0 comments/ 57185 views/ 6 favorites Thirst Ch. 01 By: dulcisfontis Thirst: Chapter 1 [After finding little erotic content that combined two of my favorite kinks – watersports and anal – to my satisfaction, I thought I should write something, rather than complain about the lack of such stories. But, not being a writer, the effort of getting it onto paper proved to be more than I bargained for. After writing the first two chapters, I just gave up and returned to being a reader. But, thanks to the encouragement of those readers who wrote back, I have added a third chapter and rewritten the first two to improve readability (I hope) and cast the plot in a slightly different direction. There is a fourth and final chapter that I am working on. It's taken me four years to get this far. I hope the effort and time I've put into it . The sexual theme in the Thirst series is predominantly watersports (pee play) and anal play. If you don't like such activity, dear reader, please read no further.] * I took one last sip of cold water from the bottle before stepping out of the car. Trepidation and hope whirled in my head in a spiral of confusion. I could feel the tightness of the conflict in my body – the hunched shoulders, constricted chest, and knot in the belly. I was of half a mind to get back in the car and drive back to my hotel, despite the two hours it took me to get to there in the first place. However, determined as I was to see myself through the visit, I waited for the feeling to pass, taking a few deep breaths to release the tension. The two-storied house at the end of the cul-de-sac was the last in a row of houses. The houses along the road that I had passed by were threatening to float away in the shimmering heat waves that enveloped them in hot, vapory sheaths. The houses were set along on side of the winding road that ran along the length of the small hill, midway between the crest and foot of the hill. They sat on the side that sloped downwards, front doors facing the road, and the fenced back yards skirted the foot of the hill along its length. Beyond the fences, there was a thicket of trees on gently undulating fields, with a stream winding its way through the woods. Further beyond, the city lay in the distance, with the few skyscrapers of the business district appearing like fractured columns in the smothering haze of midsummer. Farther away still, vague lines on the horizon suggested the mountain ranges that formed the backdrop to the plains. On the other side of the road, the hill continued its gentle rise to a flat plateau at the summit, leveling off to a horizon of cloudless, blue sky. The land between the road and the crest was an empty stretch, with a few sulking trees here and there amidst an expanse of grass gone brown in the heat. The dull roar of the traffic from the highway that lay beyond the other side of the hill came up intermittently on the occasional breeze. The only other sound was the chirping of a cicada hiding under a rock somewhere. In the stillness of the afternoon, the only movement was the occasional rustling of the leaves on the trees, as if reluctantly acknowledging the hot breeze that swept through them. Reeling in the heat, I walked the few steps to the door. This was it – I came determined to face up to Sheila. No more hiding from what I had been avoiding all these years. I had to either face up to her, or, wonder forever how things would have turned out if only I had tried. It was more the fear of a hellish future of regret that had finally impelled me on this quixotic quest. I drew up to the front door, clutching the flowers that the hotel had arranged to be delivered in the morning – they were already beginning to wilt. And so was my confidence. Sheila and I were close at one time – in fact, we were lovers then – but we had not seen each others in years. I wasn't sure how the visit was going to turn out; I wasn't even sure whether I should be there in the first place. But, before I could torture myself further with doubts, the door opened and Sheila surged into my arms, wrapping me in a tight hug, her soft cheek cool against my hot skin. When she lightly kissed my cheek and whispered how glad she was to see me, my troubled mind subsided, lulled by her friendly greeting. The feel of her body and her soothing voice murmuring in my ear rekindled memories of the intimate times we had shared long ago. I was glad to see her, despite the confusion, doubts and misgivings that had been dogging me through all the years we had been apart, right up to this moment. Her welcome gave me some confidence that, at least the long standing question in my heart would be settled. Win or lose, I would put to rest the distraction of not knowing how she felt about me. That question had been festering me to distraction, preventing me from moving on with my life. She led me into the comfortingly cool and dark interior of her home, closing the door behind us. We chatted about my drive up as we crossed the spacious living room and the dining area at the end. She took the dozen or so dark red roses and placed them in a vase on the dinner table. The open, uncluttered living and dining area was tastefully decorated with paintings, objets d'art and plants that were distributed around a few pieces of furniture. A couple of red leather sofas, a large, plush chair (also in leather) with an ottoman in front, and a coffee table in the center marked the living area. Bookshelves along the wall with a stereo and a TV and a few nick-nacks in the shelves added a touch of sophistication to the room. A butcher table with six, solid, cushioned chairs defined the dining area, followed by an island with a marble top to the right. The counter top and the abutting entrance led into the kitchen, which was set off at right angles to the living and dining area. Large French windows at the dining end of the room gave the space a light, airy feeling. Through the gauzy shades that were drawn across the windows one could see a patio, beyond which, the backyard rolled gently down to the wooden fence. The city and the rolling hills were hardly visible from inside. The view from the patio would be even more lovely during spring and fall, and all the more so with the cover of winter snow on the ground. Sheila went across the room and drew the heavy shades partially across the windows, dimming the light streaming in. I sat down on the sofa, still feeling nervous, but somewhat calmed by her friendliness. She disappeared in to the kitchen, and I could hear glasses clinking and presently she emerged with two tall glasses of lemonade on a tray. Handing me a glass, she sat down opposite me on the chair, her feet propped up on the ottoman Having settled down, I took the time to study her, comparing her appearance to the person I had last seen years ago. She wore a light maroon skirt and a yellow sleeveless blouse – casual, yet stylish – accentuating her slim, athletic figure. Physically, she looked as fit as ever, except for her hair which she now wore clipped and short, giving her face an openness that was all the more alluring. Her demeanor had certainly changed – she seemed more at ease, as if she had settled into herself. I couldn't detect any nervousness or anxiety in her, in comparison to my agitated state of mind. Her luminous eyes still held that lively, mischievous sparkle that had so captivated me when I first met her. When I complimented her figure and mentioned that she seemed more relaxed, she smiled and responded that I appeared to have mellowed down as well. It was reassuring that our first appraisal of each other was favorable. In fact, favorable enough that my troubled memories of the events that led to our parting began to recede into the background. A slender thread of hope that she might be ready to "forgive and forget" the offense I had caused her years ago started to take root. During the years of our separation I had wracked my brain for ways to make amends with her and engineer a rapprochement. Somehow I couldn't bring myself to even call her. Perhaps I was too scared to lose what little contact I had with her, or not mature enough to reach out, or, perhaps saw it as a lost cause not worth pursuing. Whatever the reasons, we had not talked, even on the phone, for the last two years. But, hearing her, it was obvious that the years apart from each other had diminished whatever misgivings or apprehensions we had towards each other and that the connection we felt towards each other was intact. Sheila and I met for the first time at a party hosted by a mutual friend in the Southern city that I had just moved to. She was getting past a break up and I was just beginning to make a few friends. As we talked, we found that we enjoyed the same kind of movies, the kind that people would consider too arty or weird. That was just the beginning. We seemed to share an amazing number of interests: NYT on Sundays, tea, working out, biking and hiking; and hole in the wall ethnic restaurants. Flirting came easily, without any sense of inhibition or shyness, and, as the party broke up, we exchanged phone numbers before leaving, promising to call each other. Unable to contain myself I called her the next day and we spoke for two hours on the phone. Soon we were spending most of our weekends with each other and spending a fair amount of time on the phone every day. We could talk about any subject under the sun, including our past lovers and experiences, and we seemed to understand and respect each other. Our friendship grew over the months, but neither of us wanted to make that move which would take it to the next level of intimacy, even if the mutual attraction was quite palpable. And then one weekend, when she came over to my place, I was feeling upset over some silly quarrel with my parents on the phone. She sat and listened to me vent and then just leaned over and hugged and held me gently, without saying anything. After a while, when she made to break, I pulled her back, not wanting her to lose the warmth of her touch, the comfort of having her close by. The kiss that followed came naturally – we even took to calling it as the "kiss of truth." We must have sat there kissing each other without saying a word for an hour, relishing this transition, before she made the move. When I felt her hand on my crotch, I got up and, wordlessly started taking her shirt off. We were then running to my bedroom, taking off clothes along the way, laughing and giggling. When we got there, we fell into bed and fucked ourselves into a frenzied orgasm. That was how we became lovers. She was a refreshing change from all my previous lovers – imaginative and passionate in everything she did. We were together every chance we could; her friends started complaining that she was abandoning them. When it came to making love, she loved oral sex, just like I did. Our lovemaking was like play, like an adventurous exploration of new territories and interiors that we didn't know existed. She taught me a few things: the delicate art of fingernails digging into skin, enough to leave marks without causing much pain. I helped her discover the erotic pleasure of a wet tongue gently swabbing and probing the ear. Freed at last, our mutual erotic desires bloomed to reveal hidden secrets that we had sheltered from our previous lovers. Slowly we were admitting to more and more risqué desires. After a couple of years, we were even beginning to discuss marriage, even though neither of us were interested in starting a family. I was looking forward to having her in my life for a long time, even if not in the "till death do us apart" manner and all that. But, that's not how things turned out. Three years after I met her, Sheila received a job offer from an out of state research organization that was well respected. In addition, they offered to pay the tuition fees towards the part time graduate program at the nearby University. Naturally, she took it and moved, with the intention us getting back together at the first opportunity that either one of us got to move. I had come up once to help her settle in. We had kept in touch over the phone, but over the last several years these diminished to calls on birthdays and year end exchange of greetings and polite pleasantries. And then, about three months ago, I was offered a transfer to the regional office located in a smaller town not too far from the city that she lived in. The transfer came with a promotion and a hefty raise which in itself was reason enough to accept it. That it was close to hers made it all the more attractive, despite the apprehension I felt about meeting her and stirring up a hornet's nest of disappointments that was better left alone. I called and told Sheila about the offer two months ago, expecting no more than a polite congratulation. However, I was surprised by her seemingly genuine excitement over the news. She said that she had been thinking about calling me lately. She made me promise that I would visit her before settling down into my new office. Since I had a couple of weeks off to pack up, relocate, and find a place to live before I started in my new position, I readily agreed and we decided to meet up on the first Saturday after I reached here. But, after I hung up, the doubts resurfaced. Was she genuinely interested in rebuilding our old relationship, or, was she being merely polite to an old friend? I had to do to find out where she and I stood, which meant I had to meet her face to face. Regardless of what her motivations were, I had to find out and that's what I resolved to do. The reason behind our separation and how I had precipitated it made me nervous about the whole idea of bringing it all up with her again. But it had to be done… The revelation that I made before she moved marked the beginning of the end of our relationship. We were both worried about the challenges of maintaining our relationship over the long distance, both of us fretting over the hardships and frustrations of such an arrangement. But, we were confident that the strong physical and emotional bond we shared would help us work through those difficulties. Both of us felt that the trust and affection we had built over the years was strong enough for us to persevere despite the challenges. But, we were to be proved wrong even before she moved. Our bond was not as rock solid as we had thought, but a slender web that would be broken by one strong gust of disagreement. That the ill wind blew was my fault – I had rushed the situation and told her things that were inappropriate. And I had lived with the regret of that deed all these years. A week or so before her move, we were in bed, after having made love, talking about how connected we were to each other, more so than even with our families.. But, I knew that there were things about myself I had kept away from her – things that I wanted her to know, but was afraid to talk about. I wasn't sure when I'd get a chance to tell her. Since we were telling each other how our mutual feeling ran so deep that nothing could break it, I felt I could tell her my secret. That's what started it all – the desire to be true about myself. But, it was the wrong moment for such an admission. I told her that I had held back on one of my interests and that it'd be better if she knew of it. When she asked me what it was, I confided to her my kinky "interest." She seemed taken aback. After a brief silence, she mumbled that it was not the time to talk about it. Suddenly the conversation came to an abrupt, uneasy halt, all the mutual rah-rahs of a moment ago completely forgotten. Although I wanted to ask her if I had offended her, I felt hesitant and nervous to pursue the topic again, thinking it best to let her respond in her own time. And she never brought it up in any of our subsequent conversations. A week later she was gone. We kept in touch over the phone, but the conversations seemed strained, as if we were making an effort. A month after she moved, I flew up to visit her as originally planned. I helped her unpack, and put her things together. But, our relationship was stained. When we made love, it seemed out of a sense of duty. Every time we talked, it turned to the difficulties of managing a long distance relationship. I took the gist of it to mean that she was not too keen on continuing our relationship. It seemed to me that neither of us wanted to face up to the real reason -– that she didn't like me for what I had told her. So, I suggested that it might be best for us to stay friends than continue on as lovers. Even though she seemed surprised at first, she didn't disagree. That she didn't feel strongly was further proof to me that she was put off. We didn't talk about it and the next morning I returned home. Thereafter, our communication dwindled to the New Year and birthday cards we exchanged dutifully, barely maintaining a connection. During the years since we broke up, I had often wondered if our relationship might have turned out for the better had I not told her about my secret desire. Why did I rush into it? Why didn't I just wait a little longer? Why did I strongly seek her approval? Why, after we had decided to stop being lovers, couldn't I just let go of her? Even though I tried hard, I just couldn't stop thinking of what could've been. On the one hand I didn't see continuing with her if she couldn't accept me for who I was. On the other, I just couldn't forget all the things we shared between us. I just couldn't forget her and move on with my life. Despite the doubts from the past rumbling about in my head, I could detect nothing but warmth and affection in her bright, cheerful smile as we sat facing each other that day. Our conversation felt easy and comfortable, as if we had never lost touch. She told me for the second time how glad she was that I had moved closer, raising my hopes. Of course, my logical mind was still busy coming up with doubts and questions that brushed aside any hopeful signs. Still, my mind was engaged in relentless tug of war: Perhaps she forgot my kink altogether? Yeah, right! Maybe she thought that I had outgrown it, or, won't bring it up again? Get real! Why would she think that? She knows you only too well! Maybe she missed me and wants us to be lovers again? Hah! Fat chance!! May be she's interested in a platonic friendship? She probably has friends from all these years here. Why then would she want a platonic relationship, particularly since she holds you in contempt? May be she was ready to accept my peculiar inclinations? Yeah, remember the look on her face when you made the announcement? That was disgust you dodo!! The dumbfounded look on Sheila's face at the moment of my "revelation" came to my mind as I sat there sipping the lemonade - I must have smirked. "Hmmm, so, what's that smirk all about, Bim?" Sheila asked playfully, not missing the fleeting expression on my face. "Oh, nothing really. I just remembered something funny from our past," I said evasively, avoiding the topic that early in our conversation. Sheila's eyes narrowed, as if trying to fathom the thoughts lurking in my head. She twirled the glass in her hand, smiling at me rather mischievously, her eyes twinkling as they used to when she had something up her sleeve. "What's that? Tit for tat?" I needled her. "Perhaps. But then again maybe not. You'll have to wait to find out," she answered equally evasively, lifting her feet and folding them under her on the chair. As her legs swung up, the clipped patch of auburn of her mound appeared briefly between her smooth and creamy thighs, before it was covered again by the skirt as it fluttered down. It wasn't surprising that she was bare – both of us liked to walk around nude when we lived together. She liked the freedom and comfort, as well as the naughtiness of not wearing underwear, all the more so when we went out. I took it as another good sign. Sheila noticed my glance and sighed softly. Thirst Ch. 01 "You know Bim, we had a good thing going, didn't we?" she sounded wistful. "No doubt about that Sheel," I said, remembering the intimacy and passion of our lovemaking, "vanilla" though it was. During the time we were lovers, we were both learning to accept our more "unusual" erotic desires. Sheila was the first of my lovers that I trusted enough to confide in my fantasies. Perhaps I felt at ease with her because she was suggested new areas to explore in everything that we did – from movies, trips, books, even if not that much in our lovemaking. She was curious about what interested me as I was about her. We would discuss things we wanted to try until, egging ourselves into doing it. In our lovemaking, perhaps we were not as adventurous, but even there our trust was strong enough that we tried a few new things. While adjusted into certain areas easily (such as role plays that we would devise), others took more time. We were somewhat hesitant when it came to sexuality, but we were beginning to explore. Except, of course, for my last suggestion to her which had proved fatal to our relationship. Still, I had missed her spunk and vigor as a lover. It was time to see if things had changed. "So, how's the love life?" I tried to sound nonchalant, as if merely making polite conversation, while, in fact, I was dreading her reply. "No boyfriends for the past year, although I do have a couple of good friends who are men that I go out with now and then," She hesitated and then asked somewhat stiffly, "How about you, Bim? Are you breaking anyone's heart by moving here?" I was relieved to find her in the same boat as I. I told her about the few relationships since our last meeting and how they had fizzled due to various reasons, primarily the lack of shared interests and poor compatibility compared with what I had shared with Sheila. I told her about the decision I took a year ago to not get into another romantic relationship where I could not be open and truthful about my inclinations and interests, and, that, as a result, I hadn't seen anyone since taking it. As I explained, she seemed to lighten up a bit. "Hmmm. 'Inclinations and interests' – is that it, you naughty boy? Maybe you deserved what you got. Or did not get," She snickered, teasing me. "Really, am I such a bad boy?" I put on a sad face and we both laughed. "Well, maybe if you behave, we can share some fun, just like the old times?" Her voice rose at the end. Was it eagerness I detected in her voice? But, what was that bit about "behaving?" Although I was flattered, I wasn't sure whether she meant what she said, or if it was merely friendly teasing. "Hmmm. Thanks for the offer Sheel. You're a comfort, as always," I left it at that. Even though it was tempting, what with my self-imposed exile from the kingdom of love that was now running into its second year, I reminded myself that I was not getting back with her while the unanswered question hung like Democlese's sword over my head. And I wasn't ready to bring it up yet – at least not before I had a feel for her intentions towards me. I certainly wasn't going to rush it like the last time. Over the next hour, our conversation moved on to other topics: our families and friends, work, books we had read and such. Sheila kept excusing herself, going back in to the kitchen. I wondered if she was preparing something elaborate. We had agreed on a light, early dinner before I drove back. When she came back from the kitchen for the umpteenth time, I had to ask. "Sheel, what's going on? I thought we were having something light? Are you preparing a five course meal in there?" "No, no - its basic salad and sandwich and ice cream for dessert. I was just checking the water from the tap – it's been off color ever since the plumber came in yesterday to fix the leak in the water main outside. It seems to be alright now." Later, we had a simple dinner – a salad with a lemon-vinaigrette dressing and turkey sandwiches, and homed made kahlua ice cream. We reminisced about all our old friends, many of whom were at my going away party, and the changes in their lives: marriages, divorces, children and the ones we had lost touch with. Amidst the easy banter, we ate and drank leisurely into the evening. As we were finishing up, she brought out the pitcher and emptied the last of the lemonade into our glasses. "That's the last of it, Bim. The water from the tap here still seems no good. I should've bought a bottle of spring water, just in case. But, that shouldn't be a problem, I have a bottle of wine." When I offered to run down to the supermarket down the road, she turned me down, saying she'd get it in the morning. Besides, since there was orange juice in the fridge, it should tide us over. She suggested that I stay overnight unless I was in a hurry to get back to my unpacking. It was the Friday evening of a long weekend. I felt comfortable with the way things had progressed thus far. Although not a conclusive signal, that she wanted me to stay over was indeed a positive sign. The extra time meant that I could go with the flow – let things proceed at a natural pace. There was time enough to find an apartment and unpack before I started at the new office. I agreed, my hopes growing stronger by the moment. After clearing the table, Sheila opened the curtains. The sun was not quite down yet, but the horizon was turning crimson. We went back to the sofa and chair where we sat sipping the wine, continuing to catch up on the "lost years." Sheila began to fidget and shift around in the chair. I asked her if she was okay, but she just smiled, shaking her head, brushing aside my concern. After another glass of wine, I began to feel a little thirsty, what with the dry salad and sandwich. "I'll help myself to some of that juice," I said as I stood up. "Go ahead. You know where it is. Get me a glass too, if you don't mind." I went into the kitchen and took the orange juice from the fridge. It smelled bad when I opened it. It was a few days past the expiration date and so I emptied the carton into the sink. I checked the fridge again, but there was nothing else in there – no milk, no juice, and certainly no water. I checked the tap water and it seemed alright, but decided that Sheila knew better. I gave her the news about the juice and offered again to go to the store to get some water and milk. "No, no Bim. Wait here. I'll be back," she was insistent as she went in to the kitchen and I heard the tap running. The sun was setting in the distance and the room was flooded with a reddish light. I was examining the books on the book shelf when she returned. She handed me a glass of water. It was warm to the touch. I looked at her, puzzled. "It's safe!" she gave me a reassuring look and smiled, standing by me next to the sofa, wine glass in hand. "Boiled water!" my mind surmised. But when I raised the glass to my lips, I detected a familiar aroma. I glanced at Sheila. She stood there looking into my eyes, her face blank. I brought the glass back up to my nostril, and then I was sure! I felt dizzy with confusion and shock!! It couldn't be! I must have looked comical, because she was smirking again. "Sheel? Is this? I mean..." my voice trailed off into a helpless croak. Her eyes glinted with the old mischief. But, there was also a hint of hesitation when she nodded her head. I was completely taken aback by the turn of events. Sheila watched me intently, as if wondering what I'd do next. I looked into her eyes as I slowly took a sip from the glass. The warm liquid was lemony. The smell that wafted from the glass was undeniably her musk, the scent of her arousal. "The lemonade has left its mark Sheel," I commented breathlessly. "Do you like it?" her voice betrayed nervousness, now receding. In answer, I raised the glass to my mouth and gulped the rest down. "May I have some more, please? I'm very thirsty," I said, voice quivering with nervous excitement. She sighed, relieved, and almost ran to the kitchen and returned with another glass in her hand. She had never looked so happy and radiant!!! "Will you help me fill these?" she asked, standing in front of me, looking me straight in the eye, as she handed the second glass to me. Her forthrightness was shockingly delightful. I could only nod my head, having lost my voice altogether, as I began to understand why she had gone to fetch another glass. My heart was pounding violently in my chest, as if it wanted to get out and go thumping around the room. Sheila twisted around, and unzipping her skirt, let it fall to the ground. My gaze followed the skirt as it slid down her smooth thighs and toned legs, then back up her to her hip, stopping at the well groomed mound. I relived the pleasures of our happier days by a mere glance of her pink, pouty pussy lips, a darker shade along the edges with hints of the deeper pink showing beyond the wet and glistening entrance, the pert clitoris peeking from behind its sheltering hood above it, all topped off by the mound of her clipped pubes. The view of the wet, soft petals of her pussy coupled with the aroma of her musk cast a mesmerizing spell, taking my breath away and making me giddy. I looked back up at her, catching her eyes, glittering with the passion and liveliness that I had so longed for. She picked her skirt up and flung it on the chair. "God, you are as beautifully dazzling as ever darling," I managed to croak again, finding it difficult to get my voice above a whisper. I was fast losing any resolve on keeping a strong front anymore. But then again, the resolution to stay aloof and guarded seemed so meaningless, since, with just one gesture, she had skipped past all those questions that my rational mind wanted answers for. Her gestures had rushed my mind past doubts and questions. What was there to be careful about anymore? Sheila stepped forward and lifting her left foot, rested it on the armrest of the sofa beside me. Sliding forward, I held my now empty glass underneath the fragrant petals of her engorged flower, that object of my resurrected desire. Our eyes locked, hers sparkling and glazed with the naughtiness of what she was about to do. The sight of her standing half naked, about to give me more of her nectar made the anticipation unbearable. I could feel the feverish heat rising from my depths, sweeping across my body. The veins in my neck pulsed hot with the rush of blood, and my heart put out a fierce beat, as if it was about to explode like a nuclear bomb, mushroom cloud and all. I wondered if she could hear it thumping away. Her eyes partially closed, she tried to concentrate, and then her shoulders quivered and a tremor traversed her torso, reverberating in her hips and parted thighs. A long sigh escaped from her slightly parted lips. She moved forward, supporting herself with her elbow on the raised thigh, head bent down so that her gaze was fixed on the glass between her thighs. As her body relaxed and steadied, a squirt of liquid emerged from between those luscious lips followed by further spurts. It then formed a thin stream, which hugged her thigh on its way down. I pushed the glass against her thigh to catch the flow. As the glass started filling, the stream steadied and separated from her thigh, now falling straight out from between her labia – a small, clear rivulet splashing into the glass. As I sat listening to the glass fill, I abruptly remembered the large pitcher of lemonade sitting in the kitchen when I first came in. She had poured out the "last glass" of lemonade at dinner from that pitcher. It was almost full when I arrived. I must have had at most two glasses of lemonade. The reason for her frequent trips to the kitchen was now clear. She must have drunk most of the lemonade while we were talking! No wonder she grew increasingly fidgety after the meal!! She must have planned this whole thing beforehand! The little devil!!! I was stunned, but, I was already shell shocked by then – a little more stunning hardly mattered. Still, I felt smug to have unraveled her secret. After my glass was almost full, I took the one she was holding in her hand and switched it in to the path of her stream. Holding both the glasses, one full and the other filling up, I watched and listened to the pleasant sound of her stream as it swished into the glass. Sheila was watching carefully as the second glass filled up noisily. As the warm liquid rose in the glass, she visibly struggled to stop the flow. With a spurt or two towards the end she managed to stop her stream just before the glass overflowed. "Great control, baby. You must have had a lot of practice at this," my compliment was delivered with a sly smile that was part teasing, but more lust. "It's your fault – you planted this idea in my head!" she blushed, pouting at me in mock accusation. "Lucky me!" I retorted. She took one of the glasses from me and we took our seats, she sitting opposite me, naked below her waist and with her legs lightly parted, so that I had a clear view of her lovely mound and the crevice at its center, the lips and pubic hair now glistening with a mixture of her juices and the droplets of her stream that glistened like dew drops on grass. I couldn't believe that she'd be so unabashedly open about something that she had dismissed outright in the past. Not only that, she was drinking her own sweet pee!! We started sipping from our respective glasses, sitting quietly. So many feelings and thoughts swirled around in me that I didn't know what to say. "I've looked forward to seeing you every day since you called me Bim. And growing horny at the same time," she said finally, with a sly smile. I had to take a few breaths before I could say anything as I was in no condition to respond clearly. I nodded my head as the strength of speech returned ever so slowly and agonizingly. "Oh, God, Sheel! I came here expecting worse – much worse – thinking that you had kept away from me because of my interest in watersports. I can't tell you how much this means to me! How reassuring, comforting it is to know that I didn't lose you after all. Remember those days when I spent hours tonguing you? I used to fantasize that you would start flowing into my mouth and I would drink it all up. But I was so hesitant to tell you about it. And when I did tell you..." I paused. "I was sure you were offended when I told you. Were you? Did you have a change of heart since then?" "Hmm... I don't think it was as much taking offense as being caught off guard, Bim. But, it did take me a while to come to terms with it. At first I was surprised that anyone would consider watersport erotic – it seemed so... well, strange to me. You know? But, the weird thing is, after we parted, the idea kept playing over and over in my head. I really was curious about the whole thing and eventually had to admit that it was… umm… interesting enough to investigate?" she smiled, tilting her head to the side as she held the glass to her cheek. She looked so beautiful and wanton, the picture of a little slut who was completely in control of the situation and had me eating from her hand (or, was it drinking from her pussy?). I could feel my cock harden into a concrete pillar, straining to get out and inflict revenge upon her. But, I just sat there, biding my time as I waited her to continue. "After you called me, I decided to do some serious research on the subject, and discovered that it was not so uncommon a practice after all, provided one takes certain steps – you know, stuff like hygiene and dilution. What's more, I found out that pee is even used medicinally - imagine that!" she paused, as if still unable to come to terms with it, "And so I thought that I'd see for myself what it felt like. It took me a couple of tries to build up the gumption to do it. But, once past that initial hesitation, I quickly found out that I enjoyed it immensely." "What kind of research did you do? I mean where did you find the material?" I managed to ask in a shaky voice. "Oh, on the web, of course. There's tons of material there. Of course, there's also tons of porn out there, which really didn't do much for me. What really did the trick was a really well written – very tastefully written, I must say -- manual on the topic. The way it was described really put me at ease. You know, it was just a matter of overcoming conditioned behavior and attitudes," she sighed, "as with other things." "I know the watersports manual that you're referring to. That is exactly how I feel about it too," I answered, wondering what she meant by "other things." "Once I realized I liked it, I wanted to tell you about it, but… Well, I wasn't sure what the point was, since I didn't know if we would get together at all. At least it seemed that way with us before you called me. I wondered if you were going out with someone. I don't know… I… well… I didn't want to muddy the situation further," she looked at me ruefully, taking another sip from the glass, before continuing. "That's why I didn't tell you anything about it on the phone. Once I was sure you were available," she laughed, "well… here we are, Bim! Thanks for coming over sweetie. I missed you all these years." So there it was. I sat there shaking my head, feeling cheated. The whole thing was tragi-comic. Instead of an aversion towards it, Sheila was really into watersports, even partaking in the pleasure by herself. She loved that one thing that I thought was the reason for her animosity towards me. I had given her the wrong signals by prematurely concluding that she didn't want to continue our relationship based on her initial hesitation. If only we had both been more patient and open with each other, and not rushed to judge each other, we needn't have suffered through years of mental self-torture. What touched me deeply was that she had only meant me well in not revealing her interest towards me. I realized that we had to quickly get past the regrets and let bygones be bygones. "Awww, Sheel. Looks like both of us had read the situation and each other wrong. I thought you were offended with the whole thing and felt uncomfortable with me. When I suggested that we remain friends when I came up here just after you moved, I was trying to salvage a relationship that I thought I had wrecked. I wish I had shown more faith in your feelings towards me and trusted you to come to terms with it in your own time," I paused, "And, I appreciate your reasons for you not telling me – I felt the same way. I'm really touched that you were thinking of not hurting my feelings. I can't tell you how sorry I've felt through these years for not giving you the space and time to come to terms with it and for bringing it up as you were in the midst of the move." Sheila gave a wry smile, nodding in agreement. The years apart, full of fears, doubts, and longing were regrettable and could've been easily avoided. But, at last they were finally over – the time we had lost was surely not a complete waste. The separation had helped us acknowledge the depth of the connection we had with each other. It gave Sheila the space to accept her interest in watersports and at her own pace. In many ways, it had strengthened the relationship, even if the path had proved to be tortuous and risky. "Well, hey, let's make up for all that lost time now! All's well that ends well. Yes?" She said, as if reading my mind. "Yes. Water under the bridge, I suppose," I concurred. "Oh, yes... and more to flow! But, for the better this time!" She giggled in response. It was a relief to be past the mutual doubts we had of each other. We both sat quietly for a while, smiling at each other like silly teenagers. I still couldn't believe that we were sitting there doing something that was so overpowering in its kinkiness. Thirst Ch. 01 "God, this is so good, so lemony! I want some more..." "Well, we're not quite done yet bad boy! You'll have to drink the rest of it at its source. You think you can get off that easy?" Sheila interrupted me. "Of course not!" I assured her, and then continued with a wink, "But, in a way, I am certainly "getting off," aren't I? We both are, yes?" "Smart ass!" She retorted, her lips wet and glistening. I emptied the rest of the glass, relishing every drop of it. I stood up and quickly shed my clothing as Sheila whistled encouragingly as each item came off my body. My cock, free at last, stood proudly at full mast, as if saluting the renewal of our relationship. She took one last gulp from her glass and stood up and took her blouse off. Her small breasts topped by pert, longish pink nipples, appeared, inviting my tongue and lips to romp around those delicious mounds and suck upon the rubbery nubbins. Stepping forward simultaneously we fell into a passionate kiss, my lips trapping her lower lip and reveling in its softness. Our hands clasped each other, pulling us into each other. My turgid root was crushed between our groins, the top of it snuggling against her soft belly, the curls of her pubes surrounding it like vines climbing a tree. As my lips fully meshed with hers, her tongue invaded my mouth, and behind it, a small flood, the last gulp she had taken from her glass, flowed into my mouth. A rush of surprise and excitement swept up and down my body. Swishing the liquid around, I passed it back into her mouth. As I swirled my tongue in to her mouth, she pushed a portion of the liquid back into my mouth, swallowing the rest. I drank it down greedily – I couldn't seem to get enough of Sheila's sweet stream. Her eyes twinkled. Suddenly I felt very thirsty. "Sheel," my voice sounded like a frog croaking from within a well, "I need to drink more from your tasty fountain, please?" "That's a good boy," she murmured approvingly, between sharp breaths, "and good boys are always rewarded." But, I wasn't going to let her get away with manipulating me so. However cunning her plan was, I was determined to reverse the situation and inflict some surprise and torture on her in return. "Oh yeah? And you've been a very naughty girl, haven't you Sheel? You planned the whole thing – you made up that story about the water; you knew the orange juice was stale; and, sneakiest of all, you drank most of that pitcher of lemonade. I bet the tap water is quite safe?" She laughed as she hugged me closer to her, grinding her hips and causing my cock to roll helplessly like a log between our torsos. Then to top it off, she stuck her tongue out, mocking me, adding insult to injury. I kissed her again, kissing and licking her face, worshipping her cheeks, chin, and neck in turn. My tongue glided over the ridges on her ears and her earlobes, slowly penetrating her ear, making her giggle and shiver. I drifted further down, to her breasts and exquisite nipples, her hand holding my head, caressing it encouragingly, her fingers fondling and running through the hair. I shifted from one breast to another, suckling greedily on her rubbery nipples, pulling my head away now and then until her nipples popped out between my lips, making her shiver with pleasure. Suddenly her hands were on my shoulders, pushing me away from her. "Enough, Bim! Sit down! I've been holding back long enough. Now it is time for you to do your duty," She ordered me in a stern voice, like a schoolteacher disciplining a student. With a last kiss, she pushed me down on the sofa, and I sat there, my gaze level with her navel and hips. I was somewhat surprised at this take-charge-assertive side of Sheila, which was unlike her in the past. Not that she was ever shy or reticent, but now, she seemed intent on putting me through the paces. Appealing as it was, it was also clear that there were other reasons for her rushing things along. After all, she was desperate after drinking all that lemonade. That realization set the gears in my wicked mind turning – here was the perfect opportunity to take my revenge! Sheila turned around slowly and deliberately, until her smooth, rounded derriere was in front of my face, and stood looking over her shoulders at me with a sly smile, as full of lust as love. The soft globes of her ass, and her firm, strong thighs, had now taken the place of her juicy cleft and the turf of trimmed soft hair that were in front of me a moment ago. The cheeks of her derriere enthralled me – the smooth, rich creaminess of the skin, the fleshy, well-rounded, shapely heft of her buns, and the way they met each other in the receding valley in between. It was electrifying, and a tingle ran down my spine until it reverberated in the increasing stiffness and girth of my cock, making it throb and stiffen. The head of my cock peeked out from under the foreskin, pink and shiny, like a spectator come out to watch the show that was about to begin. Sheila started slowly and deliberately bending down at the waist, unfolding a voluptuous and sensuous sight that dazzled my eyes. As she leaned forward, the valley between her mounds opened up, gradually revealing the hidden delights between them. It was like the mist lifting off a mountainous river gorge revealing nature's bounty down below. Her ass cheeks spread apart, unfolding like a book, bringing into view Sheila's sweet rosebud. The whiff of her feminine musk mixed with the faint scent of a light perfume and summer sweat swept across my nostrils. The smooth cheeks of her globes slowly distended, twin fleshy mound jutting up into the air, each dome a shrine that I longed to worship. Mounted atop the pillars of her toned legs, they shone in the crimson evening light streaming in through the windows rousing in me feelings that were almost religious. As she continued to bend forward further, her effort made her pucker contract, tightening the skin around and pulling it inwards. I remembered the first time I paid homage to that sweet bud. When I first brought up anal play, Sheila was hesitant. At her suggestion, we had bought books on the topic to educate ourselves on hygiene, physiology and other aspects of anal sex. After substantial preparation she allowed me to touch and feel her, progressing slowly to rubbing without penetrating. I had taken to it more readily then her, unabashedly using my tongue to rim her without her permission, making her squirm with pleasure, even if hesitantly. The desire to pleasure her anus felt natural to me -– the scent of her rosebud was intensely arousing and the roughness and texture of the crinkly skin a delight to my tongue. She, on the other hand, was hesitant to let even her finger wander between my cheeks just once, a fleeting gesture of reciprocity at best. We were just newcomers to that wayward pleasure when we parted ways. Now, I was giddy with the prospect of resuming it. As she continued to bend further, her split pussy came into view, upside down, like a secret entrance of a cavern between the pillars of her legs. The lips of her flowery quim, pressed tight against each other like a bud yet to bloom, followed by her fleshy mound of Venus covered in short curls rolled in beneath her rose bud. Finally, her face appeared between her feet, below the knees, her short hair hanging down from her head. She had pulled all the stops and presented herself in a way that she knew would turn me to mush and putty. "Drink up all my lemonade Bim! I know you are thirsty," she purred, ordering, cajoling and pleasing me at the same time. My breathing had stopped altogether. The air was trapped in my lungs, its movement arrested by a fantastic failure of the involuntary response system. I was totally captivated by the slow unfolding of Sheila's charms; charms that she had revealed with such effective drama that even the nervous responses of my body were thrown into disarray. I heard the blood pounding in my temples and felt overcome with a trembling that took over my whole body. My tongue was parched and I felt dizzy, light in the head as if I was going to faint. I was going mad with the giddy delight and desire to just give myself up to the long forgotten love and lust. Sheila had rekindled those faint embers into a roaring fire. Lost to reason, thought, logic, caution – all the rational faculties – I was swept away by the swift currents of desire, floating helplessly, immersed in the mystical grace of her sluttish offering. It was with difficulty that I willed myself out of that trance. Taking a couple of breaths I looked into her upturned eyes, gazing at me encouragingly, insistently, and lustily. Tempted as I was to give in and do her bidding, I decided that it was time to spring my surprise on her!! "You have been a very naughty, the way you had planned and set up this whole thing and didn't even give me a hint, Sheel!! You're going to get what you want, but, it's time for you to listen to me rather than order me around," I said in as firm a voice as I could muster (truth be told, my innards where quivering, and I had to resort to whispering to hide the tremor in my voice). The words seemed to have a chastening effect, as the anticipation on Sheila's face turned to surprise and she stared at me in confusion. "I can't hold out longer. I have to go soon, Bim!" she toned her voice down, perhaps in response to my whisper, perhaps in true desperations. "Oh no, you're not going anywhere lassie," I reasserted my authority, taking pleasure in derailing her well laid out plan, "A naughty woman like you needs to learn to those who love you first." "So what do you want me to do? Should I stand up? Do you want me on the couch? Let me at least go a bit – I can't bear this too long," she pleaded. Now that I had her attention, I put into action a long forgotten fantasy. I wanted to tease and torture her, but at the same time, heighten her pleasure – slowly and deliberately. "You better not do anything foolish Sheila. First, you show me your lovely behind, spreading it in front of my eyes so deliberately, driving me nuts. And, now, you want to rush through this? That's as bad as giving a blind man sight only to blindfold him! Don't give me all this bull about having to go – I'm sure you can hold for a bit longer what with all that control you have been showing off. Besides, you deserve the discomfort you are feeling, given the way you set this whole thing up!" I said firmly, and issued my orders to my hapless lover, "Hold the position, keep quiet and keep your eyes open. Whatever I do, you call tell me how it feels and express your pleasure or displeasure. Otherwise, not a word from you! Is that clear?" "Sure, whatever you say Bim," her voice was unsteady, but she was smiling despite her mounting desperation, beginning to enjoy the suspense. Locking my gaze into her upturned eyes, I brought my hands down to the inside of her knees and ran them lightly against her inner thighs, almost up to her protruding pubis, grazing her skin with the back of my hands. At the top, my fingers withdrew, running over the back of her smooth thighs, without touching the upturned mound or the clipped field of pubic hair, caressing the firmness of the ass, and moving outwards to the waist. From there, I reversed the movement, as my hands wandered inwards along her buns, the fingertips gently grazing along the inside of her ass cheeks. As they approach her rose bud, I withdrew all my fingers except a thumb, which went around her pucker, my skin barely grazing hers, hovering above the crinkled skin, tracing gentle, lazy circles around it several times. Then I let my fingers go back to her buns, away from the crevice, traveling to the outside of her legs, caressing the skin with my palms. From there, they went down her outer thighs down to her knees, rubbing her smooth skin a bit more briskly. I ended the circle with the back of my fingers gently caressed the inside of her knees, which I knew to be sensitive. She bit down on her lower lip and a low, long moan escaped her. The treatment was definitely having an effect. "Oh, God! This is torture... Bim, what are you doing to me?" In answer, I let my hands repeat the routine, this time pinching the skin close to her anus lightly as my fingers got close by. To my delight, her breathing turned to gasps and her tense muscles shivered in response to my ministrations. After a couple more caresses, she was moaning incoherently, and her legs started shaking from the erotic charge building up in her body. Her mound of Venus protruded out like a rounded hill, more pronounced. The engorged pink lips of her pussy were drenched with glistening juices as they began to flood out and the air grew thick with the scent of the musk. Her rose bud puckered in spasms, pulling and releasing the rough skin in and out of the sweet pit of her anus. Around the fifth "rub down," I noticed the juices slowly dripping down the outer lips of her pussy, collecting in the upside down hood of her clitoris. Her clit was engorged and fully erect, and her labored, rapid breathing reflected itself in her rose bud contracting and puckering which in turn only stoked my excitement and lust. I could barely control myself as I ran my hands over her one more time. Then, with her looking on, I leaned forward from the edge of the sofa, lowering my mouth to her clitoris. Extended my tongue, I gently let it rest on the hood as my upper lip clamped down from above on her clitoris, trapping and draining the juices that lay collected in it. "Aaaahhhh... Bim. I can't take it anymore! Put your tongue in me, please, please," she moaned. Ignoring her pleas and taking care not to let my nose nudge into her luscious pussy lips, despite the attraction of the unbearably intoxicating aroma and a desire to taste her, I withdrew from her luscious flower. It was hard to restrain myself when every ounce of me wanted to thrust my tongue in and drink from her pussy straight away; and to allow her to release her tangy stream into my parched mouth. "I told you to keep quiet. You may only express your pleasure, Sheila. Nothing more, nothing less! Is that clear?" I reminded her as firmly as I could, but my resolve was fast dwindling away. She nodded, upside down, as her hands reached for my legs. She desperately wanted to get her hands on my erection or, if she could, grab my head and pull it back between her thighs, but that was impossible in the position that she was in. "And don't even think of touching my cock! I want you to focus on the feelings in your body." With that, I started running my tongue up her left thigh, working a wet trail up towards her buns. Taking my time, I wandered slowly with my tongue on each side, while dodging her attempts to move her pussy or rosebud towards my tongue. In her attempts to get my tongue to the center of her sweet bottom, she shifted her weight from one foot to another, dancing in desperation. "You are cruel Bim. This is really torture... why are you doing this to me... I need to go, I really do!" She started wailing. I wanted to give in, but forcing myself to ignore her, I kept running my tongue across her buns, at times drawing close to her rose bud or her mound but always avoiding full contact. If I felt her move her delights towards my mouth, I moved away to her thighs or the outer edges of her hips, nibbling her skin gently with my teeth. To increase the tension further, now and then I licked the juices as they collected in her clitoral hood, but rapidly, without lingering to play with her clit. When she had been moaning suchly for a few minutes, I knelt beside her to kiss her on the mouth. Our tongues met in combat, trying to push into each other's inflamed mouth. Her hands reached out to grab and caress my cock and rub my tight sack. "Enough! Sheila, I asked you to stay still and you start playing with my cock! Get on your arms and knees!" I croaked as firmly as I could, taking her hand away from my cock. Once she had her hand on my erection, I knew I would lose all control of myself, leave alone controlling her!! "No, no, but..." she said, as if to resist, but I pushed her gently from behind, with my arm around her hips to steady her as she stumbled forward. She caught the edge of the chair and came down gently on all fours, her lovely derriere sticking out invitingly. She looked over her shoulder at me anxiously, her eyes pleading for release from the torment. I moved up beside her on all fours, and as we kissed, ran my hand through her hair, down her neck, giving her back a brisk but gentle rub up and down until I felt her body relax ever so slightly. Our breathing subsided somewhat and she returned the favor of a rub to my back. Quickly, I dove underneath to pay homage to her pert breasts, taking her taut nipples between my lips, firmly rolling and nibbling at them. "Mmmm," she moaned softly. Sensing her urgency, I quickly let my tongue leave a wet trail further south to her navel, while my hands continued gently pinching and pulling at her taut nipples. Our bodies began to tighten up again. Retrieving myself from underneath her I moved into position behind her. By now, Sheila's legs were spread apart, and I could see that her happy valley was indeed happily and completely sodden with gushing ambrosia. Composing myself, I forward to her lower back, and starting with a kiss, let my tongue wander slowly down her spine. "Bim, I really can't hold it anymore!" she complained, and got her derriere swatted in response. "Ouch! You bum!!! I'll get you for this!!!" she threatened in a low voice. Ignoring her, I continued, my tongue now at the top of the rift between her buttocks. I lifted my head up, interrupting the trail I had drawn down her spine momentarily. She was almost sobbing "Noooo! Please, please don't stop Bim!" I waited just a few seconds, and then, stiffening my tongue I plunged it straight between her cheeks right into the center of her rose bud. Her breath rushed out in a short, sharp sigh and she momentarily stiffened. "Oh, yes, yes, stick your tongue in! Stick it in to my ass! I want it! I want it bad!!" She started moaning and screaming, enjoying at last the assault that she had been courting so long without success. My tongue caressed her anus eagerly, running over the puckered skin, and after a couple of swirls, I stiffened and drove it in to the center. With the prodding and cajoling of my tongue, her outer ring gradually relaxed, allowing deeper access in to it. Encountering the second ring, my tongue swiveled around it, stretching it and releasing it slowly into allowing even deeper penetration. Sheila leaned forward, resting her shoulder and head on the floor. Then, placing her hands one on each cheek, she pulled them apart, encouraging my now delighted tongue to delve further and deeper. I plundered her pucker, luxuriating in the softness and wetness deeper inside. Then, just as suddenly as I had started it, I withdrew. She gasped and turned around to look at me. "What the... I'm about to burst!!" Her voice was pleading. I didn't have the heart to tease her any further. I wanted to give in to our mutual craving. "But you're enjoying it, aren't you?" I asked her, and she gave me a dazed look, her eyes crazed with the pleasure and mounting desperation. "Yes, but..." she began, and before she could continue further, my mouth was clamped on her pussy lips, my tongue invading that orchid's stem, extracting as much of her slick, slippery, tangerine nectar as it could. Her voice, cut short, continued to repeat hoarsely, "Oh God, oh God..." as if she was under some spell. I ran my tongue all around her pussy, extracting and drinking every drop of her slick, creamy juice that my tongue could get to through the sluice of her turgid pussy lips. I then lowered my mouth to her clit, sucking her hood between my lips, my tongue gently tapping her clit. Her whole body stiffened as I introduced two fingers into her soaking wet pussy, sliding them back and forth deeply a few times, before pulling them out. Thirst Ch. 02 Leaving Bim in the bath downstairs, I prepared another pitcher of herbal tea. I made up my way upstairs with the tray that held the pitcher, two tall glasses and a stick of butter. As I set the tray on the side table next to the bed, I caught myself humming a long forgotten tune. As I took the shower, my mind was exulting over the delicious events of the afternoon. Leaving Bim behind by himself was an effort. I wanted so desperately to get in the bath with him and run soapy hands over each other to savor the wet, warmth of skin against skin. But, I felt it better to give him the time and space by himself to reflect and absorb what we had experienced. After all, even if it was not a complete surprise, he had come unprepared for what I had laid out for him. He needed to come to terms with this sudden reversal in our relationship. Besides, there was the business of the red bag. I smiled as I toweled myself dry... After all these years of separation, I had been thinking more and more about him of late. When he called, it was as if it was destiny that made him responded to my yearning. Once he accepted my invitation, I knew that I had to use the visit to resolve our dormant relationship one way or another. I wanted to find out where we stood with respect to each other. I wasn't sure that he'd be interested in getting together again, despite my renewed feelings for him. Needless to say, I was nervous for the past few days, the same old questions plaguing my thoughts. Did he still want me in his life as I wanted him in mine? Did he feel that loneliness and sense of loss that I did about the past few years where we had lost touch with each other? It was clear to me that what we had shared was genuine enough to have been derailed by the sort head games we seemed to have unintentionally drifted into. It was as if we had engaged in a battle of egos, giving and taking pain, sulking at each other. In the process we had lost each other and the sense of connection that seemed so true when we were still lovers. I was determined to see if we could end all that when we got together. Was he willing to work past all our troubles from the past as I was? Or, had he changed over the years to a point where it would be untenable for us to get back together? Of course, part of the blame for our separation was mine for not paying attention to his admission of interest in watersports. At the least, I should have acknowledged it and asked for time to think it over. In the past, even when his suggestions had seemed extreme to me, he had been more than willing to let me come to terms with them at my own pace. But, that night, something between us had gone awry. Still, it surprised me that we had drifted apart so easily on account of that single incident. In retrospect it seemed all the more inexcusable since we had time and again overcome so many difficulties and differences. -------------- In fact, at an earlier time, Bim had brought up his interest in anal play and I had told him that I felt squeamish about it and needed time. The sense of dirtiness and vulnerability which overwhelmed me felt real enough. Even though I already knew enough about anal sex, and had even fantasized about it, I was uncomfortable doing it with another person. So we had discussed it at length, tried to learn as much about it, and were quite comfortable before trying it. He was more than willing to bide his time until I was comfortable enough. He had let me set the space and it had worked out well. But, I reacted strongly this time, as if something had changed between us. Perhaps it was because of when and how it all happened. Even if I wasn't necessarily turned off by his abrupt confession, it took me by surprise. In the normal course of things, I would've tried to understand his needs. But, at that time I was trying to deal with the impending move and the subsequent challenges that it would put on our relationship. It felt as if he was fixated on his needs when I was struggling with the move. He wanted me to accept it all unconditionally, as if he wouldn't go forward if I didn't. For my part, I was looking for his reassurance that he wanted our relationship whether I liked everything he did or not. I wanted him to tell me that he loved me for who I am -- even though I knew fully well that he did -- and that he would do all he could to continue to make our relationship work, despite the challenges of separation and distance. Perhaps that support and reassurance is something a woman wants more than a man. Then again, it might have been partly my immaturity. In any event, I had held back as much as he did. Truth be told, a part of me had wanted to go out with other men. Bim had only been the second significant lover in my life. After Bim's visit to my new home, that's exactly what I proceeded to do. I had gone out with Pete, whom I had met in the course of work. At first I really liked him - he was decent and well meaning enough. But, despite feeling sure that I'd put Bim behind me when I started with Pete, it turned out more to be a "rebound" relationship than anything meaningful. Not surprisingly, he lasted all of six months before we realized that each of us saw the world around us and life very differently. A few more men followed over the years in aimless relationships that began with excitement and inevitably ended in disappointment. However, they did fulfill my sexual needs. But without fail every single one of those relationships lacked the intense connection that I had felt with Bim. It was hard not to take up what I had experienced with Bim as the measure by which I compared and assessed subsequent relationships with the men who came after him. In that sense, I hadn't gotten over Bim through those years. Every breakup would leave me wondering how things would have turned out had I stayed with Bim. With each relationship, the anatomy of my feelings for Bim began to reveal itself to me and I realized that what I was missing was the magical and mysterious connection that we had shared. A relationship needed that deeper connection which takes root not merely because of "working at it" or by following trite formulas that the pundits and "how to" manuals dole out. There is a certain mystery as to why it happens with a particular individual and not others. Whether there is such a thing as destiny or not, I realized that I simply couldn't will myself to fall into love with other men without first falling out of love with Bim. That gradual realization set me wishing more and more about getting back with Bim. Bim's companionship was such a delight, whether it was at movies, restaurants, museums, hiking or simply the quiet times spent together. We enjoyed each others opinion and view points on subjects whether they were profound or mundane. Even when we disagreed we were passionate about our respective position without really turning mean spirited - of course, we had our share of quarrels, but seemed to make up rather easily. I had truly felt open with him. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that he was the first lover for whom I felt compassion. That he was willing to show me his vulnerable side had something to do with it. The big difference between us was his impulsiveness in contrast to my deliberation. Bim just loved to put into practice any idea as soon as it rose in his mind - he'd assume that whatever he wanted to do, I'd be willing to go along with. I, on the other hand, liked to weigh the consequences, understand how whatever he proposed might affect each other's feelings before trying it. Had we been mature enough, we'd have seen that our different approaches complemented each other. I could have gained from trying things without such deliberation and caution. Some amount of forethought and patience would have made his love more evident. During the years when we were apart, I was also getting in touch with myself, becoming more comfortable with my feelings and desires that I had trouble accepting before - particularly those "darker erotic desires" that I had carefully tiptoed around. I began to realize that they were as much a real part of me and slowly started accepting them. As I grew more comfortable with the truth of my body and sexuality, it became clear to me how alike Bim and I were. That realization gave me an appreciation for what we had shared - something that was well beyond physical attraction. The process accelerated in the last year, since that fateful day at the conference in Detroit, and, now, I was more than ready to accept myself without guilt or second thoughts. That evening, I could feel that both of us met with a renewed appreciation and love for each other. I had grown to accept my instincts and he had certainly grown more considerate. I found it ironic when he complained about the lack of communication in his relationships with other women. I couldn't help but smile as I remembered his expression when I needled him about it. Of course, even more amusing was the shock on his face when he took the glass to his mouth and realized just how agreeable his "inclination" was to me. At one level, I still couldn't believe what I did for him, but then again, thanks to my internal transformation in the last year, I could do it with confidence. Besides, I felt I owed him one pleasant surprise in consideration of the wretched way I had treated him the last time he mentioned the word "watersports." And so it had turned out with the glass of "lemonade" I handed to him. After drying myself, I walked back into the bedroom. The large window above the bed, with a view of the sky, gave the room an airy, open inviting feeling. On the far side of the bed, a couch with couple of cushions sat next to the fireplace, a reading lamp by its side, giving the corner a cozy feel. The four-poster bed was prepared -- a waterproof sheet, topped with beach towels under the cover. Likewise the pillows were in plastic bags and then put in the pillow cases. I clambered on to the bed and flopped across its width on my stomach as I waited his arrival. Unlike the afternoon, I had no elaborate plans in mind, but just wanted to go with the flow. Come to think of it, even the plan I had so carefully laid out had been hijacked by Bim! In a while, I heard footsteps approaching up the stairs and then he appeared, pausing at the door as he surveyed the room. "Enjoyed the shower?" "Of course! Refreshed and raring to go!!" He looked teddy bearish in the white bathrobe as he walked around the bed, looking around "Very nice, Sheel. You always had very good taste." Taking off the robe, he carefully laid it over the couch. His tanned, darker Asian skin shone in the pale light of the shaded lamp. He leaned on to the bed, his slightly muscular limbs extended from a hairless torso. The dark nipples were set off on a sculpted chest that hinted of the gym routine. His adorable, deep navel vanished into darkness into the center of the toned belly. As he put one knee on the bed, his shapely buns stuck out - firm and always a delight to squeeze and fondle -- and flexed as he lifted each leg on to the bed. His sleek hands and long, slender fingers, which I thought moved with certain artistic flair, walked him until he was next to me. Further down, his pubic hair, trimmed to a dark lawn, framed his uncircumcised cock that was beginning to show hints of hardness again. I patted the space next to me and flopped down and gently kissed me. The lively, twinkling eyes and gentle smile told me that he felt as I did about reconnecting with a long lost soul mate. I poured a glass of the mint tea for each of us as he flopped on his stomach next to me. He smiled slyly at me as he took the glass, knowing full well what it was intended for. I ran my hands along the length of his back, and tousled his hair, as if to prepare him. A faint pleasant smell of patchouli oil wafted from his body. He understood my need to talk and quietly sipped the tea, waiting for me to start. "Bim, I can't tell you how much of a relief it is to find that we still have such strong feelings for each other despite all these years apart. I had thought that we were finished when we broke up, but lately, I've caught myself thinking of you - of us - wishing for us to be together again. When I saw you today at the door, I knew that the longing I felt was not just wishful thinking on my part." He nodded in agreement. "I owe you an apology for the way I treated you before I moved here. It must have been a struggle for you to tell me about your 'inclinations in watersports.'" I smiled and paused briefly, before continuing, my hand still caressing his hair, "You were trying to be straight with me, even though it must have been confusing and even scary in some ways to admit such things. I want you to know that I appreciate that openness, even if I didn't when you tried to tell me and botched the whole thing by ignoring it. I can't tell you how sorry I've felt about it through these years. Bim, I want us to be partners and lovers like we used to. I've really missed you and don't want us to grow apart again." Bim leaned forward, pulling me to him and kissed my cheek, his hand rubbing my forearm gently. "My darling Sheel. I was also to blame for rushing it on you in the midst of your move -- I owe you an apology for that. I should've been a bit more patient and trusting of you. But, now, I too feel that we are being truly open with each other. I came here hoping to find out if there was the possibility of regaining your friendship. Even though I knew that we've always cared for each other deeply, I can't explain why I didn't have the gumption to call you up, apologize and tell you how much I cared for you," he sighed, and then concluded, "You can be sure that I'll do my darndest hereon to not do anything foolish like that again. I don't want to loose you ever." His regret for our separation was as much as mine. All this while, he had wanted us to get back together as much as I did. Taking my hands in his, he kissed them in turn, placing them on his cheeks and moving them across his skin. We realized that the mutual understanding and acceptance we held for each other had never disappeared; it had always been there, waiting to be expressed again. We knew that the trust we now felt would serve to anchor our relationship and prevent us from drifting apart again. I continued, my fingers gently caressing his cheeks. "You know, I wasn't sure whether we should have had a heart to heart talkfirst thing after you got here. I was really nervous and dying to find out if you were as interested in continuing the relationship as I am. But, when I saw you, it just felt so comfortable - I didn't feel like dragging all that stuff back out and mope about it. I hope I didn't upset you too much by jumping right into it?" "God, Sheel, what you did was so powerful! In fact, it just removed the doubts that had been nagging me all these years. It reassured me of your acceptance of my kink in a way that no words could have expressed." He seemed to hesitate for a moment before he asked: "Hope I didn't take control of the situation too much? Didn't ruin your elaborate scheme, did I?" "Oh, yes! You sure did hijack my plans." I squealed, "But, I hadn't done this sort of thing with anyone else, so I wasn't sure how it was going to work out. In fact, the way you stepped in was reassuring, not to mention delicious and naughty. As for the torture you put me through, I'll have to take my revenge, don't I? You'll just have to wait and see what I'm going to do to you. But, you know, being with you felt quite different this time around, though." "Different? How do you mean?" "Well, I wasn't sure of how the years we had been apart would affect our meeting again and what I had in store for you. As it turned out, all the things we did today felt so right. We seem to trust each other more, despite all these years apart. It just felt so right between us - even more so than before. Don't you think?" I wanted him to know that I felt it at a far deeper level, deeper still than the intimacy we had achieved earlier on. "Yes, I noticed that too Sheel - I felt so certain about everything. In the old days, I was so unsure of your feelings, worrying whether I was asking for too much. It didn't feel like that at all this time - it was all so natural and free. I felt your acceptance and that helped me express myself completely, without any hesitation. We've never been so much at ease with each other before, no?" It was clear that he understood. There wasn't much else I had to say. So, I stretched out on my side next to him, with my upper leg across his back and buns, rubbing my pussy against his thigh. The wetness of the swollen lips rubbing off on his skin intensified the tingle that had been building up in my quim and it started insistently radiating into my belly. "Was there anything that I did that surprised you, good or bad?" He asked as he pushed gently against my grinding hips. "Hmm. I liked everything you did. But, I especially enjoyed how you caressed my ass - it was so delicious to feel your tongue and finger in me, sliding in and out," The recounting made me shiver, ""It was quite intense." "Oh, yeah. I think I really got into it when you...," he paused, searching for words, "...you know... how you... held yourself open..." There was still a residue of fear in him that he might offend me if he stated plainly what he wanted to say. I wanted to push away any lingering doubts and make him understand that I was not the woman he once knew, the one with hangups and fears that held her back at times from admitting her own desires. I wanted him to feel completely at ease about anything he wanted to tell me. "Bim, sweetie, we just agreed to be open with each other, yes?" I said, kissing his shoulder, and looking straight into his eyes said as steadily as I could, "Are you trying to say that you liked the way I pulled my ass cheeks apart? So that your tongue could get in deeper in my rosebud? Hmm?" He rolled on to his side, facing me now, his stiffening rod pressing into my belly. "Right," he started, gazing steadily at me and with a certain determination in his voice, "I was so turned on when you pulled your ass cheeks apart, as if encouraging me. It felt like we were working together, as a team, to help me get in deeper. I felt incredibly close to you then. And, my heart was pounding so hard, I thought I was going to have a coronary!!!" We both laughed. His cock was now almost fully erect, and looking down, I could see the foreskin pulled back to expose the stretched, shiny, pink head with the slit at it's tip oozing glistening precum. Extending my arm, I gently let my fingertips graze up and down the length of his hardness. "Yes, there's a certain exhilaration I felt with that openness as well. There seemed such intensity to each and every thing that we did. I really loved the way you took your time. The way you were forcing your tongue into my portal felt so very intimate. it's something I've been fantasizing about you doing to me. Are you comfortable with it?" "Oh, yes, I really loved it, don't you doubt it! And the earthy, erotic smell! Like roasted coffee beans, or the forest floor after a rain shower. The texture and the taste are so exquisitely arousing. The way you tightened the ring when my tongue was in, as if trying it to hold it captive and keep it in," his eyes shone with the lust and passion I had seen earlier during the day as he continued, "Sheel, I want to do it again with you. I love to lick and taste your asshole. I've fantasized about it too, you know." My heart beat faster like an engine stoked by the flames of lust his words aroused in me. We were sharing our desires, unabashedly and openly, and I felt wonderfully free. The tingle in my pussy was insistent and the heat radiating from it palpable. Thirst Ch. 03 [Thanks to the comments and feedback on the first two chapters of "Thirst" as well as for suggestions and ideas. I am sorry for the undue delay in completing Chapter 3, but real life has a way of rudely sidetracking one from the business at hand (pun intended). However, the long hiatu has been useful to develop an expanded plot and extended storyline. As a result, I rewrote the first two chapters. Changes made were minimal, mainly to support the altered storyline. Chapter 3 is a prologue of sorts to chapters one and two. It covers the increasing self awareness and acceptance of one of the protagonist. (Oui, c'est un flashback.) The point of view is that of the female protagonist of Chapter 2 and the action is mostly lesbian. Readers who dislike anal play (as well as those who delight in it) are forewarned. Cease and desist (if you're averse), or, cease to resist (if you're inclined favorably).] * My dearest, sweet Bim, I can neither begin to explain the strong feelings that have surfaced since we reconnected, nor the feelings of gratitude and happiness that sweep through me for having you back in my life. But I am glad we are back together. Our time together was so intensely intimate that I couldn't bering myself to discuss one important aspect of my life while you were here. I thought it better to take it up later. The two days you were here was time enough for us to be together, to pick up where we had left off years ago. I am writing this as a note to answer a question you had asked that I didn't fully clarify, but, more importantly, to avoid any misunderstanding between us that may arise later. And by telling you all, I hope to deepen my connection with you as my partner, companion, soul-mate, and lover. Whatever you do as you read these lines, please do not to jump to any conclusion without due consideration. Writing it out gives me the time to order my feelings and include all the details that are important – as well as arousing, I hope. And, hopefully, it gives you enough time for detached deliberation of my experiences and your feelings towards it before you decide what to do next. When you were here, you had asked me how I came to be so much more comfortable with my sexuality - particularly anal play - than in the past. I told you that I was experimenting and showed you the probe. But, I chose not to tell you about the events that led me to its acquisition, which is what I want to share with you now. Since this is a reminiscence of sorts, I've tried to reconstruct some of the verbal exchanges to better express the mood and texture of my experiences. You may remember Sylvie, the research associate that I mentioned her to you in passing. She's the doctoral student from the nearby University who's assisting my team with the research. While I told you how much I valued her statistical knowledge and skills, I didn't disclose my relationship with Sylvia in full. You see, the changes that you saw in me were in part due to her and what we experienced together. By now, the smart man that you are, you've probably surmised that I am intimate with Sylvie - that is indeed so. And, yes, that does mean that I'm bisexual, as is Sylvie. But I could have told you that in two sentences: "Sylvie and I are bisexuals. We love each other." That wouldn't begin to scratch the surface of my feelings towards her and how it may affect what you and I have. So, I'll tell you all that transpired and trust you to draw your own conclusion. I met Sylvie at a three day conference on Hospital Administration practices in Detroit, slightly more than a year ago. It was for academics, researchers, and clinical staff from universities, research institutions (mine included), insurance companies, and hospitals. I presented a paper on the first afternoon of the conference about the interim results of the study that I am heading that I told you about. It was about the recovery rates of patients at hospitals and potential influencing factors. The preliminary results from the study looked promising, even if inconclusive. Our Director, Dr. Tim Brinker, asked me to present the findings at the conference to see if we could find collaborators from other states and institutions who were willing to corroborate our results. There were only 30 odd people in the room as I got into the presentation and I felt a bit disappointed with the low turnout. However, judging by the questions from the audience and the applause at the end, it seemed that my presentation was well received. As I stepped off the podium, a few people came up to meet me. There were several hospital administrators and researchers who wanted to be notified of the results when the study formally concluded. Two institutions – an insurance company on the west coast, and, a government health care institution in UK – wanted to collaborate. They even promised to put us in touch with other organizations. Needless to say, I was elated that we had the collaborators we had set out to find. The last in line was a young woman, who wore a pleasant smile. She wore a bright red bow tie that had caught my eye even when I was up on the podium. Up close, she looked rather young for the crowd as most attendees were in their 30's and 40's – unlike the older academic and research staffers that attended such conferences. She introduced herself, in a husky voice, with a shy, but open smile. "Hi, Ms. Fontaine. I am Sylvia Tochini I really liked your presentation and your initial results seem truly fascinating. It seems to indicate possibilities for improving the overall efficacy of hospital treatment." "Nice to meet you Ms. Tochini," I said as we shook hands - her hand rested so softly in mine that my grip felt rather harsh in contrast - curious as to why someone so young would be interested in such an area, "Thank you for the kind words." I still remember my initial impression of her. Her straight brunette hair was done in a Louise Brooks bob. Full, fleshy lips, decorated with a hint of flesh colored lipstick, accentuated her soft, broad face. Her shy, subdued, yet broad smile bared a neat row of white teeth. Her somewhat formal attire stood out: the dark grey, knee-length woolen skirt went well with cream colored silk shirt, tucked neatly in at the waist. Other than a Baum & Mercier watch, she wore few jewelry and what she had on, was subdued rather than ostentatious. The red bow tie was complemented by the gold studs in her ears, mounted with small, bright red stones. Her classic pumps, with four inch heels, still left her an inch or so shorter than me. I took a liking to her right away. "By the way, please call me Sheila - no need for formalities," I added, "What was the specific aspect of the research that piqued your interest?" "Thank you, Sheila. Likewise, friends calls me Sylvie," she said, her hand lingering in mine, "In fact I'd like to work with you. You see, I am looking for a research topic with a fair amount of statistical analysis for my Doctoral dissertation. Besides being a superb applied research topic, I think there's a lot of potential for statistical work in what you're doing. If you can spare some time either today or tomorrow, we can discuss some ideas I have." She gave me a quick summary of her background. Sylvie had started on her Ph. D. in mathematics a year ago, and was now searching for a dissertation topic. She was hoping to work on a problem with a fair amount of statistical analysis, her area of specialization. She had done some pre-med work as well. She came to the conference hoping to find a topic where she could use her somewhat eclectic mix of skills. She offered to introduce me to the head of her dissertation committee, who, she felt, would surely be supportive of the topic and of her collaborating with my team. Besides, the university that she attended was just three hours drive away from our institute, she could come over and work with my team on a regular basis as well. Since I had not much else to do at the conference but attend other sessions, I decided to discuss Sylvie's proposal. In addition, I was intrigued by her and, as I realized soon after, instinctively attracted to her. As the room was filling up for the next session, we walked out. When I proposed that we find someplace to sit and talk, Sylvie suggested that we go to the Marriott at the Renaissance center since it was close by Cobo Hall. When I mentioned that I was staying there, she smiled and said that she too was checked in there. Back at the hotel, once we were seated at the River Bar, she grabbed the wine menu. "Ah. The '98 Yalumba Shiraz," she nodded her head, and then, looked up at me, "Would you like a glass of wine Sheila? Allow me to treat you for taking the time to talk with me. " "Sure. But, this treat's mine Sylvie," I insisted, and then asked, "Is 98 a particularly good year for Australian wine? Or is it the winery?" "Well, I've had it once before - 98 is an excellent year for Aussie Shiraz – and I hear the winery is pretty good, although I've never been there," she paused, gesturing for the waiter with a sure wave, before turning back to continue, "Yes, I am interested in wine, although I'm not much of connoisseur. At least not yet." While she ordered the wine along with a platter of cheese, I glanced at the price of the bottle on the menu. My hunch that Sylvie was not the average graduate student who had to get by on a meager assistantship was correct. I asked her how she ended up doing a doctorate in math in association with the medical school and she told me a bit more about herself after the waiter came by with the wine and cheese. Her parents were both doctors and owned a hospital in a smaller city in the mid-west. As the only child of two working parents, she ended up spending a fair amount of her time after school at the hospital. At the university, wishing to please her parents, she enrolled in pre-med since both of them wanted her to take over the hospital eventually. But, after a year, it became painfully clear that she was bored. She missed math, her favorite subject in high school, and didn't like pre-med at all. She switched her major, much to the disappointment of her parents, and went on to complete a Master's in statistics. After working at an insurance company for a year as an actuarial researcher, she decided to enter the Doctoral program, and, after the first semester, persuaded her Doctoral advisor that it be in applied statistics in the medical field. But she was having trouble finding an interesting and challenging enough topic in the area. A friend of her parents' - a research professor at the Medical school - had mentioned the conference to Sylvie and suggested that she might try her luck by attending the sessions. That's how she ended up in my session. I, in return, told her about our institute: Dr. Brinker, my team, the hospitals where we were gathering data, and what we were hoping to accomplish. By her questions about the nature and type of data we were collecting and how they were relevant to the hypothesis that we had started with, I could see that she was a smart cookie. She seemed to grasp the medical aspects of our research rather quickly, aided by her work experience at her parents' hospital and the one year of pre-med work. Sylvie explained the basics of the statistical techniques and experiments that she felt would enhance the research. She felt that it'd be useful to include additional types of data, such as the environmental causal factors, qualification of the medical team, physical condition of the neighborhood, etc. It was clear to me that she could contribute to our work and I would never get the time and input from the few statistical experts at the research institute as I would from having someone like Sylvie on the team. We quickly decided that it'd be best for her to meet Dr Brinker and my team for a mutual evaluation session. I thought we'd be able to give her a part time position, but, she never brought up the question of the financial arrangement that evening. That decided, our conversation drifted to other topics, and we had begun to warm up to each other on our way through the second glass of the Shiraz. I asked her the question that had been stewing in my head. "So, what's with the bow tie and the Louise Brooks look, Sylvie?" "Oh, that. I always liked bow ties – dad wears it all the time. And I adore Louise – she's so sexy! Have you seen Pandora's Box?" she asked, head tilted to the side, her silky hair sliding smoothly on her upturned cheek, while a shiny sheet of it fell away to her shoulder on the other side. "Oh, yes, and 'The Diary of a Lost Girl' as well. She was quite suave in those roles, wasn't she?" I said, pleased to run into someone so young who appreciated the silent flickers. "Wow! That's rare. I don't run into too many people who are interested in those movies, leave alone German movies from the 20's or 30's," she responded, echoing my sentiments. "Nor do I," I paused before complimenting her, "The bow tie goes well the hair Sylvie, even if I had never seen Louise in that combo. Quite elegant, I must say." "Thanks. But my dad thinks that the tie is too showy on a woman – he says it's provocative, even though he doesn't see it that way about himself when he wears one," she laughed, winking her eye. I liked her laughter. It came gurgling from deep within her, bursting out in a trill and then receded into a subdued giggle. Before long, we were into an involved discussion about movies. She was an aficionado of the type of art house, foreign movies that I (and you) like. Eventually, I blurted out the second question that I wanted to ask her, fortified as I was by two glasses of wine. "Excuse me for being forward Sylvie, but how old are you? If you don't mind me asking…" "It's alright. I am twenty six. Do you think that's too young?" Too young for what, I wondered. "Oh no, not really. I was curious because you seemed so well informed. That's all," I hesitated, and then added, "I am thirty four by the way. Since you told me your age, it's only fair that you should know mine." But, my explanation didn't ring true. I wondered why I was so interested in comparing our ages. "Why, thank you Sheila. It's nice of you to be so candid," She smiled, "I had pegged you at about thirty." "Thanks Sylvie. You're too generous," I said, pleased with her compliment. I was glad for Sylvie's company and buoyed by our easy banter. Her pleasant manners and elegant appearance were a contrast to the preening, stiff, and all too earnest academic types that came to such conferences. "Listen Sylvie, I was supposed to meet my colleagues for dinner. But, I can reschedule it if you're free to join me tonight. We can discuss more of this beastly research work, or, movies and simply have an easy time," I offered, my mind made up. "Oh, yes, certainly! I'd love that Sheila. In fact, I was wondering if you are free today evening as well. The Greek town is nearby and there's some good food to be had there," she replied eagerly. As you can imagine Bim, I was delighted that she was adventurous when it came to cuisine. After I called my colleagues and explained the change of plans, we finished the wine and went off to a restaurant in the nearby Greek town. During dinner, our conversation drifted around movies and directors, places she had been to, books and such. She appreciated some of my favorite European directors. She recommended movies by Japanese and Chinese directors that I had neither heard of nor seen. Apparently her interest in Asian cultures led her to many of the obscure directors from the region. She talked about her last trip to Japan – her impression of the architecture, culture and people and how much she loved staying in old Japanese Inns and of exploring the less crowded villages on the western coast. Altogether, it turned out to be a very enjoyable evening and I was glad I had asked her to dinner. Afterwards, we took a cab back to the hotel and got into the elevator. When only one of the floor buttons lit up after both of us punched our respective floors on either side of the door, I glanced up at her, puzzled, only to see her staring at me with a quizzical expression. "Looks like we're both on the same floor, Ms. Fontaine," she laughed, shrugging her shoulders. "So it is," I smiled back at her, finding the way she addressed me formally curiously exciting. Stepping off the elevator, she walked with me along the corridor and stopped at the room before mine, on the opposite side of the corridor. "What a coincidence, eh?" I said, as I stood in front of my room, fishing for the card key in my handbag. "You're not Canadian, eh?" She giggled, retrieving her key, "Believe me, nothing's a coincidence. The universe has its purpose." "Oh, no, I'm not from Canada. But, I picked up the "eh!" from an ex-Indonesian boyfriend of mine, who attended high school in Canada," I said, still struggling with the unyielding lock, "How about that, eh?" "Indonesian? How very interesting," she paused, without making a move to open her door, "And now?" I shrugged my shoulder, "Now, I'm waiting for Godot; or, perhaps for the Universe to reveal its purpose?" She laughed and turning to me, asked shyly, "It's just eight o'clock Sheila. Would you like to join me over a glass of St. Emillon in my room? I think you'll like it." "You're quite the wine connoisseur, Sylvie," I said, happy with her invitation, "Well, one more glass wouldn't hurt, I suppose." We entered her room and after getting the bottle, Sylvie called room service for a wine cork pull. After taking off her jacket and tie, and unbuttoning the collar of her silk blouse, she turned towards me to take my jacket. I vividly remember noting that her breasts were bigger than mine and the embarrassment that arose from that comparison sending a sheet of warmth across my cheeks. Luckily, she turned away from me to answer the knock on the door. It was the bell hop who had come to deliver the wine pull. She expertly opened the bottle and poured the wine. We settled into the sofa, facing each other. Taking a sip from the glass and nodding her head in approval, she asked me somewhat hesitantly, as if she was afraid to offend me. "So, tell me about your Indonesian ex-boyfriend from Canada, if you don't mind. He sounds quite exotic." "Oh, Bima Sarit. Hmm… That was several years ago, when we were both living in a different city in the South. He's very nice, but we talk rarely now," I said, musing about us, "We were going steady, but I broke up with Bim when I moved here." I felt comfortable with Sylvie, although she was so much younger. Bim, I told her about our time together and a bit about what I liked about you. I remember the sense of loss I felt when I mentioned your knowledge of European cinema, Sylvie was surprised that an Indonesian would be interested in European culture. So I gave her a bit of your background: that you were schooled in Europe and Montreal, and had moved around a bit as the son of a diplomat. And how your family had decided to settle here after Suharto came to power. Sylvie immediately remembered "The Year of Living Dangerously." "He sounds like a fascinating man Sheila. Sorry it didn't work out with him." "Thanks Sylvie. But, c'est la vie," I said, and tried to change the topic, "Well, what about you? Don't you have one or more boy friends?". Sylvie blushed and looked down at her glass of wine. After a few seconds, she looked up at me. "Well, you see, hmm… I am… well, I just broke up with my partner," and, she was silent for a longer while, before continuing haltingly, "It was a… err… umm… ah… I was seeing a woman, you see."