Archive-name: SpecMome/only-mem.txt

Archive-author: Leigh

Archive-title: Only A Memory



leigh@waffle.whiffer.atl.ga.us





                               *1: Us*



I couldn't believe it when my kids threw me a surprise party this year.

Well, the party was really no surprise, because Scarlett, the oldest at

sixteen, kept asking me questions like "Is it really hard to bake a

cake?" and Jason, my fourteen year-old, has never been interested in

making sure that I had "a fun day out shopping" before. It was pretty

easy to tell they were up to something, especially since they started

being awfully polite and charming the day before my birthday. It just

isn't in character for them, you know what I mean? I love my kids, but

they're hellions just the same.



I suppose what I couldn't believe is that there were actually forty

candles on the cake.  Scarlett and Jason had a good giggle at that:

"wow, looks like the whole table is on fire, Mom!" and "gee, if you get

any older we'll have to make a bigger cake" and all those great things

that kids think are so funny at sixteen... and twenty years later don't

find all that humorous anymore, somehow.  Well, that's the breaks.  I

had done just about the same thing to my parents.



It was a nice birthday, all in all.  My husband Ben, who had reached the

dreaded four-oh two years ago, gave me a bra and panty set which was

made mostly out of hope, with a little lace tacked on.  The kids went

wild when they saw it.  I knew why Ben had given it to me in front of

them.  He wanted to get a good chuckle out of my red cheeks as much as

he wanted to see my other cheeks hanging out of that little panty later

on.  I resolved to be especially cruel to him on *his* next birthday.



"Wooooo!"  Jason said, laughing like the very idea of me in sexy

underwear was ridiculous.  "I bet you've never had anything like that

before!  Heh heh heh."



"Yeah, what do you know."  I stuck my tongue out at him.  "You think I'm

some old maid?  I was a kid once too, not-" I gave a sharp glance at

Scarlett, who seemed about to open her mouth, "-not that I was wearing

stuff like this when I was exactly a *kid*."  I held the brassiere up to

the light and admired the way my wedding ring flashed through the

material.  "Besides, your dad used to be well-known for trying to see up

girls' skirts in college, so I made sure I always had on nice

underwear."  I laughed.



We all went out to dinner, and even the kids had some champagne.  Ben

seemed to try to make this a jolly occasion indeed.  Probably worried

that I was going to have a nervous breakdown because I could no longer

claim to be "thirty-something".



There was more champagne that evening, much later, after the kids had

finally decided to go to bed.  One thing about the summertime, any

loving you try to get in just about has to be after midnight because the

kids go to bed so late.  It's not that I didn't want them to know that

Ben and I were doing the dirty deed, after all, they would have been

pretty stupid not to figure it out;  it's just that when I am in the

throes of passion I don't need to hear a little strand of giggles come

floating into the bedroom as some light sleeper walks down the hall to

the bathroom.  Sort of dampens the mood.



"We are tearing up the Blockbuster card."  Ben said firmly as he shut

the bedroom door.  "I am really getting tired of them watching movies

until one a.m., even on a Friday."  He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed

it in the direction of my reading chair by the window.



"Oh, come on."  I picked up his shirt and put it in the laundry hamper.

"It's summer.  They're supposed to be completely worthless and lazy,

it's their vacation."  I kissed him and walked into the bathroom to

brush my teeth.



Ben followed me in and stood behind me, his arms encircling my waist.

"Yeah," he said softly, "but we both know how you are about...

spectators."  He nuzzled my neck.



I laughed and toothpaste dribbled down my lip.  "Well, I'm an old woman

now, and you have to make allowances for me.  I just don't perform well

with an audience, seen or unseen."  I rinsed out my mouth and turned

around in his arms.  "Besides, who is it that always says "shhhh!" in my

ear?  Huh?  Huh?"



"Well."  Ben coughed a bit, a wry look settling on his face as he turned

me around to face the mirror again.  "Be that as it may... but if you're

an old woman, you sure don't look it, now do you?"  He smiled at my

reflection.



I smiled back, but my eyes stayed on the woman in the mirror.  I looked

pretty much like I always had, ever since I was a kid.  Round face, dark

brown hair, the big brown eyes which I had always said were my best

feature;  now those eyes looked even bigger because of the dark circles

under them at times, but all in all the same face I had looked at for

the last forty years.  I didn't feel as if some momentous change had

overcome me the morning of my fortieth year, and I doubted one ever

would.  I would just go on being me, more or less.



"At least my hair is going silver instead of grey."   I plucked one from

my hairline and handed it to Ben. "Here, you can have this back."



"Huh?"  He said, holding the strand in his fingers.



"Well, you gave it to me in the first place."  I laughed, and he pinched

my bottom.



I pulled away from him and walked into the bedroom, turning out lights

as I went.  I thought about how I had looked the same for so long now,

and for seventeen of those years had followed pretty much the same

routine as tonight.  Brush your teeth, turn out the lights, take off

your clothes, get into bed.  If he rolls up against you *this* way, and

you roll against him *that* way, you have sex.  If you roll the other

way, or he grabs his pillow in another way, then you don't.  I smiled to

myself.  Sometimes I missed being young and single, but most of the time

I liked it this way.  Besides, even if I was single again, I wouldn't be

young, so why even think about it.



"Um."  Ben said.  I turned to look at him, standing naked in the faint

glow from the nightlight in the bathroom.  "I think I forgot to put the

clock out.  Or I didn't wind the cat.  Or something.  Be right back."

He started for the bedroom door.



"Sweetie, don't you think you should put something on?"  I sat down on

the side of the bed.



He made a rude noise at me and grabbed a bed pillow and stuck it in

front of his crotch.  "Okay, I'm decent.  Be back in a minute."  I

watched his round little buns recede from me and go out the door.



I sat for a moment on the side of the bed, feeling the cool cotton of

the sheets against my thighs.  Maybe all forty year old women don't

sleep in the nude, but I do.  I feel strangled by clothes when I'm in

bed.  Besides, I like to snuggle up against my husband's furry body.

When I was seventeen I would have gagged at the idea of liking a man

with hair all over his body, but I certainly learned to appreciate it on

a lot of cold winter nights.



Ben had a beautiful body, small and compact.  His mom was a

second-generation Italian, his dad an American Indian.  He had the huge

liquid eyes and brown skin of his mom, and the glittering black hair of

his dad.  That hair might be thinning a bit on top, but it was still

luxuriously thick and soft everywhere else, and I loved to run my hands

through its waves.  His chest and arms were muscular, large in

proportion to the rest of his body.  I had spent quite a number of years

wondering if his big chest and my big tits would doom our daughter to a

life of porn movies or nude dancing but, to her immense irritation, it

looked like Scarlett was going to be almost flat-chested.  Jason saw

that as immensely hilarious as of late.



I felt a slight flush as I thought of, for some reason, my wedding

night.  I hadn't been a virgin, not by a long shot;  I guess I had been

about as far from it as possible, considering that I was pregnant with

Scarlett already.  Ben and I had been living together for over a year

anyway, so when I got knocked up we decided to do the conventional

thing, but somehow the whole shenanigan about getting married in a white

dress (my sister laughed a good bit over that) and driving away in a

limo to the bridal suite in a hotel made everything different that

night. I had been joking with Ben about it since we decided to get

married ("Well, at least I won't have to worry about having my period on

our wedding night, ha ha") but it had all seemed a little bit strange,

standing beside a big bed covered with pink satin sheets, a transparent

wisp of negligee falling from my shoulders to trail on the floor, with

my new husband naked and erect, reaching for me.



I shook my head to clear it, like they do in the movies.  I heard Ben

coming up the stairs, talking to something, probably Biggles the cat,

who liked to lurk on the stairs and try to kill us.  He was the exact

same beige shade as the carpet, and would flatten himself out on a dark

stair, then suddenly leap up before you almost stepped on him, trying

his damnedest to make you fall backward and break your neck.  I think

someone told him he was the beneficiary of our life insurance, or

something.  I heard a slight clink of glass on glass.



I jumped up from the bed and grabbed the little box my present from Ben

had come in, and tiptoed quietly into the bathroom and latched the door.

I heard the bedroom door open, and then close, Ben muttering under his

breath about sending Biggles to the taxidermist before his time, just

like he always did.  I stifled a giggle and opened the linen closet,

pushing things around until I found what I wanted.



"Honey?"  Ben called.  "Where are ya?"



"I'm in the bathroom, where do you think?"  I called out.  "Don't get

your panties in a twist, I'll be through in a minute."



"I'm not wearing any panties."  Ben's voice came from near the door.

"All the better to put you in awe of my manhood."  There was a pause as

he waited for a retort, but I was too busy.  "What are you doing in

there, anyway?"



"What do *you* normally do in a bathroom?"  I said, getting things into

place.  "Go away for a minute and let me finish in peace.  Geez."



"We should put a refrigerator in there and you can just move in."  I

heard Ben saying, his voice getting muffled as he moved away from the

door.  "Women and bathrooms."



I smiled to myself and struck a match, lighting the scented candle on

the sink cabinet.  I put a good dollop of bath oil in the tub and turned

on the water.  Taking a last quick look in the mirror, I adjusted the

right strap of the lacy brassiere Ben had given me, making sure that my

nipple fell just right into the cut-out in the center.  I wiggled my

hips a bit, letting the tiny straps of the g-string settle.  I opened

the door and leaned against it, one arm high over my head, grasping the

doorframe.



"Come here, big boy.  Let's get clean before we get dirty, eh?"  I

smirked.



"Whoa."  Ben reared up from where he had been lying on the bed and

whistled.  "Hey lady, you better get out of here before my wife finds

you.  I'm not allowed to look at beautiful girls in sexy clothes, you

know."



I crooked a finger in his direction.  "Come here you.  I told the old

lady to get lost for a while."  As if my finger pulled a string attached

to his body, Ben leaped from the bed and grabbed a bottle of champagne

and two glasses and hurried into the bathroom.



The one thing I have always loved about Ben is that he is never

self-conscious about getting a hard-on.  He's one of those guys whose

penis almost vanishes when it's soft, so it's a nice long enjoyable

process to watch it get hard.  He knew I liked to watch it, and it

always seemed to turn him on even more to know I liked it;  a sort of

happy circle of events.  I could tell now by the way the wrinkles in his

cock were smoothing out that just the sight of me in his sexy underwear

was still enough to get him going.  I laughed gaily to myself and

brushed the back of my hand against his cock.  He pushed it against me

and lay his palms against my breasts.



"Nice nice nice."  He kissed my neck and rubbed his hands against my

exposed nipples, his flesh warm as it rasped against my cool skin.



"Get in the tub, lover.  This is your lucky night.  I'm going to give

you a bath."  I held up a big sponge.



"I'll get wet for you now if you get wet for me later."  He said against

my neck.  I shivered a little and giggled, then pushed him away.



"Come on, get in."  I noticed as he pulled away that his cock had

lengthened even more, almost its full size, although it was not yet

hard.



Ben did as I asked, wincing slightly as his balls touched the hot water,

but finally settling in with a sigh.  It wasn't often that either one of

us took the time for the luxury of a real tub bath, and it had been

years since we had had a bath together.  I let the water reach high

against the side of the tub and then turned it off to a tiny trickle.  I

got down on my knees beside the tub and swirled the sponge in the water.



"You look so nice by candlelight."  Ben said, reaching over to touch my

hair.  "Your hair is so shiny."  He looked abashed for a moment, as if

he wanted to say something else, but didn't.



"You look good enough to eat, and I just might later on."  I said,

kissing him.  "Right now I reserve the right to inspect every part of

you at my leisure."  I leaned over to get the bottle of Vitabath in the

rack beside the tub and my tits swayed with my movement.  I felt two wet

fingers rub one nipple lightly.



"Lean forward."  I said, and applied the sponge to his back.  The

pungent smell of pine filled the warm air of the bath as I rubbed the

gel into the skin of his back.  I heard him sigh again with pleasure.



"You look great in those.  I knew you would.  Then again, you'd look

good in anything."  He made a sound low in his throat as I kneaded the

muscles in his shoulders.  "Black looks good on you.  Shows up your pink

parts nicely."



"The kids thought it was pretty funny."  I chuckled quietly.  "I guess

they find it hard to imagine that decrepit old people like us still get

it on."



"Oh, what vulgarity.  'Get it on' indeed.  Don't you know it's 'doin'

the wild thang' now?  Sheesh, where have you been?"



"Not sitting in front of MTV with Jason."  I replied tartly.  "Ogling

girls who are probably too young for *him*, let alone you."



"Yeah, yeah, yeah."  He laughed and looked back at me.  "You 'fraid I'm

going to start dating Scarlett's girlfriends?"  He made a kissing noise.



"Nah.  You don't have an earring.  They wouldn't want you.  Besides,

you're a pervert and only I know how to deal with you."



"Yes, well.  There is that, isn't there."  He shifted slightly in the

water.  "You gonna deal with me soon, I hope?"



"I would say hold on to your britches, but you aren't wearing any. But

anyhow... do you remember when we were teenagers, and thought the very

idea of our parents having sex was enough to make you vomit?"



Ben gave that kind of a cackle that passes for a laugh for him

sometimes.  "I figured that mom and dad did it, but like with him on top

in the dark and for about two minutes."  He seemed to think for a

moment.  "Then again, it's sort of hard to look at the person who packed

you tuna-fish in your lunch for fifteen years and wonder if she gave

your dad a blow-job the night before."



"Oh, gross.  You know that's not what I meant."  I popped him over the

head with the sponge, making suds fly everywhere.  "It's just that I

guess sex seems so exciting when you're that age that you find it

impossible to believe that your parents are... well, you know... *hip*

enough to do something that fun."



"Hip enough?  Have you been listening to disco again?  No, no, don't

slap me.  Okay, yes.  I know what you mean.  Then again, maybe our

parents weren't hip enough.  Well, mine anyway.  You gotta remember that

as long as I lived under their roof mom and dad slept with their bedroom

door open."



"Yeah, but they were weird.  After my dad died my mom told me he had a

mistress.  That was so weird to hear out of my mom's mouth!"



"Yeah, I remember you came home from your mom's that day with your mouth

hanging open.  You shouldn't let your mouth hang open like that. Makes

me wanna fill it up."



"You're a lech.  Which is why I love you.  But anyway.  Yeah, she told

me that Dad had a mistress for all those years and a couple of

girlfriends too."



"Hey, wonder if he ever got up to some fun with all of 'em at once.  Hey

hey!"



I was silent for a moment, scrubbing Ben's back.  I cupped my hands and

filled them with water, letting it slide down his back, washing the

lather away.  I put my hand to his shoulder and pushed him back, and he

reclined in the tub as far as he could so that I could get to his front.



"Ben..."  I rubbed some Vitabath between my hands to warm it up a bit.



"Yes?"



"Um."  I took a mental deep breath.  "Okay.  Let me tell this bang, like

we used to say.  Have you ever been in a three way?"



"Huh?"  Ben asked.  "You know, Diane, you have the weirdest mind in the

world.  What on earth made you ask that?"  He laughed and squirted some

bathwater up into the air with his fist.  "I mean, not that I mind you

asking or anything, but I mean this is a bit out of the blue, you know?"

He gave a little laugh again.  "Are you getting kinky on me, lady?"



"You mean 'kinkier' I assume."  I went about the business of putting a

dollop of bath gel on my sponge and applying it carefully to his chest,

only a slight smile on my face.  "Okay, so you win, I'm a perv, I admit

it, but..."  I glanced at his face and he seemed intensely interested;

a little inspection further south showed that he was intensely

interested indeed.  I ran a finger over his most interested part and

watched it react, reaching higher above the surface of the water. "Well.

What I mean is..."  I could feel my cheeks getting hot; dipping my hand

in the water, I put it to my face to cool my skin. "The thought of it,

you know..."  I squirmed a little on the cold porcelain.  "I don't mean

necessarily *now*, you know, but back then." I ignored his smirk and

continued.  "You know, before we were married. The thought of seeing you

in action like that, well.  The thought of it kind of turns me on, a

little bit.  I mean, in theory..."  I giggled a little.



There was a pause as Ben grappled with my question and how to answer it.

He was amused, that much was obvious, but it was a few heartbeats before

he spoke.



"I tell you what."  Ben sat up suddenly, making a great splashing wave.

"Let's make this true confessions time.  I'll tell you about something

that happened to me before we were married, and you tell me something.

I kind of get the feeling that I might learn a little something here."

He scooped water over his chest and shoulders and then stood up.  "Now

take that candle and that bottle of champagne and get into bed.  I'm

going to rinse off and I'll join you in a minute."



Ben looked at me sternly, his hand on his hip, and he looked so cute I

couldn't help but bite my lip to keep from grinning.



"Yes, sir."  I said, and did as asked.



****



                               *2: Him*



Okay.  You asked.  So here's how I remember it.



I'm not going to divulge how long ago this was, but I had only recently

become ashamed of the big gold chain I wore for years.  I mean, I never

looked like John Travolta with his big pants, big collar and big nose or

anything, but I guess it would be fair to say that I hung out at my

share of discos.



I was still at Tech at the time, but I hadn't moved into the dorm yet.

I was still living with my Uncle Roy in his nineteen-fifties crackerbox

house with all of the motorcycle parts in the basement. That was Roy's

hobby in those days:  collecting motorcycle parts and pretending he was

going to custom build a bike one day.  He'd been buying bushel baskets

of assorted useless junk since about 1962 and hadn't mated one part to

another in all that time, and I doubt if he has yet.



Anyway, living in the spare room in my Uncle Roy's house was not, as you

can imagine, the greatest thing in the world for my social life. Roy was

an insomniac, among other irritating things, so he was awake when I went

to school and was awake when I got back and was awake pretty much all of

the time.  There is no way I would have even invited a girl to the

house, anyway, as when Roy wasn't watching t.v. wrestling he was

listening to these records which would make Roger Miller puke.  I think

the last time he had bought stereo equipment was when Pet Clark was big,

and he still thought of the Beatles as snotty foreigners.  I should

write a book about Uncle Roy.  Oy.



So what does a guy do when he's young, relatively good looking,

relatively well dressed and incredibly horny?  Check out the girls

wiggling their butts in dance bars, of course, and hope that someone

will finally notice that he is just irresistible.  Hope being the

operative word there.



I had a lot of what I used to call 'bar friends'.  These were guys which

I saw at the same bars weekend after weekend.  After a while if you keep

going to the same place you get to know a lot of the other regulars, and

that was okay because then you'd have someone to sit with and not look

quite so out on the prowl.  I know it's sort of hard to imagine a guy in

a thin leather tie and topsiders to be on the prowl, but that's the way

it felt.



Friday night was good, but Saturday night was better.  Maybe it's

because everybody got up late that day and they could party all night

and know that they could sleep late tomorrow too, but Friday was date

night and Saturday was no-date night at the bars where I hung out.  I

had a regular little round going, first this place and then that one and

then the next, pretty much in the same order.  Habit, I guess.



So this one night, right after I got my Subaru, I was making my regular

Saturday night rounds.  Okay, so it wasn't a Corvette, but the Subaru

was the first car I ever had with a real stereo in it, and that wasn't

missing any hubcaps or anything.  Funny how it increased my self-esteem

to be in a car that had all of its original quarter panels.



Back then these bars I went to charged admission because there was

dancing and pool tables and that sort of stuff.  Each one had a little

stamp they used to put on your arm, with some stupid saying or a happy

face or like that.  Sometimes I'd wake up on Sunday morning with these

dumb stamps up to my elbow.  This Saturday night was like that, and I

figured I would wake up with them up to my elbow again the next morning

- alone, per usual.



A buddy had told me when I was in Harrison's or Houston's or Howie's or

whatever the name of the place was, that there was a new place in town

where the really wild girls went to pick up guys.  I sort of doubted

that, as I found the concept of girls actually *looking* to get laid

improbable, but it was 2 a.m. and I didn't even have a phone number to

show for my evening's efforts, so I said what the hey, let's ride over

there and take a look.  I had had a couple and he was just starting out

(who starts out an evening at 2 a.m.? I used to wonder) so he said he'd

drive.  Sounded good to me, so off we went.



This place was called Sensations, or some other trendy name like that, I

really don't remember.  It was in a shopping center, though, and I

thought that was pretty tacky.  But, like I said, what the hey.



Man, this place was LOUD.  There were a zillion people in there and I

started to sweat the minute I walked in the door.  But, since I had paid

six bucks for the privilege of walking in that door in the first place,

I was determined to look around.  I got a gin and tonic from the bar and

plowed into the crowd.



This bar was one of the more mixed sorts, I guess, because there were

the secretaries with the big hair I was used to, but there were also

women who looked suspiciously like they had five o'clock shadow, if you

know what I mean.  There were the arty types too, they all had on stuff

that looked like rejects from a Bauhaus fashion show in 1931, coupled

with, of course, motorcycle boots.  That was the girls.  The guys were

all thin and pale and looked like when they ordered a drink they just

asked for O positive.  I was about to tell my buddy that I was not

exactly impressed with the opportunities which this place presented,

when I happened to look a little to his left.



There was a girl there, standing with another woman and a guy.  She was

sort of wincing every once in a while when a particularly loud boom

would come over the sound system, and while she held a drink in her hand

it was almost full.  The two she was with were having a sort of

conversation, or as close to it as they could come over the music and

the noise, and this girl was sort of looking around, a kind of bored

smile on her face.



She had on some *very* nice tight blue jeans and a Hawaiian shirt -

women seemed to go for the John Nathan-Turner look that summer - and

these red snakeskin high heels.  Even in those heels she was a little on

the short side, but that was okay.  She had one of those slicked back

hair-do's that always make me think of Liza Minelli, but on her it was

cute.  Sort of punkish.  I've always been a sucker for a pretty face,

too, and hers was:  sort of round, big brown eyes, a little nose - I

seem to always run to type, you know?  Big tits.  It was impossible not

to notice, because her shirt was open pretty far down.  I guess she was

proud of them. Hell, I would have been, if she were my girlfriend.



There was a rail around the dance floor, to give people somewhere to

stand, I guess, and not look too out of it.  I saw the girl and her two

companions move toward the dance floor and she slid into a space at the

rail while the others went onto the floor.  Why not give it a whirl, I

thought, so I walked up to her and said hey.



She looked at me a little suspiciously for a moment, but at least she

said "hi" back.  I had no idea what kind of voice she had, it was

impossible to hear anything so near to the speakers which were making my

internal organs do an involuntary polka.  When you go to a lot of dance

bars you learn how to lip read pretty well.



I stood next to her for a moment and watched her drink her drink.  It

was even hotter near the dance floor, I guess because of the lights; a

thin line of perspiration was on her upper lip, and the nape of her neck

was damp.  Her shirt, which was just thin cotton, was beginning to mold

to her body in a really interesting way.  Every once in a while she

would fan her face with her hand.  She had pretty hands, sort of petite,

with short fingernails and rings on every finger.



"Would you like to dance?"  I roared at her when a song started which I

liked.  She looked at me with upraised eyebrows and I repeated the

question, but she smiled and shook her head, showing me her drink.  I

smiled back and nodded, but tried once again.



"How about another drink and some talk?"  I shrieked.  She must have

been paying more attention to me this time, because she looked at me for

a moment and then nodded, gesturing for me to lead the way.



I took her free hand and squeezed it lightly, and led her away from the

rail and back to the bar by the door.  She tugged at my hand then, and

led me down a short corridor into another part of the club, which seemed

to be filled with thousands of church bells ringing all at once.

Actually, it was relatively quiet in there;  it was my ears that were

still thumping and bumping along.



"Wow."  I said, rubbing the side of my head.  "It seems so quiet in here

after being out there."  I have never been the king of opening lines,

but at least this one had a little truth in it.



She gave a short laugh.  "I like to dance to it, but sometimes it is a

bit much."  She sat down on a bar stool and patted the one next to her.

"My name is Maggie."



I hoisted up onto the stool and held out my hand.  "I'm Ben."  I said.

She held out her ringed fingers and I folded them in my hand for a

moment.  It was kind of awkward somehow, shaking hands with a girl at

two in the morning.  It's hard to explain.



She ordered another drink - a Tom Collins or one of those kinds, which

is sort of like grown-up lemonade - and I had another gin and tonic. I

figured if my breath was going to reek, it could at least reek of pine

needles, which is what gin always smells like to me.



I paid for our drinks, not tipping the bartender too much because he was

looking like he was starving and Maggie was a chicken sandwich. I've

always mistrusted bartenders.  I mean, they're already at a bar at work,

so when they get off they're right there.  Bet they never sleep alone.



"Wanna go outside?  It's kind of stuffy in here."  Maggie said suddenly,

surprising me.  I felt a little guilty, like she had read my unkind

thoughts about the bartender.



"Good idea."  I slid from my stool.  "You lead the way.  I'm lost."



She smiled at me and walked toward a different door than we had entered.

In my best Sherlock Holmes style, I surmised she had been here before.

Every once in a while she would look back and smile at me, making sure I

wasn't getting lost in the crush of bodies, and every time she did I got

this feeling.  I know this sounds egotistical and all, but I just got

the feeling that this was a girl who knew what she wanted, and right now

what she wanted was me.



The air outside was surprisingly fresh and cool after the smoke and

sweat of the bar.  There were a lot of people milling about, some

looking for other people, some looking to make purchases of various

chemical or fleshly kinds.  Maggie caught my hand and led me out into

the parking lot.



"Here's my car."  She said, sitting on the hood of a dark brown Dodge

Daytona.  She put those red snakeskin high heels on the front bumper,

her knees high and slightly parted, one palm flat for balance on the

curved metal beside her.  What a show.  I was impressed.



"Nice car."  I leaned against the hood, very close to her, my side

touching her bent leg.  She didn't move away.



"Thanks.  I like to drive really fast sometimes."  She shrugged.  "I

guess I get sort of impulsive every once in a while.  Do you?"  She

looked at me with those big brown eyes for a moment and then took a sip

of her drink.



"I think I'm getting more impulsive all the time."  I took a big gulp of

gin and almost choked on a stray ice cube.  "You, um, live around here?"



"No, not really."  She laughed and pointed at the tag on the front of

her car.  The state we were in sure wasn't the Land of Lincoln.



"Oh.  Heh."



"You know those two I was with in there?  That's my sister and her

husband.  I'm visiting."  She shifted slightly and leaned back on her

elbows so that the opening in her shirt gaped wide.  She was wearing a

black lace bra, and it made her tits look really white under the glaring

lamps of the parking lot.  They looked round, like they would be just a

little soft to the touch.  There was a lot of cleft there, and as I

stood there thinking about some interesting uses for it, I realized that

the old gallant reflex was starting to poke its head up, so to speak.



"I live with my uncle."  I said after a moment, remembering that it was

my turn to say something.  She seemed to look annoyed for just a moment,

and then sat up.



"Wanna go for a drive?  Cool off a little bit?"  She tugged at the

lapels of her shirt like she was trying to get some air down it.  I

watched, fascinated.  You gotta remember, this was a long time ago and I

was very young.



"That sounds great."  She slid off the car hood and turned to walk to

the driver's door of the car.  "Hey Maggie?" I called after her.



"Yeah?"  She turned around and looked at me questioningly.



I put my drink on the hood, walked over to her and put my arms around

her.  "You know, you have the most amazing face."  I leaned forward and

gave her a slight peck on the lips.



That 'slight peck' didn't stay that way for very long, and I sure didn't

have to push either.  Her mouth opened up and moved over mine, her

tongue between my lips before I had even registered that it was

happening.  The feel of her cool lips against mine, and her hot tongue

in my mouth sent a sort of shock through my body, right down to my dick

which felt like it got hard instantly.  I had never had a girl make the

first real move, you might say, and this time it was totally unexpected.

I had had my feelings, like I mentioned before, but this was not just a

feeling, it was a complete promise, all wrapped up in shiny paper and a

big ribbon.  Happy birthday to me.



"Come on.  Let's drive."  She said, pulling away from me.  She was

smiling.



I didn't know about her, but that was exactly what was on *my* mind,

only I didn't need a car for the kind that I was thinking about.



I slipped into the shotgun seat and looked at Maggie as she fiddled with

the stereo.  I had never been in the situation before where I was with a

girl I knew wanted to have sex with me but we didn't do something about

it right away.  This was weird, knowing that this girl was sitting

there, knowing I had a hard-on and wanting to get her to do something

about it, knowing that she would be showing me that black lace bra and

all it contained, and meanwhile she sat there and fiddled with the knobs

on her stereo.  I hadn't had sex that much before, but a few times;  it

had always been a sort of seamless episode from start to finish, from

the final "yes" to getting undressed and then actually getting down to

the dirty deed.  I wasn't really sure how to react in this sort of

situation.



She was right when she said that she liked to drive really fast

sometimes, and this time seemed to be of them.  She had the sunroof open

and all the windows down, and the air rushed into the car, whipping her

hair around.  A strand curved across her face and lay ensnared between

her lips, which were slightly parted.  The radio was up pretty loud and

I kept time to the music with the heel of my palm against the dash as I

watched the little turbo light pop on over and over as she really booked

it down the street away from the club.  It was unbelievable, I thought,

to be riding in a car with a sexy girl at eighty miles an hour with a

drink in my hand and a hard-on in my pants.  It just wasn't something I

had ever done before.  I was pretty sure I could get used to it real

fast.



I must admit I was a little puzzled when she slowed and put on her

blinker.  We were still in a wholly commercial part of town.  She turned

the car into a restaurant parking lot and pulled into a garage,

completely dark except from the light which came from a streetlight on

the corner.  She squealed into a spot and stopped, turning the key in

the ignition and letting the car die.



"Would you mind very much if I got naked?"  She asked, the weirdest look

on her face.  My eyes must have gotten really wide, because they sort of

felt like they had popped out part way.



"Here?"



"Yep.  Here."  And she meant it.  She proved she meant it.  Right there.



She sort of scooted up on one knee and faced sideways in her seat,

resting one arm on the steering wheel.  She leaned over and kissed me,

another one of those really hot kisses.  She took my tongue in her mouth

and sucked on it, which was totally new to me;  it was like she wanted

me to fuck her mouth with it.  She really got into kissing, and she was

good at it.



She sought out my hands, which were sort of lying in my lap, sort of

trying to hide the bulge which was all too obvious in my pants, sort of

trying to knead said bulge a little to keep my cock from exploding. Her

fingers traced the outline of my cock under my pants, and just the touch

of her hands left little burning trails behind.  She pressed my hands to

her breasts through her shirt, and waited a moment before helping me

with the first button her blouse.



With her blouse open, she leaned back away from me.  She held her chest

out proudly, nice creamy tits in that black push-up bra looking like the

tastiest thing in the world.  "It opens in the front."  She said.  That

drove me wild, you know?  I had never thought of a bra which might open

in the front.  I bet a man designed that.



I reached forward, leaning over the stick shift.  I was a little worried

about that sticking up between us, but when I sneaked a glance at the

backseat it didn't look much better back there.  A Daytona may be

advertised as seating four adults, but two of those adults had better be

midgets.



The little clasp between the cups of her brassiere had a little golden

bumble bee on it.  She had shrugged the shirt from her shoulders, it was

down around her elbows, making her seem uncovered as if by accident or

force.  Her shoulders were back, as if presenting that little bumble bee

for me to catch.  I did so.  Her brassiere opened with a slight pop and

the cups moved apart, her breasts holding it in place.  Her cleavage,

which had gone halfway up to her neck, shortened a little as her breasts

moved apart slightly, revealing the silky skin sprinkled with the

softest down in the world.  I ran the side of my hand between her

breasts along the bone there, just feeling it.  She seemed to like that.

I could see her nipples harden under the thin black lace still covering

them.



I took both of the cups of her bra and pulled them away from her

breasts, then slid the straps down from her shoulders.  It fell down her

smooth arms to her elbows, joining her shirt;  she straightened out her

arm and gave a kind of a little shake, and both fell down onto the seat

behind her.  When she shook her tits quivered just a little. They were

not as big as I had thought, the bra had pushed them up and together,

but hanging free on her chest they were beautiful, full u-shaped ones,

showing white triangles of creamy white where her bikini had covered up

her large nipples, which were a pinkish tan.



She ran her hands under her breasts, lifting them up, almost pointing

them at me.  The pounding in my pants was incredible.  I shifted

uncomfortably.



"You like?"  She whispered, still holding her tits for my inspection.  I

didn't say anything, but leaned forward and planted a kiss on her right

nipple, taking it briefly in my mouth, sucking it between my teeth.  I

heard her rings click together as she ran her hands through my hair.



"Let's get in the back."  Her voice was already getting a little deeper,

a nice rasp coming into it.



I looked around, not sure just how we were supposed to get back there,

but I saw her open her door and leap out, push forward her seat and hop

back in, pulling the door closed behind her.  I did the same.



I pulled her toward me and bit her neck lightly, tasting the slightly

salty skin.  Her hands were tugging at my belt and her breathing in my

ear was sending a shiver down my spine.  I helped her open the button on

my fly and she unfastened the zipper quickly, tugging at my pants. I

leaned back a bit and pulled both them and my underwear down to my

knees, but before I could go any further her head was in my lap and I

felt her lips slide over my cock.  I think I must have gasped pretty

loud, because I heard her sort of giggle.  I think she was pleased at my

reaction.



Her lips were tight around the shaft of my cock and her mouth was

incredibly hot and soft.  Her tongue was squirming around the head, the

intensity of the feeling was almost unbearable.  She had a hand around

the base, holding it tight like a sort of cockring, and it felt like my

dick was bigger than it had ever been.  The combination of a woman

giving me head without being asked, and the tight grip on my shaft made

me rock hard.



I slipped my hand over the soft skin of her back, feeling the little

ridges where her brassiere had cut into her flesh a little.  I had my

head thrown back, my eyes tightly closed, when I had first felt the head

of my cock slip between her lips, but now I forced myself to look at

her, the smooth expanse of her back, her slowly bobbing head, her ass

which was switching back and forth in time to her strokes.  I quickly

closed my eyes again, afraid that I would go too far and come in her

mouth instantly.  I figured she didn't want that, and I knew I didn't.

This was just too good.  It had to last as long as I could stand it.



I've never been good at thinking about baseball or icebergs, especially

when I am having my cock devoured by an incredibly wanton female.  Just

one of those things, I guess.  God, it felt good.  It wasn't my first

blow job or anything, but the first one where the girl had showed any

enthusiasm.  She sucked my cock like she really wanted to make me come.

I was getting a little too close to actually doing that, so I put my

hands to her head and tugged gently upward.



She looked up and me and smiled, her lips glittering in the darkness.  I

pulled her face to mine and kissed her.  She broke away from me after a

moment and slipped her zipper down, and then her jeans.  She was wearing

tiny black panties and those came off too.



I made a movement to pull myself over her, but she stopped me without a

word.  She moved over me, a knee on each side of my legs, leaning over

so that her tits pressed against my chest, her head bent down to my

shoulder to avoid bumping into the roof of her sports car.  I felt her

hand grip my cock and then the hot moistness of her cunt as it settled

down over me, all the way to the bottom of the shaft.



She was so hot, so smooth and soft;  her muscles gripped my cock as she

lifted up slightly, pulling on it, and was then deliciously relaxed as

she settled back over it.  Her back was arched and her tits were in

perfect reach for me to suck as she stroked up and down over my cock.  I

had never done it this way before, me slumped in the seat just enjoying

the feeling of the lips of her pussy slide up and down, her nipples

erect in my mouth, her breathing getting heavier as her cunt got tighter

around me.  I put my hand between her legs and looked down to see her

pretty pinkness flow over my hard cock. I pressed upward right inside

the opening of her outer lips, feeling for her clit with my finger.  I

heard her moan and cut off a gasp, and I massaged the little fold I felt

there.  Her cunt got tighter in waves and her thrusting was more

insistent, my hand following her as she rode on my cock.  The inside of

her pussy was slick with her juices, and they flowed out around my cock

and onto my hand, making my finger slip easily over her clit.  She held

her breath suddenly, my cock buried deep inside of her, and for a few

seconds she quivered, like she was concentrating.  I flicked my finger

over her clit light and fast, and sucked hard on her nipple.  Her cunt

was pulsing tighter and tighter.  She drew in just a tiny sip of air

with a kind of groan and then I felt her contractions ripple along the

length of my cock as she came, the force so strong it pulled her clit

back and forth across my still hand.



She put her hands to my shoulders and started thrusting as hard as she

could.  Sweat was standing out on her forehead;  the muscles in her

thighs were hard as polished wood.  I raised my hips on each stroke to

meet hers, my cock felt like it was twice as thick as her wet, tight

pussy grabbed on to it.



"Oh god, I'm gonna come."  I growled out between breaths.  I couldn't

take it any longer, my balls felt heavy, like they were steel.  I

crushed her body to me and grabbed the cheeks of her ass as I felt it

start, rushing through me, my entire body aching for it.  This seemed to

enflame her, she ground her hips down on me as hard as she could, and my

body jerked as my come flooded up into her.  I came in spurts, her

movements drawing every drop out of me.  I gritted my teeth with its

intensity, making that face that is impossible to mistake.



My feet felt cramped inside of my shoes, my entire body felt like it was

tied in knots.  I relaxed slowly, shifting under her weight which had

felt so slight just a moment before.



"Hey, wow."  Maggie pushed her short hair back behind her ears with both

hands.  "Not bad."  She laughed, a little breathy.



"Yeah."  I grinned up at her, and she pulled upward, letting my cock

fall from her confines.  "Not bad at all."



Maggie seemed completely unself-conscious, and I watched her with

interest as she wiped between her legs with her panties and then stuffed

them under the driver's seat.  She twisted around and sat down beside of

me, reaching for her bra and shirt.  She seemed to consider the bra for

a moment, and then shoved it into the shadows with her foot.



"I gotta get out to pull on my jeans."  She said, and reached for the

door handle, giving me a great view of her ass.  It had matching tan

lines to those on her breasts.



I took her hint and pulled up my pants, my knees digging into the back

of the seat in front of me as I tried to stretch out to zip them up. I

felt sort of sticky, but that was okay.  It had been worth it.  More

than worth it.  Incredibly worth it.



She fired up the engine again after she was situated, the radio blasting

on when she turned the key.  She sang along for a moment, turning once

or twice to smile at me as she pulled out of the parking lot.



She drove me back to where my car was.  I pointed it out to her in the

deserted bar's parking lot;    Harrison's or Houston's or Howie's had

closed long ago.  She pulled up beside my little blue Subaru and put her

car in neutral.



"I, um, had a nice time."  I said, wondering just how you go about

initiating a friendship after you've had sex.



"Great!  Me too."  She smiled another one of those smiles, very pretty

but not meaning much.



"Yeah, well.  Maybe we can get together again?"  I sort of doubted it,

but I figured it would be rude not to ask.



"I'm going back to Chicago next week..."  She shrugged.  "Maybe next

time I come for a visit, okay?"



"Sounds good."  I reached over and pecked her lightly on the lips, but

unlike last time it remained just that.  "See you later."



I got out of the car and walked over to my Subaru, putting the key in

the lock and watching her squeal tires out of the parking lot.



I sat behind the wheel of my car and tuned into the radio station she

had been listening to.  For some reason I just wanted to hear it a

little bit longer, even if it wasn't what I usually listened to.



****





                               *3: Her*



It gets a bit mixed up at times, even in my own mind.  There was David

and there was Dennis and there was me.  We had been friends since we

were kids, and I mean *kids*, since the fall of our second grade year.

We were the kinds of friends who make bloody compacts and swear to meet

each other in the afterlife;  the kind of kids who all read too much and

seemed to speak a different language, one that was only known to us

three.  Later in life I would hear someone say that friends are the

family that you choose.  Dennis and David were my brothers, my parents,

my friends, my loves.



It seems sort of funny, looking back on all those sessions of playing

house thirty and more years ago.  I was always the Mommy, of course, and

that was fine with me, because sometimes there were two Daddies, or

perhaps a Daddy and The Oldest Son.  Dennis and David seemed to change

those roles from day to day just like they changed their clothes.  As

long as the three of us were together, it really didn't matter who was

who.



The thing I remember most about David was his incredible ice-blue eyes,

huge eyes, really beautiful and expressive.  When David was young adults

would stop and stare at the tall, lanky child with the perennially

tousled hair and the eyes of a suffering Christ from an old paper fan.

As we got older and my body got rounder, Dennis' seemed expand in all

directions;  but David, he seemed to be all angles in juxtaposition, all

elbows and knees and collarbones, and those icewater-on-a-summer's day

eyes.



A triangle is a thing of angles too, of corners jutting outward, of

sharp edges;  nature has a way of blunting those corners and wearing

away edges, and so it was with our triumvirate.  It came to pass, as

they say in the old fairy tales, that one day it was no longer Dennis

and David and Diane, but Dennis and Diane, plus David.  Who knows how

that happened.  Maybe we all just dreamed it together and carried it

over into waking life.  That could be true for all I know;  it just

simply happened, and things were different, and sometimes awkward.



We were still in high school when David married Shirley.  It wasn't an

unheard of thing, back in those days, especially in that part of the

world.  I remembered seeing Shirley, a lonesome looking blonde girl, in

some of my classes in school.  She was very rural in a way, an earth

mother type, strong and practical, as if she could brew coffee over a

fire and plant a garden and bear babies in a cabin in the woods.  I

didn't like to think about her bearing babies.  I didn't like to think

about her at all, if I could help it.  I suppose that I was a little in

love with David myself, and even as I would lie in Dennis' arms in the

darkness of the back of his car, I would weep invisible bitter tears at

the thought of blonde hair, not brown, being reflected in David's

beautiful gaze.



Perhaps it was impossible for me to ever completely mask the way I felt

about my safe, secure triangle suddenly being increased in order by one,

but after David married Shirley it seemed as if a limb had withered, and

relations between the four of us became strained.  I could still feel

that limb, though it had grown shaky and unreliable; eventually, the

pain grew less and less as the ties, like nerves, died.  Dennis felt the

same way as I did, I think, or what approximated it in his own way.  We

didn't talk about David very much. He became something now behind me,

like prom dresses and protractors.



High school was over and Dennis and I went off to college.  We rented an

apartment together, a cavernous set of rooms of faded Jazz Age elegance,

and took up life in the only way we could imagine that it could be.  It

was if before we had been inseparable, but now we must be constantly in

one another's presence or the unthinkable, unspeakable could happen to

us again.  I remember candle-lit nights, shivering in blankets against

the drafty rooms of our almost empty apartment, Dennis reading his Tarot

cards, always seeming to search for the answer to a question that he

never spoke aloud.  Sometimes now when I think of that apartment I see

the turning of those cards, and the silences between the tiny click of

their slick, stiff paper hitting the hardwood floors;  I think of the

man falling from that Tower, his landscape lit fleetingly by lightning,

a golden crown falling forever just out of his reach.



Those months were terrible.  I could find no relevance in anything.

Dennis and I were drifting through college, more swept by the current

like dead autumn leaves than swimming in strong spring waters, like we

had always been told it would be.  We both left school, I to a desk job,

Dennis to various odd jobs, selling furniture, framing pictures, once,

during that first sweltering summer, laying flooring with his uncle.  He

would return to our apartment in the evening, his hands calloused and

discolored, his back creaking, his face glum.  We would sit in the thick

summer air and breathe in aromatic smoke and drink dark amber rum and

make love until the sweat running from our bodies would soak the sheets

of our bed.



When our second winter came in the apartment Dennis found a job working

in the liquor store just four blocks away.  He liked it well enough,

sitting behind the counter during the dead hours of the day, reading a

book;  when he worked at night he seemed the most happy, though, talking

to the old men who came in for bottles of cheap wine, the women in gaudy

dresses on the arms of businessmen with their neckties askew who bought

bottles and magnums and jereboams of cheap champagne.  He once told me

that he had arranged all the little bottles of jewel-toned liqueurs into

the colors of the spectrum, and had had a long conversation with an old

woman about the psychology of color, the only one to notice his work.  I

pushed papers and wrestled with decollators and swore at dial tones, and

I told myself that both of us were happy.  Which, in a sense, we were,

if being happy is not being unhappy.



The liquor store is where Dennis saw David again.



"It was like a dream almost, where you are invisible, and watch people

walk past you and never know that you are there."  Dennis told me that

night, his words short and clipped as he inhaled strong smoke from a

bong.  "I saw David walk into the store with another man, an older man,

and I thought to myself - could this really be him?  I didn't want to

just scream out like an idiot, in case it wasn't him." Dennis' eyes were

sparkling, and I felt a sort of strangulation in my chest.  I hoped my

eyes were not betraying me as his were.



"I watched the two of them and I heard that voice, sort of high for a

guy his size, and I am still thinking to myself no, you never know, they

say everybody has his identical twin, and then I heard the 'Christ on a

pony!' when he tilted back a bottle to see the price tag, and-"



I laughed.  "Who else could it be?"  The feeling of strangulation

increased, but then settled down to some accustomed place;  it wasn't a

new thing then, but an old chain, its lock rusted and fallen, which had

been newly polished and wound around my heart.  I knew the color of that

chain, blue like icebergs, like icewater on a summer's day, the color of

the eyes of a suffering Christ on an old paper fan.



There was a pause, and Dennis sat down beside me on the pillows on the

floor which served us as a couch.  He took my hand and kissed it.  He

had always done things like that.  I wonder why.



"Shirley is gone."  He said, quietly.  "Been gone for a while."  There

was a comfortable silence as we both thought about that for a while.



"Well, I assume you asked him over, didn't you?  Is he living around

here?"   I asked after a time.  I reclined against Dennis and he

encircled me in his arms.  I could hear his heart beat, quickly it

seemed, but perhaps it was only my imagination.



"Nope, he was riding with that guy, the older one.  Buddy of his.  He's

temporarily without benefit of personal transportation, as he put it."

Dennis laughed again, a rich tenor.  "I told him we'd come over to his

place next Saturday."  He squeezed me with his arms.  "Okay?"



"Great."  I smiled up at Dennis' familiar face.  "You know I'd love to

see David."  It was true.  I would love to see him.  It occurred to me

that I would love to see him indeed.  I wondered about his eyes.  I felt

a flush as I especially wondered what was being reflected in that gaze

now.



It makes me laugh now to think of the picture Dennis and I must have

made as we walked up the sidewalk of the apartment complex, searching

for David's front door.    Dennis had lost some of the weight he had in

high school, and the clothes he wore always had an air of a second-hand

store about them, fitting here but not there, slightly worn in places,

shoes held together mainly by the laces.  My clothes were second hand

finery;  an old prom dress I had found for a dollar, some of my mother's

shoes from twenty years ago, a string of celluloid pearls from a War

long gone.  The last time David had seen me I was wearing Earth shoes.

I wondered if he would even recognize me.



Dennis looked around at the scores of identical porches, each with twin

front doors.  He consulted the directions David had given him again, and

pointed at a porch where a cheap glass windchime, painted with plum

blossoms and fake Chinese characters, swayed in the breeze.



We walked up to the door, and Dennis rang the bell.  I rocked my weight

onto the little spike heels of my mother's shoes, nervous.  A moment

later a tall, lanky man with tousled hair opened the door.



"David."  I said, looking straight into those little chips of glittering

blue sky.



"Diane!"  David lunged forward and threw his arms around me, hugging me

so tight I struggled for breath.



"Wow, now that's a welcome!"  I laughed and pulled away, my ribs

tingling from his touch, my neck scorched from his lips.  He shooed me

and Dennis into his apartment and closed the door.



It looked inside pretty much like I had expected David's apartment to

look.  There wasn't much furniture, and what he did have looked like it

came from a garage sale in a poor neighborhood, all yellow plaid and

pressboard.  There were a lot of books scattered around, and records

inside of old fruit packing crates along one wall.  A few posters were

placed here and there, probably hiding the plaster instead of enhancing

it, and a little curio cabinet hung over the cheap stereo.  I sat down

on the sofa and almost fell through the cushion.  After I curled my legs

underneath me it was comfortable enough.



"What can I get for you, beautiful?"  David asked me.  He grinned at me,

his teeth with the little gap in the middle shining.  "No, wait.  I know

just what you need.  Hang on."  He rushed from the room.



"Same old David."  Dennis sat gingerly on the edge of his cushion and

slowly crept backward.  He must have seen my rapid descent into the

depths of the couch and didn't want to repeat my performance.



"Yep, same old David."  I looked around, my gaze finally settling on the

curio cabinet on the wall, and I thought I saw a tiny, familiar flash of

green there, but the sun was setting, and the harsh poverty of the room

was being softened by shadow, so it was hard to tell.



Dennis snickered.  "Looks like our place if we lived in Tuscaloosa,

Alabama or Piqua, Ohio."



"Yeah, sort of.  But don't tell him that.  Comparing his home to ours is

no big compliment."



David burst back into the room with three bottles and an opener in his

hand.  "Look!  The little Cokes that you used to like.  And I kept them

in the freezer just until they started to get all slushy on the top."

He wrenched the cap from a bottle and handed it to me.



"You remembered."  I marveled.  "I used to get these out of that vending

machine over by school."  I took a long swallow of the achingly cold

drink, shivering a little as it slid down my throat.  "I can't believe

you remembered such a stupid little thing."  I smiled up into his face.



"Of course I remember."  He said softly, then turned quickly to Dennis.

"You, my man, need a glass I suspect.  There's a bottle of Old Forester

here with your name on it somewhere."  He grinned and loped out of the

room again.



Dennis looked at me speculatively, I thought.  However all he said was,

"I think I shall roll a joint."



Looking back on it, I suppose I should measure that night by the level

in the bottle of Old Forester instead of hours.  At first we were like

three adults, sitting in a living room, sipping drinks;  but as the

amber fire in that bottle was spilled, or evaporated, or stolen by

thieves - we refused to believe we could have drunk almost an entire

bottle in two hours - we seemed to peel away years like layers of

onionskin. We became just three friends again, like as not to make a

bloody compact, to swear to find one another in the afterlife;  like

natives returning to a distant land we found the language which we had

spoken together, a language long dead but now, somehow, returned to

life.



"I have a question."  David said at one point, holding up a long,

slender finger as if he wanted to test the wind.  "No answer required,

of course, but I would like to know the answer nonetheless."



I sat, complacently waiting for the question, ready to answer whatever

David asked of me.



"I suppose what I want to know is just basically why you ended up with

Dennis and not with me."  He looked at me in the intense way that

inebriated people have.



"Lordy, David, you are drunk off your ass."  I gave a small laugh.



"No, really."  David rose to his knees and lumbered over to where I sat;

we had all slithered into the floor by degrees as the night progressed.

"Was it because he's hung like a horse?  That's what Shirley told me,

you know."  He seemed to consider the look on my face for a moment.  "I

bet I could make you scream louder than he ever has."



I heard Dennis sort of cough, and I turned to look at him, my face

blazing.  His cough had turned into laughter, seemingly uncontrollable.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.  I started laughing with

him, until I noticed that David was not.



For some reason I knew why David wasn't laughing.  He wasn't laughing

because he was serious.  I was laughing because I wanted to be serious,

but I was a coward.  Like the coward I was, I just said "Promises,

promises."  I flicked a glance into those crystal eyes and quickly

looked away.



"'Christ on a pony', to quote you.  Sorry, David."  Dennis wiped his

eyes with is shirttail and put his glasses back on, still giggling. "I

didn't mean to laugh.  I've just never heard anyone chat up my

girlfriend like that before, especially not in front of me."  He rocked

forward out of lotus position and onto his knees, reaching into his

pocket.  "I guess this is as good a time as any to bring out my surprise

for the evening."  He pulled a crumpled baggie out of his jeans pocket

and put it on the coffee table in front of David.  "For old times' sake,

huh?  I knew this was your favorite back in school."



My eyes widened and I took the baggie in my hands.  "Are you trying to

tell me, you little sneaks, that you two were smoking hash in high

school?"  I turned it over and gazed at the little brown lump.  "And you

never asked ME?"  I laughed.  "What else did you two get up to that I

don't know anything about, I want to know."  I threw the lump back on

the table toward David.



"I'll never tell."  Dennis said, and grinned.  I made a little checkmark

against his name in my mental list of 'things to do' when I got home.  I

reached over and squeezed his hand.



"You got a pipe?"  David asked, and Dennis shook his head.  "Okay, then

we do it the classy way."  He crawled over to a bookshelf and considered

its contents for a moment, then pulled a paperback from a shelf and

crawled back to our circle.  "This is how they do it at Buckingham

palace, I've heard.  Oh shit, wait a sec."  He got up and left the room

for a moment, and I heard a drawer squeaking open and things being

stirred around.  Another squeak, and David came back into the room with

a little cloth tomato in his hand, pins and needles stuck into its

stuffing.  He sat down and held it up for my inspection.



"Just what the hell are you doing?"  I asked, intrigued.



"Watch and learn, wench.  This is a basic life skill."  Dennis drained

his glass and reached for the dwindling bottle of bourbon.



David took the lump of hash and sliced off a tiny bit of it with a

straight pin, neatly rolling the rest back up in the plastic of the bag.

I watched him stick the pin through the front cover of the paperback -

which, if I remember correctly, was _The Dharma Bums_ by Jack Kerouac -

so that it stuck straight up.  He put the little bit of hash on the pin

and lit it.



"Now that's stupid."  I said.  "This is a substitute for a pipe?"  I

laughed.



"Scoff not at what ye do not know."  David said, sniffing.  "Are you

through with your glass?"  When I nodded he took it and shook the last

few drops of liquid out of it, and placed it over the burning hash. The

glass quickly filled with smoke.



He lifted the book to his face and tipped the glass to one side

slightly, and sucked at the heavy smoke roiling about under the glass.



"I don't believe it."  I said, and reached for the book.  I ignored the

two men as they traded comments about impressionable young girls and

took a deep smoke-laden breath down into my lungs.  It tasted sour and

spicy, and the smoke was thick and almost oily.  I giggled, smoke

squirting out between my teeth like liquid, at the image of us sitting

around smoking a book, and a Kerouac book at that.  I passed it to

Dennis.  After a few rounds, we were all just a little dizzy and

laughing in gasps.



"You thought more about what I said?"  David asked me, after a few

moments of silence.  My head was leaning against the arm of the sofa; I

was listening to the music on the radio as if in a dream.



I looked at David and smiled.  "Hmm?  What do you mean?"



"About what I said."  He was looking at me with those incredible eyes,

slightly tainted now by a tinge of red.



"Diane..."



I looked over at Dennis, who was sitting with a Coke in one hand and the

bottle opener in the other;  he had been sitting like that for a few

moments, I realized, unmoving.



"I think he's asking you to go to bed with him, sweetheart."  Dennis

said very softly, applying the bottle opener to the cap.  He didn't look

up at me, but kept his eyes on the his hands.



I turned to David, as if for confirmation.  He wasn't looking at me, but

at Dennis.  I shivered a little as I looked at his face, which seemed so

strong.  His hair was shining in the slightly yellow light of the table

lamp above him, and my hand seemed to travel up to it under its own

will.  I took a long strand in my fingers and moved down its smooth

length.



"David, I..."  My voice trailed off, because I could think of nothing to

say.  No, it wasn't that.  It was if there were too many things to say,

and they all needed to be said at once, there was no logical sequence

for them, everything must be said simultaneously or not at all.  I

looked to Dennis for help, but his eyes were still on the bottle in his

hand, and the cap which he held in his fingers.



"Well, actually," David paused for a moment, and his voice fell to just

a slight whisper above the music on the radio.  "I was going to invite

you both."



I closed my eyes.



I loved Dennis.  At that moment in time I loved him fiercely,

protectively, above anything or anyone else in the entire world;  but at

that same time I also loved David, the sheer vulnerability about him,

the changelessness of him.  Over all of that was an overwhelming lust in

me, and the image came to my mind unbidden of the three of us in

embrace, arms entwined, legs crossing and recrossing, front to back to

front;  and the sounds, oh god, the sounds - the sounds of flesh meeting

flesh and all of the meaning of its meeting.



The blood was rushing through me, beating strong in my cheeks and my

secrets.  I put my hands over my eyes to push out the image which came

from within, not without.  I sat for a moment and listened to my own

breathing, feeling its heat flame the palms of my hands.



I made a sound, muffled in the confines of my hands.  I let them drop

from my face, and I could feel the cool air rush over my burning red

blush.  "I want to."  I said.



Dennis moved closer to me, his thigh alongside mine.  He took one of my

hands, and David the other.  Dennis' hand was cool against my heated

skin, but David's hand was hot, so hot it made my palm sweat. I looked

at his hand grasping mine, as if there would be a haze of heat rising

from it.



I moved my gaze to Dennis' lap, and then up to his face.  His hard-on

was reflected there as well.  "Good."  He said, putting his lips to

mine.  I felt David's grip on my hand tighten as my lips opened against

Dennis', and he darted his tongue into my mouth.



Thousands of times I had opened my lips to his, cool like snow at times,

warm as spiced cider at others, but never like this.  His mouth seemed

to join to mine, to meld, his tongue seeming to invade my body and then

to become one with it, in it.  A never-ending kiss, a first kiss carried

to its logical extension of the last, like a hand held tightly like

silence around a secret.  My eyes were tightly closed, to open them was

more than I could bear;  I leaned back for a moment to take a deep, slow

breath, my lips still parted.  I felt my head turned a few degrees, and

another mouth was lain on mine;  hands found my breasts and freed them

from their covering.  Long strong fingers caressed me, and calloused

hands, full lips kissing me turned to sweet thin ones, sharp darting

tongue to languid caress.



My shoes were slipped from my feet, and I opened my eyes to see David

putting them neatly together under the table.  I looked at Dennis and

reached a tentative hand out to him.



"Is this really-"



"Yes, it is."  He nodded and then looked at David.  "We used to joke

about this."  Dennis gave one of his quick smiles.  "We've always wanted

to do this with you, but it never seemed right-"



"Until now."  David ran a finger into the cleft of my breasts.  "Are you

sure you want to?"  He asked, very quiet, his words little more than a

buzzing in my ear.



Have you ever had a dream, a dream where you are underwater, thrashing

about for your life, your lungs burning from lack of air;  but then

something in you whispers that all is well, you can breathe;  there is

nothing to do but to believe that whisper true, and you take a deep

draught of the water and you wonder if you are going to die... but you

do not die, your lungs welcome the water, in fact they revel in it, the

delightful sensation of being free overwhelms you, being free under the

water, in the cool darkness and the silence...



"Take me to bed."  I rasped.  I turned to Dennis and repeated it. "Take

me to bed."



David's bedroom was even more empty than his living room;  there was a

mattress on the floor, covered in a homemade quilt, an orange crate

standing on its side with a clock and a tiny lamp on it, a few books

carelessly left in its interior.  The three of us stood there, just

inside the closed bedroom door, silently contemplating David's bed.



I clutched the almost empty bottle of bourbon I held in my hand like a

security blanket, swaying slightly, but more from the strength of my

heartbeat than the booze.  Dennis came up behind me and nuzzled my ear,

and his arm went around me protectively.  I watched David close the

venetian blinds on the bedroom window, the room darkening from a hazy

twilight to a chirascuro sketch.  Someone took the bottle from my hand,

and I let out a long breath as the zipper at the back of my dress slowly

opened.  I felt a set of hands slide the bodice down my arms, and

another unclasp my brassiere.  My clothes fell away and I stood, only my

stockings remaining, and the one garter I wore, emerald green, with the

little plastic silver pistol tucked into its lace.



I heard a rustling noise and I turned to my right, where Dennis was

standing, naked, folding his jeans on top of his shoes.   He took the

little baggie of hash out of the pocket and held it up for us to see.

His cock was not completely erect, but lenghtening, and as he saw me

standing there with only my garter on show it gave a slight kick as it

started to rise.



"Shall we indulge?"  He smiled, and walked over to the bed, seating

himself and leaning against the wall, his legs out in front of him,

spread slightly.  He busied himself with the straight pin and the book.



"Bell, book and candle."  I croaked.  Dennis looked up at me quizically,

and I shook my head.  "Never mind."



I felt David slip his hand in mine, and he led me to the bed.  I sat

down next to Dennis, my left leg alongside his, David sitting with his

legs crossed facing me.  I felt secure in the cool semi-darkness of the

room, and looked at David's naked body, his slightly stooped shoulders,

his almost hairless chest, his slender legs showing bony knees at their

bend.  Behind his legs' shadow I could make out the outline of his

penis, and a hot shock ran through me, from my womb to my heart.



A nudge on my arm from Dennis;  he passed me the glass full of smoke,

and I sipped at it, a thin stream diving down my throat.  My body felt

lighter, as if I was a wreath of heavy smoke myself.  I leaned back

against Dennis, one shoulder touching the wall, and laid my hand on his

thigh, stroking it lightly.  He exhaled a great cloud of grey.



David ran his hands up the inside of my leg, following the curve of my

calf up to the indentation of my knee;  his fingers were as light as

spiders, trailing over the flesh of my thigh, his fingertips only

brushing the hair on my mons.  I felt a shift and my weight settled

against the wall as Dennis moved a leg behind me, so that I sat cradled

between his thighs;  he pulled me backward slightly and I reclined

against his chest.  His arms encircled me and each cupped a breast.  He

held them from beneath, my nipples captured each between a thumb and

forefinger;  as they swelled under his touch he pinched them lightly,

and I lifted my pelvis to meet David's gently exploring hand.



David rolled my stockings down my legs, my skin prickling at the

sensation of their smoothness slinking downward.  I held each foot up in

turn for him to slip their sheerness from my legs, and he kissed my

ankle.



David opened my lips gently with his fingers;  when he touched my

clitoris I drew in my breath, my back arching.  I felt Dennis' cock

press into my back, and he moved against my skin, his flesh feeling

heavy and hot.  David moved my legs apart and lay himself between them

full length, his tongue playing over the outer lips of my sex, feeling

soft and deliciously warm.  My lips seemed to swell under his teasing

touches, and he ran his tongue down the opening, making my heart pound.

Dennis' muscles tightened under me, and he pushed his erection into the

hot skin of the small of my back.



The lips on my sex were warm and soft, and the fingers on my nipples

hard and unyielding;  I felt a flutter, like the ghost of a contraction,

as David's tongue slid across my clit.  I looked down at his head buried

between my thighs, little sounds of satisfaction escaping his lips as he

licked at me, his tongue making broad strokes through my inner lips.

Each time I thought I was close to the edge of orgasm it seemed to

recede, and I went farther and farther as his warmth teased my clit.  My

nipples were burning, my breasts almost aching with a need to be sucked.

I cried out and twisted in Dennis' arms, my entire body trembling, my

knees raised and wide, my own hands clutching at the hands on my

breasts.



I heard a rasp from behind me, and Dennis spoke, his voice gravelly.

"Make her come, David.  I want to watch as you make her come."  His

voice sank to a whisper against me.  "I want you good and ready for me

when I fuck you.  I want you to be all tight and wet because I'm going

to fuck you all night and make you beg for more."



Dennis' breathing was hot in my ear as he rubbed his cock against the

skin of my back incessantly, as hot as the lips and tongue sucking,

licking, nipping at my clit made me thrash as I begged David for

release.  He slipped two fingers into me and I bore down on them, loving

the feel of something inside of me.  I thrust my hips forward, sliding

down over his hand, grinding my sex into David's face.  His tongue found

my clitoris and made circles around it, making my muscles tense, my

stomach as hard as stone, the calves of my legs bunched and aching, my

feet pointed, the toes curled;  I felt suspended for a moment, holding

my breath, and then the orgasm burst through me, wave after wave washing

over me, letting me drown in its feel.  I gasped for air and clawed at

David's hair, pulling him away from me, to stop the unbearable ecstacy

which felt as if it would stop my heart.



The blood rushing through me, the smoke of the hash, the heat of the

David's empty bedroom made everything a blur.  I felt my body being

stroked, fondled, a finger slipped into the heart of my sex, lips

pressed against mine.  I was rolled gently onto my stomach, and my hips

pulled backward with my ass in the air;  I felt the smooth slide of

flesh into mine, and the warm press of a cock against my lips.  I took

it into my mouth and matched the strokes of my ravisher, pressing it

deep into my throat.  It seemed to go on for hours, the clutch of hands

in my hair, the hoarse cries, the whispered directions and moans of

triumph;  the hardness I took into my mouth was first surrounded by hair

that was as black as midnight, and then a reddish gold;  the hands

gripping the globes of my rear now caressing, then adamant.  It was as

if I was awash in that warm sea of which I had been so afraid, floated

in it, first on my knees, then on my back, now on my side, surrounded by

warm lips and gentle hands;  fine, shining hair under my hands and

coarse, rasping hair against my body. The fires flared up brightly for a

time, silken hot, burning themselves out in a burst of heat and light,

and then quickly died down to a smoulder, leaving us sweating and

breathless, entwined in one another's arms.



I awoke once in the night, curled against Dennis' back in the way that I

always slept, my arm thrown over his waist.  For a moment I did not

recognize the pattern of moonlight on the wall, and then I remembered

that I was not asleep in my own bed.  I could feel my face blaze crimson

at the thought of what I had just done;  and with that thought came its

twin - the desire for it to never end, to wake up each morning with my

arm around Dennis' waist, and David's hand resting heavily on my hip.  I

wanted to hear Dennis' loud laughter, and see it mirrored in ice-blue

eyes.  I wanted ... I wanted many things.



I wanted those things for a long time, I suppose.  But, like most

feelings, even wanting grows dimmer over time.





                              *3: Them*



There was a heavy quiet in the room, only the sound of the air

conditioner whirring outside.  They lay side by side, each thinking of

the chances which had been taken, the secrets revealed.



A car went by outside, its tires drumming on the pavement.



"I suppose I have a question."  Ben said.  "And like David, I suppose

the best way to ask is just to ask, right?"



Diane felt him stir restlessly on his pillow.



"The question is: why are you here?  I could never make you feel

anything compared to that.  I knew you were friends with them, and I

knew that you had loved Dennis once, but you never told me that it was

like that, like a big fire burning itself up.  I could never make anyone

feel that way, how could I?  I just don't understand why you would give

up some kind of grand passion to get married to a guy who works in a

bank.  Scarlett notwithstanding."  She could hear the sheets rustle as

he turned on his side to face her, and she could almost feel his eyes

searching for hers in the dark.



"You don't understand."  Diane said softly.  "You said it yourself and I

suppose you don't even realize it.  It *was* like a big fire burning

itself up.  That's *all* it was.  It was this idea, this obsession.  A

dramatic part to play to make up for an empty life.  That sort of thing

may be fine for somebody else, but it was all just pretending for me,

for Dennis and David too, I think.  It was like we had started along

this path, and it could only lead to this big scene, and we played the

big scene and that was the end.  If it had been such a big thing, why

would I have been living alone when I met you?  Why would I have fallen

head over heels in love with just some guy who works in a bank, as you

put it?"    She shifted under the covers to run her leg up against his.

"I like guys who work in banks."



"I still don't understand."  Ben's hand found hers, and clutched it.

"Don't expect me to."



"Okay."  She sighed.  "Understand this, though..."



"Yes?"



She pulled him to her, and was glad of the sudden moonlight streaming

through the window, as it revealed the crimson blaze in her face which

burned brightly like a fire, a steady flame;  revealed her face and his,

coming ever closer, to warm himself at that blaze.



****