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From: Vulgar Argot <vulgarargotREMOVEALL@CAPSinsidejoke.tv>
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Subject: {ASSM} Best and Brightest, Part 2
Date: Sun,  6 Apr 2003 03:10:06 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Best and Brightest, Part 2
(keywords at bottom to avoid spoilerage)
by Vular Argot

By the time she got back to the apartment, Nuria was trembling with
frustration and so overwhelmed with conflicting emotions she couldn't
hold onto a thought long enough for it to fully form before another
one took its place.

She slammed the apartment door and stormed across to her own room. She
glanced at her roommates' bedrooms long enough to see that Carla had
her "DO NOT DISTURB" sign on the door and Pearl did not. Fuming, she
spent a second being angry at Carla for having a man when she didn't.
She didn't know who she was so angry at and it was nice to have
someone to direct it at. She looked around the apartment for something
else to be angry about, but it looked like her roommates had neatened
the place up with the expectation of possible company. She stormed
across the living room to her own room and slammed that door on her
way in, hard enough that it dislodged a small avalanche of books,
perilously stacked at the best of times, onto the floor. Growling to
herself, she crouched down to pick them up and stack them back where
they had been. One of these days, she would have to rearrange the
stacks so that this didn't happen again. But now was not the time.

She was less than half done with repiling the books when a quiet,
tenative knock came from her door. Nuria sighed, not really wanting to
deal with anyone tonight, but not wanting to hurt her friends'
feelings, "Come on in," she said.

Pearl stuck her head in hesitantly, "Are you sure? If you'd rather be
alone, I can..."

"No," said Nuria, "It's okay. Come on in."

Pearl crouched down next to her to help gather the books. For a few
minutes, neither of them spoke. When Pearl did speak, she said, "Are
these in any particular order or is it okay to just stack them biggest
on the bottom, smallest on the top?"

Nuria chuckled, not so much a sound of amusement as one of relief, "I
barely have the room to keep them at all, much less organize them."

"Well," said Pearl, "Now that you're going to be working, you can buy
some taller shelves and maybe put one or two in the living room. I can
move a couple of CD racks into my room. It would be nice to be able to
get to them when Carla has a...that is,"

Nuria's laugh was more genuinely amused this time, "It's all right,"
she said, "You don't need to walk on eggshells around me."

"Sorry, Miss D," said Pearl, "It's just that I have no idea how to
deal with you dating. I was starting to think you were getting ready
to enter a convent."

Finally, the wall of tension broke. Nuria laughed heartily, "No," she
answered, breathing a sigh that seemed to draw tension out of her back
and shoulders, "although that would probably make my mother happy. My
older sister is a nun, working in Guatamala with orphans or plague
victims or something, or maybe Ghana. I only get the news from my
mother and she's a little confused these days."

"Really?" asked Pearl, "How is it that you've lived here for a year
and I didn't know you were Catholic?"

"I'm not Catholic," said Nuria, reaching into the space under the
shelves where a few paperbacks had slid, "My family
is--ultra-Catholic. Two of my uncles are priests and so is my younger
brother. Even when I was a teacher, I was the black sheep of the
family. My folks almost threw me out at sixteen when they found my,"
she sighed, "when they found out I was using birth control."

Pearl seemed to mull that thought over, "So," she asked finally, "I'm
guessing it didn't go well tonight? Please don't tell me J. X. Wolffe
is a big jerk. I really like his stuff."

"No," said Nuria, releasing a second wave of tension she didn't know
she was holding from her shoulders, "Not a jerk at all." Placing the
last book on the stack, she sat down heavily on the bed, "It was
worse."

Pearl's eyes widened, "Did he try to rape you?"

This time, Nuria's laugh was loud and heartfelt with a faint edge of
hysteria to it. Afraid she would disturb Carla and her guest, she got
it under control. Wiping a tear from her eye, she said, "No. To the
contrary, he was a complete gentleman."

Nuria thought she would have to explain further, but Pearl caught on
immediately, "Oh, you poor thing," she said ernestly.

Nuria stood up to slap dust off of the front of her borrowed dress,
then began to pace, absent-mindedly trying to find the hook between
her shoulderblades at the top of the dress's zipper, "It's just so
frustrating," she said, growling the last word, "I've been fine for
years--didn't even think about sex much, thought I was past that."

Pearl stood against the doorframe, tracking Nuria with her eyes, "Past
sex? I would hope not."

"No," said Nuria, "not past sex. But able to enjoy it, when I found
the right person, without it driving me crazy. I used to be...oh," she
flopped back down on the bed, "you don't want to hear this."

Pearl sat down next to her, one hand on either of Nuria's arms, "If I
didn't want to hear it, I could have stayed in my room. Besides, Carla
and I have been dying to find out about Nuria Delgado. It's hard to
even make you blink, no matter how outrageous we get, but for
yourself, you seem like a bit of a...."

"Prude?" Nuria supplied.

Pearl shook her head, "The closest I can come to it is 'castrated.'
Prudes hate sex, but to you, it seemed like not even an issue."

Nuria wanted to point out that many castrati had led full and active
sex lives, in many cases even moreso than their more intact peers, but
decided now wasn't the time for a lesson. Instead, she smiled, "I'm
not a prude and I'm not a eunech," she said softly, "Before I got
married, I was....pretty wild--wild enough that I was probably headed
for a big fall. In college, I burned a lot of bridges and got a
reputation as an easy touch. After I graduated, I behaved myself for a
while, but I got involved in something ugly with another teacher...a
married teacher. If it had gone on much longer, it would have gotten
out. It was already a rumor. Then, I met Pedro." She smiled.

"From what you've said," opined Pearl, "He sounded like an amazing
guy."

"I haven't told you the half of it," Nuria said, "Strong and smart, a
teacher like me and a volunteer fireman. He fell madly in love with me
and stayed that way. When I laid out my whole, ugly history to him, he
said, 'Oh, no. My fiancee loves sex. Thank God I found out before I
married her.' I could never shock or embarass him. The closer we got
to the wedding, the more scared I got. I acted out. I tried to make
him leave me. But, he was on to my game. The hardest he ever..." Nuria
realized what she was saying and flushed crimson. When she looked up,
Pearl was blushing, too.

Nuria smiled, "I bet you never thought that the House Matron could
make you blush."

"I didn't think anybody could make me blush anymore," admitted Pearl,
"but, please. Go on."

"The honeymoon lasted two years," said Nuria, "if he hadn't died, it
might have lasted forever. It was...it is very hard to be without him.
She saw Pearl getting ready to speak, but cut her off, "No, it was a
long time ago. I knew him for three years, six years ago. Since then,
I only considered seriously getting involved with a man once and it
was like I was back in college again. After a month together, he went
travelling without me and I slept with a coworker. I would probably
have lost my job over it if he hadn't taken all of the responsibility
onto himself and left for another firm."

"They would have fired you for sleeping with someone from work?" Pearl
asked, "Can they even do that?"

"They would have fired me for having sex with someone at work," Nuria
corrected her, "And that they can do. They probably would have made it
look innocuous, too--misuse of official facilities, like I was
stealing office supplies or something."

"So, let me guess," said Pearl, "You were staying late at the office
one night, working in close proximity. He leaned in. You got the scent
of him, turned into a kiss. That kind of thing?"

"More or less," said Nuria, "except that it was two o'clock in the
afternoon."

Pearl stared at her, not speaking.

"It was in my office with the door closed," said Nuria, standing up
and looking for the hook again, "but somebody must have figured out
what was going on. After that, I decided to buckle down and behave. As
long as sex is not a part of my life, I'm fine. I barely miss it. But,
when it is a part of my life, it makes me crazy. Everything becomes
sexualized. When Quentin asked me to join him for dinner, I didn't
even think of it as a date until you two started teasing me. Then,
after everything he did for me, I figured taking him to bed was the
least I could do. That probably would have been fine. I've had a
couple of one-night stands since the last affair and was able to
compartmentalize them. But then, I started to look forward to it. And
I totally misread the situation. Quentin had a crush on me when he was
my student, but he still thinks of me as his teacher, untouchable. I
wanted to throw myself at him, but I never would have seen him again.
Would you unhook this for me, please?" She asked, the last sentence
coming out in a frustrated rush.

Pearl rose, a crooked smile on her face, and walked around behind
Nuria. She stood a good nine inches taller than Nuria and had to bend
a knee to reach down and unhook the dress, "So," she said, lowering
the zipper, "Once you start thinking about sex, you just can't stop?"

Nuria started to answer, but felt Pearl's hands slide inside the
dress, rubbing the heels down from the corseting of the bra to where
her fingertips rested lightly on Nuria's bare bottom. Nuria closed her
eyes, "Don't do that," she rasped.

"Why not, Miss D?" Pearl asked, "Don't you like girls?"

Nuria leaned back against the taller girl, "I'm not up to being teased
tonight. I don't..."

"Who's teasing?" Pearl asked, her voice a hot puff against Nuria's
neck, "I don't know about you, Miss D, but I got pretty worked up
tonight. If Carla hadn't finally managed to hook up with that guy Emil
she's been talking about forever and needed a ride home, I would have
found myself a man, but I decided to be a good friend instead."

Nuria leaned farther into Pearl so that the taller girl's hands went
around her waist to the belly, her eyes still closed, "If you call me
Miss Delgado one more time, I will scream," she announced.

Pearl laughed and slid her hands free long enough to pull the straps
of the funeral dress off of Nuria's shoulders, letting it drop to the
floor.

"I shouldn't," Nuria whispered, "It wouldn't be fair to you. I'll
still probably sleep with Quentin. It's just..."

"I don't want to be your girlfriend," said Pearl, her fingertips
tracing lightly over Nuria's taut belly, "I'm not going to ruin
anything for you. Nobody needs to know what happens tonight except you
and me."

Finally giving up the fight, Nuria raised her arms, her hands finding
the back of Pearl's head, drawing her down into a kiss as she turned
in the younger woman's arms. She'd kissed girls before, gone much
farther than that. But, it had always been a show, a set piece for the
benefit of someone watching. Everything had been choreographed. This
kiss was not choreographed. It was primal and atavistic, an expression
of the evening's expectation and frustration. Pearl kissed her back
just as fiercely, her hands roaming freely up and down on Nuria's
body. Even as Nuria reached up to unzip Pearl's dress, she said
nervously, "I still prefer men, you know."

"Me, too," said Pearl, kissing Nuria's shoulder as she began to undo
the series of clasps that kept Nuria's bra on, "But there's only one
in the apartment and I don't think Carla's in a sharing mood,
tonight."

"After you gave her a ride home, too," mocked Nuria as she lowered
Pearl's dress, "Some friend." She placed a line of kisses on Pearl's
sternum and stomach, stopping at the line of her friend's panties,
"I've never actually...I mean not for...not in a results-oriented sort
of way."

Pearl laughed, drawing Nuria up into another kiss, "Take notes, then.
There will be a test later." She pushed Nuria, now completely naked,
back on the bed. She kissed Nuria's throat and neck, traced a line
down one side of the collarbone. By the time that her mouth reached
Nuria's nipple, Pearl's fingers had traced up her thigh and now teased
the darker woman's clit with her fingertip. Nuria, already wet with
anticipation, sighed and pushed against Pearl's finger and mouth.

"Careful," said Pearl, brandishing her free hand to display
freshly-enameled red nails, "If I don't take it slow, I could scratch
you up pretty bad and you wouldn't feel the worst of it until
tomorrow."

Nuria nodded. With one hand, she pushed Pearl's head back down to her
breast. Pearl's other hand massaged Nuria's other breast. Already,
Nuria felt the last of her control slipping away. Her emotional miasma
drained away in a wave of gratitude. She now admitted to herself that,
at soon as Pearl had knocked on the door, she'd entertained the idea
of seducing her roommate. Without this, she would have been miserable
and frustrated for days. Nothing she could have done for herself would
have mattered much. Only real, human contact could do that.

As Nuria lay there, her hips rising and falling gently, Pearl's mouth
traced down her ribs and belly. Nuria began to breath more heavily in
anticipation. Pearl, perhaps sensing it, teased her, placing a ring of
kisses from the top of Nuria's public triangle, across both thighs and
back. When Pearl's tongue darted out and licked her perineum, Nuria
moaned loudly and, with the hand she had let restr on the back of
Pearl's head, guided her tongue inside of herself. The pleasure was
intense and immediate, exploding outward like a starburst.

Pearl pulled away, "Easy, hon. You're going to break my nose. You're
like a teenaged boy."

"Sorry," said Nuria, forcing her hand to relax, "It's just..."

"It's flattering," said Pearl dismissining Nuria's concern, "just take
it nice and slow. We've got all the time in the world." She licked
Nuria playfully, letting her tongue probe deeply, briefly causing
Nuria's to spasm in surprise and pleasure.

"Two years is a long time," said Nuria by way of explanation. Then,
she found herself unable to speak as Pearl's tongue expertly found
another delicate spot inside of her. Nuria found herself reaching
desperately for a pillow so as not to disturb Carla or the neighbors
or people down at street level for that matter. Even moaning into the
pillow, it came back to her frightfully loud. She writhed hard, her
body arching as if an electrical current were running through it. Her
orgasms came hard, one after the other, like tiny starbursts
originating wherever Pearl's tongue touched her.

It was over too soon, Nuria thought, but a glance at the clock told
her differently. Pearl lay next to her, her head on Nuria's belly, her
fingertip still gently stroking her clit. Nuria looked at her roommate
and pet her damp hair, "You poor thing. Your jaw must be ready to fall
off."

Pearl chuckled, "I do my best work with an enthusiastic audience. Did
you take notes?"

Nuria smiled, "I didn't have time to study, but I'll do much best."
She guided Pearl up to lie next to her on the narrow bed, their bodies
pressed together by necessity and affection. Pulling Pearl's head to
hers, she kissed her friend deeply and passionately, subtly taking the
lead. She ran her hand down Pearl's back, across her belly, up to her
breast. She chuckled throatily to herself. She would kill to have
Pearl's breasts. She felt almost boyish next to her friend. Lowering
her head to Pearl's nipple, she licked and sucked. Pearl sighed with
pleasure. Nuria nipped at her playfully and was rewarded with a gasp.
Her fingers found their way down between Pearl's legs and she slid one
in up to the knuckle while another traced lazily along the clit. Pearl
began to writhe appreciately, making little animal noises in the back
of her throat. Pearl's hand snaked back towards Nuria's pubic
triangle, but Nuria slapped it away.

"If you do that," Nuria said, "I'm never going to be able to
concentrate on what I'm doing."

Pearl chuckled, "Always the perfectionist."

Her mouth at Pearl's waist, Nuria hesitated, kissing just above the
hairline, then around it. Faced with the actual task, she found it
rather daunting. After a minute or so of teasing, she felt Pearl's
hand on the back of her head, guiding her insistently downward.
Despite her nervousness, she soon found her rhythm. Realizing that she
didn't require pinpoint accuracy, she gave into her enthusiasm,
bringing a finger in and out while she kissed and sucked the clit.
Pearl was soon moaning loudly, bucking against her. Feeling daring,
Nuria teased a second finger into Pearl's anus. Pearl wrapped her legs
around Nuria's shoulders, locking her ankles together. Pearl's thighs
wrapped around Nuria's ears so hard that she had to pull away.

"Easy," said Nuria gently, smiling, "or one of us is coming out of
this injured." Pearl nodded, her eyes glistening. Nuria returned to
what she was doing. Pearl's whole body was trembling with pleasure
again. By the time Nuria finished with her, Pearl was drenched in
sweat, her hair plastered to her face. Nuria wrapped herself aroudn
Pearl, arms around her neck, legs around her thigh. Before she rested
her head on Pearl's solar plexus, she licked off the sweat pooled
there. She lay there for a long time, listening to Pearl's heart and
feeling the aftershocks of pleasure as they raced through the blonde's
body.

"Earlier," said Pearl, just as Nuria was starting to doze off, "I
thought you were exaggerating when you said you could scare a man away
by throwing yourself at him. You really don't hold anything back, do
you?"

Nuria who hadn't meant she would scare Quentin away like that at all,
smiled at the compliment nonetheless. Before she could formulate her
response, she was asleep.

                               -=-

"I'm making breakfast," said Carla, "do you two want any?"

Nuria looked up. She hadn't moved much during the night. In the
indirect sunlight from her one high window, she knew that it must be
obvious what had happened there. Of course, if Carla hadn't heard
anything, she must be completely deaf. Still, Nuria wished she had
something to cover herself with.

"Scrambled eggs?" Pearl asked sleepily.

"My specialty," said Carla.

"Is Emil still here?" Pearl asked.

"Yeah," said Carla, "but not for much longer. He's got to work today."

"Grab me a robe then, please," said Pearl.

Carla withdrew. Nuria chuckled, "Are you getting shy all of a sudden?
I seem to remember you flashing the pizza guy because it would 'make
his day.'"

"That and we get pizza really fast now," said Pearl, stretching
against her, climbing over her. Emil's seen me naked before, in the
club. But, it would give the wrong message today. Carla really likes
this guy. You've heard her talk about him incessantly. She might keep
him. I don't want her thinking I expect her to share this one?"

Nuria's eyes widened, "You've expected her to share others?"

"No," said Pearl, "but once in a while, we go out looking for a party
and only find one good guy between us. If we're not going to get
serious....the guys have never objected to an extra participant."

"I bet," said Nuria, standing up and putting on her own bathrobe, a
warm almost-housecoat that seemed absurd in the current circumstances.
Opening her closet, she said, "I have a robe you can wear to get as
far as your room decently."

"No," said Pearl, "I want to see which one Carla gets for me. If it's
my silky, red one, she's not as serious about this guy as I think.
If..."

Carla knocked at the door. When Pearl opened it, Carla handed her a
thick, terrycloth robe that Nuria thought would not look unusual on
her sister, the nun, "I guess we have our answer," she said. Carla
just looked at her, puzzled.

"Come on," Carla said, "Breakfast is getting cold."

                       -=-

Emil didn't have much time for breakfast or conversation. He spent
most of the time talking to Nuria and petting Carla. He was, it turned
out, an art teacher in Spanish Harlem.

"You're very brave," said Nuria, "I was too afraid to teach in those
schools."

Emil nodded, "The rules are very different from an ordinary school.
Now, I spend most of my time fighting to get enough supplies. I spent
six weeks with little more than a ream of printer paper and a box of
number two pencils--and I bought the paper myself."

Nuria tisked with him at the sorry state of public education in the
city. Even in the suburbs, ten years ago, she'd had to deal with
inadequate and out-of-date material, but it had never been so bad.

When Emil left, Carla stood with him at the door and kissed him
passionately and intensely. Neither one of them seemed to want it to
end. Finally, he tore himself away, promising to call after work.
Carla closed the door, then leaned against it, smiling contentedly.

She came back to the table, sat down, and took a deep draught of
coffee. She looked at Pearl, "I know I've said this before, but I will
say it again. You are a screamer."

Pearl lowered her head in mock humility, "I tried to keep it down. Did
Emil say anything?"

"It turns out that he's an incredibly sound sleeper," said Carla, "at
least, once I get through with him." She smiled in self-satisfaction.
Then, she sat up, looking angry, "I can't believe you didn't keep him
here long enough for me to meet him--or at least come and get me long
enough to say hi. Emil would have understood."

"Who?" asked Pearl.

"J. X. Wolffe," said Carla, "You didn't have somebody else in there,
did you?"

"No," said Pearl, elongating it into three syllables. Nuria was
already starting to blush, "But, we didn't have J. X. Wolffe in there,
either."

Carla looked from one of them to the other. Slowly, realization dawned
on her face, "No.." she said, mimicking Pearl's pronunciation, but
with more wonder in her voice, "That was just you two?"

Pearl didn't speak, but seemed to be smirking at Nuria's discomfort.
Carla turned to the ex-teacher, "That was just you and Pearl last
night? You were lou-oud."

Nuria managed to make eye contact. Carla also seemed amused.

"I quite like your young man," she said, "How did you two meet?"

Carla answered, but not until she'd finished laughing, "He teaches at
my little brother's school. My brother takes private lessons with him.
When I was visiting with my folks, I picked my brother up sometimes.
We got to talking and he's a really nice guy--all respectful and stuff
and smart. He asked me to model for him and I was all whatever. You're
cute. If you want to get with me, just ask. I might say yes. But, he
was like no. An' he meant it. He painted me for like two weeks an' he
never tried nothin', even when I got all friendly. Finally, I hear
he's at this party in Jersey last night, so I head down there and show
him I don't jus' like him when he's painting me. Some other girl was
mackin' on him, but I managed to get him away thanks to my home girl
here, who had the getaway car." Breathlessly, she finished, "I really
like him."

"Well," said Nuria primly, "He certainly seems to have a deleterious
effect on your pronunciation and grammar."

All three of them laughed, but then Carla said, "Sorry, Miss D. It all
happened up in my old neighborhood and in North Jersey, so I've got it
all in my head in the vernacular."

That was the end of that discussion. They made small talk over dishes.
If Carla were perturbed at either of them, she certainly didn't let it
show. Nuria was just finishing her coffee when the doorbell rang. She
answered the door to find a delivery man standing there with a dozen
red roses in a vase. Carla and Pearl were immediately oohing and
aahing over them. When Nuria opened the card, she gave a little gasp.
Both roommates looked at her questioningly.

"They're not from Quentin," she said, "They're from Sean--my other
student I met with last night."

"Damn," asked Carla, "What happened last night?"

"Nothing," protested Nuria, "at least not with Sean. I'm going to help
edit his book. That must be what these are for."

"I don't know," teased Carla, "That's not what red roses mean to me."

"They're lovely," said Nuria, "but Sean's not interested that way. He
purposely left early last night so that Quentin and I could be alone."

She had barely put the flowers down in the center of the kitchen table
when the doorbell rang again. This time, a different deliver person
handed her a spray of hot house orchids, also in a vase.

"These," she said, checking the card, "are from Quentin."

"How romantic," said Carla, "I wonder if they'll duel."

"It's not like that," said Nuria weakly, "Okay, it might be like
that." She sighed, "I guess I'd better figure out what the hell is
going on. But, I have too much to do this morning. I have to get
dressed and get to the office and, oh shit, I have to call the
bookstore manager and let him know I won't be in on Monday."

The manager took her news with relative equanimity and took the
opportunity to ask her out, since they weren't going to be working
together. Nuria considered it momentarily. She remembered him, a tall,
earnest black man with a shaved head. She suspected he'd be rather
capable in bed.

"I'm flattered," she said finally, "and if I were single, I would say
yes, but I'm seeing someone."

"I suspected as much," he said, "Well, good luck to you. When you've
got a whole stable of big name clients, I hope you'll throw a book
signing or two our way."

"Will do," said Nuria, "and thank you." She hoped she hadn't ruined
one more outlet for overqualified job-hunters everywhere. She made a
mental note to do something for him as soon as she could. Then, she
was off. She shooed Pearl out of the bathroom and took a quick shower
before putting on her last clean interview suit. By the time she'd
called for the car, she felt like she could almost believe that the
last two years had never happened. Carla had tried gamely to stay
awake long enough to see her off, but finally wished her a mumbled
good luck, went back to her room, and fell asleep.

Pearl hugged her at the door, kissing her firmly on the mouth when she
looked up for one, "Knock 'em dead," she said, "and if you need some
release, don't throw anybody over your desk. You come home and let
Pearl take care of you."

Nuria nodded, unsure of her ability to speak. Finally, she said,
"That's very sweet of you."

"Yeah," said Pearl, giving a crooked half-smile, "It's a real
sacrifice on my part."

Nuria kissed her, "Say that again when I've sucked up all of your life
energy to keep me young."

Pearl nodded, "Yeah, but what a way to go, eh?"

Then, Nuria was out the door. She looked at herself in the mirror on
the elevator's back wall--charcoal grey suit, white blouse, severe
bun, heavy black trenchcoat, lightly-smoked glasses with gold frames,
stylish but professional, skirting androgyny without falling into it.
She felt a rush of confidence.

In the car on the way over, she leaned into the plush backseat. They'd
only sent a towncar, but it was the first time in a year she'd been in
a car where the seatcovers weren't naugahyde. Even small luxuries were
to be savored.

The offices of Aqueduct Books took the top three floors of an
ancient-looking building off of Columbus Circle. From reception, she
was led through (in order) layout, customer service, technical
support, editorial, then a no-man's land of cubicles where there
seemed to be no rhyme or reason as to who sat next to whom. All of
this was narrated by a chipper young woman who spoke in clipped,
efficient tones and was dressed more professionally than anyone else
they saw, moreso even than Nuria. Finally, they entered a second
cluster of editorial offices, took a shortcut through an employee
kitchen, and ended up in a conference room where everyone was dressed
professionally.

They introduced themselves by name and function. Kate Bakersfield
turned out to be a wiry, intense-looking redhead in her mid-forties
and dressed in a red suit with black accessories, the only break in
the room's otherwise monochrome dress code. She introduced herself as
the publisher.

"Marcie," she asked Nuria's guide, "Would you ring up the caterers and
see where the food is? It should have been here already."

Marcie managed to give the illusion of clicking her heels and
kowtowing with only a single inclination of the head, "Yes, ma'am.
I'll take care of that now."

"Marcie," she said to Nuria, "is one of our most amazing interns. When
she goes back to school, this whole operation will probably come
crumbling down around our ears. Any time you can't figure out how to
do something, ask her."

Kate, two greying men in grey suits, and a severe-looking man,
probably approaching forty, sat on one side of the table, Nuria and a
younger man, blond man in a black suit on the other. Kate Bakersfield
asked, "Have you brought representation?"

Nuria fought down the urge to panic. For a few seconds, she forgot
what the word 'representation' was a euphamism for. But, the man
sitting on her right said, "Miss Delgado, I'm Andre Furst. Mr. Edwards
asked me to make myself available to you today if you required
representation. Naturally, you are under no obligation to accept my
assistance."

Nuria thought that he looked a bit young, "Are you experienced with
this kind of thing?"

Andre smiled at her, a bit condescendingly, "I'm second counsel for
Mr. Edwards's literary agents, Corman, Brubaker, and Howe. I've been
handling literary contracts for a little over twelve years." When she
didn't speak, he added, "If you like, I could FedEx a copy of my bona
fides to you."

"Mr. Furst's representation will be fine," Nuria said, "I presume the
contract is fairly close to boilerplate."

"There are a few non-standard clauses," Kate Bakersfield admitted as
if she had been caught at something, "to delineate the point structure
on your first deal, the special performance bonuses I mentioned over
the phone, and a right-to-terminate clause should Mr. Edwards choose
another publisher other than us or his current publisher for any of
his next three novels or if he should fail to produce for us a novel
in the next twelve months."

Nuria looked to Andre Furst for guidance. Andre Furst read the
contract intently.  She stared at her copy of it, but beyond knowing
the word "boilerplate," she really didn't know how to identify which
text was important and which was standard form. She was barely through
the first of six pages when her lawyer looked up, "Is it all right if
we use this room to talk privately for a few minutes?"

"Of course," said Kate Bakersfield, "Once we've got this settled, I
can show you the office you'll be sharing with Mr. Geschbach." She
indicated the youngest man on her side of the table. "He'll be your
editorial partner while you get acclimated. I apologize for the
crowded conditions, but we've been growing like crazy for the last few
years and we want to make sure it's not cyclical before we start
looking at more space.

Once they'd left, Andre Furst explained the non-standard portions of
the contract to her point by point, effeciently and intelligibly.
Nuria asked a few questions about specific clauses and, once they had
been answered, said, "One more question, please."

"Yes," asked Mr. Furst.

"Should I sign it?" Nuria asked.

Mr. Furst shrugged, "I don't think I can answer that question for
you."

"Okay," said Nuria, "Let me try a different tack. My one foray into
publishing was for a company that could have almost fit into this
conference room. I never signed a written contract. If you were
evaluating this contract in order to decide whether or not to sign it,
which elements could be sticking points?"

"Well," he said, "the clause allowing them to release you without
cause if Mr. Edwards doesn't produce a book for them in a year is
fairly draconian, but probably not negotiable. They're making
extraordinary financial concessions based on your experience and
probably feel like they deserve something in return. The main sticking
point wouldn't be on the contract, though.

"Oh?" asked Nuria.

"It's this 'editorial partner' business. It's usually only done if a
celebrity editor is brought in and not really qualified for the job.
They're kind of a ghost editor, rather like a ghost writer. If I were
going to argue with any of it, I'd argue with that."

Nuria thought about it, "If I'm competent, how much of an impediment
could a ghost editor be?"

Mr. Furst shrugged, "That doesn't really call for a legal opinion. If
you want my personal opinion, though, I'd say that it's unlikely that
he could be more of an impediment as your editorial partner than as a
fellow editor who happens to share an office with you. But, it could
be a blow to your reputation if it got out that you had an editorial
partner."

Nuria nodded, "Thank you, Mr. Furst. You've put my mind at rest. I'm
going to sign the contract as it stands, then."

Furst stood up and extended his hand to shake, "Congratulations on
your new job, Miss Delgado."

                                  -=-

Staring at her signature on one side of that contract and Kate
Bakersfield's on the other, Nuria wondered briefly if she was
dreaming. When she'd been working for the specialty press, barely
scratching out a living, particularly when covering paychecks had
become a hit-or-miss prospect, she'd often fantasized about working
for a big, prestigious firm, which Aqueduct books looked like it might
be some day. Navigating her way through the maze of cubicles, boxes,
filing cabinets, and other assorted fire code violations did nothing
to dampen her enthusiasm.

Her office brought her back down to Earth a little. There was an
equiptment-moving cart being piled with file boxes. She recognized one
of the people doing the piling as Mr. Geschbach, who was going to be
her "editorial partner." He seemed to be commiserating with the other
man.

Nuria decided that she should probably just come back on Monday. It
seemed obvious that whoever had been using the desk she was being
assigned was in the process of moving out. She started to withdraw
when Mr. Geschbach looked up.

"Oh," he said, "I wasn't expecting you to start until Monday. Your
desk is not quite ready yet."

"I didn't mean to intrude," she said quickly, "I'll come back."

"No," said the other man, throwing his desk blotter on top of the
boxes on the cart, "That's the last of it. It's all yours."

Nuria didn't know what to say. The man looked to be about her age,
maybe a few years younger. He was dressed in blue jeans and a black
button-down shirt, his brown hair neatly coiffed. He gripped the
handle of the equipment cart and pushed to get it to start moving. As
he walked past her, his eyes raked over her body. Then, he gave a
snort of laughter and was gone.

Nuria looked to Mr. Geschbach for some sort of explanation as to what
was going on. His eyes were blank. When she didn't speak, he turned
away from her and went back to his desk. Nuria stood there, feeling
lost, bewildered, and hurt. She didn't want to sit at the now-bare
desk or speak, but was afraid she would exacerbate whatever bad
feelings were going on here.

Just as Nuria decided she would have to do something, Marcie poked her
head in, "Miss Delgado, there's a phone call for you on the main line.
Can I have them transfer it in here?"

Nuria looked down at the phone. She was relieved to see that it was a
familiar model that she would not need help answering, "Yes please,
Marcie," she said, so relieved she wanted to kiss the intern for her
fortuitous timing.

She sat on the edge of the desk that was meant to be hers and picked
up the phone when it rang.

"Nuria," said the voice on the other end, "So glad I could catch you."

"Quentin?" she asked.

"No," said the voice, "It's me, Sean. I don't have your number at home
and was hoping to get a hold of you today."

"Sean," she said, "It's good to hear from you again."

"I was hoping I could meet with you today," said Sean, "and give you
the current draft of my manuscript. Are you free for lunch?"

Nuria had nothing planned for the rest of the day. She looked over at
Mr. Geschbach who was fastidiously ignoring her. She said carefully,
"That would be nice. Where would you like to meet?"

He named a place and time. Nuria said, "That would be fine. I'll see
you there."

Mr. Geschbach didn't look up, "Was that J. X. Wolffe?"

"No," said Nuria, "It was...another writer I'm working with, a friend
of Mr. Wolffe's."

"Come Monday, I would like to know where Mr. Wolffe is on his
manuscript for us or if it even exists," He looked up at her finally,
"I found out about two hours ago that a big portion of my success or
failure as an editor is tied up in a book that I've never heard of by
an author that, while successful in a specific genre, has no track
record anywhere else. So, I apologize if it seems I am being
particularly unfriendly."

"I'm sure..." Nuria began.

"Oh," said Mr. Geschbach, "and that was my protege you just saw
packing up his stuff to move back into the bullpen I worked so hard to
get him out of. I recognize that none of this is your fault, but I
can't say that I'm crazy about the position I've been put in. But, I
am a professional and I will be professional about it."

"Thank you for that," said Nuria.

"I do hope that you're a competent editor, Miss Delgado," he said, "I
will see you on Monday."

Dismissed, Nuria would have fled if there weren't an obstacle every
few feet. As it was, she got so turned around that she found herself
passing the same landmarks two and three times.  It was Marcie who
came to her rescue yet again. She was coming up one of the
straightaways at a trot, mouthing words into her headset, and working
a PDA with both hands. Nuria was still marvelling at her coordination
when the young intern almost barrelled over her.

"Marcie," Nuria said sharply, her voice a mixture of alarm and relief.

Marcie, who had barely broken stride, took a wide turn while nesting
the stylus back into the PDA's body and snapping it shut. When she
looked up, her face was apologetic, "Miss Delgado, I'm so sorry. I
didn't see you there."

Nuria wanted to retort that she had been standing in what passed for
an open space here, but bit it back, "It's all right, Marcie. But, I
seem to have become a little lost. How do I get back to reception?"

Marcie smiled, "That's easy to do. I need to talk to some people in
graphics. If you want to wait here just a minute, I can be your
Sherpa."

Nuria laughed, "Are you sure you'll be able to find me again. This is
sort of the middle of nowhere."

Marcie looked around, taking her bearings, "Actually," she said, "this
is the outer edge of editorial." She pointed to a large cube with a
long desk running around the edge and more than a dozen people crammed
in, "That's the bullpen, where the juniors work. Along this wall are
the main editorial offices. That's your office peeking out from behind
the file units. If you'd like, you can follow me to graphics. They
have their own door into the hallway and it's a straight run to the
elevators."

Nuria nodded, causing Marcie to take off again at more of a canter
than a trot this time, "How do you find anything here?"

 From Nuria's perspective, Marcie's speech emanated from the back of
her blonde-streaked head at a point just below where she'd bound her
hair up in a pair of decorative chopsticks. She said, "The mess is
kind of iterative. I've been here about two years, one as a
twelve-hour intern, one as a three-day-a-week practicum and I've
noticed that the place starts out more or less looking like an office,
then gets more and more lax about where things go as we get nearer a
big release date. Then, there's a celebratory week. Then, missives
start going out that we have to comply with fire codes. That starts
the whole cycle again. We just had a big release on Wednesday, so
you're seeing the worst of it." As she spoke, she led Nuria down an
internal staircase.

"Fortunately," she continued, seemingly taking her first breath since
she started answering the question, "the mess always seems to
accumulate in the same places. If office management would observe
where these places were and move permanent storage to those spots, it
would probably short circuit the whole process."

Marcie seemed to have remembered something critical halfway through
the answer and pulled out her PDA again. She was now navigating the
staircase without looking while keying something into the device and
talking rapidly. At the bottom of the staircase, she continued her
forward motion. Nuria now realized that people seemed to know who
Marcie was and get out of her way before she ran into them. Nuria
wondered briefly why such respect was paid to a mere intern. But then,
they were inside of the graphics department.

As chaotic as the rest of the offices were, they had at least been
organized chaos. Even Marcie put away her PDA and slowed down to a
walk. It seemed like four out of every five people working in the
department were in constant motion. Most of them, in terms of age and
dress, would not have looked out of place at a rave.

The person Marcie was seeking sat at a desk more or less in the middle
of the department. He turned away from his computer, not bothering to
hide his game of solitaire, when he saw her coming, "Marcie," he said,
"It's always a surprise to see you down here. Didn't we put enough
goat's blood over the threshhold?"

"It was lamb's blood, Brad," said Marcie, "and we've got a problem
with one of the back cover reviews on the pre-release copies of
_Raisin Girl_. Apparently, Ron Vetterling is quoted as calling the
author 'sweet and generous.'"

"Yeah," said Brad, "I remember the quote, thought it seemed kind of
out of place as a literary review."

"According to Kate, it was meant to soften Anne's image to people who
find her unsympathetic."

"She is unsympathetic," said Brad, "People don't know the half of it."

"Apparently, Mr. Vetterling agrees with you," said Marcie, "He did not
call her 'sweet and generous.' He called her 'sui generis.'"

"Well, that's not entirely uncomplimentary," said Brad.

"No," said Marcie, "but it apparently wasn't meant as a compliment in
context. He's insisting we pull the quote. I just wanted to give you
the heads-up that a fresh review layout that will probably screw up
all of your pretty white balancing. They'll want to slipstream it in.
Supposedly, fact checking will have it to you by 3 pm, but Kate wanted
me to put a bug in your ear in case they drag their feet."

"That's perilously close to a mixed metaphor," said Brad. He gave
Marcie a winning smile, white teeth centering rugged blond good looks.
Nuria wondered how Marcie could look so unaffected by it. If it had
been directed at her, she'd have a hard time not swooning.

"Just wanted to give you the heads-up," said Marcie, "Brad, this is
Nuria Delgado. She's starting as a junior editor on Monday."

"A pleasure," said Brad, turning his smile on her. Nuria nodded,
unable for a moment to find her voice.

"The door to the hall is straight down this aisle," Marcie said,
gently pulling Nuria away from Brad.

"Nice to meet you," Nuria finally said. Brad waved. A minute later,
Nuria was out in the hallway. She thanked Marcie and made a note to
talk to the young woman more when they had a chance. But now she would
have to hurry if she was going to make it to lunch on time.

                            -=-

Traffic and the inability to immediately find a cab made Nuria a
little over ten minutes late. Sean still wasn't there yet, so she took
a seat at the bar, glad to have the time to compose herself and get
her head into a good space.

Unfortunately, her thoughts did not seem to want to go where she
directed them. As soon as she sat down, she started thinking about
Pearl and wondering if she had made a horrible mistake. She really did
like her roommates, but had always maintained a certain degree of
distance with them. Their wild lifestyle, not so different from her
own when she had been a couple of years younger than them, provided so
many emotional ups and downs that she was hesitant to get too deeply
involved in it. Last night had been a moment of weakness. If she was
going to get her life in order, that was exactly the sort of thing she
did not need to be doing. It was part of a pattern that led to many
moments of weakness. Already, prurient thoughts had begun to
infiltrate some of the more serious moments at work. Life was much
easier when sex wasn't involved. So, no more sex, not until she was
established.

Unless, she added to herself, Quentin really was interested. She
really was living on his good graces at the moment. She'd already
started flirting with bookstore managers for jobs that paid seven
dollars an hour. She shuddered to think what she would have done if a
plush job like this had been provided by someone she found
repulsive--laid back and thought of England, probably. It had gotten
that close to the wire.

She was entertaining that depressing thought when Sean arrived, snow
falling from the shoulders of his smartly-tailored coat, his mane of
black hair glistening in the overhead light. He smiled warmly,
"Nuria," he said, "glad that you could make it."

She stood up to receive a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Sean put a
manuscript box on the counter, "Sorry I'm late," he said, "I had an
awful time with the printer and the copy shop today. I wanted to make
sure that you had the latest version of my book to look at."

Nuria looked down at the box, "I'm looking forward to reading it."

"Good, good," said Sean, "I think you'll like it. Keep an eye on it,
please, while I get my coat checked and get us a table." Then, he was
off.

Nuria opened the box long enough to see the title page, "Camelot, by
Sean Riley." She had opened the front page only long enough to see
that it wasn't really formatted as a manuscript yet before Sean was
back.

"Please," he said, "No reading for now. I get embarassed knowing that
someone is reading my work, particularly if I can see them. Besides, I
was hoping we could catch up on old times today." His smile was
infectious and Nuria found herself smiling back. She complied with his
request, taking the manuscript with her to the table. Sean was already
talking to her as they moved. Nuria didn't respond until they had sat
down.

"Ah," she said, "this is better. I feel like I've spent all morning
talking to the backs of people's heads."

"How's that?" Sean asked.

"I got completely lost in our offices trying to find my way out,"
Nuria said, "I ended up having to latch onto an intern and ride her to
the front door."

"Ride her?" Sean asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

"Follow her," Nuria corrected herself, flushing a little, "I'm sure I
said follow. What do you recommend here?"

Sean seemed to know the restaurant and its menu well. The staff knew
him by name and seemed to be able to call up specific details of his
life. Restaurant and cuisine were nouveau boho,
Asian-fusion-cum-American-diner with a bit of coffeehouse thrown in,
the clientele mostly pomo--post-modern, post-ironic, and beyond hip.
The snippets of conversation overheard on the way to the table and the
number of cell phones, laptop computers and PDAs indicated to Nuria
that this was a place where a lot of new media business got done. In
and of itself, that was a bit of a revelation. She decided that rumors
of the new media's death must be greatly exaggerated. It seemed alive
and well here. They ordered lunch and wine and made small talk about
the last few days until the wine arrived.

"So," Sean asked, "Want to give me the short version of what's been
going on in your life for the last ten years or should I go first?
I've been rehearsing."

Nuria laughed, "Why don't you go ahead then, while I gather my
thoughts."

"Okay," said Sean, "Two more years of high school after you left.
Then, two years at Georgetown. Junior year, I went to Prague and ended
up staying three years. Never finished college. Wound up doing a lot
of stuff with the Internet. Wound up working for a Czech cell phone
company, came back to do business dev. Company got bought up by NTT. I
didn't fit their new corporate image. So, seeing the writing on the
wall, I quit and joined a dotcom. Great company, great product, no
business model. When investors figured out they'd dropped thirty-five
mil on a company that had only the vaguest idea of how to make a
profit, we had to close our doors. I bounced around a bit and finally
got a chance to polish my novel, which is what you have in that box."

"Prague?" asked Nuria, picking a detail to focus on, "I would love to
get to Prague."

"I fell in love with Prague," said Sean, "I went there meaning to
study painting and photography. But everything is in motion, there.
It's ancient and incredibly modern at the same time. Like one person
in ten had a POTS line and the waiting list was five years long and
handled with typical post-Soviet efficiency."

"POTS line?" Nuria asked.

"Land lines," said Sean, "regular old telephones. Most of the people
we sold cell phones to never had a phone of their own before. And they
were just getting into broadband when I left."

"I'm sorry," said Nuria, "I'm so technologically illiterate. I don't
know what that means either."

"Actually, I should apologize," said Sean, "I'm generally surrounded
by people who make me look like a dilettante. I'm really more
interested in technology as a means to an end, but most of my friends
have fetishized it."

Nuria chuckled, "Carla, one of my roommates, is like that. She does a
lot with the Internet and seems to love the technology for its own
sake. Half the time, even when she thinks she's dumbed down what she's
saying for a non-technical audience, I'm completely lost."

"How many roommates do you have?" Sean asked.

"Two," said Nuria, "Carla and Pearl. They're great girls, unbelievably
full of energy, but they're like ten years younger than me. I can't
keep up with them most of the time. They make me feel old."

"So," said Sean, amusement sparkling in his eyes, "they're my age."
Nuria thought about it and nodded. Sean went on, "Do I make you feel
old, Nuria?"

Nuria felt herself give a sharp intake of breath. Sean had always been
a relentless flirt, even in the eighth grade, but there was an
ernestness to this question that she hadn't expected. She examined
Sean's face. He didn't flinch away. If she had run into him alone,
without Quentin, or she hadn't known him at all, she could be quite
attracted to him. As it was, she treaded cautiously.

"No," she said, "you and Quentin make me feel much younger."

Sean chuckled, "I must say that Quentin seemed quite smitten with you
last night."

"Oh, really?" asked Nuria, not wanting to pry, but desperate to know,
"Did he get home all right?"

"Yes," said Sean laughing, "He apparently walked the twenty-five
blocks from your apartment to his after dropping you off. You had him
in quite a state."

Serves him right, thought Nuria. What she said was, "Oh?"

"He was afraid he went too far with you," said Sean, "To hear him
talk, you'd think he was still fourteen years old, trying to get you
to lean over his desk so he could look down your shirt."

"He never..." started Nuria.

"Of course he did," said Sean, "a lot of boys did. A lot of us were in
love with you at the time, as we understood it. The only time Quentin
really got in trouble was when he punched Kyle Loughlin in the face
for repeating one of those rumors about you."

"I remember that," said Nuria, "He never would tell me why he did
that. I wound up having him suspended for it."

Sean looked amused, "Yes, always the little stoic. He would rather
take the fall than even acknowledge to you that the rumors existed."

Nuria lowered her eyes, "I wish I'd known. He really shouldn't have
done that."

"Water under the bridge now," said Sean, "although some things haven't
changed. He was horribly upset to find out that you were...." he
seemed to be searching for the right word, then settled on,
"human--with regular human urges."

Nuria laughed a little uncomfortably, "I tried not to let my humanity
show."

"Well," said Sean, patting her hand comfortingly, "there's no need for
pretense here. I never thought any worse of you for the rumors."

Nuria looked up at him, startled. She understood what he wasn't
saying. Because of the way she had been approached, she'd altered her
thinking of Quentin from former student with a schoolboy crush to
possibly paramour. But, she'd still been thinking of Sean the way
she'd known him at fourteen. She may have had a lustful thought or two
about him, but she'd always pushed them down as inappropriate. Forced
to look at him in a new light, she realized that he was a charming
young man who had nursed a crush just as long as Quentin had. Based on
what Sean had told her, it seemed increasingly unlikely that anything
was going to happen with Quentin. Sean, on the other hand, seemed to
know or at least intuit who she was, and accept that. If he was as
good of a writer as Quentin claimed, he'd most likely be entering a
more stable phase of his life following publication. He had the
brooding good looks of the "Black Irish" side of his family and was in
good shape physically.  Nuria decided that she would have to read his
book and see if he was good enough to be published. It was an odd
criterion by which to choose a lover, but she'd had enough
directionless young men in her time. It wasn't really what she was
looking for any more.

"So," said Sean, "Your turn."

"Okay," said Nuria, ticking it off on her fingers, "Got married. Moved
to be with my husband. He died in a fire two years later. Wasn't
offered tenure in the new school district. Spent four years editing
Spanish-language trade books. When they closed, things got rough. I've
been looking for work ever since, almost two years. I was getting
pretty desperate."

"And then Quentin showed up on his white charger, his armor gleaming
in the sun," said Sean, "You would be surprised how many times he's
done that. He always seemed to be rushing around saving someone. He
did it for me. He did it for Mayumi. You'll want to watch that one,
incidentally. She's totally in love with Quentin and he hasn't got a
clue."

"She is?" Nuria asked, "I saw them together. I didn't see it."

"And that," said Sean, taking another drink of wine, "is why that
relationship will never happen. She's too subtle and he's clueless.
When I asked him about it, he said, 'I wouldn't want to impose on her
gratitude.' But, that won't keep her from baring her fangs at anyone
who gets too close to him."

"That's too bad," said Nuria, not really talking about Mayumi.

"Yeah," said Sean, "except that it's just as well for me. She doesn't
like me at all, thinks I'm a bad influence and that I'm pushing him
not to write any more Barrens Princess books."

"Are you?" asked Nuria.

Sean shrugged, "He's not very happy writing them. He was already
writing _Perfect Solution_ before I came back to New York. I'm not
going to badmouth the kiddie books. They pay the mortgage where I live
and the rent where I work, but they're pretty formulaic. I just want
him to be happy. I owe him a lot."

The rest of the conversation was much lighter. Nuria couldn't remember
the last time she'd laughed so hard. Sean was funny and engaging, in
turns self-deprecating and ironically self-aggrandizing. He regaled
her with stories of Prague and his generally-futile pursuit of a girl
named Sasha that started almost on the day of his arrival and lasted
until he left the city. Based on the facts, it sounded rather tragic,
ruining numerous other relationships for Sean and ending in a
less-than-ideal marriage for Sasha, but Sean was such a raconteur that
Nuria found herself apologizing for laughing over and over again.
Before they knew it, they'd been there three hours. Nuria had switched
from wine to diet soda at some point, but was still quite tipsy.

All the time, Sean kept his hands to himself, but Nuria could see his
eyes tracking over her body whenever he didn't think she was watching.
When they finally got up to leave and Sean got her coat for her, Nuria
deliberately rubbed up against him through the coat and felt him react
physically before flinching away.

Outside, it was starting to snow heavily and cabs seemed a commodity.
Sean told her to take the first one he managed to hail.

"Don't be silly,"  Nuria said, "We can share. Where are you headed?"

"My studio," said Sean, "It's up on twenty-eighth street."

"I'm probably going back up to the apartment," said Nuria, "we'll stop
at the studio first."

In the car, Sean said, "So, you'll have to let me know what you think
of the manuscript."

Nuria smiled, "I'll get on it tonight. Is there any chance I could see
some of your painting some time, too?" Sean looked at her, surprise
registering in his face. She pressed on, "I remember how much you
loved art class. I'd like to see what you've done with it."

"Sure," said Sean, his voice registering the cold, "You can come up
now if you like."

The studio turned out to be basically what she expected--a small
fourth-floor walk-up about the size of an apartment with very little
furniture, a single sink, a second-hand sofa, a space with camera and
easel set up, a disorganized computer desk piled high with papers and
crammed with three monitors, side-by-side. It was colder inside the
studio than outside.

Sean quickly started moving around the studio turning on space
heaters, "There's no central heat and bathroom and darkroom facilities
are shared. I was actually living here for a couple of weeks before
Quentin asked me to move in with him. I like to keep it nice and warm
for the models' sake.

Nuria looked at a painting over the computer desk. It showed a
dark-haired, pale-skinned woman in repose, seemingly sleeping, wearing
nothing more than a drape seemingly thrown carelessly across her lap,
"I can see how you'd want it to be nice and warm if you were going to
dress like that."

Sean came up behind her, "Actually, that's Sasha. I did that in
Prague, one of my better pieces. I did it all in one evening, by
natural light. I didn't represent the light as well as I would have
liked, but I got some aspect of her I'd never been able to capture
before.

Nuria looked more closely. She began to notice details like the deep
relaxation of the muscles and the tousled hair. Once you looked for
it, the pose was obviously post-coital, but it was otherwise easy to
miss.

It was getting warmer in the studio and Nuria was glad to shrug out of
her coat. Sean took it and hung it in the closet. Nuria said, "She was
very beautiful."

"I always thought so," said Sean, "but not particularly in the
conventional sense. You can really see it there. That's why I love
that painting."

Nuria sat down on the couch, "When you were losing your place, why
didn't you sell some of your paintings?"

"I did," said Sean, "but most of what I paint is crap. I don't have
the patience to be very good at it. That's probably the only decent
piece I didn't sell. I kept lots of crap, though, if you'd like to see
it."

Nuria laughed, "I would love to."

"I have some wine in the mini-fridge," Sean added, "Would you like
some? I find that my work looks much better after a glass or two."

Nuria laughed again, "I've already had more than a glass or two.  I
don't need any more wine, thank you."

"Me too," admitted Sean, "I don't usually drink that much,
particularly in the middle of the day. I'm feeling a bit
light-headed."

"Maybe you should come sit down," Nuria suggested, moving to one side
of the couch.

"No," said Sean, coming out with a stack of canvasses, "I'll be okay."

Nuria realized that Sean actually wanted to show her his paintings.
While she would have been happy to look at them any other time, she
had to stifle a groan of frustration.

"These are what I've worked on this year," said Sean, "but don't have
the display space for. You should really walk the walls to see the
best I have."

Nuria hauled herself to her feet to do as he'd suggested. Sean
followed her, describing each piece. A few pieces showed flashes of
brilliance. Most showed capability. A few had obvious flaws. Several
times, while Sean was explaining a painting to her, Nuria would back
into him. After the second time, he realized that it wasn't an
accident and stopped flinching. By the time they had made the full
circuit, Sean was resting his hand comfortably on her waist, leaning
into her, surreptitiously smelling her hair. Nuria felt her own
breathing come faster. Even his light touch was electrifying to her.

"So," she said, turning in profile to him without moving away, her
breasts brushing against his arm, "did you want to show me that pile
you brought out."

"Sure," he said, walking away from her. Nuria was stunned. She did not
remember her students being this dense. She was ready to scream in
frustration.

She sat back down on the couch, sliding her feet out of her shoes and
pulling them up under her. It was meant to be a sign, but she had
begun to suspect at this point that, if she stripped naked and danced
around seductively, Sean would run around turning on more space
heaters.

As Sean started to show her the paintings he'd brought out of storage,
Nuria realized that they were not chosen for their quality, but for
their subject matter. As he got two-thirds of the way down the stack,
Nuria said, "Goodness, Sean. You've certainly had a lot of naked women
up here. These are pretty good. Why do you keep them in the closet?"

Sean chuckled, "I find that they're somewhat off-putting. The more I
display, the harder it is to get subsequent models to work with me,
particularly if they're not sure they're ready to pose nude. As I
said, I have something of a short attention span sometimes. I find
that this particular subject matter holds my attention better than
most."

He showed her the last picture in the stack. It was easily the best of
the batch, "This shows real talent," said Nuria, "It's really good.
You've really....hey, this is Carla."

Sean looked like a trapped rabbit, "You know Carla?"

"Sean," said Nuria, "this is my roommate, Carla."

"This is your roommate Carla?" Sean asked, "Somehow, I didn't picture
you as living with her. She's a trip, a real free spirit, one of the
most sincere people I ever met."

"So," said Nuria, standing to get a closer look at the painting, "if I
were to mention your name to Carla, would she remember you fondly?"

"I...I think so," said Sean, "Our association was fairly brief."

Nuria meandered into the portion of the studio set up for painting and
sat down on the model's bench. After finding a place to lean the
paintings, Sean followed her in, standing a respectful distance away.
Nuria tried to draw him in with her eyes, but he stayed on the
perimeter.

"So," she asked, "is this where she sat while you painted her?"

"Actually," said Sean, "She was sort of lying down, draped across it."

Nuria smiled, finally getting somewhere. She lay down, approximating
the pose, untying the bun in her hair so that it cascaded down her
shoulders, but still dressed in her cream-colored blouse and tan
skirt, "Like this?"

Sean nodded, seemingly struck dumb. He took a step, but it was towards
the easel. Finally, giving up any hope of being subtle, Nuria said,
"Sean, come here and sit by me for a minute."

Sean did as he was asked. Nuria, now on her hands and knees, rolled
just enough to look up into his eyes, "Sean," she said reasonably, "if
I take my clothes off and you go over to the easel and start painting,
first I will scream, then I will run out that door. You're driving
me..."

Finally, he cut off her words with a kiss. Nuria let out a triumphant
moan, leaning into the kiss. Now that the floodgates were open, he was
all over her. Nuria found herself flat on her back, her legs around
his waist, still being kissed. His hands frantically worked the
buttons on the front of her blouse, stripping her efficiently to the
waist. His mouth finally broke with hers, working down her neck into
her cleavage, sucking and teasing her nipple with his tongue. Nuria
pulled off his tie and shirt, her hands finding bare flesh underneath.
She undulated beneath him, writhing as if he were already inside of
her, her skirt riding up over her hips.

Any hesitancy was gone now. Sean's big, strong hands divested her of
skirt and hose, leaving her naked. He kissed her belly, his finger
sliding into her, over her clitoris. Nuria gasped in pleasure.

"You don't know," he gasped out between kisses, "how many times...I
imagined doing this to you."

Nuria reached down, unzipping his fly, shucking his pants. She was
already soaking wet and had been before even the first kiss. He was
rock hard. She bucked against him, willing him to take her. But, he
pulled away, moving his lips down her body until his tongue found its
way between her legs. She moaned in frustration, but a second later,
her moans were only pleasure. He worked her mercilessly, his tongue
working in and out of her, his lips sucking and kissing her clit.
Nuria shuddered with the intensity of it. Then, his tongue moved out
of her and into her anus, working its way around, probing as deeply as
it would go. Nuria wrapped her arms and legs around his head, moaning
with abandon now. She couldn't believe how hard she was coming so
soon.

When he came back up to kiss her mouth, his body laid over hers, Nuria
again tried to impale herself on his cock. Again, he pulled away.
Nuria growled, "O God, Sean. Please fuck me."

Sean laughed, "Miss Delgado, I'm shocked," his finger slid back inside
of her, "What would you have done if you'd heard me use such
language?"

Nuria's eyes flashed, "I would have made sure you....unnh...you got a
suitable...oh, God...punishment."

Sean's laugh was richer now. Without another word, he buried himself
inside of her, impaling her on his cock, pounding away immediately and
intensely. Nuria, lost to the world already, lost track of everything
but the sensation of his firm, young cock pistoning into her. He was
driving against her with such abandon now that Nuria was afraid she
would be bruised tomorrow. But, she didn't care about tomorrow. She
rose up to meet him, her hips challenging him to obliterate her. She
called out his name again and again, no longer fully aware of what she
was saying.

"So," said Sean, slowing down, but still pounding away at her, "should
I punish you?"

Nuria was too far gone to worry about the ominous tone of that
question. She nodded her head vigorously. While she'd never
particularly sought out that kind of sexplay, she could enjoy it when
it happened.

Sean, as it turned out, had something different in mind. He pulled out
of her and got off the bench, walking over towards the camera. Nuria,
afraid he was going to start taking pictures, watched curiously.
Instead, he reached into a small case next to the camera and brought
out a small philtre of oil.

"Tool of the trade," he said, holing it up, "creates shinyness where
you want it."

With one hand, he pulled her to the edge of the bench. He poured a bit
of oil on his fingers. Then he slid one, then another, into her from
behind. With his free hand, he held her pinned on the bench, her
bottom jutting out over the edge where he violated it. Nuria looked up
at him, a little fearfully. As wanton as she had been so far, this
sent her even farther over the edge. She had turned this polite,
nervous young man into a beast. Nuria felt powerful and vulnerable all
at once.

"Oh, yes," Nuria cried out, raising her hips higher, willing Sean to
violate her more deeply and intensely, "yes," she said, over and over
again, willing him not to hesitate, not to ask permission, just to
violate her.

Then, his fingers were gone from inside of her, replaced by his cock.
The pain and pressure of being opened so deeply and violently lasted
only a few seconds. She savored it, trembling, impaled. She was too
overwhelmed to do anything but lie there on her back, Sean supporting
the small of her back with one hand while pinning her by the
breastbone with his other. His breathing was ragged, the only sound in
the studio she was not making. Nuria knew he couldn't last much
longer. She had already come some many times that her orgasms were no
longer distinct events. Sean slowed down, savoring and prolonging the
act. Then, he leaned down, so that his body was parallel with hers,
his organ still deep inside of her.

"Open your eyes," he ordered.

Nuria's eyes flew open at the tone of command in his voice. He started
pounding away at her again, driving to a climax now. The sight of him
pounding savagely into her drove Nuria even crazier than the feeling
alone had. She cried out in pleasure, an incoherent sound, not words,
just an expression of pleasure and triumph. The sound seemed to drive
Sean over the edge. Nuria felt him explode inside of her. He lifted
her in his arms while still pumping into her. Nuria wrapped her arms
around his neck, bit his shoulder, held onto him like he was the mast
in a shipwreck. She stayed there, wrapped around him, trembling with
pleasure even after he slid out of her. Sean sat her on the edge of
the bench, his big, powerful arms still wrapped around her, hers
around him. He was raining kisses on her face and shoulders now. Nuria
returned them weakly.

Rather than let go of her, Sean carried scooped her up, one arm under
the knees, one around the shoulders, and carried her to the couch.
They sat there, intertwined, for a long time until their breathing
calmed.

"I can't tell you how happy you've made me, Nuria," Sean said, "I've
wanted you for longer than I knew what it meant to want a woman."

Nuria nodded against his chest. She hadn't known she wanted Sean until
earlier today, so she said, "I thought you weren't going to go through
with it."

"I was," said Sean, "It's just that I'd been looking forward to it for
so long, I didn't want it to be over too soon. Having you here,
wanting me. I wanted to enjoy the moment."

"You," Nuria said, kissing the bottom of his chin, "are a dreadful
tease."

Sean laughed, "Not usually. You seem to bring it out in me. Usually, I
see what I want and I go for it." He kissed the top of her head, "I
get slapped a lot, actually."

Nuria nuzzled up against him, content to lie in his arms. His hands
still caressed her body, gentle and teasing. Finally, he seemed to
doze off. Nuria lay there for a while, listening to his breathing,
before sliding away, gathering her clothes, and gliding away.

(keywords: rom, FF, MF, anal, oral)

--Vulgar Argot
  http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/VulgarArgot/index.html
--
"I've been accused of vulgarity. I say that's bullshit."
  --Mel Brooks

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