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From: parthenogenesis <parthenogenesis1@XXXyahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} A Winning Move 3/3 (MF rom)
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Date: Tue, 22 Jan 2008 16:10:03 -0500
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A Winning Move
by parthenogenesis


Chapter 3

I could empathize with that. I kissed her on the forehead again. "I'd
love to," I said.

Presently, we got ourselves off the couch and moved toward the
bedroom. Mrs. Nguyen flashed me a brief smile and went into the
bathroom. When she'd finished, I took my turn.

When I entered the bedroom, Mrs. Nguyen was lying supine on the
turned-back sheets, nude, with her eyes closed and her legs spread
just about enough for me to fit between them. Her hands were closed
into fists by her sides. In the dim light filtering in from the living
room, with her diminutive size, her small breasts, and sparse pubic
hair, she looked so innocent, fragile, and young that I felt a rush of
guilt even though I knew better. And I was puzzled by her odd pose.

"Why are you lying there like that?" I asked.

"I thought you might want to have sex with me," she said.

That seemed to me to be a strange way to put it, but I didn't have to
be asked twice. "I'd love to make love to you," said, as I started
skinning out of my clothes.

I lay down beside Mrs. Nguyen and kissed her. On the lips, in the
usual way. She kissed me back like a child, with her lips shut. I
tried again, with the same result. "Can you feel what my lips are
doing?" I asked gently.

"Yes," she said.

"Then see if you can make your lips do the same thing." When I kissed
her the next time, her lips relaxed and softened, and moved against
mine. I slipped my hand under her back and held her close, and on the
next kiss, I tickled her lips with my tongue. I was immensely relieved
and gladdened to feel the tip of her tongue touch mine. She got the
hang of French kissing quickly, and we began kissing as lovers do.
When I started moving my lips around her forehead and her ear and down
onto her neck, she said, "Do you find me unattractive?"

"Of course not," I said. "I think you're the most beautiful woman I've
ever seen."

"Then why aren't you making love to me?" she asked, near tears.

"I am," I said, utterly perplexed.

"No you're not," she said. "You're not inside me."

"We're not ready for that yet," I said.

She pushed me back and looked down at my penis. "It looks to me like
you're ready," she said.

"I suppose I am," I said, cupping her pubis, "but you're not. You're
still all closed and dry."

"I'm ready," she insisted. "You can put it in me now."

"I don't want to do that," I said. "It would hurt you if I did."

"I don't think it will hurt much," she said.

That did it. I just had to ask. "I don't understand," I said. "It
shouldn't hurt at all. Why do you want to go ahead now?"

"When Nguyen Vo wanted to have sex, he would tell me to get myself
ready, and I would wait for him like I waited for you. When he was
ready, he would push himself into me. Most of the time, it didn't hurt
too much once he got started."

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. "You've been to movies and
read books," I said. "Surely you must have known there was more to
making love than that."

She looked at me sadly. "Yes and no," she said. "I saw people making
love in the movies, and I read about it in books, yes. But none of
that had ever happened to me, and I couldn't be sure it was real.
Ultimately, I decided it was just another element of the fiction, and
let it go at that."

"You didn't experiment any when you were dating?" I asked.

"I never dated," she said. "When I was in high school, I was so
focused on my goal that I didn't have any desire to date. By the time
I got into college, I was engaged to Nguyen Vo and I was taking a
course load that would let me graduate with two bachelor's degrees in
five years. I guess I should remind you that there was no love between
Vo and me--and he's the only man I've ever been with."

My heart ached for Mrs. Nguyen, to have been deprived of love for so
long. The words "I love you" were right on the tip of my tongue, but I
didn't think we were ready for that yet. I didn't want to take the
chance and be rejected. I pulled her back close to me, and just held
her, rubbing her back and nibbling along the top of her ear.

After some minutes, I laid her back down on the bed. "You are the most
beautiful woman I've ever known," I said, "and there's nothing in the
world I want to do more than to make love to you and bring some joy
and happiness into your life." I kissed her again, and set about
gently touching and kissing all over her body.

When I took a nipple between my lips and licked the tip of it, she put
her hands behind my head and pressed me to her breast.

I kissed around a foot, and when I sucked her big toe, she giggled.

When I lifted her leg and kissed behind her knee, she sighed.

After the knee, I kissed up and around her thighs, along the folds
where her legs met her body, and over the top of her pubic mound. When
I finally slid my tongue between her labia and wiggled it up to her
clitoris, she said, "Mr. Wynn, what are you d--EEP!" and grabbed my
head and held on tight. It wasn't long before she slammed her pelvis
into my face and let go with a long sigh. When she'd relaxed, I raised
my head and looked: her maroon lips had become shiny pink petals. She
was ready.

I scooted up on her body, lined myself up, and slipped into her,
slowly, gently, and easily. "Oooooh," she exhaled.

"Did that hurt?" I asked.

"Oh, no," she said. "Not at all. It feels very, very good."

"That's the way it's supposed to be," I said, with a kiss.

Once inside Mrs. Nguyen, I was no longer making love. I was no longer
having sex. I wasn't fucking. I was giving my soul over to Mrs.
Nguyen's care. My entire universe was right there beneath me and
around me and reaching for the stars.

When I wasn't running my lips across Mrs. Nguyen's forehead or kissing
her eyelids or tasting the hollow of her shoulder, I was looking down
at her face, watching the subtle movements rippling beneath her skin.
As I moved in and out of her, sometimes fast, sometimes slow,
sometimes pausing deep inside, sometimes rotating my hips, her eyes
tightened and relaxed, her forehead wrinkled and smoothed, her lips
pursed and loosened, her mouth formed an astonished "O."

After some indeterminate period of time, I began to feel my climax
building, and automatically started the long, deep strokes that
presage the end. Mrs. Nguyen's eyes suddenly flew open and were
looking directly into mine. Her being reached out of those dark pools,
and I fell, a long floating descent that splashed me into a fountain
of exquisite, selfless release. Mrs. Nguyen's face reflected
astonishment and wonder, then she flew horizontally off the bed and
wrapped her legs and arms around me with astonishing strength. Though
it was probably only seconds, it seemed to me that she clung for a
long time, then dropped back to the mattress, still with a look of
wonder on her face.

"Oooooooooooooh, Mr. Wynn," she sighed.

"Yes, Mrs. Nguyen?" I asked, licking at the moisture above her
eyebrows.

"I think you'd better call me Mai now," she said, and we both
collapsed into laughter that grew from nothing but delight.

"Only if you call me Mike," I gasped.

We held each other in our post-coital glow; I kissed around Mai's face
and traced the contours of her ears and chin with a fingertip. When
I'd softened to the point that I was squeezed out, we rolled and
turned until I was spooned behind her, with one arm around her chest,
holding her close, and we drifted into sleep.

When I awoke the next morning, my penis was wrapped in wet velvet, and
I thought at first that Mai as giving me a blowjob--but, no, it didn't
feel like a blowjob. It felt like I was having sex--but, no, there was
only the sensation on my penis. I couldn't feel Mai against me. When I
opened my eyes, I saw that she was squatting over me in that knees-up,
butt-down way that I think only oriental women can do, raising and
lowering her hips, occasionally putting her fingertips on my chest for
balance. The sensation was both strange and exquisite.

"God!" she exclaimed when she saw my eyes open. "I wish I'd known
about this twenty years ago." Then she dropped from her feet to her
knees, laid her chest against mine, wrapped her arms around my neck,
nuzzled against my chest, and hummed with pleasure.

After that night, Mai and I were rarely apart, and it was almost as if
the wall dividing our duplex units had been removed. We shared almost
all our meals and almost all our nights, whether at her place or mine
made no difference. I was head-over-heels in love with Mai, but scared
to death to say anything about it. The evident happiness we shared was
real, both as a state of mind and as a way of living, and I was more
than reluctant to threaten that status quo.

One afternoon in June, after we'd spent the better part of the day
weeding our garden and lavishing tender care on our burgeoning
seedlings, we made long, slow love. After we'd lazed together for a
while, I raised myself up on one elbow, looked into Mai's face, and
said, "You know, almost every day, I give thanks that I just happened
onto your street last December and that you were asking such a low
rent for your duplex." As I watched, Mai turned red from her face
almost to her navel.

"What?" I asked.

"I'm as thankful as you are for whatever forces led you to my door,"
she said, "but about the rent," she continued, avoiding my gaze, "I
guess I should fess up.

"Because I live here, this building is considered my home rather than
an income property, so I'm not subject to fair housing laws when I
rent the other unit. I can reject a prospective tenant for no reason
at all, and I can charge whatever rent I choose." She sat up, leaned
against the headboard, wrapped her arms around her knees, and gave me
a rather sheepish look.

"This duplex is one of the rental properties Nguyen Vo maintained. He
and I were living in a house not far from here, and after he died, I
didn't want to live in that house any longer. The next time this front
unit was vacated, I moved in here and put the house up for rent. The
tenant in the rear unit," she said, winking at me, "felt uncomfortable
having his landlady living right next door, and moved out a couple of
months later.

"At that point, I didn't really feel like having a stranger so near to
me, so I let the that unit remain vacant while I took care of the
bureaucracy that accompanied Vo's death, continued to manage the
businesses, and spent time thinking about what I wanted to do with my
life now that I was free of a twenty-year commitment. My parents were
gone, Vo was gone, and I felt very alone in the world, my activities
no longer dictated by the desires of others. It was both a heady and
frightening feeling.

"After about a year, I decided that it wasn't good for me to be so
alone, so I rented the rear unit to a young professional woman,
Marie--whom I selected very carefully--and that was the right thing to
do. She and I became friendly and chatted over tea or coffee from time
to time. I got exactly the amount of company I needed. Roll over and
lie on your back."

I did, of course, and Mai slid back down, rolled over, and laid her
head on my chest.

"Last July, Marie decided to accept her boyfriend's proposal of
marriage, and moved out to live with him. I wasn't in a hurry to get a
new tenant, and, as it happened, I'd just put out the for rent sign
the same day that you came to inquire."

Mai ran her index finger in circles around my nipple while she paused
to choose her words.

"When you told me that you'd been living at Vida Libre, I had a pretty
good idea how much rent you'd been paying," she said in a small voice,
"so I, ah, adjusted my rent accordingly." Then she gave my chest a
sharp nip.

"Ow!" I said. "So what did you learn when you checked my rental
application?"

"Don't ever play poker, Mike," she said. "Your face is an open book.
Your manner of speaking when you told me why you were moving was so
ingenuous that I didn't think for a moment that you weren't telling me
the absolute truth. I didn't check your credit or anything else."

"So why the day's delay, then?" I couldn't help asking.

She nipped me again, and thumped my chest with the side of a closed
fist.

"I didn't want to appear too eager to have you as a tenant," she
nearly whispered.

I wrapped my arms around Mai and hugged her until she squeaked.
Actions speak louder than words, but words count, too, and that was
the first time she'd anything to hint that she'd wanted me in the same
way that I'd wanted her.

Toward the end of July, we began bringing in the first of our
zucchini, yellow crookneck squash, white summer squash, and string
beans. The tomatoes followed in August. The garden-fresh vegetables
were delicious, and every meal at which we ate them was a celebration
of the day we planted them and the night we made love for the first
time.

By early November, the squash plants were getting dry and rustly, the
tomatoes had stopped turning red, and the beans and peas had quit
producing. On a windy Saturday, we pulled and dug up the dead plants.
I went to U-Rentz for the rototiller, and as I followed it up and down
and back and forth, I wondered if I'd be there for a planting the next
spring.

Even as Mai and I were enjoying our time together, our closeness, and
our intimacy, I continued my daily routine of pounding the virtual
pavement, emailing out resumes and getting nothing in return. Software
engineers, who had been the pampered darlings of Silicon Valley for a
decade, were unable to find work, which meant that the chances for a
technical writer were somewhere between slim and none. Probably less
than that, even.

When I wrote the December rent check to Mai, I saw that, just as I'd
calculated a year earlier, I was nearly out of money. I could probably
manage one more month's rent, as long as I didn't want to buy food or
anything. I thought about what my real options at that point were: a
blue plastic tarp tent under a bridge over the Guadalupe River, trying
to sweet-talk my ex out of free lodging until the job market improved,
taking my chances at one of the homeless shelters around the valley,
seeing if I could find a job at McDonald's or Starbucks, and
petitioning Mai for rent relief (and asking her to feed me). I didn't
think much of any of those choices, but I had to say something to Mai.

Peeking in the window when I went to Mai's front door, I could see her
sitting at her kitchen table. I knocked, then let myself in. Mai got
up, wrapped her arms around my neck, kissed me, and said, "What's up?"

"We have to talk," I said, taking a seat at the table. I handed her
the check. "I'm out of money. I can't eat and pay you another month's
rent, and, frankly, I don't know quite what to do."

Mai put her chin on her fist and scrunched up her face as if she were
thinking very hard. "Boy, you do have a problem," she said, looking
out the window. "It's getting pretty cold and wet out there, too." She
scratched her head. "I suppose I could invite you to move in with me,"
she said, "but one of these units really isn't big enough for two
people. I mean, you have all your books, and you'd be wanting your own
desk for your laptop, and I expect you'd want some privacy while you
were job hunting and things like that."

She breathed a huge theatrical sigh. "I guess I'll just have to dust
off the for rent sign again," she said, with exaggerated blinks.

I was not amused. "Why are you making fun of me?" I asked.

"Because you're so much fun to make fun of," she said, grinning.
"Stand up."

I stood up, of course. Mai reached out, grabbed my belt buckle, and
started tugging me toward the bedroom. "What are you doing?" I said.

"I want to make love to you. Don't argue with me."

Our clothes disappeared quickly, as they frequently seemed to do when
we entered the bedroom, and we settled into our what had by now become
a familiar but at the same time new every time foreplay. When we were
ready, Mai said, "On your back, horsie." Mai had learned that she
really liked to be on top, and it seemed logical to her that if she
was the cowgirl, then I must be the horse. She mounted up.

But instead of starting her usual posting motion, she crossed her arms
over my chest and looked into my eyes. Then she began to rock her
pelvis up and down. Only her hips moved. Rock-rock. Pause. Rock-rock.
Pause. Rock-rock. Pause. It was more a gentle and loving caress than
purposeful sex.

"I love you, Michael. You dope." she said. Rock-rock.

I had been waiting and hoping to hear those words for so long that
when they touched my ears I felt lightheaded and giddy. It was a kind
of psychic orgasm.

I ran my hands over her hair and my fingertips around her ears. I
cupped her cheeks in my palms and directed my gaze straight into her
eyes. "Mai, I've loved you almost from the first moment I saw you."

"I know you love me," she said. "You show me you love me every day,
even if you don't say the words. I've loved you almost from the first
moment I saw you, too."

My fingers danced over her back and her bottom. "What took you so long
to tell me?"

"That first day," she said, "when I opened my door and saw you
standing there, something inside me went clunk." Rock-rock.

"It was the most exhilarating feeling I'd ever known--but also the
most frightening. For twenty years, I'd lived a life that was
virtually devoid of emotion, and then, in an instant, I was seized by
something so consuming and powerful that I didn't know what to do. It
took only that moment of feeling completely out of control of myself
to make me wonder what my life was about, had been about. I had no
answer, and that scared me."

I said nothing, and just kept stroking her back, rubbing the dimples
down low, squeezing her lovely bottom gently.

"It took me a while to believe that I might be feeling romantic love,
the stuff I thought existed only in books and movies." Rock-rock.

"After a while, I began to trust the feeling, and when I was most
aware of it, when I saw you, when we were drinking coffee and talking,
I let it have free rein, and it just kept getting stronger and
stronger and better and better. The day we planted our garden
together, it was so strong that I thought I was going to come out of
my skin. I wanted to lift my arms to the skies and shout. And that
evening, I wanted to feel my skin against yours, I wanted to know what
might happen next so much that I could hardly stand it." Rock-rock.

"I don't think the earth moved, exactly," she said, with a small
smile, "but you for sure rocked my world. Caused it to shatter into
shards of pleasure and possibility. After the first time we made love,
everything changed, and I had to pick up all my little pieces and put
them back together again." Rock-rock.

"One other thing. After I'd told you about the agreement I'd made with
my parents and Nguyen Vo, and how it wasn't so bad, you said, 'Except
that you never got to pursue your dream.' I had pushed my dream so far
back in my mind and kept it there for so long that I'd practically
forgotten it. But I've been thinking a lot about it again lately, and
now my question is 'what's keeping me from it?'" Rock-rock.

Tears were running down her cheeks. "Mike?" she said.

I startled. "Yes?"

"After your world fell apart, you kept slogging away, first at
Milpitas Systems, and now sending out resumes long after a sensible
person would have given up hope and started looking for something new.
Unless that's your dream. Is it?" Rock-rock.

That one simple question caused thoughts to bounce up nearly as fresh
and strong as they'd been when I first had them more than twenty years
ago. "No," I said, softly, "that's not my dream."

"Do you have a dream, Mike?" she asked. Rock-rock.

"I had one," I said, "a long time ago. When I was going to college, I
wanted to write. Novels, or maybe short fiction. I really, really
wanted to write a novel." I squirmed beneath Mai.

"And what happened to your dream?"

"Writing doesn't pay the rent or buy food for hungry kids," I said,
with a bitter laugh.

"Uh-huh," she said. Rock-rock.

She sat up, rubbed the tears from her cheeks, sniffed hugely, and
swiped her forearm under her nose. "Now, horsie," she said, "I want to
ride."

"Wait a minute," I said, grabbing her hips so that she couldn't move.
"Why am I a dope?"

"Because," she snurfled, "you should have known how I felt all along."

I let go, and then she rode. Dear God, did she ride! She rode and rode
until sweat ran down her chest and her sides and she leaned back and
braced herself on my thighs and vibrated all over and squealed as I
exploded in her helplessly and felt like a rodeo bronc that had been
thoroughly broke. Then, with a groan, she heaved herself forward and
collapsed in a boneless puddle on my chest. "Oh, gawd," she gasped.
"What did you do to me, horsie?"

After a bit, she sat up, slapped my hip, and said, "Ok, time for a
shower. Then we're going for a drive."

"Where to?" I asked, not wanting to move.

For all that Mai could sling American slang with the best of them, she
could also be maddeningly oriental at times. "You'll see," she said,
enigmatically and inscrutably.

We hopped into Mai's Mercedes, and off we went, wending our way back
over to 880, south past Campbell and Vasona Park to the Los Gatos
exit; then across to Saratoga, onto Big Basin Way, right on 4th
Street, and up into the hills. Finally, Mai turned into the driveway
of an absolutely magnificent house. It didn't protrude from the
hillside, but seemed to be part of it, constructed of natural wood
surrounded with indigenous landscaping. The roof came to a high peak
over broad picture windows and a deck that looked out over the south
end of San Francisco Bay.

"Wow, what a house," I said. "Who lives here?"

"Ssh," Mai said.

We walked to the front door, where Mai fished in her purse a bit, then
withdrew a key and let us in. The house was as magnificent inside as
out, with dark leather furniture in the living room, a gleaming teak
dining table, and a kitchen roomy enough to cook for a dozen, easily.

I followed her across the living room and out onto the deck. The sky
was a cloudless blue and the air was clean and clear in the wake of a
rainstorm. It was chilly by Silicon Valley standards; Lick Observatory
atop Mt. Hamilton to the east was grey lumps on a blanket of snow. To
the north, the view stretched from the old Leslie Salt Flats up the
bay to Oakland. I'll swear that with better vision I would have been
able to see the Campanile on the UC campus in Berkeley.

Mai snugged her back against my chest and pulled my arms around her.
"I have to make one final confession, Mike," she said.

My insides dropped, and I felt a clutch of fear. The afternoon so far
had been wonderful. More than wonderful. I was still flying from Mai's
breakneck ride and her telling me she loved me. Was this final
confession going to amount to the "but," the other shoe dropping, the
fall from my meager paradise?

I kissed the top of Mai's head and tightened my hold on her slightly.

"You remember when I said that after Vo died I spent the first year
taking care of his businesses?" she started.

"Yeeeeees," I said.

"One thing I realized quickly was that I didn't want to be a business
manager and accountant any more, so I sold off both the businesses and
all the rental properties but two, and put the proceeds into
long-term, low-yield, very safe bonds. My future is secure. Very
secure. Right now, I have no commitments and the freedom and the means
to do virtually anything I want."

A slight gust of wind stirred the bushes. Lights began to wink on in
the valley.

"Which two houses did you keep?" I asked.

"The duplex and this one," she said. "I wanted to live in the duplex,
and although all the rest of the houses were just
properties--business, a means of making money--this one was special.
I've loved it since Vo bought it, and I couldn't let it go."

Mai turned around so that she was facing me, leaned back, and looked
up at me.

"I want to pursue my dream," she said. "I can now. I can go back to
school and get the degrees I need to teach. When I first started
thinking about it, I thought it was kind of a silly idea, a woman of
my age going back to college to become a teacher. And then I thought
why not? I still have at least twenty good years to do what I've
always wanted to do."

My heart sank even further. Mai had just declared her independence.
Obviously, the time we'd spent together in the duplex was at an end.
She was going off to follow her dream and I was back on the curb,
suitcases in my hands. I cleared my throat. Speaking had suddenly
become difficult. I hurt to my toes and I was angry, but I wasn't
going to whimper and whine or lash out.

"I understand," I rasped. "There's not a reason in the world why you
shouldn't finally have something that was taken from you. Maybe we
should go back to town now."

Mai gave me a puzzled look. Then she hauled off and gave me such a
punch in my chest that I was glad I was wearing a heavy jacket.

"Mike, you dope," she shouted. "I know you can be thick sometimes, but
do you really not get it? I have no intention of doing this alone. You
can have your dream, too. For Pete's sake," she tailed off, "you can
be such a man sometimes."

Mai grabbed me by the hand and dragged me back into the house and down
a hall toward the rear, turning right at one doorway and flipping on a
light. "Do you think you could write a novel in here?" she asked.

A desk of lustrous oak sat beneath a window looking out onto a grove
of oak and laurel trees, a leather couch nestled against one wall, and
bookcases lined another, natural wood throughout. It smelled of wood
and wax and leather. I took one look at that room and almost started
to salivate. Yes, I could write a novel in there. I don't think I'd
ever before seen a room that felt so much like I belonged in it.

I looked at Mai, speechless. I think I might have nodded.

She then gave me a tour of the rest of the house: a huge master
bedroom with king-size bed and a bathroom with a shower big enough for
two; a second office, furnished in a decidedly more feminine way, and
two smaller bedrooms. "See," she said, "an office for you, an office
for me, and two bedrooms so that Adam and Jonathan could each have a
room to himself when they come to visit."

My brain had to spend a few minutes in auto-macho mode: oh, I couldn't
accept this from you, Mai, it's too much; I'd be a kept man,
contributing nothing to the household; I'd be less than a man if I
weren't providing for my family; and so on. My family? Where'd that
thought come from? A house. A home. A woman I loved. A place for both
of us. It was time to quit being stupid. Time to quit being such a
man.

"I've kept this house furnished and maintained since I got rid of the
others," she said. "All we'd have to do is pack our suitcases and move
in."

I wrapped my arms around Mai and lifted her off the floor in a bear
hug. "Yes," I said, kissing her on the end of the nose. "Just yes. I
can't think of anything that feels more right."

Mai buried her nose in the folds of my jacket. "I shouldn't say this,
I shouldn't say this, I shouldn't say this," she muttered.

"Say what?" I asked.

"It sure sounds like a win-win move to me," she groaned. "C'mon, let's
go take a closer look at that king-size bed."

###


parthenogenesis1@XXXyahoo.com

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