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Subject: {ASSM} "Dream-Maker" {Dancer} (MF rom slow) [2/5]
Date: Tue,  1 Apr 2003 09:10:07 -0500
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Warning: "This [work of prose] contains scenes of
	nudity, sexuality and coarse language.
	[Reader] discretion is advised."
(I.E. If it's illegal/dangerous to read/possess
pornography where  you are, don't bother.)

Disclaimer: Dancer - the authoress of this work -
	and Empath - its 'publisher' - take no
	responsibility due to any harm or
	misfortune that befalls someone from
	reading or possessing this work.

Copyright: This work of prose is the intellectual
	property of Dancer, and is protected by
	the Berne Convention.  *Unauthorized*
	publication or redistribution is
	prohibited.

{Non-legalese translation: if you want to put this
on a web site, just drop us an email; we'll probably
say yes. :)}

Bonus Question: Where is the quote in the 'Warning' from? :)



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<1st attachment, "Dreamkr2e.txt" begin>


Dream Maker (2/5) (no-sex, humor, pett)
Dancer 2002 (c)


Max clamped his lips together and worked them around
his teeth, frustrated. When he'd picked up her
brassiere, he could feel the tension between them
skyrocket. Amanda might have been embarrassed over him
touching a piece of her intimate apparel but the way
she stared longingly at his fingers and the quickening
of her breathing rate made him think otherwise. Just
as his did, her mind dove right into the sexual
gutter. Well, sort of. Her mental picture probably
wasn't as dressed up as his was, so to speak. In that
short time he held her bra, his brain conjured up the
vivid image of Amanda in a cinched tight, provocative,
merry widow which thrust her breasts so high above the
top that the edges of her areolae were visible; her
legs encased in old-fashioned, 1940's, silk stockings,
black of course and held in place at mid-thigh by
shiny blue ribboned laces. And now she'd compounded
the image by removing her jacket, showing him the
gentle roundness of her shoulders via a sleeveless
turtleneck shirt. Oh yes, he sure was glad she decided
to base her latest romance in Oklahoma instead of
Texas.

"Are you coming or not?" Amanda asked over a shoulder
to him, pausing her stride down the rear hall of his
house. Giving himself a hard mental shake, he trailed
after her toward the kitchen.

Upon their arrival at the doorway, Max said, "I set up
everything in here, but we can eat in the dining room
if you'd rather."

She smiled shyly. "Kitchen's fine with me." She slowly
walked over to the round, oak dinette set and sat down
in the closest chair, taking care not to scuff the leg
casters against the tiled floor. Since it was the two
of them, he'd placed the bowl of mashed potatoes, one
of carrots and the platter of roast beef on the table
along with their place settings. He took the seat
beside her and offered to fill her plate first. He
used a large, serving fork to spear a single slice of
meat and carefully slid it onto her plate. When he
reached to drop a scoop of potatoes next to it, she
stopped him.

"I thought you were starving," he said quizzically.

This time, she was embarrassed and her face turned a
bright red across her cheeks and the tip of her nose.
"I am," she stated. "I like to eat things one at a
time. I'll eat this beef first until it's all gone,
then get some potatoes and them gone, and so on, and
so on."

He thought he got it and nodded. He filled up his
plate with all three edibles and asked, "You don't
mind if I mix mine all up; do you?"

"Oh, go ahead, Max. It won't bug me." He began to eat
and so did she, but he couldn't help surreptitiously
watching her. It was interesting. She cut into her
slice of beef with knife and fork, making a triangular
incision that she popped into her mouth. Her cutting
and eating worked in a circular pattern around the
edge of the meat, industriously worming her way toward
the juicy center that ended up shaped like a triangle.
With the main course finished, she dished up two
spoonfuls of potatoes onto the middle of her plate and
began taking small bites with her fork.

"You eat with such precision and neatness," he said in
awe, glancing down at his sloppy mess of meat,
potatoes and carrots.

"Speaking of eating, would you like to hear a fun
fact?" she asked, holding her fork in the air.

"Okay."

She gestured with her implement while she talked. "You
can tell how a person would perform oral gratification
by how they eat popcorn." His own fork clattered
loudly against the rim of his plate when it slipped
from his hand. "Sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you
again."

"I'm not embarrassed," he protested. "It's just that
we've only known each other for an hour, two tops, and
this is the second time you've brought up the subject
of, well, sex."

"I'll shut up then." She started shoveling in bite
after bite of potato, going fast enough to choke.

He pushed his supper aside and lightly brushed his
left hand along her arm, saying softly, "Amanda, I
didn't tell you to shut up." He sighed and took the
fork out of her grip. "Would you stop? I'm afraid
you'll end up choking." Her face carried a wide-eyed,
wounded look as she looked at him, blinking quickly to
stave off the threat of tears. "Don't be upset and
don't cry either. I'm not yelling at you. Listen, my
voice is calm and if I was mad, you'd know it. I'd
shout the roof off this place."

She swallowed the food in her mouth, and then
whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. So you talk about sex. Whee!" Max twirled a
finger in the air. "At least you -can- talk about it.
There're plenty of people in this world too chicken to
say anything concerning sex, even to their lovers. Sex
is part of your job in a mild sense and to be
perfectly honest, I don't mind at all. Like I said
before, we don't know each other but we're adults and
I think we can act like adults. If the conversation
steers itself toward sexuality, fine."

"Max?" Amanda rested her left hand atop his and he
halted his speech. "What is your point? I got lost
somewhere between the 'whee' and 'too chicken'."

Half smiling, he replied, "Tell me about the popcorn
thing."

"All right. How do you eat popcorn? By stuffing a
handful in your mouth or a piece or two at a time?"

"Handfuls," he answered, getting a suspicious feeling
in his gut.

"Ha! I figured!" She giggled. "That means, when
you...um, go down on a woman, you just...ah, forgive
the pun, dive in head first." Quickly in his head, he
replayed the times in his life he'd gone muff diving.
Damn! She pegged him right! Two can play this game.

"Okay then. How do -you- eat popcorn?"

"One piece at a time," she answered and licked her
lips, obviously recalling the salty taste of melted
butter. "That means I like to be neat and savor the
taste of-" she sucked in a breath, realizing popcorn
wasn't the word she was prepared to say. He did, too,
and felt his blood pool thickly in his groin. "Maybe I
better finish my unpacking," she said and stood up
suddenly, knocking his hand away from her arm before
bolting out of the kitchen.

=======

I slammed the bedroom door shut and leaned my back
against it, saying, "Cock. I almost said I savored the
taste of cock." I shoved a hand through my thick hair.
Max probably thinks I'm sex-crazed or something. God,
how can I show my face again? I'll be thinking it and
he'll see it written on my face and know exactly
what's on my mind! This was all his fault. He had such
a sweet personality that put me at ease around him.
And when I feel comfortable, my mouth starts to go
into overdrive. "No, it isn't," I admitted in a
whisper. "It's mine. In the back of my mind I know I'm
attracted to him and those feelings are manifesting
themselves into words." This acknowledgement didn't
calm me down one bit. My hands shook ever so slightly
and my breathing was still erratic gasps.

Pushing myself away from the door, I trudged over to
where my suitor lay open and finished unpacking the
rest of my stuff. My toiletry bag came out first and I
placed that on top of the dresser. Next, I withdrew
four blouses to hang in the closet after I stowed my
remaining tops in the second drawer. I opened the
closet door and took out the appropriate number of
hangers, holding them in my right hand as I carried
them over to the dresser. All of them were made of
what my mother likes to call 'throw 'n go' material -
no worries about ironing because the fabric didn't
wrinkle. They were varying shades of white - eggshell,
ecru and two ivories, one tinted saffron and the other
pink - with covered buttons and scalloped edging
around the short sleeves. I slid each hanger into the
neckline, fiddled with the lay of the shoulders,
hooked it over the knob of the top drawer and went on
to the next until all were hung. I took them to the
closet and dropped the hooked tops over the bar on the
right of my pants and jeans. I decided to leave my
black penny loafers in the duffle and carried the bag
to the closet, tossing it onto the floor under my
clothes.

Still not up to facing Max, I tugged the terrycloth
wrap out of my half pony and threw it on the dresser.
I unzipped my toiletry bag, pulled out my brush and
went to work combing the tangles from my hair. First
the left half, then the right, leaning to either side
so my hair hung freely. I grabbed the heavy mass in my
left hand and stroked the brush up along my neck to
the very split ends. Every once in a while, the
plastic-tipped bristles would catch on a knot and I'd
cringe as I forced them through it. I did this several
times until I could run the brush through without
hitting any tangles. I replaced my brush in the bag
and sighed as I threaded both sets of fingers into my
long hair. I felt relaxed, much better and ready to
see my host again. Hopefully I wouldn't make any more
proclivities of a sexual nature around him. Well,
maybe. A playful grin tugged at the corners of my
mouth and I opened the bedroom door, heading out to
find Max.

I found him in the kitchen still, loading the dinner
dishes into the washer. He looked up when I entered
and asked, "Feeling okay now?"

"I guess," I replied, chuckling as I stuck my
fingertips in the slash pockets of my pants. "I dunno.
There's just something about me being around you where
I feel I can say anything."

The dishwasher door shut with a snap. "I'll take that
as a good thing," he said and propped his left hand
against the counter top. "You're hair's down." I
pulled a hand out and touched the strands, smoothing
them. "It looks nice." His eyes met mine briefly, then
he glanced away and I got the impression he was
nervous.

Breaking the silence, I asked, "So, what do you do in
Tulsa for fun?"

"You aren't tired from jetlag?" he asked surprised. I
shook my head and reminded him it was only eight
o'clock, plenty of time for whatever. "I really hadn't
planned on going anywhere tonight but Trucker's is
open. It's a bar downtown with a live band and
dancing." He finally looked me straight on. "You do
dance, don't you? Two step and that?"

I didn't but he didn't need to know. "If you can lead,
I can follow," I said, not completely lying. "Let's
go."

"Do you...want to change or something?"

"Why?" I asked, peering down at my wardrobe. "Are
boots and jeans required?"

"No, it's just-never mind. You look fine. Let me get
my keys and hat and we'll go," he said and pushed away
from the counter. "You might want to grab some ID,
driver's license if you brought it. They check at the
door."

"In my jacket, which I will get while you're busy." I
did an about-face turn and headed back toward my room.
Once there, I rifled through the inside, right breast
pocket for my wallet, pulled it out and double-checked
that my ID was inside. I stuffed the tiny carrier into
my right pants pocket and left to find Max. I strolled
back the way I'd first taken from the front door,
bumping into him as he came out of a room I hadn't
been in. "Whoops," I said with an apologetic grin and
placed a hand on his upper arm to steady myself. The
muscles flexed under my fingers. Interesting, very
interesting. I filed his reaction away for later
perusal and moved my hand from his person. "I like
your Stetson," I told him, gazing up into the shadow
the wide brim cast across his eyes.

He touched the front brim with two fingers, tipping it
in my direction a fraction. "Thanks. And before you
ask, no, you can't try it on."

"Aww," I pouted, crossing my arms under my breasts and
sticking my bottom lip out. I scuffed the toe of my
left shoe along the carpet. "You never let me have any
fun." He chuckled but didn't tell me a specific reason
concerning his hat. Maybe it was a guy 'thing' that
women weren't meant to understand. At least he was up
front about not letting me wear it and I refused to
push the issue.

"Come on, Amanda," he said and led the way outside to
the garage. He carried a door opener that I didn't see
earlier in his left hand and depressed the bigger of
two buttons, causing the door to quietly raise upward.
This wasn't where he'd parked the Caddy. The red truck
he mentioned owning on the ride from the airport sat
before us, the front end facing out. After the door
was completely up, he caught one of my elbows and
guided me over to the passenger side, tugging the door
open for me in a gentlemanly fashion. I hopped in, did
up my seat belt and waited for him to walk around the
hood and get behind the wheel. After doing those two
things, he clipped the door opener to the visor,
started the truck and drove out of the garage.

Sunset had come and gone and the night cloaked
darkness over the world. I couldn't see much of the
scenery but that was okay. It gave me an excuse to
look at Max. His Stetson seemed to add an aura of
sexiness to him by hiding the upper half of his face
and turning him into the Southern mystery man so many
of my fellow authors had written about. I leaned back
in the bench seat and shut my eyes, thinking of how a
pair of forty-four Colt revolvers strapped low across
his hips would change his image. Not bad, although I
cast him in the role of sheriff or U.S. Marshal or,
ooo! Texas Ranger! I was, of course, the prim and
proper school marm come to the Wild West to bring the
law and order of arithmetic to the town children.
After five or six chapters of tension build-up, a
nasty gunfighter and his gang were in town to shoot it
out with Max. The evening before the sunrise duel, Max
wasn't sure if he'd survive, showed up at my room at
the boarding house in secret and made me 'his' woman.
Our love scene played out in my brain in living
Technicolor, the kerosene lamplight bringing out the
auburn shade of his hair. I sighed and squeezed my
legs together, squirming a little in the seat.

=======

The look on her face made him wonder what caused the
flush in her cheeks and the lovely, tiny smile upon
her lips. He knew he shouldn't care, that it wasn't
any of his business, but he speculated regardless. Was
she thinking about her current beau? His grip on the
steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned
white and he pressed his lips into a thin line of
anger. The feeling churning in his gut was old as time
and he recognized it as jealousy immediately. But why?
Yes, he was attracted to her. She had a sense of
humor, a nicely put-together body and, from what he
could tell, had an open mind. He thought her hair her
best feature. When she let it down, it cascaded in
thick, lush waves of almost-but-not-quite-black brown
and spiraled into curly-queues at the ends. The memory
of how it wrapped itself around his fingers when he
first touched it at the luggage pickup assaulted his
body, commanding the flow of blood southward to his
crotch.

"Have a boyfriend or husband back in Canada?" Max
blurted out. Out of the corner of his right eye, he
saw her jump, startled, and quickly cover her cheeks
with her palms.

"Um, no...and no," Amanda replied with a shaky laugh.
"No women either. I'm straight as an arrow." 'Uh-huh,'
he thought. 'You aren't the only one.' He longed to
adjust himself and ease the pressure of his half-mast
member against his fly. "What about you? Any special
ladies in your life?"

'Yes. You.' "Not yet," he evaded and turned onto the
frontage road running in front of Trucker's. The
parking lot was half-full since it was a Wednesday
night and he pulled in, spying his favorite spot near
the side entrance open and available.

"It doesn't look very busy," she commented while he
backed his truck in.

"You should see it on Saturday," he replied as he was
swiveled around and gauged the proper distance between
the bed and the sidewalk. "Payday for the men and a
night out for the ladies." He shifted into park,
turned off the engine, undid his belt and got out,
quick stepping around to her side to get the door open
for her. She hopped out, using the frame as a handhold
until her feet touched the ground. He slipped his
right arm over her left around her waist, resting his
fingers across the small of her back. She paused for a
second or two, and then wrapped her fingers around the
center loop at the back of his jeans. They strolled
around the building to the main door where a guy was
taking money and stamping hands.

Max reached for his wallet, his hand accidentally
brushing against hers when he withdrew the leather
holder from his rear, left pocket. The doorman said,
"Ladies are free tonight. Two-for-one drinks until ten
and five dollar pitchers." Max paid his cover charge
and the guy pressed a red smiley face stamp onto the
backs of their hands.

As they went inside, Amanda whispered, "He didn't ID
me."

"Shhh," he answered, touching a finger to her mouth.
"I won't tell if you won't." She smiled and nodded.
The bar was on the right as they entered, the stools
filled with drinking patrons and you had to step up
onto a raised platform to reach it. The dance floor
was opposite the bar and took up most of the
building's space with another platform in a far corner
where tonight's band was set up and playing a Garth
Brooks' tune. The music wasn't so loud she couldn't
hear him ask, "Want a drink?"

"Oh, sure." She followed him up to the bar and waited
while he caught the bartender's attention.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked, leaning
across the bar to hear.

"Busch," Max replied and heard Amanda snort. He
glanced over at her with a cocked brow and she said
she'd tell him what was so funny later.

"Labatt's Blue," she answered when the bartender asked
her the same question. He popped the caps off two
bottles of beer, handed them to Max and accepted the
six dollars as payment. They walked over to a small
table for two next to a black railing separating the
seating from the main floor. They sat down at the same
time, folding their arms around their beers and
bending their heads closer together. "It struck me
funny listening to you ask for Busch," she explained.
"The homonym factor? Get it? B-u-s-c-h and b-u-s-h?"

"I get it," he answered and kept the fact that he only
ordered that named beer because he'd been thinking
about bush for the past few hours. A sultry smile
quirked his lips. Her hair down there would probably
be as thick and lush as the stuff on her head. He
blinked. Whoa, this was -not- what he needed to ponder
right now or even at all. Searching for a distraction
to his thoughts, he knocked back his drink speedily
and said, "How 'bout that dance?"

"Now?" she squeaked. He scraped his chair back, stood
up and snagged her left wrist, forcing her out of her
seat. "Wait. What about my beer?" she asked as he
dragged her onto the wooden dance floor.

"I'll buy you another," he answered, twirling her
around until she faced him. Automatically, she brought
her right hand to his shoulder and held up her left.
He shook his head, catching her fingers and saying,
"Not like that. Like this." He slid the fingers of his
left hand along the nape of her neck and felt a spike
of heat hit him squarely in the stomach. She shivered
at his touch, darting a glance into the shadow hiding
his eyes. He gently placed her right hand over the
crook of his left elbow and cupped his right hand
around her left one. The band started playing a George
Strait classic perfect for two-stepping; 'All My Exes
Live In Texas'. Max fell into leading naturally,
guiding Amanda backwards around the sawdusted floor.
He chuckled and grinned when he realized she'd never
danced like this before in her life. But he did give
her an 'A' for effort. Her feet shuffled across the
floor and away from his forward steps while her body
found the rhythm of the music. During their second
circuit around the floor, he bent his head close to
hers and said, "You lied to me about dancing."

"No I didn't," she argued and sent him a teasing
smile. "I said if you lead, I'll follow and that's
exactly what I'm doing." He threw his head back and
whooped out a laugh, spinning both of them in a tight
circle. She yelped and dug her fingers into the bare
flesh of his arm, her long hair flying out like a dark
banner unfurled in the wind. Caught up in the moment,
he released his hold on her nape, lifted her left arm
high above her head and twirled her. "Ahhh!" she
shrieked like a girl, standing on tiptoe as he spun
her around faster and faster until she cried out,
"Max! Stop! I'm dizzy!"

Grinning broadly, he stopped her spinning by wrapping
his left arm around her waist and brought her flush
against his body. The rapid rise and fall of her chest
as she inhaled frantically made him totally aware of
her as a woman, a woman staying for two weeks in his
home and in a bed one wall away from his. "Better?" he
asked, his voice hoarse from trying to stay the
floodwaters of lust crashing through him.

"Mmm, but I think I should sit down for a while," she
answered, holding her forehead with a hand.

As he walked her over to their table, he said, "I
guess this means you won't want that beer I owe you."
She shook her head negatively, then groaned softly and
leaned heavily into his arms. He pulled out her chair
and with exaggerated slowness, lowered onto the seat,
saying, "Here. Sit back and let me rub your temples."
She opened her mouth to protest and claim her head
didn't ache so much as the room refused to stop
spinning, but the warmth of his fingertips against her
skin blocked her words. He worked in gradual circles,
taking her whimpers and closed eyes as a clue his
ministrations were doing their job. He hit the metal
bows of her glasses and knocked them askew a couple of
times until he removed them and placed them on the
table. Her lashes fluttered up when her vision was
taken away abruptly. Max apologized, "Sorry but I kept
hitting them with my hands." It struck him just then
how pretty her blue eyes were, the pupils contracting
to bring their view into perspective.

"It's okay. I can see just fine right now without
them," she replied after her eyes brought his features
into focus.

He threaded both hands into the dark hair surrounding
her face and patiently massaged the heels of his palms
against her temples. "Really. Myopic?" he queried
quietly.

"Mmmm," she answered firstly, pushing her face into
the cradle of his hands. She blinked once, then
finished, "But strangely, I can see things seven
inches away from my face with perfect clarity." He
clamped his lips shut with such ferocity his teeth
nipped the tender flesh and blood trickled across his
tongue. Yes, strange indeed considering that
measurement matched the length of his penis when
erect. Which it was, throbbing behind the placket of
his boxers and threatening to burst through his
zipper. His face betrayed nothing of his internal
struggle to her. "My head doesn't hurt anymore," she
stated in a hushed tone.

"At least one of us doesn't have a headache," he
growled under his breath but Amanda heard.

"Poor guy. Would you like me to rub your head for
you?" she asked gently, reaching her hands toward his
cheeks. She cupped his jaw with her palms and eased
the tips of her fingers up to his temples. Her
stroking touch caused him to moan and his hands to tug
hard on the strands of hair shrouding them. She gasped
and stopped rubbing. He begged her pardon for hurting
her, slipping his fingers free. He rested his wrists
atop her bared shoulders and carefully watched her as
he listed all the logical reasons not to kiss her. He
only knew her name, her job and nationality. He knew
nothing of her family, lifestyle, age, religion...
hell, any of the really important stuff, but her
quirks were getting to him in a bad way. She couldn't
two-step to save her life but she willingly followed
his lead on the dance floor. Her eating habits were
weird, to say the least. Her train of thought jumped
the tracks to whatever thought deemed interesting. In
the short time they'd been in each other's company,
she'd made several, innocuous comments that could be
construed as sexual innuendos. She made him smile and
laugh more now than in a good, long time.

Her hair tickled the backs of his hands with feather-
like brushes. Ah, yes. Her hair. What man wouldn't
want that kinky, curly mass spread across his pillows
in the morning? Or fan out like a puddle of rich
molasses over his body when she straddled his lap and
bent down to kiss him? He'd have to be crazy not to
want either of those options. And Max was far from
crazy. "Have you heard the anecdote regarding a
cowboy's hat?" he asked and pushed his knees back
straight in order to stand.

"No, I don't think so," she replied, gazing up at him
curiously. Her lips parted in wonder as he slowly
removed his Stetson and placed it on her head. She
showed her teeth as she smiled, her hands coming up to
finger the felt brim. He reached his hands out to her
and she took them, sliding her fingers into the cradle
of his palms. He tugged her to stand and she complied.
He brought her arms to his shoulders, wrapped her
fingers along the nape of his neck and let go, then
settled his hands on her hips. "Tell me already. The
suspense is getting to me."

Max replied so softly she barely heard, "Whatever is
under the cowboy's hat belongs to the cowboy." Then he
slanted his face to one side to get under his hat and
kissed her. Her lips were pliable and yielding to his,
very much eager to follow his lead and let him take
her to wherever. She stepped closer to him and molded
her body into his sturdy frame. Her vocal cords
created little, sexy purrs low in her throat that
excited and enthralled him to shift his hands from her
hips down to her bottom, jerking her lower body
forcefully against his blatant arousal. She whimpered
and he swallowed the cry, seizing the moment her lips
opened and slipping his tongue seductively between
them.

=======

Mmm, baby! This was much better than fantasizing he
was a sheriff and I was school marm. I could taste the
hops of the beer on his tongue as he brushed the
muscle along mine, enticing me to join me. I pressed
myself firmly against his chest, showing him I was
very into kissing. His Stetson started to slip and I
reluctantly caught in with my left hand, holding it
onto my head and snagging the collar of his shirt with
my right fingers. After hearing the tale behind the
gift, there was no way in -hell- I was willing to let
it go! Heat pooled between my thighs the instant he
kissed me and my breasts tingled from being mashed
against his chest. I was raring, if not quite, ready
to go and play house with him. He was both. I could
tell. Jesus Jones, I'd have to be -dead- not to notice
the hard rod digging into the front of my trousers. A
quick spot of foreplay for me, and the juices would be
flowing like the Saint Lawrence Seaway. And I'd bet my
last loonie Max was the kind of guy who made sure his
gal was well satisfied before seeing to his own
pleasure.

=======
more to come...
<1st attachment end>


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