8 comments/ 27210 views/ 15 favorites Old Times By: Miss_Amber (this story was written over about 4 days on and off, and has yet to be edited properly. I look forward to your feedback as I'd like to go a little further with this pairing, but not sure if I have the balance right. enjoy. I hope) Sitting in the restaurant, Marisa sipped from a glass of iced water and flicked a glance at the clock projected on the back wall. She has been waiting for half an hour already, and it would appear as if her boyfriend had yet again stood her up. It wasn't as if this was unexpected, or even a mild surprise. The prick was well practised in this particular instance. Sighing softly, she took her mobile from her handbag and dialled. Idly rattling her painted nails on the table top, she sat back and listened to the ring tone dial through to the voice message. "Hi Matt. It's Marisa. I'm sat in the restaurant and you are late, yet again. Thought you'd like to know you are dumped. Ciao," she added sarcastically, emulating his favourite saying. Turning off her phone, she laid the purse on the chair beside her and waved to the waiter. He came over, his pad open ready for her order. Choosing something decadent from the menu, she sat back and looked around the restaurant. It wasn't particularly busy, but she noted one or two quickly averted gazes from the neighbouring table. So they'd heard. Big deal. Settling back in the chair, she idly played with the knife, spinning it on the highly polished glass surface as she waited for her food to be delivered from the kitchen. Looking around once more, she caught the gaze of a man at a small table at the rear of the room, his dark eyes holding hers without any embarrassment. When he knew he had he attention he issued a small smile and an eye roll as he looked pointedly at his watch. A fellow stood-up-ee, apparently. Pausing for a second, Marisa decided company was preferable tonight. Waving her hand to the empty chair opposite she smiled a friendly invitation. He raised his eyebrows at her; she nodded again, so he vacated his table and joined her. Pulling up the chair, he draped his jacket over the seat where her purse lay and rested his arms on the table. Stretching out a hand he shook hers; warm palms touching softly. "I'm Ross," he said softly, his voice deep and warm. "Marisa," she replied. Her stomach flipped at his voice, a soft burr of a scots accent curling his words. She'd always liked the soft lowlands accent. "Well Marisa, it appears as though we've both been left high and dry this evening," he commented as he caught a waiters eye to let him know he had moved tables. "Your husband?" "Ex-boyfriend," she corrected as she sipped the water. She took the opportunity to give Ross a head to toe look. He had to be a good 20 years older than her at the very least, so that put him early 50's. He looked in good shape, his arms obviously still holding muscle tone under his shirt, and no sign yet of middle aged spread. His face was softly lined with laughter around the eyes, nose and mouth, but other than that it showed little strain of time passed. And bright green eyes glittered at her as he sat passively under her scrutiny. "Seen everything?" he asked with a quirk of the mouth, amused by her forthright assessment. "Yes thanks," she said with a grin. "Not bad at all." "Why thank you ma'am," he laughed. "My turn now." Marisa sat relaxed in her chair as he studied her closely from the top of her head down. His gaze flittered across her face, lingering a second on her mouth before it moved down, raking across her breasts pushed high in the bra and down to where he could glimpse the curve of her knee as she sat with her legs crossed to the side. "Impressive," he finally said, his accent rolling the word out. She blushed a little, but was saved by the arrival of the waiter with their respective meals. Thanking him as he set the plates down, Marisa drew up her chair properly and laid her napkin over her lap. As she settled, her knee brushed his under the table. Ross looked up with a slight quizzical frown as she gasped softly at the contact. She hadn't meant to gasp, but she had received a little static charge from him as they touched. It hadn't been unpleasant, in fact it was the reverse, but it had taken her by surprise. Concentrating on her food, Marisa glanced up to study her dinner companion as he seemed to share his attention between eating and scanning the surrounding diners. She was surprised to find she found him rather attractive, never having been one for older men. Her friends had laughing referred to her recently as a cougar, as Matt had been 5 years her junior. Admittedly she'd been using him for sex and little else, but cougar was a bit harsh. He was her first younger man. She'd almost always gone for a man who was a couple of years older than herself. But looking at Ross she was strongly attracted to those glittering green eyes and the way the skin crinkled at the corner when he smiled. It also helped he seemed to have an athletic build under that sharp white shirt. Ross turned his head back and looked at her as she appraised him again. He raised an eyebrow as he reached for a glass of wine. "You like what you see?" he asked as he pushed aside his plate and leaned back to watch her. Marisa shrugged as she finished the last morsel and pushed her plate to join his. "I've seen worse," she said casually. Ross snorted as he thanked the waiter who came to clear the table. "I usually get a better response than that," he admitted ruefully. "Oh?" Marisa emulated his raised eyebrows as she sipped at her water. "You get lots of offers then?" "Usually off money grabbers," he laughed. "Which I refuse, naturally. I tend to prefer my women with a brain not just a bust." "Glad to hear it." Nodding to the waiter who offered the dessert menu, she flipped it open and scanned down the list. Normally dessert was not part of her meals as it did not agree with her hips, but tonight she was feeling decadent in a way that was not usual. Choosing a chocolate fudge cake, she offered Ross the menu. He waved it away and asked for coffee instead. "Should I feel guilty that I am eating cake and you are not?" Marisa asked a teasing hint in her voice. Ross chuckled as he accepted the pot of coffee and a small side plate with mints on it. "Not at all lass," he purred. "But I'm borderline diabetic, and the doctor says I'm to stay away from the sweets for a while until it's under control again." "Harsh," she sympathised. Smiling happily as the plate was set before her; she savoured the scent of warm chocolate and iced vanilla. Picking up the spoon, she paused and offered him a taste. "That would be too cruel right now," he assured her as he refused the offer. "One spoon is too much, and two is too many. You enjoy it; you look as if you need some meat on you." Marisa snorted at the comment. She fought her cravings hard to maintain a half way decent figure and now she was being told she was too thin. If only it were that simple. Relishing the dessert, she scooped up the last of the cake and closed her eyes to revel in the rich chocolate as it melted in her mouth and slipped down her throat. "Now there's a look I wouldn't mind seeing again," Ross commented as he watched her in interest. "Do you always look like that when you are in ecstasy?" Marisa opened her eyes and carefully wiped the last trace of chocolate from her lips. She paused for a second before sucking it from her finger, lingering over the moment as she held his gaze. She was rewarded by a widening of his eyes before they narrowed in calculation. Oh yes, it felt good to act the brazen woman just once. And the idea that was circling at the back of her mind equally thrilled and horrified her. "I always look like that," she finally said, aware of his gaze on her lips. "What do you look like?" In for a penny, in for a pound, she decided privately. "I wouldn't know," he answered, his voice deepening as he spoke softly. "I've never been in to mirrors." Stroking the tip of her finger around the rim of her glass, Marisa thought fast over the plans she had had for the weekend. Since she had been stood up they were all out of the window. So what the hell, it was Friday night and she was single. "I wouldn't mind finding out," she said, her chin raising a fraction in defiance as her voice quivered slightly. Sipping his coffee, Ross watched her closely, the calculations and decision flittering through his eyes as he studied her intently. Setting down his empty cup, he selected a small mint from the plate and caught the waiter's eye. Almost immediately the bill was presented and he offered a platinum card. "Let me pay for my own," Marisa said quickly, reaching for her purse. "Let's call it gentleman's prerogative on a first date," Ross explained as he punched in his card number and took the receipt. "You can pay for the next one." "Next one?" Marisa asked as the waiter threw her a knowing smile and slipped away. "Most definitely," Ross agreed as he shrugged on his jacket, and then held her wrap as she slipped it on. "I want to explore that look of the cat that got the cream several times at least. And I do prefer to wine and dine a lady first." Slanting him a look, Marisa accepted the umbrella she had left at the front door before exiting into the autumn evening. Rain drifted down past the street lamps highlighting the front of the restaurant. Rummaging in her handbag, she fumbled for her keys before she dared raise her eyes to Ross again as he waited patiently beside her, a calm expression on his handsome face. She had never done this before. Never had a one night stand or picked up a stranger for sex. She was nervous as hell with no idea what to do. Her place or his? Was that safe? Maybe they should go to a hotel, but the cost would be high. "You look worried lass," Ross said softly as he looped her hand through his arm and turned towards the car park. "Second thoughts?" "Many," she admitted quietly. "I've not done this before." He chuckled as he took a key from his pocket and pressed it. "Neither have I," he admitted. "I usually woo a lady before I take her to bed." "What changed?" she asked. Looking at the car that had responded to his key, she took in the high end Mercedes that crouched low in the corner. "A beautiful young lady with more sex appeal than Aphrodite who had been stood up by a prick," Ross said simply. "The main question is where do we go? I'm not one for furtive fumbling in a car, nor do I think you want to take me back to yours. And mine is currently inhabited by a cousin and his children whilst they house search." "Oh." Marisa played with her car keys as she thought this was the perfect get out clause. No, she wasn't going to back off now. Everything had always been about others; each boyfriend had his own way. She did this, that and the other to please them, and never taken any delight for herself. Now here was a rich, very attractive older man who had just told her he was attracted to her. So what the hell, let's do it. "My place is a tip," she admitted. "Only just moved in so packing boxes everywhere right now." "So it's a hotel then," he mused. Looking up at the rain as it fell; he closed his eyes for a second and seemed to enjoy the cool water on his face. "I know the perfect place. Used it recently after a rather drunken business dinner. If I lead the way do you want to follow?" "I guess," she agreed, then paused. "How much have you had to drink tonight?" "A little more than I should have done," he admitted glibly. "Then I'll drive and you'll direct." Narrowing her eyes, she dared him to argue. Instead he shrugged and turned on the alarm again. "Which is your car?" She winced as she walked over to a ten year old Focus. It was in very good condition and could still take on most cars on the road, but the Mercedes it was not. "Very cute," he said as he quickly ran a hand up the red metallic bonnet and to the passenger door. "I've been thinking of getting one of these as a run around." "What's wrong with the Merc?" Marisa asked as she popped the locks and they slid in. She quickly folded her umbrella and unceremoniously shoved it down behind her seat. Slipping off her heels, she tucked them in the footwell behind his seat, leaning over to do so. She closed her eyes as her breast brushed against his arm, her nipple instantly hardening at the touch. Ross sucked in his breath and held still as she slowly withdrew. "Now that felt nice," he finally said as he brushed his hand over hers. "In answer to the Merc question, it's too petrol hungry for my liking these days. It's really only for show for business associates." Marisa noticed he sounded strained as he talked idly about cars. Slanting him a glance as she looked both ways to pull out of the car park, she could see his cheeks were flushed a little. Maybe he was affected as she was and not the calm businessman he was portraying. Whichever it was the thought of him being flustered by her presence sent a little curl of heat through her stomach and directly into her core. The thought was making her wet. "Which way?" she asked to cover her momentary confusion. "Right," he said after a quick think. "We're heading out to the country a little. A nice hotel; not huge but very comfortable." Marisa nodded and settled down to driving, her thoughts focused on her stocking clad feet on the pedals as she moved quickly through the gears. She hated driving, detested the cramped roads and the inconsiderate oafs behind the other wheels, but at night, and when it was soft rain like this she could relax and enjoy it. Empty roads and darkness held a call for her. Following his directions in silence, she kept her eyes on the road and her hands on the wheel as he reached over. He tentatively laid his hand on her knee and left it there, his palm oozing warmth onto her cool skin. Marisa enjoyed the touch, neither offensive nor sexual in its way: it was just warmth and gentleness. Winding through country lanes, she concentrated on the way, ignoring the heat in her stomach and the wetness on her thighs. As the car warmed she could smell the first hint of musk on the air. He must have been able to smell her scent too, but he showed no sign of it. As they travelled he talked of safe subjects, cars and holidays and hobbies. Marisa answered as best she could, but was more than content to listen to him talk, his accent and warm deep voice throbbing through her and stoking her arousal. "Turn in here," he suddenly said as they followed the cone of light down a narrow country lane, hedgerows rising up on either side to corral them along. "The Mansion House?" Marisa asked in surprise as she turned between gilded iron gates. "I can't afford this!" "I can," he said with a warm smile. "My treat. You can pay for a B&B next time." "This mythical second date is already working out at more than I can afford," she grumbled as the winding drive spread out before them, carefully planted mature trees shielding them from the road. Ross chuckled softly. Removing his hand, he twisted around to grab her shoes for her. Marisa missed the warm soft touch on her knee, but kept it to herself as she negotiated the parkland in the drive up to the warm lights of the hotel. Pulling up into a parking place near to the front door, she turned off the engine and leaned forward to look up. The magnificent Georgian frontage dominated the whole parkland. Glancing around she could not see any additional modern wings. "Where are all the rooms?" she asked. "There's only a dozen," Ross explained as he opened the door. Slipping out he shut it securely then came around the car to her side. Opening the door, he proffered her shoes and waited as she slipped them on. Taking her hand, he drew her out to his side then closed the door. Waiting for the beep of the alarm, he again took her arm through his and casually led the way to the front entrance. "I believe they decided on quality over quantity when the family made the decision to make this into a hotel. It was done purely to save the estate from ruin, but I think they've made themselves rather...wealthy, I think the term would be. Rock stars and royalty use it to escape the cameras." "Wouldn't stop a paparazzi," Marisa said as she looked up at the massive portico that shielded the doors. "It does when they employ rather aggressive security guards on the grounds," he chuckled. "After you." Holding open the heavy door, he stepped aside as she slipped past. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the scent of her perfume, and the musk that hung around her. Never before had he felt such a visceral attraction to a woman. It was taking every ounce of his mythical self-control to prevent himself from dragging her over the bonnet of her car and screwing her right there for all to see. He had never had a problem finding a woman to share his bed. He had even tried marriage briefly before he'd decided that he could live without it. But this woman, the instant he had set eyes on her in the restaurant his whole body had tightened in awareness. He had grown hard almost immediately and only will power had kept it from showing all night. The touch of his hand on her knee the whole drive here had made him aware of just how much he wanted her in his bed. And hopefully in his life for some time at least. Yet he was aware of just how nervous she was, how unsure of an illicit liaison with a total stranger. She had not come across as the type to sleep around, so he had been pleasantly surprised when she had responded to his overtures. As she moved past, he took in the expanse of back and her well curved backside in the clinging dress. God he loved his women with curves, never having liked this craze for skinny to the point of looking like a boy. He loved to feel the soft flesh under his body, in his hands and around his cock. And Marisa was everything he desired. Closing the door with a soft thud, he again took her arm and led her to the imposing mahogany library desk that was being used as the reception. The smartly dressed young man seated there greeted them with a warm smile as he looked from one to the other. In his eyes Ross could see the swift calculation, and then the mental shrug of having seen it all many times before. "May I help you sir?" the receptionist asked, his long fingers picking up a fountain pen and drawing a heavy book across. "Do you have the state room available?" Ross asked politely, ignoring the soft intake of breath from his companion. The receptionist glanced at the book and then turned a smile on them. "We do sir. Would you like to book in and I will have your bags collected." "No bags," Ross said calmly as he signed the book with a flourish. He glanced up to meet the knowing gaze of the young man then dropped a small wink. "I'd prefer breakfast served in the room." "I will arrange that for you sir. Do you wish for room service this evening? The kitchens are still open." "Fruit and champagne," Ross said after a brief pause to think. "Is there anything you would like?" he asked as he looked down at Marisa. There was the tinge of panic in her eyes, but her face betrayed only assured aloofness. "I'm fine, thank you," she said with a cool smile. Nodding to the receptionist, Ross took the room key and turned towards the sweeping staircase at his back. Leading Marisa up the think carpet, he took a second to bow his head and mutter to her. "Are you really sure about this? If you wish to back out then do so at any time." Marisa raised her chin a fraction higher and forced a smile, though a shaky one. "I want to do this," she assured him as they reached the wide landing. Looking down a corridor to the right and left, she followed where Ross led her to an imposing polished mahogany door. Inserting the key, he turned it and pushed the door open, again waving her forward. Placing his hand to the middle of her back, he shivered at the charge between them both. Old Times Ch. 02 (I apologise for any typos in here, I've been so long writing this i didn't want to leave it any longer to edit it. if i get chance i will edit then repost this. Until then, enjoy) * An almost supernatural awareness made Ross look up from his Kindle to the door of the pub. There was no reason for him to do so, it was a quiet mid-afternoon on a Saturday and the premises were in the lull between lunch and the early evening arrivals. And yet his gaze was riveted to the entrance and his stomach was clenched tight. Through the frosted glass of the door he saw a familiar figure pause, a hand raised to the finger plate. He unconsciously leaned forward, waiting for them to make their move, a feeling of dread settling in his gut as their indecision stretched out. Setting down the kindle, he was starting to rise to his feet when the door was pushed open and Marisa walked in. Letting his breath out in a long sigh, he got to his feet and held his hands out to her in greeting as she crossed the almost empty room to him. Flipping her hands over, he placed a quick kiss to the inside of each of her wrists before he released her and sat down. "You look lovely," he said with a smile as she flustered over making herself comfortable, her cheeks flaming red at his welcome. "This old thing?" she asked then cringed at the tired line. "It was the only thing I had ironed after I unpacked," she admitted. "I remember the days," Ross agreed as he flashed a smile. "I think I spent the years from eighteen through to about thirty wearing creases." "What happened at thirty?" Marisa asked. "I was making enough to hire a housekeeper," he said ruefully. "You think I am normally capable of turning myself out this smartly?" Raising her embarrassed gaze, Marisa ran a critical eye from top to toe taking in the immaculately ironed shirt and the pressed chinos. "I can't even turn myself out like that," she commented mildly. "You must be able to afford quite a housekeeper." Ross chuckled as he nodded to the barman. "I pay more than the going rate and give her free rein on my property when I am away. I suspect there are some interesting parties taking place in my absence." "What do you mean?" she asked. Looking up as the barman set a soft drink down in front of her, she frowned at the glass then at the barman's retreating back. "Since when did they do waiting on in this place?" "Since I pre-tipped him a tonne to do so while it's quiet," Ross said dryly. Marisa felt her cheeks heat. "There's no need to flash your money around me," she said tightly. Ross steadied his green gaze on her and held it for several seconds beyond the comfort level. "I'm not," he finally said. "I work hard all week to make money, so at the weekends I make it my business to be idle. And if tipping someone well means I don't have to keep running to the bar then I'll do it." She looked down at her fingers knotted in her lap for a moment out of sheer embarrassment. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to offend you." "None taken." Ross waved the moment away with a grin. "I like that you stood up like that. It's a refreshing change." "From what?" she asked, her mouth running ahead of her mortified brain. "Gold diggers." Flicking open the menu, he studied it closely whilst keeping an eye on her. Her face was flamed with embarrassment as her thoughts flashed across her eyes. As far as he was concerned she had not put her foot in it; he appreciated her honesty and independence. But right now she felt humiliated and was likely to make her excuses and leave if he allowed it. "Now, I believe it is your turn to buy me lunch." "I really should be going," she said quickly, her whole body language showing the desire to flee from her faux pas. "I'm not letting you," he said easily as he turned his attention to the second page. "If you think I am letting you run away because of an honest comment then you haven't worked me out, lassie. I prefer honesty. I think I'll have a light ploughman's. You?" Staring at him, Marisa tried to decide if he was being honest with her or just tormenting her for his own amusement. His clear green eyes held hers as she studied him closely. There was nothing but honesty and patience looking back at her, so she eventually sighed and reached for a menu. Flicking through it, she settled on a light pasta dish. She needed carbs after the last 24 hours. "Can I filch some garlic bread?" he asked after the barman took their order. "Depends how much I get," she answered, a small attempt at humour turning up the corners of her mouth. Flashing a warm smile, Ross was satisfied to see her blush again, but not from embarrassment this time. It was good to study her in daylight. The previous evening the restaurant had been ambient lighting, and the hotel was quite a soft light. Yes, she looked a lot younger than she said she was, apart from those very fine lines at the corner of her eyes. Her eyes were fascinating, he hadn't decided last night if they were blue or green, but now he could see they were both. Lines of each colour bleeding into one another as a ring of gold flecks around the iris glittered as it caught the light. "Have I got something on my nose?" she suddenly asked. "What?" He laughed self-consciously and shrugged. "Sorry, I was just getting a good look at you. The light last night was not really conducive. And neither was my attention span," he added ruefully. Marisa blushed at his candid comment. Fiddling with the paper napkin on the table, she pointedly put it down and raised her chin. Meeting his gaze, she took a deep breath. "Why did you meet me for lunch?" "Why not?" "I need to know," Marisa said quietly. "Last night was a one night stand wasn't it? So why are you here?" "The same reason you texted me," Ross said quietly. Glancing up as the barman set several plates on the table, he waited until he was out of earshot again. "Did last night feel like a one off to you?" Marisa thought about it as she played with her food. "No," she finally admitted. "It didn't to me either," Ross answered. Carefully slicing the meat on his plate, he looked up at her as he waited for her to digest the implications. She was thoughtful as she picked at her food, slanting questioning glances at him as they ate. "Do you understand what I am saying lass?" he finally asked. Marisa nodded as she resumed picking at her food. "You want more than a one night stand. A relationship?" she added tentatively. "Maybe," he agreed. "If it works that way for both of us." "I'm not very good at relationships," she sighed. Picking up the garlic bread, she tore a chunk off and chewed on it, thoughtlessly sucking the warm juice from her fingers as she stared into the distance. "I've been accused of being too old fashioned in the past." "Which eejit said that?" Ross asked, his eyebrows raised almost to his hairline in surprise. Marisa shrugged and ate another piece of bread. "Just an Ex," she dismissed. "So what did he actually object to?" Ross asked, digging for further information. Marisa glanced at him before pinning her gaze to a nearby print on the wall. "He didn't like that I wanted monogamy, decent treatment and communication beyond 'I want a shag'." "Ahh." Ross nodded slowly. "He was a moron; that's what I actually look for in a lady." Marisa snorted with laughter. "Then look elsewhere as I am not a lady," she chided. "You are to me," he declared, raising his glass in a mock toast. "I want monogamy, until one or both of us is bored and walks away. I want honesty, communication and above all trust in each other. Do you want that?" Marisa thought over the offer as she swiped the garlic bread through the creamy sauce of her pasta. Chewing slowly, she kept her gaze on the ceiling as she thought over the honest offer. "Alright," she finally agreed as she dropped her gaze down to meet his. "I'm willing to give it a try. If you think you know what you are letting yourself in for." Ross' eyes glittered at the challenge. "And what would that statement mean lassie?" Marisa picked up her drink and offered a mock toast. "Just that I am not considered...normal." "I think I knew that after last night," he teased, being rewarded with a quick blush. For all her bravado and show, he knew underneath it all this was entirely virgin territory to her. "Do you have any plans for this afternoon?" Marisa shrugged in reply as she sat back and propped her feet up on a nearby stool. "Excellent." He drained his glass and picked up his jacket. "Would you fancy a walk with me?" Marisa waggled her heel clad feet at him and raised her eyebrows. "Do you live far?" "Five minutes totter," she conceded. "Good," he said as he stood up and swung the jacket on. "I'll run you home and wait while you change your shoes. We aren't going far." Kicking off the heels, Marisa dug around in the bottom of the wardrobe to find her long neglected hiking boots. They'd been used twice and then unceremoniously shoved in the back of the closet when that particular boyfriend had cheated. Part of her felt guilty at turning her back on the pastime as she actually loved to walk, but she didn't feel confident hawking off alone into god knew where. Pulling out a pair of thick fluffy socks, she dragged them on then quickly laced up the boots. Experimentally wiggling her toes, she rocked back and forth on her heels as she got a feel for the chunky footwear. They were damned comfortable, and if she didn't work in an office would be tempted to wear them all the time. Snatching up a jacket as she left the bedroom, she sprinted through the flat to the front door. Catching herself, she leaned her forehead against the cool wood and caught her breathe. She was running around like a giddy schoolgirl with her first boyfriend. She couldn't believe her luck, but she could feel that hard cold knot of fear in the pit of her stomach, nagging away that this wouldn't last long. Taking a deep breathe, she yanked the door open and stepped out before the fear overwhelmed her. Locking the door, she turned to the kerb and practically skipped down the little pathway to where Ross waited in the Mercedes, his seat tilted back and his eyes closed. Pulling open the door, she slipped in to the racing seat, the warm leather enveloping her. As she clicked the seatbelt into the lock she relaxed under the jazz music that was playing from the state of the art sound system. "That's nice," she commented as Ross tilted his seat back up and reached for the start button. "Who is it?" "Madelaine Peyroux," he said with a flash of a smile. "A question." "Go on." "Do you like trains?" "I prefer men," she quipped. "Very droll," he muttered. "You should be on the stage lass. What I meant was I've always wanted to visit the local steam train museum, and you seem to me the canny type who'd like it as much as me." Marisa laughed as she leaned her arm on the door frame and turned her head to look at him. "If we're talking getting down and dirty with a steam engine, then I'm always game." Looking at her sharply, Ross' green eyes glittered with heat. "Down and dirty is it?" he asked as the Mercedes cruised down the quiet residential street. "Oh I think I can manage that alright." Laughing at her mock scandalised loo, he coasted through the estate until he reached the main road. Turning into the flow of traffic, he flexed long fingers on the wheel and looked out of the corner of his eye at her. She was staring up out of the window, those fascinating eyes of hers taking in everything around. Again she held that hint of the child in her face, fascinated and excited about everything she was seeing and about to do. He loved it; loved the way her whole face lit up at such simple things. He'd never thought he'd be able to romance a woman with the offer of seeing a steam loco. Smiling to himself, he turned in to the carpark for the museum and parked a little way from the rest of the vehicles. "Some bastard always manages to 'accidentally' scratch the car," he commented at her questioning look. "Come on lass, or the trains might run away." Laughing at his lame joke, Marisa climbed out and stretched her back. There was a distinct autumnal chill in the air, catching the back of her throat as she dragged her coat fastened and shoved her hands into the pockets. "Jesus when did it get so cold?" she asked as she hunched up. "It was bloody freezing last night," Ross said mildly as he wrapped an arm about her shoulders and pulled her into his side for warmth. "However, I believe neither of us was in the mood to notice such a wee detail." "Neither were you," she complained as she punched him in the ribs. "Sadism is it?" Turning quickly he caught her and began to tickle until she was shrieking with laughter. "Remember lassie, us Scots were never ones to back down from a fight." "And neither are the English," she answered then dove under his arm and proceeded to attack him in the same way. Skittering back from her, Ross was laughing too hard to speak. Catching her hands, he held her at arm's length as they both got their breath back. "I see you are as dishonourable as they come," he managed between breaths. "I shall have to keep a close eye on you, ye ken"? "Ye ken?" She raised her eyebrows as she tugged her coat straight. "Do ye barbie too?" "Ye're a cruel woman," he drawled, thickening his accent to the point it was all rolls and burr. "Very sexy," she laughed. Snuggling back into the curve of his arm, they cross the car park and into the small ticket hall. All around old railway posters and cast iron notices pinned to the walls advertised long neglected lines and disregarded holiday destinations. Looking up at an Art Deco poster, she turned her head as Ross joined her, folding his change into his wallet as he did so. "Do you like Deco?" He glanced up at the poster and his eyes narrowed. "It depends on what type of Deco it is," he commented. "I like the stylised such as this, but the full on geometric leaves me cold. I'd rather have art nouveau." "It's more sensuous," Marisa said without thinking, then blushed as Ross looked down at her with raised eyebrows. "You know what I mean!" "Aye lassie, I do," he chuckled. "Come on, let's go find you a choo choo to play with." "How old do you think I am?" she asked with mock seriousness. "About five I think," he answered. Pushing open heavy glass doors, they stepped out into the cool autumn air of the museum. In front of them an old station platform stretched to either side, tubs of fading flowers hanging on grimly as summer faded. White framed windows glittering in the sun as an engine idled nearby. The strong scent of coal smoke and hot steam filled the air as the engine was stoked, a gentle stream of excess steam clouding the wheels. "Ooooh I want one," Marisa breathed as she looked from the front of the boiler down to the end of the last carriage. "Make that about three," Ross said dryly. "Do you want to take a ride now or later?" Marisa looked around, taking in the standing stock further away, the old engine sheds and the signal box. "Is it running later?" Ross turned, unconsciously hanging on to her hand as he checked a timetable pinned to a board. "There's another run in an hour." "Can we take that one?" she asked. Looking down, she laced her fingers through his as she stroked her thumb against his. "I want to look around first." "Aye, I suppose so," he agreed. Wrapping an arm about her waist, he tugged her against his side and grinned at her little gasp. "I'm old, the cold is going to my bones." "Bullshit," she drawled. Snuggling in to his side, she wrapped her arm about his waist in turn and enjoyed the feel of his hip as it touched hers. Wandering along the platform, she didn't know whether to investigate the old Pullman carriages, or to duck into the waiting room and ticket office to enjoy the atmosphere. "Shall we take a gander around the rolling stock?" Ross looked down the tracks where a fenced path ran for visitors to wander. It was empty with today's punters choosing to take a ride down the tracks rather than spend time out in the cool air. "Always wanted to do it as a kid but never got the chance." "Why not?" she asked. Resting her hand low on the back of his hip, Marisa took great delight in letting it slide down to skim over the curve of his buttocks. Jumping forward at the sudden exploration, Ross actually blushed. Stopping her on the path, he pulled her around and into his arms. Dropping his head, he caught her in a kiss, his hands cupping her arse as he pulled her up against him. Tongues entwining, he groaned into her mouth and pulled her tight to his body so she could be in no doubt of the way he was already hardening for her. Marisa moaned softly. Catching his tongue between her teeth, she grinned up into his widening eyes. Pulling him back into a passionate kiss, she dug her fingers into his backside and yanked him forward against her torso. "Jesus lass." Resting his forehead on hers, Ross struggled to slow his breathing and get his body under control. "I need you now," she said softly, her eyes closed as she breathed deeply and evenly. "We need to head back to yours." Placing a series of kisses across her face, Ross caught her between his hands and placed a long, slow kiss on her lips. "I don't have time," Marisa said quietly. Stepping back form him, she took his hand and dragged him along the path. "Lass, I need to take you to bed, not go pissing about around old carriages," Ross said angrily as he was forcefully pulled further from the exit. Stopping on the path, Marisa turned on him with a grin and sparkle in her eyes. "We're alone, there are lots of old carriages and trailers, and I am more than willing to have sex here." She brushed hair from her face and widened her grin. "Unless you are too scared?" Catching her cheek in the palm of his hand, Ross stroked a thumb over her cheek as he slowly smiled. "I'm more willing than even you can guess lass." Kissing her fingers, he waved her on. "Though I suggest you are quick about finding somewhere before I lose interest." Stopping suddenly so he walked into the back of her, Marisa reached behind to stroke her fingers over his crotch. "Really losing interest?" "Not quite yet." Kissing the back of her neck, Ross reached around to cup her breasts through her coat. Pressing up against her, he nibbled under her ear as he slipped a hand down and into the front of her trousers. Finding his way down to the wet heat that was already building, he slid a finger in and stroked. Smiling at her gasp, he held her tight so she couldn't pull away for a few minutes until he had begun to build the same level of arousal in her as he felt himself. "Bastard," she hissed as he finally released her. Dragging her fingers through her hair, she grinned as he chuckled. "Come on, let's find a corner." "More like a nook," he drawled. Glancing back along the path, he waited until no one was looking their way then clambered over the fence. Helping her over, he caught her in a quick kiss then released her. Looking around at the dilapidated wagons and carriages stood waiting for rescue, he began to wind his way through the lines. Running up behind him, Marisa grabbed him around the waist and spun him before she sprinted off, her laughter filling the air. Shaking his head, Ross turned several corners before her found the old Pullman carriage, its windows grimy and its paintwork peeling. Walking its length, he reached up to try the handle and grunted in satisfaction as the door swung open. Getting the toe of his boot into the frame, he heaved himself up, banging his knee in the process. Rubbing away the pain, he moved so he could look down the corridor, sliding doors pushed closed over the individual cabins. Dust motes hung in the air, highlighted by the autumn sun fighting its way through the dirt smeared glass. Despite the age and neglect, the carriage was dry and considerably warmer than outside. Old Times Ch. 02 "You found a nook?" Looking up through the doorway, Marisa grinned at the deliberate botching of his accent. "I'll remember that," he said dryly. Reaching down, he took her hands and hauled her to join him. "Not exactly the Manor House, but its comfy." "I like it." Slipping past, she let her hand brush the bulge in his trousers. Glancing back with a smile, she walked down the corridor until she found a compartment door that still ran smoothly on its runners. Pushing it aside, she stepped in, wrinkling her nose at the musty scent that enveloped them. "I remember my mother taking me on a train when I was a wee nipper," Ross said as he crowded in behind her and pulled the door closed. "It has these old carriages still. I remember the way the window rattled every time the train ran over a point." "Very Poirot," she teased. Taking his face between her hands, she stood on tiptoe and pressed a soft kiss to his chilled lips. "If I ask you something, do you promise not to laugh?" "Not if it's funny," he said, his voice rumbling in his chest as he dragged her into an embrace. Lowering her face, Marisa hid the blush against his chest. "I don't want to have sex." Ross wisely kept quiet as he waited for her to go on. "Will you make love to me?" Looking down at the top of her head, he felt the chuckle rise in his diaphragm, and so did she by the glare she suddenly turned on him. "Lassie, just you try and stop me." Lowering his face to hers, he pressed a long kiss to her lips, groaning softly as she opened up to his tongue. Slipping inside, he tasted the first tentative touch of her tongue to his as his arms slipped further around and his hands rested on her buttocks. Squeezing gently, he enjoyed the feel of her soft flesh in his fingers, the roughness of her jeans at a stark counterpoint to her warmth. Pushing up against her, he broke the kiss and bent his head so he could place his lips to the side of her neck. Tipping her head to the side, Marisa closed her eyes and sighed as the first caress over her throat sent a tiny shiver down her spine. Slipping her hands up to his chest, she clutched at the heavy wool of his jacket as she drew him as close to her body as she could. Letting her cool hand rest on the back of his neck, she pulled him down with her as she knelt on the collapsed cushion of the seat, the old springs digging into her knee painfully. "I want you naked," Ross said softly. Running a finger down her cheek, he cupped her jaw in his palm and smiled as she tilted her face into his touch. "Are you sure about this?" Glancing back to look at the grimy windows, Marisa could barely make out the peeled paintwork of the railway trucks surrounding them. "Yes, I'm sure," she said with a quick, nervous smile. "It's an adventure." "Aye, a risky one," he grumbled to himself. Dropping a quick kiss on her lips, Ross unfastened his coat and tossed it on the opposite seat. "I don't think we'll have very long lass." Marisa raised an eyebrow at him as she unzipped her jacket. "Is there something worrying you?" Throwing her waterproof coat over his, she placed her hand to his cheek. "We won't get caught out here, we're well hidden." Ross laughed as he caught her hand and placed a soft kiss to the centre of her palm. "I was referring to the cold lassie; it affects me in ways you don't have to worry about." "I'll keep you warm," she quipped. "Aye, I believe you will." Trailing his fingers down the sides of her neck, he let them come to rest on the zip tag of her fleece jumper and slowly tugged. "Last night you looked amazing. And today you look delicious," he drawled as the zip slid lower, the soft rip of it filling the small cubicle. "I look a mess," Marisa complained, her eyes downturned as she watched his long fingers unfastening her top. As the zip released, she stood still as his hands slipped back up her abdomen, skimming over her breasts and to her shoulders. Gripping her tightly for a moment, he grinned down at her upturned gaze as he pushed the fleece off and to the dusty floor. "You look a delicious mess," he corrected with a chuckle. "You should have cream poured on you. In fact I might try that one day." Marisa sniffed. "I understand it curdles when it touches the warm skin." Ross looked at her, his eyes crinkling with laughter. "I don't intend for it to be on your skin that long lass," he murmured. Kissing her to prevent a response, he broke apart and watched the heat spread over her cheeks. She was absolutely delectable, brave one moment with her quips and snipes, then blushing in embarrassment the next. Gorgeous. Looking up, Marisa met his glittering emerald gaze and drew her shoulders back imperiously. "Well?" His eyebrows shot upwards at her demanding tone. "Well what?" he drawled. "Are you going to make love to me or not?" "Well dammit woman, will ye not let me get you undressed afore that?" he complained, thickening his brogue into a long rolling lilt that rippled across her nerves and sent tingles down into her sex. "Shit, I love that accent," she muttered. Sliding her hand around the back of his head, she gripped her fingers into his hair and dragged him down into a long, hot kiss. Pressing her groin up against his, she moved her hips softly against him as his cold fingers slipped under her shirt to her hot skin. Inching he cloth up her torso, he grinned as she broke off the kiss with a giggle and raised her arms over her head. Stripping off the shirt, he tossed it to the floor and dragged her back against his body. Leaning back, she looked up at him, her stormy blue eyes matching the glitter in his. "Get your frikkin kit off," she growled. "Is that an order lass?" he asked seriously. "Oh aye," she said, mimicking his accent perfectly. "I want you naked." "Cocky minx," he muttered. Dragging his jumper over his head, Ross tossed it aside and then his shirt quickly followed suit. Looking down at Marisa, his eyes crinkled in a smile as she slipped her hands to his stomach and then slowly up to his chest. Her slim fingers twined into the soft hair curling on his chest, the soft brown starting to lace through with white. "You seem to be fascinated with my chest hair," he rumbled. "Last night you spent several hours playing with it." Marisa blushed and curled her fingers into fists. "Sorry." Covering her hands with his, Ross dropped a soft kiss onto the top of her head. "Don't be lass, I enjoy it," he said softly. "It's relaxing." Glancing up, her lashes lowered over her gaze as she watched him, the look of pure desire in her gaze heating him to an unbelievable degree. "Good god lass, have you any real idea just how erotic that look was?" Swooping down into a kiss, his hands curled around her backside and he jerked her up, pulling her to his chest as her feet dangled in the air. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Marisa moaned against his lips as she curled her legs around his waist. Twining her tongue with his, she clung to him as he moved across the small compartment until her back was pressed against the upright of the window. Holding her there with the weight of his own body, his hands slid up the side of her torso and under the curve of her breasts. Skimming his thumbs over the cup of her bra, he brushed the lace against her hardened nipples. Smiling as she gasped, he nipped her lower lip and then licked down her throat as her head fell back. "Please," she breathed, her fingers clenching into the hair at the nape of his neck. "Try and stop me lassie," he whispered in her ear. Unhooking her legs, he gently lowered her to the floor and held her waist as he kissed her. Feeling her pushing up against his body, he let his busy fingers find the buckle of her belt and then the fasten of her jeans. Slipping the denim down over her hips, he kissed down her torso and then worked at removing the boots she wore and then help her out of the trousers. Tossing them aside, he looked back up her body and met her warm smile. Pressing warm lips to her stomach, he held her in place as she tried to wriggle her way past him to avoid the tickling sensation. Stopping as her fingers clenched tightly in his hair and tugged upwards in warning, he pressed up against her, pushing her back against the cold window glass. Arching forward away from the chill, Marisa laughed as she pushed him back towards the battered old bench seat. Pushing him down, she quickly straddled his lap, her knees digging down into the old springs, dulled by the layer of coats and clothes they had tossed onto it. "We'd better be quick," she said softly, her nose skimming his as she snuggled her body against his. "Don't know if they check this area whilst the museum is open." Pressing a kiss to the hot skin between her breasts, he eased her back off his lap. Hooking long fingers into the waistband of her knickers, he eased them down as he looked up into her gaze. "I'm not arguing with you on that regard," he said softly. Pushing her lingerie down, he held her hand as she stood on one leg to kick them off. "Will you ride me lass?" Marisa laughed as she leaned down. Dropping a soft kiss on the end of his nose, she ran her hand around the back of his neck and pulled his mouth to her breasts as she slipped back onto his lap. Tucking her knees in against his hips Marisa closed her eyes and enjoyed his touch and kisses on her breasts, the lace of her bra pulled down and ruched so her breasts were offered up. Taking her pert nipple between his teeth, Ross bit softly and then flicked his tongue across as she gasped and writhed on him, the heady musk of her arousal beginning to fill the compartment. Suckling at her, Ross closed his eyes and let his hands roam over her warm curves, squeezing and cupping her closer to his hardening body. Taking her nipple deeper into his mouth, he nipped at her, drawing out deep groans in the back of her throat. He could feel her moans rumbling through her diaphragm a she crushed her breast to his mouth. Then the delicious intake of gasped breath as his strong hands cupped her firmly on the backside and yanked her up. Holding her in place, her warm liquid sex pressed up against his stomach as he fumbled at the zip of his jeans. Forcing the cloth aside, her pushed down the cotton of his boxers until his cock was standing straight, reaching upwards for her. Pressing the cloth down so he could rest his balls comfortably, he looked up and smiled as he stroked his long finger between moist lips and into heat. "Tell me lass, do you think you are wet enough for me?" "Mmm yes," Marisa breathed, her eyes closed and a dreamy look on her face as Ross stroked her sex, his fingertip swirling over her little sensitive nub to draw out more of her honey. "Are you ready for my cock in here?" He mimicked his words by sliding a finger into her, slowly teasing her apart. "Do you want to feel me inside you?" Opening her eyes and leaning down, Marisa flashed him a wicked grin before diving in and biting into his shoulder. Laughing as he inhaled sharply, she pulled his hand away and then took his shaft between her fingers. "You, sir, are in for the ride of your life," she assured him. "Am I?" Ross laughed as she swirled her hips, the wet lips of her sex brushing the tip of his cock. "Well now lassie, you'd better prove that isn't a hollow boast." Catching him against her core, Marisa paused and her gaze held his. In those brilliant green eyes was a look of pure warmth and tenderness, then it swirled into arousal and heat. Holding her face between his hands, he kissed her slowly, his tongue sliding in to taste her mouth and swirl with hers as she slowly sank down onto him. Nipping his lower lip, Marisa moaned into his mouth as she stretched to take his length. He was bigger than last night, she decided. Their surroundings were affecting him as much as her. The risk of being caught, of someone wandering through to look at the old carriages and seeing them naked inside, rippling down her spine. She loved the feel of that fear of being caught, it made her feel alive! That frisson of danger was intoxifying. Settling along his length properly, Marisa clenched her inner muscles, grinning as his head tipped back against the dusty seat and groaned. It felt so good to have full control over him, to control the depth and the speed, she had never been given that control before by any partner. Now she knew she had always dated selfish idiots who didn't really give a shit about her. Digging her fingers into his upper arms, she closed her eyes and started to move. Ross filled her to the point of discomfort, the touch of him inside stroking and sensitising her further. It felt so good hearing his moans of pleasure as she rode him, the touch of his smooth hands on her body. Stroking her hips, sliding up her stomach to skim under her breasts and tweak her nipples. Groaning as he pinched and stroked, Marisa leaned forward to catch him in a kiss as she jerked her hips sharply. The movement brought more groans from both of them , the pleasure building rapidly as physical need mixed with the fear of discovery. A cold breeze skimmed over her bare skin, an extreme counterpoint to the heat of their love making. The shiver skimmed over her skin raising goosebumps on her arms and legs. As the shiver passed from her to Ross, he tipped his head back, mouth hanging open as his hips jerked upwards and he came inside her. Pulling her against his body Ross, wrapped her tight as the final shudders of his sudden climax dissipated. Pressing a tender kiss to her neck, he slipped cold fingers between their bodies to find her clit. "Let me," he whispered softly in her ear, his breath stirring the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. Rising up on her knees, Marisa balanced precariously on the edge of the dilapidated bench seat. Clinging to Ross, she panted heavily, her eyes screwed tight as her orgasm spiralled around inside her, searching for a way out. Swirling her clitoris slowly, Ross copied the motion with his tongue on her nipple. As he gently bit down, he pressed the clit into her pelvis and rubbed it hard. Jerking back, Marisa arched her back and gasped. Shaking hard, she clung on to Ross's arms as her orgasm ripped through her, a near painful tinge to the release. Jerking her hips on his hand, she shuddered as the final wave of release passed through her. Tipping forward against him, Marisa snuggled tight into his warm body as she rested her head on his shoulder and slipped arms around his waist. Placing a gentle kiss to her hair, Ross cradled her gently in his lap as she shivered. Stroking gentle hands along her arms, he held her as she caught her breath. His gaze slipped out of the dirty windows to the dimming light. They had to move soon otherwise they were likely to be spotted making their escape. A smile tilted his lips as he glanced around the compartment of the old Pullman carriage. This had quite possibly been the best damn fuck he had ever had; the fear of being discovered had made him so aroused he had lost control of himself and come before he had given her the pleasure she deserved. Even so the strength of her orgasm had taken his breath away; she must have been denied release for months. She had practically been crying by the time she orgasmed against him. It had been a mind blowing and humbling experience for him. Tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear, Ross eased her back as he placed a soft kiss on the end of her nose. "Lass we have to get moving, they're going to be closing soon." Looking at him, Marisa squinted slightly then glanced out of the window. "I suppose we had better move." Moving slowly off him, she winced at the stiffness in her legs as she stopped to pick up her clothes. "Ross?" "Hmm?" Dragging on his shirt, he tucked it into the waist of his trousers as he slanted her a look. "How long do I have?" she asked quietly. "About twenty minutes by the looks," he said as he glanced at his watch. "They close at 5 today." "I meant us," she muttered. Dragging the fleece over her head, she never quite met his surprised gaze as she bent to fasten her boots. "I said last night," he said quietly. "As long as we both want." Marisa picked up her coat then stood staring down at the material in her hands. "How long do you want to?" Closing his eyes for a moment, Ross rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Lass, I won't lie to you. I've never been one for relationships, but I've always been honest with my partners. If I ever, ever feel we don't have a future together then I will tell you." "Do you feel as if we have a future together?" Wrapping his arms around her waist, Ross pulled her back against his chest and pressed a gentle kiss to her neck. "Lass, I think there is a future for us. I can't guarantee it's a long one though, but it will definitely be fun." He held tight as she tried to move away. "However I do hope it'll be a long future lassie." "Oh." Staring down at her feet, Marisa tentatively placed her hand over his, her fingers slipping between his. "I'd like to try if that's OK with you?" "More than OK lassie," he chuckled. Turning her around, he kissed her gently, stroking a thumb over her cheek. "Do you think there's room for two in your flat this weekend?" "Always will be," she said with a dazzling smile. Parking the Mercedes slightly down the road, Ross was putting it into park when Marisa swore like a trooper. Glancing up in surprise, he took in her narrowed eyes, heat in her cheeks and her general demeanour of a woman about to commit murder. Following her gaze, he took in the man waiting on her front door step, a large bunch of flowers in his hand and a distinct look of handsomeness to him. "Someone you know?" he asked quietly, a slow feeling of dread twisting in his gut. "Matt," she ground out between her teeth. "I need to deal with this." Turning his gaze back to the man, Ross narrowed his gaze at the look of disgust that was being angled towards him. "I'd better leave you to it." Gripping the wheel tightly, he forced his anger down, ignoring the fear that was riding it. "Call me?" Nodding quickly, Marisa's hand went to the door handle then she paused. Turning back, she leaned over and caught him with a long slow kiss, her free hand sliding up into his hair as he leaned back into her. "Wait up for me," she said, then she was out, the door slamming and her back straight as she marched towards her door. Putting the car into gear, Ross pulled away, fighting the urge to slow and look as he passed. Old Times' Sake Two years out of college and in the city, and Mark and I still mostly did the same things every weekend - usually with his latest girlfriend just like back on campus. That was perfectly okay with me, of course. What wasn't nearly so okay was that Mark was still bouncing from one girlfriend to the next every few months. But it was none of my business, so I mostly looked the other way on it all. Mostly. I had learned my lesson about sticking my nose in his romantic business back in college after he tossed Becky aside. But three years after the fact, I still hadn't quite worked Becky out of my system. So wouldn't you just know that Mark would bring her up when he tried to talk me into joining him and his current belle, Randi, for the Halloween party at the alumni club! "Got an e-mail from her a few weeks ago," he told me. "She says hello. I think she'd like to try being friends again. She'll be at the party, Andy." "Do you want to be friends with her again?" I asked. "Hell no!" Mark said, grimacing. "But that's different. We dated, we have a history. You were only ever friends with her. It's easier to patch those things up." "Wish I could agree with that," I said. Mark and I did not talk about Becky in any great detail, ever. It was all too painful for me and too much of a hassle for him, now that he had moved on several times over. Besides, he had broken her heart back when I still cared about her, and though my feelings about her had since changed dramatically, the memory of how distraught she was that spring remained a sore point. I was never going to forget her wailing on my shoulder late that night...I wish the last seven months had never happened! Though I was sure he had at least an inkling of the fact I'd had a crush on her back in the day, we had never really talked about it. With Becky now out of the picture for over two years, I'd figured we never would. That didn't change on this occasion, anyway. "Eh, have it your way, dude," Mark said. "But people do grow up. Maybe she's not so selfish anymore. It's worth finding out." "Yeah, maybe it is," I conceded. "But I don't really feel any need to find out." "So you're not going to the party?" Mark looked disappointed -- something I rarely saw in him. "It'll be the first time we didn't hit it together." "Good point," I said. "I'll think about it." The hell I would, not with Becky there, but at least saying that would get Mark off my back about the whole thing. "Cool," he said. "I got a great costume, sort of a clown-gone-bad thing, full mask and everything. I can't wait to see if anybody can even tell it's me. Not to be missed, dude. Even Becky says she can't wait to see it." "I'll keep that in mind," was all I had to say. "I got this brilliant idea," he continued. "I'm going to carry around some jingle bells, and use only those to speak. One shake for yes, two for no, something like that. The girls'll love it!" Randi -- petite, blonde and always bursting with energy -- turned up at our table right then and grabbed Mark in the kind of squeeze women always gave him while the relationship was new and fresh. I could still recall Becky throwing her plump body at him the same way and desperately wishing she would do the same to me just once. "Hey, boy!" she exclaimed. Looking at me, she added, "Hi, Andy." "How are you?" I asked, standing. "Fine, but you're not leaving, are you?" Randi had the decency to look disappointed. "I'm due back at work," I lied. "Maybe I can stay longer next time." "Hope so, dude," Mark said. He might -- or might not -- have added a barely-perceptible nod acknowledging his thanks for my getting lost so he could be alone with Randi. Another hard lesson learned from the Becky days, that. Another thing Mark and I had never discussed was Becky's habit of being passive aggressive and nasty with me when she wanted me to leave so she could sleep with Mark. She had told me all about it after they'd broken up, and for once she'd apologized for something. So I'd been more careful since then, in that way as with so many other ways with respect to Mark's girlfriends. But I wasn't sure if Mark really gave me that courtesy nod or if I just imagined it. One never could tell with him, best buddies though we were. It was a week to Halloween, and our favorite coffee shop was decked out in the usual orange and black décor everywhere. There was even a notice for some costume contest to start later in the week, grand prize being free coffee for a month. That was worth a try, only I never really tried at Halloween anyway. Even as a kid, I had only ever been in it for the candy. Suddenly candy sounded like a good idea, for any reminder of Becky got me a bit depressed. So I stopped off at the corner store next door and bought a Milky Way, and gave up on fighting the munchies or the nasty memories of Becky for the walk back to the office. Becky -- plump but beautiful, spoiled rotten, long dark hair and a figure to die for, nice as pie when she wanted to be, but selfish and manipulative was her natural setting -- was a defining event in my loss of innocence back in college. Since on that October afternoon I hadn't seen her since graduation day, the memories no longer had the nasty bite they'd had a couple of years before. But when they did bubble to the surface, they still had the power to make me feel like a grade-A fool. Really, though, a fool is just what I had been for falling in love with my best friend's girl. I'd known it at the time, too, or at least I'd said it to myself time and again; but it hadn't done me a damn bit of good. It was all down to that December afternoon alone in her room, just the setting that was sure to make a guy like me fall head over heels. Before that day, she'd just been another friend. Afterward? Months of longing and eating my heart out and waiting my turn. Which, of course, never came. Mark and I had been friends since freshman year, and I'd long since grown used to the effortless attraction he held over so many young women. I didn't resent it in the least, because he and I were attracted to very different types -- until Becky came along. When Becky had turned up junior year, the only difference I could see at first was she wasn't quite so young as his usual dates. Two years older than us, she had taken some time off college for some personal reasons, and had come back with an odd combination of seeming at once world-weary and a bit immature. Mark, too, was immature. I know that's a lousy thing to say about your best friend, but it was true. He was. And it was that very immaturity that attracted Becky to him. "He didn't make me feel fifty, like everybody else here does," she would whine on my shoulder months later, after he dumped her. "He made me feel young." "Because he's so young himself," I remember replying. And she nodded through her tears. I felt only friendship for Becky at first, though I couldn't avoid noticing her beautiful body and nice smile, and that lush dark hair. Add her outgoing personality against my own shyness -- there's a reason why Mark was always the one with a girlfriend -- and we made fast friends, just as tight as Mark and I had always been. Dinner together at least twice a week, studybreaks together, it was all perfectly innocent and proper for a guy and his best friend's girl. But then came the morning during finals week in December when she joined me for breakfast. I remember her asking if I minded her joining me, and I nodded. "You do mind?" she asked, pulling her tray away. For some reason, the vulnerability that gesture betrayed had stuck with me across all that had happened since then. As my mouth was full, I shook my head and waved a welcome to her, and she sat down. The details of the conversation are lost to history, as I had no idea what was about to happen to our friendship, or to my innocence. There was some small talk about the final exams that awaited us that morning -- anthro for her, bio for me -- and how we'd been holding up through the ungodly hours of studying all week. What I do remember is the invitation. "After the exam, come by my room this afternoon," she told me. "Mark brought by something I'd like to show you." "Okay," I said. "Something to look forward to after the test, then!" After finishing our breakfast, I walked her out of the dining hall, and then it was off to the exam, about which I also remember nothing. Bio was my token science credit, and I pulled a B in it. Good enough. At the appointed hour that afternoon, I went by Becky's room, still oblivious as to what was about to happen. "Come in!" came the usual cheerful voice from inside, and so I did. "Andy!" Becky was curled up on her bed, set beneath the window on the other side of the little room. She was wearing a beat-up old white polo shirt and checkered pants, classic finals-week attire; but even so she looked adorable. All the more so in her cozy surroundings. "How was the exam?" "Great, thanks," I said, standing uncertainly by the door and admiring the decorations on her wall. I'd never been in her room, close as we'd been the past several weeks. "You?" "I don't know," she said, "But what's done is done." I was about to ask about the thing she'd wanted me to come see, but before I could say another word, she added, "Come sit on the bed! I'm in the mood to talk about anything except anthro." It was a typical Northeastern December outside, cold and gray and wet, like the "before" photo in a cocoa commercial, and Becky's room was warm and well-lit, and as usual her smile could have lit up a stadium. We did nothing inappropriate, if that's what you're thinking, and at that stage I didn't even think of any such thing. But if my body was behaving itself, my heart began to slip within minutes. The conversation varied from Mark (I have no idea where he was that day, by the way) to my recent romantic misadventures -- I had lost my virginity to a psycho bitch from Sarah Lawrence that summer -- to childhood to plans for after college, and all manner of other topics. It went on for three hours or more, and I never even looked at my watch. There was nowhere on earth I'd rather have been but sitting there on her bed and chatting about everything and nothing. Knowing what I didn't know then but do know now about Becky, I now see some hints that maybe she was trying to tease me or bait me. As I recounted my lousy experience with the gal from Sarah Lawrence, Becky was just a bit too deferential to what a wonderful guy I was and how I deserved someone better. "Honestly, Andy, sometimes I wish Mark were a bit more mature like you are." While the topic was on sex, she shyly added that "I'm reconsidering the whole thing about waiting until you're married -- why bother?" Then there was the Georgia O'Keefe poster on her wall, of which she noted, "All her paintings have a certain sensuousness, don't they?" "They do," I agreed. "My roommate has one on our wall that's even racier than that one, though." "The one that looks like a vagina?" she asked perfectly frankly. And I could only nod, savoring her shameless use of the V-word while she sat there inches from me on her bed. My kind of lady, all right. By the end of the afternoon, I felt like I had made a new best friend. Amidst token mention of Mark, whom she planned to spend that evening with alone before we all went home for the holidays, she saw me off at the door with a warm smile and a welcome to come back anytime I felt like talking. I longed to hug her goodbye, but had just enough self-control left to know I shouldn't. Back out in the cold on my way back to my dorm, I felt toasty warm with the memory of it all. Knowing as sure as the spring follows the winter that Mark would have dumped her by then, the first thoughts of "I'm next in line" were already bubbling up in my smitten heart. There was, of course, no way I could have known that beautiful afternoon would be the zenith of our friendship and it would only be downhill from there. Certainly I had no way of knowing the emotional intimacy we had enjoyed had been of far less significance to Becky. I have since come to believe women never appreciate just how precious that sort of emotional intimacy is to us guys. It comes natural to them, I guess, but not to us, or at least not to me. To her, as far as I know, it was just another afternoon with just another friend. To me, it was a revelation -- perhaps a fake one, but a revelation nonetheless. In any case, I would be blissfully unaware of the unpleasantness dead ahead for some time yet. When I got home that weekend, it was straight off to the Hallmark shop to buy Becky a Christmas card. For good measure, I got one for Mark as well -- that would dispel any suspicions of inappropriate feelings on my part, I was sure. And with the blessed privacy that came with having my own room back home, Becky came into the daydreams of my evening. Heretofore strictly off-limits because she was my best friend's girl, she now pranced around my imagination in her underwear or nothing at all and stroked me oh-so-gently while I lay on my rickety old bed and jacked off to my heart's content. By the end of winter break, I had concocted a vivid view of her body from every angle, everything from the way that lush hair grazed her creamy bare back (which somehow never had a pimple or a mark from a bra strap anywhere to be seen) to the way her thighs framed her golden-brown pubic hair just so when she curled up enticingly beside me on the bed, to exactly how far her breasts hung when she sat up beside me in the morning and how stiff her nipples got when I admired them and played with them. In reality I had never seen her less than fully clothed from head to toe, but by January I could have been forgiven if I'd forgotten that. Both Becky and Mark were very appreciative of the cards when we got back in January, and from then on the three of us were inseparable. For about a month. To my thrill and delight, Becky even referred to me alongside Mark sometimes. "It's a shame I don't have more time to spend with you and Mark this week," she said one day at lunch, and afterward I repeated the line all the way back to my room, where I imagined myself undressing her. Maybe trouble was already underfoot before that month was up. More than likely it was, but I was still too blinded by lust and infatuation to notice. Or maybe it was just that Becky was even more manipulative than I would come to realize she was. In any case, the memory of that wonderful afternoon in her room was still quite fresh in my mind well into the semester. And it would remain that way even -- perhaps especially -- after the inevitable when he dumped her in April. All through that semester and the following one, bringing us up to a full year after that lovely afternoon in her room, the hope for another quiet, intimate afternoon alone with Becky cursed me with the patience of a saint when she warranted no patience at all. Why did she warrant no patience at all? Because from the day Mark tossed her aside, Becky paid it forward to me. I wasn't willing to see it then, so I put up with months of phone calls and e-mails that were never returned. There were also plans that were canceled at the last minute, always with a pathetic excuse ("I needed a friend to talk to, guys wouldn't understand") or no excuse at all, and nary an offer to reschedule. She did indulge in hours of her crying on my shoulder about Mark, a favor that was never to be reciprocated when I needed a friend to lean on -- although to be completely fair, any angst I suffered in those months was about her anyway. But I looked the other way on all that and more. Through the times she lost her patience with my persistence and mistreated me on purpose so I would get lost and leave her alone with someone else (she tended to come clean about that after the fact, as if she were proud of it), and times she used me openly to get her closer to other guys she liked, I let myself believe it would all change once she realized just how much I cared. She never did, but hope sprang eternal. I thought I'd hit paydirt on the lovely day when she finally showed some willingness to communicate with me about the growing problems in our friendship, but it turned out she had done so only because she'd heard I had tickets to a concert she wanted to see. I, of course, was delighted to have her join us for the concert. No matter how many times I got a cold shoulder from her, the ever-slender hope for another day like the one back in December kept me following her around like a goddamn puppy. And I knew it. And so did she. Now, it's just a fact of life that sometimes you really need to have your heart destroyed before you see that special someone for who and what she really is. Thanks to Becky, I'll never forget the night I learned that lesson. It was at a dance. Perhaps that's why I had the visceral reaction when Mark told me she would be at the Halloween party. I really don't know. What I do know is that at the end-of-semester dance senior year -- exactly a year after our one precious day together -- Becky drove a stake right through the heart of my youthful idealism about love, and it was gone forever. Early in the evening I'd heard she was looking for me, and heaven knew I was looking for her. My feelings for her were mostly gone by then, for obvious reasons; but some semblance of friendship still survived right up to that night. I had one final wish, and one wish only. We were never to be a couple and I knew it, those fantasies I'd cooked up back in my room were never to come to fruition; but just once, I wanted to dance with Becky. One nice memory before we went our separate ways, it seemed only fair after all we'd been through. But the room was awfully crowded, and she was nowhere to be found. At long last, though, I finally stumbled upon her just in time for the last song of the night. She was dressed in a lovely black and white frock with a full skirt, and I could already envision it swaying playfully around my legs as we danced together, just old friends but just the two of us! Thrilled, I stepped up and tapped her on the shoulder. Her response: "Oh, hi, Andy," and then she immediately turned around and asked another guy to dance. I never spoke to her again. Mutual friends told me she had no idea why I had turned on her. Apparently she also concluded that I was gay. Which did not offend me, but it did hurt me, because it made me realize that she'd never even really known me at all. That wonderful bond we'd created that day in her room had been even more one-sided than I had thought, I suppose. Oh, and the thing she'd wanted to show me that day in her room? After our long, intimate and wonderfully comforting conversation, she had finally shown it to me just before I left. It was a picture of a penis that Mark had cut out of a porno magazine. She found it wonderfully entertaining. I never knew why. I never did tell Mark about the dance incident. He no longer gave a damn about Becky by then, so why bother explaining anything? He did notice that she and I were no longer friends by then, but he'd been decent enough to never ask why. If he had known, I figured, he'd have had the decency not to suggest Becky and I meet up again at a dance of all things! I hoped, anyway. I stuck to my plan not to go to the party, though I'd have enjoyed seeing how many people Mark could fool with that clown costume of his. The deadline for buying tickets came and went, and I made plans to stay home with a bowl of chocolate and a sixpack of beer and watch The Nightmare Before Christmas. I got as far as buying the beer on the afternoon before the party when Mark called. "Listen, dude, can you buy my ticket to the party off me? Randi surprised me with tickets to Aruba for the weekend." Old Times' Sake "Aruba! Congrats," I said. "But I told you I don't want to see Becky again, and I don't have a costume anyway." "You can borrow mine! Somebody's got to wear this crazy costume, dude. Maybe you can even fool Becky! She doesn't need to know it's you." Well, I've said Mark was immature, and he was. You'll note, of course, that I'm his best friend. I guess that doesn't reflect very well on me. Neither did what went roaring through my mind when he said that, and I'm not proud of what came next. Not at all. But in the heat of that moment, I never imagined it would work. Nor, for that matter, did I imagine I'd want anything to do with Becky -- or her with Mark -- if I saw her again. In any case, the next thing I knew, there I was at Mark's door with cash in my hand and evil thoughts in my mind. "Glad you agreed to this, dude," he said. "This costume is not to be wasted!" He had a point. It was a bright green outfit, sort of a tunic and tights, with polkadots of every garish color you could name splashed everywhere and a ruffly cape that would demand attention everywhere the wearer went. The mask was best of all: skin tight, not fake looking like the usual plastic ones, but studded with bubbles to make it look like your face was melting. I couldn't help noticing it would preserve the mystery of who was behind it quite well. "Yeah, you're right," I admitted. "It'd be a shame to let this go to waste." Back at home, I ate a quiet early dinner and told myself I wasn't really going to go through with it, if I even had the chance to, which I was sure I wouldn't. Naturally I let myself believe what I wanted to believe. I was always so very good at that with Becky. Of course I felt ridiculous putting on the costume, until I remembered this was Halloween in the city -- all sorts of freaks would be out and about -- and with such a great costume, no one would know who it was. And at least one person would think it was Mark. The walk to the club was a fun one, actually. Remembering Mark's suggestion about communicating with the jingle bells, I shook them in greeting whenever someone pointed and laughed. The kids loved it, and the parents smiled agreeably for the most part. Of course, once I arrived at the club, I was hardly out of the ordinary. Aliens and vampires and a Statue of Liberty or two were grooving to the music already and enjoying the free flow of beer when I stepped into the dancefloor. "Hey, chuckles!" called out a woman I vaguely recalled from the class after mine, who was dressed as Wonder Woman. "You from my class?!" I shook my bells twice, for no. Of course, she didn't know what two shakes meant. "You are, aren't you?! Jeremy, is that you?" I shook the bells twice again. "Love it, Jer!" called someone else. "I get it, he's communicating with the bells!" Wonder Woman finally exclaimed. "Two shakes for yes?" I shook my head. "Two shakes for no?" I shook the bells once. "One for yes?" I shook them once again. "I get it! I think! Great costume, whoever you are!" And she was off to find another drink. Wonderfully devoid of my usual shyness, since no one knew who I was, I dove into the dancing and spent the next hour or so tearing up the floor. I danced with half a dozen or so women, some I knew, some I didn't, but none of them knew me right then! I'd nearly forgotten the whole thing when she finally came onto my radar. I saw her only out of the corner of my eye at first, dressed in a lacy cowgirl outfit, and I did my best to steer my attention elsewhere. But of course I couldn't very well undo my awareness that Becky was in the room. She wasn't about to let me off that easy either. "Mark!" she called out in drunken glee from behind me. Oh Jesus Christ, it was working. I turned around and shook the bells for a welcome. She was grinning broadly, the way she hadn't done for me -- for Andy -- since back when she and Mark were still together. Her costume was adorable, with her chestnut curls bursting out every which way from under her hat and her full breasts taut against the blue denim shirt, and every ounce of my resolve melted then and there. "So good to see you again!" she called out over the music, and before I could think to stop her she was hugging me. Surely she would somehow be able to feel that I wasn't Mark, I told myself. But evidently she wasn't. "I'm glad you came," she said. "I'd really like if we could all be friends again." I shook the bells twice -- hey, I thought it was funny. "You and me and Andy. Is he here tonight? I'd really like to patch things up with him." I shook the bells twice again. She got that same exasperated-yet-endearing look she always gave Mark when he was acting childish. "So you're only talking with the bells tonight, are you?" One shake. "Cute, Mark, real cute. But that's why I fell for you. Listen, I still feel like you treated me rotten, but I'd like to put all that behind us if we could. We used to get along so well when Andy was around at least. He's such a little boy, but I adore him like a sidekick, you know? I know he's in the city. Don't you see him a lot?" One shake. Every time I look in the mirror, dear. "Okay, I feel a bit silly pouring my heart out to you like this when you're not even going to say anything in return. Are you at least going to listen and think about what I said?" One shake. "Great. I guess that's fair for a party anyway. No time to be getting all serious. It's just, Mark, now that it's been a while and my wounds are healed, it's nice to recall the good times, you know? It doesn't have to be gone forever. And that goes for Andy too. I was really hoping he'd be here tonight." One shake. "You too? I'll bet. You guys are inseparable from what I've heard. So has he ever come out?" Two shakes. "He has? About time. I don't know why he couldn't just tell me he was gay, it might have saved our friendship. I mean, he told me he was fine with being just friends, but anybody could see he wasn't acting like it. Then he had to go and cut me off cold, I guess because he was so conflicted about women or something. Did he ever tell you why he dropped me as a friend?" Two shakes. I hadn't ever told Mark about the dance incident. "It was like, one day he was faithful as a sheepdog, the next he didn't even have the time of day for me. I was like, geez, Andy, wasn't I always there when you needed me? I cared about him! He couldn't take a hint to save his life, but I cared about him all the same." I was too flabbergasted to bother with the bells, and I had no idea what to say anyway. I had always wondered if she simply hadn't given me a second thought that night at the dance. I guess I was right. "Anyway, enough about that, Mark," she said, and the grin was back. "Want another beer?" One shake. "Great, and then how about a dance for old times' sake?" She handed me a paper cup with the latest round of cheap beer, and I held it in one hand and the bells in the other and followed her off to a less-crowded corner of the room. Quickly she guzzled her beer down and tossed the cup aside, and I got to enjoy one sight I had envisioned so vividly a few years before: Becky dancing just for me. The tassels on her costume flailed every which way, her long blue skirt swayed enticingly all over the place, and every now and then I caught a glimpse of her bra through her button-down shirt. Her face showed only wild abandon and a sense of welcome for an old friend. Other friends came and went -- most of them now guessing I was Mark as well, if they expressed an opinion at all -- and our group got bigger and smaller depending on the popularity of each song. After enough time had passed that I almost felt comfortable in my masquerade and pleased with myself for dancing with the enemy, a wrinkle arose that I hadn't anticipated: a slow song. This wasn't junior high, after all -- who slow-dances anymore? The answer presented itself all too quickly: before I could think of a Plan B, Becky had her arms around me and was swaying to whatever silly love song they were playing. With no choice, I relented and relaxed. Just what was I feeling then? I couldn't have told you then, much less now. All I had lived for just a couple of years before, all that had been cruelly withheld just because I wasn't any good at flirting or something like that, here it was all of a sudden. And I no longer wanted it, at all, except maybe I did. There I was in the arms of someone I had once loved, then hated, and she didn't even know it was me! I can't deny, she did feel lovely in my arms, just as I had always imagined she would. Her robust breasts felt divine up against me just like I had always imagined they would, and I could nearly sense the joy of the brief reunion in her embrace, even if that joy was meant for someone else. I let myself enjoy it all in spite of myself, until she had to open her mouth. "You're better at this than you used to be, Mark. No offense, but you used to be so awkward. Now you know just how to hold a woman." Love is blind. Or worse. "No offense, but Andy used to be better at this than you. I'm pretty sure we danced together at least once, and all I could think was, here we go again. I'll never love Andy, too big a whiner and more like a brother than anything, but why can't Mark be good at all the things he is?" No, there was no long-ago dance we had shared that I had forgotten. I couldn't have forgotten such a thing if you paid me! I could only guess at what other bizarre memories she might have created for herself, or why. But she was right about one thing: I could have danced with her better than Mark did on the rare occasions she could get him out on the floor at all. I took no offense at her calling me a whiner, as I was long past being capable of any hurt at her hands. Nothing could have touched the feeling of watching her dancing with that other guy while I ate my heart out on the sidelines that night. "Anyway, it's nice to see you've learned something since then, Mark. This Randi gal is lucky." Pulling back now, she poked me in the chest. "I hope she appreciates the work your old girlfriends did on you!" I couldn't resist. The beer cup being long gone, I poked her back, right between the breasts. Despite my lust and love having long since given in to hate, touching her there felt great, soft and supple as my finger disappeared into the fabric and then into her robust chest. "Uh!" she grunted. "I see you haven't grown up completely!" A fast song kicked in just in time, and I began dancing playfully around her now, enjoying the view but not trying to touch her again. "Mark!" she called. I shook the bells at her, randomly now, as I was tipsy and she hadn't figured out the one for yes, two for no anyway. "Mark!" She grabbed my hand in both of hers and silenced the bells. I don't know why I heeded her touch and stopped dancing, but I did. Looking her in the eye now, I recognized the unmistakable tilted head and crooked smile she always used when she was about to demand her way on something. "Mark, let me offer you something." She beckoned me toward her so she could whisper in my ear, and I leaned in. "Let's do it, Mark, just once for old times' sake. In there." I shook the bells randomly. I didn't know what else to do. "In there," she repeated, pointing at a door marked 'Employees Only'. "It's the supply closet. If they don't see us go in, nobody needs to know. Come on!" She took my free hand and, after a quick look to see no one was paying attention, yanked open the door and pulled me in after her. Among the million different thoughts going through my head just then, I was vaguely aware that she knew exactly where the light switch was -- had she done this before?! As if she had read my mind (or Mark's mind?), Becky gave me that same smarmy grin again and explained, "Yes, I've been in here before. Don't act all surprised, Mark, remember you were my first but I wasn't yours." I already knew that, though I had never much cared. Becky wasn't done, in any case. "You know, Mark, I felt used when you broke it off, like you'd only ever been using me for sex, but you know what? You also taught me to really love sex. You know what an addictive personality I am, Mark." As she explained all this, she pulled me up close against her, with a stack of cardboard boxes at her back, and played with my chest with both her hands. "All I'm saying is, don't be so surprised I've done this before." I nearly pointed out that I hadn't said I was surprised, but I stopped myself just in time and just jingled my bells instead. "So," she said, stepping back and unbuttoning her blouse. "Do you miss this?" One shake! "So do I," she said, pulling her blouse off now and standing proudly in her bra before me. She looked just as lovely in that state of undress as I had always imagined alone in my room. She took my hands in hers and then placed them on her breasts, and they felt just as wonderful as they looked. Recalling how I'd hated her for a time, I didn't want to like the sensation, but I did. "I'll be frank, Mark, you weren't the best I've had. But since you were the first, I still have a lot of fond memories. I learned a lot from youuuuuuuuuu..." Her voice trailed away at last as my hands did the magic I had always imagined them doing to her. Mind you, I wouldn't have minded hearing more details of how Mark hadn't been any good in bed. But what came next was even better. "Ohhhh, Mark, you've gotten a lot better at that! Wow, wish you'd had a magic touch like that before!" Her nipples were hard now and she was wriggling happily at my touch. "God, Mark, wow!" She reached back and unhooked her bra, and tore it away as quickly as she could. "Kiss'em, Mark, please...I'll bet you're better at that too!" I did as I was told. Her breasts weren't quite as round or supple as I had always imagined and her nipples were quite a bit smaller. But I had no complaints, and of course neither did she. As I took my turn kissing each one and caressing the other with a free hand, she lost herself in pleasure, and her moans were just as delightful as I had always imagined. I got that much right, at least. I was grateful for the loud music just beyond the door, as she was louder than I had dared imagine. As I enjoyed her responsiveness, I realized I was glad I'd never guessed how loud she could be; that would have made my jealousy all the worse back then. "Got it, Mark! A small one!" she yelped between short breaths. "Stop. Wait a minute." She hoisted herself up onto the stack of boxes behind us and pulled her skirt most of the way up. "Got a condom?" Two shakes. Maybe that was my own safety valve -- I had thought about bringing one. "Hope you've learned more about using your fingers, then," Becky said, reaching up under her skirt to pull her panties down. I had only the most limited view of her womanhood from my angle standing before her, but I was more interested in touching than looking right then. Given her state of agitation, I figured Becky was of the same mind. And so there I found myself, in bizarre disguise, with two of my fingers in my worst enemy's vagina. And it felt beautiful, in spite of what I wanted to think of her. Evidently she thought it felt beautiful too, for she was soon arching her back and wiggling her hips as best she could from her perch on the boxes. "Oh, Mark...do it, baby, yes! God, you're a lot better at this too! So much gentler than before...thank you...Oh!!!!" She was rubbing my arm to encourage me, and I could feel her rubbing growing harder as she got closer. I was sad -- ashamed of my deception, and lonely because I still couldn't share the moment with her like I'd always imagined doing -- but I couldn't deny Becky looked and sounded beautiful when she was lost in the throes of orgasm. She rocked hard and clutched my arm at the big moment, and let out something approaching a scream, only the music outside easily drowned her out. When she stopped shuddering, she held my arm in place and said, "Just leave your fingers in for a minute. Old times' sake." Then she gazed into my eyes, and for a moment I was terrified that she'd recognized me. Evidently not, though, because after a few seconds she added, "Thank you, Mark. Beautiful. You've learned a lot since then." She slid off the boxes and stood up, and reached for her bra to put back on. "Now you," she said. "Fair's fair, and I miss blowing you, believe it or not." She reached for a zipper on my pants; luckily there wasn't one, although she did get a grip on my hard cock. "Looks like you're ready for it anyway!" she added. Two shakes. My fingers might have fooled her but my dick never would. I couldn't imagine Mark and I were that much alike. One look and she wouldn't know it was me, but she would know it wasn't Mark, which meant she probably would guess it was me. "Oh, Mark, don't expect me to believe you've become that generous!" Becky teased. "I know you!" She reached between my legs again and tried to pull my tights down. Another two shakes, and I backed off. I was beginning to panic now. "Mark, come on! Just a quick one!" Now she looked annoyed. "Are you afraid, is that it?" She was still in her bra, and I backed off towards the door and put my hand on the knob. "You wouldn't do that!" she snapped. "Christ, what is it with you all of a sudden? You're so much better at giving now, why don't you want to get a little? Why should you have all the fun anyway?" Why should I have all the fun? Hadn't she had at least two orgasms on my watch? I kept my hand threateningly on the doorknob while she stood half-dressed before me. "Okay, I get it, you always were a tease," she said. "Cute, but I am going to have my turn with you, Mark. You didn't think I was going to bring you in here only for half a fuck, did you? One shake. "Go ahead and keep your hand there if you want." She gathered up her skirt and knelt before me on the floor. "You know that kind of crap is what I always loved about you anyway, so boyish and wonderfully unpredictable," she explained as she tugged at my tights again. "If I wanted a gentleman, I'd have gone with Andy instead. That little boy worshipped the ground I walked on, and I could have had him any old time I wanted, and he never would have left me like you did either. Hell, we could have been married by now. But he'd have bored me to death." Just as she found the waistband of my tights and hooked her finger in, I jerked back and flung the door open.