0 comments/ 14222 views/ 1 favorites Slow Dancer By: simply_dp Who is this persistent bastard dancing with her? He seems to be getting more and more bold, feeling the rhythm of the music. How will he fare? Will he make it through the song? He fears that at the music's conclusion he will just retire back to nurse his beer wishing instead that he could come up behind her and wrap his arms tightly around her startling her with his boldness. As the music winds down, he imagines how she would turn to find his deep kiss waiting to mingle with hers. He desperately wants to just caress the silky texture of her skin and trace her outline against his palms. His heart races as he imagines his hands cupping her breasts and tweaking her nipples. He is transfixed by their shape and texture pressed against his chest as the final notes resonate in the room. And before he releases her and retires to his half empty long neck, he tries to imagine her reaction when she felt his growing hardness against her sex during the dance. Did she feel its erotic heat? Did it make her wet with excitement? As he separates from her and his hand slips down the small of her back he imagines how much he would like for his fingers to continue their journey under her panties; to be able to hold her close to him as she turns back into him with her arms tightly around his neck and her mouth locked over his in a deep, deep lingering kiss. Then he is broken from his reverie as the bartender calls out, "Last call!" Taking Charge When she sat back down after the dance, she was a little disappointed that he hadn't made any attempt to engage her at all. She had to admit that she was interested, but at the music's conclusion, he just smiled politely and wandered back to his table. Either she was losing her touch, or he was really shy. She still felt pretty confident. In fact, she was quite sure that she still had enough going for her for those times she chose not to spend an evening alone, and the way her dress revealed just enough to catch his appreciative eye tonight, she was sure he wasn't gay. So she settled on really shy, unless there was some dark secret that made him nervous about where his stroll across the dance floor might lead. It wasn't like her to come on so strongly to a new unknown. Yet as soon as he entered the bar, he caught her attention with his natural dark looks, and although the gray was beginning to lay its claim, he still retained a mature youthfulness. Sitting there with her unknowing friends, she spent most the evening trying to make eye contact and get his attention. She would give an acknowledging smile when he looked over to more blatantly letting her skirt ride up her thigh, but he never seemed to notice her. She had just about given up and started to look around for new prey when he startled her by coming over and finally asking her to dance. Initially, it was such a relief that she had decided to wait. It felt so natural in his arms. His breath against the side of her head was the perfect mixture of Dentine and whatever beer he was sharing the evening with. She especially liked the way her body molded to his, and the way his cock felt pushed up against her sex. Was she too obvious grinding up against it when she felt it stirring against her? She felt really nasty, but fuck it. She was feeling really horny tonight. However, the bartender just made his last call as he left her on the floor and headed back to his table. Unless she took the initiative, the only company she would share tonight was with her 10" toy with the two fresh batteries, and tonight she felt like having more intimacy. Tonight she wanted to feel the strength of two arms drawing her close to him as his lips searched hungrily for hers; she wanted to feel a full, hard cock pushing to enter between her open and welcoming thighs, filling her with a heat and satisfaction that her toy couldn't. Without further thought, and to the surprise of her friends as they were preparing to leave, she motioned to the bartender for another cool one and another refill for whatever the mysterious dancer was drinking. Then she just told her friends to go on, that she planned to stay a bit longer tonight. They chuckled unbelievably as they followed her gaze over to the where he was sitting, but then again, nothing was unbelievable with her of late. One friend just squeezed her shoulder as she left and reminded her to be safe. ************* He was about to leave when the fresh beer was delivered. He started to protest until the bartender motioned to her several tables over. Stunned! Simply stunned! Who was this attractive woman that had shared a dance and now wanted to share a beer? Taking the cold bottle by its long neck, he started the journey over to her, noticing her friends were leaving as he approached. He knew what this could mean and was torn by both the possibilities and consequences. Was he ready for this? Was she? Shit! Just go talk to her. Easy to say when he knew what he'd really like was to have sex with her. Him As he headed to her table, there were so many conflicting emotions crashing about his head, not the least of which was that he was married. Sure the romance and passion between he and his wife had long since vanished, but their relationship was, for the most part, platonic and respectful. Actually, they had been celibate for more years than either could recall or would be willing to admit. Their interests just seemed to go in two completely different and incompatible directions, and eroticism and being sexy evaporated over time. But the fact remained that he was married, and he wasn't about to be dishonest with anyone who showed interest in more than a simple drink and conversation. He wouldn't keep that information from her and decided to be forthright with her. Lately he found that he was so preoccupied with thoughts of passionate and uninhibited sex that he felt more like a sex crazed teenager than the successful professional he had become. There were many fantasies of indiscretion over the years, and even some very tempting offers. It's just that the timing never seemed appropriate or that it was always too risky, but even during this sexual drought, his craving for romance, sex, and passion had never diminished. In fact, it was probably more pronounced now. To date he had not swayed from his wedding vows, well at least physically. Besides, the guilt-meter would always soar into the red zone whenever there were opportunities. Mostly the guilt was with regard for his daughter who meant so much to him. He never wanted to do anything that would jeopardize all the trust they had built together. However, she was out of college and married now, and more than ever, he felt the emptiness and craving flooding back over him. Work projects frequently took him to where evenings were spent in lonely motels. So on this warm and muggy summer evening, it was just another night on the road when he decided to stop in for a beer and listen to the music. It was a place he had heard his younger employees discuss together - nice atmosphere, good music (actually mature rock), low-key dancing, and plenty of variety at the bar - plus they said the food was pretty good as well. It all sounded nice, and since he was in the neighborhood, he thought he'd check it out. He really didn't plan for anything to happen. Those fantasies were a thing of the past. Although he still held out hope, he had long since given up on such a serendipitous occurrence. He didn't even plan to dance. He would just nurse a beer and enjoy the music. He found the place easily enough, and it was actually quite nice. The lighting wasn't too bright or flashy, nor was it too dark. He glanced around, and after finding a table and letting the music and beer wash over him, he was suddenly struck by the sexy, mature looking woman several tables away. She also seemed to be enjoying the music sitting there with some friends. He told himself that he really must be feeling horny tonight because it almost appeared as if she were flirting a bit with him. It was embarrassing, and he shook his head and smiled at his imagination. He must be reading far too many erotic fuck stories these days. He couldn't imagine this woman coming on to him. She appeared far too classy. However, as much as he tried to ignore the impulse to look, he was transfixed with her and just found himself stealing little glances of her - especially when her dress would run a bit up her shapely thigh. In fact, he was totally consumed with her image there across the room. It was getting to the point where he found that he just couldn't shake the urge to go ask her to dance. When he realized he was no longer paying any attention to the music he had come to hear, he knew he would have to sate his curiosity. He also knew that it was getting late and that he'd either have to shit or get off the pot. It seemed like such a long walk over to her table. It was probably because he had hesitated on his journey so many times. Yet, even though she seemed surprised when he had asked her to dance, there appeared to be a twinkle in her eye as she readily emerged from her chair and accepted. It was so natural the way she took him by the hand and led him out on the floor. Just this little gesture caused him to feel a little excitement stir down in his pants. He angrily shook it off and decided to follow her lead. She had this sexy little black dress that was cut in a way that gave a wonderful view of her cleavage and black bra. He could only imagine how her breasts would feel cupped in his palms (stirring in his pants again). He had already admired how the dress really showed off her lovely thigh when she turned, as she did earlier, a certain way in her chair. Her look was a simple elegance to him. As they reached the dance floor, he realized he had been so consumed with the act of asking her to dance that he didn't even know what music was playing. Thankfully, it was an old Jackson Brown song that was sort of slow, but there were also some couples dancing apart to the more rhythmic beat underneath. He assumed they would dance apart but would leave the choice to her. He was very pleasantly surprised when she turned into him and wrapped her arms around him. It felt wonderful to be in a woman's embrace again that was more than a polite greeting. He inhaled the fragrance of her perfume and hair and was dizzy with its intoxicating allure. Now he really felt his cock begin to stir, and it almost felt as if she were encouraging him. He was embarrassed, but it sure felt nice. He knew he must be reading too much into this and that she was probably disgusted with his blatant horniness so close to the surface and up against her. He even felt himself blushing a bit and stirring even more as he let a little fantasy unfold in his mind as he let the slow dance embrace consume him. Lost in his thoughts at music's end, his palm just naturally slid from that wonderful area in the small of her back and settled to where he could feel the elastic of her panties and to where he imagined his finger tips sliding beneath to explore the wetness of her sex. He was getting so obviously hard that he realize he should just thank her and duck away and get the hell out of here before he became the laughing stock of her and her friends. Besides, the bartender's last call reminded him that it was getting late, and he had a big presentation tomorrow. Yet as things turned out, he was now crossing the room to meet her with a beer in his hand that she had just bought for him. It was all too much to comprehend, and he was sure after she found out his marital status, they would each finish their beers and head their separate directions. ******************** Here he came across the room. She congratulated herself on her quick thinking. She was very excited about the possibilities and could feel the moist excitement in her panties as she thought of all the possibilities. However, now that rubber was about to hit the proverbial road, she knew that there was more to share with him than just the cold beer and perhaps (wishful thinking) some hot and passionate lovemaking. Her She was about to abandon any thought of him coming over when she spotted him beginning to venture over in their direction. She couldn't help but notice that he seemed a little tentative as he journeyed over. In fact, he looked like she did six months ago when her friends took her here for the very first time. God she was scared that night. She was scared but also curious and aroused. She convinced herself that she would have a drink or two and enjoy the company of her friends. Then someone asked her to dance for the first time, and it was a slow dance. Her friends urged her out, and emboldened by her drinks, she accepted. It felt very nice in his arms. It had been so long since a man held her like that -- like she was special. Still, it was all so overwhelming -- so long and the whole dilemma of what about after the dance and after the small talk. What could actually happen tonight if she let it? What did she want to happen tonight? Could she even be with another man any longer? Did she want to go be with another man tonight? She wasn't sure if the nervous sweat or the wetness between her legs was more embarrassing right now, so she simply wrapped herself more tightly into this strangers embrace and whispered to him how nice this felt. Although nothing extraordinary, it just felt so great to have a man's cock inside her again, but after that first night with her lucky dancer (and much to his disappointment), she knew there were no seconds for him. More than that (and the real stroke of luck for this unwitting partner), she realized that she was a still great lay and could really please her partner, but from now on, she was going be more selective. She was not going to ever be that easy again. She knew she wanted more................well, at least until this evening when her path crossed that of this new and mysterious slow dancer. But would she come clean with him? Even now, she hated that part of flirting game -- the part where she knew she should fess up. But how could someone who hadn't experienced her loneliness know what it was like to live without passion; without romance; without intimacy; without getting laid? How could anyone have prevailed as long as she had? Yeah, there was the investment of all that time, but before any more elapsed, it was going to be her time. She was going to rediscover passion before age completely caught up with her and she lost her allure. That was just six months ago. That was when she decided to move out on her own. With no idea of where to begin, she just did it (so unlike her). She just left a long and unsatisfying marriage and all that "security" that goes with it. ************************ "Thanks for the beer. I didn't think my dancing would rate any prizes." (Mmmmm, nice voice.) "It wasn't your dancing." Sometimes she surprised even herself with what would pop out of her mouth, and she saw him blush realizing they were both thinking of the hard on she'd given him. "It was for record time getting off the dance floor," she smiled, recovering slightly. She listened as he started to stammer some excuse and considered letting him sweat a bit. In the end, she smiled and brushed aside his nervousness by simply cutting him off with a motion to sit and join her. Where? "So who are you mystery man?" "Just a lonely guy looking for a place to have a beer and listen to some music." "Anything else?" "I got my beer, thank you. I think I may have also found a bit more than I was anticipating." "I'm hoping that I may be getting more than I'm anticipating as well." (leaving him really blushing now) "Well there's no more dancing tonight. Our options here are limited once we finish these drinks," he offered. "Any suggestions?" "Yes. I don't live far from here, and if you don't think I'm sounding too forward, we could go have a drink at my place. Who knows what we might learn about one another." (Tentative nervousness) "Look......ummmmm................Hey, I don't even know your name." "Eve." "Hi, Eve. I'm Craig, and I have to say that there's nothing more I'd love than to go back to your place and have a drink. I find you very attractive and fascinating. I would love to get to know you better. I just have to tell you though before we go too far with this that I'm married." (Surprised but still intrigued by this guy) "And how far is 'too far?' Are you're asking if that's a problem for me? Will coming over to my place be a problem for you?" "Yes. I don't want you to feel that I've not been up front with you. As I said, I'm just a lonely guy looking for a place to have a beer." "And now that you have your beer?" "I'm still lonely." (Impressed with his honesty) "Tell you what, Craig. Let's go have that drink, and maybe I'll share a few dark secrets with you as well. Anyway, as John Lennon said to Cynthia after they first met when she questioned his intentions, 'I just asked if you for a date. I didn't ask you to marry me.' Well, Craig. I just asked you for a drink. I didn't offer to have sex with you" (wicked smile and exit to parking lot). (Sigh, and to himself after downing his beer and following her out the door) "Great. Let's go have that drink." No Doubts The muggy Northwest night smacked her square in the face as she walked outside, and it appeared to be on the verge of rain. Fuck! What was she doing? She scolded herself for doing exactly what she said she would never do again. Admittedly, the pickings had been really thin. Yes, she was feeling really horny, but still, she had been so careful after that first time -- even exchanging business cards to leave for someone to find in case there was any foul play. She had gotten very selective. There was only one other since that first night, and that too was short-lived. She was really pissed at herself for leading this guy on. Sure, there was something attractive and mysterious about him, but that didn't mean she had to take him to her place. Shit! Worse still, he's married! I'm still married! He may be some kind of serial killer. God! How did she always let herself get into these positions? Perhaps he'll just hang back at the bar and decide not to follow. No. Here he comes up behind. Shit! OK. One drink, and he's out -- at least for tonight. "Eve. Hold up a minute." God, she liked his voice. No! Be resolute! "Look, this is moving pretty fast, and I'm not very good at this sort of thing. In fact, it is all brand new for me. I'm scared shitless." "Are you saying that you would you rather not come back to my place?" "Yes..........No. There is nothing more I want than to go back with you. I just don't trust myself right now. I could just lose myself in your wonderful smile and probing eyes. I am not sure where this may lead, and I don't know what I have, if anything, to offer in return." "What do you want right now, Craig?" "I would love to kiss you, Eve." It was starting to drizzle, but she completely melted. Who is this slow dancing man so forthright and honest with her? She looked deeply into his intense eyes and smiled. Then reaching up behind his neck, she guided his lips to hers. They were full and soft and met hers with a gentle and searching intimacy. There was no sense of urgency to his kiss as much as tenderness. She opened her mouth slightly to let his tongue find hers, and as they connected, he instinctively drew her closer to him. She wrapped her other arm around his shoulder and let her breasts slide up his firmly against his chest. She ran the fingers of her other hand along his neck and through his hair. She was lost in this tender moment and no longer was second-guessing herself. She wanted this man to make love to her tonight. She wanted to feel his fingers and tongue explore her whole naked body. She wanted him to suck and nibble at her breasts. She would anticipate him tasting her wet sex and sending her over the edge. She wanted to take him between her thighs and feel his cock fully inside her. She wanted to feel him cum with her as she wrapped her legs tightly about him. Slow Dancing One of my earliest memories is of him. I must have been three or four years old at most. I've never been able to explain why I remember this, but I do. I'd fallen into the swimming pool during a slip of our mother's attention, and he dived in to save me. I just need to close my eyes and I can see him, hair billowing around his head, arms reaching out to scoop me up. Of course I remember nothing after this, but it's enough. I wish I could say that was the only time he's needed to save me, but I'd be lying. I've lost count of the number of times he's been there for me. At least time it will just be my pride, not my life. This is what I think to myself, as I pick up the phone to call him. David is only three years older than I am. Technically, three years and ten months, but when I was younger I always threw away those ten months and called it three years only. It made me feel closer to him, and it really amused Mum and Dad when I'd proclaim (each birthday) that now I was only two years younger than my big brother and they needed to start treating me like they treated him. Thankfully, they didn't, because let's face it, I'm an accident waiting to happen. David, however, seems to traipse through life unaffected by the slings and barbs flung his way. It used to incense me how he could turn bad to good; until I realised that's just who he is - people love him. He's everybody's friend. And to be honest, I don't think he's ever had an unjustified unpleasant thought about anyone, ever. More importantly, he's my rock, and he'd never say no to me. This is why he's the first number on my speed dial, and the first person I tell absolutely anything. I dial, and listen to the ringing. He picks up, and I feel slightly guilty when I hear the sleep in his voice. "Sister dear, it's one am. I hope this is important." I laugh. "I love you too, big brother. And yes, it's important." "Everything ok?" he asks. It's one of the reasons I love him so much; he's never too busy to have time to listen to me. "Bit of a crisis brewing here," I answer. "It's a friend's wedding this coming weekend... and my date has ditched me in favour of a ski trip to Cortina." "The cad. I shall challenge him to a gentlemanly bout of fisticuffs." he says. I laugh again. David loves to ham it up for me. "I was hoping my awesome big brother would be able to step in and rescue me from the walk of shame," I wheedle down the phone. "But of course, Em," he responds. "I'd be a terrible brother if I wasn't prepared to jump on a grenade for your honour." "It's hardly jumping on a grenade!" I protest. "It's a classy affair out in the countryside - apparently a proper manor house and everything, and we get to stay over because the bride didn't want anyone to have to drive home after the reception." "It sounds like a pretty large event," he says. "Will anyone I know be there?" "Am I not enough?" I tease. "Well, if you sneak off with some young man I guess I'll just have to flirt with the bride's mother or something," he chuckles. "As if," I return. "So you sure you're ok with this, David? I don't want to twist your arm if you're not keen." "Em, I wouldn't say yes if I didn't want to, so shush. Send me the details and dress code. When is it?" "Ceremony's at noon on Saturday, then it's bubbly and chit-chat till the reception starts in the early evening. Pretty much an all day event." "Ok, I'll swing through to your place on Saturday morning first thing and we can get ready. I'll bring the Jag; we can make an entrance." "Have I told you recently how much I love you?" I say, hoping that he can hear the smile in my voice. "Not for at least a week," he returns, laughing. "Now if it's ok with you, Emily, I've got an early morning. I'll see you Saturday, ok?" "Mwa, mwa" I kiss down the phone, then hang up. Buoyed up by his ready acceptance, I catch myself singing as I tromp around my flat. I feel a bit silly, but the prospect of attending this wedding with my former boyfriend had been worrying me and I'm secretly relieved that he's out of the picture and I will have David as my escort instead. Especially given that we're sleeping there; I hadn't had the energy to tell the bride about the issues between Jason and I. I have the brief, enjoyable fantasy of Jason getting stuck in a snowdrift and being unable to ever get out again. Then I shake my head angrily, refusing to let him intrude on the good news I just got. --- One day, when I was fourteen, I was walking home, when a group of boys from school ambushed me and dragged me into an alley. I got away lightly, they just stripped me and laughed at my small breasts and faded underwear, and kicked my books and clothes into the mud. It could have been much worse. It took me a while to calm down once they had left, and longer still to gather my things. I tried to sneak into the house, but David heard me and, bit by bit, winkled the story out of me. He held me while I sobbed, cleaned me up, got my clothes into the washer, got me into bed, and ran interference for me with Mum and Dad, telling them I'd had a fight with a friend and was too wound up to come down to supper. I guess my explosive nature served as a good cover story, because Mum and Dad never pried further than that. David did, however, and I heard rumours. One of my attackers was found, blindfolded, hanging by his pants from the fence behind the cricket change rooms. Another fell down some stairs. A third somehow managed to break both his arms during a rugby practice. To this day I don't know whether it was David, but I have my suspicions that he and his friends made sure the message got out - nobody touches Emily, nobody looks at Emily, and anyone who messes with Emily is in for a whole world of hurt. I think that's where I first started to fall in love with him. --- The week passes, in the same way it always does. I go to lectures, go to my evening dance classes, swim, read and do all the things I do to fill my life when I'm single, which to be fair is most of the time. I've never been able to settle down with any one man for any length of time; I always find myself comparing them to David. I was nineteen when I first realised this, and since then I've sort of made peace with the fact that David is the standard by which I measure other men. And it's an exacting standard, to be fair. David is tall and slim, with curly brown hair and blue-grey eyes. He's quick to smile, incapable of ever being fully serious, and he teases me to distraction. He played rugby and hockey at school, and gyms and runs cross-country now that he's working. He has very little sense of style, but cleans up very nicely when I get to spend some time dressing him. David is a sports physiotherapist by trade; a damn good one at that. His personality combined with his intellect and uncompromising belief in putting his patients first has made him popular with the local rugby clubs and the private practice that he set up a few years ago has started to really take off. He still makes time to see people who can't afford private rates, and I know that there are lots of people on his practice's books who pay what they can, when they can. In contrast, I'm muddling my way through my fourth year at University, and I'll likely leave with a degree and no real idea of what I'll do next. I write a lot, and draw and paint a bit, and have been published once or twice, but I'm not sure whether I can make a career of any of my scribbling. I guess I'm ignoring the future and trying to enjoy the last bit of my childhood before I have to go out into the world. And so, the prospect of going away with him pleases me in ways I can't even begin to describe. I sit on my bed, and take a last look at the gown I plan to wear to the ceremony. It's been hanging in my cupboard ever since I encountered it in a vintage clothing shop on one of my rambling trips to Camden market. Midnight blue silk and lace, shot through with faint highlights of silver thread, it fits like a glove, and necessitates careful selection of underwear to prevent showing lines. The reception itself is a formal event; the bride and groom love dressing up and so I imagine the entire weekend is going to be like something out of Downton Abbey. Not that I mind, it gives me the opportunity to indulge and pretend I'm Katherine Hepburn or someone. Certainly someone worthy of the racy slit that darts up to mid-thigh on the right hand side of the gown. So I've picked out a feather headpiece and black lace cocktail jacket, and a set of long black evening gloves to accessorise. I may not be on the hunt, but I still love to be noticed. My phone rings, and I scoop it up. I'm a little worried when I see it's David calling, so I answer quickly. "Hi Davey, please tell me you're not cancelling on me." "Hi Em. No, nothing of the sort. I've got everything arranged on this side, but I was just wondering whether I should come through now rather than chancing traffic in the morning." "It's seventy miles, Davey. And it's ten at night. Are you sure you're not too tired?" "Positive. It's been a long day but I'd rather get there this evening and have a decent sleep rather than stressing all night and having to drive before sun-up." "Well, I'd be fibbing if I said I didn't want you to come through," I say. "Just please drive carefully and phone me when you reach us; I'll let you in." "See you in a bit, Em." "Love you!" I say, smiling. He hangs up, and I do a little dance. It's silly, but I always feel like a puppy when I know I'm about to see him. I bustle around, making up a bed for him. Mum and Dad pay for my flat, so it's far nicer than I could afford if I had to work while studying. I asked Dad about this once, and he said that 'varsity was the last time I'd be able to truly be free, and he didn't want me to have to worry about making rent every month. So I work shifts in the library and as a tutor to undergraduate students, and that more than pays for food and my social life. I know I'm lucky, and I do my best to let my parents know how much I appreciate them when I can. The upshot of all this is, there's room for a spare bed for David whenever he comes to visit, which to be fair is as often as he can, but not as often as I'd like. --- I was eighteen when I kissed him, if you can call it that. Davey was home for a weekend, and we were sitting in the lounge together, ostensibly watching a movie, though to be fair David was watching it and I was watching him. He looked tired, and wasn't his usual self. I thought I could make him feel better, so I curled up against him and leaned my head against his shoulder. After a while, he muted the TV. "What's up, Em?" he asked, quietly. "I'm worried about you. Why are you so sad?" I asked him. He was quiet for a while, then he sighed. "You know me well, Em." "I've watched you my entire life. You're transparent to me. What's going on?" I asked. "A friend of mine died this week; he was in a car crash. I miss him." "Oh god. I'm so sorry, Davey." I said, quietly. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "Thanks, Em. It's just hard. He was so young, it was such a stupid thing to do." I went cold. "Did he drive drunk?" I asked. David sighed. "Yes. He did." I looked at him. "Promise me." I said, angrily. "Promise me on your life you'll never do that, Davey." He turned and looked down at me, surpised at the intensity in my voice. "I promise three times, Em." Impulsively, I lunged forwards and kissed him on the mouth. He started back in surprise. "Em!" he said, shocked. "Now you have to keep that promise," I said. "I'll kill you myself if you ever break it." He leaned back and looked at me, then with a small smile he wrapped an arm around me and hugged me, till I squeaked. He never has broken it either, to my knowledge, and we never mentioned it again. --- My phone rings. "I'm turning into your street." "I'm delirious with anticipation," I return. The gate intercom buzzes, and I press the button to open the boom, grinning as I see his old E-type Jaguar in the pixellated display of the camera. I stand there, jiggling from foot to foot impatiently while I wait for him to ring the bell at the complex's downstairs door. I let him in, then scamper over to the flat's front door, which I fling open as I hear his footsteps on the landing. "Hug attack!" I yell, as I grab him, wrapping my arms around his neck and arresting his progress. David laughs and leans back, pulling me up off the floor. He swings around, and my inner child lets out a shrill "Wheeeee!". He stops spinning, lets me down, and, still chuckling, follows me into the flat, where he deposits his overnight bag and a plastic packet containing a bottle of wine and some takeaway green curry. "I come bearing gifts," he says. "My hero." I flutter my eyelashes at him and blow him a kiss, and he laughs again. I can never get enough of his laugh. "Long day?" I ask him, as I break out two wine glasses and open the bottle. "Every day is a long day," he says, as he sits down on one of the barstools by the kitchen counter. "Don't knock it," I say. "No rest for the wicked." "Nor for the pure of heart like moi", he returns, and I snort, but am forced to award him the point. I hand him his glass. "Cheers, Davey. It's great to have you here." "Cheers, Em. It's good to be here." I sip, smiling over the top of my glass at him as he looks around. "Not much has changed," I say. "Some new artwork", he notes. "I doodled a bit", I say, happy that he noticed. "It's good, Em. You should explore it more." "I might have to," I sigh. "My life of idle luxury comes to an end soon and I'll need to join the working class. Alas." He grins. "Well, Em, you know where to find a spare room should you need one." "Really, Davey? You'd do that for me?" He gives me an odd look. "Em, you're my sister. Of course I would." I flush slightly. "You're always so good to me, David." "No more than you deserve." There's a bit of an awkward pause, and I break it by getting up and putting the food into the microwave. "All hail the God of blue sparks," David intones. "Mock not the God, but accept his offerings gladly," I return sternly, and he smirks. "So why are you so busy?" I ask. "You look like you're not sleeping properly." "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." he replies. "It's the problem with having a successful practice, Em. I can't in good faith turn people away, so we're working long hours all the time." "You need to take some time for yourself." I say. "When was the last time you just went out with friends?" "Friends? Ah, yes, I have heard this word used before. I must investigate it." he deadpans, and I flail a spoon at him. "You idiot. When?" "Last month?" he says, slowly. "I'm pretty sure I went out last month." I put my hands on my hips and glare at him. "David Anderson, this is unacceptable. A delightful man like you should be out more frequently than once a year. You'll grow moss." He shrugs, grinning. "Work and gym, gym and work, Em. That's my life right now. I'm hoping to get a locum or two in this year to help out, and maybe a junior partner." Ping, goes the microwave, and I dish up for us. David's obviously pretty hungry because he tucks right in, and I take the opportunity to look at him. He's tired, I can see that. But there's something else, something he's hiding. And I mean to find out what it is. --- On my twentieth birthday, I caught my boyfriend cheating on me. I had suspected nothing, had had a raucous day with friends, and was planning on seeing him in the evening. I was shopping for earrings, when I saw him walking hand in hand with another woman. I'd gone cold, had followed, had watched them kissing, I mean, really kissing, and had fled. David had been in class but had ducked out to field my tear and rage-filled call, had listened, had known precisely what to say and precisely when to just let me rant. I'd deleted my ex's number after that call, and the dinner I'd planned for that evening with him had become an alcohol-fueled wake at David's flat, where he'd let me sulk, cry, rage and ultimately sleep in exhaustion with the same placid demeanour with which he'd always handled my outbursts. In the morning, there'd been flowers on the pillow next to me, a simple card reading "Happy birthday, my darling Emily" in his neat cursive, and the smell of the pancakes he was cooking for my breakfast in bed filling the air. How do I begin to explain my relationship with David? I need him like the air I breathe. I know him like the back of my own hand. Amongst everything in this sometimes marvellous, often horrid world, he is the fixed focus around which I orbit. --- I top up his wine, then my own, and collect his leftovers, binning them and mine. Then I take his hand and lead him over to the couch, where I install him. I take up position alongside him, tucking my legs in under me in the pose he always calls "Girl contemplating." I eye him. "Ok, 'fess up." I say. "Something's bugging you, and I can smell it." He gives me a startled look, then laughs. "Ok, I confess." "Excellent," I purr. "Soon all your secrets shall be mine." "You already know all my secrets, Em" he says. "Well, except for this one. Truth is, I'm glad you phoned me when you did." "Oh?" I raise an eyebrow. "I'm guess I AM psychic, after all. Whodathunkit." He shakes his head in amusement. "I met someone." My smile freezes and I take a quick sip of my wine to hide my momentary dismay. "I was supposed to be going away with her this weekend to the Lake District, but she cancelled on me." "I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm really not," I say smugly. "I somehow doubted you would be," he says. "Still... it would have been nice. It's been a long time since I was with anyone." "What?" I exclaim. "David, seriously, do you live under a rock?" "I struggle to meet people outside work these days, Em." "That's because you're always working," I return. "If you took better care of yourself you'd get out more. Maybe I should come live with you and smack some sense into you." "Maybe you should" he returns, deadpan. I'm a bit taken aback by his ready agreement and cast about for something to say. My usual repartee of sarcastic replies deserts me, and I'm left a little flustered. "Have you picked out what you're going to wear?" he asks with curiosity, and I'm suddenly shy as well. "Yes," I say, quietly. "Well? Do I get to see it, or are you flying blind on this one?" I've always dressed up for him - any time I was going out, he was my advisor. It's always amused me that he could be so good at helping me dress and yet so terrible at dressing himself. But I've never felt self-conscious about it, until now. I slowly get up, and head for my room. "Make yourself comfortable," I call to him. "I can't rush this." "Don't hurry on my behalf," he calls back, and I hear the TV being turned on. I close my door most of the way, and dim the lights slightly. Then, feeling uncharacteristically uncertain of myself, I pick out the black strapless bra I was planning to wear under my gown. Quickly, I strip off my tee-shirt and sports-bra, and drop my tracksuit pants as well. I strap on the black bra, then carefully take the gown off its hanger and slowly slip it on. I reach behind myself, thanking my flexibility as I do up the zip that runs from the small of my back up to the high neck. I run my hands down over the front of my body, smoothing the fabric out. I quickly let my hair down out of its ponytail, and comb through it with my fingers so that it falls down in golden waves over my shoulders and back. Slow Dancing with a Fast Woman The title was in a passage of a story I read recently, unfortunately that's the only thing that stuck, or I'd give credit. ***** Looking around the room, I couldn't help but smile. Jerry deserved this happiness, he'd had a rough couple of years. I was surprised I was here at all. I called him when I got the invitation. "You sure about this?" He actually laughed. "Yes, I'm sure. After all, if it wasn't for you I would never have found Anna. I owe you, if you had been a different person I could be dead or in jail by now. You helped me when the most natural thing in the world would have been to turn your back." So I went to his wedding. Even sat at the main table, though I had no part in the ceremony. His new wife hugged me when we met, whispering in my ear. "He told me all about your history, but I'd like to hear it from you. I've never heard anything quite like it." I smiled, watching them. He was forty two and she was forty-six, but they acted like teenagers around each other. I wished the best for them. I was dancing with the bride when I saw her. I just stopped moving. Anna looked up in confusion, and followed my gaze. I was trying to get loose but she had a death grip on my arm. "Calm down. Please don't ruin my wedding." I exhaled loudly, trying to center. "What the fu.., what is she doing here? Does Jerry know? If he doesn't it probably will ruin it." "He knows. He actually invited her. He says he did it for you. Now calm down and let's finish this dance." We did. I was thinking about just walking out, but Jerry was waiting at the table. I got right in his face. "I can't believe you'd invite your exwife to your wedding. What the hell was going through your head?" He was shaking his head, smiling slightly. "I didn't invite her to the wedding, just to the reception. And I invited her for you. One way or another, sometime tonight, you're going to sit down and talk to her, for just a few minutes. I don't want you to do this for me. I want you to do it for you. And her. Neither of you will ever get over it if you don't. But I gotta tell you man, she really does love you." I sat, I brooded, I fumed. Jerry and Anna alternated staying with me to make sure I didn't leave. I know I must have pissed them off whining, until Anna snapped. "Will you please just shut the hell up! For man who went to war, you're sure a pussy when it comes to her. Man up, talk to her, get it over with. Then leave if you want. You're bringing us all down, and I want my memories of tonight to not be of babysitting a whiny little bitch disguised as a big strong man." I was shocked, more from her using the words 'pussy' and 'bitch' than anything else. Then I realized she was right. Plus she had fed me four really strong drinks pretty close together. SHE choose that exact moment to appear beside me, tears in her eyes and hand outstretched. "Dance with me? Please?" I could have been an asshole and screamed at her. I could have sat there and ignored her. I could have gotten up and left. I took her hand. We swept out on the dance floor, her achingly familiar body molded to mine as we slowly twirled to the song the band was playing. I felt her shake a little and looked down to see the tears falling onto my jacket. I started to disengage, trying to speak. She raised a hand to my lips. "Please, don't talk. Just hold me, and let me pretend, just for a moment, that you still love me." And that was the heart of my problem. I did still love her. So we moved slowly across the dance floor, each lost in our own memories and thoughts. I reviewed all the women I thought I loved, including her, wondering why she had to be the one. The ONE. The one I wanted. The one I intended to spend the rest of my life with, only to find out she was never really mine. That's why it hurt so badly. I held her and let the memories continue to flow. ... I saw it coming, I just didn't believe it. He was about five seven or eight, and weighed under one fifty. And he had to be in close to forty. I was thirty one, six two, two hundred ten, mostly muscles. He rushed up to me, two of his friends trying to slow him down. I was feeling pretty good, it was a Thursday, I had just gotten paid, and my girl was supposed to meet me for drinks and dinner out, followed by dessert in. I had started early, a couple of beers while I waited and shot the breeze with my friends. I didn't know him, never saw him before in my life. He planted himself directly in front of me. I was wondering what he wanted, when I saw his arm move. It started somewhere around his knees, gathering momentum as it traveled. I saw his hand ball into a fist, he was moving so slowly I could tell he'd probably never made a fist before. I remember thinking whatever he hit better be soft or he was going to hurt his hand, when he connected with my eye. I was just so fascinated watching it never occurred to me to defend myself. Down I went, and he started trying to kick me. I'd been out of the sandbox long enough to let him slip under my defenses, but not so far that instinct and training didn't kick in full force. I rolled and did a leg sweep, dropping him to the ground beside me, quickly grappling him into a submissive position. I may have gotten a kidney punch or two in, judging by the grayness in his face. His two buddies tried to jump in but they were outnumbered and outgunned, so they resorted to calling for the bartender to get help pulling me off him. My cousin was the bartender and owner, had seen the cheap shot, and just kept polishing the glass he was holding. I got my breathing back to normal and snapped at him. "What the hell is wrong with you, dude? You got some kind of death wish, jumping on strangers half your age and twice your fuckin' size? I ought to knot you up some, send you home to the wifey bruised and contused!" He continued to struggle. "Let me up, you lowlife motherfucker! You need a lesson about fucking married women." I looked at him, wondering if he was high or just delusional. Shoving him away, I jumped to my feet. "Mister, I don't trespass on private property. That being said, if you come back at me, I guarantee you a first class ass whipping. Do you understand me?" Apparently he didn't, because he came up screaming and swinging. I jabbed with my left, and landed a roundhouse to his jaw with my right. He dropped like a rock and laid there. I looked at his buddies. "Haul his ass out of here, and I think I can speak for management when I say he needs to drink elsewhere. And tell him that jumping younger, stronger, meaner strangers is a sure way of not living to a ripe old age." They wanted to argue, but the bartender cut them off. Finally they carried him out, and we laughed a few minutes before my date showed up. She saw the beginnings of my shiner and went into mother mode. ... "What happened, honey?" I made a joke of it. "Some guy came in and accused me of sleeping with his wife. He punched me before I could react. Sad, really. He had to be in his forties, was small, and had no idea how to fight. He had nerve, though. If some guy is screwing around with his wife, he'd best watch his back." Her face had gotten paler as I recounted the episode. I noticed and tried to reassure her. "Relax, honey. I'm fine. However if you feel the need to kiss it and make it all better, I won't object." She immediately covered my face with light kisses, before pulling back with a smile. "There now. Did Momma make it all better? No mean old man gets to hit my honey. He had to be a pretty big man to attack you. Did he not notice all those lovely muscles?," she cooed, as she rubbed my bicep. I found out later she was just wanting me to describe him again. "Actually, he was an older guy, short, with a bit of a belly. He had no skills but plenty of nerve. If his wife is cheating on him, it might be pretty bad if he finds the guy." Melody got quiet again, before excusing herself to use the restroom, saying she didn't feel well. My cousin Bob, the bartender, had heard most of the conversation. "It's always the quiet ones, you know? He was probably living his version of the American dream, happy as a clam, and he finds out his wife is a slut. Those are the ones you have to watch, the ones that could kill you in a fit of rage. I've seen it to some degree a hundred times or better, I hope you straightened him out enough to leave you alone." I nodded, agreeing totally. "I hope he finds the motherfucker and kicks his ass. I saw a few men go down when they got Dear John letters while I was in service. Still, he better get his facts straight and be careful, he ain't much of a fighter." Melody reappeared, looking sad. "Sorry honey, the hospital called. There was a big wreck on the interstate and they're shorthanded. They begged, so I have to go in. I'll call tomorrow, if I'm not too tired. Love you." She kissed my cheek and dashed out. This had happened before, as she was a trauma nurse at the local hospital. Luckily for me, she worked twelve hour shifts during the first of the week, so she was available from Thursday until Saturday. Me, I worked out of town, a lot. ... No, I don't have a high paying executive job that has me jetting around the country, solving problems for megacorporations or saving the world for the government. I lay stone. That's right, stone. Big rocks, you follow? My father was the guy I just talked about, jetting around the country and occasionally the world, making his company big bucks. He was almost never around. so Mom raised my sister and I pretty much alone. And did a damn fine job in my opinion. When I was twelve, my dad decided he didn't need a middle aged, middle class housewife on his arm, and traded her in on a newer model. She was heartbroken, but my grandfather, who had never really liked him, was furious. Dad tried to rush the divorce, cutting off funds for leverage. Pops stepped in, spent some of his own money, got her the second best divorce lawyer in the state only because the first was too busy, and burned him to the ground. Dad was fighting tooth and nail until Pops threatened to bring suit against his company for violation of the morals clause. His new woman had at one time been his assistant. Seeing his high flying career in jeopardy, he folded like a cheap tent, and Mom came out smelling like a rose, even if she was heartbroken. Dad moved to the other coast, and we basically never saw him again until he attended my high school graduation, offering me a full ride at a top ranked west coast college, if I would agree to move. I politely turned him down until he pushed, then I got loud and physically threw him out of our house. I haven't seen him since. Mom had remarried, a decent man who loved her dearly. Surprisingly, she turned up pregnant, and I became a brother at fifteen. I admired the man, and my sister worshiped him. He offered to help pay for college, but didn't push when I opted not to continue my education just then. Instead, I became part of the big green machine, and spent four years in service, with a year each in both sandboxes. When I got out I was more in tune with the way the world worked, so I used military money to go to school part time while I worked for my grandfather. ... You guessed it, he was a Master stone mason, all he'd ever done his whole life. Even at sixty two he had a body most thirty year old gym rats would kill for. My dad couldn't get away fast enough, but I was hooked by the time I was old enough to pick up a stone. Pops would put a pile in the backyard of his home, and reward me based on how fast I could assemble them. Sometimes I put it together in a way he never envisioned, but they always held together by the time I was thirteen. I became his apprentice at fourteen, working summers and after school, if he worked close to home. In Afghanistan, especially the part I was in, there was no shortage of rocks, and I would relax myself by building walls, especially around our positions. When a wall I built saved a few lives, including our captain, the guys were soon avid helpers. We always had the best fortified positions in the area. The Afghans were excellent stonemasons, and I studied their techniques, occasionally working beside them to build schools and hospitals. I learned from them as much as I could. Pops took me into the business as soon as I got out. Soon I was running jobs for him, usually just me and a helper or two. He usually handled the big jobs. One of the worst days of my life came when he passed, victim of a kid texting. He crossed the road and hit Pops head on. They estimated he was doing sixty five when they collided. Pop was in his sixty six Ford pickup, no airbags, no headrests. He suffered a broken neck, the doctors say he probably died instantly. Didn't matter how he went, he was gone at sixty six. He was retiring as soon as he got his current job completed. He and Grams had bought an RV, intending to travel the country. Because of the impending retirement, he had gradually moved the company into my name, so I didn't have a lot of paperwork to deal with. I was twenty seven. Stone masonry is a fascinating field. A master mason could make a lot of money, depending on the work. My company specialized in the building and restoration of dry walls, walls built without mortar, depending on the size and way the rocks were placed to retain shape. It was a skill not easily learned, and we were the best in the region. My grandfather, before he passed, had struck a deal with the state university system to repair the walls on their five oldest campuses. Some of them were over three hundred years old, in disarray or completely fallen. I had a crew of two master masons and three to four apprentices at each site. The apprentices were in it for training, and we paid fifteen to twenty dollars an hour, depending on their skill level. As they progressed, their pay increased. Of course, it took years to be considered a master, but as I said, the pay was excellent. There was a question of me keeping the contract, but I convinced them to have faith in me. "Look, Pops was pretty much just an administrator before he passed. The same masons with the same skill levels are still on the job. I guarantee the work will not suffer." In the end they kept us, mostly because the company was in my name by then and they'd never complained before, and they knew it would be hard to replace us. Stone masons are kind of rare, really good ones even rarer. I hated being a manager, not getting to lay stone on a regular basis. I solved my problem by hiring my sister Becky. She could actually lay stone pretty good, and she could spot shoddy work a mile away. She had just graduated with a business degree, and there weren't that many good jobs out there, so she took it for the experience if nothing else. Still had to have meetings and review the books, which we scheduled to coincide with our weekly family dinners. My stepfather Jerry was an accountant, and Pops liked him so much he gave him our business when he married Mom. Gram would always be there, and she and Mom would participate in the discussions, having years of experience to fall back on. My younger brother Jerry Jr. was fifteen, and I had already promised him a job next summer. He would start at the bottom, hustling rock like all apprentices. He had a fantastic head for numbers, and I was pretty sure he wouldn't end up a Mason. Didn't matter, accountants were valuable people too. ... I was thirty years old when I met Melody. She came into the bar one Thursday night with some friends. It was an immediate attraction, almost lust at first sight for both of us. Billy, my cousin and owner, had live bands on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. The place was blue collar all the way, so it was mostly country, and some of them were even good. I watched Mel dance a few fast numbers, admiring her grace. She came up to the bar just as the band started a slow song, ordering a round for her table. When the music started, she grabbed my hand. "I hate to waste a good slow song, and yes, I'd be pleased to dance with you. Thanks for asking." I was so surprised I couldn't even talk, and stumbled along behind her while my friends laughed. Slow dancing with Mel should have been a requirement for graduating seniors, just to show how it should be done. Of course, if it happened, there would be a lot of wet spots on a lot of jeans. The woman would just mold herself to you, letting no space get between, moving with you so gracefully it was like you were alone, except for the extremely pleasant warmth and feel of her body. I think I loved her before the first song was over. She was tall, around five nine, and when she wore her five inch heels she could look me in the eye. Not model thin, but not thick either, the perfect size. Her chest was full but didn't sag, and she possessed the largest green eyes I'd ever gazed into. Honey blonde hair cascaded in loose curls down her back, stopping just above an ass that no skin tight jeans could ever do justice to. When the dance was over she refused to let go of my hand, pulling me over to her table. I met her friends but to this day couldn't tell you their names. The band stopped forty five minutes before closing time, and we could actually talk without yelling. Her friends got tired of waiting and were tugging on her to go home. "Damn it, Mel, kiss the guy, you know you want to, get his number, and let's go," said one of her friends, so she did. You never forget the first kiss of someone you're attracted to. Hers was soft but firm, no tongue, but held hints of really great things to come. "Be here tomorrow?," she asked as she pulled back. I just nodded. "Meet me out front at seven thirty. Take me somewhere nice for dinner. Bye." And she was gone, leaving traces of her perfume on my body and the taste of her lips on mine. I got up and wandered back to the bar, where I caught hell from the guys. ... "Way to play hard to get, Bandit," laughed Billy. "If she had pulled out a hoop, I believe you'da jumped through it." I got the nickname because my real name was Jesse James. My dad picked it, saying he admired his Robin Hood ways. I looked him up once. He is recognized by many historians as the first recorded criminal sociopath in American history. I didn't care why. I didn't care how. I just cared she'd chosen me. But I was incredibly wary. You see, I didn't have the greatest track record with women. I'd had two serious relationships since high school. The first ended when she told me in no uncertain terms she wasn't going to wait on me while I was in service. "I'm nineteen. You may not come back. I don't want that future of uncertainty. I care a lot for you, and if I'm still single when you get back maybe we can start up again." Well, I hated it but understood it. We did hook back up when I got home, but we had both changed and the magic wasn't there anymore. We recognized it pretty early and parted friends. The second I met in college. She was the star of the volleyball team. Tall, muscular, attractive, and the most arrogant woman I'd ever met. Someone told her she was special once and she believed it for the rest of her life. The volleyball team was back to back national champions, in a school where the basketball and football programs sucked. It made her queen bee, and staff and students alike kowtowed to her every whim. Everybody in town knew who Cindy Tolliver was. I wasn't a troll either. Six one, thanks to my military training and job I was solid as the rocks I lay, even had an impressive six pack, not that I ever took my shirt off except when I was working. Sandy brown hair with hints of red from being outdoors so much, and blue eyes that were so pale they were almost gray. Also thanks to being outdoors so much I had a perpetual tan. The beauty of dry wall construction is you can do it even if it's cold, because you don't have to worry about mortar setting right, so we worked year round unless the ground was so deeply frozen we couldn't set the stone properly. I took most of my classes in the winter. Slow Dancing with a Fast Woman Cindy was so used to getting her way it shocked her when someone actually refused her. It so happened that day I was the one refusing. We were at an popular off campus bar and grill. The food was good, reasonably priced, and at happy hour it was really packed. I was sitting at a large table alone, everything else was taken by the crowd. They had really good food, and I was about halfway through a great cheeseburger when she and her entourage entered. Two more women and four guys. Looking around she soon recognized that I had the only empty table. She came over. "My friends and I need a table, and you've got the only one available. Would you mind giving it up so we can sit?" She was giving this big fake smile, assuming I would be happy to disappear for her pleasure. "Yes," I said, with a smile, before continuing my meal. She assumed yes meant I'd leave, but yes meant I did mind, so I continued eating. After a minute or two she snorted. "Are you gonna leave or what? We're waiting." "When I'm finished or a smaller table comes open, I'll give up the table gladly. Or, seeing as how I have so much room, you could all join me." "You could go stand at the bar" one of the guys said loudly, puffing up a little. I grinned. "Boy, don't you know standing while eating makes your feet bigger? I'm already having a hard time finding a decent fourteen, I don't need to push it." "Maybe I should make you go," he snarled. He looked to be about five ten and in pretty good shape, but his posture and attitude told me he had no skills. I looked at him for a moment before taking a big drink of my tea, eating a few fries, and sighing. "All right, I see three possible outcomes here. One, you kick my ass, and people think you're a jerk for starting a fight with somebody minding his own business." Two, I stomp the dog shit out of you in front of your friends, which everyone will think you deserve for being a first class asshole." "Or three, you could leave me alone while I finish the last two bites, and I'll be on my way. Why don't you let your friends sit while you go order a round of drinks? I'll be gone by then." He puffed up. Cindy had been watching the exchange in amazement. She held up her hand. "Stop it, Brian! I think it might end badly for you if you don't. Do like he said, order our drinks. We'll be right here, IF this gentleman is willing to share." By then I was done. I stood up, pulling out the chair for the girl nearest me. "Please, take the table. I'm done anyway. Enjoy your evening." I reached behind the column near the table and got my cane. My foot was in a cast, the result of a too eager apprentice trying to show off for me. He ended up dropping a sixty five pound stone on my foot, breaking two bones. That's why I needed the table, I couldn't stand at the bar. Her eyes widened. "Please, stay and let us buy you a beer." "Thanks for the offer, but I have to decline. I can't drink right now because it would interfere with my medications." Brian came back, saw the cast, and smirked. I knew then he thought I'd be easy. Sure enough, he followed me to my truck. "You think a cast is going to save you? It just makes it easier. I'm gonna..." I heard enough, so I turned, wincing at the sudden movement, and drove the point of my cane right into the soft tissue above his groin. He dropped like a rock, making a sound that resembled a balloon deflating, pissing all over himself. I turned back to my truck. "Don't get up until I'm out of the parking lot. If you do I'll take it to mean you intend to do me harm, and you won't like my response. Grow up, pussy boy, before someone not as patient as me gets hold of you." He was still lying there when I hit the street I didn't know it, but Cindy and her friends had noticed him missing and had come out to save me. They managed to witness our little discussion. They pulled Brian up, dusted him off, and Cindy pumped every one in the restaurant for information about me. ... Cindy made it a personal quest to find me. She didn't have much luck because I took night classes mostly, and didn't socialize with the college crowd. I was older, much more mature and goal oriented thanks to my time in service, not looking for the 'college experience'. She finally tracked me down by staking out the bar and grill. When I came in she stood, indicating an empty chair. "Good, you're here. I've been saving you a seat." She pointed at the only empty chair at the table. I looked around the room, there were other seats available and I was about to head for one when she placed a hand on my arm. "Please," she said, a word she didn't use much, "just for a minute. We owe you an apology. Brian was an idiot, one of the many reasons he doesn't hang with us anymore." I thought I detected sincerity in her voice, so I sat. To my surprise, I discovered she and her friends weren't air headed jocks. One was a political science major with a good job offer from a lobbyist group when she graduated, another was prelaw and had already been accepted by Yale, and the other was going to work for her father after she got her MBA from Wharton. Cindy was majoring in sports psychology, a degree she would use after her career as a pro volleyball player was over. It was refreshing watching them fend off admirers while debating the profitability of new sports in context to their futures, asking my opinion from time to time. If I could, I answered their questions, if I couldn't I said so. I told them I was too busy running my business to watch many sports, especially the newer extreme types. This led to questions about my occupation, especially from the business major. "Wow, talk about a niche market. Is it good money? What's your business plan? How much market do you control?" I held up my hand to stop her. "It's excellent money. I'll probably never be filthy rich, but I'll be very comfortable. My advertising is by word of mouth, and my type of work is not affordable to everyone, I work on multimillion dollar properties most of the time. Right now I have two big projects going for developers, plus the restoration contract for the state college system. With the crews I have now, I'm booked almost two years out. And I fly out tomorrow to talk to the college system two states over, to do the same thing for them I'm doing here. With the crews I have now, that would add another two to three years work. I'll probably interview and hire a few local masons there, to start the project in a timely manner. Even when the economy went bad, since I tend to work for the wealthy, I still had steady work." All of them sat back, surprised. Becca, the business major, was the first to speak. "Wow. I'm in the middle of a paper on the viability of niche businesses. I think I'm gonna scrap everything I already have and do one solely on your business, if you'll let me. Please?" I thought about it for a second and grinned. "Sure, it'll be more free advertising for the business. Just a warning though, a lot of the work is away, so you may have to travel if you want an in depth analysis." She grinned. "Not a problem. One of the perks of having rich parents is available funds, especially if I tell them it's school related." Cindy frowned at the idea of her following me around but wisely said nothing at the time. I found out later she tried to talk her out of it. Becca refused. "It's a good opportunity, Cin. The report will really look good on my application to Wharton. And I don't plan on hooking up with him." She smirked a little before continuing. "What he plans may be a different matter." Let's face it. She was a beautiful, determined woman used to getting her way. I was more laid back and nonconfrontational, tending to flow along unless it went against my values. The inevitable happened and we slept together, starting a pretty intense two year relationship. I led her on a good chase, recognizing early the only way to keep things equitable was to keep her off balance. If she got too comfortable her 'my way or else' side came out. I spelled it out to her. "You may be the queen at school, but you're just another girl to me. Oh, you're beautiful, and I am attracted to you, but I'll never be your flunky. I look on serious relationships as a partnership, with give and take, each with their strengths and weaknesses. In a perfect relationship, the weaknesses and strengths should balance each other, each partner taking the lead from time to time as needed. Understand?" She gave me a smile that was half smirk. "Oh, I understand. And I intend to be your queen before we're done, just as you'll be my king." It was the words I needed to hear, so for eighteen months I climbed the mountain, only to discover there was nothing at the top but a sheer cliff. ... I believe she would have been willing to sleep together on our first date if I had pushed it, but I made her wait, part of my plan to keep her off balance. We got pretty involved with hands and mouths, but I always stopped short, frustrating her badly. She finally got tired of it. One night, when I led her right to the brink and stopped, she exploded. "Damn it, Bandit! Time to man up and do me. What's wrong, don't think I'm any good? I can give you some references. Or is it that you're afraid you won't be man enough to please me? Don't worry, baby, I'm willing to train you just the way I like." I think she knew she'd overdone it, judging by the look on her face. She started trying to apologize but I cut her off. "Don't worry about it, Cin. I've already had a few of your references describe in great detail how skilled you are. I'm not nearly as EXPERIENCED as you are, but I've never had any complaints. It's so kind of you to offer to share your expertise with me. Just like your volleyball, the more you practice, the better you are. And we already know how good you are at that." I paused, thinking I may have overstressed 'experienced' just a bit. "And as kind as your offer is, I think I'll decline. You have a good night, now." She was begging and pleading as I left her apartment, even trying to physically stop me. She was a big girl, strong, but I had been lifting rock for too many years, and I easily broke her hold. I didn't see her for two weeks, despite her calls, texts, and emails. As it happened, I was on a deadline and had to work through the weekends anyway. Her last two emails were kind of nasty, she wasn't used to rejection and didn't handle it well. Back in town, I ran into Becca, the business major, and Carol, her prelaw friend, at the bar and grill. I was sitting by myself when they plopped down at my table. Carol had a big grin on her face. "So is it true Cindy dumped you?" Becca saw my face tighten up and snickered. "Look at his face, Carol. I bet if truth be told, he dumped her. Isn't that so, Jess?" I assumed a bland demeanor. "I'd say it was a mutual parting. Let's just say our ideas about relationships were just too far part." "Ha!," she said, "I'd guess it was more along the lines of her telling you to jump and you explaining how you didn't like hoops. Whatever it was, it shook her pretty bad. She's been a screaming bitch since you disappeared. Coach threatened to bench her if she didn't get her head out of her ass. Well, well, speak of the devil." Cindy had just entered, a basketball player on her arm. She looked at us sitting together and snapped. Leaving the basketball player in the dust, she stormed up to us. He trailed behind, trying to take her hand. The second time, she snarled at him. "Let go of me! What part of just friends didn't you comprehend?" The look on his face told me that wasn't exactly what she'd implied. "What the fuck, Cin? Why are you mooning over this redneck? He was already dumb enough to dump your ass once already. He's a loser, I bet he could never keep you in the style you deserve, like I could." Becca almost fell off the chair laughing. "What is it Bugs Bunny used to say? Oh yeah, 'what a maroon.' You're not even out of school yet, and your chances of making the pros are thin at best. Depending on your major, it could be years before you make decent money. Right now, Jesse owns his own very successful business, and has for years. He makes well into six figures and it goes up every year. Not bad for a redneck, huh Dustin?" He was about to make an angry retort when Carol jumped in. "Dustin, whatever you're thinking, stop. Look at him, he didn't get those muscles in the weight room. He's also done two tours of combat, so he knows how to hurt and kill people. Probably wouldn't bother him to take you apart and put you back together again a foot shorter. Maybe you'd like to sit at the bar while he and Cin talk? Come on, Becca and I will keep you company." They led him off, complaining. Cin plopped down and just looked at me for about three minutes before speaking. "The worst thing about people spoiling you is it works. I know I'm arrogant and a total control freak. I know I can't stand to be told no. But, Jess, I'm a good person. I'm in college damn it, surely you know I can learn. Can we start over?" I sat, considering. She was one of those people that couldn't appreciate silence, so she started again. "I'm sorry about the other night. I'll admit, I've never gone without sex so long since I entered college. I've been brainwashed into thinking I was a great gift, and should be appreciated as such. I know I'm just a girl. A pretty girl, but there are plenty of prettier, better built, smarter, more understanding girls around. Becca and Carol, for instance. They've made no secret that if we're really through they were interested. But they'll never love you like I do, Jess. They'll never melt the way I do when you touch them. If you want to wait, I'll wait. You set the pace. I'll follow." ... Ninety minutes later we broke her bed. We rode it down, laughing. I even kept stroking because she was almost there, again. We finally collapsed together, the bed sagging around us. "Sorry, babe," I said, lightly stroking a nipple on her small, muscled breast. There wasn't an ounce of fat on her anywhere. "I'll buy us a new one tomorrow. A new suite, if you want. Think the store would let us stress test it first?" She raised up over me, her long hair falling into my face. Her expression was unreadable. "Us? A suite?" I brushed her hair back so she could see my face and know I was serious. "Yes babe. Us. You know I stay with my grandmother when I'm home. I live in an RV most of the time, so it doesn't make any since to waste money on an apartment or house. So what I'm asking, in an incredibly awkward and roundabout way, is if you'd like to live together." She cried, but I'm pretty sure there was a yes in there somewhere. We got up, took the broken bed apart, and slept on the mattress that night, when we slept. It seemed she liked traditional furniture, picking a massive oak, four poster bed, even insisted we bounce up and down on it a few times, while the saleswoman blushed and grinned. Four months later she wanted to see where we were heading. They didn't win nationals that year. She blamed it on me, saying I took her away from extra practice and kept her energy levels drained. She was due to graduate, and had a very attractive offer to join a seasoned professional on the beach volleyball circuit. It paid fairly well, but she explained the money was more in the endorsements, personal appearances, and television. She wanted to do it for three years, to save enough to continue her schooling all the way through the PhD level. After several long talks, we decided the most sensible thing was to get married. She actually fainted when I popped the question and gave her the ring. We decided to wait until after her first year on the circuit to marry. I was hoping by then she'd have enough and quit to concentrate on her schooling. I could afford to pay for it. She came from a single parent home and her father couldn't afford to help her. We spent a glorious month together. She traveled with me from job site to job site, experiencing the cities we were in while I worked, then concentrating on keeping me drained and weak every night. For the first time in my life I struggled to lift the larger rocks. My crew snickered and told me if I slacked up on after hours exercise I'd get my strength back. "That's why I pay you flunkies, to do the heavy lifting. No way I'm giving up my exercise program. Now, get those rocks over here." ... It really sucked when she left. She clung to me and cried like a baby. I had to almost pry her off me so she could make the plane. It was really hard because I didn't want her to go. "If you don't like it honey, come on home. You know I have the money for your schooling, so you don't have to worry." She sighed and hugged me tighter. "All my life people have taken care of me. My Dad. Then the school. Now you. Just once, I need to prove I can take care of myself. Besides, I signed a contract. I HAVE to do this season." I didn't like it, but I understood. The first year was rough for both of us. She did really well, she and her partner were first runner up in the points standings. As they won more, their money increased. I watched her on television, and really didn't care for the almost thongs they wore. "It's in the contract, honey. The maker has offered us an advertising campaign because of our popularity. It's a nice number honey. You don't mind, do you?" How could I not support her? It took time away from us but we dealt with it. It got to the point we were only together about once a month for three days. I was counting the days until the end of the season. She came home, and we tried to make up for lost time. Mom was hinting around about grandchildren, seems my sister and I had something in common. We both liked girls. That explained why she hung out with us so much, she was looking to hook up with some of Cindy's friends. Two of her teammates were gay, and another was openly bisexual. Beck managed to hook up once, but they parted because neither was wanting to settle down. She eventually found a nice, quiet girl, and they married. Besides nagging me, after she got over Becky's choice, Mom started hinting to her to either adopt or go invitro. They were thinking about it. After four glorious weeks, she became moody. I took it as long as I could before I confronted her. "What's going on, Cin? Don't try to blow me off, we're going to sit right here until you tell me. " She hemmed and hawed around a bit before she told me. "I signed a contract for another season. They've doubled our money, and the exposure is worth a lot more. I'm sorry honey, but I have to do this, for me. Please don't be mad." I wasn't mad, I was furious. We bickered away most of the time before she left. "Why can't you be more supportive? Just this year. I swear to you." "I am supportive. All last year. You made promises then, remember? So much for your word if money is involved, I guess." Wrong thing to say. She went into a screaming fit. I only half listened to the rant, and about ten minutes in she realized I wasn't hanging on every word. She stopped immediately. In a quiet voice she tried again. "I guess I deserved that. Tell you what, I'll write up a contract. If I don't stop next year the marriage is off. Please, Bandit, this really means a lot to me." I just looked at her. "A contract isn't necessary. If you don't stop next year, I walk away. Do you understand?" She paled a little and made a bunch of promises. Promises she didn't keep. ... They did even better at the start of the next year. Her partner, Jan, called, thanking me for letting her play. "This is my last year on the tour, so unless she finds a new partner she's done too. I plan to teach, already got a job lined up as a high school math teacher and volleyball coach in a little town in California. I've always been a beach girl. Maybe I'll find a nice quiet guy and get married again. Then again, if we had an agreement like you guys, maybe I'd still be married." Slow Dancing with a Fast Woman I didn't know she was divorced. I knew she was married, and that he didn't like her being away. When Cindy told me that I gave her a pointed look. She got the hint and shut up. "What agreement, Jan?" The way I said it made her pause. "Oh you know, the understanding you have." I let the silence stretch and she got nervous. "I'm sorry, I wasn't being clear. I didn't mean an understanding, I meant your understanding. She's really lucky to have you. Gotta go. Watch for us on the television." The whole conversation left me a little uneasy. The first tine she was home, I asked her about it. "Don't worry about it, honey. She's been a little scattered since her divorce. I think it hurt her more than she'll admit. Believe me, I'll not make her mistakes. I love you too much." When I asked her what kind of mistakes, she was a little vague. I pushed and she finally admitted she'd had an affair with one of the men on the tour, and her husband found out. "I'll give you my word, honey, I'll never hurt you like that. I have too much to lose." The sex those three days were frantic. I asked her about it and she told me she was trying to get enough to last the month. The next break she could only stay with me for two days because she had a shoot scheduled for the bathing suit company. Seems they had a sportswear brand in addition to the swimwear, and had all kinds of sports figures on contract. I'll admit the shots were well done, but the swimwear made me uneasy. This time it really was a thong, and she and Jan were paired with two up and coming golfers, Steve something and a young Spanish player named Juan Pablo. The men were in tight speedo type suits, and there were a couple of shots where the girls were entwined with the golfers, thong back and topless. I was not happy, even though there was not even a hint of breast. Usually she called every Monday and Tuesday, but I never heard from her, even though I called and left six emails. The next week, I returned the favor, not answering the phone any of the ten times she called. She was home the next week, unscheduled, in a fury. After she ranted and raved about me not answering, I told her I was just following her example. A lot of frustration came out from both of us, ending abruptly when I told her to shove her Spanish boyfriend right up her almost naked ass. She went so pale I thought she was going to pass out. By then I'd reached my limit with her, so I got up and left. Two days later she tracked me down to a job site, and begged on her knees for a chance to talk. Cin spent two days telling me there was nothing there, and if I was that unhappy she'd never do another ad. She swore on everything she could think of she was quitting for good when the season was over. Looking back, it was like she was reading from a script, but it was the right words at the right time, and I believed her. She did two more shoots, both times with the golfer, wearing casual wear once and more modest swim suits the next, and in no picture were they in physical contact. It all started unraveling when I needed a set of tires for my truck, and went to a dealer in the town I happened to be working in. It took over an hour, so I walked across the street for lunch. After lunch, I had to wait another ten minutes before they were done, so I looked at the magazines, casually glancing through. It was an golf magazine, two weeks old, that caught my interest. There was a profile of Juan Pablo, showing him on and off the course. The picture that caught my eye was him sitting in the stands watching beach volleyball, then kissing one of the winners. The article quoted him as saying he went to every one his schedule would allow, to support his girlfriend. You guessed it, the player was Cindy. I was beyond pissed. I deliberately missed her calls, and flew to her next match. She and Jan always roomed together, and I got there about seven. Jan answered the door, and paled when she saw me. Cindy wasn't there. I called her in front of Jan. She sounded happy to hear from me. "Hi honey. Where have you been? I was getting worried you may have replaced me." "I could never replace you hon. Did I catch you at dinner?" I could hear noises in the background. "Yes you did. Jan and I are in the hotel dining room. The food is actually pretty good." I managed to chat her up for a few minutes while Jan got progressively paler. I hung up and smiled at Jan. "Jan, did I ever tell you I was in the Army? I spent two years in the desert, killing people as often as I could. I won't kill you Jan, but if I don't get the truth out of you right now, I'm going to break your wrists and your knees. You'll live, but you'll never be able to walk right again, or use your arms like you used to. Nobody needs a crippled volleyball player, or coach. I'll got to jail, for sure, but not before I get to Cindy and her Latin lover. Your choice, but if you choose the easy way, now would be a good time to start." Would I have done it? No, but I was really pissed at the time. Jan must have thought I was serious though, judging by the terrified look on her face. She was talking so fast I had to make her slow down. It started at the end of the first season. Not with him, but another volleyball player. No love, she said, just releasing tension. She admitted doing the same thing, until her husband caught her. She begged, but the deed was done, and he divorced her. Cindy hooked up with Juan at the first photo shoot, seems rubbing so much skin against each other was just too much to handle. "She told me you were cool with it, Jess. Said you were doing the same thing. Said you guys came up with an agreement. She was free to satisfy her urges, and you were doing the same while you traveled for work. She also told me it was all going to end when the season was over, and she talked constantly about how happy she was going to be when you guys got married." She hung her head, saying she knew now there was never an agreement. "Where is she now?" Her eyes got huge. "Please Jess, let me call her, get her back here so you guys can talk. I'm sure you can work it out." "Tell me right now, or you'll have at least broken elbow to add to your injuries." I stood up and she shrank back in terror. "They're in his hotel across town. He's playing a tournament here." She gave me the room number, saying they might not be there, they may be out dancing. I got her by the throat, backing her to the wall, putting my face against hers. "If you warn her, I'll come back, and I'll be even more pissed. We understand each other?" She actually wet her pants at the end, nodding so fast I was afraid she was going to injure herself. I was in the lobby, watching them come in arm in arm and head for the elevators. I had the room number and could have waited, but I knew what they were doing so I couldn't see the point of waiting for them to get naked. I gave them three minutes and kicked the door in. They were locked in a kiss, the top of her dress dangling at her waist, his shirt unbuttoned and loose. She looked over, recognized me, and almost fainted. He was just buzzed enough to try being macho. I shut him down pretty fast, twirling him around and locking his arm. "Stay still motherfucker. Struggle and your elbow gets broke. Understand me? Good. Now tell me how long have you been fucking her, and if you lie, I'll know." "Three, maybe four months. It don't mean nothin', man. Take it easy." "So you've been fucking for that long, knowing she was engaged, and you thought that was all right? I read you've engaged, and she's waiting for you back in Spain, wonder if she would think it's nothing? Let's call her and find out." He was begging by this time. Cindy had put the bed between us and had managed to get her dress back into place. She still hadn't said a word. I figured I was running out of time, there had been people in the hall and I wasn't exactly being quiet. I let go and he stood up. I punched as hard as I could into his rib cage, cracking two. Try to swing a club now, motherfucker. He collapsed on the floor and I looked at Cindy. "Keep the ring. It doesn't matter to me any more. Come back when you've got the nerve, and I'll have your things packed. Don't bother trying to talk. We got nothin' to say to each other, not any more." I walked out the door, took the elevator down, and got the manager. I apologized, saying I had always been clumsy and fell into the door of Room 418, explaining that my girlfriend and I were going to visit, and he was standing behind the door and may be hurt. I gave him a credit card number, telling him I would be glad to pay for repairs and any medical bills. He wanted me to stay but I said I really needed to catch a plane, and he could call if he needed me. He could just ask my girlfriend for my number. ... I heard about it the next day, when I watched a little of the tournament he was playing in. The announcers made a big deal of his injury, saying it might just keep him out until the end of the season, explaining it was just an accident among friends. The rumor mill in both sports started grinding right away, and he used his injury as a reason to fly home. The next season the announcers speculated on his new single status. I hadn't said a word to anyone, but a lot of the other golfers and announcers stayed at the same hotel, and it was impossible to keep it quiet. Jan and Cindy did poorly the next three outings, losing in straight games each time. At the end of the season, Jan actually did retire, but Cindy signed with a new partner fresh out of college. She played four more seasons before she quit and actually got her PhD. She tried for about three months to get me to talk to her, telling my mother she was flying in and we were going to talk if she had to force me. Mom laughed and dared her. She never came. ... So there you have it. Not very original, the same thing probably happened a hundred thousand times every day around the world. But it was my world that got destroyed. For two years I had a deep mistrust when dealing with a woman. Then I met Melody, and light came back into my life. Like I said, she was a trauma nurse in the local hospital. Twelve hour shifts Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, and on call every other week. I thought it was fate, because all she did was work, and I was usually out of town at least four days, so our off time usually matched. We started out slow, a few dinners, dancing at better clubs than the bar we met at. Saw a few chick flicks, went to a museum, a baseball game, she was pretty much up for anything. But then again, all she had to do was bat those big beautiful eyes and I fell all over myself trying to please her. We never saw each other on the days she worked, although she would always call me whenever she got a break. She lived with two other nurses, and said they'd made an agreement never to bring their boyfriends home. "One of us is always working, another is usually asleep, so we keep you guys out to keep the distractions down. Plus last year, before we made the rules, one stole a boyfriend while another slept. I had to replace both of them. So no guys, baby, rules are rules." When we finally got physical, it was everything I hoped it would be and more. She was flexible, skilled, and threw everything she had into it. She was twenty seven at the time, at her peak, her body both soft and hard in the appropriate places. And she liked it a little rough. Her favorite position was me pounding her doggie style, her hair in my hand, pulling back so hard she had to arch her neck. Other times she liked me taking a breast in each hand, twisting her nipples and tugging them out. She'd gush a river. And when we went at it soft and gentle, mostly missionary, she would tear up, every time. We were together almost from the time I would get back from a job until she had to go home to get ready for work. I got tired of renting motel rooms, and put out feelers. In my business I had made a lot of contacts, so when I asked people to keep an eye out for a house, at least three bedrooms on a large lot, I got a good bit of ribbing. "Someone finally caught you, huh? Good for you." That was a pretty common theme. I'd just smile and show them a picture. Then the comments pretty much ran along the lines of lucky bastard. One interior designer took me to task. "Idiot. Don't you know ninety nine percent of the time, the woman picks the house? Might want to keep her in the loop." I took her advice, and armed with inside information about houses that were in distress, or a homeowner looking to unload one due to the economy or a divorce, went looking. Using the excuse I wanted to spend as much time as possible with her and needed a woman's viewpoint, I took her along. She wasn't really impressed with the first five, but the second weekend we walked into a four bedroom on three acres on the edge of town. She walked around the house, touching the appliances, really liking the large kitchen. She loved the floor plan, which put the master bedroom on one side of the house away from the others, allowing privacy. We had to walk the entire three acres, discovering a little spring, and she actually touched a few of the bigger trees. "What are you thinking about?" Mel looked at me, misty eyed. "Treehouses." I took a day off the next week and started the paperwork. I'd gotten a really good deal. They had just started foreclosure, and were happy to avoid the process. The owner had abandoned it that week, leaving for parts unknown. Friday had us back out at the house. We walked it one more time. I asked her if she thought she could be happy living here. "I'm sure I'd love it. Why the question?" "Because we bought it Monday. I'll need you to pick out new furniture. Sound all right?" Before she could answer me I dropped to a knee. "I hope you like this house. I intend to live in it for a long time. A long time with you by my side. I'd like to have to utilize one or two of the bedrooms sometime down the line. All you have to do is say yes." I held out the ring. A traditional, simple ring with a nice size rock on the top. She surprised me by swooning against the kitchen counter. Melody recovered quickly. Tears were in her eyes. I didn't get the answer I was expecting. "I love you, Jessie. But I can't marry you right now. I'm begging you to give me some time. I have things I need to do before I accept your proposal. Please, and I'm begging here, give me six months and ask again. I promise the wait will be worth your while." It was not the answer I was expecting, and I was terribly disappointed. She tried her best to reassure me, to the point of taking me shopping the next day, for furniture. She didn't have a preference as long as it was sturdy. We bought a master bedroom suite with a California King bed, a sectional sofa, a love seat, and a rocker for the living room. I looked at her as she sat in the rocker. She grinned. "This might be nice to have, a year or two down the road." The simple statement filled me with hope. I gave her a credit card, telling her to buy what she thought we needed. I took Melody to meet my family. Mom and Becky liked her instantly. Grandma wasn't as enthused. My younger brother practically drooled on her, and my stepdad just grinned. I took it as a good sign. I came in the next Friday, going straight to the new house. She had added a nice dining room suite, and had outfitted a guest room. Her car was outside, but I didn't see her. I found her, gloriously naked, on the California King. She slid across the bed, reaching for me. "I was about to start without you. I want to christen every piece of furniture, every foot of space in our new home. Next weekend we'll do the yard." I tried, I really did, but all we accomplished that weekend was the bedroom and the dining room table. She laughed, saying she'd have pity on me, and we'd do the guestroom and the living room next week. ... The next weekend I was at the bar waiting for her, happier than I'd ever been in my life, when the guy walked in and slugged me. When she disappeared, I had a few more drinks with my friends, leaving early for my new house, to wait for the love of my life. Two shots rang out as I walked out to my car. They hit the car two spaces down. Still came close enough to scare the shit out of me. Instinct had kicked in and I had dropped and rolled behind an SUV. I could hear the guy as he approached, crying and swearing as he looked between cars. I rolled under the SUV, popping up and running in a crouch to the next line of cars. "Come on out, motherfucker! I'll make sure you never screw over another husband." The voice shook with rage, and I could tell he was pretty drunk by the slurring. I got a look at him as he passed under a parking lot light. It was the guy who punched me, so I knew this wasn't random, the guy was after me. My stepdad had a saying, 'never leave a live snake behind you', so I hunkered down and waited. He was almost level with my hiding place, looking in the other line, so I tossed the shoe I had slipped off gently behind him. The slight noise made him twirl, and as soon as his back was turned I was all over him. I grabbed the hand that held the pistol, yanking back, hard. The pressure made him release it, and after that I kicked the shit out of him. He never got a lick in. Realizing if I didn't stop soon I'd kill him, I let go and got up. He was out cold, so I picked him up, threw him in the bed of the truck, and started driving, ending up in front of an abandoned barn in the middle of nowhere. He was starting to come round when I dropped the tailgate and dragged him out by his feet, listening to his head hit the gravel as he fell. It knocked him out again. He came around when I threw some water that had been sitting in a cooler on the back of the truck in his face. He swiveled his head, eyes widening in terror when he realized he was tied up. I had no intention of killing him, but I did want to scare the shit out of him. I held up the pistol. "A .32? Really? 'Bout all you can do with a weapon like that is piss people off. I know it did me. Now I'm gonna talk, you're gonna listen and nod your head. When I'm done you can talk, and it better be good, because right now I have an urge to stick this peashooter up your ass as far as it will go and squeeze off the last three rounds in it. I hear it's a particularly painful, ugly way to die. Now's the time for you to talk." I had to hand it to him. Ass beat, tied up and helpless, he still glared at me. "What do you want me to say? I'm okay with you fucking my wife? Not gonna happen, ever. And sooner or later you won't be watching, and I'll get justice. Best you just kill me now." I looked down at him. He should have been terrified but he wasn't backing down. Made me kind of admire him. I grabbed him, sitting him down on my tailgate, and held him by his shirtfront as I methodically slapped him. "I (pop!) ain't(pop!)fucking anybody's wife, (pop! pop!). what do I have to do to get you to leave me alone? The humor has gone out of this situation pretty fast. The .32 up your ass it looking better and better." "Back pocket," he gasped. "Get my wallet out. Tell me that isn't Melody in the picture. If it's not, I'll apologize and you can do what you want with me." I can't describe the feeling that went through me when he said her name. Denial was raging through my head as I pulled the wallet out, already knowing what I was going to find. It was her, younger, a little thinner, smiling into the camera as she posed, in her wedding dress, with her husband. Sighing, I sat down beside him. He actually looked pleased. "Is that her, motherfucker? Never mind, I can see by the look on your face it is. You really didn't know, did you? How's it feel? I hope it sucks as much for you as it does for me." Slow Dancing with a Fast Woman We talked, and after fifteen minutes I let him go, pulled the bottle of straight rye whiskey I'd picked up earlier for the bar at my new house, and we proceeded to get drunk. I woke when the sun hit my face, sitting up to see him holding the .32 and staring at me. Fear shot through me as he grinned. He lay the pistol in the tool box. "You're right. It ain't much of a weapon. Still, I'd hate to get shot by one." So we had another talk, again on the tailgate of the truck. I apologized again, surprised when he brushed it off. "I always knew it was coming. Sooner or later, the age difference and the fact that we liked few of the same things was going to come into play. That and the fact that I'm gone every weekend. She had plenty of time to play." Well, that explained her free time. He was an over the road trucker, specializing in hazardous loads that were best moved over weekends and at night to avoid as much traffic as possible. It paid really well, but kept him away from home Thursday night until Sunday night. "What are you going to do?" He looked at me in surprise. "Divorce her, for sure. She's yours now, if you still want her." I had drunkenly confessed my marriage proposal to him. I shrugged. "How could I trust her? This is the second time something like this has happened to me. No, we're done. It hurts, but I know from experience it can be gotten over." I drove him back to his car, reminding him to get his pistol as he got out. "You keep it. I don't think I need it around, reminding me it could have gotten me killed." As he got into his vehicle, I asked him again what he was going to do. "You're lucky. You get to just walk away. I have to go through a divorce. Gonna try to keep it simple, no fault, you go your way and leave me the hell alone type deal. No kids, so it shouldn't be messy." "If it does, get in touch, tell her you're going for adultery and I'll appear as a witness for you. That might make it easier." He looked up in surprise, and slowly held out his hand. I reached out the truck window and shook it. "Sorry, dude," he said, as he cranked up and drove away. I watched his tail lights disappear. "Me too," I said to empty space, before going in the opposite direction. I went over to Gram's house, got into the RV and drove away. ... I wasn't hiding from anyone, but I knew I needed to let a little time go by before I talked to her. It wasn't in my nature to hit a woman, but I wasn't above a little verbal slicing and dicing. I pulled in to a rest stop and sent her an email. "Melody, I'm not running away, but you really, really don't want to be around me right now. Don't look for me. I'm out of town and will be until next weekend. I'll be taking this time to reflect on our relationship. You do remember it, don't you? The one based on lies? Give me a call next weekend, and if I can keep my anger in check I'll try to actually listen to anything you have to say. Don't expect me to believe a lot of it, though." She sent me a short answer immediately. "Thank you for at least agreeing to let me talk. There's a lot of stuff about me that you didn't know that I'd like to tell you. Unless you say otherwise, Ill be at your house next Saturday at four. And Jess, believe it or not, I do love you." I thought and brooded all week. My guys knew a little of what was going on, so they forgave me for being a flaming asshole for the first few days. As Saturday approached, my sense of dread increased. At least she didn't dress up, or try to entice me into bed. She had on jeans and a simple top, and was still the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. I was actually pleased to see, even with make up, how red her eyes were. I didn't let her get past the kitchen, making her sit across from me at the kitchen table she'd spent two weeks trying to decide if it was the perfect one. She started to speak but I held up my hand. "Ground rules. Don't tell me how much you love me, don't waste our time with a lot of apologies. Just explain it to me. Why were you out hitting bars, hooking up with guys while you were married? Do you really think I can go forward, wondering where you're at while I'm away working? You could crawl out of bed with someone else and be all showered and fresh when you welcome me home, dragging me up to bed for a shot of sloppy seconds. Could you live like that if it was you wondering?" Tears came out, and she sobbed quietly for a few minutes before she got it together. The look of defeat was total. "I've already lost you, haven't I?" I didn't answer her, so she squared her shoulders, looked me in the eyes and started. "I don't think it matters anymore, but I'm going to tell you anyway. I was raised dirt poor, the term 'trailer park trash' kind of sums up my childhood. Mom left before I was old enough to remember me, so I was raised by my Dad and two older sisters. I was an oops baby, born when both my parents were in their late thirties. My sisters were just hitting their teens when I arrived. Pop was a functioning alcoholic, and he never once, in the whole time he was alive, told me he loved me." She sighed, remembering. "He finally died of liver disease just after I turned eighteen. My sisters had families of their own then, one on her second marriage, the other on her third. So you see, there wasn't what you'd call good role models in my life. Then I met Jerry. I didn't love him, but I respected him, and I knew he'd take care of me. I just knew it would turn into love eventually. We were still doing fine until he took that job." "I was bored, and lonely. He talked me into going into the nursing program at the community college, just to give me something to focus on. I don't think he ever expected me to graduate, and continue my schooling until I became a registered nurse. But for the first time in my life I had a purpose and a valuable skill. The ER job paid the most money, so I took it. It was intense, demanding, and left me little time to dwell on how my life was going. Jerry was making good money, so I banked most of my salary, intending it to be the down payment for a house." "Things were still okay until they changed my hours. Now when he was home, I was gone. I made friends, who encouraged me to stop sitting at home and go with them for drinks, maybe some dancing. I still wore my rings, and nobody got to touch me, but it relieved my boredom. I know it doesn't make any difference now, but I was planning on leaving Jerry before I met you. Then I fell in love and lust, and had to have you." "The first time you kissed me I knew it was over for me and Jerry. I still respected him, but I was never gonna love him. So I got a lawyer and started the paperwork. I was in no hurry, though, wanting to get to know you better. There was no inclination on my part to start a relationship with anyone until I was sure. I don't expect you to believe me, but I never slept with anyone else until you. You're only the second man I've ever been with, and that's the truth." She pulled out some papers. "Look at the date. They should have been filed months ago. I just didn't know how to tell him, and the guilt was eating me alive." "That's why I wanted to wait, honey. I may not be the best person, sleeping with and loving you while I was still married, but there was no way I'd take your ring until I was a free woman. And I was going to tell you, soon. But I was going to wait until after I had moved out, and honestly, I was going to lie a bit about the timeline." She had talked herself out, waiting. "You know, I actually believe most of what you're telling me Mel, but there are still some sore spots for me. One, when you realized your feelings, you should have separated right then. Instead you, in my opinion, stayed with Jerry as a fall back plan, just in case I wasn't what you thought you wanted. And you had to still be sleeping with him, even while you were fucking me. How do you rationalize that to yourself? Or me? But the big thing for me is even if we end up together, I still have to travel for my job. What happens when you get lonely? Will you be going out with your friends, maybe fall into the same situation again? Will I be like Jerry, lurking in parking lots to kill your new lover?" Her tears got bigger as I talked. I let the air out of my lungs, trying to center. "It comes down to trust, Mel. If I marry, it will be to a woman I trust heart and soul, one who will always, always, have our best interests at heart. And right now, you're not it. Honestly, I doubt you ever will be. But I'll make you this deal. Get your divorce. Let a little time go by, then give me a call, if you're still interested. Maybe we can start over. We'll see." That was it. The final act. It took her ten minutes to get back under control. She wanted a kiss, which I refused. I did hug her, and she held so tightly I figured I'd have bruises later. She stood back sniffling. "I understand, Jess, I really do. And though you don't have much use for my promises right now I'm going to make you one. Doesn't matter if we get back together, you will never, ever, find a woman that loves you more than I do. And one day, maybe years down the road, even if we're not together, I'll find a way to prove it to you." She turned and left without another word. ... We only talked twice after that. I was too angry and she was too weepy to hold an intelligent conversation, but she was determined to try. Finally, she gave up talking directly, and started emailing me once a week or so. She tried to keep it upbeat and chatty, but for at least three months they all ended up with her pleading for another chance. I responded occasionally, if she touched a nerve. She wrote to me about going into therapy, and how much it was helping her. She even talked Jerry into going with her twice, her only comment was that it was informative. She started emailing less, maybe twice a month, Finally, seven months later, she stopped. I still have her last one saved, I can't seem to make myself delete it. "My darling Jess, I know it bothers you when I use terms of endearment, but this is going to be my very last contact with you, so I'm going to say what I feel, even if you don't like it. I got the papers today. I'm officially a single woman again." "The second best thing to ever happen to me(I will always consider meeting you the first)was going into therapy. I actually learned who I really was." "I should have never married Jerry, but I was selfish and looking for a way out of my miserable life. I was too young, too immature, too stubborn to be in an adult relationship. Oh, I went through the motions, but my heart was never really in it. Even without you, my marriage would have died eventually. I think inertia and fear kept me with him." "My time with Dr. Chu has taught me to throw away my crutches, and stand on my own two feet for the first time in my life. Jerry was shocked when I told him I wanted none of our joint assets, and sent him a check repaying him for my education. I owed him that much, and more. We didn't exactly part friends, but I don't think he hates me as much now." "It's kind of funny if you think about it. Remember that lie I told you about living with two more nurses and the no boyfriend rule? I'm living it now, splitting a three bedroom condo with two more nurses. It works for me, even though I'm independent now, I don't think I could stand going home to an empty apartment." "In honor of my divorce, I'm going to give you a gift. I'm going to let you go. Dr. Chu has helped me realize that if I were you, I'd have a hard time trusting me." "So, I letting go. I hope you have a good life, and find a woman who loves you as much as I did, as much as I still do." Mel I stared at the screen for a long time, finger hovering over the delete button. I didn't want to read it again. It hurt too much. I saved it instead. So I wandered aimlessly through life. If it hadn't been for work, I would have probably have lost it completely. It took me almost ten months before I went on a date. She was a beautiful woman, the sister of a contractor I did a lot of business with. She was witty, articulate, and seemed to enjoy rubbing her body all over me while we danced. I really enjoyed the evening, but at the end, we both realized there was no spark at all between us. We actually went out twice more before she found someone else and we called it a day. I saw Mel twice during this time. Once, as I was sitting at a stoplight, I saw her through the window of a little bistro. She was with a group of women, smiling and chattering. I sat so long the guy behind me had to blow his horn to get me to move. Mel glanced up at the noise, looking straight into my eyes as I pulled away. The next time was at a club. I was on my second date with Tina, and we had just been seated when I noticed her, sitting across the room with four of her friends. She must have felt eyes on her, because she looked up, seeing me. Time stood still as we stared at each other. Actually, it was about thirty seconds, before she burst into tears and ran from the club. Her friends chased after, all but one, who stopped at my table. "Asshole! Did it feel good, rubbing another woman in her face? What the fuck is wrong with you?" I was actually pretty calm. "Hello to you too, Gwen. I don't want to belittle your point of view, but I'm not shoving anybody in anyone's face. It's been almost a year since Mel and I were together. This is a pretty small town, we were bound to run into each other eventually. Tell her I'm sorry if I upset her, but it's time for her to move on. Goodnight, Gwen." I turned back to Tina, ignoring her. She stood glowering for a few minutes before she walked off mumbling "asshole" under her breath. Tina, naturally, wanted the whole story, so I told her. She looked at me and sighed. "You might tell yourself it's over, but I saw the look on your face when you saw her. Even as we talk you're watching the door like a hawk, waiting to see if she comes back. And she's still in love with you, why else would an ex make her cry after almost a year apart? You guys need to clear the air." I didn't acknowledge her observation. We dated one more time before she met someone she was interested in. Jerry had started hanging around my cousin's bar. It gave us both the same thing. It was the one place Mel would never enter again. He was actually a stand up guy. As we got friendlier, the guys would razz him for trying to kill me. I told them to lay off. "He had right on his side. If he hadn't been quite so drunk, he would have been a lot more accurate, and I'd be just a memory." One night, after quite a few beers, he asked me a question out of the blue. "Do you miss her?" I knew who he was talking about. There was no use trying to bullshit him. "Every day." He sighed. "Me too, but not every day. Just time to time, when I see a mutual friend or go by a place we used to enjoy. I had a lot of years tied up in her. You know, I saw one of her nurse friends the other day, one of the few I liked, and we talked for a few minutes. She said they call Melody 'The Nun' because she won't date. She didn't blame it on me, she blamed it on you. Said you had messed her up so bad she couldn't stand the thought of being intimate with another man. She also told me she was in therapy, something I bet you already knew. One of her tasks she assigned herself was to write a letter of apology to everyone she had wronged. In my letter she called it 'purging the demons'. You get anything like that?" I admitted I had, but didn't elaborate. "Well, as bad as she fucked over me, I remember the good times. And there at the end, she stood up, admitting her guilt, heck, she even gave me the money back I spent on her nursing degree. I hope she finds someone else, someone who'll treat her nice." I grunted. Jerry had gotten lucky. The day his divorce became final, one of the dispatchers at his work asked him out. She was a few years older, a war widow, with a fourteen year old boy and a twelve year old girl. They were made for each other, shared the same views, the same beliefs, and he got along great with her kids. He was even an assistant coach on the girls' softball team. He went as far as nagging me and my cousin into sponsoring them. We actually took half the bar and went to a few games and cheered for her by name, embarrassing her no end. But the hug she gave him was genuine, and he looked so proud he could bust. We were already planning his bachelor party. I was happy for him, sad for me, watching the little girls play, wondering if I'd ever get to be in the stands, cheering my own kid. My chances were getting slimmer, I was thirty-two. My clock was ticking. So I laid more rock, throwing myself into the business, growing it. There comes a time, though, when you can saturate your market. I was taking on more work than we could do, even after adding more masons. Gram and my sister got on me about it. "Let someone else have the contract, Jess. Get caught up on what we have. If you don't our quality will slip, the kiss of death in this field. Think of Pop. You want his life's work to disappear?" It made sense. I stopped taking on more work, even farmed out a few of the smaller projects to competitors I knew would do a good job. ... I got my business back on an even keel, but wandered personally. I ran into Becca, from college, when she asked me to come out and bid a job. She emailed me, using her married name, so I was surprised when I saw her. She was a little thicker, but still attractive. Besides being very successful in her own career, by her own admission she had married well. He was loaded, seven zeros worth according to Becca. She held his arm while she told me this, embarrassing him no end. He was probably ten years older, and they had just had their first child. What they wanted was pretty elaborate, including a small stone cottage, destined to be a play house. She wanted it built like a Scottish shepherd cottage, one she saw while they were on their honeymoon. We talked, and I agreed to take the contract, if I could do it on my own schedule. I did take two apprentices and a journeyman, and started on the boundary and privacy walls. I did the preliminary work, laying the lines, selecting the stones. She wanted local field stone, a bit of a trick because there were no local suppliers. I got lucky, buying up some existing walls from an estate, painstakingly marking every rock so I could reassemble it on the new site. There was also a stone chimney on the property, the last remnant of the original house. I wandered over and looked at it, and saw an example of stonework at it's finest. Every stone, down to the flagstone hearth, shaped and fitted perfectly. It impressed me so much I had Becca come out and look it over, explaining my idea. She was all over it immediately. I built her a stone patio, with the fireplace as the centerpiece, complete with half walls tapering back in a vee that kept the heat reflected onto the sitting area. It was the perfect thing for cool fall evenings. She sent me a photo years later, of her three children and their friends sitting in front of the fire, roasting marshmallows, as snow fell around them. An unexpected bonus came when I disassembled it, and found a hiding place beneath the largest hearth stone. It was actually a pretty common practice at the time, the only logical way to store valuables, fire being much more of a risk in those days. There was a wooden cigar box, containing a half full bottle of whiskey, still good because it was stored cork side down, two love letters from the 1870's and a wedding ring. There was a small bag that contained two silver dollars and assorted other change. The letters were from his lover, the one he bought the ring for, but he died in the fire before they married. Technically it was mine since I had purchased it, but I turned it all over the heirs of the estate, who fought over it for a little before donating it to the local historical society. It made the papers, and there was a rash of dug up hearths all over the county. If anyone found anything they didn't say. Slow Dancing with a Fast Woman After I finished the project, Becca invited me to a party to show my work off. I went, for business purposes mostly. After all, most of their friends were pretty well off. I made a few connections, and ended up sitting with Becca as the party wound down. "I still talk to her every once in a while," she said, out of the blue. I knew she was talking about Cindy. I hadn't really thought about her in years. Without asking me, she pulled up some photos on her phone. Cindy had cut her hair much shorter than in college, and had probably gained thirty pounds. On her tall frame it didn't look that bad, but the tone I remembered was long gone. There was one of her standing next to a man that was a couple inches shorter. They had their arms around each other, smiling for the camera. "Her second husband," said Becca. "The first was a total failure, because both had affairs. A year later she met David when he brought her a client. They ended up having coffee, which led to a date, which lead to the altar. She was in therapy also, and told him the truth, about you, her first husband, and how she didn't think she was good wife material. He convinced her, after a long engagement, that he was willing to take that risk, give her that trust, because he had no choice. He just couldn't see living without her." "They eloped the next day. It's been a little less than two years, and they're inseparable. I believe she'll make it this time." I think I surprised her when I told her I was happy for her. ... I thought about it later, and I decided I really was happy for her. It apparently taken her years to get her head on straight, and I hoped it was worth the wait. As for me, I quit dating, trying to get my own head on straight. I couldn't see getting involved with anyone with the specter of Melody still lingering. On a whim, I sent her an email. "Mel, I just want you to know I wasn't trying to make some kind of statement when I saw you in the club. I had no intention of causing you pain or making you uncomfortable. It was pure happenstance, I had no idea you were there. If it's any consolation, it pretty much ruined my night too. Jess" She answered me the next day. "I'm sorry I ruined your evening. I had no right. I know we're over. I know we'll never be together. I just can't seem to stop loving you. I've actually given up trying. Time is supposed to heal you, but all it does is make me miss you more. I've had an offer from another hospital, far enough away that I won't run into you. I think I'm going to accept the job, and make a fresh start. Maybe then I'll heal. I really do wish you happiness, Mel" "PS, if you ever want to talk, just email." I thought about it. I didn't really see her that often, but if moving away helped her, I was all for it. Maybe then one of us would be happy. ... And now, here we were, swaying to the music. It felt disturbingly familiar and totally different at the same time. Jerry had bribed the band, and they played three slow songs in a row. I would have stopped after the first one but she wouldn't let go. I thought about forcing the issue, but didn't. When they were finally over, she locked down on my hand. "Will you sit with me for a bit? Please? I'll get down on my knees and beg if I have to." The thought of her embarrassing us both by doing that made me agree. She led me to a small table in the back, far enough away from the band to be able to talk. She tried to make small talk, and I let her ramble for a minute before stopping her. "What do you really want to say, Mel? Stop beating around the bush and get it out." She hung her head for a second, then looked up at me. I'd never seen a more determined look on her face. "I can answer that with one word. You. I want you back. I've tried, Jess, really, really tried, but I can't let you go, can't forget about you, can't stop loving you. I can see it in your eyes, you still care for me. I know you don't date, my friends seem to make it a point of telling me that every time they see me. Why? You're the whole package. Good looks, good values, great job, bright future. I bet you've been hit on a lot since we've split. You could have your pick, but you shut them all down. I think I know why. I can tell you why I haven't found anyone else." "In the first place, I didn't want anybody else. I've considered dating a couple of times, but I look at them and wonder how they'd measure up to you, and tell them no. I never stopped loving you, I didn't even pretend to try. Can we please start over? I think you'll find me a lot different than I used to be. I'm begging here, just give me one chance. Take me on one date,and if it feels off I'll never bother you again. Think about it, and give me a call. My number is still the same. Thank you for listening, and thanks for the dance. It meant a lot to me." She hopped up and kissed me on the cheek before walking away. I saw her speak to Jerry and Anna, hugging both, before disappearing through the door. Jerry walked over and sat down. "Well?" "Well, what?" "Don't act like an idiot. Are you going to give her another chance? You should. You deserve it." I looked at him like he'd just turned green started speaking a foreign language. He just sighed. "It's up to you. One more thing I meant to tell you earlier. From the day she met you, she never had sex with me again. She apologized for it in her letter. She told me she had been exposed to something at work, and it would be six months before it would be safe to have sex again, and she would have to be tested to be sure she was disease free. I should have been pissed about it, but by the time she told me I was over her. I think deep down, I never loved her either. Not the way she should have been loved. Now come on, congratulate us one more time before we leave. Niagara Falls, can you believe it? I wanted somewhere warm, but she wanted this. I got a feeling that whatever Anna wants, Anna is going to get. She wanted me, and she got me. She's the one who insisted I get you both here. She can be very persuasive. I like it." ... I thought about it for about two weeks. The next town over held Friday night concerts on the old courthouse lawn in the summer. Blues, folk, the odd rock and country band to even things up. There was a blues duo, a man and woman, with the catchy name Freeman Feelbad Jr. and Sweet Thang, playing that weekend. I'd heard them before and they were quite good. I called Mel up and asked if she'd like to attend. There was a long silence, I thought she had hung up, before I heard a quiet yes and what sounded like a sob, and she was gone. It seemed like a safe choice. Surrounded by lots of people, there was no chance of getting into something too deep. I didn't even pick her up,we met at the venue. I had gotten there early and staked out a good spot, setting up the chairs in advance. She appeared, right on time, at the place we agreed to meet. She didn't see me at first, so I spent a moment looking at her. She had on a pale yellow sundress, her long curls glistening in the backdrop of the sinking sun. It was enough to take your breath. Her smile blossomed as she saw me. She rushed up, about to hug me, when she caught herself. Instead, she brushed my hand, shyly. We walked around the square until show time, window shopping and people watching. I got two glasses of a red wine I knew she liked, to sip on while we listened. The duo was very good, professional quality. The guy was older, mid forties at least, and she look to be just past thirty. Their voices blended very well, and he was a slide virtuoso. Their patter between songs was humorous, and their song selection had a little something for every one. We laughed at the humorous ones, but when the guy sang a song about a cheating woman you could hear the anguish in his voice. Mel stiffened and looked at me, blushing. The next song, a duet about romance rekindled, brought a smile to her face. By nine the concert was over. She stood as I stowed the chairs away, looking at me wistfully. "Thank you for tonight, Jess, it..." "Isn't over, yet. Unless you want it to be. I'm hungry, wanna grab a pizza at Yanni's?" Tears glistened as she took my hand. It was one of our favorite restaurants, when we were together. Yanni's was a restaurant on the square, offering Greek and Italian cuisine. They stayed open an extra hour on concert nights, and did a good business. I'd done the stonework on his outdoor dining area. Yanni personally served us, not even letting us order. "Ah, young lovers. I fear you forget your old friend. Is good to see you again. One Yanni pizza, right away." A large pizza, half filled with anchovies(mine), the other piled high with mushrooms(hers). We ate, and had the rest boxed. I walked her to her car. "Well, thanks for the evening, Mel. I had fun." She had been holding my hand since we left the restaurant. Before I could say anything else, she wrapped me in a tight hug, kissed me on the cheek, and jumped into her car. I stood and watched her tail lights fading, wondering what it all meant. ... We dated twice more, a silly romance movie that gave her an excuse to hold my hand and snuggle while she sniffled. Then a day at a local fair. She made me walk with her through all the exhibits, oohing at the canned goods and cakes, laughing at some of the exotic vegetables. She stopped dead in front of a huge quilt display, a dozen or more, ranging from traditional to modern, all works of art in fabric. Tears formed again, and I was hit with a memory. She had showed me a picture of a quilt in one of her magazines, one night as we were snuggling in my new house. "I've always wanted to learn to do that." "Why?" "Because, silly, I want to be able to make all the children their own personal quilt, something durable they can pass to their own children, and them to our great-grandchildren." She caught what she had said, and looked at me nervously. I grinned. "How many quilts are we talking about?" She smiled, happy I wasn't angry. "Oh, at least three. Maybe more, if I'm lucky." She laughed at the stunned expression on my face and snuggled down again, flipping pages. Returning to the present,I didn't say anything, but I took her hand and squeezed it gently, grabbing a card in front of the display, putting it in my pocket. "Busy Needle Quilting Club. Join us and learn the art of making quilts. We have classes,workshops, and soon you'll be sewing with confidence." Hey, her birthday was coming up. I thought it would make a perfect gift. Candy would be eaten, flowers would fade, but a new skill would stay with you forever. We rode the rides, at least the ones she could get me on. I watched as she rode the scarier ones by herself. Come on now, everybody is afraid of something, right? She thought it was hilarious that a combat hardened veteran was afraid of a little old roller coaster. She had her own fears, the main one being thunderstorms. She had almost been hit by lightning when she was six. It struck the ground ten feet away, knocking her and her friends off their feet, unconscious. Now, she stays inside, well away from the windows, and would shake until it was over. Holding her helped, a little. We shared our first full kiss, as we sat and watched the fireworks they held nightly while the fair ran, snuggled together in the bleachers of the arena. It just happened, neither of us planned it. She said something, and when I turned to answer our lips seemed to lock of their volition. It felt like it lasted hours, but it was probably only ten or fifteen seconds. We parted, and looked at each other, amazement plain on both our faces. We never said another word to each other the rest of the night, and when I took her home she simply got out and went inside. We didn't see each other for almost three weeks. We weren't avoiding each other, I was still trying to catch up on my work. Weather had put us behind again, and it took us that long to catch up. We did talk on the phone a few times, and she seemed distant. I started to wonder if the kiss was a mistake. I called home, telling my family I had wrapped the project up and intended to be home by Thursday. They seemed happy, they were concerned I was working too hard, and it was burning me out. ... I sighed, dropping the bag full of dirty laundry in the foyer. I'd wash them later. First I wanted a shower, in the worst possible way. The only change I'd made since I bought the place was to remodel the bathroom. It was larger, and the shower had room for four people. It had six heads that could be turned on all at once, individually, or in any combination a person could think of, with a choice of full flow, massaging pulses, or gentle mist. My first thought when I had it done was how much Mel would have loved it. It didn't get completed until two weeks after our break up. I was glad in a way, I didn't need to have any memories of a naked, happy Mel every time I showered. When you live alone, especially if you have for a while, you tend not to worry about how you're attired when you walk around. I came out of the shower naked, rubbing my hair with a towel. It was getting long, I was thinking, time for a haircut. I'd had a buzz cut when we met, and she talked me into letting it grow out. She said she loved to run her hands through it. I think she liked to tug it when we were making love. I didn't mind in the least. I thought I heard giggling, and pulled the towel away. There was Mel, sitting on the bed. "What? How! Why are..." Her smile split her face. "The what is your mother told me you'd be home today. The how is you never had me give my keys back, and the why is because I have something to tell you. Now put some clothes on and meet me in the living room." She giggled again, looking at my cock, which seemed to like the idea of being ogled. "Or not, either way works for me." She swayed out of the bedroom, felt me watching her, looked over her shoulder and grinned. "Here's another thought. You stay as you are and I'll join you." The thought put me at full mast. "No," I sputtered, "I'll be out in a second." I grabbed some shorts and a shirt, willing myself to relax. It took a few minutes. She was in the rocking chair when I came out, looking over the backyard. Turning to me, she gave me that beautiful smile. "I need to tell you some things, and I need you to not interrupt. I'd like to get it all out before I lose my nerve. Please?" I nodded, sinking down on the sectional she insisted we have. I thought about changing the furniture when we split, but it worked well in the room, and it was comfortable. I tended to sit in the recliner most of the time. Every time I sat on the sectional flashes of us snuggling, or making love ran through my mind and I'd end up moving. "I know I've sounded off the last few times we talked. It's because of the kiss. It reminded me of things I'd lost, things I want back. I want you back, I want you to chase me around this house like you used to, until I get tired of the game and let you catch me. I want to take the air mattress into the backyard, lie on it like we used to, watching the stars as we snuggle, then make love. I want you to love me again." She stopped, gathering her thoughts. I started to speak but she held her hand up. "Wait, I'm almost finished." "Then I realized something. You already love me. I know it, you know it, everybody we know knows it. Love isn't our problem. Trust is." "I lied to you in the worst possible way. It took a while, but I now realize how badly I hurt you. So I had to find a way to get your trust back. Here's what I came up with. Let me move back in. You've got security cameras, add to them. Wire the whole house. Then, while you're away, you can access the feed any time you want, to see what I'm up to. Put a GPS tracker on my car, then at a glance you can tell where I'm at and where I've been. I've done some research on the internet. We can get a personal tracker, like those ankle things criminals wear. This model is a bracelet. Again, you can see at a glance where I'm at at all times." She looked down, a deep blush on her face. "If that's not enough, I'll...I'll wear a chastity belt. They make them, I checked. You could lock me in when you leave, turn me loose when you get home. I'd do all this, just to prove you can trust me." Wow. Mel had obviously put a massive amount of thought in to this. Sadly, there was one thing she missed. I explained it to her as gently as possible. "First, let me thank you, for thinking about a way to get us back together. For be willing to do all the things you described. But it'll never work." Tears started and I held up my hand when she tried to speak. "My turn. Hear me out. All the things you're willing to do are things that aren't necessary. If we did them, you wouldn't be a partner in a relationship, you'd be a slave. While some of it sounds like fun from a play standpoint, you couldn't live with it constantly. Oh, I'm sure you'd try, but sooner or later you would start to resent it. I know I would. All these things won't promote trust, just the opposite. If I have to go to that much trouble, it would just reinforce the idea you CAN'T be trusted. I couldn't live like that. Deep down, you know all this." Tears were flowing freely now. She got up, fumbling towards the door. I caught her, pulling her down to the couch with me. She buried her head in my shoulder, and cried for a few minutes. I petted her, loving the way she felt in my arms. Finally she pushed away from me. "So it's over then?" "Quite the opposite, baby. I think we are just beginning. What you did today, what you were willing to do, that took a lot of guts. THAT"S what makes me think we might just make it. So, let's go slow, build on what we've done. Okay?" She looked up and smiled. It reminded me of the sun popping out after a bad storm. "Really?" "Yes, hon, really." That led to a massive make out session. Her nipples were straining, her face was flushed, and I was hard as a rock. She jumped up, pulling on me. "Come on, baby, I need to show you just how much I love you. I haven't made love since the last time we were together. You're getting an almost virgin." I hesitated for a second and tears formed. "That is, if you want to." She squealed when I surged off the couch, flipping her over my shoulder. She giggled and pounded my back as I carried her into the bedroom, tossing her in the middle. "STRIP!" It wasn't slow, or sensual, it was a woman in a hurry. She wiggled out of her tight jeans, cursing when her panties got caught on her ankles as she tried to take them off over her sneakers. A couple of buttons popped as she shed her blouse. The bra was a front catch, and she didn't bother releasing it, ripping it off and flinging it. When she was finally naked, she sighed, stretching her body sinuously, getting comfortable. I had been shedding clothes as rapidly, lucky I didn't have as many as she did to remove. I paused, drinking in her beauty. She actually whined. "Please baby, please." I should talk about how I worshiped her full breasts, biting and sucking on them while she writhed with pleasure. Or how I took my time, licking her to one orgasm after another, and entering her slowly delaying the pleasure of release as long as possible. Fuck all that. I was between her legs, slamming into her before she finished speaking. Luckily she was soaking, or it would have been very uncomfortable. She screamed out a massive orgasm before a minute had gone by, and had another five minutes later when I let loose what felt like a gallon into her. I collapsed and tried to roll off her, but she wrapped her arms and those long legs around me, and wouldn't let go for five minutes. Only the need to breathe made her turn me loose. We lay there, gasping like we'd run a marathon. She rose up, kissed me deeply, then snuggled into my shoulder, and promptly fell asleep. I lay there, stroking her body, until I dozed off. Slow Dancing I sneak a look at myself in the mirror, and am gratified to see that the gown still looks as good on me as it did when I found it. I raise my arms, satisfying myself that no part of my bra will be visible in the relatively modest neck and shoulder lines, then turn to eye my profile. My dancing and gymming have paid off and the dress hugs me like a bodysuit; I'm very happy with the result. I pull on my evening gloves, and shoot myself a smouldering look in the mirror. "David?" I call out. I hear him walking towards my room, and for some reason butterflies start up in my stomach again. He knocks. I laugh, nervously. "I know it's you, and I'm decent. Come in." He opens the door, then stops. "Wow." he says, after a while. "You like?" I ask, unreasonably happy at his reaction. "Be still my beating heart," he says, shaking his head. "That good, huh?" I say. "Em," he says. "I'm your brother. There are some things brothers are not supposed to say to sisters." I grin. "Nobody's here but me. Tell me the truth. Do I look good?" "Emily, you could stop traffic in that dress. You're delicious as you are, and in that..." He stops, then blushes, and I feel myself flushing too. "Um..." he says, "I'll be outside." He makes a speedy escape, and I find myself worried that I've pushed him too far. I undress as quickly as I can, hanging the dress carefully back on its hangers and then dragging my tee-shirt and tracksuit pants back on. I find him on the balcony, drinking his wine quietly as he stares up at the night sky. "Davey?" I ask, quietly. "Hi," he smiles. I worm my way in under his arm. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." He laughs, quietly. "Don't mind me, Em. I'm just a jealous brother. You're going to be mobbed tomorrow and I'm going to have to flirt with old ladies." I punch him gently in the chest and he snorts back some more laughter. I lean my head against him, listening to the gentle thumping of his heart. "I'd never desert you," I whisper. "What was that, Em?" "Nothing. I've missed you is all." I wriggle out from under his arm, and wrap my arms around him, squeezing him as hard as I can. "Don't be too late, Davey. It's a bit of a drive to the reception and we need to get there with time to spare." "I'm coming to bed now, Em. Just finishing my wine." I squeeze him once more, then turn and head for bed. I turn out the lights in my room, strip down to my panties, and climb under the blankets, where I toss and turn for a while, remembering the look on his face when he first saw me in the gown. I hear him coming in, closing the sliding door to the balcony, and putting his wineglass into the sink. He stops and pokes his head into my room, and I pretend to be asleep. He pads quietly into the room, and through slitted eyes I see him stoop forwards towards me. He plants a gentle stubbly kiss on my cheek, and whispers a quiet "I've missed you too." before tip-toeing out and gently closing my door on me and the sudden ache he's left me with. I long ago made peace with the fact that I'm in love with him, and that I can never have him. But having him this close just makes it harder to bear. --- I wake up thirsty in the early hours of the morning. My phone says its 3am, and I curse under my breath at whatever woke me up. I lie there for a few minutes, wishing I could fall asleep again, but I know it's futile and I need to get up and get some water. I grumble, and kick the blankets aside, then get up. Briefly I consider dragging a top on, but given the hour it's hardly necessary, so I slouch quietly out to the kitchen. I grab a glass and pour myself some water, and sip it while staring out the balcony window. My complex borders onto a large green belt area, so I'm lucky enough to have a bit of a view. I lean against the glass, enjoying the sensation of goose bumps spreading over my shoulders at the cold. I can see what look like deer wandering over the grass in front of the distant tree line; the silly things love to menace the shrubs along the complex's boundary wall, and I've always enjoyed watching them. Occasionally one sees rabbit and foxes as well. I count my lucky stars that my parents pay for me to live where I do... "Emily?" I jump, startled, and spin. David's standing sleepily at the door to the lounge. His eyes widen and I remember that I'm topless. I squawk, and grab the curtain, wrapping it around myself. "David!" I'm flustered. I honestly didn't hear him. "Um... everything ok?" "Yep. Fine. Perfect." I pull the curtains tighter around me. "Sorry, I head noise and came to investigate..." "Just me. I needed water. Um... Davey... you've got me at a disadvantage here." "Oh... oh, right. Sorry Em, still asleep here. You need a top?" "Please. There's one on the floor in my bedroom. Please be a sweetheart and grab it for me." He ducks out, and quickly returns with the top, passing it gently to me before turning his back so I can pull it on. "That'll teach me," I mutter, once I'm decent. "Sorry, Em, I didn't know it was you." "My own fault, Davey." I touch him gently, and he turns around. "I didn't know you were awake and thought I'd be ok running around au naturel." He grins wryly. "I'll make some noise next time." "Why were you awake at this hour?" I ask, concerned. "Unsure. Just suddenly woke up; it happens sometimes." He stretches his arms up behind his head. "Well. I'd be lying if I said I was sleepy now." "David!" I gasp, then laugh helplessly. "You perve, I'm your sister." He winks at me. "Where do you keep your coffee, Em? Above the sink, right?" "Yep. Make me a tea while you're at it to make up for your ungentlemanly behaviour and maybe I'll forgive you." I grin. He chuckles quietly, and puts the kettle on, then organises two cups. He brings me my tea when it's done, and then slumps back onto the couch. I take up position next to him. I feel strangely daring. "So, did you enjoy the view?" I ask, mouth curled up in amusement. "Well, you know, the lighting was poor and the venue was not great, but yes, the act itself was rather nice." "Rather. Nice." I say, flatly. "Critically acclaimed?" he offers. "I was shooting for a BAFTA award" I sigh. He laughs. "Em, I'm your brother. But I'm also a guy. Take it from me, the twins are lovely." I smile to myself, pleased, and lean over against him. He puts an arm around me and squeezes me against him, and for a while I lose myself in the feeling of his body against me. A hot ache takes root in my belly and I suddenly realise I'm desperately horny. I hope to heaven that my nipples are not erect, given the thin boundary of fabric that's currently the only thing that's preserving my modesty. I cough, and shift - David shoots me a glance, then finishes his coffee. "Bed?" he suggests. I sigh, and nod. "Long day today, I guess we should." On a whim I follow him into the spare room, and sit on the side of his bed as he climbs back under the covers. Then, quickly, I lift the sheets and sneak in with him. "Oh, hello," he says, with amusement. "Fancy finding you here." I snuggle up against him as if I were twelve again, and grin at him. "There's space for two and it's been years since I snuggled with you. Move over." He obligingly makes room for me, and I bask happily in the heat he gives off; David's thermostat's always run hot, I swear he'd wear a vest and jogging shorts to Greenland. Me on the other hand? I love the cold, but I suffer from it. I roll onto my side, away from him, and pillow my head on his outstretched arm. He rubs my back gently for a short while, then whispers a quiet "Night, Em". "Night, Davey," I whisper back. Soon I can hear him softly snoring. What I do next will likely scandalize me in the cold light of day, but I feel warm and safe, next to the man I love, and so it's natural for me to slip a hand down under my panties to try to deal with some of my excess frustration. Quietly, gently, I crook my fingertip down between my lips, amused to discover that I'm already wet. Achingly slowly I start to toy with my clit. The angle is wrong, so I shift my hips slightly and move one leg to spread myself. Then, gently, slowly, I start to tease at first one and, soon, two fingers over and around myself. The breath hisses quietly though my teeth, and an ache builds deep inside me. Being constrained like this is hot, damned hot, and I fight the moans back down, but the shudders I can't control. I feel myself building, and then, suddenly as always, it takes me. I shake, and a small whimper escapes me. I lie still, letting my heart rate slow. Behind me, David's breathing is unchanged, and I smile a small, satisfied smile to myself as I snuggle back against him. --- Sunlight wakes me, and I sleepily shift. I can feel David pressed against my back, spooning me. I can feel something else too, and my breath catches slightly as I realise that his hard penis is pressed into the cleft of my buttocks. I try not to move, savouring the moment for as long as I can. But then reality sinks in and I realise that he'll probably be mortified if he wakes up like this. And so I scoot gently away from him, slipping quietly out of the bed. I stand, looking down at him. The faint lines on his face which appeared in the last several years are almost invisible; he looks at peace. I sneak a look at his phone; we still have an hour's grace before we need to get up, so I leave him to sleep, and take advantage of the time to have a shower. I can't get the feeling of his body against me out of my head, try as I want to. My long, one-sided love-affair with him is just that, one sided, and all I'm doing is torturing myself. But I could feel him... hard... ready... I wonder, pausing idly, what he was dreaming of. Or maybe, I snort, it was just the feel of a warm body against him that caused his body to respond. I sigh, sadly, and stretch, letting the hot water sluice over my neck and shoulders for a while. Then I take care of some personal pruning, trimming my straggly pubic hair down to a more manageable triangular area. Suddenly, on a whim, I lather myself up and proceed to shave myself bare. I splash myself clean, then turn off the water. I grab my towel and pat myself till I'm no longer dripping. Then I take stock, looking at myself in front of the large mirror. I feel strangely naked now that I've shaved. Naked... and liberated, like I've shed a layer of skin. It's difficult to describe, really. I eye myself, lips pursed. At twenty three, I still look young enough to be asked for identification whenever I buy wine at the markets. I gently rub my fingertips over my breasts, watching the goose bumps spread over them and my shoulders. I enjoy being slender, and my B-cups complement my body and my small, firm flanks. I know I'm good looking from the reactions I get from guys, but at least I know I don't use that knowledge for evil. My eyes slip downwards over my firm, toned stomach, to my newly-bare mons. I'm slightly amused by how strange it looks, being able to see the junction of my lips so clearly. I start to understand why men (apparently) like it so much. I wonder idly whether David likes shaven girls. Then I shake my head, angrily, and start to towel my hair dry. It's a pointless fantasy, and dalliance in it is a waste of my time and emotional energy. I wrap the towel around myself, and head for the kitchen, where I try to quietly start getting things ready for breakfast. I guess I'm noisier than I realise, though, because I hear shuffling footsteps as David heads for the shower. Before long I hear the water running and the shower door closing. I daydream briefly about sneaking a peek, but that falls firmly under the category heading 'Bad Idea', so I don't act on the impulse. Instead, I make myself a cup of tea and try to behave like the decorous younger sister I should be. He emerges, eventually, bare-chested, with a towel wrapped around him. I try not to oggle him too obviously, but it's clear he's been exercising more regularly than he let on. It's difficult not to be impressed, though; he is very well built these days, and even has the first signs of a six-pack. He gives me a sleepy smile. "Hope you don't mind me in a towel," he says. I snort, and wave a hand vaguely at myself and my own towel. "What's good for the goose is good for the gander" I say. He climbs up onto one of the bar stools, and leans forward over the counter. "Breakfast?" "Almost ready," I say, "though I hope you're ok with fruit and muesli since I guess we're going to be eating an enormous amount tonight." "Sounds good to me," he says. "Did you sleep ok?" "Like a baby", I respond. "You?" "Mostly, yep." "Only mostly?" I ask, curious. "Yep. You woke me up at some point, I think you were dreaming." "Oh." I roll this over in my mind. "I don't remember." "It's fine, I rubbed your back a bit and you quietened down." He smiles. "My hero." I wink at him, and he snorts. We eat quietly, and I clean up afterwards while David finishes his coffee. "Em?" he says, quietly. "Yeah?" "What happened with Jason?" I slowly put the dish I'm washing down, and turn around to face him. "What do you mean?" "You two seemed to be doing really well together. Then, suddenly, catastrophe." I shrug. "He decided it was more important to stick his cock into some nineteen year old than it was to pick me up from class." He leans back. "Ah." "Yeah. Same story, different protagonist." He shakes his head, sadly. "He seemed like a nice guy." I sigh. "He was. I thought... no, never mind." "You thought what, Em?" I thought I'd finally found someone who'd make me forget you, is what I want to tell him. But of course I can't say this, so I change it slightly. "I thought I'd just finally found someone who could make me happy is all. And he did. Mostly. Anyway", I say, grimly, "It's all water under the bridge now." He stands up and walks around the counter, reaching out to pull me into a hug. I can't help myself, I cry a bit, but he holds me tightly until the shaking stops, then gives me a hard squeeze and a kiss on the forehead. "You'll find someone, Em. Someone who treats you the way you deserve." I shake my head and laugh, bitterly. "Maybe someday." Regretfully, I let go of him, and turn away so I can rub my eyes. My towel has slipped slightly so I adjust it. Then I sigh. "I guess it's time to start getting ready." he says. I turn back and squint up at him, then pat him on the cheek. "Yeah. You need a shave, by the way." "Yes, mum," he mutters, and saunters off. I lean back against the countertop, suddenly sad. Age makes my hopeless love for him worse. I shake my head, and run my fingers through my damp hair, then force a smile onto my face. At least he's my brother. At least I have that much of him. --- I sit in front of my dressing table, blow-drying my hair so it sets in the waves that I know perfectly frame my face. Then I stand and unwrap the towel. My eyes are slightly red, but I know that will clear with time, so I'm not concerned. I pick up the lacy black panties and strapless bra, and put them both on. Then the stockings with the woven in ivy pattern that I found at the same vintage shop my gown was at join them. I like the effect; the way the leaves scroll up my calves and thighs. Briefly, I pause. Then it's the gown, and the small silver fleur-de-lis earrings. I appraise myself, pleased. The blue and silver accentuate the blue of my eyes, and all I need is some base and a little bit of eyeliner and I'm good to go. David knocks on my door. "Mind if I come in, Em?" he asks. "Of course not." He steps through, and pauses. "Yep. Definitely going to be flirting with the grannies tonight." I smile over my shoulder at him, admiring the smart black trousers and white dress shirt he's wearing. Then I notice the small velvet bag he's carrying. "What's that?" "An early birthday present for my favourite sister." "I'm your only sister," I inform him, seriously. "Yep, and my favourite." he replies. I laugh at him. "Idiot." He smiles, and hands the bag to me. Curious, I undo the drawstrings, then upend it into my hand. My heart stops. "David." I breathe. The pendant necklace is silver, cupping a small blue pear-cut stone in a simple setting ringed with tiny pearls. It is understated and yet stunning; exactly the sort of item I'd wear. It's perfect for an event like the one we're attending. "Happy early birthday, Emily." I stand, and abandon all caution as I swing my arms up and around his neck, holding him close against me. "David, you can't spoil me like this." "Yes, I can, and I will." he says, holding me against him. "Now put it on; I had a suspicion it would be a match for you but the proof is in the viewing." "Help me," I beg, and I turn away, lifting my hair free of my neck. David hangs the pendant around my neck and clasps it, then steps back. I admire it in the mirror, then turn to look up at him. "It's beautiful." "Topaz and fresh water pearls. Classy and understated, just like you. I hope you like it." "Like it? David, it's lovely." Unthinkingly I stand on tiptoes and kiss him. He makes a surprised noise, and I belatedly realise that I've been unwise, but I don't care. He gently disengages himself and looks down at me, then hugs me, saying nothing. "I need to finish getting ready," he says, after a small while. "I know. Me too. David... thank you. This is the nicest gift anyone has ever bought for me." He smiles at me, and I know I'm forgiven my lapse. --- David places our jackets and other paraphernalia on the back seat of the Jaguar, and dumps our small overnight bags into the boot. I climb carefully into the passenger seat, he eases in behind the wheel, and we're off. I can't help but grin at the sound of the engine and the rush of the wind. "Can't we drop the roof?" I beg. "When we're out of town" he promises. We wind our way out through the lanes, and pull over into a farm road entrance where, true to his word, he drops the lid. It's a glorious Spring day, and I'm delighted to be out with him. I wrap a scarf around my hair to keep it under control, and we set off again, making good time across the Surrey countryside. We head southwest, deeper into the old woodlands, and I feel my cares blowing away; David is smiling next to me and I feel like I don't have a worry in the world. Eventually we turn into the vast private grounds of the venue, and I look around with interest. It's clearly well-maintained; it even has a large formal garden, and I can see couples strolling around with parasols and morning coats. "I hope you brought a top hat," I tease David, and he laughs, shaking his head. We park, and David climbs out, then walks around the Jaguar in order to open my door and help me out - sometimes I think he was born into the wrong age. I smile at him as he steadies me. Then he reaches over the sill and grabs our jackets, holding mine for me so that I can pull it on. He unfolds a small vanity mirror and holds it for me while I straighten my hair and pin the hairpiece to it. Finally, I spend a pleasurable few minutes helping him put on the white silk bow-tie he's brought with. I stand back to admire him. He really is a very, very attractive man. "Shall we?" he asks, as he slips on his evening jacket, and I smile a yes. He holds out his arm, and I loop mine through it. We enter the reception area to mingle with all the other guests, and I introduce David to those I know; mainly friends from University. I see one or two confused looks, and I'm sure various explanations are given as to why I'm here with my brother as opposed to a date, but I don't care; as far as I'm concerned I got the better deal. David is polite and friendly, and soon strikes up a conversation with a couple of men; I loiter, watching him proprietarily and listening with half an ear to the strains of a string quartet playing Vivaldi. Jenny, an acquaintance, flits by and pauses to make small talk, and time passes. White wine is served in small glasses and, soon, a bell is rung and the best man asks us to make our way to the manor's chapel for the ceremony. Slow Dancing David disengages from his gaggle of new friends and takes my arm - I smile up at him, amused at the slightly jealous looks I'm receiving from several other attendees. We follow the crowd of guests, taking seats on the bride's side of course. The usual order of ceremony takes place - the bride enters, looking radiant, the minister introduces himself and them, and I zone out as I normally do. The ceremony's long on humour and light on religion and is over pretty quickly. No objections, no catastrophes. The bride and groom disappear off for photographs, and the rest of us mill around outside with our champagne and finger food. I suppose that one could make the charge that I'm cavalier about the whole marriage thing. I guess it's important to the newlyweds and their families, but to me it always feels slightly forced; a brash 'look at us, we've finally arrived'. Perhaps I'm being unchivalrous - maybe I'm just the kind of girl who needs nothing other than to know that she belongs somewhere. I just wish I knew where that somewhere was. Actually, I correct myself; I know precisely where it is. But I'm exiled from that space. I sigh. Suddenly, I find the crowd of people annoying, cloying, and decide to explore the formal garden and grounds of the manor for a breath of perspective and fresh air. I make my way out of the reception area, and soon I'm strolling slowly, admiring the topiary and the flower beds, enjoying the sound of birdsong and the feel of the sun on my back. While I walk, I finger the pendant. David's always bought me trinkets on my birthday; small tokens and keepsakes. This is something different. This isn't costume jewelery, it's the real thing, and I can't help but feel that he spent more than he should have on it. I sigh again, then square my shoulders. I'm a past master of burying my feelings when it comes to him. Nobody, and I do mean nobody, knows about the candle I carry for David. It would destroy both of us if it ever became public knowledge. I guess you could call it calculating, cold. The fact that I'll be with other men, using them as a simulacrum of him; as a buffer. But I can't get away from the fact that I need physical attention. I need to be loved, and failing that to at least be held, and since I can't have him... any port in a storm. As a corollary, I try my best not to dig into his own personal life, for fear of the jealousy it will arouse in me. I wander onwards, drawn by whimsy. Soon I find myself in a small arboretum, complete with folly. I poke my nose through one of the arches of the folly, and discover to my delight that there is a window seat, complete with clean cushions. I kick off my heels and pull my legs carefully up under me, then make myself comfortable and close my eyes for a while, just listening and thinking. I can feel the gentle breeze on my skin, and the rustling leaves all around me. It's a moment of blessed peace. I love formal events, but weddings, not so much. They cut a little too close to the bone for me. But I guess I need to make an effort with this one, given that David's gone through the trouble to attend with me. I dilly dally a bit, but then unfold my legs, slipping them back into the heels. I take a sip of my now lukewarm bubbly, then stand and make my way back out through the garden. I find David, and flash him a small smile at his enquiring look, but say nothing. He's chatting away to a mixed bunch of people, most of whom I don't recognize, but he makes room for me in the circle and introduces me as 'Emily', which I find interesting. David's describing his work, and I derive some amusement watching his audience lapping it up. Soon, however, he breaks away, and takes my arm with his, leading me off to the refreshments table. He grabs us two more glasses of champagne, then steers us out into the gardens. "Are you ok, Em?" he asks with concern once we're out of earshot. "I am. Just a little raw is all." "Weddings can be difficult" he agrees. "Especially as we get older, and everyone else's married off" I sigh, theatrically. "Older?" he comments, raising an eyebrow. "Em, you're practically still a teenager." I stick my tongue out at him. "Just because you're older than me doesn't mean I'm not ancient myself." I hunch over, pretending to totter around. He snorts, but says nothing. "So where did you see yourself at twenty six then?" I ask, piqued. "Pretty much where I am, really." he replies, after a short pause. "Maybe a harem and a manor house like this." "A harem, huh? Sounds scintillating." "Well, you know, a dashing gentleman like myself requires an entourage of sorts." We enter a small, knee-high mock maze, paved with gravel, and I entertain the amusing fantasy of being lost deep within it. "Remember, always turn left at any junction," David says, and I shoot him a quick glance. "Get out of my mind, mister," I grumble at him, and he smiles, smugly. "So this harem," I continue, "Describe it." "Oh, you know. Typical harem. Lots of diaphanously-clothed nymphs all plotting against one another and manoeuvring to be the one who gets to feed me peeled grapes." "Why would you peel grapes?" I wonder, aloud. "The skin is one of the best parts of a grape." "Particularly when wine-making", he agrees, "But I'm talking boudoir, not pinot-noir" I groan at the pun, and he cackles. "I always viewed harems as a waste", I muse. "It must be pretty dull, sitting around looking pretty and hoping that master notices." "Truth be told, I agree" he says. "I can't focus on more than one woman at a time." "Your Lake-District girl." He's quiet for a while. "Truthfully, no." "Oh?" I ask, intrigued. "Yes." he says, and uncharacteristically doesn't explain any further. To be honest, I'm glad; I don't want to know about the competition, such as it is. He takes my arm and pulls me slightly closer as we walk. "Are you seeing anyone, Emily?" I sigh. "No. Jason was a bridge too far, David. I need time to mend that particular betrayal before I'm willing to trust anyone again." He frowns at that. "Bad idea, Em. Never stop trusting people, you will miss out on so many interesting stories if you treat them with suspicion from the outset." "There's only a few people who've ever earned my unconditional trust, David." "And that makes me sad, Em. I worry about you constantly." "About me?" I say. "Why, David?" "Because you're my baby sister, the only baby sister I'm ever going to have, and the thought of you being unhappy drives me to distraction." I shoot him a quick glance. "David, the guy I was fucking fucked someone else. I'll get over it." He stops then, which in turn forces me to stop and turn back to face him. "That's a harsh way to describe a two year relationship, Em." "Betrayal brings clarity, David. I guess I'm facing the reality that childhood is over and I've got to put on my big girl panties now." He shakes his head. "Don't ever let what other people do change who you are, Em. Who you are is too precious to ever lose." I smile sadly up at him. "David Anderson, I do believe you are practicing pick-up lines on me." "Emily," he says, quietly. "You are my sister, and because of that I hope that what I say carries some weight. Here's what I know." He meets my eyes. "Something's happened to you. Somewhere, sometime, in the past, something happened; something you've never told me. Whatever it was, it's made you... not bitter, bitter's the wrong word. It's made you cut off part of yourself from other people. I can see it in the way you act towards the guys you're with... not all of you is present; you always hold a part of you back. I'm worried that if you never let go of that reserve that you'll never be truly happy." Denials die in my throat, and a shudder runs through me. I know David notices because he reaches out to touch me; giving me a confused look as I pull back out of reach. I take a deep, painful breath. "You know me too well, David." "Em?" he says. "I've loved someone for a long time," I say, quietly. "I can't have that person. I have to try to make the best I can of my life given that restriction. Do you understand?" "Why can't you be with him?" "Are you so certain it's a him?" I ask, teasingly. "Em, while I wouldn't put the occasional lesbian dalliance past you, I know for a fact that you are far too fond of muscular guys to bat solely for the girls team." I laugh at this, and calm down slightly. David shakes his head in amusement. "Just take it from me, Davey. I can't be with the person I love because of matters beyond my control. That doesn't mean I don't need love and attention... so I get it where I can." "At what cost, Em?" "A very high one. But one I'm willing to bear, for love's sake." "It sounds like a recipe for a lifetime of deferred pain, Em." "I can't deny that," I respond, with a small sigh. He steps closer to me and pulls me into a tight embrace, and once again I feel myself struggling as his physical nearness overwhelms my defences. "Em, don't cry," he says, quietly. "You know I'll always love you." Which is really pretty much the worst thing he can say, considering the situation. Poor David. Luckily I have tissues and emergency makeup in my vanity purse, and an extended session of tears followed by a quiet recovery period next to him on a bench sort me out enough that we can re-emerge to mingle once more with the other guests. --- I can feel his watchful attention throughout the meal and speeches. I make desultory chit-chat with the other people at our table, trusting David to carry the conversation through dinner. I spend my time observing couples at other tables, trying to work out who's happy and who's not. I sip my wine, estimating it at a close to even split between both camps. Nothing like a wedding for bringing cracks out into the open, I suppose. I toy with my food, not really tasting it, and putting it aside when I no longer feel hungry. After my third glass of wine, though, David leans over to me and gives me a gentle nudge. Then he whispers "Alcohol helps, but only short term. Dancing's a better cure. I'll dance with you as much as you like." "Promises, promises" I whisper back to him, but am secretly pleased by the prospect. I'd wondered whether he'd feel odd about dancing with me, but I should have realised that he's never been embarrassed about having me as a sister... so why would this be any different? Slowly the interminable pomp winds to an end, and the party proper starts. The first dance of the evening is for the bride and groom only, and they enjoy themselves to Fats Waller's "Aint Misbehaving." Slowly, the music evolves into an eclectic mix of modern rock, swing and blues, and after a short while David stands and smiles at me, offering his hand. I take it, stand, and he leads me out onto the dance floor. Other couples are already there, and there's a lively competition developing between the hardcore dancers and really good fakers. David steers us through the melee, both of us laughing as we move to classics including Gershwin, Don Maclean and the immortal Louis Armstrong. My gown gains me appreciative looks from other men and I catch more than one girl giving David serious come-hither glances. Occasionally I amuse myself showing a bit of leg in a turn, and on one occasion I catch David glancing; this makes me far happier than it should, but I've made peace with my internal hussy. Then, the first slow dance number begins. I sigh, and turn to leave the floor, but David catches my hand and pulls me back. "Dance with me, Em" he says, as Air Supply start to sing "Making Love out of nothing at all" I experience a moment of horrible indecision, but David solves it for me by taking my left hand and placing it on his shoulder, while he circles his right arm around my waist as he pulls me closer and leads us off. I can feel myself flushing. The song is one of my favourites, full of lyrics that have special significance to me because of the way I associate them with him. I think David senses that I'm flustered, because he winks at me and shifts his hands slightly, pulling me even closer. I surrender, placing my cheek to his chest and letting him guide our dance, while I simply focus on how amazing it feels to be this close to him, dancing with him. It's the first time I've ever slow danced with him, and I'm a big puddle of jelly. Nerves jangle, butterflies flutter, and through it all I can feel him breathing as he holds me. Air Supply transitions to Guns and Roses, and I creep closer to him. The faint fuzz of alcohol makes me bold, and I take little risks. I wrap my arms around his neck to get closer, and allow my thigh to occasionally 'accidentally' brush against his. I can smell his aftershave and the scent of the soap he washed with, but under that the scent that is quintessentially his. I could recognize him with my eyes closed. He smells of home, of my childhood, of never having to fear being alone. Closer, I creep, teasing myself. I slip one leg between his, feeling his hip against my belly, his abs against my chest, his chest against my breast, and the slightest prickling of stubble against my forehead. Then he shifts slightly and I feel him against my thigh... hard. I miss a step. "Ok, Em?" he asks, concerned. "Yeah. Just woolgathering." I feel him snort, then he spins me slowly around and we dance on for a short while. Then, as Snow Patrol's "Chasing cars" ends, he leads me off the dance floor. "Need a drink," he explains as I make protesting noises. I sigh long-sufferingly, then grin at him. "Get me one too please," I ask. "White if you can." He nods and heads off. I sit, and fan myself slightly with a menu in an attempt to kill off my flushed face. It's a little unsettling to think how scandalously I was just behaving with him... and that he (or his body, at least) was clearly enjoying it. I groan. I want him, desperately. --- "Em?" I realise I was lost in a fantasy, and give him a guilty smile. "Sorry, Davey. I'm zoning out today. No idea why." "Need some fresh air?" he asks. I think. "Actually... yes, that would help a lot." He helps me slip into my jacket, and we make for the doors to the garden, slipping out through the press of wallflowers gathered there and making our escape into the grounds. The gardens are lit at intervals by candles hanging from trees or fastened to stakes in the ground; it gives the manor the appearance of something from Wonderland. I steer David towards the folly, and am glad to find that it is free of other people. I perch on the seat, and pull David down next to me. We sit, sipping our wine, listening to the muted sounds of conversation and music drifting down from the Manor, breathing. "Do you remember saving my life?" I ask him, after a brief internal struggle. He gives me a startled look. "Vividly." he says. "I had no idea you remembered it." "It's a fixture of my dreams. I can see you as clearly as I see you now, swimming towards me to save me." "You're my sister, it's not like I would let anything hurt you or anything bad happen to you." "Or anyone," I say. He says nothing. "Was it you who... sorted out... those kids who attacked me?" "Me and others." he says, quietly. "Oh." "Why're you asking these questions, Emily?" I sigh. "Just checking that you know how much I love you, David." He smiles at me. "You don't need to check, I know you love me." I stare at the lantern in the folly. Quietly, I take a decision. "I have something that's been eating my heart out for nearly ten years now, David. I've never told you, but I need to tell you now." "Em, what is it?" "The reason I can't open up fully to any men I'm with. It... oh, god, this is difficult to say to you." "Em, you've told me everything in your life. Whatever it is, I'll listen and help if I can." I laugh helplessly. "That's just it, David. It's about you." "About me?" "Yes." I put my head in my hands, and take a breath. "Em, I'm going to do my puzzled panda impression if you don't spit it out." I give him a helpless look. "I love you, David." "I love you too, Em" he says, clearly puzzled. "No! Listen!" I say, urgently. "I. Love. You. You and nobody else. You're the one." "Oh," he says, and I swear that I can see the cogs turning in his head. "That explains... well, that explains lots, really." "Uh huh." I mutter. "So if we follow the timeline, ten years would put it back to..." "Yes, then." I sigh. "That's when it started. When you held me, helped me, and made sure Mum and Dad never knew." "And you've kept this quiet, all this time?" "Yes." "And this is why you've always been so brittle?" "Yes." "And you never thought to tell me about this earlier?" "What good would that possibly have done?" I demand, angrily. "David, do you realise how serious this is? Your sister is a twisted puppy who wants her brother." He's quiet for a short while, then he puts aside his wineglass and turns to face me directly. I steel myself for the crushing rejection that must surely follow, and I fight hot tears of shame back with iron self-control. He kisses me. I am so surprised that I drop my own glass, which shatters to smithereens on the folly's stone floor. "David...what...why?" I manage, totally thrown. "Firstly, Em, you're the silliest of all my sisters." "I'm your only sister" I say, confused. He puts a finger to my lips, silencing me. "Secondly, I know" "You... know? How?" I whisper. "I'm your awesome elder brother, Em, I know things. Thirdly, and this one is a doozy... ditto." "Ditto?" I say, now totally out of my depth. "Ditto" he says. "Don't... David, don't lie to me. Don't make me hope. Don't do that..." I feel myself going to pieces, and turn my head away as the tears take me. "Emily." He reaches out a hand, turning my head back. "Don't cry. I'm here." "I can't... help... " I start to sob. I feel him wrapping his arms around me, and before I know it he's got me nestled on his lap, and he's rocking me gently. I don't remember much, just impressions really. The flame of the candles. The ache in my chest. The raw, quiet sobs that rack me. The way he holds me, letting me calm at my own pace, letting the proximity to him and the sound of his breathing slowly help me unwind as it always does. I scrub at my eyes, and take a juddering breath. It feels like years have passed. "How... how long?" My voice sounds strange, hoarse and raw. I swallow, painfully. "How long have I known you loved me? Or how long have I loved you?" "Both." "I've known your feelings for me forever, Em," he says. "You never treated me the way other siblings treat one another. When we were younger you'd always be more interested in me than in anything else; always shadowing me. As we grew older, I thought that would change. But it didn't. You were always physically close with me, and told me everything. Then there was the day you were attacked." He stops here, and takes a breath. "I don't know if you remember how tightly you clung to me." he says, quietly. "How you begged me not to leave you." "I don't" I whisper. "Most of that day's a blur to me." He squeezes me. "Lets just say that after that it was pretty clear where your feelings ran." "And you?" I ask, quietly. "Since then," he says softly. "I realised I was yours when I reacted the way I did towards those boys. Nobody hurts my Em and gets away with it." "Your Em?" I say, smiling weakly. "My Em." he says. "Why'd it take you so long to claim me, then?" I ask, as I burrow against him. "Mostly out of worry that it would ruin what we already have." "And now?" "Now I don't care anymore. And from the way you've been dancing with me tonight you don't seem to either. So the question I guess I have for you... is whether you'll be happy with me and me alone?"