index


Message-ID: <39229asstr$1036915802@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimsonp@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} (Song Fest) California Dreaming {Crimson Dragon} (MF, FF, rom, winter)
Date: Sun, 10 Nov 2002 03:10:02 -0500
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

Author's supplementary note:

It won't take much imagination to recognise where the inspiration
for this story came from.

- Crimson
10-Nov-2002

---

As some of you are aware, I often take my inspiration from music. It
shouldn't be hard to tell where this piece came from, but I ought to
apologise to the Mamas and the Papas for using their wonderful words
and images as they probably never intended.

As usual, this story contains sexual references that may even involve
members of the same sex (horrors!), or worse ... actually care about
one another. If this is going to bother you, please don't read the
story. You won't offend me.

If you haven't reached that age at which your locality deems you adult
enough to read adult material, then please don't read this story
either. I'm under no illusions here, but at least I warned you.
Chances are you won't like this story anyway.

This story was pre-read by Munk. She deserves credit for her
invaluable work in this regard but mostly for enduring my quirks.

It takes courage to rattle the bars that enclose the savage beast. It
also takes courage and self-restraint to avoid biting the hand that
does the rattling. If the one rattling your cage goes by the name of
Janey, listen to her and find that self-restraint. That's my advice
for the day.

I want to thank Janey and Mike Ink for doing an excellent job of
proof-reading this story. You two are the greatest; but, if there are
errors contained herein, they are mine and mine alone.

This story is copyrighted by the author. It is intended for the
enjoyment of individuals and may not be archived beyond a personal
electronic copy, nor may it be reposted with the exceptions of the
following conditions. Special permission is granted for distribution
through Usenet groups alt.sex.stories and alt.sex.stories.moderated.
Further, it may be archived through the DejaNews service and the
alt.sex.stories.moderated archives, which are both free services. This
work may not be distributed in any other manner without specific
permission from the author. If you wish to feature it on a free
website, please contact the author.

Comments are welcome at dcrimson@yahoo.com

My previous musings, for those interested, are available completely
free at:

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Crimson_Dragon/www

http://members.tripod.com/files/Authors/Dr/wwwagon_Of_Crimson

- Crimson


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

California Dreaming [MF, FF, rom, winter]

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

(c) September 1998 - By Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

All rights reserved

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

Opal pushed the glass door with her gloved hand, knowing that the
surface beneath her leather encased fingers would be as cold as it was
dreary outside. She gathered her winter coat tightly in her other hand
as a blast of icy, damp air kissed her face. She shivered and stepped
over the slight rise beneath the door. Her booted foot crunched loudly
against the pebbled ice that hadn't yet been cleared from last night's
light snowfall.

She exhaled tiny ice crystals into the frigid air as she caught her
breath in the sudden cold. The small cloud hung motionless in the
morning air, her heat escaping like steam between her pursed lips. She
reached to touch the silvery vapour, but the cloud dissolved into a
million fragments as her fingers drew close.

She clutched her coat tighter around herself and stepped out onto the
sidewalk. Early morning pedestrians flowed around her like a lazy
river around an island. Church Street was never empty, not even at
7AM, but she barely noticed the early bustle. The shapeless people
moved around her, as oblivious of her as she of them. Opal glanced up,
a tear gently coursing down her cheek. Her window was three floors up,
the low overcast partially obscuring it. She wasn't certain if the
darker shape silhouetted in her window was the curtains or a person.
The blurred shape that might have been a person waved to her. Opal
raised her gloved fingers one at a time in a shy wave.

"Good-bye," Opal whispered to herself. She turned and joined the
river, an island disappearing slowly into the flow. The first flakes
of snow began to drift gently from the overcast to catch in her dark
hair, like salt on a feather.

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

The Devonsleigh House sat impassively just north of the city, waiting
silently for its myriad visitors. The coach lamps shone brightly into
the darkness like tiny lighthouses. The quiet elegance of the mansion
permeated the atmosphere, awing Opal with its stylistic charm. She had
never even known such places existed, much less ever hoped to dine in
such splendour. She was struck dumb as Murray led her regally through
the elegant oaken entrance, her heels clicking harshly against the
marble.

Their reservations were handled efficiently by a tuxedoed maitre d'.
They were led upstairs to a private table for two, complete with
lighted candles and a confusing array of cutlery. The waiter arrived,
speaking softly in French. Murray spoke in a hushed voice to the
waiter, and in moments, a tall Pina Colada was delivered with a
smaller and darker companion drink, perhaps Rum and Coke, for Murray.
Opal toyed with the condensation forming on the crystal of her glass
and then raised the drink in a silent toast. They toasted once, though
Opal didn't really know why, then the light coconut tingled against
her tongue.

She glanced over the rim of her glass. Murray never wore suits. At
least, she couldn't remember if she had ever seen him wear one. But he
was handsome, debonair, and smashing tonight. She almost giggled at
the thought, wondering idly if the drink was already touching her
senses. She wasn't a drinker. She tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Wear something nice," he'd told her.

"Casual?"

"Nicer."

"Evening wear?"

He had nodded. She'd begged him to tell where they were going, but for
once, she wasn't able to budge him. And so had started the evening.

She had changed outfits six times before he had picked her up at her
apartment. She had finally settled on a black evening gown that showed
off her figure reasonably well. She could still remember his face as
she'd opened her door for him. His eyes had glowed and an awed
expression graced his face just before he'd offered his arm. She
hadn't taken the offered arm immediately, causing a momentary flash of
sadness in his features. The quick frown was quickly replaced by his
full smile. She had hurriedly slipped on her high heels, grabbed her
purse, and joined him where he was patiently waiting in the hallway.
She had flushed crimson as he again offered his arm and escorted her
down the hallway.

Coming out of her reverie, she glanced again at Murray, sitting so at
ease on the other side of the small table. Whereas she felt
self-conscious, he looked as if he were born to be here. She took
another sip of her Pina Colada, allowing her eyes to wander around the
room. The decor was impeccable - soft lighting, candles, and tuxedoed
waiters who never allowed water glasses to empty. She soaked in the
ambience, and then her eyes returned slowly to her date. She had never
been taken to a restaurant of this calibre before. She felt like a
queen; she felt almost guilty at indulging in this pleasure with
Murray.

The dinner Murray ordered in French. She wasn't quite sure if she
liked the pheasant, but she also knew how expensive the small bird
must have been. She ate daintily, savouring each bite, struggling with
the gamy flavour, and in the end liking it. The wine she liked from
the start, a light French Chardonnay, complementing the pheasant
perfectly. She smiled at him, gently protesting as he ordered her
another Pina Colada after dinner.

After the ever-present waiter had retreated from bringing her
cocktail, Murray cleared his throat, looking a little nervous. She
turned her attention back to her escort. He smiled at her.

"Do you want dessert?" he asked. She detected a slight hesitation in
his voice, something she hadn't heard since he'd asked her out exactly
six months ago. He was always self-assured, so unlike her. Her
intuition was pinging; she was sure he wanted to say something else,
ask her something more important than about dessert, but was hiding it
beneath the surface. After half a year, she could sense these things.
It nagged at her, but she pushed it aside, ignoring it consciously. It
was probably nothing.

She coyly tilted her head to the side and gazed at him.

"Nothing I can get here." She let that husky timbre fall into her
voice, and watched with satisfaction the desire flick across his face.
She considered slipping her toes from her shoe and playing with him,
and if it had been any less of a setting, she would have. She smiled
at the thought.

The waiter appeared from nowhere, interrupting to take dessert
requests.

"Rien ce soir," Murray spoke in muted French, the nuances of the
language lost on her. The waiter had startled her, appearing just as
she was considering the toe trick. She was glad she'd behaved, at
least this once.

The waiter disappeared, allowing the couple their privacy once again.

"Opal ..." Murray spoke quietly interrupting her quiet fantasies.

She glanced back at him. He smiled and raised his right hand above the
table. She almost cried at the red rose extended to her. She took the
rose and smelled its sweet perfume.

"Happy six months," Murray whispered to her.

She wanted to get up and kiss him, but couldn't. Not here. Instead,
she murmured her thanks.

He cleared his throat again, the nervousness descending back into his
clear features.

"Opal, sweetheart, I love you. You know that?"

She smiled and nodded.

"You know, I'd never want to hurt you, right?" His voice began to
speed up a little, his nervousness beginning to dissipate.

She leaned forward placing her elbows onto the table, and cupping her
chin in her hands.

"You aren't leaving me, are you?"

He swallowed heavily. "I really hope not."

"What then?" she asked, still dreamy from her drinks and the setting.

"I ... I have to go to California. Los Angeles," he stammered,
suddenly unable to meet her eyes.

"For how long?"

"I ... I'm afraid I don't know. It could be a long while." He spoke to
the table instead of her.

She was silent, her heart hammering. She could feel the tremors of her
hands beneath her chin. Tears threatened, but she willed them back,
swallowing heavily.

He looked up, hope shining in his blue eyes. "Will you come with me?"

She took a deep breath, her heart crying out for her mouth to form
affirmative words. Her brain cried out opposite commands. Friends,
family, career, everything gone. She couldn't. Not now.

"When do you leave?" she asked quietly.

"Day after tomorrow." His eyes were truly apologetic. He picked up his
water glass, looked into it, and put it down without raising it to his
lips. "Sweety, I only found out yesterday I had to go."

Her anger flashed and then receded. They had both known of the
possibility, but she hadn't really thought it would happen. He wasn't
to blame here. Anger had no place, and she willed it back down deep
inside her. She'd feel it later, when it wouldn't interfere.

He looked up, nervousness permeating his cheeks. There were tears in
his eyes, which surprised her.

"Opal, darling, would it help if I asked you to marry me?"

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart skipped about ten beats
before resuming.

"Are you serious?" she asked breathless.

He nodded, his left hand rising with a small velvet box. He opened it,
revealing the clear hard stone refracting the light of the candles and
the opulent chandeliers.

Tears welled up and spilled as she stared into his face.

Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. With every beat of her heart, she wanted to say,
Yes.

"Murray, I love you. You know that. But I can't." She paused, her
heart beating double time, her tears never slowing. "I'm sorry," her
voice cracked.

She caught her breath and slowly rose from her seat. Happiness had
fled, replaced by a deep sense of loss, aching somewhere around the
middle of her chest. Wiping at her eyes, she stumbled downstairs,
ignoring waiters and other patrons. The ladies' room was a safe haven,
its muted music distracting and safe. She sat on the sink counter and
cried into her hands.

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

She had slipped out of the evening gown as Murray closed the door
quietly behind them. She let it fall crumpled on the hardwood at her
feet. She kicked off her shoes and stood before him in her lacy
underwear and bra that she had bought especially for him, for this
evening.

"Opal, sweetheart, we don't have to do this," he murmured to her.

She bit her lower lip, still fighting the tears. She took his hand and
led him down the short hallway towards her bedroom. Her bare feet
pattered against the floorboards, making a lonely, empty sound through
the small apartment.

He followed, led by her fingertips, and allowed her to slip the
uncomfortable suit from his body, one piece of useless cloth at a
time.

When he stood before her, naked, he again whispered to her.

"Opal, we don't ..." his voice trailed off as she placed her slender
finger against his lips, and traced it down his bare body, slowly
getting lower.

She led him to the sheets and made quiet love to him for a long time.
The air danced with their soft crying and laughing. At last, the
release came like a flood carrying away her loss and pain. Physically
satisfied, she collapsed into his arms, allowing her dark hair to fan
across his chest, taking in every curve and muscle of his being. She
cherished his slow breathing as he fell into an exhausted sleep. Her
nose wrinkled as her musky scent mixed lightly with his.

She lay awake in his arms into the early morning, her thoughts racing.
Her thoughts would not leave her alone to join Murray in the blissful
darkness of sleep. Headlights from Church Street below danced across
the wall from one side to the other, coming into her life and then
leaving just as swiftly.

The red rose, tossed carelessly on the dressing table, gleamed in the
brief flashes of light beckoning to her, entreating her to follow her
heart.

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

She couldn't believe he was going to walk through that last metal
detector and out of her life. She couldn't stop the tears, and
couldn't stop him. She didn't even try. She waved, seeing his white
and red winter jacket through the blur of her grief. Gone. No more
touches. No more love. No more Murray. She felt empty and so alone.

Opal felt the soft touch of a smaller hand at her elbow urging her
forward. Unresisting, she walked toward him, bumping into unseen
people, ignoring the odd curse borne of trodden toes.

He held her tightly, crushing her. She held him, unable to release
him, even when the final boarding call rang through Terminal 2.

He crushed her one last time, and gently extracted himself from her
embrace. He held her by the shoulders and carefully kissed her
forehead and then her lips. She kissed him back, tasting her own
tears.

Murray turned her again, urging her into a woman's arms, where she
stayed like a child, sobbing.

"Take care of her, Lydia, for me?"

Opal felt the woman above her nod, promising. Lydia guided the sobbing
girl to a bench and lowered her into it, standing watch as her friend
cried inconsolably into her hands.

When Opal at last raised her head, Murray was gone.

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

She leaned against the railing watching the Air Canada 747 as it
slowly taxied towards the runway. She felt Lydia's arm around her
shoulders as she watched numb as Murray's plane departed for warmer
air and a better life. A life that no longer included her.

She allowed three tears to drip silently down her face as she watched
the plane disappear into the cold blue sky.

Unresisting, she followed as Lydia gently guided her back out into the
cold to find her car.

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

Lydia unlocked the apartment door with a jangle of keys and swung the
door open. She guided Opal through the doorway, where they both kicked
off their boots.

Opal wandered into the living room and turned around, staring at the
walls, slowly spinning. Lydia leaned at the entrance against a wall.

"Do you want anything?" Lydia asked the slowly spinning girl.

Opal stopped turning and faced towards her friend.

"I'm being an awful host. Do you need anything?" Opal replied in a
normal voice.

Lydia was taken aback. Opal hadn't said a word since leaving Pearson
International, and she had fully expected another bout of crying
before this was over.

Lydia shook her head negatively and watched Opal return to slow
spinning, her stocking feet turning carefully on the floorboards.

After a few moments, Lydia asked gently, "Are you okay, Ope?"

Opal stopped spinning again, this time faced away from her friend.

"I ... I see the walls. I see the furniture. And I see him everywhere.
I can smell him," Opal's voice cracked. Lydia watched as Opal's hair
shimmered as she shook her head from side to side.

Opal turned, her eyes flashing.

"Do you think I'm okay?" Her voice carried a light menace, something
Lydia had never heard before. Lydia unconsciously stepped back one
step.

Opal slowly advanced, her tears beginning again. Lydia tried to hold
Opal's eyes, but the other girl looked away.

"Why did he leave me?"

"I don't know, Opal. Sometimes these things happen. Sometimes bad
things happen to good people. He didn't want to leave. You know he
didn't. At least not without you," Lydia whispered. She stepped
forward again, ready to embrace Opal if she needed it.

Opal looked up at her, again her eyes flashing through the tears.

"But he left anyway." Her voice carried an edge of repressed anger and
hopelessness. She blindly swung her hand, mostly in frustration, a
little in anger.

Lydia caught the ineffectual blow, holding lightly to the wrist,
knowing that Opal could have easily landed the swing if she wanted.

"Opal, sweety. Hitting me isn't going to help. He's gone. I'm sorry."

Opal looked up, the frustration and anger leaving her face in a
visible release. Lydia let go of the wrist, allowing it to fall limp
at Opal's side. Opal's tears escaped like water over a dam. For the
second time that day, Lydia caught the girl and let her sob onto her
shoulder. After a while, the tears began to abate and Lydia gently
kissed the raven hair nestled into her shoulder.

"You'll be all right," she whispered to her friend.

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

"I'll be out on the sofa if you need me, okay?"

Opal looked up at Lydia from the bed. She'd removed her socks before
climbing into the suddenly empty bed, but she hadn't bothered
stripping out of her other clothes. For some reason, she couldn't
sleep naked as she always had before. Not tonight. She could still
smell Murray on the sheets and the pillows. If she was naked and
reached for him, and he wasn't there ...

She watched as Lydia slowly began to close the bedroom door.

"Good-night," Lydia's voice whispered.

"Lydia?"

The door opened again, a quizzical look on Lydia's face.

"I ... I don't want to sleep alone," Opal spoke in a quiet and
frightened voice.

"I'll be right out in the living room."

"Will you ... sleep in here, tonight? Please?"

"Opal, darling, the floor is awful hard."

Opal swallowed hard. "You don't have to sleep on the floor."

"Opal. Sweety. I know that you've had a hard day, but ... you don't
want that either. Not tonight. Probably never."

Opal let the confusion she felt play across her face. Then she figured
out the implications, and flushed deeply. She almost began crying, but
managed to hold onto the tears.

"Lyd?" she managed to speak. "I ... I only meant ... I didn't mean
..."

Surprise and perhaps embarrassment flashed across Lydia's face. But
she forced a smile to grace her features.

"Sleep?" Lydia asked quietly.

Opal nodded.

Lydia stepped back into the room, switched off the lights, and pulled
off her socks with her toes, leaving them by the door. She slipped
awkwardly into Murray's side of the bed and sighed. Not much sleep for
her tonight, she reflected.

Lydia felt the softness of Opal slowly slide over and settle into the
crook of her arm. She slowly stroked the dark hair and watched the
headlights crawl across the wall in front of her. Soon, the girl
cradled to her breast was breathing regularly, but Lydia continued to
stroke the fine hair slowly, thinking.

Eventually, Lydia fell asleep to the hum of the city, the unfamiliar
weight of Opal pressing into her.

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

The intercom buzzed loudly, shattering the silence of the apartment.

She missed Murray, but at least he'd called earlier. She'd spent an
hour talking to California, telling him about the last three weeks of
her life, the small details with the big. He'd forgotten what snow
looked like, there in Los Angeles, but sympathised with the cold as
she complained good-naturedly about her winter. She had reluctantly
hung up, and spent the last hour dreaming of the warm land thousands
of kilometres away, and staring at the whiteness of the ceiling. The
whiteness looked like driven snow to her, cold and empty like her
heart.

She slowly rose to her bare feet and walked to the doorway. A slender
finger touched the response button.

"Who?" she asked simply into the grill.

"Who do you think?"

She smiled happily at the voice and pressed another button on the
intercom, activating the lock three floors below. She heard the
electronic buzz before the intercom cut off.

She unlocked the door and opened it a few centimetres before returning
to her perch on the sofa. Minutes later, a tentative knock rang
through the apartment.

"Anyone home?"

"Come on in, Lyd."

Opal leaned back into the sofa and crossed her legs, smiling at Lydia.

"You look better than that crying wreck I left three weeks ago," Lydia
commented as she kicked off her boots and dropped her jacket onto the
hallway chair. She walked in and settled into the recliner opposite
the sofa. "Damn, it's cold out there."

"Supposed to snow tonight. I wasn't expecting you."

"I was in the neighbourhood, thought I'd drop in. Why aren't you out?"

"Should I be?"

Lydia shrugged. "How have you been, kid?"

"I'm not a kid," Opal grinned at the standard response. She was eight
days younger than Lydia.

"Feeling better, I see."

"Not really. Still miss him."

Lydia rose from the chair and walked across to the sofa. She settled
down at the far end, her feet propped on the coffee table.

"So go."

"What? To California? You know I can't."

"Why not?"

Opal fell silent looking away from Lydia, staring out the window
towards the west. Lydia lay back her head, giving her friend time,
staring at the whiteness above.

Opal took a deep breath and glanced at Lydia. They were so completely
different. Lydia unruffled, self-assured, carefree. Opal lying on a
sofa for an hour pining for a man thousands of kilometres away,
rattled by a simple phone call. Lydia blonde and taller. Opal dark and
shorter. Lydia with her girlfriends. Opal with her boys. Everything so
different, ever since they were three years old, and yet a closeness
beyond friendship.

Lydia turned her head towards Opal, seeing the pain and longing masked
behind her features. She'd seen the signs before, but never in Opal.
No. Never in Opal.

Lydia bit her lower lip, running her teeth along the ridge.

"Opal, sweety. You don't want this. I didn't come over for this. Trust
me."

"What if I do? What if I want it? What if I need it?"

"You don't."

"What if I want to forget? Even for one night?"

Lydia drew in a breath and let it out in a long sigh. "What if it
hurts me?"

"Will it?"

"Maybe."

Opal clasped her hands together until her knuckles turned white.
Strangeness flooded through her, touching her, teasing her. Her mind
was a chaos of confusion and melancholy.

"Okay. I'll behave," Opal spoke low, partially relieved.

They sat silently and awkwardly for a few minutes. Lydia finally sat
up, breaking the quiet.

"You want to get something to eat?" Lydia asked.

Opal raised her eyes, taking in the soft face hovering in front of
her, not even hearing the question formed by the lips. Without
thinking, she leaned forward and kissed Lydia's inviting lips. Lydia's
eyes widened in a parody of shock, almost making Opal laugh, but then
settled back to normal and tentatively returned the kiss.

Electric sparks jumped through Opal's body, starting at her mouth and
igniting her nipples and especially between her legs. She gasped as
Lydia gently but firmly pushed away.

"We ... can't," Lydia spoke as though she'd run a marathon.

Opal looked up at Lydia with bright eyes, unfamiliar desires racing
through her.

Lydia crumbled. "You're going to leave me in the morning, aren't you?"

"I ... don't know," Opal whispered.

Resigned, Lydia leaned forward and kissed Opal again, letting her own
passions flow through her being, accepting the turn of events as a
strange twist of fate. She almost felt compelled, not quite in control
of her body or mind. This was going to happen no matter what she did.
Confusion and desire swept through her.

Murray's face floated behind Opal's closed eyes, his soft gentle lips
kissing her once more.

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

A name, cried out in passion, rang through the darkened bedroom. The
smell of lavender and musk permeated the room as Lydia's fingers once
again softly stroked Opal's tingling bare skin.

Lips touched, once more. Lydia could taste the salt of Opal's skin, of
her tears. Fingers brushed nipples, brushed secret places, brushed
souls.

And when the girls reached the pinnacle together, for the last time
this night, the name again reverberated in a soft but urgent whisper.

If only the name that echoed like a knife through her mind had been
her own, Lydia would not have cried silent tears as she cradled the
exhausted and sleeping bare body of Opal tightly in her arms.

The dried red rose, sitting silently sentinel upon the dresser,
watched its sleeping owner, limbs entangled with the new, awake and
saddened blonde girl. The strobe of the ever-present headlights
alternately lit them, and then plunged them back into darkness.

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

The muted early morning sunlight filtered through the overcast and
through the lace curtains like a shadow across her face. Opal slowly
opened her eyes, and felt the unusual weight of small bare limbs
across her breasts and her legs. The smell of lavender and sex brushed
at her lungs with every shallow breath.

Carefully, she extracted herself, moving hands and legs. Lydia sighed
in her sleep, and turned over, presenting an exquisitely curved back.

Opal gently kissed the bare shoulder before stretching the covers over
Lydia. In her sleep, the naked girl clutched the blankets to her chin.

Shivering, Opal dressed quickly and quietly, pulling on jeans and a
sweater, with warm socks over her feet. She swallowed hard, wanting to
kiss Lydia one last time. Oh, but if she woke ...

Opal crawled over the sheets and kissed her friend's hair, barely
touching it. The scent of honey and clover mixed with the lavender of
the room. A tear slipped unbidden and unheeded down her cheek. She
idly wiped at it with her finger.

She took one last look at the prone girl beneath her warm sheets and
closed the bedroom door with a tiny click.

Inside the bedroom, one tear traced down Lydia's cheek to splash
silently to the pillow.

"Good-bye," she whispered. Only the sentinel crimson rose heard the
quiet sound as it echoed through the empty room.

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

"Good-bye," Opal whispered to herself. She turned and joined the
river, an island disappearing slowly into the flow. The first flakes
of snow began to drift gently from the overcast to catch in her dark
hair, like salt on a feather.

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

The spire of the cathedral was dwarfed by the concrete and steel that
had grown up around it. Somehow, the proud steeple retained a measure
of majesty despite the giants looking down upon it and the muting
overcast that threatened to swallow it.

Opal shivered as her leather encased fingers lightly gripped the
wrought iron fence delineating the boundaries of God's sacred ground.
The trees gracing the churchyard beckoned to her with their bare
branches, inviting, inviting, and the few brown leaves that survived
the autumn shivered with the girl.

She stood for a long time, fingers anchored to the fence, and stared
at the oaken doors with the black iron handles and hinges. People
flowed oblivious around her, intent on their destinations, which were
undoubtedly warmer than the winter outside. None glanced at her, or at
the cathedral.

The sounds of the city ceased for the girl as if she'd entered a
vacuum. She inhaled deeply and released the black iron bars, casting
away any security that the fence had provided her. Her boots crunched
against the snow as her feet carried her inexorably towards salvation.

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

The heavy doors swung open with a loud creak that echoed the length of
the church. She expected to hear organ music, but the church remained
silent. Only the whistle of the wind disturbed the quiet, rising in
pitch until the door clicked shut with a reverberation. She felt as if
she had disturbed an ancient tomb.

The warmth of the church suffused her, thawing her frozen extremities.
She shouldn't have been surprised, but none of the pews was occupied.
A lone priest shuffled along at the altar, cleaning or lighting
candles. He paid her no mind. Jesus, forever suffering upon his cross,
watched her without judgement.

She released her breath; not even aware she was holding it. Her boots
sounded loud, even to her numbed ears, as she slowly walked to the
last row of pews.

She didn't know which flavour of God's religions this church
practised, but she genuflected as she entered the last row to sit upon
the hard and uncomfortable seat. She bent and lowered the padded bench
at her feet. Without conscious thought, she lowered herself to her
knees. Her gloved hands clasped together and she bent her head, her
dark hair swirling across her shoulders.

She swallowed, allowed her mind to rise free of her kneeling body, and
quietly pretended to pray. Her tears even surprised her.

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

"My child?"

She swam up from her private thoughts. Her eyes still wept, though she
had no idea why. She felt like crying, so she did. She felt the
quivering contact of elderly fingers touch her shoulder and then
withdraw. Glancing up, she could see an angelic and ancient face
blurred through her tears.

"You have been praying for some time, my child. And you are crying."

She nodded dumbly, not sure if the priest was kicking her out or not.
She wanted to stay here forever, thinking and remembering.

"What can someone so young have to fear?"

She swallowed heavily, not knowing the answer. The old priest seemed
to accept that.

"My child, you are too young to let your heart be burdened so. Follow
your heart. That is all that God asks of you."

Her tears, which had abated with his interruption, began anew. She
watched through blurred vision as the priest began to shuffle slowly
down the centre aisle of the cathedral. He wrapped his thin arms
around his frailty and whispered, perhaps to himself, as he wandered
back to whatever his task was.

"It is so cold today, but I don't mind it. Do you?" his whisper
carried through the distance separating them without an echo.

She bent her head again, letting the tears flow silently down her
cheeks.

"Father?" Even her own voice seemed sacrilegious as she spoke. It
echoed around the emptiness.

The old man turned, halfway to the altar.

Her voice quivered as she spoke. "Please. I ... I know ... please ...
is there a phone that I can use, Father?"

The old man smiled as the dark-haired girl rose to her feet.

"Of course, my child."

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

Her bare fingers trembled as she struggled to dial the ancient rotary
phone. The black traditional telephone sat on the priest's cluttered
desk, amongst church announcements, a softly glowing desk lamp, and a
Bible. She listened to the clicks as the dial spun beneath her index
finger.

The seven digits were as familiar to her as her own hand, yet each
number was more difficult to dial than the last. At last, she had
reached the final digit, her finger inserted into the small hole
obscuring the number. She willed her finger to push the dial, to
connect her. Her hand trembled, but remained stubbornly motionless.

"Please hang up and try your call again. Please hang up. This is a
recording."

She listened to the anonymous female voice twice more before the
earpiece began to pulse with the tone of her error. She breathed in
sharply and gently lowered the handset to its cradle.

She closed her eyes, shutting out the world. The litany of her own
phone number reverberated through her mind until she shook her head to
clear her thoughts.

Tears welled up as a single thought focused.

"If I didn't tell her ... I could leave today ..."

She glanced at the black telephone one last time, and sharply pushed
herself away from the desk. Stumbling through a blurred world, she let
herself out of the priest's office. Her feet pounded against the
carpet of the cathedral.

She could hear the frail voice behind her, calling to her. Without
heeding the voice, her arms crashed into the oaken doors, her body
hurtling into the muted light. She stumbled down the steps of the
church, barely feeling the numbing cold through her unzipped jacket.

A yellow painted car stopped for her outstretched hand.

"Are you all right, lady? I don't want any trouble ..." The driver
spoke to her as she slipped into the rear seat.

She took a deep breath and nearly spoke her own address. She
swallowed, struggled to control the tears, and whispered.

"Pearson International, please."

She lay back her head and watched the overcast rush by as the vehicle
moved her towards her destination.

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

The huge plane fell from the sky. Emblazoned with the Air Canada logo,
the wings tipped it earthward, falling gently through a bright blue
morning sky and into a foreign land.

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

It hadn't taken very much to convince the guard that she was supposed
to be there. A pretty smile and a lost look were all that was
required. Sometimes women had it easy. She smiled as she entered the
elevator without further problems.

She could feel her heart hammering in her chest. Her nerves felt like
they were doing a tightrope walk without a net. As the elevator doors
rattled open and she slowly stepped out into the bright hallway, she
felt a sense of calm settle over her.

Staring at the wall in front of her, she heard the elevator doors
slide shut behind her.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She could feel the bottom
of her feet tingling. Her watch told her that it was still very early.
Her flight had been the first available flight out and she had been
chasing the sun. She'd had no baggage to retrieve. Her back ached from
sleeping in the uncomfortable airport and airplane seats.

In front of apartment 1424, she stood, slowly shifting her weight from
foot to foot. She raised her hand five times, each time getting a
little closer to the wood of the door, each time slowly lowering her
hand back to her side.

A door opened, three apartments over. An elderly lady reached down and
picked up her morning paper. The intruder gave Opal a suspicious look
and withdrew back into her safe haven.

Swallowing heavily, Opal raised her hand for the last time. Letting
her breath out, she let her knuckles fall against the wooden door only
once. The knock echoed up and down the hallway. She could sense
movement behind the door after a few minutes, and heard the slide of a
security chain.

A woman, with blonde hair, barefoot and wearing Murray's purple
terrycloth bathrobe opened the door. Her hair was dripping and her
eyes were not yet fully awake.

A hot flush raced into Opal's face. She could feel it burning like a
brand.

"I ... I ... I'm sorry ... I must have the wrong apartment." Though
she knew without a doubt that she had the right address. The purple
robe that she'd worn so many times cried out to her.

Opal turned quickly and began to walk with determined strides back
towards the elevator. Hot tears stung behind her eyes. But she
wouldn't cry until she was safely back on the elevator.

"Opal?"

The soft feminine voice broke her stride, halfway down the hallway.
She turned to face her replacement. She didn't want to scream, but she
knew that she couldn't talk without at least crying. She stared back
at the woman, trying desperately to conceal her grief.

"You don't have the wrong address, sweety. We've been expecting you."

Confusion draped Opal's mind. The woman's voice was soothing, so
devoid of hurt, only conveying understanding and compassion. And Opal
wanted so much to hate her, and she didn't even know her name.

The blonde woman stepped out into the hallway, her bare feet leaving
moist imprints against the bright blue carpet. She walked slowly
toward the dumbstruck girl in the hallway, her hand extended in a
gesture of peace and friendship.

"I'm Meg." The blonde girl had to physically raise Opal's hand in
order to make contact. As her hand raised, Opal shook her head, trying
to clear it. She should be running. Back to Lydia and safety. The girl
in the bathrobe smiled gently and spoke again in reassurance. "I'm
Murray's sister."

Recognition flooded into Opal's mind. The blonde hair, the straight
nose, but most of all, the bright blue eyes. Relief raced through
Opal's whole body but she still couldn't get her tongue working.

A sparkle of laughter touched Meg's eyes. "Who'd you think I was?
Didn't that insensitive jerk of a brother tell you about me? That I
was staying with him?"

Opal just dumbly shook her head.

Meg leaned in conspiratorially. "That explains your reaction," she
laughed kindly. "Listen ... please stay. Murray's been talking about
nothing but you for three solid weeks, and I can't take it anymore.
Besides, he'll kill me if I chased you away."

Opal felt her fingers being guided towards the open doorway a few
short steps away. She followed without thinking.

Meg glanced down the hallway, her smile never wavering. "Come on.
Murray's still asleep, and I feel rather awkward out here in the
hallway like this. You caught me as I was getting out of the shower."

The door closed quietly behind the women. Meg's hair was still
dripping onto her shoulders and there was wetness on the hardwood from
her feet.

"Where? How?" Opal finally formed the words that plagued her tired
mind.

The other woman halted at the end of the entrance hallway.

Meg licked her lips. "Your friend Lydia called us last night. She told
us that you were coming. She was surprised that you weren't here
already."

"But, I didn't ..."

"She knew," Meg assured the trembling girl.

"Murray ..."

"Is still crazy about you." Meg pointed down the short hallway where
there was an open door with steam still issuing from within. There
were three closed doors adjoining the bathroom. "He's asleep. The
second door on the right."

Opal felt a guiding pressure on her shoulder and the women walked
towards the closed doors. The gentle fingers left her shoulder and she
turned to see Meg smile at her and slip back into the steam filled
room. The bathroom door shut, and Opal heard the whine of a hair dryer
from behind it.

After staring at the white painted door for a few minutes, she took a
deep breath and turned the doorknob in front of her.

The door creaked open, revealing a Spartan, but comfortable room. A
shape stirred in the queen-sized bed. There was definitely only one
shape under the covers.

"Leave me alone Meg. It's my day off ..." the shape mumbled.

Opal stood transfixed, feeling her heart hammering and her
uncertainties vanishing at the sound of his sleepy voice.

"Is it too late to say 'Yes'?" she spoke almost in a whisper from the
doorway.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org>      |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+