5 comments/ 10836 views/ 6 favorites Rick By: SNAGuy Rick was startled by his working cell's ringtone, lost in his own thoughts as he was. He thought that he had switched it off earlier, but apparently not, because there was Mozart, 'A Little Night Music,' ringing from somewhere in his apartment. It was a new ringtone, new enough that he still smiled inwardly at its innuendo. Of course, he always had the option of letting it ring unanswered, but that was some tricky business. After all, the call might be just a confirmation, maybe one of his regulars who'd set something up beforehand. He wouldn't want to miss that kind of call, being professional about it and all that. After all, no woman became a regular unless he felt something about her, maybe something like a connection, or a buzz with her, or maybe because he just liked the way she fucked and no more. Oh, and there was always their...generousity. Sometimes the calls were from more impulsive regulars, women who just picked up the phone and wanted him on the spot. Those could be fun, too, if he was in the mood. It was its own kind of rush, fast, fast, fast, starting with a quick Viagra, getting over to her hotel as fast as he could, getting himself hard in the elevator and having her sucking his cock almost before the door to her room clicked shut behind him. Wow. Then there were the new clients, maybe experienced with this or maybe not. On the whole he enjoyed being with experienced women for the first time. You never knew, she might turn into a regular. Only very rarely did he run into a woman who made him feel like a piece of meat, just a flesh and bone vibrator, a "here's the money, now leave" kind of woman. The best, the absolute best, were the terrified newbies, women who had never paid for sex before. There was something about them, maybe their palpable vulnerability, that pushed a button in him. He enjoyed connecting to the woman's overwhelming confusion of conflicting thoughts and feelings and helping her to clear all of that away into a kind of simple, uncomplicated clarity, abandonment to her own arousal. His whole life he had helped people in one way or another, as a camp counselor, a youth mentor, a coach and even training to become a teacher. With a frightened, totally wound up woman how was what he did any different from all of that, any different from being a nurse? Rick's cell continued to ring. By the time he'd found the phone in the other room the ringtone was just starting to repeat. He pick it up, pressed 'Talk' and said, "Hello. I'm Rick. What's your name?" On the other end he heard some rustling, maybe a vocalization cut short, and then a shuddered breath and a click. Whoever she was, she had lost her nerve. ~ An hour later it's his working cell again. He wondered if it was the same woman calling a second time. "Hello. I'm Rick. What's your name?" There's nothing right away, near silence at the other end. It happens sometimes so he just waits it out for a moment. Sometimes he'll hear a faint shudder in her breathing, nervousness. Sometimes there's nothing at all, nothing for many seconds. He feels for her, understands how difficult it can be, especially if it's her first time. But he also knows that it's part of the rush for her, the exhilaration of hearing her insides screaming No!, but the excitement, the electric exhilaration of her fantasy compelling her forward. When he was met with silence the first few times he felt awkward too, feeling the same palpable nervousness as if it were an infectious disease passed from her across the phone line. He learned that if he waited too long for her, the crazy adventure of picking up her phone, trembling fingers dialing the number, recklessly going through with it – all of it could turn to panic for her, slapping her back to her real world. She would hang up. At this he always felt that he would have let her down somehow. He felt sad, but for her. He wondered what it must be like for her after hanging up on him. She had gotten so close to it, so close to the exhilaration of it, only to have the moment shatter, all the wayward courage for nothing. Would she be relieved, embarrassed? No, he thought, almost right away she would feel disappointed, disappointed in herself, wound up so tightly but suddenly sad and lonely. He could see her at the other end feeling tired, so tired. When he first started, in the silence he'd do what anyone would do, say hello again. Sometimes it was enough to get her started, but he wondered if it was putting pressure on her to talk before she was ready, underlining her indecision in the moment, her mind racing even faster now, wanting to go on but still hearing her guts screaming before she had control of herself. Late one night a few months ago, when his working cell rang and there was silence again, he decided to try to help her. Why be conventional, why use normal manners when they were strangers to each other? Nothing crazy, nothing shocking, just a little different from what anyone would expect. After the hello, after those long seconds of her nervousness, he simply said "I'm Rick. What's your name?" He found that most times it would help her. It would give her a comfortable nudge forward, an achievable way to start the conversation, just her name. It would give her a little more about him, at least the sound and tone of his voice instead of the anonymity of telephone protocol, more than the words on his card or in his ad. It would strip away any pretense and acknowledge that the two of them know what her call is about. For You, Rick. For her, the stark phone number would have been a surreal gateway into a mystery world, a completely different universe from the one where her real life is. Previously a concept – romantic, dangerous, tempting – now with the phone number, here in this city, it would work its way into her, closer to her reality. Would it have become real enough for her to let it into her mind? The sound of his voice would be a tipping point for her. A real man at the other end of the line, not a character in a movie or a novel, a real man who has sex for money. She would be visualizing him after hearing his words, the calming tone. She would be holding the phone at her end, in her world, the world she knows. When he has picked up, spoken to her, there would be nothing else in the world but the two of them. Suddenly she would be out of her element, entering into an unknown secret, crossing over from the world she knows, not sure if she really can go through with it. But with this second call tonight, before he can say anything more there's a click as the line goes dead again and she is gone. He looks out the window through the glare of the Strip, planes taking off at McCarren beyond that. ~ The idea of it ricochets inside Sally dangerously. She's frantic, obsessed with it, can't get rid of it. She'd woken up this morning after a restless sleep, her first bleary sense being, there's something wrong. Suddenly, the idea had snapped her fully awake like the shock of cold water. Her imagined scenario, now imprinted in her mind. A far-off, dreamy romantic scene brought to life. The faceless man, muscled, sleek, naked. He is lowering her gently but purposefully to the bed, taking her, mystically knowing her, knowing her body, her willingness, her desires, hot abandonment to illicit lust. It had come to a crashing stop in her mind. Stop! You're crazy! What's gotten into you? But she hadn't been able to stop. She'd been unable to concentrate all day, the conference sessions a blur to her now. At times through the day, she had thought she might have talked herself back into some sense, placing the person that she was, her job, her family, in front of her as a defense. Putting the life she knows at risk. But the thought wouldn't go away, frightening her with how fragile was her concept of her life, the allure of the fantasy sweeping it all away so easily. Had she completely lost herself for the possibility of its actually happening? Tonight the fantasy dominates her thoughts even more strongly. It either happens tonight or it doesn't happen at all. Tonight. Now. It is an urgent animal drive she has never experienced before. Like it has to happen. Inevitable. This is the time, this is the place. Vegas. The place isn't real. How can anything be real here? A different universe. Here you're allowed to be crazy because it isn't real anyway. Tonight. Now. Toronto is tomorrow. The possibility, the opportunity ends tonight. When she opens her eyes tomorrow morning it all will be over, finished, squandered. The taxi to McCarran, that's when the normal will return to her. That's when she'll be on familiar ground again. But the idea of returning to normal, tomorrow, the thought of it goes straight to her stomach. She feels a letdown, disappointment. She doesn't want to go home without this adventure. She will feel like she's left a part of herself behind – the boldness part of her, the fun, wicked part. These feelings surprise her and immediately a sense of guilt rises in her. But then, she realizes, how I feel is how I feel. I have to do this. There are a million reasons why not. She feels lost. No! Who are you? Who are you? What are you becoming? Is that what you want? Immediately she answers Yes. Calm down. Don't start. You can't. This isn't you. She's an elementary school principal, goes to church, loves her children, loves Wayne. He's always been good to her. They've built their lives together, a happy home, good jobs. There is love, but... it has become... comfortable, predictable, assumed, a life that seems to be unfolding according to a fixed script. They don't share their dreams anymore. Maybe there are none, preoccupied with the kids and the jobs. Maybe when they retire there will be more spark. Some spark. There isn't much time for just the two of them these days at this stage of their lives. They're ships passing in the night sometimes, and then when the lights go out she's too tired, or he is. Once a month if that, not even that much, it's pretty much sexless now. She can't remember the last time she felt the spontaneous urgent desire. And yet she feels that this is wrong, maybe that there's something wrong between them, something wrong with her. She feels depressed that she's lost that part of her, seemingly forever. She looks in the mirror to try to recover herself. Memories underline what she sees. How she had looked had never really defined her in her own mind. Small, petite, but not a waif, she had had girl-next-door prettiness, an athlete's fresh attractiveness. The other girls, the girls who spent an hour in front of the mirror every day, they were the ones with boyfriends. With her, the boys had been friends. People had liked her, had thought of her as a good person, a fun, energetic person. That was good, it had pleased her all by itself, but she had wanted more, deeper relationships, more intimate. There were times when she had felt she'd been overlooked, the girl next door and nothing more. She's still fairly trim, but her skin isn't as smooth or tight as it once was, and her having nursed two babies shows. Now she feels like she's fading, that whatever attractiveness she had now has been drummed out of her by the routine of her life. At forty-six she feels like she's closer to the end than the beginning, that time is running out. Where did I go? she wonders. A sadness fills her as she sees that she is ordinary, unremarkable. Fading away as a person too. How did this happen to me? She realizes that the fantasy has grabbed her exactly because of this, filling a void that she hadn't acknowledged. How did this happen to me? Well it happens to everyone. Getting on with a life, building it, moving through phases and stages. For a moment this is a rational thought, an explanation. She feels comforted that she can still see things clearly, rationally. But then the illicit thought slams into her again. She hears her inner voice. It feels like a wave of profound honesty. That's the problem. That's it exactly. Getting on with life? You're only settling for that. Settling for it. It's a waste of life. Angrily, she lets the idea play its scene again in her mind. Why settle? Why not take this while you can? Is it this place that has gotten to her? Vegas? The surreal craziness of it? Last night's party with the girls from the conference had given her a taste, letting go, forgetting it all and not caring about who she was supposed to be anymore. She and four of the others from the conference being wild. New best friends from cities across the continent. They had done the Strip, drinks, laughs, a tits and glitz show, imagining themselves to be high rollers, high rollers on the quarter slots. Mika, their young ringleader, dragging the group into the all-male review. Thunder Down Under. Oh, my God. A boy dancing off the stage toward her, his cock and balls in a gold lame pouch slapping up and down inches from her face. Then tucking the five dollar bill into the pouch, the girls hysterical around her. In the ladies room, Mika coming out of her stall holding her panties aloft – a tiny red thong stretched between her spread thumbs - daring them all to take theirs off too for the rest of the night. Her first reaction had been shock, outright refusal, or was it the horror of being exposed? What would people think? But just then was the start of it, realizing that it was her Toronto life – a universe away – controlling her. From out of the blue, What the hell, as if it were someone else deciding for her that she would do it, abandoning herself. Moments later out on the street in public with a plastic cup of beer, feeling the cool air against her nakedness under her skirt, amazed at herself that she did it, knowing that her panties – plain ones as always – were stuffed into her purse. The naughtiness of it exciting her, more than that, arousing her. She loved the feeling of setting her real self aside for an evening, the feelings of freedom. Mika collecting the cards and pamphlets from the street people, saying she wants to mail them home to her boyfriend. Escort ads, newspaper classifieds, something for everyone. Girls for guys, girls for girls. Guys for guys. Guys for girls. Walking, drinking, gambling a bit, people-watching until they were all laughed out and it was time to call it a night. Later, alone in the room still feeling the buzz of the fun out on the street, questioning why she had to be in the room at all when she could still be having fun out there. Looking forward to some private pleasure before sleeping. Then, pulling her panties out of her purse, a business card falling to the floor. Mika's mischief again. She must have slipped it into her purse. For You. Rick. Guys for girls. She'd held the card in her hand about to drop it into the wastebasket when a hot lick of arousal struck her. She had suddenly realized that she could imagine it, that she was imagining it. The beautiful man lowering his head to kiss her neck, pressing himself inside her, that exquisite sensation of enveloping fullness. Astonished at herself that she hadn't rejected it outright, that she could see it as a fantasy, the fantasy lingering. The sudden realization that it could be actually possible, that there was little in the way of it. A real possibility. The idea starting in her head at that exact moment and her knowing that it had taken hold. In bed, touching herself, incendiary arousal, the images of it playing out like a script before her. A knock at the door, the faceless man undresses her from behind, slowly kissing, touching... But today had been another day, a long day of inner wrestling and self-talk, exhausting. The girls had gone out on the Strip again tonight, more reckless abandonment, but for her now somehow innocent compared to the fantasy in her mind. Mika isn't so outrageous after all. Eventually the girls had gone their separate ways and she had returned to her room. But feeling restless, she had gone back downstairs by herself for a drink, not wanting the feeling to stop. Abandonment. The idea working in her mind, not letting her go. For You. Rick. For me. This is a bolt of insight to her. For me. Her life has been one of helping others, her family, her students, colleagues. She is a giver. Rewarding, yes. She often has felt it is her calling. But now, as if for the first time in her life, Something for me. Yes. I'm going to do it. No. I can't. Staring at her drink. How can this fantasy be so strong, sweeping away all that is her real life? Doesn't that say something to you? Taking the last sip of her drink she is aware that it feels significant, a step toward enacting the fantasy, toward its inescapability. Tonight or never again. She realizes that she'll soon be back in her room and that if it is to be at all, she will pick up the phone and make the call. But she also knows that she'll talk herself in and out of it twenty times just in the elevator ride up to the room. The indecision is almost incapacitating. Now, every moment subtracts from the time she has before making the decision to act. Her inner voice telling her that she should do this becomes more insistent, but her resistance also has become deafening. Her world now seems as if it is in slow motion. The self-talk is so consuming now that it almost obliterates what is going on around her, robbing her of her consciousness of her surroundings. Somehow she is back in the room. She can't remember being aware of the elevator. She sits on the bed. There is no sound, but she hears a roar in her head. She feels strangely disconnected from the world, sees the room as a scene, as if through a lens. The card is in her purse on the edge of the dresser, two steps away. The phone is there, within reach beside her. No. Her mind tells her to swing her legs up onto the bed, prop herself up on a pillow and turn on the TV. Stop the nonsense. But she discovers that she has stood, has walked to the dresser to get the card. It is in her hand now. She is watching herself as if detached, as if somebody else is doing this. She sits again on the bed beside the phone, stares at it for only a moment. Now the phone is in her hand. How did it get there so suddenly? So easily? She sees the number on the card, automatic now, dialing, hesitating over the last digit. The last moment, the last decision. Will she? Now? She presses the key, hears the tones as the number is dialed. Waiting, waiting, holding her breath but needing to gasp. One ring. Another. Suddenly panic explodes in her head. You can't do this, you can't, you can't. It's crazy! Crazy! Crazy! She curls herself forward, her free arm around her stomach, holding herself. She feels her face grimacing, tense, her hand trembles, then pulls the phone away from her ear, but then, Do it! Do it! Do it! is in her head and she presses the phone hard against the side of her face. ~ His working cell rings once, twice, a different number, not the same woman from earlier. He hopes that this one won't lose her nerve and hang up even before it begins. "Hello. I'm Rick. What's your name?" ~ Oh-my-God-oh-my-God-oh-my-God-oh-my-God... A click. He's there. "Hello. I'm Rick. What's your name?" She is frozen, can't even say hello. Seconds pass. I can't. I can't. What's your name. What's your name? Those are his words, but it is their implication that rocks her, that drives sudden, jolting realizations into her. It is done, the whole thing is done. He knows. This man – a complete stranger, this fantasy man turned suddenly real – he knows everything. He knows why she called, what she's seeking. Even if she doesn't really know it herself, he knows that she wants sex. Anonymous sex, sex with a complete stranger, to be naked with him, to touch him, to feel him, to wrap herself around him, to moan, to disappear into her arousal. To come. To come on his cock, to come all over his cock... Rick She's screaming denial inside, that this isn't her, that it isn't what she does or the way she behaves. She's never so forthright, always discreet, tactful. She's wretched because of her exposure of herself. She wants to cry, to hang up and call it all off. But there is a louder voice inside her. It's the voice of her truth. The truth is calmer, it has such clarity that there can be no denial. You dialed his number. You dialed his number. It means something. You want this, all of it. You do want this, you do, you've dialed and so you do. ~ He waits, hoping that she doesn't hang up like the woman from before. Come on, he thinks. It's ok. Come over to this side. Do it, you'll see. Come on. ~ What is my name? Should I make one up or use my real name? "Sally", she says. You do want this, you do want this. For an instant she soars in the realization of the truth. I want this. I want this. And as easily as that, she is in conversation him, Rick. "I'm fine, thank you. How are you?" The words feel wrong somehow, she thinks. To speak like this, so normally, so true to convention, feels out of place here and now. But then, what else could she say? "Yes, uh-huh. Just visiting." "A conference." She feels totally inarticulate. She feels herself flush at the embarrassment. "No, no, nothing like that. I'm an elementary school principal." Her guard goes up abruptly. Was that smart? To tell him this. Careful. "No, first time here." "Yes, yes. It sure is different!" He has asked her what she's done for fun so far. Again, her guard goes up. Not too much, don't' reveal too much. "Oh, not too much. A little gambling last night, walked the Strip with some people I met." Easy. She wonders how 'it', the real reason for the call - will start, whether she has to come right out and ask him. The thought alarms her. She's not sure she can do that, can't imagine what exactly to say. She hopes that he'll do it, that he'll know how. What happens after that, she's not so sure. "Any shows? Uh-huh. One." Oh My God! He guessed it. Thunder Down Under. The image of the bouncing gold pouch with a five dollar bill fills her mind's eye. "Yes! But how did you know?" Teasingly now. More normal. She feels a slight relaxation in her shoulders. "You haven't?" Surprised that he hasn't gone himself. But then her logic kicks in and she worries that she might have offended. Maybe he's gay. Or bi. Or straight. But if he's straight, why would he go to that show. Maybe he was with someone. She imagines a woman – or maybe a man – calling him, arranging the date, going to the show. He escorts, escorts her – or him? – to the show. And then afterward...? Butterflies erupt in her stomach. "Oh, I see. Everybody goes, eh?" Strangely, her ego surfaces. Just you wait, buddy. I'm not just anybody. Then, a sudden reversal. Why so combative? "What do you think happens?" Laughing at his question, she realizes now that she's relaxed enough to flirt a bit. "No, I'm not going to tell you...No!....No!!...I guess you'll just have to go and see for yourself." He declines, claims he isn't that naughty. What is he saying? What is he implying, that I am? They're both laughing now, taunting each other, back and forth, innuendo, double-entendres. She likes his quick wit, his cleverness. She's matching him beat for beat. She realizes all of a sudden that she's having fun, that she's dipping her toe into mischievous waters, inching herself closer to full immersion. It's a conversation that will end up in a certain place. She knows this, the inevitability of it. She knows that when it happens her whole being will concentrate itself to a single point, the carnality of this man's knowledge of her. It will be the giving of her permission, no, her yielding totally and utterly to him. Her heart jumps at this thought, the clarity of it, the certainty of what is going to happen, the exhilarating risk of it, its rawness. And then, just then as she's ignited by these thoughts, he asks the big question. She hears the words, real words spoken to her on the phone, his words, words that take them both to a universe where fantasy and reality are one and the same. All she can do is echo the question back to him. "Would I like some company tonight?" Her heart is pounding. Her body clenches everywhere, as if she has been struck and is ringing from the blow. She knows the expected answer is a simple Yes, but can she come out and say it? One simple word. Yes? The fantasy bursts into her mind, but it's different somehow. She can imagine no arousal, no soaring erotic pleasure. She is too energized, too intense. Suddenly she realizes that that, too, is what she wants, a pleasure in its own right. She wants, she wants, needs the exhilaration, the uncertainty, the potential for dangerous ecstasy. Seconds have passed. Then, a kind of purposeful resolve settles in her. Does she want some company tonight? "Yes. Yes. I do." And with that, the fantasy in her mind floods with eroticism, her head thrown back, her legs wrapped around the beautiful man, her pussy enveloping his cock as she rocks with his rhythmic fucking. ~ He hears her simple answer, Yes, but it holds this woman's whole being in it. In the split second of hearing her voice, he hears the word, started timidly. But even in the duration of her speaking the single word, he hears the change in it, the sound of her voice filling with certainty. Her truth is colouring what he hears, that she wants this, that she will venture herself, take the risk. He imagines how she feels, how that single word is her open admission of desire, but that now it is hanging there, spinning in front of them both, exposed and vulnerable. She has admitted her desire. She has made the most intimate self-disclosure. He tells her how happy he is, that he'd like to meet her. He asks her if it's her first time. Yes. A little scary? A pause and then Yes. He tries to reassure her. Gently, he invites her to wade more deeply into the experience. For you. It's all for you. There are details to take care of, practical matters. They seem out of place, crude, too real to be part of her fantasy. Her donation to him, which hotel she's staying in, the room number, when she wants him. The particulars out of the way, he opens the door to the imagined details, the mystery, the dream of it. For you. He tells her he can't wait to meet her. She asks him what she needs to do. He tells her. "Relax in a hot bath and let it happen for you." ~ She's unable to control the trembling as she hangs up the phone. It rattles into the cradle. She wraps her arms around herself and begins to rock forward and back, trying to get control of herself. He'll be here in less than an hour. ~ He flips his phone closed. Sally. Her first time. Sometimes the women who call have done this before, just not with him. Sometimes they're fun. It can get pretty wild. No rules fucking, but with condoms. Sometimes though, it's as if they know the drill, making assumptions about it, taking him – him – for granted. That's when it feels dirty for him, exploitive. When it's like this, it's just about the money. Some women are repeats for him. He likes being with his repeats, women he has agreed to see a few times. They're his friends now, women that he cares for. He feels happy for them in their arousal, their climaxes. Sometimes they don't even do it, they just talk, stroking each other's skin. It's the connection that makes it special, listening to them, the honesty that they express with him that they can't with their husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends. Everything drops, for him too, and they meet each other in full vulnerability. That's when it's good. Nothing to hide, open to each other, abandoning to each other, to each others' bodies and minds. The absolute best is when she's trying it for the first time and she's able to let herself go. He understands her nervousness – he was nervous his first few times too. She will need his help to overcome her fear of abandoning herself to it, to let down her guard and let it happen for herself. But that's the good part for him, when she has her moment. It will be a moment that she might never have experienced before, after she's naked, after he has touched her – perhaps has begun to thrust into her – the moment when she can no longer help herself, the moment when all her reservation and guardedness dissolves and instantaneously ignites into a flash of unbounded lust. ~ She can't think straight, can't put a thought into her head. Suddenly her self-consciousness leaps up. What will he think of her, her middle-aged body? What if she's disgusting to him? She couldn't bear to see the small flinch cross his face when he first lays eyes on her, the flicker in the eyes that reveals everything. She imagines his forced neutral expression when he picks up the odour of her pussy. But her pragmatism saves her from this. She will do as he said, bathe, at least be as clean and fresh as she can be. She starts to undress and steps into the bathroom for the bath, but she is too restless to lie back and soak. She decides on a shower instead. In the hot stream of water she soaps herself, washing herself down below twice, three times. In her nakedness her mind turns once again to the sex. She has never done it without feelings. She's not been with many men, Wayne and, before that, a couple of others. Always in a relationship. What's gotten into me? Sex with a stranger, the thought of it is both terrifying and exhilarating. It's coming back to her now. The abandonment. She has the fantasy back now, sees herself looking into his eyes as he firmly but gently violates what she was, transforming her. Emancipation. The shower calms her somewhat. She wonders what he does to prepare, whether he'll be so clean. This causes another spike of panic in her. What if he's not, what if he smells? What do I do then? Minutes later, she has dressed again, a chocolate-coloured skirt, a cream-coloured, long-sleeved knit shirt buttoned to a 'vee' at the front. Bra and panties. She smiles remembering the image of Mika, thumbs in the waistband of her red thong, feet apart with one hip thrust to the side, the panty less warrior woman. Her own underwear is plain, mundane. Department-store-mother's underwear. She feels embarrassed by it, how out of synch it is with what she's doing tonight. Not romantic in the slightest, not something that she can place into her fantasy. She begins to wonder why, why she hasn't ever bought fancier lingerie. Up to now she's never really connected lace with her sexuality. She's always put it down to male fantasies, magazine images, nothing to do with reality, nothing to do with her. She imagines how it must feel to wear fancy lace, hidden from the world but still part of her. A secret about herself that keeps a message in her mind – there's more to me than you can see, things you can't possibly know...like wearing no panties at all, like the feeling she enjoyed last night. She wonders what Wayne would think. Wayne... She can't stop pacing. Knowing it's crazy – Rick is not there yet – she looks out through the peephole. In her mind she rationalizes this: a practice run. When he knocks on the door she'll look first before opening it. A final check, one last way to say no. This is crazy. She notices that her breathing is deep and fast, understands now how some people can hyperventilate. Calm down. She smiles as she imagines fainting, lying unconscious on the floor when the knock comes, missing it all. The money. She had forgotten about it, being so preoccupied with everything else. Going to her purse, she pulls out her wallet and counts out three hundred – most of it won at the slots last night. She realizes again that she's in another world now. Does she tip? She doesn't want to offend, not even a stranger. She decides to play it safe and adds another fifty to the stack. She smiles inwardly. Still Sally. She doesn't know how the money part goes. Does she give it to him right away or wait until the end? What's the etiquette? There must be a right way, even if this whole thing is wrong. She decides to leave the money in an envelope on the dresser. She sits and tries to read but can't concentrate, so she flips on the television. She cycles quickly through the channels not really noticing what's on. ~ The cab is pulling into the hotel's grand drive. Sally. Meeting her, helping her to have her moment, watching her body overwhelm her mind. The rush ignites in him. Stepping out into the glaring lights, he pulls out his phone and calls her room. He can hear her nervousness. Her voice is a little choked, pitched a little higher. She's trying to sound calm but it's not working, an act. She sounds perky, like a cheerleader, but he knows she is forcing it. He asks her if she's excited. She says she's too nervous to be excited, an honest response at least. What can he say to help her? "Listen, Sally... Nothing bad's going to happen, ok? We can take it slow, talk for a while if you like. Whatever you want." A long pause. He hears a shudder in her breath. Then more quietly, as gently as he can, "I'll just come up and we'll go from there, ok?" There's a pause at the other end. He imagines her gripping the phone with two hands, so keyed up she can't even think. She sounds like a little girl now. "Ok." "See you in a couple of minutes." ~ Go from there. Amazingly his words have made her feel better, have taken the pressure off. She imagines him as a visitor, a new friend, someone who she can talk with, have a drink with. His words have sealed off the rest of it in her mind. And there's something in the way that he's spoken, like he knows. Like he's thinking just about her, like it's not a routine thing for him. She feels like she's remembering herself again, that she's back in touch. Scared for sure, but that it's ok to be scared. Herself. It's like he has laid out some rules, some limits. It helps a little. She begins to pace between the door and the window. She tries to look over the Strip but she can't stand still. She turns and paces toward the door and sees the peephole. She can't stop herself from looking even though she knows he won't be there yet. Back to the window, but then she rushes back to the peephole. This is crazy! Nobody is there. She turns and paces again, again, again. She turns to the window and paces toward it. ~ Walking down the hall he feels relief that he's gotten off the casino floor. He can relax completely when he's in her room. Looking for her room number, he pauses when he gets one door away. The rush feels different somehow. She's so nervous. He's excited for her, confident that he can help her enjoy herself, discover her moment, discover something about herself. He's done his usual preparations, a close shave, shower, chosen his clothes. He isn't one to overdo it. He knows that he's fairly normal looking, not a male model by any stretch, but still attractive in an easy-going way. He takes care of himself, but isn't a fanatic. He goes to the gym but doesn't stand in front of the mirrors like some of the other guys. Absently, he runs his hand through his hair and steps up to her door. She might already be looking through the peephole – some of his ladies have admitted this, embarrassed but laughing it away once they're comfortable with him. He knocks softly on the door three times then steps back so she can get a good view. Relax and don't look at the peephole. ~ There is a gentle knock on the door and she flies to the peephole and puts her eye to it. She has her first glimpse of him. Time has frozen the snapshot of him. He is young – early thirties she guesses, not some kid. Already she feels some relief. It will be ok. He is a puppy, just a little sad, needs a friend, casual, not rumpled, a little tousled maybe. It suits him. Brown hair, the peephole distorts his body, his legs disappearing in a downward curve. Not a smoothie, not a bulging fitness freak, not perfect. The face is tanned, has smiled a lot, she can see it around his eyes. He reminds her of a teacher once on her staff. A nice guy and a great teacher. She wonders if he had seen the flicker of light in the peephole from his side. Suddenly she's embarrassed. Staring, checking him out. How rude! Her heart races. It's time to open the door, to let him in, let it all start. Her body is detached from her. She sees her hand slide the door chain. Her fingers turn the lock. The sound of the click is loud, final. She watches her hand on the door handle, turning it down, another loud click. She will let him in. ~ The door swings open and he catches his first glimpse of her. His first reaction. She is beautiful but she doesn't believe it, he thinks. ~ "Hi, I'm RickSally." They've said it simultaneously. She laughs with him at this, the amusement of it breaking the ice a little. But they'll have to start again and she feels a moment's awkwardness begin to develop, that there will be an ever so slight pause while their eyes and bodies language negotiate who will go first this time. But he's intercepted the moment. His laughing smile is in his eyes and his body. "Don't you hate when that happens?" He is right. It happens all the time. It's normal. This is normal. Normal? She is confused for a moment. Yes, he's a puppy. Live eyes taking in the world, wondrous at it all. He's stepped into the room and without a pause has come to her, the hug of a friend, ample, comfortable. She hugs him back, feels his body. The faintest hint of his scent, lovely. She feels his kiss on her cheek. A stranger, but as familiar as a long-lost friend. She steps back, letting him into the room, a hostess now. In her mind she sees a ludicrous image, that he has kicked off his shoes, is pulling off his golf shirt, he is undressing right away, is already hard. Getting down to it. So much for foreplay. "Whew!" He's said this as if he's relieved, as if he's finished the hard part of something. Is he nervous too? "Now I can relax." He is relieved, she thinks. She wonders if it's a rush for him too, getting into the room, wondering what the woman is like. Maybe it's not something you can ever get used to. Maybe it's why he does this, for the rush of it. "I always feel... conspicuous, eh?...that the security will recognize me...it's stupid. Trying to be discreet...you know. I feel better now." He smiles warmly. "It's good to see you." She hears his accent, familiar, but she can't place it. "It's nice to meet you, too." How lame! She groans inwardly but can't think of anything else to say. She has a small burst of panic. Where do I sit? On the bed, or is that obvious, too soon? On the chair? Too distant, apart? She doesn't feel ready for anything. Since their initial hug they haven't touched. Her pulse quickens as she imagines him beckoning her to sit on his lap, the first intimate touch, setting everything in motion, moving too fast for her. Reluctance flares up and she thinks about telling him that she's not ready. "Still nervous?" He smiles gently as he makes himself comfortable in the one and only chair in the room. There's nothing for her now but to sit on the edge of the bed facing him. "Yes." A long pause. "I've never...I don't know what I'm supposed to..." Right away she wishes that she hadn't said it. What if he responds by telling me what to do, by starting it, she thinks. Too soon, to soon... Rick ~ What is she supposed to do? he thinks. There's no 'supposed to', no procedure for this. No protocol. All there is is opportunity, a chance for her to live a brief moment here in this hotel room separate from the rest of the world. No-one to see, no-one to judge, no-one to remember what she has done. A chance to let everything go for a while, to drop it all and have just herself, just herself. To be unencumbered, free, safe. A chance for her to connect with herself, to let her mind become a spectator to her body, to listen to it. To savour the beautiful moment when her consciousness becomes her body, just her body and nothing else. What she's supposed to do? He wants to tell her all this but he can't find the words. He won't say Whatever you want. It would put the pressure on her, make her choose one thing and say it out loud. He knows that she couldn't possibly do this, that she probably doesn't even know what she wants. "What you're supposed to do? Just knock on the door and let the real Sally come out to play, eh?" ~ She smiles at this but can't imagine it happening. She is so tense, her guard up, it feels like anything but play. She heard a Canadian eh in his words. She mentions it to him. He laughs. "That's because I'm from Cape Breton Island...eh!" emphasizing it this time, an authentic hoser. "Really? No way! I love it there. Stayed in Baddeck, Port Hawksebury, Ingonish, camped in the Highlands park. Beautiful. I've been there many times. Where on the island?" "Nobody's ever heard of it. Gabarus Bay?" She hasn't, but he says it's near Louisbourg and she's been there too. This starts the conversation. They have a lot of common experience, places they know. He was in Toronto for a while, but he's mysterious about this, says only that knows some of its neighbourhoods. They talk easily. No, it's more than that, more than being at ease, much more. Here with Rick she knows that they'll never see each other again, that their one hour history together will never see the light of day. No-one will hear it, no judgments will be made, no penalties. She finds that she feels free, free to say things, to put voice to her most hidden feelings. Her dreams, her regrets, her blessings. Wayne, the children, work. He sits in the chair facing her, just listening. His eyes are bottomless wells, inviting her words and feelings, interested. He gently probes her with thoughtful questions and affirmations. As she talks, she realizes how it helps, how it organizes her thoughts and feelings. She is listening to herself as she speaks, getting to know herself, getting to know things about herself that she hasn't had the courage to face in her real life. Here in this room, in a private realm a universe away from her real life, she is with this man who simply listens. To be in this protected world, to be with herself and this man who is nice enough to hear her out is a joy. She realizes that she never has this experience in her real life, not with girlfriends, not even with Wayne anymore. She's been living on autopilot, too much is routine. But here, removed from the world for a time, she is free. Her mind drifts ahead of her along the plotline yet to unfold. What will happen next? Is there anything about herself to discover, an unknown Sally, when it comes to lovemaking? She can't imagine herself emerging like this. She can see ahead of her a scene from a movie, a couple moving rhythmically, slow and sensuous, but the woman is not her. She is an anonymous other, no-one she knows. She tries to force herself into her imagined scene. She imagines the moment when he mounts her, her legs spreading for him, receiving him, enveloping him. And then, there it is, the first slow, unexpected lick of arousal. The energy of it is surges warmly through her body, a quivering arousal, a shudder rattles through her. It is the rush, and finally she has grasped it. She feels better now, glances at her watch. It has been thirty minutes already and they agreed on an hour! Her pulse jumps. They've got to start, start right away. She can't afford a second hour, but she doesn't want to send him away either. What about the...? She feels a solar flare of...what? She's not sure anymore. There is dread, but it's dread on a leash, dread that's pulled in the opposite direction. Dread wrapped in curiousity, adventure and anticipation. It's as if she's going to make a ski run down an unfamiliar slope, challenging, unknown, but exhilarating. It's an energy she hasn't felt before, both unpleasant and pleasant, intense. Christ! The money, she thinks. She springs off the bed and runs past him to get the envelope, an invoice past due in her mind. He is startled by the sudden movement. "What's wrong?..." She comes back to where he is sitting and hands him the envelope. "I'm so sorry. I've never...I forgot about..." "Ha! Don't worry about it, eh. Geez. I thought something was wrong." A pause and a grin forms on his face. He sets the envelope down on the side table, ignoring it for now. "I thought you were jumping me, eh." She laughs. "Jump you?" And then from nowhere, as if it's someone else speaking she hears herself say "That's your job." What was that? she screams to herself. Who are you? Who ARE you? An invitation, a 'ready-when-you-are-Sir', 'permission-to-come-aboard' when she feels the least ready. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And now it's out, irretrievable. He feigns seriousness but stays seated in his chair. "Wow! Nice flirt." ~ He sees her eyes widen in panic. Her fists are closed and pressed to her thighs. That's my job. She said it, just a blurt. And he knows, he knows what is happening. She is mortified. She hadn't meant to say it but she did say it. It's a step she made too soon, almost accidentally. It's a step into her own fantasy, only this time it is real. But in the end, her actions have spoken for her with clarity and decisiveness. She made the call, asked him to be with her. He's here in the room with her, with her in her room. She handed over the money. All of this has happened and yet he knows that she still feels frantically torn. He can help her to be sure of this, help bring her to that moment of crisis, the moment of crossover, abandonment to her mind and her body, the moment when the certainty of her desire crashes through the constricting indecision. "Hey, you can see where I live from here." He rises out of the chair, takes her hand and leads to the window. The space is narrow so he stands behind her and directs her gaze to the right building. In the reflection of the window he can see her, the lamplight casting her image in gold. ~ It will start here, now. She knows it will. Her pulse pounds in her chest. She concentrates on calming herself, slowing down her breathing, controlling its shuddering rattle. She lifts her gaze and sees him behind her in the reflection of the window, taking in her body. His eyes roam freely, indulgently. In that instant she is no longer Sally the wife and mother, Sally the teacher, Sally the good girl. Eventually her eyes meet his and they hold. The message crosses silently in the intensity between them. Yes. ~ Her wordless message is in the reflection of her eyes. He can hear her breathing, a slight shudder. She is as taut as steel. She wants him to start it. The rush swims through him once more. He drops his head, brushes her hair to the side and kisses her wetly on the neck just below her ear. He feels her stiffen. Reaching in front of her, his hands move to the top button of her sweater. ~ Feeling his hands at the top button she gasps loudly as her mind explodes into chaos. Instinctively she reaches up to his wrists, grasping them with both hands. She's not pulling him away, not trying to escape, just hanging on. She feels his moist kiss on the curve of her neck. Her mind roars Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! "Sssshh. It's ok. Sssshh. We'll go slow," he whispers in her ear. Another gasp escapes her, a loud exhale followed immediately by a gulping intake. She feels weak, out of control. His kisses roam over her neck, in her hair, the side of her face. She feels his hot breath, hears his deep breathing. In her mind it is simply is something he is doing. But she feels disconnected from it, can't yet respond. A thought rises, that the fantasy and the reality have collided and are one and the same in this instant. But they aren't, they aren't the same. The fantasy was dreamy, a thought exercise, pleasurable to think about, while here, the man's wet kisses are sweeping her away, not something that she can stop anymore, sweeping her toward the inevitable end. But where is the pleasure? She can't control her shakiness. He has undone two of the buttons. She can feel the air on her chest. His arm crosses her chest and suddenly he is inside her sweater, her breast is in his hand over her bra. He is firm but gentle, softly squeezing, caressing. She gasps again, doesn't know what she feels, doesn't know anything anymore. His touch is foreign, so strange, being held there by a stranger, a purposeful touch. She grasps his forearm, his hand on her breast. The familiarity of a man she doesn't even know, so forward of him, so unexpected. In this moment, the moment when it all has begun, everything she wrestled with, all of it careens around in her head in a consuming vortex of confusion. Her fantasy is set in motion, real. In the sudden passionate intimacy she feels invaded, forced. Her body is shaking, uncontrollable. Her breath shudders in and out as if in panic. Part of her wants him to stop, the part of her that tells her she should stop him. But the part of her that is quaking is excited, anticipating the dangerous thrill of it all. He presses his body into her from behind. It feels comforting to be supported, as if he is the steady one, as if she can rely on his keeping her together. He has completely undone her sweater and it hangs open. She feels his warm hand on the bare skin of her stomach. The hand begins to slide down, gliding over the waistband of her skirt, slowly lower. Still his hand descends. When will it stop? Surely he will stop. But his hand continues lower, lower, then stops. She is in his grasp, one hand on her breast, the other low and warm through her clothes, resting just above her mound. She discovers that her hands now cover his, pressing them against her body. She's not sure why. She knows that she is still thinking too much. ~ He holds her from behind, at her breast and at the front of her skirt. The sound of her breathing excites him, gasps, shuddering sighs. He closes his eyes, feels her lean back against him. He feels his own arousal ignite, a stirring down below. His hands begin to move, sliding over her, inside her sweater her soft skin. She smells so good. He roams, taking her in with his hands, feeling her body, visiting soft places, tracing his fingers, touching, caressing. Her breath shudders again. He can feel her body quivering, nervous and excited. He wraps his arms around her and seizes her, his hands holding her breasts. She feels good. ~ His arms surround her. In the reflection of the window she watches the scene. He releases her and slowly draws the open sweater apart, traces the length of her collarbones with his fingertips, exposing her chest in the reflection of the window, the fine gold chain at her throat. Instinctively her hand crosses her chest, her modesty making her want to cover up. But it is the twenty-third floor, they are high above the street. There is only the two of them, undressing in the sky. She drops her hands and with a start realizes that she has reached behind herself to draw him closer, to grasp him at his hips. More. ~ He holds her firmly, not threateningly but purposefully. He holds her with a message, Here. Now. He knows her confusion, feels her tension. There is no violence, none, only purpose. To have her, to take her to her moment when certainty replaces indecision. To take her to the moment when she totally abandons herself, hurls away the conventions of her life, angry at herself for not discovering herself sooner, that is what he wants. As he begins to draw her sweater apart, to lift it from her shoulders, he feels her hands reaching for him. Her fingers slip under his belt on either side and she pulls him to her, hard. Tonight she found the courage to call him, opened her door to him. But those were decisions, thoughtful and courageous for her. This, her holding his body close, this is not her conscious choice. It is her response. A bolt of pleasure strikes him. ~ As he draws her sweater off her shoulders she lets go of him. He lowers the sweater, eases the cuffs over her hands one at a time. Turning away from her he drapes it on the bed. When he turns back to her, there is a reassuring smile on his face. He tugs at his shirt, tucked into the waistband of his pants. It is loose. He reaches over his head, grasps the shirt at the back and in one motion draws it up and off. She turns to face him and is met with a soft kiss on her lips, his arms circling her, his hands on the skin at the curve of her lower back. The feel of his skin on hers is a burst of intimacy that she isn't ready for. Her legs give out and he catches her. She gets back onto her feet and feels his leg move between hers. He bends his knee offering his thigh to her, pressing her onto it. She shifts her feet for balance and his insistent thigh is against her mound through her clothes. The sudden intimacy astonishes her again, in the clutch of this beautiful man, a stranger. He is a figure of fantasy to her and yet he is here and his leg is against her centre. His leg, a reality, offering its firmness, so close now to her pussy. She feels him shift his hands, holding her now, supporting her. He turns with her to the bed, lowers her firmly back onto it and stands up again. Smiling softly into her face, his hand digs into his pocket, pulls out condoms and tosses them on the bed beside her. ~ Standing over her, he takes in her beauty. Her body is quaking involuntarily, legs tight together. He knows she desperately wants to hug herself but she has forced her arms to lie straight at her arms. She is so lovely, a lovely woman, pretty, vibrant. Looking at her he knows that she isn't yet sure, that she hasn't yet released herself. He hopes that she will. He wants her to find herself, to allow herself to just be. He digs a couple of condoms out of his pocket and tosses them on the bed beside her hand. He finds her eyes and smiles assuringly as he undoes his belt, his pants and lowers the zipper. Then, slowly, he lowers himself onto her, drilling her with his eyes. ~ Every movement is a precipice. Every item of clothing, every kiss and caress, each of them bring her closer and closer to the final act. The thought provokes even more excitement, a strange mixture of dread and exhilaration, at the same time frightening and dangerous fun. She has never felt like this before. She hears him undoing his pants and zipper. He has one knee on the bed now and he is coming to her. His eyes, his smile, insistent but gentle, this is not a forceful siege. It is more like guidance, his leading her down the path with reassurance and confidence. She feels his other leg present itself against hers, probing between them, looking for space. For an instant her body refuses him but then, suddenly, her legs part slightly, enough for his knee to support himself on the bed. It is a decision of her body, not of her mind, a moment when control ceases to be hers. Involuntarily, she lifts her arms from the bed, ready to capture him as he lowers himself to her. His left leg is between hers, insistent at her mound. His knee wants her pussy. She feels him bend his leg slightly. His leg presses into her centre, into her mound. She presses her pussy against his leg, realizes that she is wet with excitement. She can't stop shaking. His body is against her, the weight of it close and intimate, and she quivers against it. She bends her knee, raises her right leg against his hip, her leg raised, off the bed now, and finally her pussy rides the hardness of his knee. She teeters, teeters... An excruciating groan flies from her body. Involuntarily her hips release, thrust her pussy forward onto his extended leg. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh... Capitulation, total release, a detonation of pleasure radiates from her centre. With the groan a lifetime of self-sacrifice, denial, doing the right thing, all of it is purged from her. She immerses herself in total surrender. As the barriers vapourize in her, as her resistance is cast from her, it is replaced by hot desire, urgent desire. The feelings explode into her. The heat of it excites her more, more. Her arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, securing him to her, meeting his kisses, tearing the kisses from him. She wants him, wants him all, wants to surround him, to envelope all of him. She kisses him. Freedom. Absolute freedom to have him, to have herself by having him. To have herself. To abandon herself to herself. So new to her, so unfamiliar. A lifetime of serving others, community, husband, children, a lifetime of it. Her fantasy is realized, brought to life, the beautiful man taking her, knowing her body, all of it is happening. She realizes in a flash that all of the denial was wrong, the excuses and the rationales false. She realizes that she had been right all along, that she did need this, did want this. The revelation, the ecstasy, unbounded rapture blossoms inside her, inside her mind and body. She feels the pleasure of it everywhere, thrilling her entire body, flooding into her pussy, warming her there. She is overwhelmed and with a sob, the tears begin. She kisses him, kisses him, pulls him fiercely against her body. She is sobbing in his arms, kissing, crushing him to her. Powerful emotions cascade in her. Where have I been? All this time, a lifetime, where have I been? Such a waste, such an awful waste. But she has no time for this, no time for regret. She feels the urgent need to be here, now, in this moment, in this pleasure. ~ In his arms he feels her whole body stiffen, feels her pussy press itself against his thigh. It releases, backs away but then immediately she is against him again. It is her tipping point, her liberation. She groans, a sustained release, a pleasure for her in itself. In that instant her body changes, the tension shifts, reverses itself from denial to insistent necessity. Her body presses against him eagerly, her kisses, self-indulgent, urgent. She sobs once, twice, gulping air. This is her moment, the moment. Her moment is his moment, a moment to rejoice for her, to celebrate her. Good for you! Yes, yes. It is for you, it is you, it is who you are, the real you. Yes. He abandons himself to her moment, to his. ~ She is nuzzled against him, her head cradled against his neck. Her leg is draped over his, wrapping him in herself. Her hand holds his cock, soft now, tenderly prolonging her possession of it. He breathes deeply beside her, drifting. It is long after midnight. In the morning she flies back to her world, this, her dream, over. A slow tear runs from her eye. ~ Her hand cradles his softness tenderly. He wonders what time it is. But right away he wonders why? The time doesn't matter anymore. For a moment he remembers that this was to have been a one hour date, but the thought of it suddenly feels sordid, vulgar to him. Rick There will be no tomorrow for them. He knows that this is what makes it possible, but the thought saddens him, that this will come to an end. She is beautiful. Does she know? ~ In the morning every detail saddens her. Gathering up the condoms and packages, wrapping them in toilet paper to make them less obvious. Checking out, the taxi to the airport, the flight, baggage and customs, all of it underlines the gaps in her life. As she strolls toward the arrivals lounge she scans the faces for her husband. There, there he is waving, the usual smile. Rick & Abbey - Lost Love Found Rick and Melissa had been dating seriously for a couple of months, having met through one of the new online friendship sites. Rick had been looking to meet new people as he was new to Boise Idaho, and found that most of the people in his office were significantly older, or were less than appealing when it came to personalities. The town itself was significantly smaller than Baltimore, where he had grown up, but it still had the city feel that he had grown accustom to. Having just graduated from college, Rick had moved to start his new job as an Aeronautics Engineer. At 24, Rick was an average looking man. He was taller than most, standing at 6'3, and was a healthy 220lbs. His build wasn't athletic, skinny, or fat, he was just your average Joe walking. He kept his dark brown hair very short, and had crystal clear blue-grey eyes. After a couple of months of sheer boredom, Rick went online to find more like-minded people to hang out with. He had been online for about a week when Melissa had replied to him. Providing further evidence to the old adage "It's a small world", Melissa worked in his office on the business side in the accounting department. They decided to get together for coffee, and their friendship quickly progressed to more from there. Melissa was an average woman as well, though a bit stockier... She was an impressive 5'9, with very long brown hair and brown eyes. Weighing 180lbs, she was far from petite, but also far from overweight. The best part about her size was her curvy figure. Melissa carried herself well, with a round yet firm rear and a set of very healthy, natural 38D breasts. One night Melissa had suggested that he join her to meet up with a group of her friends. Rick had figured out rather quickly that Melissa was a girl of routine, and that she had certain activities that she performed at certain times. The weekly outing with friends was one such routine. Every week she would gather with a group of friends from school, and eat out and have a couple of drinks. To this point, Rick had not been invited, and was content with it as he didn't want to encroach on her freedoms. A bit surprised at having been invited, Rick accepted the invitation, happy with the thought that Melissa was growing even more comfortable with him. They left that evening for Landry's, a local pub-type eatery. As they arrived, Rick was greeted by the group, 8 people in all. No one stood out as unique in the group, and as such, Rick hit it off with everyone quite nicely. About 45 minutes into the meal, another person joined the group. She introduced herself to Rick as Abbey. Almost speechless, Rick muttered something that he hoped came out as his name. No one seemed to notice his inability to speak properly but he still felt like a blundering fool. In Rick's eyes, Abbey was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was a very plain girl, with a "western" look to her. She was shorter, standing 5'5 tall, and had the most amazing long dirty-blonde hair he had seen. Her eyes were a deep rich brown, and her skin was a pale but healthy white with sporadic freckles. She wore a button-down cowgirl-type shirt that hung perfectly off of her 34B breasts, with the bottom of her shirt tucked in to her pair of faded blue jeans that fit very tightly, showing off her hips and perfect behind. Rick figured that she couldn't have weighed more than 110lbs. Thinking that any of his friends from Baltimore would think him crazy for felling as he did for Abbey, he chuckled at the irony in that it took him moving across the country just to catch a glimpse of the sexiest, most pure and gorgeous woman on the planet. The rest of the evening Rick was completely detached from himself. Still able to make conversation, everyone was completely oblivious to his new-found state of awe and lust. He snuck a look at Abbey every chance he could do so discreetly, and for some reason that he couldn't justify, his mind told him that she was doing the same. *********************** Time flew on from that moment... As Rick sat on the couch in the apartment he had called home for the past 5 years, he recalled that evening and many others as he waited for the next TV program to come on. Rick had become a part of the group of friends he met that night, and hung out with them religiously. 1 year after that night, he and Melissa had married. It seemed at around the same time that Abbey had all but disappeared not only from the group, but from Idaho altogether. He had heard that she went off to Europe to study abroad, and left no contact information. He thought of all the fun they had together, how close they had become, and how it became apparent to the two of them (and luckily no one else) that they were completely smitten with each other, and wanted to be with each other as much as they needed air to breathe. However, Rick was a very moral person. While he enjoyed anything taboo, lustful or sexual just as much as the next person (and probably a lot more), his morals told him that it wouldn't be right to pursue a relationship with Abbey, either in secret, or leaving Melissa for her. The second year into their marriage, it became clear that Melissa didn't have the same moralities. Melissa was on a business trip up to Washington, which involved conferences and socializing with counterparts. One night, she had decided that it would be prudent to join a group of people in the use of a recreational drug, a first for her, and in turn lost all her inhibition. Rick had always had one rule when it came to relationships... If you cheat, it's over. He took this approach for two reasons: 1) "if you need to cheat, then it's not working" and 2) "if I am not going to indulge, then you can't either", with the second stinging his heart because of Abbey. Even though this had been a credo that Rick had lived by, he wasn't comfortable with giving up on Melissa. He gave her a choice, him or the drugs & sex, and she chose him. Two months later she did the same thing twice in two weeks, which had effectively ended their relationship. Time had passed quickly. Rick was single, and was ok being single for the time being. His work was treating him very well, having been promoted twice since his divorce. He had taken to flying like a fish to water, and his favorite pastime was taking the group on trips to Vegas, camping, or wherever the mood struck them to go. His only regret was that he had no way of touching base with Abbey, and was unable to share in any part of her life. Pulled out of his revere by the TV show starting, Rick settled in for a nice night of doing absolutely nothing. It was September, and there was a massive rain storm coming down. While the storm itself was formidable, almost frightening, Rick was at peace, as he had always been mesmerized by storms. He found them to have a deep sensual aura about them, and found them to always set the mood for an evening of romance. That being said, an evening of TV would suffice just as well. Work had been excruciatingly busy, and this was the first evening he had had to himself in what seemed like months. ************************ Rick must have nodded off as a massive crash of thunder startled him to full alert. It took him a second to realize that the power was out, and that it was starting to get dark out. Frustrated that he had to move, he pulled himself out of the couch to go get candles before it was too dark to find them. He was almost all of the way inside a floor-level cabinet when he heard knocking. Not expecting anyone to come by, he reasoned that it was probably a tree branch blowing into the shutters, or a noise from the next apartment over. His reasoning changed when it happened again, with a very rapid pattern. He lit a candle and went across the apartment to the front door and opened it to find a drenched Abbey standing in the rain. Completely dumbfounded, Rick stood there with his jaw open for what seemed like an eternity. After 4 years of absolutely no contact, Abbey stood in the doorway of Rick's apartment. She was trembling, most likely from the cold and rain, but given the hidden, but unmistakable smile, Rick suspected that (or probably wished) that it might be from excitement. After composing himself, Rick was the first to speak. "Abbey, I wouldn't have guessed it would be you in 100 years. Come in, please, you must be soaked to the bone." Abbey stepped through the doorway and before saying a word, embraced Rick in the biggest hug he had ever received. "It's great to see you Rick... It's been way too long." Abbey beamed through her angelic smile. "I had heard that you were off in Europe somewhere studying. I tried to track you down, but to know avail." "I had made some poor decisions a couple years ago, but managed to muttle through... If I am not intruding, maybe the three of us could catch up?" "The three of us?" Rick asked, wondering who Abbey had brought along with her. "Of course, unless you and Melissa are busy tonight... I should have called first I suppose..." "Actually, Melissa and I are divorced, for a couple of years." Was Rick's reply, trying to show less joy than he felt as he made the proclamation. "But a drink and some time to catch up would be more than welcome. Do you have time to stay for supper?" "I am sorry Rick, I didn't know about Melissa... It sounds like we both have a lot to chat about... About dinner though, I would love to." Abbey beamed her beautiful smile as she made to take off her shoes and coat. Coming back to a level of reality, Rick made offers for Abbey to make herself at home while he took her coat and went to the laundry room to try and find some towels in the dark for Abbey to dry herself with. *************** Abbey made herself at home just as suggested, giving herself an informal tour of the main level of Rick's apartment. She was amazed at how tidy he kept his residence, and noted that while it was decorated a bit, it had a level of Spartan-ism to it. A subconscious thought surfaced through her mind, thinking of how she would love to give it a bit of a woman's touch. As quickly as she thought it, she chastised herself... After all, it had been a long time since she had seen him, and she shouldn't think that she would be able to win him over so quickly. Abbey had known that Rick and Melissa had divorced... While she had no ulterior motives in coming to Rick's apartment other than reuniting, a very large portion of her mind and heart harbored a hope that they might find that attraction that had once captivated her in what seemed like a lifetime ago. Since Rick had met Abbey through Melissa that night, Abbey had always kept her feelings and desires around Rick a secret deep in her heart. As the time passed, what started out as a high school-type crush turned into a deep and passionate secret love and lustful craving. She desired to be with Rick in every way, to love him and provide for him. A part of her thought that Rick felt the same for her... There was a twinkle in his eye every time he looked at her that told her that he wanted her in every way she wanted him... She never told Rick, or anyone for that matter, about how she wanted him in every way, for fear of ruining the friendship that everyone in their old group. She had to be content with living out her fantasies in her mind (and trough other means) as she wanted to have some level of contact with Rick, even if not the level she needed. The day after Rick and Melissa married the devastation was fully realized by Abbey, and she carelessly ran to hide from it, as far as she could. For a time it helped, but it was less than a year before she realized that the pain of love lost would never go away, and being away made it worse. Nevertheless, she continued as she was, until last month when an errant email from a family member told her of the well-beings, fortunes, and life events of her old group of friends. As soon as it registered that Melissa was the Melissa of Rick & Melissa, she made arrangements to once again put her life on hold, and came home as quickly as reasonably possible. She had landed last night, and made way to her family's house. A joyful reunion and dinner ensured, with catching up on what has happened over the past four years. Sometime mid dessert, her younger sister gave her the complete details of what happened to Melissa. Abbey made her best effort to act as shocked, disturbed, and concerned about Melissa, her heart was more interested in Rick. Her sister told her in great detail of what happened in Washington... Of Rick's devastation and effort to maintain their marriage, of the second occurrence (and third), and of the group's decision to support Rick and part ways with Melissa. Ultimately it was unclear as to what happened to Melissa, though given her choices in life, her outlook was less than civil. Abbey inquired as to Rick's well-being, to which Stephanie was unsure due to her having gone to college out of state. From what Abbey could tell in the darkness of dusk and lack of electricity, Rick had managed to keep his life going, and was even thriving. As Rick approached with some towels, Abbey did her best to suppress another smile, and failed miserably. She was glad at it though, as Rick returned a smile of his own, which only helped Abbey realize that her feelings for him had remained, and even intensified, over time. "Here you go... It looks as if you just got out of the shower." Rick joked as he handed the towels. "I would offer you a cup of coffee, but given the circumstances, would a cup of juice suffice?" "Still the juice-king I take it... I suppose some things will never change." Abbey retorted hoping that her message between the lines was received through her joke to counter his. "Some things do... But those things that are most important to us never will..." Was Rick's reply, which lingered before he added "...Hence my generous and diversified juice selection." Abbey was so overwhelmed, confident that Rick shared her feelings that she was at a loss of words, and quietly reached for her juice, her hand still trembling, though she was plenty warm. ******************* Rick's heart was pounding so hard that his pulse was almost defining in his ears. As he handed the glass over to Abbey, he put his other hand over hers as it closed over the glass. In more or less words, he had just confessed that he still loved her deeply as he had so long ago, he didn't know if she knew that he did. Her skin was soft under his touch, and very warm despite having just come in from the storm that was starting to break. He couldn't remember when (or if) he had touched her hand before, and while he had intended to show the strength and friendship he wanted to offer by holding her hand around the glass, it had quickly become an extremely intimate contact for him. His mind reasoned that even if it was a one-sided feeling, he felt enough electricity to power the entire city. After a couple of long seconds of standing silent, Rick pulled his hands away, and Abbey thanked him for the drink. As if on queue, the power returned, with the loud chirps of the smoke detectors making both Rick and Abbey jump. Laughing at their jumpiness, they walked to the kitchen. It had been a half hour since the power had come back on... Abbey found that she was starving as the smells of the dinner Rick was preparing teased her senses. In all of the time that Abbey had known Rick, she had no idea that he liked to cook. Furthermore, from what her nose was telling her, he was a stellar cook at that. Her mouth was almost watering as she took in the smells of the pasta sauce he was preparing from scratch. As they caught up, Abbey couldn't remember ever feeling so happy, even if it was just a friendship that she had missed, and not a love. They had laughed and smiled as they shared the kitchen, with Abbey helping wherever she could. Finally they had completed the meal. Rick brought the food out to the dinner table, sat Abbey and went in to the kitchen to come back with two glasses of red wine. A feast ensued as they ate and continued to catch up. Time passed seconds for hours as they talked and shared the happenings of their lives. It was only when Rick had gone back to the kitchen in search of more wine that Abbey became aware of time passing. Rick had noticed the time as well as he spoke from the kitchen... "Can you believe that we have been chatting for almost five hours?!? It is just past midnight." "Time flies when you are having fun." was Abbeys reply as she finished her fourth or fifth glass of wine, she had lost count. "I have a spare bedroom if you would like to crash here... Given the late hour and the bottles of wine, I would imagine you must be bushed." "I couldn't, I don't want to intrude, I have already spend half of the day here as your unannounced guest." Abbey stated beside herself. The last thing she wanted to do was leaving him, but thought it best not to seem too needy. "I insist. You couldn't intrude, and having you here tonight has been wonderful. Besides, you are always welcome here, anytime." "If you are sure I am not invading, I think I will take you up then." "I am sure." Rick replied, with a smile that hadn't seemed to leave all night. ****************** Rick gave Abbey a tour of the apartment. Showed her where she could find the guest bedroom and washroom. All the while, he pondered what his next move should be... He didn't want to ruin what had been a great rekindling of their friendship with a misplaced act of affection. He figured best to keep it down-to-earth, and not risk the future. After the tour, Rick made his way out into the rain to retrieve Abbey's effects. It was still pouring, and the thunder was starting to pick up again. Rick made his way back in as quickly as possible, and dropped the suitcases with Abbey. Standing in the doorway of her room, Rick offered his goodnights, and was given another bear hug full with strength that a woman Abbey's size shouldn't be capable of. After a bit of silence as they assessed each other, Rick left off to his room to try and catch some sleep, with hopes of dreaming of Abbey... Hopes he was sure would come to be. *************** Abbey rolled restless to look at the clock beside her bed. She had been lying there awake for close to two hours. She wasn't upset that she was restless, quite the contrary in fact. She lived over and over again the evening that had just ensued. And every time she did, she radiated with joy. She also thought of where to go from here. She had almost leapt at Rick and kissed him passionately as he wished her goodnight. Even thinking about it put her in a shear state of lust and desire. She thought of going to his room now, waking him with kisses and gentle caresses. She thought of him waking up and embracing her in his arms as he returned her kisses. Her fantasies carried her to a new state of pleasure... She caressed herself, envisioning Rick's fingers exploring her body... She started with one hand caressing as if it were Rick's, with her other hand gripping the sheets and mattress so as to not lose grip of the moment... Caressing her hair and the sides of her cheeks... She moved her hand down slowly across her ear and the side and back of her neck... Moving even further she caressed down the top of her chest with the backs of her fingertips, gasping when she reached the top of her hardening nipple as if she was surprised by someone else's touch. She stayed there for a moment, caressing her breast, areola, and nipple... Soon after, her caressing turned into a gentle kneading a then a deep massaging. As her hand passed over her hardening nipple, she captured it between the sides of her thumb and hand. She squeezed it and rolled it between her finger, imagining it to be Rick's lips and teeth.