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Georgia-- aka Heaven Ch. 01

By: pjstewart50



I looked around the courtyard. People having fun. Laughter, conversation, children playing in the pool. The Sea Island, GA, getaway was quite luxurious. We were at The Cottages on Sea Island, although I'll never for the life of me determine how they justify calling a nine-bedroom house a cottage. Oh, well. I'd been lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time when Kiefer invited the Douglas side of his family and several of his Toronto friends and their families for a four-day vacation. He'd rented three cottages, two of them side-by-side and a third that was located down the way. I hated to think so positively about my friend Karyn's illness, but if she'd been well, I wouldn't have been invited to this get-together. When Karyn phoned to say she was sick, she told me that Shirley, Shirley Douglas, Kiefer's mom, had invited me to stay with her. It was through Karyn that I'd met Shirley several years ago.

When Kiefer called Shirley to invite her to a long weekend in Georgia, I was somehow included by default. Lucky me. So, here I was. Shirley was busy entertaining a few nieces and nephews on the other side of the pool located at the nine-bedroom cottage. Rachel, Kiefer's twin, and Tom, his half-brother, were arguing over a chess game. Kiefer snoozed in a chaise about fifteen feet to my right side.

I had been trying to read all afternoon, but couldn't keep my mind on the book. I felt uncomfortable. It was more than the sun and heat that had made me uncomfortable-not sickly uncomfortable, but uncomfortable nevertheless. All day, well, since we'd been around the pool, Kiefer had been staring at me, looking away quickly when my glance would catch his. It was so unlike him. I'd never known him to stare at anyone for any length of time without going right up to them and introducing himself! Since meeting him, I'd had many opportunities to observe him in various venues. He'd never struck me as the reserved type. So, what was with this furtive behavior?

My opportunities to learn about Kiefer had been provided on two fronts. It was strange, really, that two separate areas of my life would link me to his. Decades ago, I'd had a lengthy relationship with Don Gay, the still-reigning world-championship bullrider. Don had gotten to know Kiefer after sharing a few moments with him in the 2000 film Cowboy Up, and Don had made sure that everyone he'd ever known had been present at the Mesquite Rodeo arena when Kiefer showed up for a visit.

This had been almost four years ago. I was interested in meeting Kiefer because Don had never been awestruck by anyone. When pressed, Don revealed to me that he really liked Kiefer-was interested in Kiefer because Kiefer was so interesting. Hmmm. Quite a compliment from Mr. I-don't-care-who-he-is-he-puts-his-jeans-on-the-same-way-I-do. So, I eagerly awaited the arrival of Mr. Sutherland that night at the arena. He was charming. Elegant. Filled out those Wranglers in all kinds of lewd ways. He was funny. Smart. Urbane. Down home. The voice was what I termed wettening. I didn't mean rain.

Don hoarded Kiefer all evening. But we all got a sense of the restrained enthusiasm lurking beneath Kiefer's cool exterior. Around midnight, Don wanted to show off one of his new acquisitions, Sasha's Luck-a beautiful horse given to him for his birthday by his wife. Kiefer turned into a five-year-old around the livestock. When he saw Sasha's Luck, he melted. So much cooing and patting. Even Sasha's strong legs buckled, surely. 

Don urged Kiefer to ride her, and he gladly mounted the beauty, prancing around the arena in what appeared to be a blissful reverie. Kiefer exhibited a good seat and looked quite comfortable on Sasha. The evening passed a bit quickly for the guests-we agreed the following time we gathered that the starshine had certainly affected us. Don smugly announced to those of us who'd been skeptical of his famous friend, "Told ya so." We demurred.

Oddly enough, it would be only months before I met Kiefer again. My familiarity with his career was minimal. I had seen Cowboy Up, of course, at Don's urging, no, insistence. Other than that, Flatliners was the only other Kiefer Sutherland movie I'd seen, and, truth be told, I didn't even recall him being in that movie. It wasn't that Kiefer wasn't prominent or good in the movie, I just didn't recall him--must have seen it with someone I was "in love" with at the time. Ha. Knowing nothing of his background, I was very surprised when I met him the second time because it came through a contact that I'd never have associated with him. As an educational consultant and seminar facilitator, I had opportunities to travel and to meet people all around North America, Central America, and South America. I was strongly affiliated, via a league of innovative colleges and universities, with Humber College in Toronto. My dear friend there, Karyn, had made me quite comfortable in her home while working in Toronto. Both she and her husband taught at Humber.

While in Toronto on a month-long assignment, Karyn encouraged me to attend a rally with her. No, thanks, I said. Large crowds don't do a thing for me. No, she countered. This is a small gathering of influential women. There will be no more than 50 to 75 people there. Influential women? Why would I want to be there, I asked her. I just want you to go with me, she replied. I want you to meet some of these strong Canadian women.

Hmmm. If they were all like Karyn, it's a wonder they didn't run the world. And quite well, thank you. I reluctantly went with her, but was later delighted she'd talked me into it. The gathering was not so much a rally, per se, as a congregation of powerful women who came together, apparently three or four times a year, to remind one another of things they had yet to accomplish. They fed off of one another's determination and strength.

I enjoyed myself and met many interesting women. I overheard Karyn, on our way out, promise a group of women that we'd meet them the next day for lunch. Little did I know that one of the women I'd met and admired and was destined to have lunch with the next day was Shirley Douglas, Kiefer's mom.

I have no idea if Donald Sutherland is funny. I haven't met him yet. But I know that Shirley Douglas is very funny. She has an almost perverse humor, rather dry and British. Later, when I learned that she was Kiefer's mother, I felt that he'd been hardwired with her wit. She's also immensely intelligent. Well, no secret here-Kiefer is quite possibly a genius. His brain is like a lightning-fast mousetrap that captures its prey-knowledge-and makes it his own.

The most vivid memory of the luncheon conversation was provided by Shirley. Even before knowing she spoke of Kiefer's life, I had been struck by her powerful emotion when she told, vehemently, of her opposition to her youngest son becoming involved with older women. As the story unfolded, she revealed that he had a "perverse" and "morbid" fascination with older women. Shirley resented her son's first wife, claiming that she had "snagged" him by getting pregnant.

I thought to myself that the woman didn't get pregnant by herself and started to voice this thought, but Karyn must have divined what I was about to say and struck me in the ribs with her elbow. Then it occurred to me that perhaps her son was drawn to older women because of her-Shirley, that is. She must have been, she must be, a force in her children's lives. Shirley had spoken of all three of her children, but the younger son seemed to be the one she was more interested in. She referred to them as "the older one," "the younger one," and "my daughter."

My tongue would not be restrained, despite the earlier poke in the side. Have you ever thought, I addressed Ms. Douglas, that your son is interested in older women because he's searching for a suitable version of you? All movement at the table ceased. Eyes riveted to my face. Shirley, however, didn't miss a beat. Of course he's not looking for me, she replied testily. He's no Oedipus-although I wouldn't mind too much if he killed his father. She delivered this last bit with a wicked grin, followed by a genuine apology and the excuse that she just couldn't help it. 

No, she shook her head side to side as she continued, saying that she didn't think that was it at all and that she thought she even scared him a little. Why, she asked, would he want someone to scare him when he had her? This, followed by another wicked grin. Looking back, I don't see how I could have missed the resemblance during the wicked grins. I have since seen that grin widen Kiefer's face many times.

I followed her question with a question aimed at gathering more information. Did he, I inquired, have only the one relationship with an older woman, the marriage? No, no--happens all the time, she revealed. It's a young one, then an older one, then one his age, then, well, you get the picture, she sighed. Hmmm, I thought to myself. Sounds a bit flighty to me. But that thought I did manage to keep to myself. I pressed on though, determined to figure out why she should be so emotional about her son's tastes in women and why, if indeed he really did, he had a penchant for older partners.

Does your son have long-term relationships, I asked her, and how old is he? How long is long, she grinned again, and he's almost thirty-five. Well, I observed, he's not old enough yet to have a mid-life crisis thing. Maybe he just likes women, I said. Likes all kinds. Shirley rolled her eyes and threw back her head. A throaty laugh issued. Another clue. Should have recognized the timbre of the voice.

Likes women, she roared. Yeah, I guess you could say that. Been liking them for a couple of decades now, she giggled. Yep. She actually giggled. Suddenly, her face sobered. She looked me in the eyes. You know, she said, I don't really know if he simply likes the company of women or whether he's promiscuous. I worry, she continued, about his health. She looked upward, than back down, and said in a soft voice: you know what I mean. Her face reflected concern. I understand, I replied, shaking my head in affirmation.

You think I'm being silly about this, don't you, she directed the question to me. No, not silly, I said. But you're so overtly negative about it. Did your son's wife do something to anger you? I mean, specifically? Shirley began shaking her head and looked at her plate. A few seconds of silence was followed by her quiet voice saying that she thought the marriage, at such a young age, that fatherhood, at such a young age, had somehow stunted her son's emotional growth. She spoke to the plate.

I couldn't arrest it. It came out. I laughed. Shirley's head snapped up and she stared at me with angry eyes. What is so funny about that, she hissed. I didn't hesitate to answer. I thought her logic was faulty. Well, I told her, marriage and fatherhood are highly unlikely to stunt emotional growth. In fact, under even fairly normal circumstances, those two things should encourage emotional maturity.

Well, what the hell do you know about it, Shirley snarled. I wasn't backing down though. I could see in her eyes that she, too, felt the weakness of her argument. I don't claim to know anything about your son, I admitted. But I don't understand why you'd associate marriage and fatherhood with emotional immaturity. Maybe your son just is emotionally immature. Maybe he suffers from Peter Pan syndrome, I continued, but was cut off by Shirley's sudden outburst: Peter Pan syndrome, she screamed. Oh, screw that psycho-babble bullshit!

Shirley rapidly pushed back her chair, stood, placed her napkin over her plate, turned, and headed to the restaurant's entrance. The five other women at the table stared at me-heat rose to my cheeks, enhanced by the heat in the eyes trained on my face. I struggled for the right words to say. Finding none, I determined to go after Ms. Douglas and apologize, but by the time I reached the sidewalk, she was not in sight. Imagine my huge surprise when I received a phone call from her the next morning. She called Karyn's home looking for a number at which to reach me and discovered that I was staying with Karyn.

Dr. Traylor, Ms. Douglas said, I'd like to meet with you when possible. I'd like to talk with you about some of the things you mentioned yesterday. I'm busy in the evenings all this week, but mornings and afternoons are fine. Well, I told her, I'd love to meet with you, but I'm busy every day this week except Friday. Evenings are the only time I'm free. Friday, Ms. Douglas mused aloud. Friday will work. She told me to meet her at Auberge du Pommier on Friday at one o'clock.

Our lunch went well. I started the conversation by apologizing and telling Shirley that I wasn't being a busybody, but that I was struck with her vehement emotions concerning her son's choices in women and her resentment towards her former daughter. Eventually, our discussion revealed several things. She really did believe that her granddaughter's mother had purposely gotten pregnant, but she blamed her even more for not being able to make the marriage work. That one surprised me, given what she'd been saying about older women and her son.

When I voiced my surprise, she, too, looked surprised. She contemplated silently for a few moments. Finally, she admitted that she really didn't know what she meant. She said that her son hadn't seemed really happy in a long, long time and that she didn't know whether it was because he had gotten married too early or because the marriage had ended or whether it was something else altogether. She had always blamed her former daughter for her son's unhappiness because she didn't know who else to blame. I can't blame his second wife, Shirley argued, because he was sad for such a long time before that.

I asked Shirley if she'd ever discussed any of this with her son. She looked surprised and said no. I then asked her if she felt she communicated her negativity to her granddaughter, a person she apparently cared for very much if her voice and eyes were clues to her feelings. Oh, noooooooo, she said. I hope I don't do that. Do you suppose I do? She was distraught now. 

I took Shirley's hand in an attempt to calm her, a hand she promptly retrieved from my loose grip as she reached inside her handbag for her ringing phone. Shirley's eyes lit up as she crooned the word Kiefer. Sweetheart, what a surprise to hear from you, she said. You're what, she almost screamed. Where? A slight pause. Oh, Kiefer, we're at Auberge du Pommier--have the taxi drop you off. We? Oh, a new friend. Hurry, sweetheart. I can't wait to see you.

Okay. So what's the likelihood that there are many Kiefers in this world? My face must have had a look that begged explanation. Shirley's excitement over her son's unexpected impending arrival was arrested when she looked at me. Dear, she said. Are you all right? I shook my head up and down. Yes, yes, I'm fine. Is your, I paused, swallowed, is your son Kiefer Sutherland?

Ah, she said. The name is rather unusual, isn't it? Are you a fan of his, she inquired. Well, I replied, I'm not sure. I met him a couple of months ago in Texas at a rodeo arena. I was just surprised when I heard you say his name. I paused. Then I drew my breath in quickly. Shirley, I said softly. Have we been talking about Kiefer?

Oh, dear, she responded. I'll never learn to keep my mouth closed. You won't use any of this information against him, will you? I was a bit stunned, not by her question, but by the realization that we'd been talking about someone I'd met. It was a legitimate question. Oh, no. No, no, Shirley. I would never do anything like that-to you, to him, or anyone else. Private things are just that-private. She seemed to take some measure of relief from my impassioned response.

Although the first season of 24 had been filming the year I met Kiefer, it had not yet premiered, although that event was close at hand. I still had not seen him in any films other than the two I've already named. I mention this because when I'd met him before he'd been dressed in Western clothing and I was taken aback as he literally glided across the restaurant's floor to his mother's side. He was gorgeous. Period. The deep navy blue suit fit him perfectly. He smelled divine. I hadn't expected him to look so stylish. The icy blue tie accented the blue tinge in his eyes.

His mother had stood and turned towards him as he approached the table. No one announced his presence nor was Shirley facing the entrance. She, and everyone else in the room, simply knew when Kiefer arrived. That happens all the time when he steps in a room. That Sagittarian thing. Whew. They lightly embraced, did the "kiss-kiss" thing, and then Kiefer stepped back taking his mother's hands in his. He smiled at her and turned his head slightly in my direction. Another smile. A glimmer in the eyes. A slightly tilted head now. A quizzical look.

I smiled and held out my right hand, then I reminded him of our earlier meeting-we met in Mesquite a couple of months ago-at the rodeo arena-Don Gay. Ohhhhhhhhhh, came the reply. I knew you looked familiar. Kiefer Sutherland, he said as he shook my extended hand. As if I didn't know. Jossey Traylor, I replied. Yeah, that's right. I remember you now, Kiefer politely responded. I doubted if he remembered anything about that meeting. After he motioned for us all to be seated, he surprised me by asking how Sasha's Luck was doing. He did remember--at least the horse. Oh, Sasha's well, I replied. And Don, too. You enjoyed riding her didn't you? The rest of the lunch was mostly a blur. I was bedazzled, listening to the mother and son catch up on family gossip, Kiefer's eyes bulging at the latest escapades of a fourteen-year-old second cousin. He just shook his head, reminding Shirley of how lucky he was that his Sarah wasn't that way.

And so it was that over the next few years I was blessed with opportunities to be around Kiefer. More often than not, these meetings were in Toronto when I was there on business and he happened to be in town. Other times I saw him at rodeo events. He made the National Finals whenever his schedule allowed. But his true enjoyment of cowboying was most evident at the smaller rodeos-New Mexico, Arizona, Montana. When at rodeos, Kiefer was apparently alone. A half-dozen or more times in Toronto he'd been with someone when I ran into him.

Well, I didn't just run into him. Shirley and I had determined that we liked one another well enough and I always let her know when I was in town. We weren't best friends or anything, but I think she felt comfortable talking to me. So, at times I'd be visiting Shirley or she'd invite me to some function and I'd run into Kiefer under these circumstances. Once, he was with his former second wife, Kelly. I asked Shirley if they were getting back together. She just shook her head and said hell if I know. I believe they did make a few attempts to reconcile, but there didn't seem to be much spark between the two. Since then, though, I've learned that Kiefer is quite friendly with some of his exes-wives and girlfriends included. He chats with Kelly about her sons. I've heard him have conversations over the phone with both boys, and he seems genuinely interested in their welfare. He's not too stern with them, but he plays the parent role well.

Perhaps one of the best memories I have to date was when Kiefer taught me to ski. Snow, that is. The southern states aren't blessed with enough snow to make skiing a childhood-learned sport unless lucky enough to be born into a family able to travel to the slopes during the season. I think what makes this such a good memory is that Kiefer's patience was displayed to a great advantage while he taught me the basics. Plus, it was the first, and only, time he'd touched me other than through handshakes or simple touches during greetings. When he first got behind me and placed his hands on my waist in order to show me a couple of stances, I thought my heart, or perhaps it was my stomach, would leap out of my throat! There was no denying that I felt a jolt of something when his body brushed against mine. It was a wonder I learned anything at all that day. But I did. And we had fun.


Georgia-- aka Heaven Ch. 01



Of course, this anecdote doesn't provide an account of all of the times I'd been around Kiefer, but it does set the stage for the day's events. Brings me back to where I began-Kiefer staring at me. I had known him for awhile. We'd had conversations. I had come to realize that his wit and charm were endless, but that he had a melancholy streak in him, too. Oh, sure. He was the life of the party. The lightbulb in the dimly lit room. But this river was deeper than the surface betrayed. I wanted to know what the surreptitious stares meant.

This time when I caught his gaze I didn't look away. I stood up and slowly began making my way towards the chaise lounge in which he sprawled. The other thirty or so people present were all dozing, swimming, drinking, or otherwise keeping themselves occupied. Kiefer had attended this function alone. It wasn't that unusual. As I headed his way, he quickly shifted away from me, facing the opposite direction. I walked around the lounge and sat down in the middle of the one now facing him. He couldn't avoid me.

"Oh, hi," he said.

"Oh, hi, to you, too. Why are you staring at me?"

"What?" A pause. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"You're a bad liar. You know that, don't you?"

Kiefer looked down at the flagstone, then up again.

"Ummm. Uh, yeah."

"So, answer the question, bud. What's up?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why?"

"'Cause."

"'Cause why?"

"'Cause you'd slap me if I told you."

That surprised me. I'm sure my eyebrow raised.

"Slap you? I'm hardly in the habit of slapping people. Why would I do that? And how do you know I would?"

"'Cause."

"God, you're monosyllabic today."

"Yeah."

Silence.

"Is the reason you're staring at me so horrible that you'd think I would actually slap you?"

"Yeah."

I sighed in exasperation. As I shook my head, I stood up. Kiefer's right hand shot out and briefly grasped my left forearm leading me back down in a sitting position.

He just stared at me, waiting for me to say something it seemed.

I shifted my weight onto one buttock and placed my hand on the lounge under the raised one then shifted to the other side and placed my other hand, too, underneath my body. 

"Now, I can't slap you. Why are you staring at me?"

"Sure you won't hit?" Another pause. "I know my mother. She'd hit me."

"What does your mother have to do with it?"

"If my mother likes you, and it's obvious she does, then you have to be down on male chauvinists."

Again, I was surprised and must've looked it for his eyes widened. Kiefer was no male chauvinist.

"Male chauvinists? Are you talking about you?"

He sheepishly shook his head affirmatively.

"Kiefer, you're hardly a male chauvinist. I mean, I suppose you're a bit chauvinistic when it comes to a few things, probably more than I know about, but I'd certainly not lump you into a group of chauvinists by even loose standards."

He looked slightly relieved.

I continued. "Why might I think you're a chauvinist?"

"Well, not, uh, not really a chauvinist. Just a pig."

He looked me squarely in the face, grinned wickedly, and let out a loud pig squeal.

I remained exasperated, but still on my hands.

"Look, I'm on my hands, I can't hit you, tell me what's goin' on."

Kiefer's face remained mischievous. He mimicked me and sat on his own hands. He leaned forward conspiratorially, eyes narrowing, and whispered huskily.

"I'm lookin' at your boobs. Been lookin' at 'em all day." He paused, then continued.

"And other stuff, too."

I was stunned.

He looked down, then up, then away, then at me again. He leaned back and removed his hands from under him, a movement I then completed, too.

"Are you mad?" He was genuinely interested in my reply.

I couldn't say anything. I was so completely taken aback by his answer. It was wholly unlike what I thought his response might be. Staring at my boobs. Why? Which is what I finally got out.

"Why?"

"Why do I wanna know if you're mad? That's silly. I don't want you mad at me."

"No. Why are you staring at my, uh, my . . ."

"Boobs?"

"Yes."

"'Cause."

"Cause," I asked. "'Cause why?"

"'Cause I've never seen 'em before. I've never seen you without your clothes on. I can't help but stare at 'em." He grinned at me. "They're awesome!"

"Awesome?" I was bewildered. "They're just average. Nothing special."

Indeed my breasts weren't anything outstanding. They were neither small nor large. The bikini top I wore was flattering, but I didn't think they deserved an "awesome" tag. Well, they were better than okay. I liked them really. But I was still surprised by Kiefer's admission, so I sat, silent, still contemplating what might have brought on this turn of events.

"You are mad at me, aren't you?" Kiefer looked regretful.

He stood up quickly, walked to the end of the chaise and paced back and forth at the pool's edge for a full minute before I responded.

"I am not mad at you. Not at all. I'm simply surprised that you'd be looking and that you'd think they were awesome. It seems, well, uncharacteristic. I don't recall you ever checking me out before."

Kiefer had stopped pacing when I started to speak. Now he looked at me with yet another grin.

"I check you out all the time. You just don't notice." 

"You check me out all the time?" Another surprise. "Why?"

Kiefer's face screwed up. Eyes squinched. Cheeks and mouth pinched together.

"Why?" He seemed exasperated, but his face returned to normal. "Are you serious?"

When he determined that I was, he shook his head and held out his hands, palms up.

"Because you're a woman. I'm a man. That's what happens!"

He paused. Then he looked taken aback. Then embarrassed.

"Oh, god." He started shaking his head back and forth. "Oh, god. You don't ever check me out, do you? You're not interested at all, are you?" 

Another pause. "God, how embarrassing," he almost whispered.

He started walking away.

"Kiefer. Stop." I had started laughing now.

"Don't laugh at me. It's not funny. I thought you might at least have a little curiosity about me."

"Oh, please. Don't be so melodramatic. Of course I've checked you out. But I certainly had no idea that you ever checked me out. You've certainly never been very obvious."

"Well, no, not obvious. I thought you'd be mad."

"Why in the world would I be mad?"

"Well, I . . . well, I figured Mom had warned you off."

"What does that mean? Warned me off?"

"I figured she probably told you what a loser I am and not to pay any attention to me. Besides, she gets all weird when I ask out anyone who's more than a day older than I am!"

Ah. So he had caught on.

"Yes, she does get upset. Do you know why?" 

"No, and we're not talking about her right now. That's another whole conversation. We're talking about you now."

"And I'm sure she doesn't think you're a loser."

"Like I said, we're talkin' 'bout you now."

"Me? How'd this get to be about me?"

"'Cause you're who we're talkin' 'bout. Do you not like men?"

"What?" Now I'm sure my eyebrow must've shot up. "What do you mean? Are you asking a sexual preference question?"

Kiefer looked stunned. Then embarrassed again.

"Oh, shit. No, I wasn't, but, oh, shit. Is your preference for other women?"

I was now giggling uncontrollably.

"What's so fuckin' funny? Really, I really wasn't asking about preference. I just meant do you not like men! You know, lots of women Mom hangs out with don't like men."

I managed to calm down and motioned for him to be seated again. He rather reluctantly took his seat.

I smiled at him. Before I could speak, Kiefer held up his hand for me to wait while he spoke first.

"Before you say anything, let me ask a question in my defense."

I nodded okay.

"Well, do you have a boyfriend? Are you in a relationship? I've never seen you with anyone, so it wasn't so crazy that I asked about whether you like men."

I smiled again.

"Of course I like men, silly. I like men a lot. I like you a lot. But I had no reason to think you'd be interested in me, so I never made any overtures. Besides, who'd wanna have to deal with Mamma Douglas's 'older woman' issue?"

Kiefer laughed a soft laugh.

"Yeah. You're right. She can be pretty intimidating. But you're not that much older. Are you? I'd say forty something."

"You'd be right. Forty-five."

"Well, good grief. I'm thirty-eight. That's not that much older. Surely she wouldn't freak over that."

"Kiefer, I have no idea what would make your mother freak, as you say. She's about as much of an enigma to me as are you."

"Enigma? Me? What's so enigmatic about me? I'm pretty straightforward."

I smiled. He was enigmatic. I didn't think it was on purpose. He was just lost in the clouds a lot.

As he was beginning to be right now. Lost. Lost in deep thought. I let him be lost.

It was probably a full ten minutes before Kiefer spoke again. He had no idea it'd been that long, I'm sure.

"So, you didn't answer me. Are you in a relationship?"

"No, not right now."

"Why?"

"Hmmm. Well, I just haven't met anyone lately who's, well, suitable."

"What's suitable?"

"Uh. Goodness. What a question. That's hard to say."

"Well, try."

"Well . . . funny, intelligent, adventurous, warm-I dunno. Lots of things."

"There must be zillions of funny guys out there."

"Well, yeah. There are some funny ones. But they don't have all that other stuff, too."

"Hmmm. You didn't say handsome and rich."

I laughed.

"Well, handsome is a bonus. Great abs are simply a miracle, so they're unexpected. Rich? Not necessary really. I have plenty of money. I mean, plenty to do what I want to do. I don't need a guy to pay my way or anything. And I'm not greedy."

Back in the clouds again. He was back in the clouds long enough for me to go all the way on the other side of the pool to the bar and get us both a beer. When I returned, the movement directly in front of his face brought him back to the moment.

"So, when was your last relationship," he inquired.

"What is this, twenty questions? When was your last relationship?"

"This morning before breakfast." He didn't bat an eye. Then he grinned widely.

I made a face at him. He returned the gesture.

"Why are you asking about my love life?"

"Have you ever been married," he asked very studiously.

I paused.

"Yessssss. Once. A very, very long time ago."

"Was it bad?"

"The marriage? No, not at all."

"No, not the marriage. The breakup. Was it bad?"

"Uh, not really. I dunno. Why are we talkin' about this?"

"So, if the marriage wasn't bad, what happened?"

"None of your business. Period."

He stared at me.

"I'm sorry, Kiefer. I don't mind answering questions, most of them. But that one's just a bit too personal for me to answer. I don't feel I know you well enough to answer it."

"But you do know me. We've known one another for years now."

"Well, yes, sort of. But not enough to share that. It's not easy. But I'll talk about other relationships."

He tilted his head to one side. "No, I don't want to dig where I shouldn't. The main thing was just to find out if you liked men." He looked away, then back at me with a sheepish grin before he finished his thought. "And, you know, if you liked sex."

That voice saying the word "sex" was almost more than I could bear. I smiled, thinking to myself oh you don't know boy-o just how much I'm thinking about sex at this moment.

"I love men. Really. I love sex, too."

Kiefer's head straightened up again as he stared into my eyes with a playful grin.

"Oh, you do, do you?"

His eyebrows went up.

"Yes, I do." It occurred to me that I didn't want to mislead him, despite the warm thoughts and warm physical reactions I was having at the moment. I continued. "But I'm not, well, I'm not one to just give it up because a good-looking guy walks by." I looked him squarely in the eyes and grinned. "Not even if they have a Golden Globe or two." He chuckled and I finished my thought. "Too cheap. I think I'm worth more than that."

Kiefer modeled a look of mock shock.

"You mean . . . you don't spread 'em for every Tom, Dick, and Harry, or is that Tom's Hairy, spelled h-a-i-r-y, Dick?

I laughed.

"I like it when you laugh," he said.

"Well, I love to laugh."

"Hmmm. You love sex, you love to laugh. What else do you love?"

I shook my head as I smiled again.

"No, no. No more questions this afternoon. Too many. Turn about's fair play. I should ask you some questions!"

Kiefer wrinkled his nose and crossed his eyes.

"I'm not too fond of questions," he announced.

"Well, that's too bad. I'll ask only one, okay?"

"No, I do not have a ten-inch penis," he delivered with a straight face and then laughed.

I really laughed at that one. His deep, throaty chuckle was delightful.

"That wasn't my question, silly. Besides, I heard from Rachel that it ain't no big thang."

"Wha-at? You heard what?" his eyes got huge as he delivered the questions.

He leaned over and contacted my upper arm with his fist in a few playful jabs.

"She did not, you liar!" he almost screamed.

"Did, too," I returned.

"Did not. She wouldn't do that. Even if it is true."

He broke up at his own self-deprecating comment. 

"Look, goofy. My real question is this: do you think that your first wife got pregnant on purpose in order to snare you?"

Kiefer's eyes widened, then narrowed, then returned to normal. He got quite serious.

"Well, that's a helluva question!"

"I know. And I know it's intrusive. So, you don't have to answer it. But I've always wondered since I heard your mom say that."

Kiefer was incredulous. He was genuinely surprised by my statement.

"Mom said that? She thinks Cam got pregnant on purpose?" He shook his head. "That's ridiculous. If anyone did anything on purpose, I did. I thought Cam was hot, hot, hot. Still do. I thought she was so cool . . ."

"You just said she was hot . . ."

"Oh, shut up, smart ass. She was, I thought, so experienced in the industry. I admired her knowledge of film and filmmaking. She had history!" He delivered that last word as if it explained everything.

"So, you don't think the pregnancy was on purpose?"

"Hm. Well, no. But even if it was, I don't really give a shit. That pregnancy probably saved my life. I'd be six feet under by now if I hadn't given up coke when Sarah Jude was born. Dead. Dead for sure." He mused a few seconds and added, "Besides, I wouldn't have Sarah either. That would be very bad."

And, just like that, he was gone again. In reverie. Deep thought. Oh, what the hell, I thought. I'll just drink his beer. He'll never know.

A quarter of an hour passed before Kiefer returned to the present. I'd already finished his beer and mine and moved back to my former chaise where my book and suntan lotion rested. I was attempting to get into the book when Kiefer rushed to the chaise next to the one I now occupied.

"So, do you think we should go out tonight?"

"Huh?" 

"Should we go out? Tonight? Get something to eat?"

"Kiefer," I uttered in surprise. "There's a whole staff inside the kitchen right now preparing a five-star meal. Why would you want to go out?"

"To be with you!" He sat still for a couple of seconds before he looked at me and resumed. "Shit. I haven't made myself clear, have I?"

"Well, I'm not sure. What were you trying to make clear?"

He paused. A grin crept across his face before he delivered his next line.

"That I like your boobs." He now smirked.

I hit him. He laughed and took my left hand between both of his. I felt it. That feeling I'd had when he touched me while teaching me to ski. He looked straight into my eyes when he continued.

"I'd like to go out. Like to know you better."

I was flattered. No, that's not right. I was ecstatic. No, that's not right. I was euphoric. He allowed my hand to drop, but I continued to feel a tingling sensation where his own had been. I glanced to my left, trying to ascertain if anyone was watching us, but everyone seemed to be occupied. Kiefer followed my train of thought and spoke softly.

"They're all busy. No one's paying any attention to us." 

"You told me," I said, "that I knew you already. If that's true, how come you don't know me?" I grinned.

"Hey, if you don't wanna go out, just say so." He grinned, too.

"You know, maybe we'd better check with Mamma Douglas and see if it's okay."

"Yuh." Kiefer rolled his eyes. "Hey. Why don't we eat here and then slip out?"

"Now there's a plan. I like it. Two adults sneaking out. There's something kinda special about that-kinda hot!" I was giggling.

Kiefer smiled, but followed the smile with a question.

"Okay, so what's your suggestion?"

"No, I'm serious. I think it's great." I paused. "Hey. Do you think we could just go walking on the beach? I love that." 

Kiefer's face split into a huge smile.

"Yessssssssss. Yes, that's great," he murmured as his head moved up and down in assent. "I really like that, too."

We just looked at one another for a second or two, then he followed up.

"So, it's a date then. You slip out after the main course and I'll follow after dessert."

"After dessert? Why the hell do you get dessert and I don't?"

"Well, that's just the plan. I made the plan, so I get to choose who leaves when. Okay?"

"No, that's not okay. What if it's a great dessert. You leave after the main course and I'll have dessert."

"Hey. You're monkeying with the plan. You can't do that."

"Screw your plan. Plans should include dessert for all concerned." I had purposely injected mock venom in my voice.

Kiefer gave me a close-lipped, one-sided smile.

"Oh, all right. We'll both have dessert. Nothing wrong with people takin' a stroll after dinner."

"But I wanna sneak away, Kiefer." I emphasized the word "sneak." "Can't we have dessert and sneak?" This time I emphasized "and."

He laughed softly and shook his head.

"Yeah. We can sneak. I'll formulate the sneaking plan and pass it to you in the soup course."

I smiled. Then my insides caved in. Had he really just asked to sneak away with me after dinner? If so, and I think it was, what would the evening bring?



Georgia-- aka Heaven Ch. 02



Georgia – Also Known as Heaven Chapter 2

The evening brought heaven--heaven in Georgia. Sure enough, during the soup course at the evening meal, Kiefer rose and excused himself, saying he'd forgotten to make a very important phone call and that he'd return very shortly. On his way back to his seat, presumably after making a call, he managed to lean over a cousin, seated next to me, and delivered a folded sheet of paper to my lap. I felt silly. Good silly. Like a junior high school girl getting notes passed to her in homeroom.

When prudent, I placed my hand into my lap, grasped the edge of the paper and managed to flip it open with my thumb. I read "the plan." It went like this: after dessert, refuse coffee. If asked, say you're full and you need a stroll. You don't have to say it loudly, just let those around you know. Exit the dining room and go through the foyer to the grand staircase. Go up the staircase to the second floor and enter the first bathroom on the left. More instructions will be inside the upper left-hand drawer in the vanity.

I smiled. He was playing a game. No need for all of these instructions, but it was going to be fun to follow them through, I was sure. The meal, though superb, seemed endless. I'd never known it to take so long until the dessert course. Dutifully, after finishing most of the luscious pear flambé, I excused myself to my neighboring diners and headed for the second-floor bathroom. I admit to a thrill in playing this little game. My hand trembled a bit as I reached for the drawer-pull and gently slid open the drawer. As my eyes lit on the folded paper within, I suddenly felt very silly. Good lord, Jossey. You're an idiot. Stop behaving like a teenager. You're an adult. 

My admonition to myself was not very effective. I excitedly reached for and opened the note. It provided the following instructions: make your way back downstairs to the kitchen. Ask for Del. Tell him that you're there to pick up the package. When you have the package in your possession, exit the kitchen via the poolside French doors and make your way to the stairs leading to the dunes. You will find a rock on the ground at the bottom of these stairs and under it will be more instructions.

I giggled. Smooth outloud. Then I laughed. This was fun. I tried to imagine Kiefer writing out these notes and giving "Del" a package. It was too funny. I made my way downstairs to the kitchen and asked for Del, half expecting everyone in the kitchen, and there were at least seven people in there, either to laugh at me or regale me with looks of derision. Neither happened. The young lady of whom I'd asked the question simply pointed to a young man across the room. I advanced, asked if he were Del, received an affirmative response, and queried him about a package. Oh, yes, he replied. I have it for you. He retrieved a square package, about sixteen inches by sixteen inches and half that deep, and handed it to me. It was wrapped in beautiful burgundy damask and was slightly heavy.

I thanked the young man and headed to the doors leading to the pool. I couldn't wait for the next set of instructions and nearly flew down the stairs leading to the dunes. As I stood on the bottom rung of the staircase, I bent over to set down the box and remove my shoes. Dropping them to the side of the stairs, I looked for my next set of instructions. Sure enough, to my right was a rather obtrusive rock and underneath it yet another folded note. I laughed when I read the first line which was set off from the remainder of the note: do you feel sneaky yet?

The remaining instructions called for me to travel straight from the staircase to within fifteen feet of the shoreline and make a left. I was then to travel along the beach until I reached a large black bag which I was to open carefully. I followed the instructions and spotted the bag long before I reached it. The long summer days provided light until a bit after nine in the evening, and the near-full moon would continue to bathe the dunes in soft yet bright moonlight. I made myself approach the bag unhurriedly and took my time placing the package on the sand before opening the bag, just in case Kiefer were watching and found me too eager. 

My fingers stumbled over the plastic tie. The bag was, as I'd recognized when getting nearer, a large lawn and leaf bag. The tie undone, I started pulling the top of the bag open and suddenly Kiefer stood up from what must have been a kneeling position and poked his arms and head through the opening. I jumped back, scared and laughing at once. As I tumbled back and down, I flailed my arms trying to catch myself. My palms hit the sand and my bottom, barely grazing the sand, shot forward. The short black spandex-enhanced dress worked its way up to near my waist in the back as I slid across the grainy surface. I was a bit put out that my backside was now covered in sand and hurting a bit from the scraping. Kiefer, however, was enjoying the sight immensely, even though from the front only, his body heaving in laughter as he extricated himself fully from the bag.

"You creep," I screamed. "Now I have sand all over my backside and my hands." 

"Well, let me help you brush it off," Kiefer managed to spit out in the midst of his laughing fit as he reached down with his right hand, took my outstretched left one, and helped me to a standing position as I reached behind and tugged the back of my dress down with my free hand.

I was quite sure the dress looked a mess in the places where I'd made contact with the sand. As Kiefer's right hand continued to steady my forearm, his left went to my backside where he began vigorously to brush me off. I was giggling and moved my free arm and hand behind me to assist in the cleaning. 

"Oh, give it up," I finally got out in a breathless voice. I was weak from laughing and from Kiefer's touch. I was in danger of dropping to the sand again, so I reached my hand back around and took hold of Kiefer's shoulder to steady myself. His laughter was subsiding, too, and he stopped trying to get the sand off my dress. 

"I'll get you a new one. It was my fault."

"Oh, goodness. It's just sand. I'll eventually get it out."

Kiefer gave a muffled laugh. I could see the grin on his face in the dusky light.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothin'," he returned.

"Then why are you laughing?"

"I was wondering how you were gonna get the sand out of your undies! I know your dress slipped up when you went down. I saw it!" He continued to snicker.

"Oh, you wanna know that, do you? I got news for you, buddy. I don't wear underwear. The sand is on my flesh, not a pair of panties!"

The light from the setting sun was still bright enough to allow me a decent view of Kiefer's expressive face. Upon delivering the knowledge that I wore no panties, Kiefer became very still, but his face underwent some amazing changes. At first, his eyes widened and his mouth went slack, slightly opened. Then his eyes narrowed, his lips clamped together, and he uttered a soft, guttural noise. Following this, Kiefer's face became very animated. Through a smile, he asked the following.

"No shit? No underwear? Can I see?"

How impertinent, I thought.

"Of course you can't see! You are the reason I'm covered in sand and you don't deserve to see. In fact, you deserve a spanking, young man! And don't think I won't deliver it if you continue to irritate me!"

Oh. The face went through another series of changes. 

The eyes became slits of intensity. The nostrils flared. The lips tightened together, then he bit the lower one. He stared at me in a way that sent chills all over my body. Surely I was visibly shuddering.

Kiefer blinked. Blinked again. Then his chin went up and the eyes returned to their normal size. An evil smile replaced the clinched lips.

"Spank me, huh?" he growled. "You think you're big enough to do that?"

The stare, the evil smile, the growl . . . I was surprised at my own quick response, wondering how I'd found voice.

"Oh, yes. I'm big enough all right." We were about eighteen inches to two feet apart. I leaned my upper body toward him and continued.

"And I assure you that it'll be a spanking you won't soon forget!" God, had I actually said it? Jeez. As I was speaking, I was imagining myself bringing my eager palm down on one of his what I envisioned as firm butt cheeks, feeling him squirm beneath the hand, hearing him moan with desire. Oh. I knew I'd drawn an audible breath. I don't know if Kiefer heard it. His breathing had become audible as well.

I glanced away quickly, then back. "Sorry," I said softly. I got a little more carried away than I intended."

Kiefer smiled, a flicker of mischief remained in his eyes.

To cover my discomfort, and I was uncomfortable . . . pleasantly, of course . . . I swallowed and asked about the package.

"Ah. The package. Yes." Kiefer turned to the now empty black bag, seeking the package on the sand. He walked over, picked it up, and sat on the bag, motioning with his hand for me to follow. I did. Reluctantly. My inner thighs, I noticed, had become more than damp. In fact, some infernal internal faucet had turned on and was running rampant. 

The package perched on Kiefer's outstretched legs.

"Wanna open it?" he asked.

"No, you open it," I replied.

He carefully removed the cloth from the box, but turned slightly to place the now uncovered box on my lap as he thrust aside the damask and instructed me to remove the top. I did. Inside nestled in tulle was a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and two lovely wine glasses festooned with what seemed miles of thin satin ribbon. It was very elegant. I sighed with pleasure.

"You like?" Kiefer inquired.

"Very much. It's lovely. Just lovely. Thanks for thinking of this." I paused briefly, but continued. "I loved the game, too. It was fun." I looked at him and smiled my appreciation.

"Yeah. It was fun. Shall I open the wine?"

I nodded assent, staring off at the water and the soft light reflecting off its surface. 

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"What? The wine?"

"The water, silly. The water."

Kiefer looked up, followed my line of sight.

"Yes, yes it is. The light makes it sparkle."

Kiefer attended to the bottle and within a moment or two handed me one of the filled glasses. He leaned the bottle against the side of the box, took up the glass that had rested between his legs, and raised it as for a toast. I raised mine.

"To moonlight on the Georgia coast," he said and clinked my glass.

"To you," I said, "in heartfelt gratitude for allowing me to come on this trip. I thank you."

He smiled, we both raised our glasses, and then began to drink. I didn't need any wine. I was drunk, positively heady, with excitement. 

We were silent for a moment or two, shoulder to shoulder, sipping wine and staring at the beautiful water. Finally, Kiefer spoke.

"You know, we said we were gonna walk the beach. Will you be mad if we don't? I mean, we can if you want to. But I kinda like just sitting here, too." He turned to me as he finished up.

I was smiling at him. Should I just blurt out that we could be cleaning toilets and it would be okay as long as I was with him? Nah. Better leave that unsaid. But something of that must have shown on my face.

"What's so funny," he asked.

"Truth?"

Kiefer laughed.

"Well, that would be refreshing."

"Refreshing," I echoed. "What does that mean? Aren't you accustomed to the truth?"

"Just tell me what you were laughing at, okay?"

"Well, you asked if it were all right to just sit, to not walk on the beach." I paused briefly. He was still turned toward me. 

"And . . . " he said with inflection, indicating he wanted me to finish the thought.

"And, truth be told, I wouldn't care what we were doing or where we were doing it. I'm enjoying just being with you."

"Hmmm. But that's not funny," he said as he shook his head. "Where's the truth?" He challenged me.

"I thought to myself that as long as you were with me we could even be cleaning toilets and it'd be fine."

His face widened in a smile.

"Okay. That's kinda funny." He thought for a second and continued. "I suppose we could go up to the house and clean some toilets--there are plenty of 'em up there!"

"Oh, stop it. You know what I mean."

Kiefer's head turned back to the water.

"Yeah. I know what you mean. I'd clean a toilet with you anyday."

I laughed and Kiefer turned around again, not just his face but this time shifting his whole body and crossing his ankles in front of him. He remained in his dinner clothes minus the jacket, but was barefoot. I shifted around, too, but with both legs tucked to one side so as not to expose my godgiven goodies. Sticky goodies, at this point. 

"You feel like talking," I inquired. "Or would you rather just sit?"

"Why don't we have our other glass of wine," Kiefer asked. "We can talk if the mood strikes us."

"All right," I said. But I already had something I wanted to talk about. I held out my glass while he refilled it and waited for him to empty the bottle's contents into his. I was silent for what seemed ages, but I'm sure it was only a minute or two. I felt that this roller coaster were moving forward and I wanted to know things before the ride reached its screaming peak.

"Kiefer, can we talk about the elephant on the beach?"

"What?" Kiefer laughed. "Elephant? What are you talking about?"

"You know, like the proverbial elephant in the room. The unspoken thing."

"Ohhhhhh," he uttered as he shook his head up and down. "But we're on the beach. Okay. I get it."

I did not, however, jump right in. I was thinking about how I wanted to approach the subject I wanted to discuss. Kiefer didn't press me. He seemed to divine that I was framing my words.

Finally, I determined to speak.

"Kiefer. I'm simply going to be straight. For me, being straight and telling the truth cuts down on wasted time and miscommunication."

Kiefer's eyes narrowed. "How unwomanly of you!" he declared.

I tapped his arm in mock anger. "Oh, stop it. I mean it. I just want to get something out of the way."

He nodded.

"The elephant," I said. "The elephant is sex."

Kiefer blinked slowly, then cocked his head to one side, then returned it to its original position.

"I thought you said you loved sex."

"I do, I do. This isn't so much about sex as it is all the stuff that goes with it," I tried to explain, though not successfully. He remained a bit puzzled.

I was suddenly, for no apparent reason, for no discoverable reason, quite sure that I'd dreamed the entire afternoon and evening and that he looked at me in this way because he had no intention of ever doing anything more with me than cleaning those toilets. I'd dreamed everything surely. He wasn't interested in my boobs, as he'd called them, hadn't lingered a bit too long on my rear end trying to remove the sticky sand, hadn't given me a look to melt the polar ice cap when I'd mentioned a spanking.

"Oh, dear, and oops," I quietly exclaimed. "I've done it again and I'm not even Britney Spears."

"Done what," Kiefer asked with a giggle and a shake of his head.

"Started down a road that is leading to the wrong destination! Somehow I got the idea that you might be a bit interested in me and I was going to initiate a discussion about sex." I shook my head. "I'm sorry," I said, looking straight at Kiefer. "I don't know what got into me."

Now Kiefer looked even more confused.

"You get the impression I'm *not* interested in sex," he almost screamed.

I looked at him questioningly. "You mean," I paused for a second, "you are?"

"Of course I'm interested. I thought we were clear on that." He thought briefly and shook his head side-to-side. "No, no I didn't mean just sex. I mean I'm interested in you. And sex, well, sex just . . . "

I shook my head again and sighed loudly. I reached out my left hand and placed it on Kiefer's cheek, allowing my ring finger to lightly trace the outline of his ear. When I returned my hand to my lap, he spoke again.

"For two people so willing to tell the truth we sure seem confused."

I laughed.

Kiefer laughed softly, too, and shook his head before he spoke.

"Not interested, eh? Man. I was interested, have been interested, for a long time." 

Kiefer looked at me with a sly smile.

"But I've been more than interested, crazy in fact, since the underwear revelation. I cannot believe that you're sitting this close to me with no underwear on . . . " and his voice trailed off as he continued shaking his head.

"Oh, you never know. I may have been lying." I tried to ease the tension.

"Oh, no. You were telling the truth," Kiefer shook his head up and down. "I could see it in your eyes. I have no doubt that if I reached over right now . . . " and Kiefer's hand headed to my knees.

"Stop it," I screamed in counterfeit terror and playfully pushed his hand away.

We stared at one another. But it wasn't an uncomfortable stare; indeed, it was rather nice. We finished the wine and Kiefer placed the glasses back in the box. I determined to speak of the elephant.

"I'm not sure what came over me. Suddenly this whole day seemed so unreal. I can't explain it really." I halted in order to take a deep breath and prepare for resuming the conversation.

"So, the elephant is sex and that's what I want to talk about for a moment or two. You know. Just in case this heads in that direction." Kiefer repositioned his legs, appearing to make himself more relaxed.

"I want to provide you with some background so you'll be . . . at ease . . . y'know . . . about my sexual history." I stopped to see how he was taking the introduction. He blinked, waiting for me to continue.

"I told you this afternoon that I'm not, well, promiscuous. My last relationship ended about six months ago, and, in honesty, I've not had sex since then." I paused to assess Kiefer's reaction and a slight grin flickered across his lips.

"No sex at all?" he grinned, raising one eyebrow.

I laughed softly. I understood what he meant.

"Well, not with another person. I can't say I've not made myself happy a time or two or three."

"Ah. Now she's being truthful," he said as he nodded up and down.

"Anyway," I continued, "I wanted you to know that I've never had a sexually transmitted disease. I'm clean." With that, I completed one nod of my head to signal that I was through. Then it occurred to me that I'd screwed up again. My face translated my sudden fear. Damn the bright moonlight. He'd caught the look.

"What now?" Kiefer laughed.

"Oh, I just wanted you to know about me. I mean, I'm not angling to get you to say anything. I just wanted to volunteer the info so you'd . . . " and I trailed off because Kiefer was silently laughing at me, eyes dancing in his face.

"Well, of course you wanna know these things about me, too. You'd be crazy not to!" He paused, but continued almost immediately. "And birth control? What's your method of choice? Are you on a form of the pill?"

I looked him in the eyes, a smile playing across my face.

"No birth control, Kiefer. Don't have the parts anymore, if you know what I mean. No need for birth control."

Kiefer blinked, stared, blinked again. Then he uttered one word very slowly and drawn out.

"Cooooooooooollllll."

I laughed.

"Cool, huh?"

As Kiefer shook his head up and down he turned it back to the water and then shifted his body again to follow. I now stared at his silhouette.

"Very." Pause. "No condoms." Pause. "No diaphragms." Pause. "No morning trips to the doctor's office." Pause. "Heaven."

After this, he didn't speak, but it was fine. I enjoyed the silence and enjoyed staring at him without his knowledge, his mind a million miles away.

In profile, Kiefer looked unbelievably like his father. I was suddenly seeing scenes from Desert Saints right before my eyes. He sat very still. The eyelashes, thick and long, almost brushed his cheeks as he slowly blinked. I don't know how long it was before he spoke. It didn't matter.




Georgia-- aka Heaven Ch. 02



When he finally did speak again, the voice was low, mesmerizing.

"I don't know how much you know about me." He shook his head. "No, not right. I don't know what you've read or heard about me." There was a lengthy pause and he spoke to the water before him. "I've trusted you from almost the beginning." He glanced very briefly at me and turned his head forward again. "My mom trusts you. I know you talk with her. She talks with you." He paused and licked his lips.

"My mother does not offer up kind words easily about people. She thinks you're a good egg, as she puts it." He looked at me again, briefly, smiling.

"So, I trust you. And you didn't have to tell me you weren't promiscuous. I knew that already. If you had been, you'd have offered yourself to me or someone I know by now. Besides, men know these things. At least men who have any sense at all know." Kiefer took a very long, loud breath. He then released it in a lingering sigh.

"I won't lie. Ten years ago I'd have to be telling you that a rooster in a large henhouse has little on me." He gave a short laugh that made his shoulders move. "But . . . experience, time, the world . . . they change things, y'know?" He looked at me for affirmation which I provided through a nod.

"Another thing I won't lie about. Because of my past, well, I have had STDs. But none of the ones that are permanent. The ones I've had have always been curable through a round or two of penicillin or a few good washings with lice soap!" His shoulders shook with soft, self-deprecating laughter, but he continued looking ahead.

"I'm not as eager to hop into the sack every few minutes the way I once was." Another long, deep breath. 

"In fact, sex doesn't seem to be as important as other things to me anymore." Kiefer's head quickly snapped to look at my face. "I don't mean that I don't like . . . "

I reached just as quickly with my fingers and placed them on Kiefer's lips to silence his protest.

"I understand, Kiefer," I said as I shook my head up and down. "Sex is a miracle when all's well. But other things help make the sex a miracle." I lowered my hand.

"I don't want you to think I'm not normal. I am." He looked at me, not turning his head back around.

"Kiefer, I have no doubt that you're normal when it comes to sex. Jeez. You don't have to apologize for emotional maturity!" I laughed softly and lightly rubbed his shoulder for a second or two. He looked relieved, returned his gaze to the water.

"So, am I promiscuous?" he asked the night air. "No, not most of the time. And, you can trust me, I'm clean."

As Kiefer turned to look at me, I rose to my knees and said, "I trust you. What reason could you have to lie?"

A quick smile filled Kiefer's face and there was a lull in the conversation. "Helllloooo. Earth to Jossey. I'm a man. I could lie to get to those boobs!"

Kiefer maneuvered his body up and around and on his knees to face me. We were no more than six inches apart. My breathing was becoming perceptible. To my amazement, so was his. I suddenly, as if in epiphany, realized that this attraction was not just a one-way street.

I offered the only thing that I could. It was what I was thinking.

"We'll know when the time is right. Pushing it, going too fast . . . "

Kiefer completed the thought.

" . . . don't wanna do that."

Then it happened. Yes. IT. The pre-kiss hand movement. When it happened, I believe that all of my organs stopped functioning. No one who'd ever watched a Kiefer Sutherland film in which he'd kissed a woman was unfamiliar with the pre-kiss hand movement. Just like that--up it came. The right hand on the left side of my face, palm resting on the cheek, thumb lightly brushing my lips before it pressed under my chin. Oh, god. Oh, oh, oh. He's doin' it. Doin' it to me. The pre-kiss move. Where was his other hand? Where? I had to focus. It was . . . it was on my back, near the middle, pulling by body closer to his. Mine? Where were my hands? Oh, god. Did I have hands? Yes, yes. Focus, Jossey. One hand was on his waist, the other on his neck. I felt the hardness of his body, the heat, as he held me fast. Now what? A kiss?

Oh, yes. A kiss it was. The kiss. Kiefer's head tilted, neared my face. Had I died at this very moment it would have been enough. But I did not die. Kiefer's lips nibbled at my lower one. Nibbled. Softly. Sweet, sweet nibbling and soft sucking. Then both of his lips closed over mine. 

I'm unsure if my knees still made contact with the black plastic bag. I'm unsure of anything except that I'd never experienced a kiss so sweet, so moving. My body couldn't determine which direction to follow: melt, or shake? I was lightheaded. My weakness tripled when I became cognizant of Kiefer's shaking. He, too, was feeling something indefinable. Our lips were not pressing hard against each other--they were melded together with a light suction, a connection as light yet strong as the measure of tulle that nestled inside the box holding the empty wine bottle and glasses.

My breath seemed in danger of running out. Were my lungs not working? I moved my head side to side, testing whether the feeling would disappear like so much gossamer. The feeling did not disappear, but increased as Kiefer's head followed my movement, the hand on my cheek moving behind my head to my neck, holding me even more tightly. I wanted to melt into his body, become one. 

Suddenly, as if a missile had been launched from a silo, Shirley's voice split the now hot night air.

"Kiefer? Sweetheart? Are you down there somewhere? We're about to start charades!"

A pause before Shirley continued. Mine and Kiefer's lips parted, and we pulled away from one another, blinking.

"Kiefer," Shirley resumed. "You know we can't play without you. Kiefer? Your brother said he saw you come down here."

Kiefer and I looked at one another in the dusk. It should have been a time for regret, but we both giggled on cue.

"Mamma-radar," Kiefer sputtered quietly before he responded. " And brother betrayal. Wait'll I get my hands on his neck!" 

Kiefer turned his head toward the direction of his mother's voice.

"Yes, Mom. I'm here. I'm talking to Jossey." 

"Oh." The response was a disappointed one. "Well, tell her to come, too." A pause. "But she's no good at charades!"

Silently we giggled at that, eyes wide, leaning on one another.

"Damn. You must be really bad at charades!" Kiefer observed.

"I am not," I defended myself. "Well, not that bad. She hurt my feelings!"

"Ooooo. Poor baby. Poor bad-at-charades baby."

He kissed the top of my head, stroking my hair with his right hand.

I snuggled into his chest, pretend-whimpering.

"I'm not that bad. I'm just not as good as she is!"

"Oh, not to worry," Kiefer soothed me. "It's a Douglas thing. We're taught to play charades at an early age--minimum two years old. We've had lots and lots of practice!"

"Two," I echoed rather loudly.

Kiefer nuzzled his lips near my ear.

"Yeah, two," he whispered. "Don't worry about her comment. She's just direct."

I drew away from him with a smile, looking into his eyes.

"Kiefer. I've known your mom a few years. I know she's direct. It didn't bother me. I'm not as good at charades as she. But I'm not lame either!"

He grinned widely.

"You're no Douglas, girl. But c'mon and do what you can!"

He took my left hand in his right and we ran across the sand toward the staircase.

I suddenly tugged on Kiefer's hand and brought him to a halt.

"What?" he asked. "What is it?"

"The bag," I replied. "The bag and the box."

Kiefer's head snapped back to the beach.

"Stay here. I'll get 'em."

He burst into a run, quickly retrieving the bag, the brocade, and the box and returning to my side.

When we reached the staircase, I retrieved my shoes, but decided that my dress, not to mention my sand-encrusted buttocks and rather sticky inner thighs, were more than I could bear for a lengthy charades game. I voiced, partially, my thought to Kiefer as we climbed the stairs. When we reached the top, Kiefer placed the box, which now held the other items as well, on the ground. He turned to me and took my forearms in his hands.

"It's family. I'd rather be with you, talk with you, but I arranged the weekend."

"Oh, Kiefer. Don't be silly. Of course you'll join them for charades! This is a family and friends outing."

"Are you sure it's okay?"

"Yes, yes of course. I'll join in when I've showered and changed."

I paused.

"I mean, if it's okay--if not, I can just watch all of you play charades, or, stay in my room."

"Okay? No, you'll play with us! Run on and do what ya gotta do. I gonna brush my butt off and go on in. But you'd better not be too long, or I'll come after you!"

"Hmmm. Let me help you brush the butt off!" I reached around and began patting Kiefer's rounded ass. He giggled and reached around taking my hands in his and bringing them back in front of him. He raised my hands, palms together, brought them to his lips, and brushed the edges of my baby fingers with his lips.

"Don't tempt me, woman. I'll brush off your behind again, this time more carefully now that I know, well . . . "

I giggled.

"Hey," I said. "Where are your shoes?"

"Ah. They're in the kitchen. I'll get them on the way in." A pause. "Do you want me to walk you to your cottage? I'd be happy to." And he took my arm and started to head in that direction rather than to the kitchen.

"No, no." I protested. "I can make it there just fine. Just fine." Impetuously, I leaned up and quickly kissed Kiefer's lips.

"Hmmm. That makes me want to walk you home even more!"

As Kiefer leaned down to return the kiss, his mother's voice split the night again.

"Kiefer, what are you doing? We're waiting for you!" 

"I am going to kill my brother," Kiefer hissed near my face.

He brushed my arm lightly and headed to the kitchen. He turned his head to face me and whispered "hurry" about half way across the flagstone to the French door. I nodded and headed to the gate in the fence surrounding the pool.

I was staying in the third cottage, the one down the way about a block. Although a three-bedroom house, only two were occupied. I was in one and Collin, one of Kiefer's friends, and his wife were in the other. I entered the house and quickly made my way to the second floor where the bedrooms were located. I went into my room and showered and changed in record time. The beauty of aging has advantages. I no longer anguished over getting ready. I was soon on my way back to the big house and the game of Douglas charades.

When I entered the large parlor, about ten people were engaged in the game. Several more had arranged themselves around the room and either watched the game or were engaged in conversation. Those who were missing were probably already in bed or otherwise busy.

I opted to watch the game rather than play, despite Kiefer's verbal and non-verbal protests. It was delightful and enlightening to watch the precision with which they played. Before I knew it, two hours had flickered by. My eyelids were getting heavy. I was torn between watching charades or heading to my sumptuous bed. After a quarter hour more, my eyelids won. I motioned to Kiefer during a brief break, letting him know that I was leaving. 

"Headed home, Jossey," he asked across the room.

"Yep. Goodnight, all. Your skill has my head spinning. I have to go and get it to slow down."

People from all over the room murmured "goodnight" and I headed to the evening's rest.

Soon I settled into the comfortable bed, day-dreaming about the evening's events. After about ten minutes of this pleasant diversion on my way to drifting off, there was a tap on my door.

"Yes?" I asked quietly.

No response. I sat up and turned on the lamp next to the bed. Another soft knock.

I threw back the covers, put on the robe I'd left at the foot of the bed, and headed to the door.

"Yes? Who is it?"

A husky whisper answered my question.

"It's me. Kiefer. Let me in before Collin hears me."

I quickly opened the door and allowed Kiefer to step inside.

He turned to face the door, closed it, and fastened the bolt.

"Expecting burglars?" I inquired.

"No," he responded as he turned back to face me. "I just don't want anyone barging in."

"Kiefer. It's true that we talked about stuff tonight. But I'm not sure we're ready for . . "

Kiefer placed his fingers to my lips to signal that I should be silent.

"I'm not here for that."

My eyes, face, must have expressed something that was less than positive.

"No, no," he said. "I don't mean that I don't want . . . you know, you. But we did discuss this and I think we agreed that it had to feel right."

"Uh huh," I nodded, looking at him in his tight white t-shirt, faded jeans, and bare feet. Was beginning to feel too close to "feeling right" as I stared at him. 

"I'm here because I was thinking about you, wanted to be with you. You know . . . just . . . well, just be with you. Is that bad?"

I shook my head side to side, indicating that it was not bad at all.

"I was lying in bed thinking about this evening when you knocked," I admitted.

"You were? What were you thinking?"

"That it was nice. That . . . that it was, y'know, very nice."

I smiled at him, hoping that this would convey my feelings more than my lame attempt at speech.

He smiled back.

"Sometimes . . . " His voice trailed off and he looked away briefly, then returned his gaze to my face.

"Sometimes I just don't wanna sleep alone. You know. Sleep."

His eyes did not leave mine. His expression, one of inquiry, did not waver.

"So," I replied. "You," I stopped, took a deep breath, started again. "You want to, uh . . . want to sleep here? With . . . me?"

He sighed, apparently with a measure of relief.

"Yes," he nodded. "Exactly. But I don't want you to think I'm here to ask you for more than that. I'm not. I just want to sleep with you."

I know he must have taken my lack of response incorrectly. His facial expression conveyed this, but my head was spinning. My brain was not functioning well. He must have thought I doubted his intentions.

"I mean just what I said," he reiterated. "Sleep." There was a pause. "Is that so horrible? I just want to sleep with you!"

I was experiencing many emotions. The main one I soon voiced.

"Kiefer. You may be all right with this, but I don't think I am!"

"Sleep, Jossey. Sleep."

Kiefer's voice was rising now. He still misunderstood me.

"No, Kiefer. You misunderstand. It's not that I don't want you here. I want you here too much! You may can just sleep, but I don't know whether I'm that . . . disciplined!"

Kiefer's eyes registered understanding. He smiled, took my face in his hands.

"I can be disciplined," he winked at me. "Will be disciplined. Enough for you and me both."

I raised my eyebrows, shaking my head side-to-side. Kiefer stepped closer and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"Well," I murmured. "You'll have to be strong if you stay. I just don't think I can be that close and . . ."

"It'll be fine. Trust me," Kiefer whispered in my ear.

"Fine, eh?"

"Uh huh. Just fine," he said.

Reluctantly, I pulled away from Kiefer. 

"Just fine, huh? I have on a robe, Kiefer. I have on a robe because I came to the door when you knocked. I have nothing on under this robe." I paused to let the words sink in. "I have nothing on under this robe because I don't sleep in anything. How fine is that gonna be, buddy?" I followed this inquiry with a rather wicked smile.

Kiefer's face went slack. As I'd seen several times this night, he slowly blinked.

"You got nothin' on under that thing?"

I shook my head to and fro. Slowly.

"Nothin'?" he inquired again.

I slowly shook my head again.

Kiefer turned halfway away from me. When he turned towards me again, he'd regained his composure.

"Okay. I'm . . . thoroughly . . . ." Kiefer licked his lips.

I suddenly felt awful for pushing the opportunity I'd seized. He'd been in earnest about sleeping here.

I rushed to Kiefer and threw my arms around his waist, hugging him close to me. I was filled with remorse.

"Oh, Kiefer. I'm sorry. That was so horrible of me. It just . . . well, it just came out. I'm sorry. Please. Please forget what I said. You're welcome here. Welcome."

I stared into his eyes, implored him with my gaze.

He was unconvinced. I read it in his eyes.

I brought my hands to rest lightly on Kiefer's chest. I hoped my tenderness translated itself through my touch.

"Give me a minute. I'll find something to sleep in." I smiled as benignly as I could and moved away.

Kiefer caught me, held me.

"I'll go if you want."

"No," I whispered. "I want you here. With me. Sleeping. I can't think of a more perfect way to end this perfect evening."

This time he allowed me to move away and I walked to the dresser to open one of the drawers in a search for something to sleep in. As I heard movement behind me, I located a t-shirt and grabbed some panties--underclothing that I did wear when it was not in danger of showing through my clothing. I headed to the bathroom with the garments. I quickly glanced over my shoulder to see that Kiefer was already in bed, his jeans and t-shirt on the floor. He lay on the bed in his briefs, no cover over him. My legs were in danger of turning to liquid.

I removed the robe and quickly pulled on the panties and t-shirt. Vanity made me take a quick look into the mirror. I hurriedly brushed some blush on my cheeks and checked my teeth, but I'd just brushed so I felt comfortable with my breath. I rubbed a bit of gloss on my lips and ran the brush through my hair. Satisfied, I opened the door and made my way to the bed.

I turned off the lamp and crawled into bed on the side opposite of where Kiefer lay. I turned on my side and faced Kiefer. I held my hand out to him, an offer he accepted as he took my hand in his. He smiled. I returned the smile.

"You don't sleep under the covers," I asked Kiefer.

He shook his head negatively.

"Uh uh. Too hot."

Well, I know that's right, I thought to myself.

"I get too cool if I don't," I explained. "Do you mind," I inquired as I pulled the sheet up over my body.

Another shake of the head. In fact, he took he edge of the sheet and pulled it to his own waist.

I looked into Kiefer's eyes.

"Thank you for a wonderful evening. It was heaven."

He smiled a lopsided smile. I was immediately worried, but he soon followed with a wink.

"C'mere," he growled.

I wiggled my way over to him, pressing my body against his.

"Is this the way you sleep? In this position?"

"No, not really," I admitted. " I usually sleep on my other side."

Kiefer raised his head.

"Turn over. G'head."

"No."

"No," he returned. "Why not?"

"'Cause."

"'Cause why?"

"'Cause I don't wanna turn away from you."

"Silly. I'm not goin' anywhere. Turn over and snuggle up." He lowered his head again to the pillow.

I'd be hard pressed to describe how I reacted to this suggestion to snuggle up. I was excited, yes. But more than that I felt warm and wanted. It was an overwhelming feeling.

I gave Kiefer a lingering look, but turned over as instructed. I backed up to Kiefer, allowing my curved body to be cupped by his own. He was so warm, so pliable. I snuggled my body into his, wriggling my butt as I nestled into the perfect position. Kiefer's chin rested atop my head. Then I heard it. Yes. Heard it. The sniff. The Kiefer sniff. His nose so near my hair, he must've been smelling it. I could see the sniff in my mind's eye.

Kiefer's left arm rested lightly around my waist, his right one rested above my head. My left hand entwined his, the forefinger and thumb of my right one grasped the thumb of his right hand near my face. I refused, for some minutes, to shut my eyes. I believed that if I did he'd disappear. Soon, though, my weary eyelids had their way and closed.




Georgia-- aka Heaven Ch. 02



Seconds later a voice of unrefined honey whispered, "G'night, Joss."

I don't know if he heard me, I had little breath, but I whispered back, "G'night, Kiefer."

Kiefer's measured hot breath on my hair soon lulled me into a deep sleep. But before I drifted into dreamland, I counted myself as perhaps the most fortunate woman in the world as Kiefer's left hand gave mine a sweet, soft squeeze.



Georgia-- aka Heaven Ch. 03



Being kissed awake is good anytime. Begin kissed awake by Kiefer the next morning was exquisite. I was not jolted awake. I was simply suddenly aware of the warm breath near the top of my head. Slowly, his lips brushed my hair, ear, neck, shoulder, forearm, and then, even more slowly, traced the now tingling path back up to my cheek. This lazy traveling up and down of those lips against my skin should have had me shaking uncontrollably, but I found myself calm instead. Why not be calm? Enjoy this? I'm either dreaming or, if it's real, it'll probably never happen again.

I don't know how many seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks this heavenly assault continued, but my body's response was to flush with heat and go limp. Kiefer's body smelled of some maddening male musk--some divine, or diabolic, pheromone to drive me to distraction. My nostrils sucked up the precious scent. My eyes finally flickered open when the lips stopped at my cheek and pulled away. So close. So close. His face so near to mine. His breath was warm and smelled faintly of tobacco. Finally I thrilled to hear Kiefer's growl in my ear. It was bliss.

"Good morning," came the growl.

"Good morning, to you, " came my near breathless response. My body found life again. I squirmed. His face was near enough to my eyes that I could almost count the individual facial hairs comprising the captivating stubble. The stubble had lent itself to the sensations that had accompanied the voyage of his lips up and down my body only moments before.

Kiefer's upper body rested on his bent right forearm and he smiled down at me from this position, a half-mocking grin on his face. The hair was slightly mussed. The eyes sparkled with mischievousness. I marveled to see them so close to my own. 

"God, I thought you'd neh-ver," he emphasized the word, "wake up!" His left hand went to my hair on the pillow, twisting a bit of it around his fingers. "I thought I was gonna hafta dial 9-1-1," he softly chuckled.

The husky whisper had my stomach in knots, my insides quaking. He could easily have been delivering the NASDAQ report and I'd have known no difference. One hand twisting my hair, the other extending from his bent elbow resting on my arm, I struggled to make clear to myself that I was really here. That he was really here.

The raspy voice continued in my ear.

"Sleep well," came his query.

Ummmm, I thought to myself. Heaven.

"Very well," I whispered. Pause. "Very, very well."

"Ahh," he whispered back. "Very well, eh?" He winked at me as he uttered the word "eh."

"Uh huh." I smiled up at the face lit with animation as I nodded my head up and down.

A tap at the door. My first thought was that somehow Shirley had divined Kiefer's presence and was here to haul him out and back to the big house, so to speak. Busted. Damn. Every fiber of my body tensed in anticipation.

Kiefer must have suspected what I was thinking as he read my body. He began to chuckle again, shaking his head.

"No, no. It's Del. He's bringing coffee and something . . . dunno what."

As he finished the explanation, Kiefer had already backed out of the bed, rounded the end of it, and crossed the room halfway. My eyes were glued to his buttocks, the smooth snow-white fabric hugging the form tightly. I leaned up on one elbow in order to get a better view. I envied that underwear. 

I also missed that warm body. The air conditioning vent was pumping out cold air--its response to the humidity--a humidity high enough that I was frightened about what my hair might look like at this point. Any moisture in the air and the straight, polished look was gone within seconds. I sat up fully, reaching up and smoothing the palms of my hand over my hair in an attempt to tame it.

It suddenly occurred to me that indeed I had been sleeping well since I had no recollection of Kiefer calling anyone. I wondered how long he'd been awake as I watched him glide across the room. What had he been doing while awake? Watching me? Oh. Was that possible? Desirable?

As my eyes remained on him, Kiefer reached for the door's bolt and slid it free, opened the door, and ushered Del in with a "good morning." Del rolled in a cart laden with silver-domed dishes and Kiefer closed the door behind. He and Kiefer spoke softly for a moment, then I heard Kiefer clearly extend his thanks as he re-opened the door. I envied Del for hearing distinctly the words that Kiefer uttered to him. I was consumed with a jealousy over the voice. I wanted to swallow each and every captivatingly raspy word, chew them, digest them, assimilate them into my being. I wanted that voice near my ears again. Del briefly glanced my way before silently retreating from the room. Kiefer re-engaged the bolt on the door and turned, the cart before him. 

Now emerged from the toasty bedcover from the waist up, the cold air was also enough to make my nipples stand up and salute. I would be less than honest, though, if I failed to admit that the cold air was only half the stimulus. The thin fabric of the t-shirt could not hide their condition. My gaze rested on Kiefer's face. I watched as he grasped the handle and raised his head to push the cart to the bed. 

The movement of the cart abruptly ceased. Kiefer blinked and looked at me for a full two or three seconds before a sly grin appeared on his face and he asked a question.

"You cold?" The eyebrow went up.

"Well, yeah. How did . . .?" I stuttered.

Then I realized the erect nipples had told the story clearly. Kiefer swiftly maneuvered around the cart and jumped into the bed, facing me this time, lying on the side of the bed I'd been on all night.

"Wanna come over here and get warm?" he rumbled. The eyelids lowered halfway. 

I didn't answer. I suddenly felt indescribably sweet. Well, that's not right. I didn't feel sweet--the moment felt sweet. Kiefer smiled at me, a lopsided smile, then his eyes widened and the brows went up again.

"You don't wanna be warm?" he asked softly, teasingly.

I knew I had to, should, speak. But I still couldn't find the words. I'd slept so well. I'd been awakened with sweet kisses. I didn't feel like talking. My response, finally, was to smile back, as engagingly as I could, as I scooted the short distance across the bed. As I moved towards him, Kiefer's arms managed to wrap around me, one under my neck and one over my waist. Each of us on our side, facing one another, I simply stared into his face, my hands finding the right places. My right hand went under his cheek that rested on the pillow, my left went to his chest and softly rubbed his skin.

Kiefer's smile widened.

"Should I rub your chest as well? That seems to be where you're the coldest." The grin was evil now.

Kiefer's personal smell radiated from his body--those pheromones again--calling me as the Sirens had tempted Odysseus. His scent filled me, making me lightheaded. But unlike Odysseus, I was unbound--my hands free to roam. I grabbed his chest hair and tugged in protest to his comment about my own chest.

"Ouch," he exclaimed softly, reaching the hand that had been resting on my back around to rub the spot where I'd pulled the curly chest hair. "That huh-urt!"

His lips pouted in mock-pain. I couldn't resist them. Resistance was futile. I inclined my head forward and up, making my lips reach his and softly brush against them. His response was to rub his nose against mine, making slow circles with the tip of his on the bridge of mine. His head came to rest with his forehead on mine. The contact between our foreheads struck a warmth deep within me.

When Kiefer's head nestled again into the pillow, his right hand went to the side of my head. The fingers rested lengthwise above my ear from my hairline back. The thumb made slow circles on my temple as if to soothe me. I didn't, however, know if I wanted to be soothed or the opposite. The fingers of my left hand languidly traced figure-eights on Kiefer's back. We were silent, enjoying each other's touch. Finally, Kiefer spoke as he pulled back and turned away, positioning himself on the edge of the bed.

"Let's see what Del's brought." A pause before he continued. "Coffee?" Kiefer asked as he turned his head back to look at me.

Again, I elevated my upper body by resting on my elbow and forearm.

"Umm. Yes. Black, please." 

I watched as he poured coffee into two cups. Simply watching his fluid movements sent an unbidden electric current down my spine. He then swung his legs back up onto the bed and pulled the cart to the edge. Arranging pillow and body to lean against the padded headboard, he reached over to the cart, cradled one cup and saucer, and passed them to me carefully. I scrambled to a similar sitting position, careful not to move the bed unduly, and accepted the offering.

As I settled against the headboard, I stared straight ahead and slowly sipped the hot coffee. It was good and welcome. I could see Kiefer following suit via my peripheral vision. We silently sipped until the cups were emptied. I turned to lean over Kiefer and replace my cup and saucer on the tray. Moving to return to my position, Kiefer's left hand caught me around the waist as his right moved to replace his cup and saucer.

Kiefer's hand on my waist was more than a light touch. It was insistent--again the Sirens' call. I moved and lifted my left leg, placing it down on his right side, in order to straddle Kiefer's body as he pulled me to him. The heat spread feverishly from the places where our skin touched: my inner thighs on his outer, my hands now--palms down--on his chest and his hands on top of mine. I'd kept my weight on my knees, but now settled back on my behind, resting it somewhere around Kiefer's knees. I wriggled my bottom into a comfortable position, not to be provocative, but simply because I felt comfortable in doing so.

We looked at one another in silence. Considering the circumstances, I was quite at ease. I felt none of the anxiety, none of the angst, one sometimes feels when about to be intimate with someone for the first time. That's not to say there wasn't excitement--oh, there was--but it's safe to say that negative apprehension was nonexistent. Kiefer's eyes smiled at me. He looked so fresh, so engaging. And still, his scent filled, crowded, my olfactory system, obliterating even the smell of food I knew was wafting from the nearby cart. Kiefer's hands scooped up mine and brought them to his lips where he kissed the backs of them alternately, repeatedly, softly.

I leaned down nearer to his face, my hands pulled away from his and rested on his chest, my breathing more labored as I anticipated what might come next. I wanted to speak, but didn't know whether it was the right thing to do. I determined perhaps it was best to let my lips, literally, speak for me. I allowed them to lightly brush his forehead, his ears, his cheeks, his eyelids, and, finally, the tip of his nose. I continued to hold my face near his, our heated breath mingling in the small space separating our lips.

Kiefer's hands had come to rest on my waist as I'd kissed his face. They now moved lower, slowly, his hands cupping my buttocks, his fingers burrowing into the skin and pulling me more tightly to him. Surely the fabric of my panties had disintegrated, disappeared with his touch. I held my breath for what seemed moments, but was only a second or two. Then I pulled up, gauging the expression on Kiefer's face. I did not wish to destroy the magical spell I felt filled the room and hovered over the bed. I took a deep breath and whispered clearly but softly.

"We said we'd know when the time was right." I stopped, continued studying Kiefer's face for signs of direction. I saw emotions, but could not read them. I continued. "Is it now? The time?"

I stopped breathing. I was both afraid to hear and not to hear the response.

Kiefer did not smile. He did not frown. He simply blinked his eyes and nodded a yes. I'm unsure how long we were silent, how long we were still. Finally, the charged air palpable, Kiefer spoke. His voice was husky with desire, his breath warm and inviting.

"It's time," he nodded again. "At least . . . time for me." Kiefer's head tilted slightly as he looked at me questioningly. "You?" His inflection and tone rendered the one word more important than would seem possible.

I shook my head affirmatively. I wanted to move ahead, but didn't know whether to proceed slowly or to forge boldly forward. Perhaps I should just ask. Don't want this first time to set the wrong mood, the wrong precedent.

"Slow?" I asked tentatively. Kiefer looked questioningly at me, so I continued. "I mean, should we take this slow?" I paused again, struggling, in my near-uncontained excitement, to make my meaning clear. "Take a shower, a bath?" I paused again, staring into Kiefer's eyes.

What I saw there didn't communicate patience for a shower. He visibly swallowed and then said in a soft voice, a voice that did not match the hardness beneath me.

"Uh uh. Not now. Don't think I could last that long." His eyes scorched my face as he slowly blinked. I could feel the heat as he, now, struggled to communicate. He continued. "Quick now." Then he added, "Slow burn later."

It's difficult for me to explain what the words "slow burn" communicated to me--to my body, my brain. Or perhaps those words shot straight into my soul. Slow burn. Was that not what I was now feeling as he spoke those words? Could I burn anymore without igniting?

Without warning, Kiefer sat up and somehow I was lifted up, turned around, and placed onto my back. The move was seemingly instantaneous. I was there underneath him within the blinking of an eye. His right inner thigh rested over the top of mine. He exerted enough pressure to signal that he wanted me to know, to feel, his strength. But the pressure was not enough to hurt. His right hand clasped the left side of my neck, again, firmly, but not as to cause pain. What followed was a string of dizzying, hot kisses. Hard and insistent. Our hands flew from spot to spot. I found myself moving my touch from Kiefer's head to as low on his thighs as my arms would allow. All parts in between were fair game.

Moments after the kissing began, Kiefer rolled fully onto me, his body clamping down on mine, hot and hard. He was more muscular than I'd imagined. It was amazing how ponderous his light body felt on mine. It's not easy to put in plain words. It was not his weight that held me fast. It was his being. It pressed me down and into the bed's plush mattress. My hands went instinctively to Kiefer's buttocks and I began to knead them with deep intensity, a move immediately rewarded with his body thrusting into mine. This could have lasted forever--I wouldn't have minded--but all movement unceremoniously ceased. 

Kiefer sat up on his knees. His hands reached slowly to the bottom edge of my t-shirt. His eyes locked on mine, again with neither smile nor frown, and he stared deeply as he slowly, excruciatingly slowly, pulled the garment up. The edge finally rested just above my breasts. Kiefer's eyes remained steadily fixed to my own. Quickly, his glance rested on my breasts. Then his eyes fastened onto mine again.

Before I knew what was happening, my palms still on Kiefer's buttocks, his hot mouth found my left breast. His left hand found my right one. His hand, his mouth, were lightning strikes burning my body. I was even more breathless than before. I'd not anticipated the jolt I felt with his touch. The searing. My palms moved up Kiefer's back to his neck and the back of his head. I held his mouth close to my breast, pressing his head more tightly to me in an attempt to get him to suckle me more intently. As if by telepathy, not only his mouth became more insistent but his fingers as well. 

I discovered Kiefer's hands slipping under my shoulder blades. He pulled me up, into a sitting position, and continued the upward pull of my t-shirt until it came up and over my head and then it disappeared. Good. Nothing, please, I thought. Nothing between us.

Kiefer's eyes smoldered, never leaving my own as he pushed me back down onto the bed. Kiefer moved down, straddled my knees. His fingertips curled between the thin elastic at the top of my panties and my now overly-sensitive skin. As his fingers touched me, I imagined my skin rising to meet them, he so slowly, so maddeningly, lowered the fabric to near above my knees. His head bent, and his mouth, lips, scorched my skin as he planted kisses on my soft, pliant belly. Shifting his right leg back over my body and away, Kiefer's fingertips continued to roll the tuft of fabric down my legs. Down, down, down. Down my shins, down over the ankles, down, up, and out over the feet. This swatch of fabric, too, landed who knows where. Near the t-shirt. Not. It made no difference.

The most striking thing about the removal of my underwear was that we never broke eye contact, and, still connected via this visual bond, Kiefer's palms moved purposefully down my upper thighs, back up my outer thighs, and down again. I squirmed, shuddered almost, as Kiefer's hand rested between my parted thighs and he slowly thrust two fingers deep inside me, our eyes still engaged. It was intensely personal. The eyes, it seems, are truly windows to the soul. Few men have ever maintained the amount of eye contact with me during sex as did Kiefer, and none had matched the sheer intensity of his gaze.

My mind was in no shape to focus, to form any plan. I was only acutely aware that I wanted to make him feel as he was now making me feel. I was working on instinct, and my instinct was to get his underwear down. To bury my head between his thighs. I suddenly wanted nothing more than to burrow my head there, perhaps clamped between those powerful thighs at which I now glanced. But Kiefer's thumb had made its way upward and caressed my now-swollen and sensitive clit. I wanted to pull him on me, into me, and I wanted to taste him at the same time.

I grabbed Kiefer by the shoulders, too excited, too impatient to fully enjoy his hand between my thighs. His left hand had moved under my waist, raising me ever so slightly upward. His right knee moved inside my legs and he used it to push my left leg out, allowing him better access with his fingers and thumb. I could not hold back. I wanted to prolong the build up, prolong the frenzy, but the sensations created in me by his manipulation coupled with his frank and earnest stare had me over the edge before I knew it.

It was one of those orgasms that leaves its marks. Slowly, snail-like, my body rumbled, shuddered, shook as my inner muscles contracted, groping, searching, for what I knew was within reach. I was aware that tears had sprung to my eyes, but they were from the intensity of the moment, mine and Kiefer's eyes still on one another as he witnessed my utter vulnerability to his touch. My insides ached to be filled, sated with his stroke. My arms, during the orgasm flailing all around, now settled once again on Kiefer's shoulders. I pushed him over rather roughly in my haste to taste and feel him, not extending to him the same consideration and patience he'd shown me. I was too anxious. Too eager. I grasped the waistband of the underwear and pulled the white cotton fabric over and down the hard-on nestled within. I remain unaware of how the briefs were fully removed. Later in the morning, I found them on the floor near the foot of the bed.

I pushed Kiefer's legs apart, knees bent, not relinquishing my hold on his thighs. My head went between his legs, moving slowly side-to-side as I felt the warmth of his body, the hardness, smelled the smell. Then I lifted my head, my face only inches from the thoroughly masculine appendage I knew I would soon feel deep inside, and my eyes clamped once again on the clear blue-green ones peering down at mine. I curbed my desire to feel him in my mouth and began to softly lick Kiefer's inner thighs, switching from left to right. I was rewarded with both verbal and kinesthetic response. Kiefer's moans made my own body shiver, and his body ever so slightly pushed upward with each lap of my heated tongue.




Georgia-- aka Heaven Ch. 03



I could contain myself no longer. Kiefer's hands resting on my head, I slightly shifted position and trapped his cock between my cheek and his belly. I hesitated to move--the moment felt so exquisite. But I did move at last and encircled his cock with my right palm. My lips caressed the head, the tip of my tongue parted the tiny fissure at the tip of his cock. I savored his taste, his smell. The smooth hardness beckoned me, and I held Kiefer's cock up and still as I caressed my right cheek with its throbbing underside, gently sliding my head up and down. As I turned my head to resume the lapping of my tongue, Kiefer's hands left my head and came to my upper arms.

He pulled me up along his body in a smooth movement, my face suddenly close to his own, belly to belly, heat to heat. The urgency was clear. When I visually expressed my desire to return to my former position, Kiefer's eyes blinked no as his hands slid down from my arms to grasp my buttocks again. He pressed my body close to his and his lips sought mine. I felt his tongue probing, seeking entrance into my mouth. My lips readily parted and our tongues began a slow, measured dance. My body rocked up and down, Kiefer's pliant and yielding body matching the movements of my own.

Again, I felt as if I might explode, all of my senses overfed, my mind blurred, my movements blurred, and Kiefer's tongue reaching for and attaining, apparently, my innermost center. Metaphysically, I was intermeshed with Kiefer's being. Physically, I felt myself being lifted and shifted as Kiefer suddenly disengaged his mouth from mine and sat up, pulling my legs up until I again rested on my knees. In a wink, Kiefer leaned back against the headboard in a semi-upright position, his eyes boring into my face, insistent and intent. My body rested not an inch below his hard on, my own readiness revealed by the glistening of juices smeared on my inner thighs and Kiefer's lower body. His hands went to my hips, gripping tightly, raising me slightly, urging me forward to mount him.

With eyes still interlocked, I managed to move the short distance, shaking in anticipation. Somehow my arms managed to hold me up as I allowed Kiefer to guide himself slowly into me. I inhaled deeply and my head went back as I slid down on him and the breath left my body in a long, slow hissing sound. Oh, god. Had it ever felt this good? Ever felt as if my very center were being touched? 

We rocked slowly, at times my chin on Kiefer's head, at times staring at one another. Overwhelmed with emotion, I succumbed to Kiefer's touch, his direction, as he moved my body in the rhythm he needed, clasping my buttocks and digging his fingers into the flesh. Our slow-paced rocking movement eventually gave way to a sharp, bucking motion, still guided by Kiefer's grip on my buttocks. As my head bobbed forward and back, the back of his locked onto the headboard and he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. Shortly, Kiefer's face found its way between my breasts for only seconds before it shot back to the headboard and his arms fiercely clamped my body holding me still as he rode into me from underneath. His throbbing cock found its way even more deeply inside me, but more intense than this was the feeling that he'd somehow penetrated a core that had never been penetrated before. And still, there were those eyes, seemingly pledged to mine as he emptied his load into me, thrusting deep, and yet deep again.

I was wilted. Limp. It wasn't my emotions that made me sink my cheek to his chest, but physical exhaustion. He'd said it would be fast. Quick, this time. If this were fast, oh, god, what would the slow burn be like? Could I bear it? I stayed motionless for what seemed ages. Kiefer, too, was non-moving. Our breathing slowed, lazily, from quick, short, belabored bursts to long, measured intakes.

After our breathing returned to a more normal rate, Kiefer, whose arms were still around me, tightened his grasp and pulled me to him. The slight upward movement expelled our mingled secretions from my body and the delicious, hot liquid dribbled down both inner thighs. Funny. I'd thought to hold on to that forever. Keep this part of him inside me, deep, safe. And for the third time this morning I was conscious of not feeling embarrassed in circumstances that sometimes are.

I pulled up from Kiefer's chest, settling back onto knees. I stared down. His eyes were closed, and I had an opportunity to study his face, to memorize this moment, this look. The fuzzy stubble, the thick, long lashes, the square jawline, the slightly pouty lips. When his eyes opened, they were neither clearly blue nor green, but a bewitching cross between.

As his eyes sought mine, he smiled. An audible, slow breath escaped his mouth. He looked content. I hoped my expression conveyed the same to him. I reached my hand up to cup his right cheek and, as I had done to him before, he turned his lips to kiss my palm.

"Feelin' sticky?" he chuckled.

"Uh huh," I nodded.

"I'll get us a towel," I continued, and I raised myself up and over him, exiting the bed on what I now considered "his" side. When I returned, Kiefer's eyes were again closed and a faint smile played on his lips. I'd been gone three or four minutes, taking advantage of an opportunity to both pee and clean up a bit. He was not asleep, but rested peacefully. I'd brought a warm, wet cloth and a towel. As I crawled onto the bed and knelt beside him, his eyes opened. I was about to wash him, making movements to begin, but he took the cloth from me and began to slowly wipe himself clean. It was an intimate moment, watching this man smooth the cloth over his most private places, holding his near-soft cock up towards his belly as he cleaned below. Then his left hand went to his balls, lifting those as he swathed this area as well. When he tossed the cloth to the floor, I presented the towel and he dried himself off quickly. His eyes monitored his progress while completing the task and again I'd been allowed the opportunity to observe his face. I was enchanted. 

Kiefer tossed the towel and at the same time I exited the bed, walked around the end, and sat down on the other side, facing the cart Del had brought earlier.

"You hungry?" I finally formed words.

No response.

I rolled back and onto my left side, reaching out my arm and lightly running my palm over Kiefer's chest. My head tilted upward to look at his face in an attempt to gather information.

He smiled, but offered no words. I returned to my former sitting position and opened two of the silver-domed dishes, nesting one of the domes over the other on the bottom shelf of the cart. One plate held mounds of sausage and bacon. Another held scrambled eggs. Toast was found nestling on a plate under a third shiny dome. I quickly placed several pieces of bacon on a piece of toast and folded the toast over. I rolled over and proffered the half-sandwich to Kiefer. 

His right hand reached for the sandwich and he slowly bit into it, chewed, and swallowed. He was taking his second bite when I turned back to the cart.

"More coffee?" I asked. "Or, perhaps some juice. There's some here. Looks like orange juice."

I turned to look at him. He continued to chew, evidently his last bite, his eyes trained on my movements. He shook his head up and down.

"Okay." I paused, waiting for his choice. "Which one?" I finally had to ask.

He looked confused.

"Which beverage, silly?" Pause. "Coffee or juice?"

He rumbled the word juice.

As I turned my attention back to the cart to pour juice, I felt Kiefer's hand on my back. My eyes involuntarily shut. I experienced a sharp intake of breath. That touch. I felt dizzy. Keep your hands steady, I thought. Don't spill the juice.

Eventually, I filled a glass and turned to hand it to Kiefer. I wish I'd been able to keep his hand on my back. It was not to be though. But as I lamented the loss of his hand's touch, it quickly came up to rest on my cheek. Oh. Was I shaking my head right there before him? Was I making the 'oh' noise? No matter. I felt no embarrassment. I inclined my head closer to his hand, kissing the air with my lips as I looked into his eyes. A smile spread across his face.

Kiefer inhaled a deep, deep breath. He was in no hurry. No hurry to speak. No hurry, apparently, to take the glass from my hand. He just looked at me, hand still on my cheek. He finally spoke.

"You gonna drink that juice, or let me have it?"

My eyebrow went up. He was playing. I followed suit.

"I'm gonna let you have it. And it won't be this juice."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," I challenged.

I put the glass back on the cart and searched for a weapon. The toast was buttered. I grabbed a piece, turned, and moved towards Kiefer, placing the toast buttered-side down on his chest, smearing it into the thick hair. I watched his eyes the whole time, and they were huge and round as he grabbed my wrist to stop the movement of the toast. He exerted enough pressure to make me squeal and release the now soggy bread. He scooped up the messy lump into his palm and abruptly squashed it to my upper chest between my collarbones. Kiefer's grin widened. I pulled away, the lump falling to the sheets, and grabbed for more ammunition. This time it was a handful of still warm scrambled eggs. As I turned again to face him, Kiefer's head began shaking to and fro.

"No you don't," he defied me. "You'd better not do that!"

Before the last word was out I'd slapped the eggs onto his belly, in and all around his navel. He burst into laughter and grabbed my shoulders. 

"I oughta make you eat those," he chuckled and slid one hand up to my head, forcing it in the direction of the pile of eggs.

It looked pretty inviting to me, so I allowed my head to be guided and soon my parted lips sucked up a bite of the eggs. Then another. Kiefer really started laughing hard then, the eggs bouncing up and down as his tummy moved in and out. We both sat watching the dance of the scrambled eggs which made us both laugh even more. Suddenly, in the midst of this hearty laughter, we grew silent, catching our breath. 

It was a good silence--not the kind of silence that becomes uncomfortable when with someone you don't know very well. The silence, however, was short-lived--died with a knock on the door.

"Kiefer," came a muffled voice. "It's Tom. Lemme in."

Kiefer's expression changed to one of perplexity. He tilted his head for a second, then he vacated the bed and went quickly to the door--heedless of his naked state--unbolting it and opening it in one smooth progression. I scurried to pull the sheet up and over me.

Tommy stood there in the doorway, looking anxious, apparently unruffled by Kiefer's lack of clothing. Kiefer took his arm and ushered him into the room, closing the door.

"Mom's looking for you." It was delivered as a grave pronouncement. "You'd better come!"

Kiefer's eyes closed to a near squint and his lips curled with mischief.

"Just did, brother," Kiefer delivered the words and slapped Tom on the shoulder. He turned to me as he finished and I gave him what I hoped was a menacing look.

Nervously, Tom glanced at me, then returned his gaze to his brother.

"I'm not kidding, Kie. She's looking for you." He paused, glanced my way yet again. 

Kiefer's face became serious.

"Tommy, I already owe you a pounding. You're the one responsible for the never-ending charades game last night." Kiefer did proceed to smack Tom several times on the upper arm with a fisted hand.

"Now you come here this morning and tell me Mom's lookin' for me. Are you determined to piss me off?"

"I . . . I . . . " Tom stumbled. No wonder. Poor man. Kiefer's chest was shiny with margarine, the chest and belly hair neatly holding bits of scrambled egg. He was a mess, and I was certain I might have vestiges of egg on my face. 

"Look, bro. I was just warning you, that's all." And Tom looked earnestly into Kiefer's eyes.

Kiefer relented. He smiled that lopsided smile and rubbed his right palm up and down Tom's arm.

"I know. I know. Thanks." While delivering these words, Kiefer was opening the door and guiding Tom through it into the hallway. Tommy looked questioningly at Kiefer still. I couldn't see Kiefer's face any longer though.

"I got it, Tommy. I'll be there soon." And with that the door closed and Kiefer turned to me, shaking his head.

"What?" I asked.

He continued shaking his head as he spoke.

"Maybe we could put some bacon around my ears and some more eggs in my belly button and I could pass for an omelette. Escape. Get outta Dodge."

My smile must have been a quarter of a mile wide. My belly caved inward as I sucked in my breath in erupting laughter.

"C'mere. I'll put bacon on your ears! I'll put some bacon in some other places, too!"

Kiefer's body sprang into a running dive and he landed in the middle of the bed, jerking the sheet down. The upper half of his body draped over my lower half, smearing the greasy mess all over me. I had no idea what the maid would think when she observed the disorder in this room. Kiefer leaned up onto his elbows and began to lick my tummy. I giggled because it tickled. Because it tickled and because I was giddy. Because I was giddy and because it felt so good to be so close to him.

He sat up on his knees, one hand on my thigh, one on my forearm.

"Watcha thinkin'" he inquired.

I smiled at him before I answered.

"I'm thinking that I feel good. Feel comfortable." I bit my lower lip as I finished. I hoped he might feel the same way, too.

He didn't respond verbally, but the near-shy up and down movement of his head communicated that he had similar feelings.

We looked at one another for half a minute. I wanted to say something, but wasn't really sure what. Thanks seemed too little. God this has been fucking fantastic seemed too much. As I struggled with just the right words to say, Kiefer spoke.

"I'm comfortable, too. Comfortable with you." He glanced down, then back up.

Before speaking again, his tongue slipped out between his lips and he licked the left corner of his mouth. He swallowed.

Deep breath.

"It's good we waited. I mean . . . waited for this."

"Kiefer, I don't think waiting since last night is all that big a thing!" I laughed.

He looked puzzled briefly and then continued.

"No, no. Not since last night. I mean . . . I mean I'm glad we didn't do this years ago."

My face must have registered some form of wicked merriment, for Kiefer clammered to make himself clearer.

"No, I don't mean . . ." he offered, frustrated.

"Too late, boy-o. You just hurt my feelings. I'll make you think you're glad we didn't do this years ago!" I yelled. I lightly slapped the side of his head. "So bad, was it," I continued, "that now you wish we hadn't done it?"

Kiefer smiled at my mock anger, took my hand in his.

"We're a mess, aren't we?" he stated, his eyes traveling the length of my body, then surveying his own.

"Yeah, we are. You particularly," I said as I traced the fingertip of my other hand down his chest. "You'd better hit the shower, omelette-boy! Shirley's gonna 9-1-1 if you don't show your face soon."

Kiefer let go of my hand and cupped my face in both of his. When he let go, he rose on his knees and gave a smart salute.

"On my way, sir. To the shower!"

He jumped over me and out of bed, but stopped and turned around, lowering himself to his knees on the floor beside the bed. I inclined my head to him, thinking he'd remembered some unsaid thing. I was wrong. Very wrong.

Kiefer must have spied, or stepped on, some of the egg-y mixture on the floor as he headed to the bathroom. Suddenly, his hand came up over the edge of the bed and delivered a near-handful of the now cold, rubbery eggs to my belly. I screamed obscenities at him as he rubbed the gross mixture into my skin.

Out of breath with laughter, Kiefer finally ceased his icky massage.

"You are an ass, do you hear me?" I wagged my finger in his face.

"Uh huh. I hear you." He stood and turned, making his way to the bathroom door. He looked over his shoulder at me, that cocky grin on his face.

"And I suppose later on you'll be wanting to spank me for being such a bad boy, eh?" And he winked before entering the bathroom.

My body went limp. He was teasing me. Or was he daring me. Or was he letting me know that later on my suddenly tingling palm might make contact with that decidedly firm rump? My imagination ran wild. I tried to keep it in check. As I heard the water turn on in the bathroom, I brought my mind's focus back to the present. What a wonderful evening last night. What a wonderful morning so far. Whatever the rest of the day held, whatever the future held, I had these memories safely tucked inside my heart's vault.



Georgia-- aka Heaven Ch. 04



The room was not empty after Kiefer left. Something of him remained. I couldn't bring myself to leave the bed. Too warm. Too many recent, very recent, memories. I wanted somehow to capture them before a long shower threatened to rinse away even a smote of their potency.

My only concern, and it was not a strong one, was what kind of flack Kiefer might take from Shirley. I had learned that he was not, as Shirley thought, daunted by her imposing personality. In fact, he indulged her by pretending to be. She may be upset by not knowing his whereabouts, but he'd not let her get under his skin.

Kiefer was adept at sliding past trouble spots. I'd seen him maneuver around difficulties with ease, as long as the difficulties didn't touch him too closely. He adored his mother - that I knew. But she was less an influence on him than she believed. He'd been on his own for a very long time - over two decades. Kiefer needed everyone and no one.

As he exited my room, he threw a sentence and a question over his shoulder.

"I have Mom to pacify and some phone calls to make this morning, but I'd love to treat you to lunch. Be ready around 11:30?"

I nodded affirmatively and smiled as Kiefer went out the door. It gave me plenty of time to daydream and to get ready. The only problem was not knowing what to get ready for. Casual? Formal? Crap. I'd think of something.

I continued to daydream. But the delicious dreams turned troubling after a bit. Things seemed to be moving so fast. What did I know of this man really? That is, what did I know of him intimately. Sure, I knew him better in this way now than I had last night, but what did I really know? Suddenly I was very nervous. Had I dreamed all of this? Surely. But no. His smell infused the pillow, the sheets, the room, my nose.

I shook my head in wonder to no one but myself. Amazing. Lunch with this man. This man I'd been studying for a long time now. Wondering. Wondering what the more intimate side would be like. And now I was learning. Georgia would always hold special memories for me, especially if these were to be the only ones I'd have of him. Again the word "lunch" popped into my thoughts. But lunch where? What to wear?

Stupid, I thought to myself. You're stupid. Call him. I had his cell phone number saved on my own which lay on the bedside table. I picked it up, found the number, and punched the dial button. I didn't expect him to answer, but he did.

"Hey," he said. "It's not 11:30 yet. You hungry already?"

"Nah. I didn't know how to dress. Sorry to bother you, but you didn't mention where we'd be going."

"Well, I didn't know where we'd be going. But I do now. Casual. Very. And have a swimsuit and sunscreen and that kinda stuff. Okay?"

"Okay. I'll be ready. Bye."

"Later."

So, it would be something informal. That was good. I dressed in shorts and a t-shirt with my bikini underneath. I gathered a few other things, a wrap, some underwear, various body potions and lotions, sunglasses, hat, and beach towel, and stuffed them in a large tote.

I was ready at 11:15. Just enough time for me to allow my mind to wander back to this morning. I couldn't, didn't, stop myself from going over every detail. I had worked myself into quite a state of excitement when at 11:32 there was a soft knock at the door. Silly, but my heart was pounding as I rushed to the door and pulled it open.

Kiefer looked very handsome. A blue-green shirt. Khaki shorts. Sunglasses. And, most unusual, he sported a Panama hat with an aqua-colored hatband. When we exited the house, a car awaited us at curbside. We entered the backseat and the driver took off, apparently aware of our destination. I dug around in my tote and retrieved my own sunglasses. The Georgia sun was bright and the glare from the road made the glasses welcome.

I asked Kiefer where we were headed. He told me it was a surprise and not to ask. Our conversation turned to the vacation so far. I told Kiefer that I was very grateful that he'd included me in the invitation and that everything had been incredibly wonderful. Within twenty minutes, we pulled into a marina and got out of the car. Kiefer carried my tote as well as his own small duffel bag. As we made our way closer to the boats, Kiefer revealed that we were going out for a picnic on a yacht, a pretty good sized-one, at least forty-five feet. A man, apparently the captain, stood beside the boat we were going out on as we approached. Kiefer and the man engaged in conversation for a moment or two and then we boarded.

The captain ushered us to the cabin door and told us he'd give us a couple of minutes to get situated and then he'd get underway. The cabin was sumptuous, the furnishings and appointments elegant. Kiefer tossed his duffel and my tote bag down and then removed his hat and glasses. I placed mine back in my tote bag. Simultaneously, we kicked off our sandals.

Lunch had been brought onboard already, and it was scrumptious. Delightfully, the meal was not one of those tedious ones we'd suffered through last night. The best part was that it was mostly finger-food and we got to feed one another. A long banquette extended about six feet along one side of the cabin's interior and in front of it was a table, solidly attached to the floor on a sturdy looking steel pedestal. The table was laden with the food, the variety of which was amazing. We tried all the different foods together and compared reactions. If one of us did not care for a particular item, the other got the remainder. This continued until only the veggie and dip tray remained. Carrots.

Our lunch turned into a fun-fest when baby carrots came into play and we attempted to stuff them into various orifices! I stuck a baby carrot in Kiefer's ear. He laughed and said he'd gotten used to having food stuffed into crevices while around me. He grabbed a celery stalk and tried to stuff it down my t-shirt, a move I blocked with my right arm. I went back to the carrots, and this time determined to stuff one up Kiefer's nose. He realized what I was going to do, grabbed my wrist, and yanked the carrot from my fingers. He stuffed the carrot in his left nostril and then grabbed another, stuffing it up the other one. He jumped up and got down on his knees, slapping the palms of his hands together and making grunting sounds, appearing as some crazed psychedelic walrus.

I laughed so hard that I slipped down on the cushions of the banquette. Kiefer stopped his walrus imitation, stood, and smiled down at me. He removed the carrots from his nose, tossed them aside, and eased onto the edge of the cushion leaning over me. Immediately the anticipation grew. The simple act of being near him was all it took. One of Kiefer's hands came to rest on top of my head, the other on my hip, and he nuzzled his nose up and down my neck and shoulder; my hands traveled lightly up and down his back. I turned my head slightly to reach Kiefer's ear and showered it with soft kisses. He raised his head and playfully bit my earlobe. 

I wondered how far this nuzzling and kissing would go. It was delicious no matter the outcome. Soon, though, I had my answer.

Kiefer sat up and looked at me. His eyes narrowed, squinted almost, and he licked his lower lip. But what followed vocally did not match his expression.

"Let's change and get some sun, maybe a quick swim. Just enjoy the water."

"Sounds great. I need to move around after all that food!"

As Kiefer stood, I followed suit. I pulled my t-shirt over my head, revealing my bikini top.

"Damn. You wore your swimsuit! I wish I'd done that. I gotta change all the way."

"Aw. I'm just lazy. Thought it'd be easier to just wear the thing. I brought underwear to put on later."

"Just underwear," Kiefer asked, his eyes getting big. "Ummmm. Just underwear. I like that! Is it that little underwear? Those thong things?"

"No, goofy. I meant underwear to put on under my clothes later when I take off my swimsuit. And, yes, if it's any of your business, the panties are those thong things." I shook my head at him as if exasperated.

Kiefer puffed out his lower lip and pretended to sob, leaning over to place his chin on my shoulder.

"You . . . called . . . me . . . goofy," he gasped out like a crying child.

I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him to me and babbling soothing baby talk in his ear. He allowed me to continue this for a full half minute then abruptly he pulled back and away.

"Mind if I take off my clothes right here?"

I'm not sure why he asked. He had turned and his shorts and underwear were down before he finished the question. Seconds later the shirt was off. And there he was. Naked before me. Oh, it was the backside of him, but it was still more than my system could take without emitting an involuntary moan. Thankfully, it was a silent noise and he didn't hear me. In some ways I didn't like what I was feeling. I halfway resented the fact that every single muscle below my waist was contracting and sending signals to my brain. It wasn't right that he should be able to do this to me with no effort on his part.

As Kiefer moved to his duffel bag, I studied his walk. I liked it. I liked his legs, the muscular upper thighs, the ample calves. Then, the devil had the gall to bend over to retrieve his swim trunks and reveal his balls to my eyesight. Well, shit, I thought. Just what I need. Another stimulus. I turned away and rummaged through my tote bag for my glasses, sarong, and hat. I could hear Kiefer pulling on his trunks, the sound of fabric rustling.

After I removed my shorts, I wrapped the sarong-like cover-up around my shoulders. Because we'd both removed our sandals before eating, I asked if he thought we'd need them.

"Nah," he replied and took my left hand in his right, leading me out of the cabin.

We emerged into the sunlight. And it was bright. I placed my hat firmly on my head and pushed my sunglasses up on the bridge of my nose. Kiefer replaced the Panama on his head; the sunglasses had been put in place before we left the galley. He wore blue swim trunks, boxer style, but no shirt. We headed to the bow of the boat where cushions-deep, comfortable cushions-covered about an eight-foot long seating area. As we sat facing one another, we both turned out bodies sideways in order to look forward at the sparkling water spreading into a soft "v" shape as the yacht slowly made its way. 

We lazily watched the water for about a quarter of an hour. From time to time, Kiefer ran the palm of his hand up and down my arm. His touch made me feel many things, but at this moment it was mostly a warm and comfortable feeling. The sun and water were a perfect backdrop for my emotions - warm and, surprisingly, deep. I say surprisingly because I was unprepared for the power of the emotions inside me. I was taken aback by how relaxed and connected to Kiefer I felt.

Finally, after glancing his way several times, I placed my hand on Kiefer's face and asked if he wanted to take a short swim. He nodded and stood, making his way to the phone to communicate his wishes to the captain. It wasn't long before the boat was anchored and a ladder was lowered. I knew the water would feel incredibly cold on my skin because the sunshine had warmed me to a delicious state.

Kiefer went in first. He backed over the edge of the boat and lowered himself perhaps two steps down the ladder before he gave a shout and pushed off backwards, plunging into the water. I began to lower myself, rung by rung, not relishing the sting of the cold water. I could hear Kiefer surface behind me.

"Shit, it's cold."

How heartening. Now I really took the rungs slowly.

"C'mon, chicken. Get in the water!"

His words didn't goad me. I wanted a bit of exercise. I'd almost napped while we sat in the sun, and a short swim would do the trick. I just dreaded that first minute or two while adjusting to the water. I felt Kiefer's hand clasp my right ankle.

"Come on!" He tugged at my foot.

"All right. Don't rush me."

As I said the last words I took a deep breath and let go of the ladder. The plunge was what I expected. The warmer the skin temperature, the colder the water feels. The sun and Kiefer's occasional caresses had heated my skin to the point where the water now felt like ice. I felt myself catch my breath underwater. The goose bumps covered my flesh instantly and I shivered.

Kiefer came up behind me and as my head emerged from the water, his arms went around my waist. He seemed already warm. It felt good to have him so near. We treaded water for a moment or two then I began to swim around the boat. Kiefer followed. I wasn't swimming fast, just getting the much-needed exercise.

Easily, Kiefer pulled up beside and fell into rhythm with me. I was glad he wasn't going to engage in any racing nonsense. I wouldn't have been successful. The full stomach and warm sun had made me near comatose. Kiefer seemed happy to simply swim slowly by my side. We made two lazy laps around the huge yacht. In fact, a third of the last lap was completed on our backs as we languidly paddled our way back to our starting point.

I was ready to get out of the water. I had enjoyed the exercise, but I wanted to feel the sun on my skin again. I signaled to Kiefer that I was headed to the ladder. I climbed back up and over into the boat. I turned and waited for Kiefer. As he neared my side, the wind stirred and served to initiate in me a visible shiver. He placed his arm around me and led me back to the comfortable seating in the bow and kept his arm around me until the sun had warmed me again. Personally, I doubted the sun's power, and I attributed my warmth to Kiefer's nearness. We simply sat in comfortable silence, and I began to study my surroundings. 

I don't know crap about boats, but I know gorgeous. This boat was gorgeous. I allowed my eyes to travel the scope of this lovely vessel as I leaned against Kiefer's chest. The deck looked like glass it was so highly polished. The wood was stained an elegant deep cherry. I mention the deck because it's what started the teasing. I told Kiefer how beautiful the floor was. He snorted. Snorted at me. Then he began to laugh without sound. That irritating laughter someone does at your expense. I was puzzled.

"What's wrong with you, Kiefer? What are you laughin' at? 

Kiefer finally caught his breath enough to choke out a correction.

"It's not a floor, silly. It's a deck. A deck. We're not in a ballroom y'know."

"What?" I paused, unsure how to proceed. He continued to laugh, now with his head turned into a cushion. 

"Okay. I don't know diddly about boats. Geez. It's a deck. A deck. And it's beautiful. Now, is that better? It means the same thing."

He pulled his face out of the cushion and looked at me, but his eyes weren't satisfied. They sparkled more than the sun on the water's surface to my left. And the look was, well, impish.

"I can't believe you didn't know it was called a deck," he chuckled as he sat upright again. "And as much as you read! I know Melville used the term 'deck' in his novels, didn't he?" He shook his head back and forth in disbelief.

I was not about to allow this rebuke to go unchallenged.

"Look, buddy. I'm unaccustomed to the nomenclature of sailing, but I'm not without knowledge of the word 'deck' and a few other words that sound like that. Take 'dick' for instance. And, don't sailors use the term 'head' to indicate a bathroom facility? You could put those two words together yielding the word 'dickhead' and that would be one I was very familiar with. In fact, it's one I could use to describe someone close to me now."

He rolled over into the cushions again, body shaking. He appeared to be sobbing, but I knew he wasn't. After a few seconds he jumped up and started a pirate-jig, complete with peg-leg stiffness, making pirate-like sounds to accompany the dance. Then he started chanting.

"Aye, the floor's are shiny on this old tub, the floor's are shiny on this old tub, the floors, the floors, the floors. The floors are a beauty 'cause we scrub, scrub, scrub."

He stared at me the whole time he chanted this insult to my boating intelligence. He was on the third round when it suddenly struck me. This teasing had a purpose, was driven by some desire. He had an end in mind. An end. His end? My heart almost stopped. Was he opening the way for that spanking? Helping me along? Setting up the scene, so to speak?

I was suddenly in a dither. What to do? I didn't know the man intimately enough to determine what he was aiming for. Didn't know if he enjoyed some kind of role-playing or just wanted a smack or two to get things heated up. I decided on the safe course of action. A swat or two wouldn't be too out of line. And the result would tell me a bit about what he wanted. Or, I could be all wrong and he could just be in a teasing mood. Hmmm. Well, so was I now.

"You're cruisin' for a bruisin', boy."

He stopped dead still in mid-pirate pose at my words. His eyelids blinked slowly.

"Oh, yeah?" His voice was a low, velvety rumble. His eyes challenged me. One eyebrow arched up.

"Yeah." And I leapt up towards him assuming a tackle stance.

In the blink of an eye he turned and took off away from me. I followed. He was faster, of course, but judged how much to slow down in order to let me catch him. It didn't take long. When I pulled up even with him, I placed my left arm lengthwise across his chest to stop his forward movement. Then I raised my right arm in the air and swung it down until my palm made contact with the wet swimming trunks that covered that delicious bottom. Once, twice, three times my hand smacked Kiefer's right cheek.

His response was what I've now named the sqrowl - that's a cross between a squeal and a growl. The sound wasn't high-pitched enough to be a squeal and not low enough to be a growl, hence, sqrowl. He uttered the sound three times, once after each swat on the bottom. I liked the sound as much as I liked the contact with his butt cheek.

The split-second hesitation following the third smack cost me any subsequent ones, not that I'd planned on any more anyway. But it was long enough for Kiefer to place his right hand on my forearm, pull my left arm away from his chest, and turn slightly towards me.

"Owwwwwwwwwwwwwww," he now said, staring into my eyes. The sound was accompanied by a marvelous pout that lasted only a second or two. I very much wanted to see that pout again. My right arm still free, I reached behind him and smacked his left cheek. His body moved closer to mine.

I was rewarded. Another "owwwwwwwww" followed by the pouty-mouthed lips, begging, it seemed, to be kissed.

"You better stop smackin' me. That hurts." His eyes betrayed him. He wasn't hurting.

"You deserved that, pirate-boy. Behave and stop teasing me or I'll smack you some more."

"Uh uh. You better not. That huh-urrrt." He slowly batted the mile-long golden eyelashes, enhanced at this very second by a ray of sunshine, courtesy of Satan, I'm sure. I felt certain it was Satan because I decidedly was feeling some devilish feelings and thinking some evil thoughts.

Just as I gained enough courage to reach around and give his bottom a good squeeze, Kiefer reached behind himself with his right hand and rubbed his right butt cheek in a soothing motion.

"Oooo. Poor baby. Want me to help with that?" I couldn't resist the question. I was reminded of the sand on my behind and his generous offer the evening before. My right hand slid between the waistband of his swim trunks and his skin. I rubbed his left cheek, making little circles with my palm and cooing words of comfort in his ear. I suddenly was consumed with the idea of sinking my teeth into his butt flesh.

I knelt, curling the fingers of both hands inside the waistband of his trunks and jerkily pulling them down. The damp fabric clung to his body and it wasn't easy getting them off. Nevertheless, I completed my task quickly enough that Kiefer didn't have time to react, or didn't want to.




Georgia-- aka Heaven Ch. 04



I moved to a perpendicular position to Kiefer and wrapped my arms tightly around his upper thighs while bending my head back behind him. I went in for the bite, but Kiefer's buttocks muscles tightened and I wasn't very successful. I laid my face on his left butt cheek, rubbing up and down. The heat of my facial cheek against the wet clamminess of his butt cheek made for an interesting sensation. Eventually, I relinquished my right arm's grasp around his thighs and moved my palm to his other cheek, softly rubbing it until he relaxed his muscles. 

When I moved my left arm up along his body for a better hold, I was rewarded with my forearm touching nothing - touching nothing meaning that Kiefer's cock was hard and pointing upward out of range of my arm. I angled my head up to catch a glimpse of Kiefer's back and realized that his arms were up over his head, palms touching the outside wall of the cabin for support.

I lowered my head again, and, seeing Kiefer's muscles still relaxed, I began to knead his firm bottom with my right hand while my teeth went in for a nip on the left cheek. This time he didn't resist, and I moved my head all around sinking firm but not hurtful bites into Kiefer's flesh. I could have continued at length, for I was feeling and hearing the fruits of my labor. Kiefer's body had begun to sway back and forth and the intermittent guttural moans had my head swimming.

It wasn't like the tide rolling in. It was immediate. I was hot and wet and empty. I was aware, yet again in a very short space of time, that all my below-waist muscles were involuntarily tightening and loosening in an attempt to fill a void. My left hand instinctively went to Kiefer's cock and as I encircled it with my left palm, he managed to turn his upper body sideways and lift me from my kneeling position. He pulled me in front of him. 

We were face to face. No more teasing eyes. They now burned. Kiefer pushed my back against the cabin wall. Not a push to hurt, but one to let me know he was now in control. I didn't mind at all. His face was near enough to mine that I could feel his hot breath but far away enough to see the change in his face. The rakish pirate-boy was no more. This face was full of determination and desire.

The sex that followed was hot. Hot, hard, and fast. The sun beat down on the top of my head. There was not a little excitement stirred in me knowing that the captain was above us only feet away, and I recognized that all he had to do was take a step or two to his left and look down to see us about to engage in furious sex.

Kiefer stepped out of his swim trunks and had little trouble pulling the bikini bottom down my thighs where it then fell to the deck and I stepped out of it. Kiefer's still slightly damp body pressed against mine. We were both a bit cold, yet hot at the same time, and the clamminess of our skin dissipated into heat only seconds after our bodies made contact. My bikini top stayed in place. My breasts were not the focus of attention this time around. My juxtaposition between man and boat created a strange but delightful sensation. The smooth, warm surface of the cabin wall warmed my back and Kiefer's hot torso warmed my front.

My hands went to Kiefer's shoulders, and I kneaded them, pressing my fingers into his flesh. His lips went to my neck, and he lightly bit my skin, driving me crazy as his hands traveled up and down my thighs. My fingers went back to Kiefer's bottom and, as I dug them in and pulled him closer to me, his tongue darted into my left ear, licked the rim, then made a path down my left cheek to my lips. When Kiefer kissed me, I closed my eyes. I felt as I had earlier this morning when we kissed - felt as if I were floating in some soothing, warm liquid.

My arms tightly gripped Kiefer's neck as he raised me several inches to a proper height. I swung my legs up around his body and dug them into his waist as if my life depended on it. Penetration was not a scene from a pleasing, pretty, fairy-tale. It was also not his doing. I was so eager to feel him inside me that I impaled myself on him, shoving him up into me by further tightening my arms and legs around his body.

Everything burned. My throat, my insides, my brain. I wanted our pelvic bones to merge, to feel his body as deeply inside of mine as possible. The clamminess was long gone. All was hot. Sweaty. My hair was wet and sticking to Kiefer's shoulder as I clasped my arms even more tightly behind his neck. My combined arm and leg grip allowed him to place his hands up above us with his palms against the cabin wall. He used the leverage to thrust and grind deeply and quickly into me.

We both grunted. We both sucked in and spat out air. My body, as it near imperceptibly moved slightly away from and then back into the cabin wall, made a smacking, sucking sound - a sweaty body sticking to and then pulling away from a slick surface. The slightly circular motion of his feverish grinding and the crushing nearness of our bodies had brought me to near-orgasm. I'd been so psychologically turned on by the moments leading up to this that it hadn't taken much physical stimulation to bring me to the edge - I was still pumped by the pirate-spanking incident. My body shuddered as the current of orgasm began its way up and down within me, and Kiefer's body briefly tightened into a pre-climax position. Then he began, if possible, even more furiously and quickly to drive into me until he, too, experienced release.

We did not look at one another during this encounter as we had this morning. The back of my head now rested on the cabin wall, but earlier I'd had my head on his left shoulder and his chin, sometimes his forehead, rested on mine. That's why I could hear so clearly the heavy breathing, the gasps, the moans. They spurred me to squeeze him more tightly to me when he got off, and I matched his movements and timing until he was finally still.

I said it before. The sex was hot, hard, fast, and, in its way, satisfying. I was sated physically, but I wanted more. It was like having a hot, fresh, gooey, chewy cookie straight out of the oven. The experience is wonderful, gratifying, but indulging in yet another cookie would be even better. There was more to experience with this man. More feelings to be felt. And I well knew that there were all kinds of excitement and all kinds of lovemaking. It would be delightful, if possible, to experience them all. 

Kiefer, too, seemed reluctant to settle for just physical satisfaction. Perhaps he was ready for more cookies, too. I lowered my legs to the ground, but continued to clasp my arms around Kiefer's neck. His face still nestled into my shoulder and his hot breath tickled my neck for a full four, maybe five minutes after we'd gotten off. We didn't move. Why, I don't know. It would certainly have been cooler. We were stuck to one another with sweat. Sticky. Wet. Yet we continued to hold one another, Kiefer's hands now behind me and hugged tightly around my waist, mine still lightly draped around his shoulders and behind his neck, my fingertips making circles on his skin and in his hair. Finally, a change in the sound of the yacht's engine pulled us apart. We stared at one another briefly, blinking but not saying anything.

Kiefer pulled on his swim trunks and I pulled on my bikini bottom. Silently, we moved back to the cushioned seating area in the bow, but not for long. The heat and the mixed liquids between my legs made for a rather uncomfortable ride despite the water's beauty and my companion's handsome face. My own face must have communicated the discomfort, for Kiefer soon asked if I was ready to head back to shore to which I nodded assent. For a second time today, he made his way to the phone to let the captain know that we were ready to return to the marina. In truth, as both Kiefer and I knew, the captain had had the vessel headed back to shore for some minutes now.

And ready I was. The yacht was now associated, in my mind, with hot, fast sex and I was ready to slow the pace. I also wanted a shower. My focus on this desire was not intense though. Mostly my mind was fixed on having that other cookie. I wanted to experience Kiefer in a new way, a different way. I wanted to touch him all over, kiss him all over, watch him as I did so.

When we reached the marina, it took mere moments for us to retrieve our goods and make our way to the car. I hadn't managed to change into that clean underwear. I wore my still damp bikini with the sarong tied around my waist. Kiefer wore his swimsuit with the blue-green shirt, undone. Once inside and underway, Kiefer's hands freely roamed my body. He didn't suffer neglect from me either. Again, as with the captain, I was cognizant that the car's driver was only a glance in the mirror away from seeing us. Kiefer seemed not to be aware of this at all. Or, perhaps years of being scrutinized had made him somewhat immune to prying eyes. 

It was as adventurous, as exciting, as a junior-high exploration of the opposite sex. The driver would be a bit disappointed, though, if watching; neither of us went for areas directly associated with sex. We were more interested in another kind of discovery, discovery of self and other. I was most surprised when Kiefer bit the inside of my wrist and I felt an unfamiliar electrical surge inside. No, the surge was familiar. The cause was unfamiliar. He seemed amazed when he reacted unexpectedly to the tender kisses I placed on the inside of his forearm near where the elbow bends. The investigation of one another reached a point where I had to slow down or take the plunge. 

When I half-teasingly asked him if we should have the driver pull the car over so we'd have time to finish what we'd started before we got back to the cottages, Kiefer whispered in my ear.

"Don't you remember? I told you a slow-burn was coming. This is the beginning of the warm-up."

Lord, the chills that went down my spine and up my, well, up in me, when that voice delivered the low growl into my ear. And, is if by magic, the car rolled up to and stopped at the curbside of my cottage. Kiefer grabbed our bags and we flew out of the car, quickly making our way in the front door and upstairs.

We got to my room, but I have no recollection of using a key to get in the door. After we entered, Kiefer led the way, not stopping until he entered the bathroom. Before I caught up, I heard the water running. We had our clothes off in a blink and, stepping into the warm water, we began to wash and scrub ourselves, gently, not paying much attention to one another. I knew what I wanted to clean. He knew the same for himself. This was no sensuous shower. No buildup. We'd been building up all day. To this. Whatever this was to be.

I needed no touch to arouse me. I'd been in a state of arousal since this morning on one level or another. The tender, inquisitive exploration during the ride home had heightened my sensitivity and sensibility. As we exited the shower, I grew even more keenly aroused. Wet male body. Wet, hard, tattooed male body. Within reach. Apparently, some animal-like expression painted my face because Kiefer's eyes, wide for a second or two only, assumed a calm and relaxed focus as he handed me a towel. Mechanically, I dried off, anticipating, wanting, what was to come.

I had already tossed my towel to the floor as Kiefer finished drying himself. Perhaps I hadn't done a very good job - I felt dry in most places but very wet in others. Kiefer's back was to the sink and he leaned back on the countertop as he pulled me to him. His palms slid up and down my backside from thighs to shoulders. It was a light touch, a gentle touch, but it may as well have been executed with a lit torch. My skin tingled everywhere he touched it, and I pushed myself closer into his body, enjoying the warmth, the smell, the feel.

My cheek, my left one, was turned to Kiefer's chest. I'm unsure how long the stroking lasted, probably not long, but I was aware that my own fingers were busy, those of one hand softly passing up and down Kiefer's back and the others stroking his wet hair. Eventually, Kiefer's hands came to my forearms and he pushed me backwards, turning me and guiding me out of the bathroom and towards the bed. When we reached it, Kiefer entered with his head at the foot of the bed and pulled me into the same direction. 

In retrospect, I'm sure of one thing. I'd never been made love to like that before. I thought, no, I knew that I'd had some great sexual relationships in my life, but now, thinking back, the only word that comes to mind about this specific sexual act is exquisite. Well, and another one. Slow, of course. Oh, and, as promised, burn. But it was a very long fuse. No quick and dirty boat sex here. Neither of us tried to outdo the other. We took turns. Kiefer licked and kissed and nipped every inch of my body it seemed. His hot breath on my skin, his eager tongue, his gentle fingers, all served to fill me simultaneously with both content and yearning.

It was a pleasure to shower Kiefer with affection. My desire had been to lick him from head to toe. And I did fulfill this desire in part. It made me dizzy to smell and lick his skin. But my heady journey didn't make it past his navel. My hands were on his chest as I moved my tongue downward, but he grabbed my forearms and pulled me upward.

It's not as easy to describe the position he maneuvered me into as it is to close my eyes and feel it. Facing one another on our sides, Kiefer raised my right leg and encouraged me to help him enter me. That accomplished, he placed my leg over his left one. Nope, that doesn't get it across. Kiefer was to my left, facing me as I faced him. My left leg and his right leg touched one another, knees facing, and were extended straight out toward the headboard. In fact, our feet were within an inch of it. After guiding his cock into me, Kiefer's left leg was over our two extended ones, but underneath my right one.

We faced one another the whole time. And it was a long time. It was languid, but not without passion. Kiefer rocked me endlessly and effortlessly, using the pressure of his toes and the ball of his foot on the headboard as a lever, something, from time to time, I did as well. He expended so little bodily energy other than the foot movement that he didn't even breathe heavily until he got off. But the slow road to getting there . . . how to describe it?

You know how it happens sometimes? Suddenly you "feel" that perfect thrust, that perfect timing, but it doesn't last long enough, dammit, to bring you to the ecstasy that you know it could? Well, this lasted. The thrust, the timing, they didn't change. They just went on and on. I can still feel the sensation when I close my eyes. It was like experiencing a long fireworks show - all the smaller fireworks displays leading up to the finale were, in their way, crucial to the effectiveness of the whole. It was, as he'd told me twice before, a slow burn. The buildup seemed never-ending, but, oh, when it did end!

I don't mention that this round of sex, this lovemaking, lasted for an unusually long time to make Kiefer seem superhuman. In fact, I'm sure that Kiefer (or anyone else, for that matter) could not do this time after time. In fact, I'd already experienced two times when he had not. But this was extraordinary, at least in my experience. This was more like a rite of passage than sex.

I'm not sure what Kiefer was thinking as we stared at one another. I'm not even sure what I was thinking. I know I felt strongly and intimately connected to him. Beyond the usual connection one feels with a lover. I know that his face reflected a contented, although somewhat dreamy, mood. From time to time, his left hand, mostly resting over my waist, would come to my cheek, his fingertips softly brushing my skin. At those moments I felt a kind of tenderness from him and inside of me that I'd not felt in a long time.

When we first settled into this on-our-sides position, our bottom arms, that is those resting on the sheet, were crooked at the elbow and placed a bit above our heads. Our fingers entwined and stayed in this linked pose until we both had gotten off. My right hand moved from place to place along Kiefer's body, not impatiently, but affectionately. At times I rubbed his back or his side. At others I allowed my fingers to twist into his chest hair. The best times, though, were when I touched his face, his hair, his neck, and watched his eyes smile at me. At one point, armed with new knowledge of one another, he bit my inner wrist which I followed by placing soft kisses on the sensitive flesh of his inner forearm.

When the buildup reached its end, at least for me, I used my foot to dig into the headboard providing more force to my thrusts and allowing me to insinuate myself even more deeply into Kiefer's body. Although our movements were never furious as they'd been on the yacht, they were no less powerful in their way.

I came before Kiefer. Several minutes before. I was oddly unabashed, at ease even, as he watched me go through the stages of my orgasm, watched me closely as it so very slowly and with unfamiliar internal force wafted through my body like an indolent palm fan waving in the breeze. My normal rather pronounced and prolonged orgasmic shuddering was absent and only during the last seconds of getting off did my body exhibit any external movement bearing any resemblance to its usual behavior.

During my orgasm, Kiefer's left thumb went to my forehead and he made slow circles on my skin. He seemed to be comforting me, but for what reason I don't know. I felt too good to need comforting. When Kiefer's orgasm came a few moments later, his foot dug deeply into the headboard, something I could determine via the increased energy of his thrusts. His eyes belied the relative calmness of his body. They widened and narrowed, widened and narrowed, and for a second or two his head jerked back, but quickly he returned his gaze to my own.

As before, on the yacht, I tried to mirror his movements and mood as he came into me. In those last seconds of release for him, our entwined fingers above our heads pressed firmly together. When our fingers finally relaxed, we simply pulled closer to one another, my face in Kiefer's chest, his in my hair, our free arms wrapped around one another's waists. This blissful state, though, was not to last long.

The phone rang. I pulled my head back from his chest and looked at Kiefer. He nodded. I disentangled myself, unwillingly, and sat up, reaching for the phone. It was Tom. He wanted to talk to Kiefer. I handed the phone to Kiefer, but would have preferred to throw it to the bottom of the pool instead. I returned to his side. I wanted to feel him around me, near me, on me. I shut my eyes - his scent filled my nostrils, my mind.

"Huh?" 

Kiefer's voice made me open my eyes. He shook his head, focused on his brother's voice.

"When, Tommy?" Kiefer blinked slowly, his free hand coming to rest on my right cheek. He was not breathing heavily anymore, but he was not completely at rest. He smiled at me as two of his fingers gently rubbed my cheek up and down. His eyes, however, were on a different wavelength.

Suddenly, Kiefer said "hi" to someone. Had the phone on the other side switched hands?

"Yeah. Sure. Sure, Ray. What time?" Kiefer glanced at the bedside radio clock.

Now I knew who was on the phone. Kiefer called his sister "Ray" and she called him "Kay." But what was it that she needed, wanted?

"Okay, Ray. I'll be ready."

Kiefer turned to me after he replaced the phone's receiver on its cradle. 

He told me that Rachel had been called to New York because an assignment she'd thought was complete had been rejected by some "higher up" figure. It was not her part in the project per se that was being questioned, but she needed to be close at hand to make adjustments if upcoming changes necessitated. 




Georgia-- aka Heaven Ch. 04



"Guess I'd better hit the shower again before I go. Do you mind?"

I'm sure I looked puzzled.

"Mind if you take a shower? Of course not!"

Kiefer chuckled.

"No, no. Do you mind if I ride with Rachel? I haven't seen her very much lately. The ride would give us some time together." He looked at me expectantly.

I wasn't sure if he really thought I'd mind or if he was being polite.

"Kiefer. Are you serious?" I emphasized the word serious. "Of course I don't mind if you go with your sister. My gosh, did you really think I would?"

As Kiefer looked at me, perhaps searching to test my sincerity, his cell phone, in his duffel bag, began to ring. For a few seconds, neither of us moved. Kiefer seemed reluctant to retrieve it from the bag that had been tossed on the floor near the door.

"Go ahead," I told him. "It could be important."

Kiefer rolled out of bed and retrieved the phone in a matter of seconds. He returned to bed, facing me, as he flipped open the phone and said "hello." I knew something was wrong immediately. Kiefer's inclination, I'm sure, was to instantly exit the bed, but this movement was impeded by the arm I'd draped over his torso when he returned to my side. He did, however, look away.

"Oh, hullo. Uh, yeah. I'm busy right now." He wriggled underneath my touch.

It hit me. It was a woman. I didn't react the way, in retrospect, I would have thought I would. I was actually embarrassed for Kiefer. He was trying so hard to melt down through the bed and disappear into the floor.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine. You? Well, maybe." A pause as the other person said something.

"I'm in Georgia with my family. Yeah. Well, I dunno. Look, I'm busy, like I said. I really have to go now, 'kay?"

A slight pause, and then he ended the conversation.

"Yeah. Okay. 'Bye."

Had Kiefer not been so obviously in pain, I would have laughed. He looked so pitiful. His eyes held questions and apologies. It was so unnecessary, and I tried to let him know instantly.

"Kiefer, it's . . . "

He interrupted.

"Jossey, I am so sorry. I had no idea who was on the phone or I wouldn't have . . . "

I reached for and gently placed my palm against Kiefer's cheek. I smiled and looked straight into his eyes.

"You can't control who calls you, Kiefer. Don't be silly. I'm not upset."

He wasn't convinced. It was as if he were holding his breath, waiting for me to explode. He blinked his eyes slowly and continued to survey my face.

I moved my hand down to his chin and squeezed my fingers into his face.

"Why don't you believe me? I don't blame you, Kiefer. Who dials your number is out of your control."

"I'm sorry. Really."

"Okay." I gave him a quick hug. "It's fine. Really." 

I resumed my hug, and Kiefer placed his arms around me. We remained in an embrace for several minutes. I tried to convey through my touch that all was well. Finally, I knew it was time to get him on his way.

"Hey," I said, as I pulled away, halfheartedly, from Kiefer's warm body.

"You better get ready. Don't wanna keep Rachel waiting."

Kiefer's eyes locked onto mine for several seconds, then he rolled out of bed and headed to the shower. I took Kiefer's duffel bag into the bathroom. When he got out, he thanked me for bringing in the bag and gave me a quick hug. I grabbed the robe hanging on the hook behind the door and left so he could get dressed.

When he came out, Kiefer walked over to me, wearing still the apologetic face. I didn't know what else to do to let him know that I was not upset. I was at a loss.

"I won't leave if you don't want me to."

"Kiefer. Please. I don't know what to say to you to make you certain that everything's all right. Of course I want to be with you - but more than that I want you to be with your family while you have the chance."

Suddenly, it struck me how I might allay his fears.

"Now get outta here, pirate-boy! If you don't, I'll have to spank you again!"

Kiefer didn't laugh out loud, but he instantly gave me a grateful, lopsided smile. The levity had hit its mark. He looked relieved and, as he opened the door, he assured me that he'd see me at dinner.

"By the way," he winked, "don't go lookin' for any pirates. Save it for me!"

"No way," I retorted. "I'm looking for a pirate with a parrot!"

Kiefer stopped his forward movement, turned to me with a truly evil grin on his face, and made his own rejoinder.

"Forget a pirate with a parrot. I got somethin' better. I got a cock-a-tiel!" Oh, how he emphasized the "cock" in the word!

And with that he was gone.

I took a hot bath, dressed, and decided to walk along the beach for a bit while I ruminated about the events of the day. I was happy, but there were unsettled feelings swirling around inside my head. I thought the walk might help me sort out these confused thoughts, and I spent near a half-hour strolling the beach.

As I neared the steps to the big house, the steps that less than a day before had led me to the beach and the delightful, moonlit evening with Kiefer, I looked up to see Shirley descending them. 

"Hi, Shirley. How are you today?" I smiled, happy for the company.

I was happy for only a moment. I was about to hear from Shirley how, as we say in the South, the cow ate the cabbage.

**

Tom headed to the beach. He had time to take a nice walk before the kids and his wife awoke from their naps. He had no idea that he would stumble on his mother and Jossey in conversation. Or better put, his mother in conversation.

"Don't try to hide it. I know what's going on. I'm not blind. You've slept with him. I know it. But it won't do. Listen to me."

"I'm listening. Go ahead."

"You are not right for my son. Period. You're too old. I don't want you with him. It's that simple."

"Shirley. Why are you saying these things? I like Kiefer. I always have. You know that. Why are you talking to me this way? It's like you're warning me or something." 

"I'm not warning you. I'm not threatening you. I'm giving you the facts. I'm telling you that you are not the one for my son. Forget it. He needs someone other than you."

"Shirley. Don't you think Kiefer is a better judge of what he wants or needs?"

"Of course not. He's a child. He doesn't know what's right for him. I do. And you're not it. Jossey. I like you. I hoped we could be friends for a long time. But no more. I want you out of my life and I want you out of my son's life. If not, I'll make your life miserable. I can do it. Don't wonder about it."

"What do you mean miserable? You really are threatening me? With what?"

"It means you'll not have a moment's peace. I have nothing else I have to do."

I knew Shirley had no true malice within her. She believed, earnestly, that she had her son's best interest at heart. She would not hurt me. One thing I did know - this was not a time to push her limits. Although not vicious, she would follow up on her words.

Her words had also sparked questions in my mind. Was it not perhaps better for Kiefer that I disappear? I was not, in any fashion, what I presumed was his usual fare. Admittedly, I found his profession fascinating, but that was not why I was attracted to him. I'd been attracted to him the instant I first laid eyes on him in that Texas rodeo arena. Frankly, the whirlwind of his life was a bit daunting to me. The whirlwind of the past twenty-four hours.

"Shirley," I finally spoke, "I think you're overreacting. You heard me before. I like Kiefer. I would never do anything that I thought would hurt him. Nothing. I'm also very sad that you wish to end our relationship - mine and yours. I've enjoyed your company. I admire your drive - your vision."

I dared not add that I thought her personal vision was stunted. It was true, though, that I greatly admired her public vision. She had done, and would continue to do, wonderful things. With regard to Kiefer, however, perhaps other of her loved ones as well, she was not as clear-sighted. They were not beneficiaries of the vision Shirley carefully gave to her civic duties.

"Jossey, I'm not happy about this either. I liked you. But I love my son. I believe it's in his best interest for you to excuse yourself from his life. And from mine. Please don't make this more difficult than it already is. Bow out gracefully. With dignity."

Lord, she certainly knew how to put a dramatic spin on things. She probably thought her line of rhetoric actually had something to do with my decision to leave. But it didn't. I wasn't thinking of Shirley. Nor of me. Well, maybe a little of me. Mostly I was thinking of Kiefer. Giving him some space, some time, might be good for him. And for me, too.

I determined not to drag this out any longer. If Kiefer chose not to contact me, then Shirley had made the right call and it would save trouble all the way around. If he did try to contact me, then I had some time to think about how to react. I looked Shirley squarely in the eyes. She flinched ever so slightly.

"As you wish."

I turned and headed up the stairs on my way back to my room to pack my belongings.

Behind me, I heard Shirley's voice.

"I'll have a cab waiting for you. It's the least I can do."

I considered telling her that I could get my own fucking transportation, but changed my mind.

"Yes, it is," I calmly uttered in my haughtiest voice.

I kept walking, not turning around to see the look on her face. But I wished I could have seen it.

As I made my way back to my cottage, I began a conversation with myself concerning my current situation. There were good reasons, not Shirley's, to encourage my departure. To begin, it was never a good idea to get between a person and his or her parent. Although Kiefer would probably not agree with his mother's assessment of "suitability" concerning any short or long termed relationship between us, I could not, with honesty, deny that she had a point. His age was such that a marriage and, perhaps, more children would be appropriate - appropriate, at least, in the eyes of many. I was unfazed by her reference to my age. I was not that much older. It was irrelevant to me.

Second, there was the consideration of his fishbowl lifestyle. Pried into. Scrutinized. Decidedly not as private as that to which I was accustomed. This didn't even take into account the subtext of this consideration of Kiefer's lifestyle - the detriment that being linked to me might have on Kiefer's reputation. I didn't for a second believe he would be bothered by being associated with a decidedly un-Hollywood-type, but those who employed him and those who buoyed his career, the media, might use my "unsuitability" to do more harm than I was ready to be responsible for.

Third, there were the slightly disquieting moments created by the phone call to Kiefer from the woman I'd secretly named "Bambi," an ugly thing on my part, I know, but she just had to be a Bambi in order for me to move on. The phone call had honestly not bothered me. It was the subsequent contemplation of Bambi this afternoon on the beach that had unsettled me. There was probably a shitload of Bambis around the globe who claimed much more intimate knowledge of Kiefer than I. Was I prepared, prepared to accept this kind of intrusion and reminder of his "other" life?

The final, and perhaps the strongest, reason for my impetus to leave had everything to do with me. Well, almost everything. I had been unable to shake the feeling concerning my seemingly uncontrollable attraction to Kiefer. It was as if all, and they were considerable, of my feelings were crammed into an unmanned freight train plunging brakeless down an incalculable precipice. A mouthful, yes. But it's the image that came unbidden to my mind.

My emotions had been unbridled for about a twenty-four-hour period now. It was, in more ways than one, scary. First, I'd been down this freight train track before with disastrous results. I hadn't forgotten the lessons learned from those previous experiences. Second, it was a bit unsettling to recognize that another person had a measure of "control" over me, albeit an unintentional one.

It would be wise on my part to put some distance and time between me and this intoxicating man who'd become my focus this week. Sure. Even before his overtures, I had spent my time studying Kiefer in an attempt to know him more fully. I had never, never in my most unfettered dreams, imagined that I would end up in the intimate situations that I'd enjoyed today.

These were the ruminations that occupied my mind as I mechanically stuffed everything into my luggage and readied myself to leave. True to her word, Shirley had made sure that a taxi was parked curbside when I exited the cottage that I'd called mine for the last two days. Honestly, I was not sad. My fear was that my delightful memories would be marred if I tarried. At this point, I had nothing but joy to carry back with me to my home. That wasn't bad.

**

Tom turned away from his mother and Jossey as Jossey headed up the stairs. He'd been near the head of the stairs out of sight behind a large column during the conversation and now headed even farther out of sight. His mother had threatened her, and he'd have to tell Kiefer, but it had been hard on his heart to hear his mother's words. As Tom walked away, he retrieved the cell phone from his pocket and punched #3, Rachel. Before the phone rang in, he heard these words behind him.

"Tom. Put that phone back in your pocket."

"Mom." Tom was surprised at hearing his mother's voice.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I saw you skulking around up here when I was talking to Jossey. But I know what's right for your brother. Do not call him. I have things under control."

Oh, yeah, Tom thought. You know what makes him happy. Just like you knew what would make me happy.

He chuckled bitterly to himself and thought about his life. Yes, he was happy. Happily miserable. He had beautiful children. A kind and caring wife. All was well. But there was no passion in his life. No excitement. No surprise. He knew Kiefer. Better than she. He didn't need what she wanted for him. He'd always admired his little brother for getting out, for escaping.

"Mom, you . . . "

"Tommy. I know what's good for him. Put the phone up!"

He closed the phone, replaced it in his pocket. He had to think. Think what he would do.

**

When Kiefer arrived, Shirley went straight to the car to accompany him inside.

"You timed it just right, darling. Dinner's ready in ten minutes. Did Rachel get on all right?"

"Sure. Everything's fine."

"Come sit with me, dear, before we eat. Let's catch up. I haven't seen enough of you this week." Shirley ushered her son towards the sofa and sat down, Kiefer following her lead.

Kiefer leaned over and gave his mother a hug. He hadn't indulged her enough the past two days. He needed to catch up. His quick embrace and even quicker smile melted Shirley's heart and for a split second she worried about her choice concerning Jossey. But only for a split second. 

"So, what's in your future?" She smiled at her baby boy.

Kiefer chuckled. "Whaddya mean, Mom? You mean like I'm a fortune teller? No can do. I have no idea what the future holds." He smiled again. "I like it that way! I like surprises!"

Tom, on the other side of the room, wondered what his brother would think of the surprise he'd get any moment now.

"I guess that's not what you meant though, was it?"

"No, silly. I meant what's on your schedule? What plans do you have? For work. Or, for play. Taking any time off?"

Kiefer thought this an odd question considering that he was taking time off as she spoke.

"Oh, you know me, Mom. I have lots of things going on. No rest for me. I rust when I sit still too long." As if to prove the point, Kiefer stood and started pacing around the room.

As he paced, he surveyed the room's occupants. Two missing - Rachel and Jossey. He knew where Rachel was. But what of Jossey. He laughed quietly to himself. Probably in her room napping. Perhaps that would have been an enjoyable way to have spent the afternoon had he not escorted his sister to the airport.

"Jossey's not here. We can't eat without her. I'll give her room a call." Kiefer headed to the phone on the table near the entryway.

Shirley stood abruptly.

"No, sweetheart. You don't need to call." Shirley made her way to her son's side and gently took his arm.

"Jossey's not here. She had to leave. Got called away."

"What?" Kiefer's voice was a screech. Chalk on the board. He'd been gone only a bit over two hours.

"Whaddya mean she had to leave? Called by whom? For what?"

Kiefer's agitation translated itself to his body movements. He jerked his limbs as he walked away from his mother and started a circle around the large room.

Suddenly he stopped still. He reached into his pocket and fished out his cell phone. Her number was on it. Under received calls. When Shirley divined what he was about to do, she rushed to him again.

"Kiefer, it's no use. She's gone. I'm sure she had her reasons. You don't need to call her. I mean, she didn't owe you anything but thanks for the invitation and she told me to tell you how much she enjoyed it."

Something didn't feel right. Kiefer's bones told him that Jossey wouldn't leave without saying goodbye to him. Yesterday, today - they'd been too good for her to just walk away. Hmmm. Or maybe they weren't. Maybe she didn't feel the same. Kiefer became very still again as he entertained the notion that perhaps she left so she didn't have to hurt his feelings by telling him that she just didn't feel as good about today as did he.

Shirley carefully watched her son. He was going through some thought process. He sometimes did this - left the room even though he was there.

Kiefer absently shook his head side-to-side. No, he said to himself. Once, and then again. She couldn't have faked that. Couldn't have faked those smiles, those laughs, those touches. He felt unsure though. Was it the cell phone call? Was it leaving with Rachel? No. She'd made it clear that she was fine about both. Maybe we moved too fast. Yeah. That was it. Should've slowed down a bit. 

Tom stared at his brother, watching him think. Seeing him draw a conclusion.

Kiefer, still holding the phone, flipped it open, pushed a few buttons, and held it to his good ear. One ring, two, three, four. Voicemail. Damn. 

"Hey. It's Kiefer. Didn't you like the accommodations? I'll call back later." He smiled into the phone.

His brother, in the corner, winced. He got the feeling Jossey would avoid Kiefer for as long as she could. And then, he wasn't sure if she'd tell him about their mother. She didn't seem to want to rock the boat. So that left him. Him to be the bearer of truth to his brother. If he could find the balls to tell him. He lived too close to his mother to put up with her wrath.

Tom's reverie was broken by his brother's fist in his belly. A childhood leftover. Kiefer delighted in play-punching Tom in the stomach. Quickly, Tom bent over in mock pain.

As he looked up into Kiefer's laughing eyes, he felt remorse as he uttered the words, "You got me, bro. You win." Shirley stared into Tom's eyes from across the room.

Kiefer gave his brother a bear hug and put his arm around his shoulder, leading him to the dining room.

The older brother bit his lower lip, swallowed hard, and allowed his baby brother to lead him into dinner. Time would tell what Tom would do or not do, say or not say.

**

Jossey had turned off her cell phone as she entered the airport. There were not many things she hated more than the loud use of cell phones in public spaces. Before turning it off, she'd changed the message to "Hi, I'm at the airport and looking to head home to Texas. Leave a message and I'll get back with you later." iHHIt was not until she landed safely at DFW International Airport, turned on her cell phone, and completed a call to her friend Kathryn to come and pick her up that she listened to her messages. A smile lit her face as she heard the last part of the newest voicemail, Kiefer's voice saying, "I'll call back later." With a bounce in her step, she headed to the luggage carousel and considered what she would say when he called.