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Message-ID: <44903asstr$1066857006@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Vulgar Argot" <VulgarArgotREMOVEALL@CAPSinsidejoke.tv>
Subject: {ASSM} {ASSD} Best and Brightest, Part 2 -rp-
Date: Wed, 22 Oct 2003 17:10:06 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

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 out the door.

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

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