves. So I thought that maybe I could get a
few dollars together in that way without the immigration people being
any the wiser. I had some cards printed saying what a fine dog walker
I was. Not having a telephone number I put my Hotmail e-mail address
on them - and I bought myself a cap."

Tristan smiled and pulled out a knitted GI cap from his pocket: "Being
that this is New York, I thought that if I had something on my head I
could take it off as a sign of respect when I stepped up with a card
and that it would show people that I meant them no harm - especially
all those fine looking ladies like yourself."

I'm a career advocate, you big handsome lug, and flattery is going to
get you absolutely nowhere - except into my pants.

"So what happened when you handed out the cards?"

"Oh, I was very nervous. I tried a couple of men and they seemed not
so happy about the idea at all but the ladies were wonderful. Every
single one of them smiled at me, would you believe?"

Oh, I believe, I believe. The big dumb bastard is wandering around in
a city full of women who'd kill to get their hands on a guy like this
and he doesn't even realize he's raw meat in the jungle.

"And Toni was one of them - one of the women you gave a card?" Anita
began pouring the coffee. "How do you like it?"

"White and one sugar, please. Yes, when I checked my e-mail account at
a cyber cafe later on I couldn't believe I'd got several answers. I
thought I'd better start out with just one, to see how things went,
and it was Ms Toni's answer I followed up first."

Anita put down his coffee on the table. "And have you walked anybody
else's dog yet?"

Tristan's eyes dropped. "Er, no. Things have been a bit - well, a bit
busier than I expected."

I'll bet they have! Poor Toni, sitting in my office looking all sad
about the end of her marriage and with this hulk trotting around to
her apartment every day to screw her until her eyes pop out. And if
that's a presumption of guilt it's one I'd back with every dollar I've
ever earned since I left law school - Jesus, look at this kid, he's
practically blushing. And if Toni's been teaching him everything she
knows the poor schmuck probably should be blushing.

"So how long have you been walking Beech now?"

"Only a week."

Only a week - they've been at it each other for only a week and Toni's
had to go to Europe to recover! And she's sent her dog and her lover
round to me to have and to hold until she gets her breath back. Or
have I got the whole deal totally wrong?

"And how do you like New York, Tristan?"

"It's fascinating. I've always liked watching films and it seems that
almost everywhere I go in Manhattan I find a place I've seen on the
pictures.  And I've never seen so many cinemas in one place as there
are here." He paused, his cup suspended halfway between mouth and
saucer. "Talking about films, can I ask why you have that picture of a
witch hanging up near your door?"

"Ah, have you seen the movie that came from?"

Tristan looked at her as if it was the dumbest question he'd ever
heard: "Of course I have. So has everybody.  It's a still from 'The
Wizard of Oz'."

"That's right. It's a picture of Margaret Hamilton who played the
Wicked Witch in the movie. She used to live in this apartment."

"She lived here?" Tristan was looking around him with wide eyed
reverence. "She lived here, in this very apartment?"

"It was quite a while ago."

"Yes, but that's nothing is it? I mean that film will never be
forgotten, never. And one of the people who was in it lived right
here?" Tristan shook his head as if in disbelief. "That's New York for
you. Everywhere else you watch movies, here you seem to be in one,
more times than not."

Anita smiled at his innocent naivete. He was really just a big kid -
or at least he probably had been until Toni got her hands on him. 

"Well, if you're really into movies, you should keep your eyes open in
this neighborhood and you may see some familiar faces."

"Why, are there some movie stars still living here?"

"Not exactly, but I hear that the Gramercy Park hotel is a favorite
place for British actors and TV people stopping over in Manhattan. I
guess you won't find Sir Anthony Hopkins strolling around here but,
like I say, maybe a face or two you've seen back home. The hotel
guests are allowed to use the park. And that reminds me, I'd better
give you a key for it as well so you can take Beech in there."

"It's a locked park? Like the one in 'Notting Hill'?"

"That's right; residents only. You've seen that movie, Tristan?"

"Oh yes - I had a terrible time with watching it. I ran out of
handkerchiefs towards the end."

Anita burst out laughing, the struggled to explain why.

"I'm sorry, Tristan, but ever since you mentioned the Vikings I was
thinking of how you looked like one. And then, just now, I had this
picture in my mind of a movie theatre full of guys wearing horned hats
with big swords and axes propped up next to them, and all of them
watching a movie and wiping their eyes with handkerchiefs. I guess
maybe I'm a little crazy at times."

"No, no, I'm the odd one. I daresay American guys are too macho to
start crying inside a cinema. I'm not really a big city person, am I?"

"Whatever you are, you've certainly cheered me up. What's life like
where you're living?"

"Oh, not bad. No criminals - the Hell's Angels down at the local
chapter house keep all the undesirables away. The only pests they
don't frighten at all are the cockroaches. New York cockroaches are
the biggest, meanest, smartest insects I've ever seen. If they get any
bigger, meaner and smarter they'll be driving the cabs. Imagine that -
four claws on the steering wheel, burning stogies in two more of them
and all the others making rude signs at the other drivers. Yeah, and
one eye on a stalk looking back at you and it's saying: 'How 'bout
those Yankees, Mac?'."

Anita giggled, reached out and touched his hand: "You're as weird as I
am, Tristan."

"No, no, you're not weird. Toni told me about you - a hotshot lawyer
she says. As smart as they come. Which means that you've probably got
a whole lot of work to do and I'm keeping you from it while I'm
sitting here yarning away. I'd better slip the field and I'll come
back tomorrow night."

"OK, fine, I'll see you then, Tristan. And it's been fun talking to
you."

What's the matter with you, you mad bitch? Standing here gabbing away
like a Sunday School teacher! Grab his cock and haul him into the
bedroom before he gets away!

Every movement she made seemed awkward as she opened the door for him.
She'd dried up completely, something which hadn't happened since the
first time she'd stood up in front of a judge. 

Say something, you idiot woman, no matter how stupid.

"I'm sorry you're having so much trouble with the roaches. Maybe
putting down lot of baits would help."

"It's not worth making too much fuss about. I'm only allowed to stay
in the States for ninety days and I've used up quite a few of those
already. But I'll be checking my suitcase carefully when I go home,
just to make sure I've got no stowaways. Good night, Anita, and thank
you for the coffee."

"You're welcome."

"Oh, and there was me almost forgetting. Toni said to tell you she'd
be on the way to the airport by now but she's sent you an e-mail you
should read as soon as you can."

"OK, thanks, I'll check it out later."

He was gone and she was staring at her reflection in the hallway
mirror and wishing she hadn't been wearing her oldest pair of corduroy
slacks and a blue sweater which looked as if it belonged in a welfare
donation bin. As for that fat ass - well, maybe she should quit doing
so much riding.

God, I used to worry about looking like my mother but it's worse than
that - I'm starting to look like my high school principal. A huge
nose, those two beady eyes, this ridiculous hair parting that goes
down over my forehead at forty five degrees - I look like a bald eagle
wearing an oversize toupee!

A face crumpled up into long lines of permanent sadness peered around
the kitchen door and whined at her.

"Yeah, buddy, I know just how you feel. And you don't even have to get
up in the morning. In the meantime I think we'd better find out what
our mutual friend Toni is up to."

She went into her study, switched on the Dell and logged on. Yep,
there is was with "Walking the dog" in the subject heading:

"Anita, hi,

I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you. I'm not going to
Europe but back to Oklahoma to visit my folks. Pop's not too well at
all and I've been telling the family I'd come back for a visit as soon
as I could. Now the legal side of the divorce is all settled I guess
this has to be the time.

I would have told you this before but it would have been really hard
to explain the situation until you'd met Tristan. Now I don't know how
you've reacted to him but when he came up to me in the street  I felt
like dragging him unto the nearest doorway. But in the end I did a lot
better by getting him into my apartment as often as I could and once
I'd shown him I needed exercising as badly as Beech does he went to it
like gangbusters. We are talking serious sexual aerobics here - the
first time was on top of the freezer box and I nearly defrosted a
month's supplies of groceries on the spot. Honey, this guy is
guaranteed road tested and I'll swear that I've never found anybody
like him for laying down rubber on the old pink highway.

Now maybe this all doesn't mean squiddly dee to you, Anita. Maybe he
doesn't do anything at all for you but somehow I doubt it. Anyway, I
have problems with him. The truth is that Mom and Pop are straight out
Bible belters and they're finding it hard to cope with the idea of my
getting a divorce at all. If I came back from separating from Al the
loser La Rocca with a toy boy like Tristan in tow I'd probably get
excommunicated or something. Not to mention likely putting Pop
straight back into hospital with another heart attack.

On the other hand if I let Erik the Viking out on the street again
with those damned dog walking cards he'll surely be walking some other
bitch's bitch before Mom's finished cooking my welcome home barbecue.
And even if none of that happens the government is going to take away
my daily ration of scotch  on the rocks by kicking him out when his
non-visa waiver period expires in two months.

So, rather than lose him altogether, I figured that the best thing I
could do was to find him a good home while I'm gone - and you're it.
Pay him whatever it takes to keep him around and occupied and put it
on my bill. And I want you to do whatever you can legalwise to let him
stay in the country - and that's on my bill as well. Take it as high
up the tree as you need to. As for whatever happens between you and
him, I guess that's none of my business. But I'm getting sick to death
of hearing about your dressage riding and your Portuguese bull
fighting techniques. In my opinion, counselor, it's high time that you
got down off your high horse and did some hand to hand bull fighting
for a change. If you think I may have something, then go and check
Beech's basket and see what's taped underneath the cushion inside it -
then open the attached text file and follow the instructions inside
it.

And don't I just wish I could see your face right now,

Toni.

PS. Don't forget to e-mail me if anything interesting happens!"

"Toni!" 

Anita stared at the screen, re-reading the message over and over as
she tried to sort out her emotions. The most difficult to come to
terms with was feeling ashamed that Toni had read her reaction to
Tristan so perfectly. God, was she really such an open book? And what
was she going to do now? Apart from taking a casual look inside that
basket of course,  just to see what kind of craziness Tony had thought
up.

It wasn't such an easy thing to do though. Beech, tired out by a long
journey on short legs from the Park Avenue metro was snoring in his
basket, dreaming of chasing rabbits. Not that he'd ever actually seen
a rabbit but he was an animal of vivid imagination and generally
managed to visualize some satisfactory substitutes. Trying to prize
him out of his rest and out of his basket wasn't easy.

"Come on, you fat slob, get your butt out of there, willya?"

Beech opened an eye in a face which had gone from its usually
melancholy to an expression of infinite sadness in coming to terms
with a world run by humans who hadn't enough decency to let sleeping
dogs lie. He finally stepped out from his basket with the grief
stricken grandeur of Louis the Sixteenth descending from a tumbril
into a crowd of unwashed sans-culottes.

"It's OK, you can go straight back to bed in a minute."

Beech ignored the crass comment with all the disdain it deserved and
went to crunch a biscuit with a strictly non-wagging tail and
miserable mien. His whole attitude was that of a dog which had broken
off diplomatic relations with humankind for an indefinite period.
Directed at a softer heart it would have been a good guilt-inducing
tactic - against a lawyer's conscience it was a waste of time.

"Suit yourself, buddy. As far as I'm concerned you ain't nothing but a
hound dog, anyway."

Beech quivered but kept a straight back as Anita added injury to
insult by vandalizing his basket. Underneath the cushion was a  neatly
coiled strip of leather held in place with pieces of ducting tape. She
pulled off the pieces of tape and held up the leather coil. At first
she thought it was just a spare dog collar for Beech - and then she
realized it was much too big for that. This was a thick leather choker
as wide as her thumb, embedded with silver pyramid studs and with a
big silver restraining ring double studded to the front of it.

"Toni! What the hell are you doing to me?" 

Anita put down the choker but kept glancing at it as she put the
cushion back inside the basket. "OK, mutt, it's all yours again. No
wonder you always look so pissed - that mistress of yours is an evil,
evil woman. And her ears are even bigger than yours."

The dog sniffed in disdain, walked back to the basket and began making
a big performance out of re-settling himself into a comfortable
position.

"Go ahead, have a good night's sleep. It's probably more than I'm
going to get."

Back to the computer, back to the e-mail attachment: "Layme.txt" Very
funny, Toni. She clicked on it . . . 

'OK, Anita, it looks like we have an interesting situation here.

Now I need to tell you that I've talked to Tristan a lot about you. He
wants to stay in the US for a while longer and he knows a lawyer like
you could be a real help to him. What he doesn't want to do is have a
lawyer filing a complaint of sexual harassment against him. So he
asked me to try and find a way where there'd be no misunderstandings.
Now I'm writing this without knowing what happened when you met and if
there was any chemistry between you - but I don't think you'd have
opened this file if you weren't getting some hots for Tristan Yorstan
(hell of a name, isn't it? Sounds like the Swedish Chef on Sesame
Street.)

Still, if you're not interested, put the choker in a drawer and forget
about it until I come back and collect it. You can have Tristan walk
Beech, clean your apartment, your car, maybe even squire you around to
anyplace you want to go. I'll pay the wages and he won't lay a finger
on you. That's the deal and I guess I'd trust the big lug. I don't
think he's ever been short of feminine company in his life and he's
not likely to be having a frustrating time in Manhatten.

On the other hand, if you want to be swept off your feet, just open
the door to him with the choker around your neck. He'll put that leash
onto it, haul you into the bedroom and . . . . well, I guess you get
the idea. It's a little game Tristan and I play and Beech gets as mad
as hell when I get taken for walkies before he does. Anyway, between
us, we've sure been keeping that guy fit.

Now you know how to bring the genie out of the bottle yourself but
forget about any kind of three wishes routine. I've told Tristan and
now I'm telling you, counselor, as long as that choker is on you'll be
doing what he wants and any objections will be over-ruled. That's the
way we play it and that's the way you're going to have to play it if
you want to join in. You're either going to be a totally unsullied
fille d'honneur or a totally screwed every which way but loose fille
de joie. These are big girl's games and them's the rules.

I guess the only other thing you need to know is that playing the
dutiful daughter in Oklahoma is probably going to be as much fun as a
vacation spent cleaning the crap houses in a Mexican nunnery. I'm
going with gritted teeth and the intention of spending at least two
weeks with the family but don't count on it. I could be back very much
sooner and if you're still humming and hawing you'll have lost your
chance. To tell you the truth, hon, if there's no other way to keep
Tristan I'll move my entire goddam business to Scotland and run it
through the internet. And won't I love breaking that news to the
bridges and tunnels set who keep turning up late for work with hard
luck stories about how far they live from Manhattan. 

So there it is - Tristan needs a lawyer and I think you're a lawyer
who needs Tristan. He's yours on a strictly loan arrangement because
you're the only woman in town I'd even halfway trust with him and
because - to be honest - I've got no other choice. I'll also be honest
enough to admit that I'd love to know what happens between the two of
you. 

OK, Anita, he's all yours.

Toni.

PPS. I'm backtracking a hundred bucks off my accumulated bill for
every act of gross indecency you commit with my dog person. I've told
Tristan to carve the notches on your bed head so there'll be no
accounting arguments. Chou!

After carefully reading and digesting the file Anita came to three
conclusions.

The first was that Toni had gotten it real bad.

The second was that Toni had watched far too many episodes of
<i>'Ally McBeal'.</i>

The third conclusion was that Toni had put her lawyer between a rock
and a hard place and all the lawyer seemed able to think about was
what she needed to do to make that place hard.

Being a calm and rational person Anita mixed herself a fresh drink,
drank it slowly and then retired to her bedroom for some well earned
rest which wouldn't be disturbed by any further stupid thoughts about
Tristam Yorstan.

At one o'clock in the morning she got up and switched on her computer
again. There seemed to be very little on the net about the Orkneys
except advertisements for hand knitted sweaters guaranteed to keep out
Atlantic gales. Anita turned her attention towards the web pages of
various New York lingerie stores and spent a lot of time looking at
items of clothing absolutely guaranteed not to keep out marauding
Vikings.

The following day Anita was happy for once not to have to appear in a
courtroom. The necessary concentration simply wasn't there. The only
thing which her mind seemed determined to fasten on was whether to
check out the item of virtual non-apparel which had caught her fancy
in the small hours of the morning. Assuming, of course, that she was
really going to do what Toni had suggested and turn on an act for a
man - a boy - on her own doorstep. 

Simple, really. A classic case of plea-bargaining. I'm wearing this
piece of nonsense and behaving like a tramp because I'm lonely and
unloved and my friends think it's time I was put out to stud for a
while. So which would you rather do, walk the dog or lay the bitch?
Either way, you get paid.

That was one way of looking at it. The other way was that she hadn't
had a man in her bed for months and it had been years since she'd
since a man who'd made her go weak at the knees just by looking at
him. If Toni thought she was so frightened of being human maybe she
should show her how wrong she was - to hell with being an ice-maiden.
Anita Ruger was a long way down the track from being a maiden, her
blood ran as hotly as anybody else's and who cared who knew it?

In the end she locked her office remarkably early in the afternoon and
went off in grimly determined mood to the nearest Stage Door shop. A
mood of determination tempered by the legalistic determination that
she still wasn't making any real commitment, only window shopping.

It was window shopping which ended in the production of a credit card
though, and a subsequent ride home accompanied by a ribbon wrapped
parcel and enough butterflies in her stomach to pollinate a country
garden. 

The first thing she did when she got home to Gramercy Park was to
check the time. It was also the second, third and fourth thing she
did. Anita decided she needed to take a grip on herself and bypassed
her usual martini for a shot of Smirnoff, the best butterfly killing
liquid ever invented. She sat and looked at the parcel whilst
terminating a few million of her brain cells with extreme prejudice.
Beech wandered over, feeling a vague sense of duty to welcome her home
and willing to negotiate some kind of rapprochement with his temporary
mistress.

It was a cautious approach though. Genetically fashioned to keep both
ears on the ground he was well aware of the air of tension she'd
brought with her. But she scratched his forehead and he responded
dutifully, if not with the outright joy similar treatment from Tristan
had evoked.

"It's easy for you dogs. You can just come right out and say what you
want and nobody gives a hoot. Human beings are different though -
we're not supposed to sit up and beg because we've got something
called pride. The problem is that the more pride we have the more we
usually need what we can't ask for. Does that make a lot of sense to
you?"

Beech broke wind: a deep rumble that died away into a strange sounding
whistle. Anita looked at him with dawning respect and a flapping hand.

"You're right, Beech, you're right. I never understood that
philosophical point before - maybe I should have got a dog myself. Or
maybe I should drink vodka more often."

Her fingers flicked playfully at one of his outsized earlobes.
"Whaddya say, boy, shall we both sit up and beg for a bone?"

Beech grunted with seeming approval.

"Well, OK, but I have to tell you that this isn't going to come easy.
When I was a student I could get all the guys I wanted just by going
to the beach at Coney Island. Now I have to go to the goddamned Orkney
islands for sex."

She re-filled her glass and took it into the bathroom. By the time it
was dry she was as well, having showered, powdered,  and perfumed a
body which now contained an unusually high alcohol content in its
blood stream. A blood stream which was beginning to pound against her
ears like Niagra Falls.

Anita looked dubiously at her naked reflection in the full length
mirror. "If I'm a lot younger than Goldie Hawn, how come I don't look
as good as she does?"

It was no use worrying about that, nor about the extra pounds which
had somehow crept through her defenses and hunkered down around her
hips. At least she was still a long way from living in a total ruin of
a body.

"So why don't I put on a glamorous dress and let Tristan take me to a
restaurant and just see what happens from there?"

Because . . . because I'm not interested any of that stale old
routine. Because when he walked through my door the first time I took
one look at him and wanted him to grab me. Maybe it's because there's
something about him that stirs my German genes - maybe a Norseman
looking just like him screwed one of my Rhine Maiden ancestors. Toni
says that if I'm wearing that chocker he'll just grab me - OK, let's
see if he's as good as he looks and to hell with all the usual
courtship rituals.

Answering her own question made Anita shiver. She went into the
bedroom and opened the parcel, carefully lifted out the garment inside
and  slipped it on over her head. Then she returned to the mirror.

It looked good - really good, she thought. The Stage Door web page had
described it as a stretch cotton/spandex split side mini-dress. The
sort of little black number that any lady lawyer would wear to an
fashion conscious orgy - sexy without being vulgar. A haltered top, a
low cut bodice, a hemline that stopped three quarters of the way up
her thighs and splits on both sides of the skirt which went up to her
waist. With nothing worn underneath it she was ready for anything that
came her way.

Hey, lady, are you putting out the welcome mat or what?

If this didn't bring Tristan into the breech ready to strut and rut
then nothing would - not unless she coated herself in porridge. She
giggled and twirled around on her toes.

"Yo, Beech, whaddya think?"

Beech did not strain like a greyhound at the slip. He looked at her,
yawned and lowered his head onto his crossed front legs.

"Alright, that's it, buddy. Tomorrow I'm going to bring home the
biggest stapler in the office and I'm going to clip those big lugs of
yours together over your head. See how you like that."

Anita poured another shot of Smirnoff, a generous one, and then went
into her bedroom, opened a drawer and took out the choker. She seemed
to have grown an extra set of fingers on each hand because there was
no way she could clip it together behind her neck. Her brain was all
skewed as well since it seemed to take forever before she realized it
was a lot easier to secure the clips in front and then rotate the
choker around her throat.

Back to the mirror and looking at her slightly swaying image again.
"Please, God, let anything happen as long as he doesn't start
laughing."

Do I put on a robe to open the door in? Or just like this? Kiss him or
stand back and smile? Make the first move or let him start, like Toni
said?

Ten minutes to seven and all those dead butterflies in the pit of her
stomach were dissolving in a pool of vodka mixed with  battery acid.
She moved around uncertainly, picking things up and putting them down
again. Then she took down Beech's leash and attached it to the choker
ring. The dog immediately bounced up at the sight of the leash and
began whining with eagerness in anticipation of its daily exercise.

"Shut up." 

At the same time the door buzzer sounded. The video screen was filled
with Tristan's hulking shape in a three quarter length yellow oilskin.
Trickles of water were visible as he pulled the hood back to show his
ruggedly handsome face. Streetlights near the doorway were reflected
in the wet sheen of the sidewalk. At least she could claim she'd
decided to let him screw her because it was too wet to take Beech
outside - even if was the weakest attempt at justification she'd ever
heard in her life.

"Good evening, Anita."

Her mouth suddenly seemed to be full of dust and grit: "Come on up,
Tristan."

Play it cool - put the leash on the dog.

She did that, and it wasn't a smart move. Beech was more than ready to
go out to sniff the roses and everything else as well. His paws
clattered on the polished wooden flooring as he finally did get down
to some serious straining on his leash. Instead of standing there
waiting cool and collected, the woman of mystery and intrigue, Anita
was becoming involved in a full scale tug of war with a small but
surprisingly strong body.

"Calm down. Steady, steady, Beech, steady. Oh hell!"

The door bell sounded, she pushed Beech to one side with her leg,
opened the door, Beech went through the gap like a torpedo fired out
of a submarine and dragged her behind him, her hand caught in the
leash's strap. Hitting Tristan was like hitting a brick wall, she went
sideways, her legs stumbled over Beech and she was falling, then
caught by an arm which caught and held her body upright without the
slightest effort.

"Beech, sit!"

The dog instantly complied to the deep male voice. Tristan set Anita
straight on her feet, then looked her up and down. 

"God, but this is a wonderful country. "

He put his hand in his pocket, pulled out another leash and snapped it
onto the choker ring. Anita yelped and tried to get back inside her
apartment, only to find that Tristan was still holding her in place.

"For God's sake, somebody might come along the corridor at any minute.
Let's go inside."

"No, I've a better idea. Let's all go for a walk in the park. Beech
needs it."

"To hell with Beech, you big fool! I can't go anywhere dressed like
this!"

"Which is a terrible shame because you look drop dead gorgeous. But
I've a great desire to get some wet grass underneath my feet while
I've the chance, so I want to take a walk in the park, right now."

Anita cast fearful looks, left and right. "Let me get inside, please,
Tristan."

"I'll do a deal with you. Hand me those keys to your apartment you
leave hanging up by the door and I'll give you this rain coat to put
on. Then we can all be on our way."

Anita was so desperate to cover herself up she did as he wanted,
moving back inside the doorway with Tristan following her step for
step, but still holding onto the leash. Beech whined in disappointment
at what seemed like another delayed walk but remained sitting outside
the still open door. Tristan took the keys from Anita's hand and
jerked her back out into the passageway, then kicked the door firmly
closed.

Beech yelped in joy and Anita in dismay. Tristan chuckled and
unsnapped the leash from her choker, wrapped it around his fingers and
stowed it back into one of the oilskin's pockets.

"Don't be worrying, woman, here's my side of the bargain."

His huge hands snapped open the restraining studs down the front of
the glistening oilskin. He pulled it off, revealing an old black and
yellow patterned track suit underneath, then held the raincoat up for
Anita. It was clammy but warm and most importantly it covered her up
decently. In fact it covered her up so much she felt like a little
girl dressing up in her mother's clothes. The hem of the oilskin was
hanging around her ankles and when he pulled the hood over her head it
was like hiding in a subway tunnel.

"Aye, that'll keep the rain off you. Now we can go into the park."

"I sure did a good job of turning you on, didn't I?" Anita sniffled.
"One look and you'd rather go for a walk."

"Anita, I took one look at you and wanted you on the spot. But I'm
getting bored with making out with clinically clean women in high
rise, high tech, high life apartments. You were telling me, were you
not, that the park over yonder is locked and only residents can get
inside? As it not as dark as the inside of cow's gut out there, with
the wind blowing and the rain pissing down? Nobody is going to be in
there on a night like tonight. Can we not walk on the wet grass awhile
and get to know each other with a little hugging to keep warm?"

Her voice came out of the folds of the hood in another wail of
protest: "But I've got no shoes on!"

"Then it's me that'll carry you across the road to the park. Come on."

He took her hand in his and again she felt like a small girl as she
was pulled along by a strength totally beyond her own. Tristan went
down the stairs instead of using the elevator, moving at a speed which
had Anita stumbling. At the first landing he stopped and looked back
to see Beech eagerly trying to keep up but delayed by his short legs
and big stomach in getting over the ledges, his leash dragging along
behind him. Tristam laughed, put his hands underneath Anita's arms,
lifted her off her feet and pressed her back to the wall.

"Tristan!"

"I've been wanting to this ever since I met you, gorgeous."

His face was in underneath the hood, close against her own, his breath
was mingling with hers, his lips were against hers, his tongue was
between her teeth, and both tongues were pressing and licking against
each other. Anita snorted through her nose like a steam locomotive
beginning to move out of a station and her fingers slipped up and down
the steel muscles of his arms. Then the rough kiss was suddenly broken
off and she was lowered back onto her shaking legs. 

"We've got to keep up with Beech," Tristam said. "If we're quick we
can overtake him before the next landing and grab another quickie. How
about it?"

"How many landings are there all the way down?"

"Let's find out."

They did, but nobody was counting. Anita alternated between mad bouts
of scrambling down the steps with equally insane periods of her feet
treading air and intensely enjoyable french kissing.

This is crazy - this is over the edge. They've probably got
surveillance cameras in here, the co-op board is going to be  asking
who are these crazy people we got living here? We have a fire, we've
got to fight our way out past giant men and dwarves in oilskins making
love to each other all over the building? In an apartment they want to
put on rubber clothes OK, but on the steps and frightening the dog?
And you're telling us this is behavior from a lawyer who never yet
melted butter in her mouth?

She couldn't stop laughing, not even when she was out on the sidewalk
with rain drops tapping against the hood and wind gusts cold around
her bare ankles. Tristan had Beech's leash in his hand and transferred
it to hers. 

"Here, hold this."

She was off her feet again, cradled in his arms like a cord of wood,
the rain was blowing in through the front of the hood, making her eyes
blink, and she stared into the face of an old man underneath a raised
umbrella, his jaw opened in astonishment as Tristam stepped past him,
Anita held high, the leash tugging at her wrist as Beech raced ahead.
Then they were in the dark, out over the road away from the street
lights and the tree branches were rustling overhead like an angry
crowd as Tristan trotted towards the park gate. When he reached them
he put her down.

"Ooops-a-daisy."

Anita giggled: "You said 'oops-a-daisy'".

"No I didn't. An effete Englishman might say that but an Orcadian
would say something like 'Fur Fria Und Odon'. It's a tribal custom
whenever we're getting ready to sacrifice a virgin."

"I'm not a virgin, Tristan."

"Then I won't have to explain anything that's going on, will I?"

He unlocked the gate, pushed it open. The sidewalk was cold underneath
her bare feet. Anita stared into the dripping and forbidding interior
of the dark park.

"We'll freeze to death in there."

"No we won't. And when we get back I'll give you a nice hot bath and a
good rub down afterwards that'll get your circulation going nicely -
especially to your nipples."

Anita felt her face turning hot underneath the hood at the prospect.
Tristan pushed her past the gate. It was like being put into the
starting stall for a race, she thought. Her soles stepped on to a
gravel pathway and she gasped with pain, moving sideways to walk on
the grass instead.

The gate closed with a creak and a squeak as Tristam relocked it.
"Scram, Beech."

The dog bounded off into the park, apparently quite untroubled by the
darkness or the spluttering rain. The trees and bushes were still
banging angrily against each other, their movement traced around the
perimeter of the park by the flickering appearance and disappearance
of street lights behind swaying branches. Tristam walked over to a
bench playing hide and seek in the moving shadows, then sat down on
it. He unfastened his velcro secured running shoes, pulled them off,
then his socks. He carried the socks and shoes in one hand and reached
out with the other to take Anita's hand. Together they padded across
the saturated turf.

"You're mad, Tristan, you know that, don't you?"

"What, because I want to feel some real earth underneath my feet
instead of concrete all the time?"

"We could have been in bed by now and afterwards you could have left
me there while you walked around out here all night until your feet
turned green for all I care. I'm a not a nature lover."

"Ah, but are you a lover? Toni said that it was her considered opinion
that you were a fine woman but you needed some of that legal starch
taken out of you. So this seems like a good place to do it."

"What are you talking about?"

Tristan turned towards a group of trees off to one side of the park. A
few shifting rays of light from East 20th street fell onto another
park bench standing in the grass. Tristan steered her towards the
bench. 

"Sit down and relax."

Underneath the enveloping hood Anita had difficulty in even doing such
a simple thing as sitting down. Tristam held her hands as he guided
her awkward movements onto the bench. He knelt down on both knees in
front of her and unsnapped the two bottom studs on the oilskin, then
drew it aside so her legs were uncovered to the top of her thighs.
Drops of rain pecked at the quivering bare skin.

"Tristan! There are buildings all around here. Somebody might be
looking down!"

He jerked open another stud: "You'd better keep covered up like little
yellow riding hood then, hadn't you?"

Tristan opened the oilskin further yet and trickles of cold water ran
down the front of it, falling onto her exposed bush and inner thighs
like icy fingers.

"Tristan!"

He leaned forward, pressing his scratchy cheeks between the smoothness
of Anita's thighs, forcing them apart, pressing her back against the
bench.

"Tristan!"

His lips, his tongue were up against her and he was lifting her legs
up, resting the backs of her knees on his shoulders, the warmth of his
body coming through the damp material of the track suit. 

"Tristan - oh, Tristan."

His face was underneath the folds of the mini dress, blackness in
blackness, with only his blonde hair to be seen, first ruffled by the
wind alone, and then by Anita's fingers as he tongued her clitoris
with clinical precision and single minded perseverance.

"Oh, that's good. Oh, that's soooo good!"

Even if he couldn't hear the low voiced words of encouragement from
underneath the hood the fingertips urgently massaging his scalp
conveyed their own message. Anita writhed around on the wet wooden
slats of the park bench, completely past caring about her surroundings
as her body sparked with long repressed needs.

"Oh, I want to be fucked by you, just you, just you, you big fucking
monster," she crooned in delight, her eyes squeezed shut in delight as
every nerve inside her seemed to be tingling with pleasure.

A cold nose touched the outside of her right leg, ruing her pleasure:
"Go away, Beech, go away!"

Beech barked.

"Fuck off, Beech."

Beech barked again.

Anita opened her eyes, then tried to make some sense out of seeing a
big white dog which looked like a ghost in the faint light. Only it
wasn't a ghost and the white outline had dark spots on it. A
dalmation! Oh God, somebody else was walking their dog in the park!

"Vikki, Vikki?"

A voice, a man's voice - and a pool of light from a flashlight
appearing like a small fallen moon on the grass, a moon drifting
towards the bench, swinging in search of the dalmation! Anita beat
with her fists on top of Tristan's head, clenched her legs against his
head, released them and clenched again. It was useless, he just
thought it was the effect he was having on her. 

The dog barked again, as if wanting to share the discovery with her
master. Anita drummed her heels against Tristan's back, then drew her
head as far back into the hood as she could and lowered her face. The
flashlight swung onto the bench and suddenly stopped moving.

It was a tableau which seemed to last for ever. Behind her closed eyes
Anita had visions of a thousand heads suddenly appearing from a
thousand windows to gape down at the sexual scene which had suddenly
been revealed below, and each head calling on other heads to come and
look at the lewd lawyer letting herself be lasciviously licked on
their private lawns. She felt Tristam's head move from between her
thighs and the fall of blessed darkness again as the flashlight was
switched off.

The same voice which had called the dog was speaking to them, falling
and rising in tone as the wind flung the words. "I'm sorry - I didn't
know anybody was here - I was looking for my dog."

Tristan answered, in that Sean Connery voice, accentuated into upper
class English english: "Quite alright, old boy, you can play through
on this green. I'm afraid the lady was too impatient to wait until we
got home."

"Yeah - right." There was an uncertain  pause. "Vikki, Vikki. Come
along - sorry, folks."

The dalmation finally lost interest in whatever these humans were
doing and disappeared into the darkness. Tristan turned back towards
Anita and carried on his task where he had left off, ignoring her
scandalized protests until she fell into in irrepressible fit of
giggles at the same time as she was being stimulated towards an
uncontrollable climax. It was a combination of physiological events
which hadn't happened to Anita in a long, long time. But before she'd
found a way of coming to terms with both sensations she was distracted
by Tristan standing up.

He pulled the waistband of the track suit pants down, revealing a
curved shape vaguely seen in the darkness, more like structural member
than anything human. Anita cupped it between her palms, discovering a
heat and a throbbing activity within it that belonged to a male
animal. Then her fingers traced its dimensions.

My God, it's larger than anything I've ever seen on anything except a
stallion!

"There you are, lassie, one slice of prime island haggis. A special
treat for a girl who wants to taste the finer things in life."

She tweaked the foreskin and Tristan moved towards the bench, his
hands on the back of the hood drawing it forward and closer to him,
her head moving closer as well.

"It needs to be kept out of this cold wind or it might go down. If I
put it inside the hood, will you help me keep it interested?"

"Yes, OK."

Anita steered the uptilted head of the cock into the hood, bending
forward with her lips open to meet it at the entrance. A mouthful of
hot, incredibly smooth skin, into and over the dip behind it, and as
much of the thrusting shaft behind the head as she could take at first
swallow. Her nose was brushing against his tightly curled hairs and
the man smell flared into her nostrils, exciting her even more.
Tristan's hands behind her head gently pressed in encouragement as she
vigorously massaged him with her lips and tongue.

I used to be damned good at this once. Never thought I'd ever end up
as an old maid with so much time between blow jobs. Jees, I love doing
this with the right sort of guy though. I wonder if that character
with the flashlight is still around. Fuck him anyway, and fuck
everybody else. I just hope Scottie here is getting the message that
I'm ready to be beamed up.

The big man was groaning with pleasure as his rampant prick twitched
and pushed itself further and further underneath the hood until Anita
was snorting with despair at dealing with any more.

"OK, Anita, that'll do for a minute."

He pulled back, put a hand into the top pocket of the track suit, took
something out and tore at it with his teeth. A small shiny square of
silvery paper blew away in the wind as Tristan discarded it and put
his hands down on his cock, obviously rolling on a condom.

"Here, see if you can finish this job for me."

"Sure."

Anita leaned forward and used her lips to roll the rubber down as far
as she could along the shaft, and then her fingers to finish
stretching the sheath as far as it would go.

If this was a fish I'd hang it up on a hook as a trophy and photograph
it. Remember when the High School did some Shakespeare play and all
the girls kept breaking up when there was a line about a lusty horn is
not a thing to laugh to scorn? Hell, how right that's turned out to
be.

Then Anita yelped and moved her head back on panic as she felt rough
hair brushing against her leg. That fucking dalmation again!

"Relax," Tristan said calmly. "It's only Beech."

He was right, it was Beech, a far more energetic Beech than she'd ever
seen before, bouncing around Tristan's legs and apparently fascinated
by what was happening.

"Now, Anita, would you have a nice warm place where I could be putting
this away and out of the rain?"

"Now? Here?"

"Sure, and isn't exercise in the fresh air supposed to be so healthy
and all?"

He put his hands on hers and hauled Anita to her feet, then turned her
around to face the bench. "OK, just kneel down and lean forward over
the backrest. I want your arse nice and high in the air."

"Oh, God."

The hand on her back pushed her forward insistently until her legs
were rubbing against the bench. Still the pressure from behind didn't
relent. She pulled the flaps of the oilskin clear of her legs and
knelt down on the seat, bent her upper body over the back of the
bench, stretching her arms out to grasp the bottom slats as Tristan's
hands lifted her bottom up into the position he wanted her. Next, he
lifted up both sides of the oilskin, higher and higher and Anita
squeaked as the cold wind blew across her exposed buttocks, leaving
them shivering and rain moistened.

I sure as hell bet nobody has ever dared do this to Judge Judy.

Then Anita squeaked as something even colder than the wind and the
rain nuzzled up between her legs. A cold wet nose sniffing around her
cunt.

"Beech, sit. He's just trying to make friends, that's all. Like me, I
guess. See if this makes you feel better."

She tried to look behind her, a useless effort with the oilskin piled
on top of her like a fallen tent. Then she felt something else moving
between the top of her legs, something hot instead of cold, something
rubbery smooth that rose up and into her outer lips and rubbed against
them with an insistence nothing could deny. Anita moaned and squirmed
in anticipation, then pressed back and managed to get herself around
the head of the cock, her muscles eagerly gripping it. Tristan laughed
and rewarded her with another inch or so.

"All the way, Tristan! All the way!" she whispered.

Whether or not he heard her he gave her a full stroke of the absolute
fulfillment her body was craving for, his hips slapping against her
ass like hands clapping. Anita yelped in her own round of applause and
clung to the bench as more strokes filled her up like waves of molten
lava.

"Hey, look. I can see the moon coming out from behind the clouds. Just
for a second. It's the moon and New York city, Anita."

"Never mind the romance, just keep on fucking me!"

"You city girls, you're even tougher than the cockroaches. OK, here we
go, loop-de-loop."

Tristan's movements quickened up from a walk to a trot to a gallop,
his fingers digging into the front and tops of her legs as he moved
her backwards and forwards in time with her thrusts. Anita shouted out
in joy and then went into a spasm of absolute pleasure, almost weeping
with the relief, her head falling forward as the erection inside her
seemed to get ever bigger and longer.

Toni, Toni, you're not getting this back, not if I have to fight you
tooth and nail to keep him.

A shape close to the ground and whining with pleasure approached, then
reared up and licked her face.

"No, Beech, no, damn you," she whimpered, turning her face from one
side to another.

The dog hesitated, she gasped with satisfaction as her cunt went into
melt down mode once again and Beech took it as a sign she wanted to be
licked again.

"Fuck off, Beech - again, Tristan, again. More - not you, you fucking
animal, Oh God, I'm going mad!"

If Toni ever gets to hear that I let her dog boy fuck me doggy style
on top of a bench in a park I'll never hear the last of it - not
unless she goes to the Scottish islands like she says she will.
Imagine going to a place like that just to get laid like this every
night - yeah, imagine that. . .

Anita let go of the bench and slapped at Beech: "Sit! Sit!" 

Then she screeched as Tristan's cock reached critical mass and she
imploded around it into a dissolving mass of jelly only held up by the
rigidity of the rod hammering into her as if he was a human pile
driver. Her pleasure ululated through her lips and across the park
like an Arab soldier's war cry as Tristan gave a deep chested sigh of
ejaculatory satisfaction. 

A woman was a woman was a woman but a classy woman was an act worth
following. A lawyer, a top courtroom lawyer, for God's sake. Back home
Anita would be a barrister with a wig and a gown, maybe even a QC, a
Queen's Counselor. Imagine the chances of screwing a sexy looking QC
in a London park! It was about as likely as getting to play for
Manchester United. How the hell could a man want to leave a marvelous
madhouse like New York and go back to boring sanity?

Tristan looked down at the excellently contoured bottom still
quivering at the end of his cock and gave the right buttock a friendly
slap. His newly found and well learned legal friend giggled in her
throat.

Unknown to both of them, they were part of a joined experience. A
dozen paces away a man standing behind a bush and beside a tethered
dalmation had been masturbating himself into his handkerchief as he
listened to the sounds of the love making. When Anita and Tristan had
finished, so had he. He dropped the handkerchief, untied his dog and
quietly walked away until he'd gone far enough to feel safe in
talking.

"Vicki,  I'm going to call the manager of that goddamned hotel right
now. He shouldn't be letting those dirty Britishers of his roam around
in a park that's used by decent people."

Anita was curled up on top of the bench, her head in Tristan's lap,
her body underneath the covering oilskin in a post coital glow that
was like an unexpected re-run of a long gone but fondly remembered TV
series.

"So I'm supposed to find a way of keeping you in the States, am I?"

"Oh, that's easily fixed. Just marry me."

Anita nearly fell off the bench, then realized he must be joking.
"With the difference in our ages it would make more sense to adopt
you."

"Whatever - as long as we're together. Why don't you let me move in
with you for the rest of my ninety days on a no obligation try out and
then I'll ask you again."

"Why would you want to marry an old hag like me?"

"For money. It's always been an overwhelming argument with my ethnic
culture.  No Scotsman has ever willingly divorced himself from a
regular supply of cash."

Anita moved her head and looked up at him quizzically: "And what would
you do with yourself if you could stay here - keep on walking dogs for
obliging ladies?"

"No, no, I've a mind to get myself a leg up in the world. Twenty two
legs if possible."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I've got qualifications from the Scottish Football Association as a
coach and soccer seems to be catching on amongst women in the US as a
sport. There's probably a ladies' soccer team somewhere in New York
City  looking for a fine upstanding coach to give them a hand."

Anita snorted with laughter: "Yes, and I can guess where they'd get
the handling. And where would your wife be playing on the team?"

"You could be the goal keeper. You get to stop everything that the
rest of the girls let through."

"Ha, what a great offer!"

"Eleven normal girls wouldn't tire me out as much as Toni would.
There's a lady who's really eager to share out her beaver. And
morally, she has first call on my services."

Anita's heart sank: "Yes, I guess she'd marry you even if you were
having an affair with an entire soccer team on the side. So you'll be
going back to her, I suppose, once she comes home?"

"I suppose I could, but I don't want to. I want to stay with you.
You've got a fine sense of humor, Anita, and I think we've got things
in common."

"Such as?" 

Anita drew her legs up underneath the oilskin, away from the still
falling raindrops,  happily feeling like a little girl again in a
contented and well protected world.

"For a start, to tell you the absolute truth, I don't like dogs much
myself. I was only walking them to make a few dollars."

Anita giggled, then fell silent: "Toni though - she'll be as mad as a
cut snake if you stick with me. It's bad with her being a client and
all. She could make some nasty scenes."

"Maybe we can avoid them. You remember how I told you about how there
was a Tristan and a Siegfried in that TV series, and how I said that
being called Siegfried Yorstan was a heavy load to carry through
life?"

"Yes."

"Well, my mum didn't pick one of the names, she picked both of them,
and I was the twin lucky enough to get Tristan."

"What?"

"Yeah, Siegried is my twin brother. Nobody can tell us apart - and
he's not engaged or anything yet. I can have him over here in a couple
of days if somebody would lend us the airfare."

"You're identical?"

"Like two peas in a pod, to coin a phrase. If I were to tell him all I
know about Toni he could go off with her."

Anita sat up, clutching the edges of the oilskin underneath her chin.
"Wait a minute, you want me to tell Toni I've got a substitute for you
she can have?"

"Ah well, maybe it would be more interesting to let Siegfried answer
to the name of Tristan for a while and then to see how long it takes
Toni to spot there's been a switch; by the time she does find out
she'll also have found out that Siegfried can do everything for her
that I can. And if I can get a job as a coach with a woman's soccer
team I suppose Siegfried can job-share with me - we just won't tell
the girls they've got two coaches instead of one. That way we can have
twice the fun."

"And what about me - how would I know whether I was getting Tristan or
Siegfried?"

"I guess you'll just have to keep putting love bites on me in places
where only you know where to look for them. Let's go home and I'll
give you a bath and a massage and then you can get started."

"Can I? Well, yes, I guess I could do that until I can get myself a
branding iron."

Together they walked hand in hand across the grass, often stopping to
break into laughter. Beech followed on approvingly - he couldn't
remember when he'd last seen a pair of humans enjoy a walk so much. A
pity they were usually such a miserable looking species.

THE END

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