1 comments/ 14753 views/ 1 favorites The Honey Pot By: Mhaile As Barrin pulled into his driveway he noted how unusual it was to come home for lunch. Most days he dined with clients or co-workers. Occasionally, when their schedules matched, he would meet Maddy at a restaurant. If he felt like being alone, he would sneak away for a snack and read a newspaper. But yesterday Maddy had left work early with the stomach flu. She had barely made it home in time to drape herself over their toilet bowl. By mid-evening her retches were no more than dry heaves. There was nothing left to come out. With a kiss on the cheek, Barrin tucked an exhausted Maddy into bed. She didn't even stir when he slid underneath the covers beside her later that night. Still feeling a little queasy, Maddy had phoned in sick in the morning. Barrin hoped she was feeling better as he climbed out of his car. He had picked up a bouquet of spring flowers at the florist on the way. Surely they would cheer her up. "Hello!" he called as he walked in the front door. "Hey," came the reply from the kitchen. Barrin ducked against the wall and held out the flowers in the kitchen doorway. There was a pause, then a chuckle. "Ahhh, you romantic slob!" he heard Maddy say. The bouquet was suddenly pulled from his grasp. When Barrin poked his grinning face around the corner, Maddy was waiting for him. "Thanks, lover," she said, planting a wet kiss on his lips. "Are you sure its safe to do that? Germs all gone?" he asked with mock concern as she turned to lay the flowers on the counter. Barrin took off his coat and draped it over a chair. "I'm cured, so you're safe," said Maddy. "I just had a nice, long, hot shower and see, I'm even back to eating again." She pointed at the bread crumbs, the open jar of peanut butter and the squeeze bottle of honey on the counter beside her. It was then Barrin noticed how sexy Maddy looked. She was wearing a large, terrycloth bath robe and apparently not much else, judging by the amount of bare skin exposed. The front opening revealed the swell of her breasts and most of her right leg, thrust out below the casually tied belt. Her hair lay damp and tousled about her pretty face. Barrin's visual inventory sent a little shiver through Maddy. A nice, warm shiver. "Sooo... what would you like for lunch?" she asked as Barrin stepped towards her. "Hmmmm," he murmured, reaching for the robe's belt. "I'm not sure what I'm in the mood for." Maddy watched with growing interest as he plucked apart the loose knot. Sure enough, the robe fell open, and, sure enough, she was squeaky clean naked underneath. Barrin was greeted by a view of the little patch of trimmed hair at the base of her taut belly. "I think I might have found something here that could be tasty," he observed. Maddy felt a twinge in her stomach. For a second she thought her flu was back, but then realized the sensation was a little lower and much more pleasant than the pain she endured the last 24 hours. Ah yes, her pussy had come alive, warming, gathering dew. Yesterday's illness was now the furthest thing from her mind. "Do you want the full meal deal?" Maddy crooned in his ear. She reached down and discovered a quickly growing bulge in his slacks. Mmmm, she thought, a little lunchtime lovemaking was a pleasure they didn't often get a chance to enjoy. "Make it... a double order," Barrin replied. Maddy's massaging fingers was making speech difficult. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders and leaned into her. This time Maddy shivered all over, as Barrin's warm, moist tongue hungrily explored her neck, then moved up to probe and tease her ears. Hastily she reached up and loosened his tie, then began tugging open the buttons of his crisp white shirt as his hot breath and lips skipped down to her collarbone. Barrin gently slipped the robe off Maddy's delicate shoulders. It fell away, exposing her soft breasts before catching on her arms, which were still busy with his shirt removal. He cupped her bare ass cheeks in his hands just as she undid his last shirt button. Oh God, Maddy sighed to herself, ripping the shirt tails out of his pants, his touch feels so good after yesterday's agony! She lowered her arms and let the robe to fall to the floor. "Mmm, I want all of you for lunch," Barrin groaned, lifting her onto the counter. Maddy gasped as her naked buttocks landed on the cool arborite. The cold shock only made her feel hotter. Barrin's eyes never left her as he stepped back to strip off the rest of his clothes. Maddy laughed as he struggled to get his pants off. To tease him she spread her legs wide apart, then casually reached down and parted her pussy lips, using the index and forefinger of her left hand. With appropriate flair, she lowered the middle finger of her other hand, wiggled her fingertip gently into the moisture gathering in her pink well and pulled the slick dew up over her clit, teasing herself ever-so-lightly. "Lunch is served," she said hoarsely, thrilled by Barrin's hungry eyes. "Just in time," Barrin croaked. Maddy's pussy looked so tender, so wet, so ready! He had to get his undershorts off before his cock ripped right through them. With a desperate swipe he managed to hook one thumb in the waistband and shove them down his legs. Barrin's freed dick bobbed up in front of him, happy to be in action at such a peculiar time of the day. The skin on his bald head stretched tight as blood surged furiously up his veiny shaft. It was all he could do to stop himself from plunging his aching dick straight into Maddy's inviting well of slippery ecstasy. That's where Maddy wanted it. She grabbed his willing member and pulled him between her parted thighs. But he held back, grunting from the pleasure of her grip, remembering something he had seen. "That's the main course," he said, pointing between Maddy's legs. "First I need an appetizer or two. And I'm in the mood for a couple of sweetened, succulent breasts." Barrin had the squeeze bottle of honey in his hand. "Mmmmm..." Maddy crooned. The sight of the sticky gold liquid sent a quiver of expectation through her. She watched as Barrin hovered the squeeze bottle's plastic nozzle over one of her stiff nipples. She pushed her chest out, jutting the swollen peak towards it, seeking stimulation. Then she groaned -- a loud, needy groan -- as Barrin gently pressed the hard tip of the bottle into her rigid stalk. Pins and needles rushed into her breast and down into her groin. A quick squeeze placed a glistening drop of sticky nectar on the end of each tingling bud. Like an artist admiring his work, Barrin dribbled a thick ring of golden goo around the base of each nipple. The sensation of the plastic spout bumping over her dimpled flesh, followed by Barrin's finger spreading the tacky nectar made another groan slide from Maddy's throat. She leaned back against the cupboard to let him decorate her freely. Raising the bottle, Barrin drizzled a trail of sticky sweetness from Maddy's neck all the way down to her little thatch of pussy hair. Her breath caught as she felt Barrin's fingers spread her pussy lips apart. She knew what was about to happen. Sure enough, a wave of pleasure swept through her as the cool nectar drizzled slowly over her clit and oozed down into the furrow below. Perhaps it was knowing he was going to have to lick it all off her that made her body shudder so violently. She placed her hands under her knees and pulled her bare legs open wide, angling her pussy upwards, trying to capture every sweet drip. "Push it in," Maddy croaked in a crazed voice. "Squirt that stuff up inside me!" Barrin raised his eyebrows in surprise. Wow, he thought, she's really into this. He carefully worked the bottle's bulbous cap and spout through the bubbling pool of nectar into her quivering hole. Maddy grunted as Barrin wiggled and rotated the ribbed cap, giving the bottle a couple of squeezes. "You realize I'll have to fuck you with my tongue to get all that out," observed Barrin. "That's a... wonderful... idea!" Maddy gasped. Barrin's comment was almost enough to launch her into bliss. But then he really took her breath away by pulling the cap out of her, sliding the plastic tip up over her swollen love button and teasing it with little circles. "Oh yes, yes, yes..." Maddy moaned. Honey bubbled onto the countertop as her insides started to contract with joy. She was going to cum quite easily if he kept that up. But before she reached the point of no return, Barrin pulled the tip away and quickly ran a bead of golden syrup up along the inside of her right thigh and down towards her foot. She watched with open-mouthed fascination as Barrin ran the honey down onto her toes. The sticky goo oozing between them made her tremble. Barrin repeated the procedure on Maddy's other leg, then stepped back to survey his artwork. Jesus, she looks delicious, he thought, as honey dripped from both sets of toes onto the floor. He wanted nothing more than to bury his throbbing cock into Maddy's overflowing honeypot, but not yet. He threw the almost empty honey container onto the counter, grabbed Maddy's ankles and straightened out her legs. "Time to eat," He announced as he gobbled Maddy's toes into his mouth. Oh gawd, oh gawd, oh gawd, Maddy sighed to herself as Barrin suckled and swirled his tongue around each digit, doing his best to wash them clean. This is going to be good! "Make sure... you don't... miss... any!" she moaned. "I'll try not to," Barrin managed, then grinned as he opened her legs and started licking his way up her shins. His warm, wet tongue quickly snaked along the sticky trail, over her knees, up onto the insides of her thighs. Maddy squirmed with delight as his licker got nearer and nearer to her pussy. She groaned when he stopped at the last little swell of her thighs, rising to inspect the original sticky decorations on her breasts. "Mmmmm, I almost forgot my favorite snack," he murmured, sticking his tongue out and swirling it around her right nipple, collecting nectar with each revolution. Finally, he pursed his lips and slurped the sticky bud into his mouth like he was sucking sauce off a spaghetti noodle. "Oh yeahhh, there it is, that's what you like, isn't it..." Maddy crooned as she tangled her long fingers in Barrin's hair and held him to her breast. Suckling her nipple, Barrin gently pulled Maddy's gorgeous tit outward, then let her soft flesh bobble back into place by letting go. He repeated this nipple-cleaning process several times, alternating sides, egged on by Maddy's animal cries, until both soft globes glistened with his saliva. By the time Barrin's lips and tongue attacked her neck and began to work their way down the last honey trail, Maddy was more than ready to be finished off. When his wet probe reached her belly button, she stretched her legs apart once more, leaned back and invited him home. "Whooeee, time to taste the Queen Bee," Barrin panted. "Oh yes! Oh yes-yes-yes Baby! Dive right into my hive with that nasty tongue of yours!" Maddy begged. Obediently his busy tongue swept down between her pussy lips. He may as well have stung her, the effect was so intense. Maddy cried out with joy as his tongue slobbered past her clit. Groaning, she laid the outside of her feet on top of his muscular shoulders, propped her elbows on her spread thighs and used her fingers to stretch open her honey-covered labia for him. She wanted Barrin's tongue deep. He obliged. Holding his breath, Barrin snaked his tongue up her tunnel until his nose was buried in Maddy's sticky muff. His insatiable probe wiggled furiously inside her. He couldn't get enough of her sweet taste. "My Gawd you're amazing!" Barrin gurgled, coming up for air. "No wonder bears like honey!" he gasped. Pushing Maddy's thighs apart, he plunged back in, frantically suckling Maddy's pussy lips in and out of his mouth, biting, licking and washing each fold, swirling his tongue over her clit, lapping desperately at her hole, in, out, up, around, down, seeking every drop of golden honey. Maddy's eyes squeezed shut, her mouth twisted open. She imagined him as a bear. A grizzly bear, or a giant, hungry, horny Winnie the Pooh, holding her helplessly spread apart, sticking his nose and tongue up inside her, eating her, devouring her! A strange low moan erupted from the depths of Maddy's throat. It grew as her body tensed, accepting its glorious fate. Frantically, she grabbed the edges of the counter and held on. Her knuckles turned white. Her moan turned into a scream as her body tightened, tightened, and then, oh God, tightened more! And then, wham! She bucked violently into the bear's grovelling mouth, head lurching forward, legs snapping outward as each gut-wrenching explosion ripped through her body. Barrin had been waiting for her orgasm. Time for the final course! He rose between Maddy's flailing legs, lined her up and pulled her to him, ramming his long, hard meat into her boiling hole. They both cried out this time. She, from the glorious sensation of him plunging deep inside her. He, from the shocking pleasure of her hot folds swallowing him. Barrin was so aroused from teasing her and watching her cum that his cock was fully loaded and primed. She was the honeypot alright! He was fucking the honeypot! Her pussy felt so soft and gooey and warm and wonderful... beautiful... amazing... meeting each mindblowing thrust! He rose up onto his toes as his groin began to burn. "Fuck me Honey Bear!" Maddy wailed, clawing at his chest. "Fuck me! Fuck me! FUCK ME!" Her desperate chant sent Barrin over the top. He held on for dear life as the roots of his body got tangled up, seized and began to snap. And then they all let go at once! At the very core of the ecstasy rupturing him, he was vaguely aware his cock was spewing cum -- gobs and gobs of cum -- up into Maddy. He was sure his dick had blown right off his crotch. He was almost afraid to check it when they finally separated. He helped Maddy off the counter and they both collapsed on the hard linoleum floor. The cold surface felt wonderful against sweaty, sticky skin. Maddy snuggled her head onto Barrin's chest. "Well, did you get enough to eat for lunch?" she asked, chuckling. Barrin looked at their kitchen clock. He was already late. "Jesus!" he said, scrambling to his feet and heading for the bathroom, "That was a honey of a meal, but I'm going to be hungrier than a bear by suppertime!" "Well, there's still lots left over!" she quipped, poking at the sticky residue on her thighs and belly. A tap turned on, ran for a couple of minutes, and turned off. Barrin reappeared and quickly pulled on his clothes. He got a naked kiss from Maddy as he sped out the door. "My legs are still shaking," he shot back at her. Maddy laughed. Barrin's shirt and pants looked wrinkled. The staff at his office will wonder, she thought. I might have to get sick more often. Author's note: Though in the heat of the moment it happened, I don't recommend squirting honey inside the vagina. It can definitely upset the delicate physiology there. The Honey Pot The sound of a car on the gravel made the dogs bark, and he looked out from his studio window to see the battered old car slow to a halt at the back of his house. She got out of the car jauntily, and taking off her jacket threw it onto the front seat and slammed the door shut. She knew he was watching her, stood there, watching her every move. Watching the way she walked on her toes, the exaggerated swing of her hips, the toss of her head, shaking her long hair from side to side as she walked towards the back door of the house. All this was for his benefit. Her small face was held high with a knowing smile on it. And then that quick glance in the direction of the studio window and with a slight acknowledging nod of her head, she was gone. Lora Price had started to work for him one day a week. It was mainly to do a bit of cleaning but more importantly to do the dreaded ironing. She was a skinny little thing that had had a sad life with a waster of a husband. John liked her from the start, with her funny shy smile and long mousey hair. She soon agreed to pose for him, and while she did the ironing he would sit and sketch her and chat. She wasn't beautiful but pretty in a sexy kind of a way and best of all she loved to flirt. He soon found himself thinking up fantasies about her and their conversations started getting more and more dirty and intimate as the weeks passed. She told him how she lost her virginity and just how many men had fucked her. How she liked to have it and how her husband liked to give it to her. John began to lust over her and was soon asking her if she'd like to pose nude for him, secretly longing to get her to spread her nice slim legs wide and let him fuck her stupid. Needless to say she was not going to be free and easy with her little cunt. She knew how to play the game, and she teased him over many weeks. "I see you are still painting her." His friend Zil commented one evening as she stood before the easel and looked carefully at Mrs Price's portrait in John's studio. "What do you think then?" he asked her as he slowly slipped off the dress she was wearing and let it fall to the floor, leaving her completely naked. "Not bad, not bad at all. She'll love this, you have the vivid blue eyes and the sexy smile perfectly. It's very flattering indeed, with perhaps a hint of artistic licence here and there?" "Yes, I maybe have made it all a bit too flattering, but don't forget I am desperately trying to fuck the woman." "Hasn't she let you have her yet?" Zil asked him as she felt him slip a finger in between her slightly opened legs, and slide it in and out of her cunt slowly and lovingly, as he kissed the nape of her neck. "Has she hell, she's keeping it all locked up very tight, as tight as a Nun's cunt!" "I think you should just ignore her for a bit. She'll come around if she thinks you don't want it anymore. I bet she'll be thinking that once you've fucked her you'll loose interest and she'll be out of a job." "Yes you might be right there Zil, I'll try your way and let you know how it goes. Now then, are we going to fuck or am I going to do some quick five minute sketches of you?" "Fuck me first and then I'll be all relaxed and you can draw me all night long." John did play it as Zil had suggested and for the next three weeks he was pleasant but kept out of Lora Price's way and left her to do her work. She did try to make conversation several times, even be flirty, but John played hard to get himself this time and it seemed to be working. It was on week five of the 'no sex please, I just work here' game, that Lora brought him a coffee to his studio and asked how her portrait was going? He showed her the finished painting and she stood looking at it quite surprised and obviously pleased. "Can I have it then?" "Yes, of course, I did it for you." She jumped up into his arms and kissed him deeply, her tongue flickering against his and her little body clinging to him. He pulled her tee shirt up at the back and slid his hand up over her bear skin and ran his finger nails down her spine making her gasp and as she pulled away just a little he moved his hand around to her tits, and held them both in just one out stretched hand. "Only got a couple of bee-stings, I'm afraid" she laughed as he tweaked each of her large hard nipples in turn. She then let him pull her jeans down and slip his hand onto her very wet hairy cunt and then they fucked like mad things. Months of waiting and wanting all taken in one furious hot half hour. They would do it every week from then on and he even started to help her with her chores so that they would have more time to fuck from the second she arrived. He got her to come to work wearing a short blue denim skirt she had recently bought. Her first job of the day was to stand still and let him remove her panties the moment she entered the house. Now she could be discreetly dusting the furniture all nice and bare for him so that he could be play with her cunt whenever she stopped long enough for him to get his fingers into it. Giggling a lot, she would play the same game each week and tell him "no, no, no!" She would stand and let him finger her to orgasm after orgasm while she ironed his shirts and still tell him "no, no!" but then she would let him carry her up stairs and be striped naked and fucked hard in his room. There he could smell her scent later that night when he was all alone in his bed, only this time she said "yes, oh fuck, yes!" "Do you think we could both have her?" Zil asked him one day, after listening to some more of Johns dirty adventures. "Get her to come to my cottage say, and kind of seduce her. Have a threesome?" "Don't know, but it would be worth a try. I didn't know you fancied her?" "Well I'm not madly turned on by her, but I do find her rather sexy in a slutty kind of a way. And besides it would be fun to watch you shag her, and see if you could make her squeal a bit, like you do me." Zil often saw Lora Price in the village where they both lived and so asked her one day if she had any of her honey for sale? Her husband kept bees and when she said yes, she'd drop a jar off the following day, Zil told her, "Make it around lunch time and we'll have a coffee together." The next day John and Zil waited for little Mrs Price to arrive with her jar of honey. They couldn't keep their hands off each other it was all so deliciously horny, waiting to see if she showed up. They striped off and fucked franticly for some time when suddenly there was a knock at the door. Zil went to open it in her robe and pretended that she'd forgotten all about the honey but welcomed Lora in for a coffee. "Sorry about this robe but you have just caught me having a bit of ... you know what?" "Oh I'll go." Lora said all embarrassed. "No, no, it's only John, and you already know him well I believe?" He came in at that moment and after the sudden shock of seeing him just with a towel around his middle they soon were chatting. While Zil made a coffee for them he gave Mrs Price a cuddle and a quick frisk and could feel her getting into the swing of things and starting to be amused by it all, as she slipped her hand under his towel and felt his throbbing hard on. "So this is what you get up to the rest of the week?" Lora smirked, "I heard a rumour some one was knocking Zil off, didn't know it was you though, ... dirty devil!" John smiled and suggested as Zil and he were almost naked that Lora should slip out of her clothes too. It was Zil on returning with their coffees who wanted to help remove Lora's clothes and after a bit of "no I couldn't possibly," she let Zil slip her t-shirt off and revealed her little tits all bare with no bra on. John kissed then for her as Zil was slowly pulling off Lora's tight jeans and then she was just in her scanty panties which already showed signs of a wet patch staining her crotch. John let his towel fall off and Zil let her robe fall too and they all laughed and kissed and fondled each other like long lost friends as they drank their coffee. As previously agreed, John let Zil have first go at Lora and she went down on her pussy with a great sigh of delight, as Lora lay across Zil's sofa and let her panties finally fall to the floor and offered up her cunt for a good sucking. John watched in amazement at how the two women were at each other like long lost lovers just doing it as if they always had, and enjoying it so much. He wanked his hard cock fast and furiously as he watched them each starting to get the other off. Lora reached out a hand and grabbing his throbbing flesh opened her mouth inviting him to stuff it down her throat. Zil started to make Lora's clitty really sing now with wanton lust and eventually with a muffled cry she let her cunt gush warmly all over Zil's beaming face. For the next hour they swapped over places many times. First John would fuck Zil and Zil suck Lora, then all change with him fucking Lora and Zil doing the sucking and the fingering. They fucked every way that three could do it or think up a way of doing it, just so long as his cock was in a cunt or a mouth and their tongues and fingers fully employed in the total pleasuring of the happy trio. By this time Zil had started to get very dirty and wanted her fingers up every ones bum and this made Lora demand that Zil be given a damned good bumming to calm her down. "Kneel here you dirty bitch", she laughingly ordered Zil, pointing to the floor and telling John to stick his cock up her arse and "for Gods sake fuck it for her, good and hard, and give us all some peace!" He slipped a 'nodder' out of its packet and Lora obligingly rolled it down the length of his cock's shaft. After lubing it up from Zil's cunt, he placed it up against her tight little bum hole. She wiggled her arse inviting him in, and slowly he pushed firmly against her and with a sudden plop she was his. "Fuck her, go on fuck the bitch!" Mrs Price shouted excitedly as Zil's eyes rolled and she moaned loudly and smacked her lips as she felt totally stuffed full of his dirty dick. She did love to be had in all her horny holes and soon started to cum with a low deep moan like an animal from the dark jungle. He let her have three more orgasms, now with Lora laid on her back on the floor, legs apart and with Zil licking her cunt. Zil could not help herself from cumming and just moaned and moaned as she was hit by wave after wave of orgasmic bliss. Eventually John considered she'd had enough without doing herself any harm, and pulling out of Zil's arse whipped off the 'nodder' and asked who wanted his spunk? "Give to Lora" Zil gasped, still on her knees. "I want to watch her when you spunk her, see how many times she blinks her eyes." She told them, adding that sows did that when being serviced by the boar and the number of blinks would be the number of little piglets she had later, or so the myth went. Lora laughed and said she would be delighted to be serviced by "this old boar," and promised to blink like hell as John's seed filled up her cunt. She knelt on the floor resting her folded arms on the sofa as he knelt behind her and slipped his cock into her very small, almost virginally tight sopping puss. Zil was beside them too and played with Lora's clit and tits as she watched her get it hard and fast for the final time. "She loves it John, fuck her harder!" Zil shrieked as Lora groaned and swore dirtily, beating her fists on the sofa, as he tightened his grip on her and dug his fingers into the soft cheeks of her arse. "Harder John, harder! Come on, squeal you bitch, let's hear you squeal!" "Soon!" he gasped as he felt his balls now tightening up for the kill. "Oh yes!" Lora said almost holding her breath and counting the seconds to blast off, as the thought of just getting filled with hot spunk made her totally wanton. "Its cumming," he gasped again going ever closer to the point of no return. "Are you ready Lora?" "Yes, oh fuck, yes!" she squealed out at last. John squealed with her as he shot his spunky load deep into her waiting cunt and Zil's own frigging fingers brought her off too, with all three of them cumming yet again in perfect orgasmic harmony. "Wow, there are some days I'd kill for fun like this," Lora told them as she now lay back panting on the sofa with her legs again wide apart. Zil, still kneeling on the floor had gone to work on Lora with her long snaking tongue, eager to devour up all John's delicious spunky nectar. "I'm sure Zil would love to buzz around that little honey pot of yours Lora, anytime you want it. What do you say Zil?" John asked his engrossed friend as she cleaned out Lora's cunt. Zil was far too busy to answer them, but she did nod her head and wiggle her arse, signifying her total agreement to absolutely anything they suggested. The Honey Pot Prologue She watched from the door of the bathroom as Roger poured three fingers into the glass and drank. He set the glass down on the bar and looked at the places where the skin over his knuckles had split, his expression was not at all bothered by what he'd just done. In fact, he seemed to be admiring the little cuts and bruises with glee. Then he saw her and lowered his hand, eyeing her as she staggered out of the bathroom door to sit quietly on the couch. His face hardened as he watched her. She realized she was fidgeting, her one hand moving up to twirl with a strand of hair. She'd done it idly a thousand times while watching TV or reading a book, but now she was doing it differently. It was a manic movement, the kind performed to establish a sense of normalcy in an abnormal situation. She was in shock and next would come panic if she didn't grab ahold of herself. She put the hand down in her lap, focusing her gaze on him. Waiting. He looked at her thoughtfully and poured three more fingers into his glass and then took the one off the bar that had been hers and poured adding fresh ice. He took his and moved. "It's on the bar," he said, walking back into the hallway bathroom, leaving her to collect herself on her own. She looked at the glass from across the room, the lighting of the bar made the crystal shine white and blue, the whiskey was a brilliant gold. She imagined she could see the condensation forming on the sides. She didn't get up, she didn't cross the room. Instead she listened to the sounds of him running cold water over his hands, opening and closing the medicine cabinet, then the pop-pop-pop-popping as the shower curtain was torn from the metal rings on the rod and then laid out on the tile floor. There was grunting and sighing for a few seconds and then he came back out. She met his gaze and looked away, frightened. She felt a hand on her shoulder and she cringed. The grip tightened and she felt herself turned to face him as he knelt down, making his face level with hers. "It's done, nothing can change it. Now help." "No." It came out as a sob and she felt him holding her in a way she knew he meant to be comforting. She wanted to scream. "I know, baby. I know. You've got to be strong for me, okay?" He let go and walked back into the bathroom. She heard him dragging it across the tile and closed her eyes, listening to him bringing it out into the hall. "Get her feet." She shook her head, keeping her eyes shut tight. "Becca!" She jumped up and went to the bar, looking at the glass on the bar as if it were the only thing in the room. She couldn't look at it, she couldn't see it again. Seeing it made it real. If it was real than it had all been real. She drank the bitter amber liquid, sobbing as she listened to him curse and then grunt and groan. The door opened and shut. She felt her gaze drift up to the mirror at the back of the bar. She'd hung it there when he'd first moved her in, it gave the bar a bit of class, just like the lights. She could see the open bathroom door, the light drifting out onto a patch of carpet. She could see the tile, white, brilliant and then she thought she saw the pool of red growing. It grew as if it were a living thing, pulsating, spreading as if it sought to cover the whole world. She closed her eyes and looked away. She wanted to shut the door. She just stood though, waiting, watching the red pool growing. Listening for the sound of movement in the hall that would signify his coming back. She lifted herself up onto the barstool, tearing her gaze away from the mirror. She looked at the phone in its cradle on the bar. She wanted to reach out, but she couldn't. Her hands were glued to the glass-- its white and blue crystalline beauty, the chill of it in her hands-- she couldn't let go, it was too important. PART ONE: ROCK BOTTOM Chapter One He was sweating as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. The apartment was large and spacious-- empty. He ditched the tool belt and the five-gallon bucket of white eggshell finish paint by the door and ran a hand through his hair, feeling the sweat come off on his fingers. He grimaced and wiped the hand on his jeans. The first thing he needed to fix was the elevator. He'd taken the twelve flights unprepared, lugging the five gallon tub of Behr paint, the tool belt over one shoulder and the trash bag with his newly purchased wardrobe. He went to the kitchen and spit in the sink. He tried the faucet. A sputter, a shutter, some spray as the pipes clanked. He ran some cold water into his hands, having a drink. He took off his jacket and draped it over the counter putting his hands in his pockets. The wallpaper would have to go. He went and tried the switch by the door. The light came on. Wiring seemed okay. He went to the bathroom. The light worked fine in there too, but the bathtub was slick with back up. He blew air out through his mouth, the stink was awful. Five-hundred bucks. It ain't worth it, Ingram. You'll go crazy in three days. He shut off the light and went into the bedroom. A mattress, a lamp, a bottle with a card. "Freedom and respect take hard work." He smiled. Nothing like working for ex-cons. The old man had been a phone number on a card until the day before. A connection, someone who had work he could give to a bum just out and going for the big CL. CL: Clean living. He unscrewed the cap and sniffed. Eight-dollar bottle of Scotch. He laughed because it wasn't funny at all. He capped it and tossed it in the little can by the door. Just think, Ingram, four apartments, one month-- you finish on time you keep the job. He went back down the hall into the main living room slash kitchen. The place was spacious, he saw the potential. He looked up at the oxidized tin tiles in the ceiling and then down at the scuffed wooden floors. Off in one corned was a single small writing with it's back pressed against the wall. There was no chair. He went over and tried the drawers. They were locked. He stood back and contemplated the squat little desk a moment before waving it off for later investigation. The phone was on the counter. He dialed the old man's number, the one on the back of the card. Checking in, giving his preliminary opinions of the place. Yes, he'd found the old super's truck in the basement garage. Yes, he'd found the present by the bed. He went to the fridge. There was a loaf of bread and some bologna. "Yeah," he said, shutting the fridge and turning back to the big blank empty room, speaking into the phone. "Thanks, that'll come in handy when I get hungry later." "Okay," the old man said. "You need anything else use the list of numbers in the truck, Morey used to keep them on a pad in the glove box." "I understand," Ingram said, looking down at his work boots, wondering if there would be anything else required of him. "Kid," the old man's voice through the phone had shifted a bit. "There's a park down the block, you go for a walk. It's a nice night." Ingram smiled. "You're giving me permission?" "You ain't inside anymore," the old man laughed, the phone crackled with the wheezing of his lungs. "You don't need permission. I'm supposed to remind you, though, you got a meeting with the parole officer tomorrow morning." "Yeah, I know." He went back into the bedroom, fishing the bottle out of the waste can. "Little cocksucker drove me here, just to make sure the address was real." "What do you want society to do? Trust you?" The old man cackled. "Start tomorrow at noon. Tonight, just get drunk, maybe go for a walk, then sleep." "Yeah." He took the bottle and opened the icebox, putting it in. "I was like you once. I know it helps to have a friend." "Mr. Capp..." "What's up?" "Nothing, just... thanks." "You don't like saying thanks to people, do you?" "Not really. Can you tell by my tone?" "Nah, I was just like you once. You don't want to say it to me you don't have to. Just put in eight hours a day on that building and you'll be fine." Capp coughed. "And if any of the tenants call you..." "Yeah?" "Be nice to them, they might tip you." "Now you're just trying to be degrading, aren't you?" "Heh heh. Nah, they're the ones that are going to be degrading, I'm just telling you not to hate them for it. They're snobs and artsy-fartsy people, they don't know any better." "Like toddlers, huh?" "You got it. Night, kid." "Night." He rang off and took off his shoes, leaving his socks on. He looked out the window at the top of the building next door. He cracked the window and stuck his head out to look down the iron steps of the fire escape to the alley twelve floors below. He pulled his head in and went over to fall back on the mattress, it was hot in the room, the air was thick with the stink from the bathroom, it had seeped through the entire apartment. Rock Bottom. Hard Work. Clean Living. This was what drove guys to commit crimes. He closed his eyes, thought about a blonde in a kimono in a penthouse apartment eight years ago. He was out like a light, trying not to dream of the smell of wet hair and linseed oil. Chapter Two She lay in the bed, his hand cupping her breast as he snored lightly by her side. She took the hand away and eased her way out of the bed, walking, nude, over to the bathroom and closing the door before turning on the light. She looked down at the white tiles of the floor, blinking at them. They were not the same as the bathroom in the hall, but she couldn't help but imagine she saw a slight stain in the grout work. She went over to the sink and took the little glass off the edge, turning on the water and waiting. A sputter, a shutter, some spray as the pipes clanked. She let the cold water run into the glass, looking at her reflection in the mirror on the little medicine cabinet. She'd begun noticing the darkness under her eyes, growing and growing. Three weeks, Becca. Why don't you just sleep? She sipped the water and ran another glass full, taking it with her back into the bedroom. She frowned as Roger rolled over in the bed, taking up the whole mattress. She sipped her water and went out into the hall, moving quickly past the open doorway of the little guest bath and into the living room. The sofas, the rugs, the original photos purchased at a gallery of an artist friend. She'd redecorated three times to get it all looking like this. Burgundy throws, cream-colored lounges, a red-stained mahogany coffee table to match the red-stained mahogany bar. Glass countertops, glass panes in the bar cabinets and bookshelves, Austrian crystal in the light fixtures and on the bar-- all of it hers. The apartment was hers, in her name, paid for by Roger. She sat down on the long lounge sofa, the cool creamy leather against her bare flesh. She sipped the water and sat in the near darkness looking at the blank flat screen television in the entertainment center. It was all so alien, this place. The clock on the Blueray read 4:00 am. She set the glass on the coffee table and leaned forward, letting her forehead rest in her hands, she wanted to sleep. She wanted to sleep so badly. As she closed her eyes the image came back; the woman's face nearly caved in, whimpering, pleading. She couldn't take any more of this. She had to get out. She had to leave. She had to run, hide and stay hidden. She lay back on the sofa and watched the ceiling fan turning and turning, in the morning she would be alone again. Alone in the apartment that was hers, bought and paid for. She'd clean the bathroom for the fourth time, convinced she could still see the blood in the cracks between the tiles. She would lie there until the morning when she would hear Roger get up and move into the shower. She would dress and make breakfast for the both of them, eating only a few bites herself before it was time for him to leave. She would think about going out but she wouldn't go out. She would think about packing a bag but she wouldn't pack a bag. She would fall asleep finally, she had to sooner or later. She would fall asleep from exhaustion. Chapter Three The loud whine of the compressor and the scraping sound of the rooter in the pipe filled the bathroom as he fed another foot of the snake down the bathtub drain doing his best not to breathe through his nose. He wanted to vomit at the cruel, unforgiving stench. He wanted to vomit at the cruel, unforgiving world. The morning had been one of sheer depression. The parole officer was smug, arrogant and superior. Everything in his manner had said, "you will fail and I'll send you back." He shut off the rooter in frustration and that's when he heard the knocking. He jumped up, tearing off his gloves and thinking it must be the cleaning supplies he'd ordered from Rent-A-Vac. "Coming, coming!" He tossed his gloves on the counter and went to the door, opening it wide to find her there. From down to up and back down again slowly he took in her bare feet, her legs in short, summer shorts, her T-shirt with The Flaming Lips written in hot pink across the chest, her dark brown hair... he stopped staring and shook his head. "Sorry, thought you were Rent-A-Vac." She was small and her face was kind of angular in a way that fashion magazines had made appealing. He took in her slender frame and the way she stood with her hands on the back of her hips, her elbows out behind her. She took a step back putting one hand to her nose, expelling a breath. "I'm... I'm sorry, you smell awful." He grinned and backed away. "Sorry, I'm in the middle of a dirty job. Fixing a sewage problem. What can I do for you?" She smiled, it was mock polite. "Well," she said, hesitating in a wide-eyed girlie manner. "I know it's not an unreasonable hour for you to be working. I know you have a lot to do, Mr. Capp told us all you were going to be redoing a lot of the old apartments, but..." "Spit it out, miss. I ain't got all day." She crossed her arms, the girl was gone. Her eyebrows furrowed and she was suddenly angry at him for singing arias in the library. "I was taking a nap. You woke me." "I'm sorry," he said, putting one of his grimy hands on the doorframe just to show it off. "I didn't know it was nap time. I thought everyone in the building would be out during the day. It is a Tuesday after all, a lot of people work 9 to 5." "Yes, well, I don't," She said, cutting off his sarcasm. "That nap I was taking was the first real sleep I've had in three weeks, if you don't mind cutting out the heavy power tools just for today, please." He held up his other hand. "Sorry," he smiled, realizing he wasn't being polite at all like he'd been instructed. "I'm having a bad day. I wasn't trying to..." He paused, the thought coming to him quickly. "Hot milk and Oreo cookies," he said. "What?" He shrugged, taking his hand off the doorframe and taking out a handkerchief to wipe his hands as he talked. "It always worked for me when I was little. My mother would heat up some milk and get out a package of Oreos. You have to eat them the right way, though. Unscrew, lick all the cream, dunk the cookies... always works." She blinked. "Thanks." "Don't mention it," he tossed his handkerchief over his shoulder. "I'll cut out the loud work for today. I got some painting I can do. Sorry I bit your head off." "No, it's okay. Thanks." She turned to go, but stopped. "My name's Rebecca," she said, making a little wave goodbye over her shoulder as she began walking down the hall to the next door. "Rebecca Bloom." "Ingram," he said, nodding. "Ben Ingram." "Yeah," she said, "Mr. C told us." He took a step out into the hall and leaned against the door. "He tell you anything else?" She unlocked her door with a key she'd produced from her back pocket. Looking back down the hall at him, she pushed the door open and smiled. "Yeah, he said to lock up." She went in and shut the door. He smirked as he heard the deadbolt turn. He went back in the apartment, leaving the door open to let in some cool air from the hall. Feisty, he thought, pocketing his handkerchief. Good looking, too... He looked at the clock on the microwave oven and decided it was past time to knock off for lunch. He went to the fridge and tore open the bologna making two sandwiches and setting them on the counter top without a plate. He looked out the open door of the apartment thoughtfully and went into the bathroom where he'd left his tool belt on the commode. The pencil was the kind used for marking studs, black with too thick-- too black graphite. He went back and stood at the kitchen counter, sketching as he ate. An eye, a nose, another eye, all on the white marble of the counter top-- the face was done in twenty minutes and he studied it as he chewed the rubbery meat through the spongy bread. "Bet you go by Becka or Becky," he said to the sketched face. He ran his tongue over his teeth dislodging some of the meat. "You got one of them informal faces that don't suit a formal name." There came no reply and he took another bite of the bologna sandwich. He'd emptied the Scotch bottle that morning, draining its contents into the sink while adjusting the collar of his one dress shirt. He'd filled it with water from the tap upon returning, putting it in the refrigerator to cool for later. He drank some of the water and shook his head. Formal faces, he thought. How many people had formal faces? Had he ever met any? How long did faces stay formal before age made them informal again? He took another swig of water and contemplated. "I'd like to do you in charcoal," he said to the wall. He heard the sudden sound of water being turned on next door. He stood and walked, following the sound down the hall, past the hallway bath with it's horrid stench, and through the bedroom. He leaned in the door of the master bath watching a few droplets of water leak out of the shower fixture. He imagined her in her short-shorts and her ratty old T-shirt. He imagined her peeling out of them slowly. He shook his head. No, he smiled. Bad boy. Get back to work. He went back into the kitchen, tossing what was left of his second sandwich in the trash. He took a rag and wet it in the kitchen sink, wiping away the sketch from the counter. He went over to the paint bucket and grabbed a pan and a roller. When the shower turned off ten minutes later he did his best not to notice. Chapter Five She sat at the kitchen table. One towel wrapped around her as she dried her hair with another and looked balefully at the package of Oreo cookies. She'd hidden them in the cupboard over a year ago during a diet and forgotten about them. She listened to the television set, Barbara Walters was getting into it with Joy Dehar. She tapped the counter with a finger, fidgety, watching the milk in the pan on the stove. "He's not what I expected," she looked at her cat, Fizgig. "I mean, you think prison... I don't know, less hair more tattoos, maybe? I mean, he looked normal. You know, like a guy you see at the store." The milk was just beginning to bubble, she poured it into the waiting mug and went over to the table. Four Oreos stood at the ready. "Don't know why I was so mean. I mean, it wasn't his fault he woke me up. He's just doing his job. I didn't like when he called me 'miss,' like it was some put down." She couldn't put her finger down on exactly what it was in his speech that was so coarse. She sipped the milk and took the first of the cookies, unscrewing the top and licking the cream. "I hate arrogant people, like that." She dunked the cookie as Fizgig jumped up onto the table to eye the glass of milk. "Especially men. Just because he's been in prison, he thinks I'm going to be afraid of him. I mean, I've faced..." She stopped, shoved the cookie into her mouth and listened to it crunch, drowning out her thoughts. The Honey Pot Huh uh, you're not going to think about it. She sipped some more of the milk washing down the unique chocolaty texture of the Oreo. She smiled, feeling very much like a little girl. It was comforting to be sitting in her kitchen with her pet cat, eating milk and cookies. She closed her eyes and thought of her father and mother when they had still been together. She remembered her father used to smell like fresh cut wood shavings when he came home every evening. She nodded slightly and opened her eyes to find Fizgig up on her four legs, her tongue lapping patiently at the milk. She smiled. She looked at the three Oreos still out on the table, she put two of them away and crunched into the last one while taking the last of the milk in her glass and dumping it in Fizgig's bowl on the counter by the toaster. She went into the living room and watched the women on the screen, she wasn't following the conversation, just watching them shift in their seats, fingers pointing every now and then, and then, she closed her eyes and fell asleep. Chapter Six The alarm was going off. He reached out from the bed and found the switch, he flipped it, the ringing stopped for a second and then came back again. He lifted himself up seeing the bright sunlight streaming through the dusty venetian blinds. He cursed. He'd forgotten to set the alarm. He rolled off the mattress onto the floor onto his knees. Standing, stumbling through the door, stubbing his toe and cursing, he moved down the hallway to the phone, picking it up on the fourth ring. "Yeah?" he barked into the receiver, too loudly. She started off and then paused. "I..." "Hello?" "Um, it's the woman from yesterday. Becca, from next door." He scratched his head. "How'd you know this number?" "Mr. C didn't bother to change it after the Murphys moved out." "Oh," he nodded. "Something's wrong in your apartment?" "No. I mean, uh, thank you for asking. We're fine over here. I was, uh, just calling to, to, um, thank you... for the suggestion about the milk and cookies." He blew out a bit of breath, looking at the clock on the microwave. It was 10:05. He mouthed a curse. "Uh, don't mention it." "Yeah, it only took two cookies for me," she smiled as she talked. "And I didn't even unscrew the last one, I just ate it." He smirked. "Well, good for you." "Anyway, so I got 14 hours and now I've been up since seven, waiting to hear you working over there. I was preparing to, you know, not complain today." She pulled the phone away from her ear, shaking her head. I sound like a spaz. She put the phone back to her ear. "Or are you still painting?" He smiled, "Uh, no, I mean, I finished last night. I, actually, I slept in. Thanks for waking me up." "Oh," she smiled. "Is this your day off?" "No," he smiled. "I forgot to set the alarm." "Oh, well, um..." why had she called? Why was she talking to him? "You want some coffee?" Why was she asking him over for coffee? "I mean, I just brewed a fresh pot, Roger doesn't like coffee for breakfast and, well, I'm kind of an addict." "That explains it, then," he said. "Huh?" "That explains it-- why you have trouble sleeping." He chuckled. "Cut back on the caffeine. You'll be fine in that department." "Yeah," she nodded. Why was this so awkward? "So, um, 'no' to coffee, then?" "No, I'll be right over. Just let me get washed up first." She smiled, shocked he was actually coming over. "Okay, um, see you in a bit." He nodded, "Looking forward to it." They both rang off together, both of them a little awed by the conversation. Chapter Seven She went and pulled the coffee pot out of the dishwasher. It was half way through the rinse cycle and the black plastic handle was hot to her touch. She took a cloth from the drawer and dried the pot. She filled it with water and fed a full filter to the Mr. Coffee. She went to the bathroom and touched up her lip liner. She looked at her T-shirt in the mirror and shook her head. She went to the closet and began laying some things out on the bed. He ran water in the kitchen sink and used the hand soap to wash his hands, neck, and shoulders. He felt the stubble on his chin, sighing, it wasn't like this was a date or anything. She checked her reflection in the mirror. The dress was summery and a bit too childish, but it held her in all the right places and draped nicely. She went back into the closet. He pulled on the coveralls, tying the sleeves around his waist instead of slipping his arms in. He picked up the shirt from yesterday and sniffed, tossing it aside and digging in the bag for a new one. He used his teeth to remove the tag, and slipped it over his head. She pulled the knee-length skirt up over her hips and zipped it up the side, adding the belt. She put on the boots that went with the belt and just left the white tank top alone. She was about to shake her head again when she heard the buzzer. Shit. She shrugged and went through the door, down the hall, and undid the chain. "Hi," he said. "Hi." She opened the door wider and he stepped through. They stood, not sure what to do, it seemed. His heavy work boots and paint stained coveralls seemed out of place in the neat apartment. He walked over to an end table and took up a photograph. "You make a cute couple," he said. His back was to her and she studied him, the way his shoulders were thin and wiry, he was slender but his shoulders seemed big. His dirty brown hair was slightly long and unruly. He turned and she met his gaze, pasting on a smile. "Coffee?" he said. She shook her head and then smiled and pointed to the kitchen table. "Sit." He sat. She got two mugs down and poured from the pot. "How do you take it?" "Black is fine." She nodded, adding a little cream to hers. "So, how's it coming along?" "Fine. I did the ceilings and the baseboards. I figure I'll finish the tub today and start on the walls and fixtures..." he stopped talking, taking the mug from her. "I need to putty some spots in the dry wall...wow, I sound boring don't I?" She sat, smiling. "How long were you in prison?" He looked at her thoughtfully and sat answering in an exhale of releif. "Was that the question you originally wanted to ask?" She nodded. "I wanted to work up to it, but you're right, small talk is boring." He cocked his head. "Eight years, three months, 18 days. Your next question will naturally be..." "What did you do?" He blew on his coffee. "Something stupid. I got caught." "You don't want to tell me?" "Not particularly, no." "I wouldn't judge." "I know." "You just like keeping yourself to yourself, huh?" "Yeah." He leaned back in the chair his eyes trained on his mug and the steam rising from the dark umber liquid. "So," he looked up, smiling, "before you were married, did you have a job then?" "I'm not married," she hunched her shoulders slightly. "He just lives here from time to time." He sipped his coffee. "What did you do before he lived here from time to time?" "I worked in a donut shop in the mornings and as a dancer at night." He nodded. "Explains why the coffee's so good." They both sipped quietly, he kept looking at her and she kept looking at the table top. "So he found you in the donut shop and..." She shook her head, smiling in that sad sort of way that didn't show any teeth. "Don't be a smart ass." He nodded. "He own the club?" "No, just a customer. He came in one night and that was the night I quit. We dated maybe a month before he gave me this place.... Now I'm kept." She smirked. "It's in opposition to my feminist dogma to be a kept woman but then again so was being a stripper. Isn't that how it works? One way or another we have to give up a bit of our liberty for security. Life is compromise. At least now I don't have to worry about guys following me home at the end of the night because they've fallen madly in love with my tits." He smirked and sipped his coffee before saying thoughtfully, "I'd say it was your eyes myself, if I were going to fall madly in love with any aspect of your anatomy." "I thought we weren't making small talk." "We aren't," he said, setting down his coffee cup "Pretty eyes sounds like small talk to me." "I haven't said it to anybody in eight years." "Not even your cellmates?" "There was this one guy..." She smiled at the joke, he did it with perfect deadpan delivery. "You've still got your sense of humor, that's good." "Let's get back to your eyes." "Why? They get prettier when I laugh?" "No. I just don't want to talk about my sense of humor." "Well I don't want to talk about my eyes." They sat, they sipped, they eyed each other. Silence, not uncomfortable. She broke it. "You go by Ben?" "Yeah." "You don't look like a Benjamin." "I'll write my mother in Phoenix and tell her you said that." "Your mother's still alive?" "Why, you want to meet her?" "Would I like her?" "You'd love her. She asks a lot of questions like you." "She ever get any answers?" "Only indirect ones. You always dress like that around the house?" She sipped her coffee. He sipped his, smiling. "You're smug." "You're bitchy." The cat leapt onto the table, sniffing him. She picked the cat up and put it back down on the floor. "Sorry." "No problem." "You like cats?" "No." "Neither do I, I just need the company most of the time." She stood and went back over to the Mr. Coffee. "You want more?" "Please." He stood. "I don't want to keep you from..." As she turned with the coffee pot he caught her wrist and she dropped it. The crash caused them both to flinch. He held her wrist gently and leaned in slowly. She let him. He took a step and there was the crunch of the glass under his work boots. "...working." Chapter Eight The kiss was hard, his face was rough but she didn't care. His hand clutched her shoulder and she felt her hands tug at the sleeves of the overalls tie around his waist. They panted. He lifted her and sat her on the edge of the counter as she undid the knot of the sleeves and he pushed her skirt up, pushing aside her panties. She sighed feeling his fingers press inside of her. She felt her arms go up over his head, around his neck, holding him, pulling him into her. The wetness was drenching his hand and the counter top. She pushed his hand aside and guided him into her, gasping as he stretched her opening. She let her head loll against his shoulder. He held onto the counter with one hand and cupped her buttock with the other. Her sighs were the muted breathless sort. His grunts were animalistic, hard, erotic music piped directly into her ear causing her to claw at his back and wince as she felt her excitement building. He could still feel the glass crunching under his boots, he lifted her undershirt up, leaning down to kiss the pale pink nipples of each breast gently. "Oh," she kept sighing, "oh, yes." He was quiet save for the grunting, and in a moment he felt her shudder and then he felt the heat and moisture around him. He slowed, stopped. They looked at each other, she rubbed her nose against his chin. He cradled her and lifted her up off the counter, taking her over to the table. The sugar bowl fell to the floor and cracked, the white crystals spilling out in a little pile on the kitchen tile. The cat watched from beneath the couch its claws digging into the carpet, its eyes and ears alert. "God," he said, at last. She squeezed his hips with her thighs, feeling the violent spurting inside of her, and then she rubbed his back as he lay forward, catching himself on his elbows above her. His hair fell in his eyes a bit. She brushed it away. "You're going to clean that up, right?" He nodded, looking over his shoulder at the broken shards of the coffee pot and the spilt sugar on the floor. "Yeah." "You want me to call you again tomorrow?" "Sure." "Can I call you Ben?" "Yeah." "You'll call me Becca, then?" "Yeah." She bit her lip, thinking. "Will you help me get away?" He sighed and finally slipped out of her. He pulled up the coveralls and re-knotted the sleeves around his waist. She lay on the table, not covering herself, just watching him. His boots crunched over the glass. The mop and broom were in a corner. He took them and cleared the mess. She lay there all the while, her head lolling to one side noting his coffee mug still on the table. She leaned up on one elbow and saw where she had let her own mug come to sit on the counter top, the coffee still steaming and hot ready to be drunk. She lie back and smiled, thinking it funny in all the frenzy that neither cup had been overturned. When the coffee pot was dumped in the trash, the mop rung out in the sink, and put back in the corner with the broom, he picked up the cracked sugar bowl and put it on the counter next to the sink. Their eyes met., he wiped his hands on the pant legs of his coveralls. Looking down at the floor and then back up at her, as if ashamed for what he'd done. She watched from the table as he went to the front door. "Now can you tell me what you went to prison for?" He stopped and turned, looking at her there, vulnerable and patient. He sighed and opened the door stepping out into the hall, leaving her to take care of her own personal clean up. She looked at the ceiling, feeling the chill in the room after the heat of the passion had dissipated like so much fog on the bay. She didn't cry. She wasn't sorry. She just didn't have to move. She waited until she heard the sound of the loud compressor being switched on in the next apartment and she lay there all the while the rapid titter-titter of the plumbing snake in the pipes vibrated through the whole top floor. She laid there long after it stopped, and when it did she rolled her head to one side and stared at the wall, knowing as the morning became afternoon that he was over there, thinking about her the way she was thinking about him. Friend or foe? How do you know?