21 comments/ 152138 views/ 4 favorites Snowbound Ch. 01 By: ptstewart To say I hated Rebecca is too strong a word. Disliked, avoided, generally snubbed would better alternatives. Rebecca is married to my best friend, Steve, and so we are occasionally forced into each other’s company. Rebecca is an opinionated, feminist member of the lunatic left. Andy, my other best friend, says this is unfair and that the truth is I don’t like competition when comes to offering my opinions. Rebecca and I get into embarrassing scraps about politics when we’re all together. It’s only when I realize that the whole table has been quiet for several minutes while we bang on at each other that I call it quits. These days I avoid looking at her let alone actually talking to her. Andy thinks she is pretty and even sexy. I prefer to remember her yelling “fascist” at me after too many gin and tonics at a picnic at a now ex-friends house in New Hampshire. All this brings me the astonishing fact that Rebecca is sitting next to me in my car and I am driving her from Steve’s Vermont cottage to Boston so she can catch a plane to California. A string of unfortunate events made this four hour journey into my punishment for some grand sin I must have committed in this or some other past life. The fact is that she urgently needed to get across the country and I was leaving anyway for Boston. And so short of saying to Steve that I hated and despised his dear wife I had to agree to do him the favor of delivering her safely to Logan airport. It was mid-winter and snow threatened so we set out as soon as Rebecca could get her stuff together which was much longer than necessary in my opinion. But I gritted my teeth and said nothing. And now as we drove towards the highway I could still feel the tension in my jaw. She was bundled up in a big blue cashmere coat with a long white scarf wrapped around her neck. Her hands were hidden by lumpy woolen gloves which were hindering her now as she attempted to break the silence by switching on the radio. I had already explained that the heating in the old Volvo was not up to the standards of Steve’s BMW but that for ordinary people it was quite adequate. She was about ten years younger than me in her mid-thirties. Steve and she met at a political rally in New York. Steve was looking for an alternative source of salvation after finally giving up on the church. He has given up on politics too now but, as he explains, he got something out of the search. One of the things that annoyed me about Rebecca was her hypocrisy. Glancing at her now out of the corner of my eye, I could see the expensive cut of her short black hair. How many damn refugees could the Red Cross fed on the money she spent at the hairdressers I wanted to ask. She also made snide remarks about fat people. Why couldn’t they just control themselves? She blamed them for succumbing to the dumb advertising of the fast food corporations. She herself worked out at an expensive gym in Cambridge and seemed overly proud of her body, purchased, if I may say so, on the backs of the poor obese people who made her husband rich. Steve wasn’t himself rich but his family was and the money seemed to trickle down quite efficiently. The radio was searching for stations and the sound of it hopping from one station to the next was annoying me. Why couldn’t she just leave it where it was? “Rebecca,” I said. “Leave it on NPR. I need to know about this snow storm.” “God, I can’t stand those patronizing sell outs,” she announced. “That’s what counts for radio journalism in this country? I ask you. What rubbish. It’s just another front for corporate propaganda, only it’s more dangerous than those right wing shows you probably listen to because people are taken in my their pretense to be standing up for real, actual working people.” This was a typical Rebecca rant, full of exaggeration, innuendo and the personal dig at me. “I listen to NPR.” I said quietly, barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of the radio, that was still hopping from one noisy pop music station to another. “That proves my point,” she said as if she had just won a long complex legal argument. I ignored this, knowing that yelling at each other just half-an-hour into the journey would be a disaster. “Just choose a station, I don’t care which one.” She settled on Vermont Public Radio and asked in the voice of a spoiled little girl “Satisfied?” This too I ignored. We traveled on in silence. The snow was coming down more thickly now and I knew from experience that the ploughs would be slow to clear the road this far up the highway. It was already dark and my headlights were picking out the bright flakes of snow as they fell on the road ahead. “The snow’s pretty,” she said. I was cautious about this statement. If I agreed would I be falling into some trap? If I disagreed I would probably have to hear a long dissertation on why my sensibilities had been damaged by my crippling addiction to cable television. I settled on “Do you think so?” “Of course I think so Paul. Why else would I say it?” I had fallen into the trap anyway. She carried on. “Um, so you don’t want to talk about the snow. Let’s see now … I know you guys love talking about how crap the Red Sox are but I know next to nothing about baseball so that’s out. We can’t talk about politics because you fly off the handle and get argumentative if someone doesn’t agree with your right wing sentiments.” She paused and I could tell she was waiting to see if I took the bait. I almost laughed at the transparency of her game. She was turned in her seat facing me, her seat belt unbuckled. She had high cheekbones and a mouth that seemed almost too big for her face. She wore almost no makeup and a pair of gold studs in her ears. I couldn’t tell the color of her eyes in this light and I had never bothered to notice before. “We could play truth or dare but I’m a married woman and my husband is your best friend. Now how much fun could that be?” “You should buckle your belt,” I said ignoring her previous remarks. “Yes, Daddy!” she replied and obeyed in a silly exaggerated way. I could feel the car slipping on the road and Rebecca could feel my concentration and concern. “Do you think we will get to the airport?” she asked in a tone of voice that was indistinguishable from an adult’s. Taking my cue from this new tone I replied that I truly hoped so and decided not to add that I would probably hang myself with my shoe laces if I was stuck in a snow drift with her. After another ten minutes of silence she suddenly remarked “I hate the snow.” “You said it was pretty earlier,” I couldn’t help pointing out. “Now it’s just scary,” she said. I almost felt sorry for her but not quite. The visibility had dropped and I was driving slowly. I expected Rebecca to complain about not getting to the airport on time for her red eye flight to the sunshine. Instead she pulled out a water bottle from her bag and offered it to me. I drank thirstily, my mouth dry from the tension of driving in the snow. I must have drifted into the service lane because an abandoned car was suddenly right in front of me. Stupidly I hit the brakes and the car slid across the highway totally out my control and rolled slowly down an embankment. The Volvo was laying on the passenger side the engine still humming and the radio announcer still prattling on. After a few seconds of quiet we both asked if the other was okay. I felt I was hanging, suspended by my belt. I managed to cut the engine and turn off the radio. I pushed the door open and hauled myself out. I then helped Rebecca do the same. She had a small cut on her forehead but was otherwise just shaken. “That was kind of weird,” she said. “Sorry,” I said. “It just came out of nowhere.” “Hey, don’t be sorry. You’re the one who made me wear my seat belt.” We were standing in deep snow below the highway. It was completely silent. No sound of trucks or cars, nothing. “Do you have a cell?” I asked. “I didn’t have time to juice it up before we left. My turn to say sorry.” I could see that she was shivering. She turned towards me and snuggled close. “Paul, I’m scared and cold. What are we going to do?” We scrambled up the embankment. In the distance across the highway I could see the soft blur of lights. Holding Rebecca’s hand so we were not separated I walked us through the deep snow towards the distant glow. By the time we reached what turned out to be garage, store and thankfully a motel we were soaked and exhausted. We were still holding hands when we entered the reception area of the motel. Behind the counter was a young Indian or Pakistani man who brought out complementary coffees when he heard our story. Although the motel was full he found us a room. “One bed only,” he said, “That alright?” Before I could reply Rebecca said that it was fine. I looked at her and she just shrugged. She was right what else was there to do? I could sleep on the floor or something. It would be better than sleeping in the snow. Rebecca called Steve from the room phone while I showered. I wrapped a towel around my waist and picked up my wet clothes. There was no point in putting them back on until they dried. Rebecca was still on the phone but she had taken off her pants so that she was sitting in her tight fitting red shirt and a pair of white panties. She looked up and I quickly looked away. She was telling Steve about the motel and informed him that I was staying down the corridor. I threw her a puzzled look. She shrugged and gave me a what-can-I-do grimace. She assured him that it was unnecessary to drive down and rescue us. The triple-A would pull the Volvo out in the morning. I busied myself spreading my clothes across the heater while she and Steve exchanged promises of their love for each other. When the phone was finally returned to its place she explained herself. “Steve gets jealous easily. He’s a suspicious guy and I don’t want to have to explain this okay?” “There’s nothing to explain Rebecca. I’ll sleep on the floor and you can sleep in the bed.” “Don’t be silly, Paul. We’re grown-ups. We can keep our hands to ourselves and keep to our own side of the bed. Anyway, you hate me, right?” I instantly denied this and although this might have been a lie a few hours ago our recent adventure had changed something. She announced that was going to shower and I followed her path across the room watching her long legs and the patch of panty that showed beneath her shirt. “You can look but you can’t touch,” she said as she closed the bathroom door. When she returned I was sitting in my t-shirt and boxers on the bed flicking through channels on the TV. “Excuse the outfit,” I said. She told me I had yet to see what she would look like. Right now she was wrapped a big white towel. I could see the straps of her bra. I guessed she was wearing panties. Her hair was a silky, shiny and freshly washed. “Only basic cable,” I announced. She flopped down on the bed next to me and announced that she hated TV. “Imagine what people could do if they didn’t spend their time looking at a fucking box of lights for fully a damn third of their lives. Imagine the books they would read, the conversations they would have. It’s just a way corporations have of getting into people’s houses.” I pressed the off button and asked her what she wanted to do. “Let’s talk,” she said. “Tell me where you’re from, about your family. Then I’ll tell you my sorry history.” We sat there talking while the snow fell into the vast silence outside. The room was warm and the bed comfortable. I told her about growing up in the suburbs of Boston. I described my crazy mother who eventually left my father in my final year of high school. I spoke about my sister who had disappeared into northern California five years ago and hadn’t contacted either me or my father since. I found myself opening up to Rebecca about my divorce form Anna two years ago. I expected her to take Anna’s side. Instead she understood my motives for leaving a dead relationship. Rebecca’s own life history was one of a rich kid from Washington with loving, caring parents; in fact a perfect childhood until her father was killed in a motor accident when she was 14. Her eyes filled with tears when she described how her mother was unable to cope and how she had to play the role of an adult when she was still so much a child. When she finished we sat in silence for a while, both of us lost in our own and each other’s past. “Close your eyes,” she said jumping up from the bed. When she allowed me to look she had turned off all the lights except her bedside lamp. She had draped her red blouse over it giving the room a dull red glow. She was in bed with the duvet pulled up to her chin. She said I could get in too. “But keep to your side,” he said in mock serious voice. “When did you last have sex?” she asked. “Back in the fall,” I confessed. “You poor boy,” she said. “Who with?” “I can’t tell you Rebecca.” “Why not? Do I know her?” “Yes.” Now she demanded to know. In the end she cornered me into telling her where. “It was at Andy’s birthday party.” “You’re fucking joking. You screwed someone at the house. But when and who for God’s sake?” She tried but failed to figure it out. She went through every woman at the party. Each name she mentioned I said no. “Tell me, tell me, you horrible man” she teased, bouncing on the bed like a spoiled child, the duvet now slipped and her bra exposed. The bra was white and see-thru. Rebecca’s small but perfectly shaped tits bounced with her. “Hey,” she said “you’re looking.” But she made attempt to cover herself. “You get to look at my breasts but I don’t get to know who you fucked at Andy’s party?” She paused, her dark eyes fixed on mine. “Paul, I’ll take my bra off if you tell me.” “It was Nikki.” “Nikki, in like, Andy’s daughter. Your friend’s little girl?” “She’s eighteen.” “Just. Fuck, you’re bad Paul. So you fucked Nikki upstairs while we were sitting innocently listening to Steve talk crap about … God I’ve forgotten. What happened?” “The bra, Rebecca.” I reminded her. She turned towards me and quickly unhooked herself and the bra fell exposing her tits. The skin was creamy white and her nipples small but pointed; two delicious pink buttons. She asked her question again. I explained how I had walked into the bedroom they were using for coats looking for my cell. Nikki was there sitting at her mother’s dressing table applying makeup. She turned and smiled and asked if she looked pretty. Nikki was wearing a pair of low slung hipster jeans and a purple tank top. Her bright blond hair was chopped into a punk-like hairstyle. I sat on the bed and watched her. We chatted about her life now that high school was over and she speculated on which colleges she would apply to. When she was finished she stood in front of me, her hand on her hip and slowly turned around allowing me to admire her skinny adolescent body. I sat there transfixed by Nikki’s raw, young, brazen sexuality. I asked if she had a boyfriend. She looked at me as if I were some poor idiot recently released from a hundred years of solitary confinement. She sat next to me on the bed and explained that she dated and that boyfriends and girlfriends were “so yesterday.” “Anyway, Uncle Paul,” she whispered in my ear, “I like to fuck different guys.” “She said that?” Rebecca asked. “Yes, exactly that.” I just sat there next to Nikki my heart hammering against my ribs. I could feel her breath next to my ear. “Would you like to kiss me?” Nikki asked. I told her not to be crazy. She pouted and told me that she would be in her bedroom if I changed my mind. After she left I just sat there. I could hear you guys downstairs. When I entered Nikki’s bedroom she was lying on her bed on her stomach in just her panties. “What color were they?” Rebecca asked. “Light blue. Why?” I could hardly take my eyes from Rebecca’s exposed breasts. “Because, you bad, terrible man, I want to hear all the details.” Nikki turned over and I saw her tiny breasts and a small green dragon tattoo on the lower part of her tummy. She asked me if I wanted to kiss her dragon. “Shit, Rebecca I shouldn’t have done it. I’ve know that kid since she was a small child.” Rebecca slunk down under the duvet and shifted onto her tummy. “Paul, I’m not judging you. The kid’s old enough to make her own decisions. I’ve done a few bad things in my time.” “I thought your feminist ideas were against guys like me preying on the young?” “You think too much sometimes Paul. I fight with you because otherwise I would go crazy with boredom at those damn weekends with ‘our married friends.’ And you fall into an argument so easily. Besides you’re the only one of Steve’s friends who in the least bit cute. I don’t blame you Paul. So what happened?” I looked at Rebecca, her head of jet black hair pressed into a big pillow. In the red glow of the lamp the room seemed like a place out of the flow of time. I continued my story. I locked Nikki’s door and pulled her from the bed. I kissed her. Her skin was so fresh over her childlike boniness. She leaned against the window sill, her back to me. I pulled down her panties and fucked her there looking out over Andy’s front yard with sound of her father droning on in the room directly below me. “Was it good?” “It’s a long time since I’ve had sex with an eighteen year-old. She felt so new.” “New?” “I don’t know Rebecca. What can I say? I regret it but I’m not sure I wouldn’t do it again.” “Hey,” Rebecca said, lifting her head, “As long as Andy never finds out, nobody’s been harmed.” I broke the silence by asking Rebecca what ‘few bad things’ she had done. She demanded some sort of tribute for her story. I offered my boxers and she agreed. I pulled them off under the duvet and flung them across the room. She moved onto her back with her hands behind her head. Her breasts were now hidden but her long arms were a new source of fascination. As she spoke I searched the tiny black hairs on her white skin and traced lines between her moles with my eyes. Rebecca explained how she had fallen into using cocaine after college. She wasn’t working but living off a monthly allowance her mother sent her. Soon enough this was not enough to cover the costs of her addiction. She had never had to work and so the only jobs she could get were entry level or minimum wage service jobs. She exchanged sex for cocaine with her dealer and the next time a pimp was waiting for her. “I worked the hotels around the airport for nearly six months. I was a prostitute Paul turning tricks for money to support a drug habit.” “When was this?” “About two years before I met Steve.” “Does Steve know?” “God, no. But sometimes I think he knows that I am capable of doing something like that. That’s why he’s so jealous. Are you shocked?” “Surprised I suppose,” I said. “Why did you stop? What happened?” “The money was easy and to be honest I didn’t mind the sex. I’d been pretty promiscuous in college and I enjoyed sex with an edge to it. There were bad nights but Johnny my pimp looked after me. If I was doing a party he stayed close by; those were the worst. Guys need lots of alcohol to perform in front of their friends. But mostly I did businessmen feeling lonely in their hotel rooms. It was usually straightforward fucking; sometimes other stuff. The worst was the next day when I would wake up still smelling of the night before with a wicked hangover asking myself why I was doing this. But by the evening after Johnny had sold me enough coke to get me through another night I was wired again. Then my mother fell ill and I went down to Washington to be with her. We were walking in a mall near her home when she bumped a friend. He’d been a client. I was so shocked to have that world collide with my mother’s world. He kept looking at me with a puzzled expression and asking where we had met. That night he phoned my mother’s house. He’d remembered and threatened to tell my mother unless I went to his house and fucked him. I told him to fuck off. I don’t think he said anything but I told mom about my drug problem and she paid for me to go to a clinic. And that was that. I stopped whoring, got a job at a magazine and eventually met Steve. So Paul, now you know. Have you slept with a prostitute before?” Snowbound Ch. 01 “A couple of times,” I confessed. “Does it turn you on that I was a whore?” “Yes.” It was difficult to believe really. I had always thought of Rebecca as Andy’s spoiled wife with a rich mother. I assumed her life had been as easy any other rich kid’s life. Now she seemed much more vulnerable, much more fragile. “The worst thing is that my sexual imagination is filled with images and thoughts of those days. Sex with Steve never quite matches up.” “Have you cheated on him?” “No, but I take lots of long baths with the door locked.” Suddenly the shrill ring of the phone broke the spell of intimacy. Rebecca sat up and leaned across to pick up the receiver. It was Steve. While she spoke I looked at her long naked back, neatly divided by her spine. I traced her waist and her hips with my eyes. I desperately wanted to touch her, to put my lips in the hollow between her shoulder blades. Rebecca was trying to persuade Steve not to come now and fetch her home. The snow had stopped and he thought he could probably get through and rescue her from her lonely, cheap hotel room. Rebecca was trying to persuade him to fetch her in the morning rather than have me deliver her back to the cottage. When she put the phone down she turned to me and said that she thought he would not suddenly turn up at the motel but with Steve you could never be sure. “What do you want to do?” I asked. “Hold me,” she said turning away and lying with her back to me. I shifted over, tucking my knees behind hers and draping my arm across her ribs. My hard cock was pressed against the fabric of Rebecca’s panties and she wriggled her hips so that it fit neatly between the cheeks of her ass. She pushed my hand against her breast and I could feel her hardening nipple against my palm. I lowered my head so that my lips were touching her neck. In a whisper she spoke. “I feel like risking it all – my marriage, my future, my life. You’re a dangerous man Paul. You fuck the daughter of your friend and will fuck me, the wife of your best friend. I think I hoped I would never meet a man like you again. Maybe that’s why I’ve always been so aggressive towards you. I needed to keep you away because I knew you would be dangerous. If we start this there’s no telling where it will end. It could end here tonight. It might bring both our worlds crashing to the ground. Someone will be hurt; probably more than one person. I’ve told you stuff that makes me terribly vulnerable. Yes, that excites me. It excites you too. When I was telling you about my whoring I could smell how hard you were.” She stopped. I could feel her body trembling against mine. I pulled the duvet back exposing us both. I moved up onto my knees and Rebecca turned and lay flat on her back. “Take your panties off.” She wriggled out of them, flicking them onto the carpet with her foot. Her eyes were fixed on my straining cock. My eyes roamed greedily over her whole long body. She opened her legs, parting the swollen folds of her trimmed pussy and exposing her slick pinkness. She pushed me down and straddled my face, lowering her sex onto my waiting mouth. The smell of her and the taste of her combined as my tongue explored her wet desiring hole. I felt Rebecca’s mouth slide down over my shaft. She took me deeply, the quiet sound of her sucking and moaning floating in the deep silence of the sleeping motel. My hands gripped the cheeks of her ass and opened her wide. Her own finger was pressing against my asshole. Her hips moved to the quick rhythm of my tongue. She orgasmed first, silently, suddenly tensing and then trembling with contractions. I waited until she resumed sucking and then focused all my concentration on my cock and the sight of Rebecca, Steve’s madly irritating wife, taking it as deep as she could. I waited until she had forced herself as far down on me as she could and then spurted a gush of cum into her throat. When I entered her five minutes later a tear slid from her eyes down to the corner of her mouth. We fucked gently in no hurry to cum. We just enjoyed each other’s bodies. Once we had exhausted ourselves we fell back onto the bed sweating and panting. I don’t remember when we fell asleep. The dim light of dawn reached me through a gap in the curtain. Rebecca lay pressed against me, holding my hand. “You’re awake?” She asked in a whisper. I tightened my grip on her hand in response. “Do you want to see me again?” “I have to see you again.” “Good.” She replied suddenly leaping out of bed. I lay there watching her nakedness as she hunted down and retrieved her panties and bra from the floor. “He might be here soon. I better get downstairs and wait.” I must have dozed off while she was in the bathroom. I woke when she sat next to me on the bed dressed once again in her big blue cashmere coat and long white scarf. She reached under the bed to find my cock that immediately stiffened to her touch. As she spoke she masturbated me. “Okay my dangerous man, I am leaving now. Let’s try not to fuck this up. When I get back from California I’ll make an arrangement for us to meet. Make sure you’re available. In the meantime think of things you want to do with me, to me. I’m counting on you.” As she leaned over to kiss me I came. She stood up, licked her hand and quietly closed the door as she left. Snowbound Ch. 02 Rebecca's phone call came several days after she returned from California. We arranged to meet downtown the following afternoon. I emerged from the subway into a rainstorm and sheltered in the doorway of an office building. As I huddled against the wetness and cold I reflected on the many reasons I had to be anxious. Firstly Rebecca was my best friend's wife. Secondly I hadn't felt this way about a woman since the early days with Annie, my ex-wife. It's one thing to fuck somebody's wife, it's quite another to fall in love with her. When Rebecca said that people would get hurt I never really considered that I might be one of the casualties. I scanned the street looking for her among the scuttling pedestrians. Instead her Lexus dived out of the traffic and splashed to a halt against the curb. I dashed through rain and launched myself into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind me. Without a word Rebecca accelerated out into the stream of cars. She wore a green tailored jacket, her long black hair sprayed across her shoulders. She wore black fitted pants and a white collared blouse. A thin gold chain was tight around her neck. "I thought you weren't going to phone," I said. I heard the wine disappointment in my voice and silently chastised myself. "I nearly didn't, Paul. I had a lot of time to think in California." She said nothing more. "What did you think?" I asked. "Let's find somewhere where we can talk," she replied. We drove on in silence. I wanted to reach for her hand, touch her cheek. Her sharp profile was beautiful. She noticed my scrutiny and offered me a sad smile. She drove to a large cemetery, parked the car and hauled out an umbrella from the trunk. We were alone in a vast landscape of tombstones as we trudged up a path that took us away from the empty parking lot. I was trying to decide what I would say when Rebecca gave me the bad news. She was right of course. It would be best if we pretended nothing happened back in that motel room. It would be the wise thing to do. It would be safe. Rebecca took my hand and I followed her to a large grey stone monument that offered shelter from the rain. We sat on the cold surface of a family grave. We were high enough to have a view of the city; it seemed to hover in the swirling clouds of rain. After a few minutes of silence Rebecca spoke. "I used to come here with my granny before she died. We would sit here on fall afternoons and she would tell me about her life. I think I was happiest when I was with her. I miss her so much. I haven't been up here since the day of her funeral." I took her hand. "We don't have to do this you know if you don't want." "I hoped that by coming here I would know what to do." "And do you?" "No," she said looking at me. "Look," I said, "if we're rational about it and think the thing through clearly ...." "Don't be fucking pompous Paul," She said quietly. "I don't want to know what reason says. I know that. Any idiot knows that." "What do you want then?" "I don't know. I want to cheat on my husband. And I want to sleep with you again. I want a life. I want to feel something." She paused, staring out, looking for an answer. "Christ, I was dead and didn't know it until you touched me. You woke me up from a dead sleep, Paul and I don't know whether I want to throw myself down on my knees and thank you or take a kitchen knife and murder you." "I think I know which I prefer," I said. "Maybe when this is over you'll change your mind." "We'll see." "If what happened that night was just a fuck then it was stupid and I regret it. If it was something more I'm frightened. Tell me what it meant to you," Rebecca asked. I sat silently for a while trying to find the right words. "Rebecca, all I can say is that I want to see you again and touch you again. I've thought of nothing else since you left." "And you don't care that I'm Steve's wife?" "Of course I care," I protested. "Let's not get too heavy about this. Let's just take things as they come." "He loves you, you know. You're his best friend; he would do anything for you." "Look, Rebecca we have to forget about Steve. We have to put this thing in a box; a tight, sealed box that no one can see inside. Then we will be safe, all of us, Steve included." She offered me a real smile for the first time. "You're so fucking rational. God, it used to annoy me about you. Now it makes me feel protected, like you have everything under control." The rain was now reduced to a drizzle. I stood up and pulled Rebecca to her feet. She folded herself into my arms and raised her mouth to mine, surrendering herself to me. I felt her breasts press against me. Her hand reached for my neck to pull me deeper into her kiss. We stood out in the misty rain, abandoned in a maze of gravestones kissing the breath from each other. My hand reached beneath her jacket. I tugged her blouse from her pants so that I could press my palms against her tight flesh. She moaned and pulled herself from my lips. "I thought about us so much," she said quietly. "What we would do. You know, dirty things, fuck things. I want us to do everything, live out every fantasy. This need I have is the only truth for me. Touch me, Paul." I popped the button on the front of her pants and pushed my hand down beneath the silky fabric of her panties to her ass. She pushed herself against my straining cock. I pulled her pants and panties down past her knees, swung her around so she could lean against the tomb. Rebecca bent over offering herself to me. Urgently I released my cock and, my hands tightly gripping her hips, I thrust myself into her. Her hand reached for her clit and she masturbated herself while I pumped her pussy. It was then that I noticed we were being watched. A cemetery worker stood not twenty yards away, dressed in shabby overalls and sturdy leather work boots. He didn't take his eyes from Rebecca's open ass and my cock sliding back and forth. I whispered to Rebecca that a man was watching. She groaned with her need, her masturbating finger now quickly rubbing her to a giant climax. When I felt her pussy pulse I fucked hard and fast and shot deeply inside her. I collapsed over her, panting. When I looked again the worker was gone. As Rebecca pulled up her panties and wriggled back into her tight black pants I asked her if she liked being watched. She nodded, giving me her naughty-girl grin. She pushed herself onto her toes and kissed me softly. "It excites you doesn't it?" she said dancing away through the puddles on the path laughing. I chased after her and caught her in tight hug. "You excite me, everything about you excites me," I said. A week later I was sitting in a Somerville restaurant with Andy and his wife Pamela. If there was a wife of a friend who I might have imagined screwing, Pamela would have been the obvious choice. She was from Scandinavian stock, strong, blond and blue-eyed. She looked like a soccer mom but I doubted her daughter Nikki was much into soccer. Pamela was involved in all sorts of charities and enthused about all the right causes. She sometimes took my side in my public arguments with Rebecca. Andy was uncomplicated. He pushed paper around for an insurance company and watched baseball in the summer and football in the winter. He never watched basketball or hockey. He never ate vegetables except potatoes, preferably fried. I'd known him since college and although we had drifted into different lives we still needed each other. For him I think it was the need to talk about the past, before his marriage when his life had an edge to it. Then he played football and partied through nights and weekends. After college he had a spell as a firefighter before he met Pamela. Her practical, cautious view of the world persuaded him to take an insurance job and sign up for a mortgage. For me the friendship was habit, but a good one. Andy would throw his big arm around my shoulders when we met and yell out a greeting. There was something comfortable about this. Of course, now that I had fucked his daughter this could change at any moment. I had seldom seen Andy lose his temper but the prospect of it frightened me. I think he and Steve are better suited as friends but Steve's loyalty to me made Andy the third member of our little group. Pamela interrupted our sports talk. Her voice was deeper than you would expect. It had the sound of truth and goodness in it. "Nikki's applied to art schools Paul." "Yeah," said Andy, "and we were thinking you could help." "What can I do?" I asked nervously. Don't throw your daughter at me I was thinking. "Her teacher said that she was good at art ...," Pamela said before Andy interrupted. "Looks like crap to me," he said shrugging his big shoulders. "That's because you know nothing about art, dear," Pamela said patiently. "That's why we need you Paul. She's never been to the art galleries. We never made the time I suppose. I don't want her to trip up when she goes for her interviews. We thought you could take her around and give her some pointers; something to say when they ask her what art she likes." Pamela wasn't really asking. In her mind this was a simple duty of friendship. "What does Nikki say?" I asked. "She can't wait," Andy said, "it was her idea in the first place." I waited for Nikki outside the Gardner museum. It was one of those bitterly cold days with a deep blue sky stretched from horizon to horizon. She was late and I amused myself by watching my breath condense. When she finally scooted around the corner she caught me trying to blow smoke rings. "Do you want a cigarette?" She asked laughing and reaching into her bag. "No," I said firmly, "And you shouldn't smoke, it's bad for you." She grimaced and stuck the tip of her tongue out at me. She had her mother's blond hair and blue eyes but she had inherited a fragility of personality that was more her fathers. Her boisterous approach to world was not the confidence and assurance of her mother, but rather a thin skin behind which she sheltered. "Where should we go?" She asked, stamping her feet against the cold. "Inside," I said. "I mean are we going to your place?" "You're going to the gallery and we are going to look at art," I said in my most severe parental tone, taking her arm and turning her towards the building. "Hey, I thought my dragon was enough art for you," she said referring to her tattoo I had been invited to kiss in her bedroom several months before while her parents entertained guests in the room below. She slouched her way from the coatroom up the stairs into the first gallery. Nikki was dressed in a black t-shirt covered by a black buttoned up jacket with some kind of insignia on the shoulders. She wore a short black skirt and ripped stockings that disappeared into a pair of calf-length Doc Martins. She still had her punk hairstyle, her short blond hair spiked. The silver nose ring was new. I expected a tough afternoon trying to make her look and see the beauty and excitement in the art. But after a few minutes she fell into an absorbed concentration. The Gardner is not an ordinary art gallery. Here you find yourself in rooms cluttered with paintings, sculptures, furniture, photographs, carpets, all mixed up. There is a randomness that allows you to discover pieces for yourself. I watched Nikki roam the floor allowing herself to be struck by something and then walking up close to see the detail. Finally she spoke, breathlessly asking questions, smart questions. Unlike so many people Nikki could see art; her naïve gaze went directly to the piece and she saw what the artist was trying to achieve. When she didn't understand a work she asked why the artist had chosen to represent it in this or that way. She didn't care about the history and she wasn't intimidated by what the experts might think. When I gently suggested we move to the next room, she laughed, exhilarated by the discovery of a new world. She took my hand and I let her, sharing her happiness. When we finally left the gallery it was already dark. We walked to my car. She sat in the passenger seat and let out a long sigh of pleasure. "That was brilliant, fucking ace," she said. "That was like, the best." "I should get you home," I said starting the car. "No, I want to go to your place and play." "Nikki ...," I said, "We shouldn't. We really shouldn't." "I just want a beer and talk about the stuff we saw and I can't have a drink in an actual, like, bar in this fucking country for another three years." "Just a beer then," I said and steered the car towards my apartment. Ten minutes later Nikki was sprawled across my couch holding a beer with her face buried in one of my art books. "So, you can just go and look at this shit in galleries. And it's like hundreds of years old." I sat next to her. "Look towards the back of the book. Look at the more modern works." She flipped quickly through the pages. "Wow, I could do something like this. Isn't this one cool?" She asked pointing to a picture of a Warhol print. I could almost smell her young body vibrating beneath her clothes. I leaned across to look at a picture in the book placing my hand on her hip. "Hey, are we going to fuck?" she asked, the beer bottle paused at her mouth. "If you want." "Cool with me, Uncle Paul." "Drop that uncle shit," I said. She returned to the book while my hand slipped under her skirt sliding across her thighs. She leaned back and let her legs fall apart so I could let my palm rest against her pussy. I stroked her over the fabric of her stocking and panties while we spoke. I could feel her heat rising. "How many boys have you slept with," I asked. "Excluding you?" "Yes." "One." I snatched my hand away. "Jesus Nikki," I said. "You said you dated lots of guys. I thought you were experienced. I would never have ... have done what I did if I knew. "That's why I lied." "Why did you do it?" "It seemed like a good idea at the time." There was a long silence while my mind raced. Then she stood up and started unbuttoning her jacket. "No Nikki, we shouldn't," I pleaded. But I was unable to get up off the couch to stop her. The jacket fell to the floor and she whipped off her t-shirt exposing the nakedness of her small girlish breasts. She pushed her skirt, stockings and panties down together revealing her bony adolescent hips and the gash of her cunt beneath her dark blond pubic hair. She stood there still in her boots with her clothes around her ankles crying silently. "You said I looked pretty," she sobbed. "You do, you do," I said standing up and putting my arms around her and holding her tightly. She felt so frail, almost birdlike. My erection was pushing into her stomach. I stepped back. "I think you are wonderful Nikki but don't you want to sleep with guys your own age?" "I want to do it with you." A thought suddenly occurred to me. "You're on the pill, right?" I'd fucked her bareback last summer stupidly assuming she was protected. "Mum put me on the pill when I was dating Bobby. He was my first." Thank God for sensible Pamela. Nikki dropped to her knees and pressed her face against my cock, her fingers searching for the zipper. This was the time to act like an adult, to step away, make her get dressed and send her home. I felt my pants fall and her childlike fingers scoop my cock and balls out of my underpants. "Tell me if I'm doing it wrong," she said looking up, her eyes bloodshot from her crying. And then I felt her sweet young mouth cover the tip of my cock. "Take it deeper Nikki, right to the back of your throat. Yes that's it. Cup my balls with one hand and find my asshole with the finger of your other hand and press against it. That's good, so good." I tried to hold off coming but I soon burst, flooding Nikki's mouth with my cum. Her head shot back and she tried to spit the semen out, succeeding only in spraying it over her chest, legs and clothes. "Sorry," she said, looking up at me with a smile on her face. "It's okay, you were great. Take your boots off," I ordered. When she was fully naked I spread her on the couch. I explored her body with my mouth, taking her budlike tits fully into my mouth, finding her belly button with my tongue. Before I pressed my mouth to her pussy I pushed her legs high and ran my tongue down the crack of her ass. Finally I drank her sweet fuck juice and allowed my tongue to search out her clit. She rocked her hips in rhythm with my tongue, loudly moaning. Her gush of orgasm was accompanied by a screech of pleasure before she shuddered into silence. I met Rebecca the next day at a Super 8 motel just off interstate 90. Our sex was urgent and silent. When we parted our sweating bodies she said nothing and left the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. When she didn't emerge I knocked gently on the door and walked in. Rebecca was sitting on the edge of the bath, her eyes swollen with her crying. "What's wrong?" I asked. "Nothing," she replied sharply. "Fuck, Rebecca, tell me. Has something happened?" She let the silence continue. I could see she was angry. "Have I done something? She was naked, her long legs crossed and her chin resting in her palm. She blew a stray hair from her face. "I think you're a bastard but I'm not entitled to think that. I think this whole thing was a mistake. I must've have been an idiot. I think too fucking much actually." I was alarmed and puzzled. "Has Steve said something? Does he know?" "Steve knows nothing." "Then what is it?" "Do you think I'm a whore? Still a whore? You're right, whores have no feelings. Fuck them and if you can get it for free so much the better." "What the hell are you talking about?" I demanded. She looked hard at me, her lip quivering, two new tears floated down her cheeks. "Nikki called me last night. She had boy problems." I felt at once cold and hot. Cold with fear and hot with anger. "I thought we had something special Paul; something meaningful. But of course, it was just a fuck for you. I felt something for you. I felt something for the first time in years. I wanted to risk everything. I needed to be touched by you. But you feel nothing. I know I'm a cheat and a thief of my husband's loyalty and I deserve nothing but shit from life. But I believed in you Paul. I felt safe but you just kicked me like a dog." "It was a mistake. I didn't want anything to happen. It just did." "Save it Paul. I'm not your wife." "What did she tell you?" "After the part when she described how you gave her a lesson in giving blow jobs I put the phone down." "I'm sorry Rebecca, truly sorry," I said and tried to touch her. She twisted her shoulder away from my hand. "I came here today not to fuck but to tell you to go to hell. When I saw you I thought maybe I could forget how slimy you are, how you care nothing for the people you hurt. I wanted to feel you in me, hoping maybe that would make my hurt go away." She got up and pushed past me. I stood in the doorway of the bathroom and watched her get dressed. "Please Rebecca. I was an idiot. She threw herself at me, she's out of control. Fuck, that bitch. Please let's just talk about this. She means nothing to me, you have to believe that." "Oh I believe that Paul. I also believe I mean nothing to you either." "That's not true." She pulled on her coat and slung her handbag over her shoulder. "I didn't want to feel anything, but I did. And now my life's more fucked up than it was. Why didn't you just leave me alone?" With that she walked out leaving me naked in a shabby, dirty, thirty dollar motel room. When I arrived home there were two messages. The first was from Pamela thanking me for showing Nikki around the gallery. The second was from Steve telling me he wanted to talk. He was sure Rebecca was having an affair.