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Brand

By: BellaBestia



"What are you doing down there?" I asked in the eerie stillness of the room. We lay across the bed like discarded dolls after some little girl had finished undressing us, all disjointed limbs, shallow breathing, spent. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon near the end of summer, and a persistent rain hissed just beyond the window. His head was between my legs and I toyed with and wrapped my fingers in his jet-black hair. I loved touching his hair, it reminded me of the soft feathery breasts of doves, a ruffle causing a cascading shudder.

He raised his head to look up at me, grinning. "I'm picking a spot." He replied, and lowered his head again to continue his task of kissing, biting and licking my inner thigh, pausing only occasionally in his endeavour to wipe at my increasing wetness with a quick sharp tongue. 

"What spot?" I asked between gasps.

"The spot for the tattoo," came his reply, muffled against my hipbone.

I jerked myself upright suddenly, staring at him with wide unbelieving eyes. I wanted to pull the sheets up around me, to protect myself, but realized we had long discarded them to the floor. 

"Don't worry," he murmured soothingly as he crawled up towards me, "it will be very small, just our initials twisted together in thorns, and it will be somewhere no one will ever see it. Except for me." His blue eyes locked on mine, I felt like he had me under a spell, and his words started to make such perfect beautiful sense.

"Why?" I managed to ask meekly, my resistance slipping away like steam rising from my skin. 

"Because," he breathed against the shivering skin between my breasts, "I want to brand you. I want to think of you with that little sign on the most secret part of you, and be the only one who knows it's there, and why it's there." Again he lifted his face to mine and stared into my eyes. His crystalline eyes that made me thirsty because they always reminded me of ice. I could barely breathe. "And," he said as he continued to dig into my mind through my eyes, slicing his way with those shards of ice, "I want to be able to put my hands on your legs...like this...force open your thighs...like this, and find it there. My brand. A little piece of me on the most delicious and tender part of you...forever." And saying so, he once again laid his head between my thighs, now trembling beyond control, and dropped a soft and gentle kiss on the spot he had chosen.

That night as I lay tightly wrapped in his arms, the whir of the fan droning and lulling me to sleep, I dreamt of our first meeting. I was riding in the elevator of my building up to my office, he entered on the fifth floor and punched the button for the twentieth. I couldn't help myself. I stared uncontrollably at the Chinese character on his neck, wondering what it meant, wondering what it had felt like, what it tasted like, this permanent ink on the soft skin, the vein gently thrumming just beneath it. "It means Warrior," he had said, seeming to read my mind, but he had noticed I was staring. I remember I blushed furiously, caught. "It's lovely...I was curious..." I stammered, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare." I felt the burning flush travelling from my breastbone to hairline. "It's alright," he assured me, smiling warmly, expansively. "People are always curious." I remember I had smiled back. "I've always wanted one, but never went through with it." I volunteered, laughing. I glanced at his other markings, whatever I could see on any exposed skin not covered by his grey t-shirt. He had a moon and stars, dice and gothic lettering I could not read on his left forearm and a woman's face on his right arm. The edges of a Maori tribal design peeked out from just under the edge of the sleeve. I was overcome with the sudden impulse to trace the design and before I knew it I was, my finger tracing the dark black ink, pushing under the sleeve to reach for more. I woke from that dream several times, and each time went back to it when I was able finally to fall back to sleep. 

The next evening we walked in silence from the bright steel and glass of buildings I knew to the dark and crumbling part of the city I had never seen, nor ever before had reason to see. It made me sad, and fearful, seeing the graffiti, the hopeless faces, the stench of desperation in the area of the city where people came to get lost in anonymity, to stain themselves with spreading darkening designs as beautiful and gruesome as the ink on the walls of the abandoned and derelict storefronts. He took me to his shop in the dead of night, and once inside he flicked on the switch to the lights that flooded the room in almost painful fluorescent brightness. Every square inch of the walls bore the elaborate draughtsmanship of his trade. I stared at the pictures, both tiny and intricate and massive and garish, while he sketched his idea on a piece of transfer paper. Once he was satisfied with his design he instructed me to sit into what looked like a dentist's chair with stirrups, and to spread my legs.

"I'm afraid." I whispered. I don't where my voice came from, it's hoarse and breathless sound was shocking to me, but he smiled up at me tenderly.

"I promise it won't hurt...much." He joked. But seeing the real terror in my face he made an offer. "What if I blindfold you? You won't expect the pain, which in itself is half the pain, really?" Before I could rationalize the words, he pulled and tied a bandana across my eyes, plunging me into suspenseful darkness. 

I strained to hear every sound. I heard the slight tinker of stainless steel tools as he calibrated his instruments, the crinkle of plastic wrap as he opened packages of sterilized needles. I heard him hum softly along with the music in the background, Nine Inch Nails, his favourite. I winced at the jarring scrape of his steel chair on the ancient floor and the sudden insect-like whir of the tattooing machine. 

"Ready?" he asked, and I could feel the breath that carried the word softly against the skin of my thigh. I swallowed dryly and nodded. He dropped one last kiss on my knee and placed the vibrating needle to my skin.

I jerked a bit at the initial touch, so foreign, yet strangely familiar. It felt at times like the soft caress of a butterfly wing, and other times like the sharp sting of an angry and vengeful wasp. He frequently wiped at the etching with a cloth or paper towel, then immediately rubbed something slick I believed to be lotion or petroleum jelly before applying the needle again and again. As the time passed, the real pain came from the uncomfortable position I was in more than the actual tattooing. I tried to shift slightly to reposition myself, and I heard him click his tongue. 

"Stop that," he scolded me, "or else." Something in that moment made me feel brazen, whether it was the tone he used with me, as though I were little girl, or the transgression of getting a tattoo to begin with, or the lewd position I was in, or even the idea that we were essentially alone and no one would be able to hear us, but I asked quite distinctly "Or else what?"

I heard him click off the machine and push his chair away. In my blindfolded darkness, I struggled to place him in the room based on sound, but I heard nothing. Minutes passed and I started to feel a creeping terror along my spine. Then I heard footsteps, and a rooting through a desk drawer. It never occurred to me to remove the blindfold. I felt rather than heard him return to his place, and I was quietly relieved. "You are being very unfocussed here, I'll have to help you with that," he said and I felt him pull at the crotch of my panties and cut through them with, I realized, the scissor he found in the desk. He then turned the machine on again and continued to work on the tattoo.

I desperately tried to remember if there was a window to the street from where I was sitting. I felt a crimson flush of humiliation creep along my body, emanating from between my legs right up to my face. I could feel the occasional brush of his arm against my pubic hair, or his breath cooling a patch of warm wet skin. I struggled to even out my breathing, but the combination of arousal and indignation made me gasp for air. And tremble. "Please stop shaking," he said casually, almost clinically. I whimpered softly and bit my lip. Waves of shame and excitement stung stronger than the mechanized pin-pricking ever could. He shut off the machine again, and I waited, agitated and pulsing. I felt him gently trace over his work with one finger, slowly, caressing the new scar sensually. I heard a plastic crinkle, and the stripping of tape, then felt a bandage placed over the area still freshly burning. "There," his voice wavered somewhere above me, "not so bad, was it?" 

I raised my hands to my face to remove the blindfold, but before I could answer he grasped my wrists above my head with one hand and pushed his other hand deep into me. The sudden violent motion made me want to scream, but he silenced me with his mouth and tongue. I tried to move my mouth away from his, to try to scream, but he kept crushing my mouth. I felt his fingers enter me, tearing in, relentless. I could feel the rough fabric of his jeans against my thigh, the pressure agonizing against the fresh scar of the tattoo. I couldn't decide which was worse: the pain of the inflamed and stinging wound or the pain of his fingers pushing mercilessly into me. He pushed two fingers, then three, and when I thought he could not do any worse, he slipped all his fingers in, and his thumb circled and rubbed at my clitoris. But it was too painful to be pleasurable, too raw. I was in agony, and I was terrified of this sudden unforeseen cruelty. My tears soaked the blindfold, cheeks no doubt as wet as his fingers. 

Suddenly I was sickened by a thought: what if it wasn't him? The roughness of the touch, the brutality of the kiss was so foreign. I wanted to scream, but the tongue in my mouth was gagging me, stealing my breath. Was he capable of such a thing, to switch with another tattooist, to watch from the sidelines, detached, unfeeling? I struggled to remember the telltale signs that would assure me this man forcing his way into me was my beloved...but realized I knew so little of him, so short was our relationship thus far that I had not yet memorized his scent, his taste or his touch. I could only lay pinned and stretched, in a cold sweat, horrified.

The hand that pinned me by the wrists slowly moved down my arm and toward my face, the other hand still plummeting and sliding in and out of me. He lifted his mouth and sighed deeply, and I gasped. I started to collect my senses and breath, preparing to scream even though I knew no one would hear me and, worse still, no one would care. He removed the blindfold in a single quick movement. I screwed shut my eyes, I didn't want my worst fears confirmed, but then his familiar voice whispered in my ear "Open your eyes, baby. Open them."

I let out a sob when I saw those perfect blue eyes above me. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. His fingers slowed their movement, a gentler and purposed slither, and he licked at the tears on my cheeks. I could feel myself ease, opening for him, breath and heart quickening. I dug my fingers through his hair and finally climaxed, shuddering against him. But when he helped me to my unsteady feet, I managed to whisper levelly: "Never do that again." 

In the following weeks once the bandage came off, he would bathe the area and apply the lotion to heal the scarring. The familiar gentleness had returned, but I always could feel the savagery just under the surface, gnawing and clawing to come out. He spoke softly to me, fed me and dressed me, applied the healing salve to the tattoo every morning before I left for work and every evening before we went to bed. What had I become? His possession? His property? The mark so hidden that I even occasionally forgot about its existence had conferred on him some kind of ownership of me, not just of my body which already was more than his. Sometimes I would wake in the middle of the night to the sensation of soft furling, a tiny licking at that mark on my inner thigh. I would wake to discover him there, lips and tongue pressed to the eternal brand, whispering over and over, "Mine....Mine...Mine." 

Brand New Bible for the 'New Age'



"In the beginning there was an infinite expanse composed of nothing. And it came to pass accidentally and then began to form chemical elements. Then, accidentally, it decided to compress itself into a ping-pong ball. Having done thusly, it verily chose to collapse in on itself to form a pinhead of compact atoms weighing more than 900,000,000,000,000 tons. And then, behold! It decided to blow up, so it did. 

"Thereupon it accidentally blew out, evenly, in all directions for 10,000,000 light years and formed a perfect set of several million galaxies, nebulae, and star clusters. All operating with enough precision to set your clock by. Fortunately, one set accidentally formed a solar system that had all of the necessary elements for producing the kind of life now writing this 'Bible.' 

"And it came to pass, after several billion years (give or take several hundred million), the sun decided to accidentally throw out Uranus, Pluto, Mars, Venus, Jupiter, etc., in different sizes at different distances with different atmospheres. In thus doing, it also accidentally threw out an Earth, which (accidentally) formed water and plants out of molten lava. After a few billion years (give or take several hundred million, either way), an accidental combination of elements got together and accidentally formed a genetic code chain that could dictate what kind of life would be produced. Whereupon this accidentally produced a one-celled animal which couldn't produce a two-celled animal (or a three, or four, or five, or six celled, etc., animal). 

"And thus it came to pass that over 20,000 species of animals were produced accidentally, to no purpose, and man was one of them. And evolution took the planaria that it had made from a paramecium, and created a jellyfish and brought it to a nonsexed, neuter, hermaphrodite and called it ~woman.~ (Or protozoa, coelenterata, platyhelminthes, or ctenophora: evolution only knows!) And evolution said, 'It is not good for the monkey to be alone. I will make a mate for him.' So it accidentally made 'Lucey' for 'Magic,' and he called her 'Baby' because she was taken out of a monkey. 

"And after 6,000 years of killing, cannibalism, torture, murder, embezzlement, fraud, famine, Iying, swearing, cheating, stealing, and killing the monkey (or femur, or tarsier, or whatever) accidentally decided he had 'rights' that came from the spermatophytes, thallophytes, bryophytes, and ptendophytes, so he gave himself the right to cheat, abort, swear, lie, misrepresent, steal, pervert, extort, defraud, torture, and kill and called these rights, 'Civil Rights.' 

"Today, at the very pinnacle of creation, the monkey (or 'great ape,' or 'hominoid,' or whatever) is 'the measure of all things.' He verily 'hash arrived.' He now knows why he came into being, accidentally; it was to please himself. At last he hath a goal: to make himself comfortable. In the next seven years, this will be done by perversion, extortion, rape, drug abuse, Iying, swearing, embezzlement, cheating, cannibalism, terrorism, perversion and killing, evolution willing! 

"Even so, may the fittest survive! Amen! " 

(The scholars who translated this new Bible version were: Albert Einstein, Max Plank, Heisenberg, Charles Darwin, Karl Marx, Dr. Libby, Harold Leakey, Medawar, Bergson, Lysenko, Mach, Max Born, and Stephen Hawking. Publishers: The National Education Association and the National Geographic Association, New York, 800 B.C.) 



Brand New Eyes



Nathaniel Woodson lay on the couch of his apartment waiting for Kayla to show up. She was late again, but after knowing her for 12 years, he wasn't very surprised. At 23, he was used to all her little habits; which included being late to their movie night. As corny as it may had seemed, it was their tradition. He pushed back the bangs of his messy brown hair and closed his eyes and let his mind wonder. It went straight to thoughts of Kayla, as it often did. He remembered meeting her in the 5th grade when they were ten. He remembered being stuck to her like glue threw high school together. He'd watched her grow from a hyper active little black girl to a fully grown and intelligent young woman. Not to mention how sexy she had become. Standing at 5 ft. 7 to his 6 ft. 3, she had filled out in all the right places and as time had pasted it had become harder and harder not to notice. Nate let his mind drift to the image of the woman's body Kayla had acquired. He thought the full 36 c breast she'd grown and the full and curvy body she carried well. She wasn't a stick (a fact he found very appealing) and all her features suited her well. He thought about her full pink lips, her big brown eyes, her slender waist and the most perfect bottom he'd very had the pleasure to sneak glimpses at. Nate felt his cock start to gain life. Unconsciously, he slipped his left hand down his loose pajama pants and to his warm member. He continued to fantasize about Kayla as he stroked himself slowly. He pictured her soft mocha skin and her sleek black hair that feel on her shoulders. His left hand began to pick of speed. He was so lost in thought that when he heard the banging of someone at his door he nearly fell of the couch. Nate picked himself up and checked the door hole to see Kayla shifting her weight from foot to foot in the cold. He panicking about the thought of Kayla seeing his raging hard on, he ran to the kitchen and grabbed an apron. The banging became louder.

"Be there in a sec!" Nate yelled as he tried to cool himself off. 

"Well hurry up Nate! I'm about to freeze out here!" Kayla yelled back. 

Nate tried to think of anything to lose the hard on; Granny panties, dead dogs, puke; but it didn't help much. So he resorted throwing cold water from the tap over himself. He shivered and headed for the door. 

"Why are you wet?" Kayla asked once inside.

"I was in the shower." Nate lied. He went to his bathroom and dried off. When he returned, Kayla was cozy on the couch in her slick pajama shorts & tank top. "This will be a long night." Nate thought to himself. 

********************

Hours later that night, Nate laid happily on the couch wit Kayla snoozing in his arms. They enjoyed a few flicks and ate pizza and had a few laughs. He always felt happy when Kayla was over, especially when the two of them shared sweet night together. Nate sat up on his elbow and looked down at the beauty before him. Kayla was snoozing quietly, looking like an angel in his arms. Nate brushed some of her soft black hair from her neck. He was tempted like hell to kiss her on her neck. He chided himself for not having the balls to do it; Even though he was painfully aware that her ample bottom was pressed against his cock. The thought that it was mere fabric that kept him from being in her drove Nate crazy. He took deep breaths to banish his erotic thought, but it didn't work. Kayla began to stir a bit and in the process she pressed her ass harder against her suffering friend. Nate bit his bottom lip to stifle a moan. He could barely take anymore. He got off the couch, trying and failing not to wake Kayla in the process. 

"Where are you going?" she asked lazily. 

"I'm gunna go crash in my bed. Goodnight." Nate answered her in a hurry and ran to his room. He grabbed his laptop and flopped onto his unmade bed. He grabbed one of the porn disks from under his mattress and slipped it into the laptop DVD player. The image of a white male eating the pussy of a black female popped onto the screen. Nate released himself from his shorts and has he ran his hand over his hard cock, he closed his eyes half way and thought about Kayla, knowing that she was just outside the room.

*******************

Kayla lay quietly on Nate's couch, wondering why he'd ran from her so quick. She'd been pretending to be sleeping for a while. She thought about how great Nate was for continuing these little traditions for all these years though their busy lives had made It hard. It had taken a lot of her own strength not to attack Nate when she saw him everyday. He'd become quite a handsome man from the scrawny 10 year old she'd 1st met. He was well built brown haired, blue eyed cutie pie. He'd continued his habit of working out on weekends that he started in high school, so his body was muscled and prime. He had smooth ivory skin the Kayla had often dreamt of running her tongue over. While on the couch she'd felt his warm breath on her neck, which instantly heated her core and made her panties grown moist. She wanted his heat back. Kayla sat up and heard soft sounds coming from Nate's room. She got off the couch and headed for the door. 

*******************

Kayla stood in shock and awe when she walked into her best friend stroking his cock like his life depended on it. Even more in shock was Nate when he opened his eyes to see Kayla watching him. 

"Oh.... I'm so sorry Nate!" Kayla cried out before she turned to leave. Nate stuffed his throbbing dick back into his pants and rushed after Kayla. 

"Kayla wait!" Nate yelled after Kayla. He reached out and grabbed her arm and pushed her onto the wall. She wouldn't look at him. 

"Look, I'm sorry you saw that. I...I don't know what I can say. Just...Please don't hate me." Nate pleaded. He was a bit confused when she looked up at him with a smile.

"I won't be mad at you Nate, if you're not made at me for getting wet from seeing you like that." Before Nate could reply, Kayla leaned up and placed her lips on his. Nate didn't have to think twice about kissing back. He tilted his head and deepened the sweet kiss. Nate nipped at her bottom lip, savoring her. Their tongues sought out and found each other. Nate pushed his body against Kayla's and bent down to place warm kisses on Kayla's neck. She moaned his name softly. Nate picked her up and took her back into the bedroom. He placed her on the bed, trying hard not to break the kiss. He then pulled away to lift his shirt over his head. While removing it, he felt the warm of Kayla's tongue against his lower abdomen. He stood and watched as she lowered his loose pants. His thick hard cock popped out towards Kayla's face. She licked her lips and smile up at him. Nate swallowed hard when he felt the tip of his cock enter her between her hot lips. He looked down and saw his white cock inside of her brown lips and the contrast made him harder, if possible at this point. His breathing labored as she sucked on him, her head bobbing back and forth. Reluctantly, Nate pulled her be the hair to get her off his cock. Kayla whined, which caused Nate to chuckle.

"I know you love this cock in your mouth babe, but much more of that and this would have ended before it began." He bent down and covered her mouth with his own, pushing Kayla back onto the bed. He used his knee to spread her legs and laid on her, fitting perfectly. As they kissed, Kayla lifted her hips so his cock grounded against her harder. Nate kissed a trail down her neck. He sat up and helped Kayla lift off her top. Once off, he mouth fastened to her nipple in great hast. He lathered her nipples wit his tongue, alternating between the 2. Kayla moaned louder and arched her back. Very reluntant to leave her breasts, Nate kissed down her flat stomach to the top of her shorts. He quickly dispatched of them and the panties underneath. Once faced to face with Kayla's glistening pussy, Nate ravaged her. He used her thumb to rub her clit while his tongue played with her slit. Kayla bucked and wiggles with pleasure. She never knew Nate was good and eating out pussy, but she found that this was the best way to find out. She felt the pressure of her Cumming building up inside. 

"Nate...your gunna make me......" Kayla tried to say but found that she'd lost the ability to lose words the closer she got to her orgasm. Nate speed up and his stroking.

"Cum for me Kayla. I want you to. Please baby." He spoke between licks. He didn't have to ask her twice because within seconds she was screaming out her name.

She looked down at a grinning Nate. 

"oh god man, that felt..."Kayla began, but Nate interrupted and said "nuh uh. Not yet baby. This night has just begun." Kayla smiled at her former best friend. Now he was her lover. She was looking at him threw brand new eyes. 



Brand New Flame



Tracy was incredibly lucky.

Escaping the fire from the sixth story of her apartment building would have been enough. A combination of careful planning, fortunate necessity, and simple good luck left her better off following the disaster than she'd ever hoped to dream of, prior to the fire.

It was a coincidental meeting with a stranger at the storage building that had proved the greatest boon. While pulling out an old computer to tide her over, someone had stopped with a wide-eyed stare, and shortly thereafter informed her about the ghastly painting she'd ended up with when her mother died. Her mother had loved it, and that was reason enough to keep it, but not to put it anywhere except in a dark storage building.

Her decision to use a climate-controlled storage facility proved another wise choice when the painting auctioned for over two-hundred-thousand dollars.

So now Tracy owned her home, her new car, and had a solid nest egg at thirty-seven years old. With her son moved out of the house and off to college on a full scholarship, she had few worries, and many luxuries that she'd never expected to enjoy.

Even all that couldn't dull the melancholy when she returned from yet another date that was going nowhere. Two years of never making it beyond a second date would break down any woman's hopes. A quick whiff of her light chestnut hair confirmed the smell of cigarette smoke that she expected, and sent her straight to the bathroom.

Tracy showered, changed clothes, and settled in to relax and watch a movie. She had the next two days off, so she could afford to stay up late for once. The opportunity to avoid the depressing evidence of Valentine's Day that filled the hospital at this time of year was quite welcome, as well.

About an hour into the movie, two sets of headlights speeding down the road attracted her attention. She then noticed a strange glow reflecting off the siding of the house across the street, and realized what it was just before the sound of sirens reached her ears. A dart to a window confirmed her fears. A house only three lots down was fully engulfed in flames.

Tracy hurried through the house to change her clothes and snatch up her first-aid kit. She hadn't ignored the needs of others when her own life was turning upside down, and she wasn't about to do so now.

When she reached the house, she saw the paramedics already working on three children and a woman. A fireman stumbled through the thick, billowing clouds of smoke with a stocky man slung over his shoulder. The paramedics were overwhelmed, as two were performing CPR on the women, so Tracy hurried to the fireman when he sank down to his knees with his burden.

Tracy dropped to her knees next to the violently coughing fireman, and immediately recognized that the man on the ground wasn't coughing. She felt for a pulse, and didn't find one.

The fireman tore off his helmet, pushed a sweat-dampened lock of his short, dark brown hair from his forehead, and said, "He's not breathing," before coughing again.

"No pulse," Tracy confirmed, a little surprised to recognize the young fireman who had guided her out of her burning apartment not so long ago.

"Clear!" One of the paramedics shouted, confirming that the man in front of Tracy wasn't the only one in serious danger.

The young, soot-covered fireman started chest compressions, still coughing. Tracy wasted no time in giving the victim mouth-to-mouth. After a minute or so of no response, Tracy tore open her first-aid kit to retrieve her AED.

The fireman recognized the portable defibrillator and stopped his chest compressions. Tracy readied the device and offered a little prayer. Just as she discharged it, she heard one of the paramedics yell, "She's stable! Pick it up! Pick it up! We've got another one!"

Tracy smiled when the man on the ground sucked in a gasp of air just as one of the paramedics arrived. She and the fireman both stepped back as the paramedics went to work.

"Thank you," the fireman said, tears streaming down his cheeks, and then he hurried toward the children near the ambulance.

"Can I do anything to help? I'm a nurse," Tracy offered.

"I think we can handle it now, but this guy is lucky you were here with that AED." Another ambulance arrived at that exact moment. With a second set of paramedics on the scene, Tracy gathered up her kit and got out of the way. She took on the task of calming her neighbors, letting them know that everything was under control, and guiding them back away from the fire.

She was weary, frozen, and dirty when she returned to her house several hours later, once it was obvious that the firemen had the blaze both contained, and knocked down.

♥/\^/\^/\^/\♥

Tracy awakened late, and walked over to a window shortly after she changed out of her nightgown. The house down the street was a mere shell, though it was still standing. As best she could tell, neither of the houses next to it had suffered any serious damage. One of the fire trucks was still on scene, though it appeared that the firemen were packing up.

When she went to the bathroom, Tracy could smell the reek of smoke coming from her clothes in the hamper — both those she'd worn when she hurried to the fire, and those she'd worn to the bar for her date.

That determined her first order of business for her day off.

With the laundry started, she settled in for the rare treat of watching afternoon television. She had absolutely no idea what was going on in the soaps that she used to watch regularly, and all of the romance was a bit depressing, but she enjoyed it anyway. The constant barrage of cupids, hearts, and flowers during the commercials was even more difficult to handle, and Tracy ended up flipping to a business channel every time the commercials started.

When an odd roar that set the windows to rattling drew her attention away from the television, Tracy could see little more than a wall of white. Though she knew that bad weather was in the forecast, the sheer violence of the storm took her by surprise. When she walked over to the window and looked outside, she knew that the storm must have just started. Despite the thick, horizontally blowing snow, little had reached the ground yet. That changed rapidly as she watched, and she was glad that she didn't have to go to work for the next couple of days.

The knock at the door a short while later startled her, and her first thought was that the wind had blown something against the door. The next knock followed rapidly on the heels of the first, and she knew it for what it was.

Who is crazy enough to be out in this storm? She wondered as she walked to the door. She recognized neither the truck in her driveway or the man standing on the porch, at first, but she realized who he was when he turned toward her, away from the wind.

Tracy hurried to the door and opened it, fighting against the force of the wind trying to slam her into the wall. "Hurry — come in," she called over the roar of the storm.

The fireman stepped inside, shivering and wearing an embarrassed grin.

"Are you crazy?" Tracy asked with a laugh. "What are you doing out in this?"

"I didn't think it would be this bad. That will teach me not to listen to my mother." He held up a wrapped package, one side of which had a quarter of an inch of wind-blasted snow plastered to it. "I wanted to thank you."

"For what?" Tracy asked as he handed her the package, which had a good deal of weight to it. "You're the one that walked into a burning building."

"I got yelled at for it, too. For that, and for doing it without putting on my respirator first. I want to thank you because that was my uncle. You saved his life. He, my aunt, and my cousins are all doing fine, thanks to you and the paramedics." He nodded toward the package and said, "Open it."

Tracy's cheeks warmed. "I'm glad that they came through it okay. You didn't have to come out in this to bring me a thank you gift."

"I wanted to. Go on, open it."

Her cheeks still a little red, Tracy peeled back the paper, and then opened the box inside. She let out a sharp gasp upon seeing the bottle of Cognac inside. "Oh my god — I can't accept this. It's too much."

"I won't take no for an answer," The fireman said, holding up his hand when she tried to hand him back the package. "The whole family chipped in for it. I thought you'd like it, because I remembered you saying that you wished you had a nice bottle of brandy when I first met you, after all the excitement was over."

"It's just... I... I don't know what to say. I don't even know your name."

"That makes us even. Steve."

"Tracy," she reciprocated. "You're right. I love it," she said, and then laughed.

"I'm glad."

"At least have a glass with me. It will keep me from feeling so guilty about accepting such an expensive gift." She turned toward the kitchen, but then paused and turned back to ask, "Uhm, you are old enough to drink, aren't you?"

Steve laughed. "I'm twenty-one, by all of a month. I'm legal. I've never had brandy before."

"Well, if you're going to like it, then this will surely spoil you. I haven't had anything this expensive since my honeymoon."

Steve pulled out his cell phone and said, "I'd better call my mother to let her know that I'm okay, and to get the I told you so's out of the way."

Tracy chuckled, remembering similar situations with her own son. "I'll get some glasses."

Though she hadn't yet replaced her snifters after the fire, Tracy found a pair of whisky glasses that would serve. An almost orgasmic tingle shot through her body as she opened the bottle and caught the first hint of the bouquet. She poured the brandy, and then carried it back into the front room to sit the glasses on the coffee table.

"Yes, I'll be careful, Mom. I love you. Goodbye." Steve glanced over at Tracy as he hung up the phone and said, "Moms," with a little roll of his eyes.

Tracy wiggled a finger at him and said, "I'll have you know that we stick together. Whatever she said, she's right." She then gestured to the brandy and said, "This should sit for a few minutes. Maybe the storm will calm down a bit in the meantime."

"How old are your kids?"

"My son is nineteen," Tracy answered as she changed the channel to check the weather.

"Nineteen?" Steve said with undisguised surprise.

"Yes, why so surprised?"

"Well, uhm... I guess I didn't think you could have a kid that old," Steve answered with a shrug of his shoulders.

"That's an even better present than the brandy," Tracy said with a little color rising in her cheeks again. The television caught her attention, and she turned up the volume.

"Law enforcement recommends that all residents remain indoors during this dangerous storm. All roads are closed due to near zero visibility and drifting snow. A blizzard warning remains in effect..."

"Ah, man," Steve groaned as he listened to the report. "I'd better get going before the snow gets any deeper."

The television switched to the weather man. "I just want to give you an idea of how bad it is out there. Take a look at this shot from the tower cam."

The image popped up, which usually gave a wide view of downtown. All Tracy could see was a few feet of thick, fast blowing snow.

"Now here's the view from the foyer of the studio," the weatherman continued.

The video was much the same as that from the tower camera, though Tracy could just make out cars in the parking lot coated in snow on one side and building drifts on the other.

"I think it may be a little late for that," Tracy remarked.

Steve sounded a little less than confident when he said, "I have four-wheel-drive and big tires. I should be okay."

A combination of Tracy's maternal instincts and years of seeing the effects on people caught out in such storms compelled her to argue, and offer her hospitality. "I don't think so, and I think you know it, too. Just stay here until you can at least see where you're going."

"I don't want to impose."

"I'd rather that you impose on me than the hospital or the morgue," Tracy argued.

Steve chuckled and said, "Okay, you win. I really don't want to go back out in that again."

"Take off your coat and have a seat. This should have had time to warm just right," Tracy said as she picked up one of the glasses of brandy. She held it up to the light and said, "The color is beautiful." A little shiver shook her as she said, "Oh, this is going to be so good."

Steve sat on the opposite end of the couch and picked up his glass. Tracy instructed, "Just sip. You don't really taste the subtleties if you just gulp it down. Take a good, deep breath of the bouquet first, too."

Tracy brought her glass to her nose and softly swirled it. A sigh escaped her as anticipation built.

Steve looked a little awkward as he tried to duplicate her action, but his eyes lit up as the scent of the brandy filled his nose. "It smells almost woody — and flowery. Maybe fruity too."

"Mmm — that's the experience of good Cognac." Tracy took a sip, and then drew in a long, deep breath. "Oh my, thank you," she breathed as the rare treat awakened her taste buds and warmed her all over.

Tracy wondered about Steve quickly looking away from her before he said, "This is good — very good."

"It's heavenly," Tracy responded, and then realized how she was acting. Her cheeks burned as she realized how she must look and sound to him. "Sorry, I guess I'm getting a little carried away," she apologized, and then laughed.

"I can understand," Steve said, "I always thought things like sniffing a drink were pompous, but I get it now. When you spend this much on something, you have to appreciate it."

"Exactly," Tracy said with a smile. A couple of seconds later, she realized that she was staring and turned away a little more quickly than she'd intended, only making her stare more obvious.

Every other time she'd seen him up until now, he was either wearing his fire gear or a winter coat. Now that he'd removed the coat, she could see his muscles bulging against his t-shirt. He was also devilishly handsome now that he wasn't coated in soot. I haven't even had enough to drink yet to use that as an excuse for drooling over him like a teenager, she silently chastised herself.

Tracy took another sip and changed the subject, hoping for a distraction. "My father was a fireman. That's why I became a nurse. I wanted to help people like him, but a woman wasn't exactly considered a possible firefighter back then."

"My dad's been on the force my whole life, too. We keep trying to get him to retire, because he's getting up there, but he won't give it up. He's with the big station in the city. Did your dad retire?"

Tracy shook her head. "Heart attack. He carried a little girl out of a house and left his air on her most of the time. He sat her down next to the paramedics, and that was it."

"The girl was okay?"

"She was fine. She didn't even stay overnight in the hospital."

"If he was anything like my dad, then that's exactly how he wanted to go."

Tracy grinned, her eyes a little misty as she remembered. "That's what Mom said. My brother and I were devastated, but the way Mom handled it and talked about how proud she was of him helped us through it." She then sifted through the mail on the table and picked up a card. "We all still get cards from that family. I just got my Valentine's card yesterday."

Steve nodded, but his expression looked more than a little sad. Tracy couldn't help but pick up on it. "I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?"

"Nah, it's nothing. I broke up with my girlfriend a few months ago. I'm trying to pretend that Valentine's Day doesn't exist this year."

"I know what you mean. My anniversary with my ex was this week, too." Tracy raised her glass and said, "To forgetting."

"Cheers," Steve responded, and then joined her in another sip. He looked out the window and said, "It looks like it's getting worse. I think the weatherman dropped the ball on this one."

"It's a little bit frightening. I've never seen a storm like this. I'm glad I loaded up on food before this hit."

"If it keeps this up, I may be glad that you have plenty of food, too." He shrugged apologetically.

"The couch folds out into a bed, if it comes to that. Speaking of food, I'm a little hungry. You?"

"Yeah, actually I'm starving. You have to let me help, though. Believe me, you don't want me singing for my supper."

Tracy broke out into laughter. Once she regained her composure, she said, "Okay, let's go find something, then." She stood up, and then snapped her finger toward him to quickly say, "No singing."

As she laughed at her joke, Steve stood with a chuckle of his own and said, "Not a note."

As soon as she crossed the threshold into the kitchen, Tracy looked back over her shoulder and asked, "How about roast chicken and vegetables?"

"That sounds great to me."

"I was just going to fry the chicken, but since I've got company and half of the leftovers won't go to waste, we'll go with something a little more elegant. Potatoes, carrots, and onion?"

"Perfect. I'll take care of the veggies."

Tracy pulled everything out of the fridge and the cabinets, relaying each item to Steve, who arranged all the utensils and ingredients with a little more knowledge than she would have anticipated. When she turned around from pre-heating the oven, he was already rinsing the vegetables.

With a little nod of approval, Tracy went to work on the chicken. Once she'd washed it and discarded the giblets, she sat it down on the cutting board and reached for the dreaded spool of twine in the drawer. Steve had already finished peeling half of the carrots as Tracy took a deep breath before trying to truss the bird.

As usual, she made a couple of false starts. The string was too short the first time. On her second attempt, the wrap around one of the legs slipped loose while she flipped the bird over. Somehow, she resisted the urge to curse.

"Need a hand?" Steve asked.

"This always frustrates me, but I'll get it eventually."

"Try giving the drumsticks one more wrap than you have been."

Tracy turned and asked, "You know how to truss a bird?"

"Learned to do it to help my mom once her arthritis got bad."

"Well, let's see it," Tracy said with a gesture toward the chicken.

Steve put down his carrot and knife, and walked over to take the twine from her. It was all Tracy could do not to let her mouth hang open as he trussed the chicken as quickly and efficiently as a professional chef.

"Show off," Tracy scoffed, the smile on her face completely belying her tone. She then took the chicken to the roasting pan to finish preparing it. More than once, she glanced over her shoulder at Steve to wonder what other surprises he had hiding.

Soon enough, the chicken was in the oven. Tracy and Steve returned to the front room, munching on carrot sticks that Steve had cut to tide them over until the chicken finished cooking.

Steve walked over to the window. "I can barely see your car, and my truck isn't much better."

Tracy sat down the bottle of Cognac and said, "Looks like this couch is going to get some use tonight. Care for another nip?"

Steve took another bite from his carrot. "Sure, why not."

Tracy quickly discovered that Steve opened up with a little alcohol in him. He was animated and talkative while they sipped brandy and waited for the chicken to cook. She spent a lot of time wistfully wondering where he was when she was ten years younger, while trying to push the thoughts out of her head at the same time.

That fight became a great deal more difficult when the conversation turned to music, and the discovery that his retro taste lined up perfectly with hers.




Brand New Flame



When the timer sounded from the kitchen, it snapped Tracy out of the almost trance-like state that she'd slipped into. She was suddenly aware of the wide, flirtatious smile on her face, and the way she was sitting with her arm on the back of the couch, leaning toward him.

Tracy sat back up, once again moving more quickly than she'd intended. She winced inwardly and said, "Well, it's ready. I'll go take it out of the oven and give it the finishing touches."

"I need to run to the bathroom. I'll be there in a minute."

"Down the hall — first door on the right."

Tracy maintained her composure until she was safely out of sight in the kitchen. At that point, she covered her eyes with her hand and shook her head, her face burning.

What is wrong with me? He's barely older than my son, and I'm flirting with him. It's probably all he can do to fake a smile because he's stuck here.

After a couple of deep breaths, Tracy straightened her slumped shoulders and removed the roasting pan from the oven. With her shame firmly in the forefront of her mind, she kept her attraction from coming out in her words and mannerisms when he joined her again — all the while embarrassed to admit that it was attraction.

The pair had transferred everything to the table and were about to sit down when Steve asked, "Uhm — did I do something to upset you?"

Tracy managed to hide her wince. She'd overdone it in dropping away from near full-blown flirting to nothing. "No, not at all. I just have something on my mind. I'm sorry."

"No problem," Steve said as a wide smile spread across his face. "Well, let's eat then."

The strain of moderating her enthusiasm wore on Tracy throughout the meal. Steve not only excited her physically, but she genuinely enjoyed talking with him. More shared interests popped up as Steve steered the conversation that way, sprinkled with frequent compliments on her cooking. Tracy felt torn in half as she struggled not to show just how much of an effect he had on her.

The phone rang just after Tracy put aside her fork. She answered it, and assured her ex-husband that she was okay. To head off a second phone call, she contacted her son to do the same. When she put down the phone, she realized that Steve had cleared the table at some point between the two calls. She could hear water running in the kitchen, so she walked in to find him rinsing the dishes to put them in the dishwasher.

"You didn't have to, but thank you."

Steve looked back over his shoulder and said, "You're welcome." He put the plates into the dishwasher and said, "It sounds like you get along pretty well with your ex."

"It took a couple of years, but we're friendly now — so long as we don't spend much time together." Tracy joined Steve at the sink and pulled out the dishwashing detergent. "He did the right thing even when he could barely afford it, and he was always there for Chris."

"Certainly could have been worse. Doubt that Denise will ever speak to me again."

Tracy had genuine sympathy in her voice when she said, "Sorry."

Steve leaned up against the dishwasher after turning it on. "Sometimes it just takes one thing. She wanted kids — I don't. It just came up in casual conversation one night, and things nosedived in a week." He shrugged. "I guess I should bring it up before I get too involved in a relationship next time."

"You never know what will make things fall apart." Tracy sighed and rested her bottom against the edge of the counter. "My ex and I were probably too young, to begin with. We eloped on my eighteenth birthday. Two weeks and a broken condom later, I was pregnant."

"He wasn't ready?"

Tracy half-smiled and responded, "Neither of us were, but the shock didn't last long. Once it sank in that we were going to have a baby, everything was wonderful — right up until the last couple of months. I had a difficult pregnancy, and..."

Tracy trailed off as she realized that she was spilling out her life story to someone she barely knew. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm going on and on — probably boring you to death."

"It's okay. I started it, after all." He didn't look the slightest bit bored.

Tracy blew out a long breath and pushed away from the counter. "I think I ate too much. I need to go sit down for a while." She then yawned, and added, "Between that, the brandy, and too little sleep, I don't think I'm going to be up long, either."

"Mind if I check the weather? It looks like things have tapered off. Maybe they're getting the roads cleared."

Desperate to get away from the crazy old lady, Tracy thought. "Go right ahead," she responded, and then walked ahead of him back to the front room.

Tracy flipped on the television, and caught the anchorman in mid-sentence.

"... with more of our continuing coverage of this dangerous storm, already dubbed the Valentine's Day blizzard, even though it's a day early."

The camera switched to the weatherman. "Don't breathe a sigh of relief just yet." He then pointed at the radar. "This front is only minutes away from the downtown area. While it shouldn't last more than two hours, we are going to see an additional two to four inches of snow from this band. High winds will continue to create white-out, blizzard conditions."

As if summoned by the weatherman's words, a powerful gust of wind slammed into the house, announcing that the storm had arrived.

"Well, so much for that thought," Steve said with a chuckle.

Tracy put down the remote and said, "I'll go get you some blankets."

Not long after, everything caught up with Tracy. She could feel her eyelids drooping, and the pangs of spending time with someone so perfect, whom she couldn't possibly pursue, were simply too much to handle.

Tracy stood, and stretched. "I think it's time for me to go to bed."

"Will the TV bother you?"

Tracy shook her head and answered, "No — as long as it isn't too loud."

"Well, thanks for dinner and a place to crash for the night. Goodnight."

"You're welcome, and goodnight," Tracy responded, and then smiled before walking to the bedroom. She couldn't help but peek back at him with a sigh before she closed the door.

She pulled open a drawer and a sheer, barely-there negligee called out to her. Some part of her hastily suggested putting it on and walking back into the front room because she forgot something.

Tracy shook her head and removed a thick, calf-length cotton gown instead. Once she changed for the night, she also pulled a robe that reached to her ankles from the closet, and hung it on the hook on the outside of the door, just in case she needed to go to the bathroom.

Tracy drifted off to sleep, staring at the door, and listening to the faint sounds of the television in the front room.

♥/\^/\^/\^/\♥

Tracy awakened, and instantly knew that something was wrong. The house was deathly quiet, and horribly cold. Her room was pitch black, though a security light at the neighbor's house should be shining a dim illumination through the curtains, as it always did.

The fright of awakening in complete darkness during the fire in her apartment building had taught Tracy a valuable lesson. She felt for the handle of the small chest of drawers next to her bed, and retrieved the flashlight there. As soon as she turned it on, she could see her breath.

Tracy held her blanket against her with the hand holding the flashlight, and quickly darted to her robe, hanging on the closet door. Once she put on the robe, she tucked the blanket back around her, and reached for the phone with a shivering hand. It dawned upon her just before she touched the phone that it was pointless. Both of her phones were cordless, and wouldn't work without power.

A frustrated groan passed her lips when she considered her cell, which was plugged into a socket next to the couch. Resigned to the journey, Tracy found her freezing cold slippers and wrapped her blanket around her as well.

Steve stirred as the edge of the flashlight beam found him. He had curled up and pulled his blanket tight about him as he slept. While Tracy removed her cell from the charger and turned it on, he awakened.

"D-damn," Steve muttered. "Power out?"

Tracy nodded, and felt a little silly for it because there was no way he could possibly see her. "Yes. I'm getting my cell to call the power company."

"Somebody must have hit a power pole," Steve speculated, and then scooted over a little to give Tracy a place to sit.

After sitting on hold for over five minutes, Tracy gave up. Her shivers were now as much from worry as from the cold. "What if it stays off f-for hours? W-what if we c-can't get out, and n-nobody c-can get in?"

Steve must have understood the panic in her tooth-chattering questions. "We'll be fine. There's gas in my truck, and in your car. Even if we can't use them to drive somewhere warm, we can run the heaters. I have a battery powered defroster in my truck, too." He paused, and then sat up as he added, "Your oven is gas. We could always turn it on and huddle around it, if it comes to that. Not terribly safe, but it will keep us from freezing."

"I hadn't t-thought about t-that."

"Sit here with me. We should keep each other awake and share warmth. You're freezing, and I haven't been up to let the heat out."

Too cold to think about what she was doing, Tracy nodded and climbed beneath the covers, spreading out her own blanket to share it as well. Steve scooted a little closer to her, and then grasped the edge of the blanket to pull it over both of their heads as they sat against the back of the couch.

"Our breath will warm it up more," Steve explained in the darkness. "It's not as if there's anything to see out there anyway."

Tracy's teeth ceased to chatter as she soaked up his warmth, and the feeling of touching him. Even with three layers of cloth between their skin, the sensation of his body next to hers warmed her more than anything.

"Hey, stay awake."

Tracy started, and realized that she had indeed dozed off. The understanding that her head was resting on Steve's shoulder came a second or two later. "Sorry. I'm just so tired."

"I know. I am too. The worst thing we can do right now is fall asleep."

Tracy had no trouble waking up when he patted her knee. His hand only touched her for less than a second, but that was more than long enough. She was glad for the darkness, because it hid the color rising in her cheeks.

"You okay? You're shaking again."

Tracy let out a little whimper when he slipped an arm behind her and leaned closer. She melted in the embrace, all thoughts of his age and her inhibitions evaporating in an instant.

"Tracy?"

She couldn't manage an answer. Instead, she sucked in a slow, stuttering breath, and leaned into him to rest her cheek on his shoulder.

"We'll be fine. We're warm, and we have a way to get heat if we need it. It's going to be okay." Steve wrapped his other arm around Tracy's waist, and the two leaned against the couch back in their new position.

Equal parts of comfortable bliss and painful fear warred in Tracy's heart as she sat in his warm, strong embrace.

♥/\^/\^/\^/\♥

Tracy awakened once more, to faint sunlight streaming through the window, and the sound of the furnace running this time. She was lying with her head on Steve's chest and her hands curled up by her chin. One of his arms remained around her waist, while the other draped over her — still holding her.

"Morning," Steve said. "The power came back on a little bit after I realized that you'd dozed off again. I didn't want to wake you, and I was almost asleep again, too."

Steve made no effort to unwrap his arms from around her as Tracy looked up at him. She knew that she should get up, but she simply had to have a few more seconds.

Steve's cell rang in his coat pocket, breaking the moment. Tracy could have sworn that she sensed reluctance when he unwrapped his arms from around her and reached for the phone.

Wishful thinking, she thought as she sat up and tried to shake off the feeling of him holding her, though she wanted nothing more than to stay wrapped in that wonderful sensation for as long as possible.

"Hey, Joe. You come through okay?" Steve answered the phone. A few seconds later he said, "I got caught off guard. I'm right near my uncle's house." He laughed. "Yeah, I got blasted just as I was coming down the street to bring her the present. Tell my mom that I can hear her, and she's right — again."

Steve listened for a minute or so, and then answered a question, "Sure, if you can get a plow through to here, I'll be glad to help. Cool. I'll keep my eyes open for it, then. See you in a bit."

Steve hung up the phone and informed Tracy, "They're going to send a plow down the street so that I can get out. The police, fire department, and the city are organizing to get people who still don't have heat to a warming center."

He pushed the covers aside and stood. "If you're up to it, I'm sure they could use a nurse at the warming center. There are bound to be people who need to go to a hospital that might listen to you, where they wouldn't listen to one of us."

"Of course," Tracy answered with a wan smile, half wishing that she had taken advantage of the moment before the phone rang. "I'll go get changed."

"I'll go out and start the truck."

Tracy walked back out to find Steve on his cell.

"Don't worry, Mom. If it will make you feel any better, I'll have a nurse sitting next to me if something would happen." He paused for a moment, and then sucked in a surprised breath. He had more than a slight touch of embarrassed reproach in his voice when he said, "Mom." He then chuckled nervously, and continued, "Look, I'll be fine, and I'll keep in touch. Love you, Mom."

Steve hung up the phone and said, "I rocked the truck a couple of times when I started it. As long as they plow the street, I can get it out of the driveway. I tried to kick a bit of a path out there, and to not track too much back in the house."

Tracy hung her coat over the back of the couch and sat down. "How long do you think it will be?"

"Probably not long. This is a fairly direct route between the hospital and the school. Since they're coming this way anyhow, they'll probably plow the first path right through here." He peeked out the window and looked down the street.

Tracy quickly looked away from him, because she knew that she was going down a dangerous path. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't escape how handsome and charming he was. Every second was a battle between her growing emotions and her common sense.

"Here it comes," Steve announced with a smile as he turned away from the window.

Tracy watched the plow go by, amazed by the true depth of the snow, which she could only really see with a path cut through it.

"Ah, I was worried about that," Steve remarked.

Tracy followed his gaze and saw a tractor coming down the street. The man driving it waved toward the window, and Steve waved back.

"He'll clear the end of the drive. It might have been a bit of a problem getting over that mountain the plow dropped there."

Within a few minutes, the end of the drive was open. Steve turned to Tracy and asked, "Ready?"

Tracy nodded, and grabbed her coat. She followed him out to his truck, doing her best to stay within the path that he'd kicked out earlier. He'd even made a path to the passenger door for her.

"Here we go. Buckle up."

Tracy clicked her seatbelt closed, and Steve put the truck in gear. A second later, they were carefully navigating the freshly plowed street toward the school.

♥/\^/\^/\^/\♥

Tracy was rather proud of her community and the elected officials as the day marched on. The city had prepared this plan after the last heavy snowfall a couple of years before, and it worked like a charm. As the city plows opened pathways, everyone from citizens with plows on pickups to construction workers on backhoes pitched in. The city was able to concentrate on breaking new ground, counting on the community to go from there, allowing the plan to proceed at a far quicker pace than originally conceived.

Steve rarely spent more than a few minutes at the school, usually just to help someone inside when he dropped them off. He always made sure to have a few words with Tracy before he ventured back out, though.

Tracy lived for those moments, no matter how many times she told herself not to. She didn't even have much work to do to distract her. The injuries of the people coming into the warming center consisted of only a few cuts, bumps, and bruises, mostly from falls.

By late afternoon, more people were leaving to return to their homes than arriving. The power company worked furiously, aided by people clearing paths to wherever work needed to be done, restoring power so that people could return home. With everything under control, others told Tracy and Steve to head home, as they were amongst the first to arrive, and had been going for hours.

Tracy glanced over at Steve as they neared the house. With a mental sigh, she thought, How sad am I, that this is the best Valentine's I've had in years?

Steve caught her gaze and smiled at her. "Almost there. What a day — huh?"

"Mmm hmm," Tracy responded, not really trusting her voice in light of the melancholy creeping up on her.

Steve pulled the truck into the drive, and slowly lined up the doors with the paths he'd made earlier in the day. He shut the truck off and said, "I'm hoping that my multi-tool is somewhere here, because I realized that I didn't have it a couple of hours after I left. If it's not here, I'll never find the thing."

"Come on in, and I'll help you look for it," Tracy said as she opened the truck door. Her heart leapt at having even a couple more minutes with him, even though she knew the crash afterwards would be all the harder for it.

As soon as Steve stepped across the threshold into the house, he said, "Whew — there it is," and pointed to his tool sitting on the end table next to the couch, which was still folded out into a bed.

"Glad you found it," Tracy said as she opened the closet door to put away her coat.

Steve crossed the room to retrieve his tool, while Tracy remained leaning into the closet for a few seconds. Part of her was screaming to ask him if he was hungry, or wanted a drink — anything to keep him here longer. The sensible, rational side of her won out, and she closed the closet door after an inaudible sigh.

Steve walked toward her, and the door. "Well, thanks again for dinner, and a place to crash, and the help today."

"You're welcome. Thank you for the Cognac, and the company," Tracy responded.

"Well — I guess I'd better get going," Steve said.

"Safe trip," Tracy said, wondering if the hesitation that she heard in his voice was real, but assuming that it was only a figment of her imagination. Something on the end table caught her eye — a plastic bag. Her brow furrowed, and she asked, "What's that?"

Steve looked back at the bag as he edged toward the door. "It's uh... Well, I... It's for you."

"For me? What is it?"

Steve's face turned bright red. "Guess you'll have to look," he said, and then let out a nervous chuckle.

Tracy walked over, her heart pounding as she approached the bag, and untied the handles. A little oh of surprise escaped her when she saw the silk flower, card, and box of cherry cordials inside.

Steve chuckled again, and said, "You weren't really supposed to find it until I left. It was the best I could do, with only the convenience store open."

Tracy pulled out the card and opened it.

A woman as beautiful as you, inside and out, should have flowers and chocolate for Valentine's Day — Steve.




Brand New Flame



Tears filled Tracy's eyes, and a sob shook her indrawn breath as she sat down on the hideaway bed, her trembling hands still holding the card.

"Oh, geez. I'm sorry," Steve said as he walked over to her. "I saw the flower in the store, and I didn't know if it was a good idea, because you'd said that you were trying to forget, and..."

Tracy let out a little laugh, the sound broken up by sobs. She sniffled, and then smiled up at him standing in front of her. "I love it. Thank you." Before she even knew what she was doing, she stood up as well. Caught up in a swell of emotion, she kissed him.

Steve stiffened in surprise, but just as Tracy thought to pull away, she felt his arms slide around her, and his lips softened against hers. The kiss was brief, but oh so perfect. Tracy stood in front of him after their lips parted, her eyes still closed. After a few moments, she finally let her eyelids flutter open.

Tracy's cheeks warmed as she whispered, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..." She trailed off when one of his hands moved up from her back to her cheek.

"You're beautiful," Steve breathed, looking deep into her still misty eyes.

"This is a really bad idea."

"I don't care."

Tracy melted into his arms as he kissed her. His one hand caressed her cheek, while the other held her close. Tracy hugged him tight against her as well, lost once more in the feeling of his arms around her.

"When you fell asleep on my shoulder last night..."

Another kiss.

"And then again in my arms..."

Yet another kiss.

"I've never felt that close to someone before — ever."

One of Tracy's hands slipped up his back, to slip through his hair. "It's been so long since anyone held me," she whispered.

"It may be selfish, but I'm glad nobody else has."

Tracy shook her head, her lip quivering and her eyes filling with unshed tears again. "But we can't do this."

"Why not?"

"We're... I'm..."

"Incredible."

"I'm thirty-seven."

"It's just a number."

"It's more than that."

"Not to me." Steve kissed her again — harder this time — his touch full of passion, and desire.

Tracy couldn't help but respond. The dam of caution and self-consciousness inside her ruptured, releasing emotions long restrained. Her hands roamed over his back, and then moved to slide beneath his coat. She needed to feel closer to him. Her fingers glided over his muscular back, the thin cotton of the t-shirt doing nothing to restrain the warmth of him. Her tongue slipped out into the kiss, just brushing his lips. She could feel his breathing quicken, and their tongues met in a perfectly coordinated, slow dance.

Beneath the softer emotions, the coals of Tracy's desire flared to brilliant life. Rather than burning away the budding glow of love in her heart, the heat mingled with it instead. A quick, unconscious tug slipped the tail of his shirt from his jeans, allowing her to slide her hand beneath — to feel her skin against his.

Steve moaned into the kiss, as Tracy gasped from a chill shooting through her from her fingertips. Both she and Steve pulled against each other, seeking even closer contact. Their kisses grew more ardent — needy.

Soon, Tracy knew that there was only one way she could feel the closeness that she so desperately needed. "Make love to me," she breathed between kisses, and tugged his shirt higher.

Steve gave Tracy one last, soft kiss, and leaned back to take off his coat. As soon as he dropped it at his feet, he pulled off his shirt. Tracy gasped at the sight of him, and ran her fingers down his muscled chest. As his shirt fluttered to the floor, Tracy tugged on her blouse.

Tracy let out a surprised whimper when Steve's hands glided up her arms as she pulled her blouse up over her head. He gathered up the cloth and dropped it aside, his eyes locked with hers. Steve cupped her cheek in one hand, and kissed her. Tracy shivered as his other hand slid around her back, to the clasp of her bra.

His lips never left hers, and he still held her cheek in his hand as her bra popped open. Tracy gave his lips a light caress of her tongue, and then leaned back.

Slowly, she pulled the straps from her shoulders. Steve's eyes looked deep into her as she hesitantly slipped her right arm free. Though she was in good shape, she knew all too well that gravity couldn't be completely defied.

Tracy's bra dropped to the floor, and Steve's eyes finally drifted downward. He sucked in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and leaned in with his lips parting in anticipation.

A broken whimper escaped Tracy as his lips engulfed her. She stroked her hand over his back, breathing heavily under his tender ministrations. Steve released her pebbled flesh with a quiet moan, and then kissed his way to its twin.

Tracy let her arm slid down from his back, and then reached for his belt. She whimpered and moaned from the delightful sensation of his lips on her as she blindly unbuckled his belt. Once the ends hung free, she worked on the button of his jeans.

Steve's lips moved to her neck, and his hand to her cheek. His kisses were mere feather-light touches, but each drew a gasp from her. Tracy pulled down his zipper, and let her fingers slip into the parted denim. "Oh," she breathed in surprised delight as she felt him through the satiny cloth of his boxers.

"Oh, Tracy," Steve whispered, and then kissed her neck one last time. His lips found hers, and she felt his jeans slipping down around her fingers.

As the denim slipped away, she was able to explore the full length and breadth of him with her fingers. A quavering gasp shook her, accompanying a twinge of almost fearful fascination caused by taking in the truth of him with her touch.

After a final, tender kiss, Steve pulled back to look into her eyes again. His other hand moved to her hip, and pressed down to guide her to sit. As she sank down to the hideaway bed, he lifted one foot, and then the other, untying his boots. His eyes held hers as he removed his boots, pulled his wallet from his hip pocket to place it on the end table, and then stepped out of his jeans.

Steve knelt down in front of her, where she sat on the edge of the hideaway bed. He lifted her left calf, and slipped off her shoe. Her sock followed, and Tracy let out a heavy, high-pitched sigh as he kissed the top of her foot.

Tracy barely had any conscious awareness of her fingers popping open the buttons of her jeans while he repeated the sensual tease with her other foot. As he lowered her foot to the floor once more, Tracy lifted her hips to pull down her jeans. Steve let out a moan, and helped her tug the tight denim down to her knees. He then lifted her feet, and Tracy leaned back onto her hands as her jeans slipped down her legs.

Steve walked forward on his knees as he let her jeans fall to the floor. His hands glided from her knees to her hips, and then curled beneath the elastic band of her panties. Tracy lifted her hips, her breathing heavy and rapid. The cotton slipped down, and she felt the kiss of the cool air on her wet heat.

Tracy's panties pooled to the floor, and Steve rose from his knees to lean over the bed. He kissed her, and Tracy bent her elbows so that she could recline. His lips followed her as she settled into the mattress, his kisses now tinged with hunger once more, matching her own growing need.

Steve moaned into the passionate kiss, and then moved to kiss her chin. His lips crept down her body, trailing kisses on her neck, her chest, and her tummy. When he reached her naval, he looked up into her eyes, as if asking for permission.

Tracy gasped, and then whispered, "Oh — please."

Steve kissed the curls on her mound, and Tracy shivered in anticipation. A kiss alighted on her hip, and then the other. His lips found her thighs, tantalizingly close to where she wanted them. He took a deep breath with each kiss, as if drinking in the scent of her to savor it.

"Please," Tracy whispered again, as his hands moved to her knees. She let her legs drift apart, and held her breath as he looked up into her eyes and moved into the widening V.

Steve tickled the curls shrouding her need with his fingertips, and finally broke eye contact to dart in for a kiss.

Tracy's back arched up from the bed, a sharp cry of bliss bursting from her lips as he touched her. "Oh — oh, Steve," she whimpered as his tongue caressed her folds. Her fingers scrunched up into the sheets as her hips rocked in a slow wave.

Steve's lips and tongue continued to glide over her, making Tracy moan in delighted wonder. He wasn't rushed, trying to push her to the edge. Instead, he savored her as she'd taught him to enjoy the Cognac. He took in her bouquet with deep breaths, warming her with his touch, bringing her to the peak of perfection.

Tracy tingled all over, permeated at the same time with wonderful warmth and titillating chills. He slowly fanned her coals, leaving her feeling as though she were floating above the mattress, held aloft by his soft tongue slipping over her. Time lost all meaning to her, the minutes slipping by in a fog of sweet delight. Even when he rose after a final kiss, she could still feel him. Her eyes fluttered open to see him removing a condom from his wallet.

With a deep, quavering moan, Tracy sat up. While he tore open the package, Tracy slowly tugged down his boxers. "Oh my," she gasped as the cloth slid away to reveal him.

Tracy curled her fingers around his manhood, finding that her fingertips would not meet around his girth. Steve sighed and caressed her shoulders with his free hand as she slowly pumped her hand over his hardness. After a few strokes, she took the condom from him, and finished removing it from the package.

Tracy pinched the tip of the latex sheathe, and slowly rolled it down his thick manhood. Once she reached the base, she looked up into his eyes in breathless anticipation, and scooted back on the bed, turning lengthwise on the mattress at the same time.

Steve climbed into the bed, and reclined next to her on his side. His hand curled beneath her far shoulder, urging her onto her side. Tracy raised her leg as she rolled, draping it over his body. While he pressed his lips to hers, he slipped his leg between hers. Tracy's left hand curled around behind his head, while she pulled him close with the other. Steve's arms surrounded her in much the same way, holding her tight as their kisses grew stronger by the moment.

At last, Tracy could wait no longer. She reached between their bodies, shifting her hips at the same time. Steve moved as well, until Tracy could at last press the tip of his latex-shrouded manhood toward the center of her heat. Once she guided him past her curls, he shifted his hips and pushed.

Tracy's eyes popped wide open and she sucked in a quavering gasp as he slipped inside her. She felt delightfully full, more than she could remember ever experiencing before. The intimacy of their intertwined bodies made her feel lightheaded as he slowly rocked his hips.

Steve kissed her neck, lips, and the swell of her breasts as his hips moved in a slow wave. She felt no sense of urgency from him. He seemed perfectly content to enjoy the feeling of her wrapped around him, squeezing him so tight.

Tracy's hand, still between their bodies, crept down to her bud. She circled it with one fingertip, barely brushing the swollen nub at first, but steadily pressing harder as a tingling heat built in her loins.

"Oh god, Tracy," Steve breathed, and then kissed her neck again, his hips moving slightly faster.

"You feel so wonderful," Tracy replied as the increased friction caused the flames of her arousal to burn higher in turn.

In perfect sync, two bodies slowly shifted position, until Steve could push harder and deeper inside her. Tracy's finger moved faster, causing her to twitch as she moved ever closer to the peak of her pleasure.

"Oh. Oh, Steve. Oh yes," Tracy whimpered, now poised on the brink of climax. Her face grew feverishly warm, matching the heat deep inside her. "I... I... Oh! Oh!"

A long, warbling cry accompanied Tracy's plunge over the edge into beautiful agony. Her arms and legs tightened their embrace, pulling her body hard against him, holding him buried deep inside her. Her orgasm was a soft, gentle swell of ecstasy that rippled through her, rather than crashing down with overwhelming force.

She sucked in a loud, high-pitched gasp of breath, which then emerged as a series of clipped whimpers, culminating in a deeply satisfied moan. She could feel him throbbing inside her tightly clenched sheathe, triggering chilly little arcs of electric pleasure. She held him tight, shivering and wondering if her climax was ever going to let her go.

"Did you..?" Steve asked as her muscles relaxed.

Tracy nodded and giggled. "Oh, that was... That was so wonderful." She pulled him close again, planting little kisses on his neck. "Did you?"

"No. Almost."

"I want you to."

Steve groaned, and then pulled his arm beneath him so that he could rise. Tracy whimpered as he slipped free of her, but knew that it wouldn't be for long. She rolled onto her back as he leaned over her, pulling his knees under him.

Tracy parted her legs at the urging of his strong hands, and panted as he scooted forward on his knees. His left hand curled around her knee, while the other dropped to his manhood, guiding it into her once more.

"Oh my god," Tracy groaned as he slipped inside her, far deeper this time. His hardness filled her, feeling as though it was reaching into her belly, and then retreated, only to return with a quick thrust of his hips.

"Ah! Oh! Ah! Oh!" Tracy gasped in time with the motion of his body. The heat of her swelling climax reached deeper this time. It was also far warmer — sharper — demanding. Her fingers once again found her pearl, and matched the intensity of her need.

Steve breathed heavily, the strain in his features obvious despite the measured motion of his hips. He penetrated her with quick, deep thrusts, letting her feel every inch of him caressing her walls with hot friction.

He began to grunt from the effort of holding back his own release, his eyes tightly closed. Tracy's hand fisted into the sheets as the other blurred over her mound. "Oh — oh, Steve. I'm so close."

Steve increased his pace, his lips parting to reveal his clenched teeth. A sharp jolt of pleasure snapped Tracy's eyes closed as well. Growls joined Steve's vocalizations as he reached the point of no return, mingling with Tracy's increasingly loud cries.

"Can't hold..." Steve started, and then let out a loud, growling breath.

"I'm there. Don't stop. I'm..." Tracy's mouth popped open into a silent scream for a few moments, and then her cry of release burst forth. The ecstasy rocked her body, causing her to lurch beneath him, and then his hips slammed forward with enough force to scoot her back a fraction of an inch. He let out an explosive cry as he reached his peak as well.

Tracy's arms and legs wrapped around him, squeezing him tight as he leaned over her. She could feel him pulsing inside her, flooding the latex sheathe with his seed. The sensation set off another powerful wave of ecstasy with in Tracy, causing her to cry out again.

For long minutes, neither she nor Steve could move, save for involuntary lurches and twitches. Finally, he rose up to his knees, breaking the grip of her embrace, and pulled free with a groan. Tracy let out a disappointed whimper as she felt the void inside her, but then squeezed her legs tight to moan from the warmth of her afterglow.

Steve struggled with trembling hands, but eventually managed to remove the condom and wipe his manhood clean with a corner of the covers. As though that had taken the very last of his energy, he collapsed on the bed next to Tracy, and rolled over on his back.

Tracy rolled atop him, draping one leg over him and pressing her cheek against his chest. "That was so perfect — so wonderful."

"Unbelievable," Steve agreed, and wrapped his arms around her.

"It feels so good when you hold me."

"For me too."

"Mmm — then don't stop."

Tracy drifted off to sleep — warm, safe, and satisfied in his arms.

♥/\^/\^/\^/\♥

Tracy slowly roused, still wearing a smile, and feeling the warm afterglow of the bliss from the night before. As the sleep fog evaporated from her mind, Tracy realized that she was alone in the bed.

A sharp pang stabbed her heart, but it faded as she wrapped her arms around her. She took a deep breath, and then let out a sigh. She'd known from the beginning that this couldn't possibly lead anywhere. There was simply too much of an age gap for it to work, no matter how much they had in common. Rather than feeling hurt by his leaving, she felt good.

For too long, she'd doubted herself. She knew all to well that her lack of self-confidence was the main reason that her personal life had gone nowhere for years. Steve had given that back to her, many times over. She felt attractive — desirable. She couldn't think of a better Valentine's gift than that.

Just as she thought about rising to have a shower and some breakfast, the faint hints of an aroma tickled her nose. Tracy sat up, and her eyes widened in surprise when she saw Steve's clothes, still lying scattered on the floor around the bed.

"Morning, Beautiful. Hungry?"

Tracy could see the mingling of love and desire in his eyes as he stepped out of the kitchen with a steaming tray of food, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. He'd truly meant what he said about her age being nothing but a number, and now she believed it too.

Tracy knew that last night was only the first of many perfect Valentine's to come, as he sat down the tray, and kissed her deeply.



Brand New Girlfriend



Author's note:

After my last story I wanted something a bit lighter.  This is based on Steve Holy's great song.  Words and music copyrighted by Shane Minor, Bart Allmand and Jefferey Steele.  

A bit of fluff - best read with tongue firmly in cheek!

Thanks to techsan for his timely edits.

This story is a special request from my sister.


SAY WHAT?




Brand New Key



Blake had always considered Alice Brown to be at least a little paranoid for installing the bulletproof glass. Sure, he didn't doubt that she probably made good bread as a forger and counterfeiter, but she was low-profile and careful about who she dealt with. Hell, Alice couldn't be high-profile if she tried. She was a mousy, plain little woman with brown hair and brown eyes and a brown dress that looked like she'd bought it from an industrial burlap supplier. Blake wasn't sure if "Brown" was her actual last name, or just a description that stuck.

She even managed to sound brown when she talked. She just droned on in a dull monotone about the technical end of her work, pointing out little details and explaining her techniques and generally boring everyone stupid until they could hand over the cash through the little hatch below the glass, get their goods the same way, and dart off. She was the sort of woman who probably had no life except for her work and maybe a half-dozen cats or so. Who the hell would care enough to kill Alice Brown?

He would, today. He sat in the padded chair opposite Alice and stared through the glass, noticing tiny scratch marks where someone else must have felt exactly like him and feeling the weight of the gun at his side. His fingers itched to pull the gun out of its holster, put a bullet between Alice's eyes and snatch the key from her dead hands and run.

It wasn't even that he didn't want to pay her. Twenty grand to make the key was pocket change compared to what he stood to make. No, Blake just wanted that key and everything it represented. He wanted it more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. It made his fingers twitch and his breathing quicken at the thought of getting it, and even the thought of not getting it made the sweat trickle down his back, made him willing to pull a double-cross and shoot an unarmed woman. He knew he was being irrational, and that Alice was going to slide the key across to him in a few minutes and let him walk out the door, but that knowledge didn't quiet the irrational fear and the urge to violence that went with it. Maybe that was why Alice had installed that bullet-proof glass. Because she'd dealt with someone before who felt like he did right now.

"An impressive piece," Alice said in that quiet, studious tone of hers, holding the key up to the light and letting it dangle loosely from its chain. "I have to admit, when I first looked at the specifications you gave me, I expected this to be more of a technical challenge than an artistic one; but form definitely follows function in this particular case. Just look at it, Blake. Really look at the way the light catches on the edges. I had to polish that with seven grades of silk to make sure that it precisely matched your demands, but I think it's all worth it for the way it catches the light. Do you see what I mean?"

Blake didn't care about the way the edges caught the light; his eyes were fixed on the key, but he wasn't really seeing it. He was imagining it in his hand as he walked into the Delacourt Building. He was picturing himself reaching out, inserting the key into the lock and watching it slide in perfectly, turning it and feeling that satisfying click as the tumblers fell into place...and then swinging the door wide open, the shivery anticipation of the rows and rows of gems just waiting for him... "Yeah, it's swell," he said, without much enthusiasm. He didn't care what she was saying, really. He'd just keep agreeing with her until she got bored with talking and gave him the key.

"Yes, that fine polish perfectly reflects the light, almost focuses it to a mirror brightness," Alice said. "Each and every sparkle is a sign of a job well done, Blake. It's a sign that the key is everything you want it to be, everything you asked for. Honestly, I could just stare at it and watch it catch the light forever."

Blake definitely couldn't, but he didn't want to antagonize Alice. Not while she still had the key, sitting there tantalizingly out of reach. "I, um...I've got the money," he said, clearing his throat a little. "Right here."

"That's good, Blake," Alice said, still staring at the key. "I know it cost you quite a bit, but I think you and I can agree that this is some of my finest work. The shape of it is so perfect, the detail work on the surface so fine and intricate. The closer you look, Blake, the more impressive it seems, really."

Blake nodded, not really caring about what Alice had to say about impressive detail work. He just wanted the damned key. "Yeah," he said, trying not to give away exactly how much he wanted it. "I'm sure you did great, Alice. You always do." He opened the little hatch set into the wall, and slid the satchel full of money into it. "There you go, twenty grand."

"Of course, Blake," Alice said, her acknowledgment of the money not even causing a momentary twitch of excitement in her droning voice. "Look closely at those teeth, Blake. They're very small, so you'll need to focus your attention completely on them. They're so very tiny--that took real expertise, filing down the metal with such precision. You might need to squint to see them, Blake, but that kind of fine detail is so impressive. You're so happy with it, aren't you, Blake?"

That was it. Any other day, any other job, he'd have humored Alice for a while longer; but today, he couldn't hold it in anymore. Before he even realized he was speaking, he'd already shouted, "Goddamnit, Alice!" Noting the expression of irritation on her face, he took a deep breath. "Sorry," he said. "I'm just, um, a little edgy. Didn't sleep well." Inside, his gut clenched up. She wasn't going to buy it, he told himself. She was going to realize how much this meant to him, up the price, fuck up the bargain...no. She wouldn't. Alice Brown was too dull to double-cross someone. Right?

"Honestly, Blake," she said, twisting the chain slightly in her fingers so that the key gently spun at the end of it, "I'm not really sure I want to part with it. Of course, I'll happily refund your twenty thousand dollars, but...well, just look at it. It's a work of art, not just a work of craft."

Blake felt like he'd swallowed a brick. "We...we had a deal," he stammered out, fear and anger fighting for dominance in his head. "Look, if it's the money, I...I can get more." He was talking too fast, he knew, betraying his nervousness, but the key was too precious to let Alice keep it. She had to know he was desperate now, but she'd never suspect how much money he was willing to part with.

Unless... "Oh, it's not about the money," she said. He heard just the tiniest trace of smug satisfaction in her voice, barely even noticeable if you weren't looking for it. "It's about the pride. Really, I've outdone myself. An absolutely perfect, precise duplicate of the original. I daresay there's not another forger in the world who could do it."

It wasn't fair! The job of the century almost within arm's reach, literally, and now... "You know, don't you?"

"Of course I know," Alice said. She wiggled her fingers a bit for emphasis, the tiny motion sending the key on a swaying dance at the end of its chain. "It might not be particularly well known to the general public, but the Delacourt Company's showpiece is a legend to those of us in the trade who admire precision craftsmanship. As soon as I saw the specifications, I knew exactly what you wanted me to make...and exactly why you wanted me to make it."

The brick that was sitting in Blake's stomach felt like it had grown legs and started jumping up and down as Alice continued to talk. "I admit, I'm very impressed with your deductive skills, Blake. The key--if you'll pardon the pun--to the Delacourt Box and its legendary unpickable lock is the exact and precise nature of its craftsmanship. No key has ever been manufactured to such perfect tolerances, designed to fit so...intimately with its lock. Even the best impression couldn't pass muster, let alone the clumsy tools of a thief. That's the key--again, I'm sorry, I seem to have keys on the brain at the moment--to their guarantee."

Blake gaped at the key in numb, despairing fury. The Delacourt Box, an unguarded safe filled with tens of millions of dollars in jewels, secured only by the finest lock ever made and the personal guarantee of Charles Delacourt. The perfect publicity stunt for a security company for the ultra-rich, a dare to thieves everywhere. And he'd been so close to opening it... "It was very clever of you to realize that a key that perfect couldn't last," Alice continued. "The normal wear of using it, handling it, even carrying it would wear away that perfect surface despite the care taken in manufacturing it. Naturally, there would have to be specifications stored somewhere for the inevitable replacement key, specifications you could copy. Specifications I could use to make a duplicate."

She knew. She knew everything. "Goddamnit!" he shouted again, launching himself to his feet and hammering at the thick glass. It didn't give at all; his hands and fingers would be sore for days, but he was too furious to care now. He grabbed the chair and slammed it up against the glass, but the padding on the chair made it thud dully instead of cracking sharply. He realized suddenly that the padding wasn't for comfort, it was to prevent guys like him from using it as a battering ram. "You bitch!" he screamed as he swung it again anyway. "You cheating, traitorous, fucking, goddamn oh goddamn you!" He pulled out his gun, but a tiny shred of common sense kept him from firing it at a bullet-proof surface from less than a foot away.

She stared at him through the whole thing, watching as his rage finally subsided back down into numb despair. "Finished?" she said at last. "Good. Then let's talk about this."

He righted the chair and sat down, quietly seething. He'd have killed her if he could, but her paranoid precautions suddenly seemed all too sensible. "...what do you want?" he asked in a small voice. He still held out some tiny hope. Even a share of tens of millions was still millions.

She gazed back at the key for a long moment, the key that represented everything he'd ever wanted. More than ever, now, his eyes were drawn to it and the hope it represented. "For starters," she said, her voice somehow still not losing that dull, droning quality, "you can take off your pants."

"What?" he said, completely shocked. He'd never even thought of Alice as having an interest in sex, and now... "You gotta be kidding me!" he blurted out. He'd expected a demand for money, even a complete double-cross, but not having to become Alice's gigolo.

"Careful, Blake," Alice said calmly. "I think we both know that you want to keep me happy at this point, don't we?"

He gritted his teeth and tried to swallow his anger as he stood up and pulled his pants off. "Yes," he said, forcing himself to sound composed and humble. "We do."

"Underwear too," Alice said, reaching under the counter to press a button. "Don't worry about anyone walking in on us, I've locked the door."

Blake wasn't worried about anything but getting that key, now. He pulled off his underwear. "So what--" he started to snarl, then stopped. "So what now?" he asked a bit more politely.

"Go ahead and sit back down," Alice said. "I want you to be quite comfortable." He did as he was told, knowing that Alice held all the cards here. "Now, I think we should negotiate a bit. Decide exactly what our terms are going to be here." She paused for a moment. "I'd like you to stroke your cock while we talk."

Blake sputtered incoherently for a moment, trying to find some way to articulate his furious embarrassment; but thoughts of glittering gems pushed down his pride. He spat in his hand and began to work it up and down the shaft of his flaccid penis.

"That's better," Alice said. "A little slower, thank you. I want to see you stroking it, not cumming. And at this point, you know that pleasing me is the most important thing. If you don't please me, you'll never get this shiny little bauble I'm holding in my hand, dangling from the end of my fingertips and gleaming, spinning, swaying as it catches the light. And if you don't get that key, you'll never get that fortune in gemstones, all the money you've ever wanted just waiting there for you. So you can see how everything you want depends on pleasing me, can't you?"

"Yes," Blake said stiffly. And speaking of stiffly, his cock had started to perk up a bit despite the distinctly unsexy nature of the situation. It couldn't be helped, really. There were just too many nerves down there not to get an erection when you were yanking away on the goddamned thing. He wondered if this was how Alice got her jollies, but he was too smart to ask right now. Let her make her deals, give him the key. Then he could screw her over and leave her to fuck herself instead.

"Yes," Alice said, the tiny smirk on her face the only sign of her enjoyment. Her voice was just as calm and composed as ever as she continued, "All those gems, just waiting for you once you get this key, shining and sparkling like the key shines...and sparkles...I tried to direct your attention to that spinning, sparkling light before, Blake, but I could tell I wasn't getting your full attention. I have your full attention now, don't I?"

"Yes," Blake said. Keep agreeing with her, he told himself, keep humoring her. Remember all that money, all those glittering gems...

"Very good, Blake," she replied. "I know you want this key, Blake, and you know you want it too. And I know you'll get it if you make me happy, if you please me, and you know that's true too. And so I know that you want to please me, Blake, and looking at the key as it sways and dangles and spins reminds you that you know that too. Isn't that right, Blake?"

Blake furrowed his brow in confusion. When the hell was she going to cut the crap and tell him what she wanted? She was just sitting there, droning away about how important the key was when he knew that already, letting him pound his pud and never getting to the point--

"Isn't that right, Blake?" she said again, a bit more deliberately.

He blinked, trying to remember which dull question he was agreeing with. "Oh, um...yeah, sure," he said at last. It didn't matter, really. Whatever she asked, he'd have to say yes.

"That's right, Blake," she said. "It's very important to remember what it is you really want. But it's so hard to remember, there are so many things. Do you want the key, Blake?" Before he could even respond, she kept pressing, her monotonous voice boring into his head. "Do you want the gems, Blake? Do you want to cum, Blake? Do you want to please me, Blake? Do you want to remember what you want? It's so hard to decide, and the sparkling, shining, swaying light is so distracting. The feel of your cock under your fingers is so distracting. Even these questions are distracting, until you can't remember what you wanted to remember anymore than you remember what you wanted."

Blake felt his eyes watering, and he blinked them shut for a long moment. He hadn't followed a lot of that, but it wasn't important; it wasn't the deal. He just needed to let everything else go by, wait for a deal so that he could...could...

But before he could remember what it was he was making a deal about, Alice steamrollered over his train of thought with her endless monologue. "And because it's so confusing...and so complicated...and it's making you so tired just trying to think about it as you stare at the key, swaying and holding your eyes with the dazzling lights until you can't look away...I'll simplify it all for you, Blake. I'll make it all so easy. You want that, too, don't you?"

Blake tried to sort out the new thing he wanted from all the other things he wanted, but every time he tried to work it out, the light gleamed off the key straight into his eyes and he lost his train of thought. "I, um...yes," he said at last, deciding that it was simply easier to agree with her.

"Of course I'm right," Alice responded with a smile. Blake wasn't quite sure that response matched his answer, but he was too tired and confused and she wouldn't stop talking... "It's all very simple, and everything makes so much sense once I explain it to you. Getting the key depends on pleasing me, Blake. Doesn't it?"

"I...yes..." he said absently, the tiny surges of pleasure in his cock now as much of a distraction as the tiny flashes of light.

"And getting the gems depends on getting the key...and getting the key depends on pleasing me..." Alice slowly raised her arm as she spoke, forcing Blake to look up a little as he followed the motion of the key with his eyes. "Then that must mean that getting the gems depends on pleasing me, too. Doesn't it?"

A tiny part of Blake began to stir, then, trying to warn him that she was getting him horny to keep him off-guard so he'd agree to something stupid, that he needed to stop stroking, to look away, to...to...the rest of his train of thought fell away into a rush of helplessness as he realized that he couldn't steal or beg or borrow or bribe or threaten his way to the key. He could either give in and please Alice, or he could walk away without the key. Without the gems. Without the fortune.

He wasn't sure whether it was Alice's words or his own greed that broke his will, then. "And of course, Blake, you know that you'll only be allowed to cum when you please me. So all those other things you want, everything you want depends on pleasing me. So the most important thing...the only important thing...is to please me, isn't it, Blake?"

"Yesss..." he gasped out, his eyelids fluttering as he felt the pleasure build, held back by the hazy knowledge that he needed to wait to make sure that Alice was pleased with him before he could let himself cum.

"Very good, Blake," she whispered. He could see her smile widen out of the corner of his eye as he stared up at the key. "All those other things, now, they're just fading away, because the only important thing is pleasing me. The only important thing is pleasing me. The only important thing..." Blake felt a surge of dizziness as he lost track of the repetitions.

"...is pleasing you," he chimed in eventually, not sure exactly when he'd started repeating it, but not really caring anymore. It didn't matter next to the importance of pleasing Alice.

And he could tell from the sound of her voice that he had pleased her. "Very, very good. Now, when you cum for me, that's going to lock all that knowledge in, and you're going to know that the only important thing is to listen to me and please me in all things. And that I will reward my pleasure with more pleasure for you. Do you understand, Blake?"

"Yes," he husked out distantly, his mind whirling with a confused blur of glittering gems and shining keys and aching need, all melting into a single desire to obey. Obedience would give him everything, everything he'd ever wanted, he just needed to...to...

"Say 'Yes, Mistress', Blake, and then cum for me," Alice said urgently, her droning tones replaced by sharp command.

"Yes, Mistress," Blake moaned out, and he felt his cock stiffen and tighten and throb, and somehow it seemed to feel better than any other time he'd ever jacked off, better even than sex, better than anything, like sex and theft and wealth and power all rolled into one glorious, endless orgasm and he couldn't separate it from Alice's commands anymore, Alice's commands felt like pleasure, Alice's commands were pleasure and he came and came and came...

His eyes fell all the way closed as he shot his load all over his pumping fist.

"Good boy," Alice said, her voice echoing in his empty mind. "Now, listen to me very closely..."

*****

A few minutes later, and Blake walked out of the small, unremarkable building Alice called home. He carried the key with him, but Alice knew he'd be back soon enough. And he wouldn't be complaining about his share of the gems, either.




Brand New Key



That was the problem with overconfident boys like Blake, she thought as she sat back in her chair and hitched up her skirt. They only ever saw her at work, and so they figured that was all there was to her. She pulled a vibrator out of her desk drawer and slid it into her wet, aching pussy. They didn't see her as a human being; she was only a tool to them, a machine that made forgeries. She turned on the vibrator and clenched her thighs together, letting her mind dance back to the glazed expression in Blake's eyes as he surrendered to her completely. They never thought that she might have a hobby.

Alice came hard as she thought about her hobbies, and all the ways that a fortune in gems would help her indulge them to her heart's delight.

THE END



Brand New Me



I know that I'm not the man I was before the accident.

My wife Monica and I had been in a skiing accident, a weekend on the slope. We tried to get off the mountain before the storm hit, but in white-out conditions Monica became disoriented. I was following her because these were the slopes that she'd grown up learning to ski, her family had a modest little vacation home on the mountain. So I was following her, could barely see her, and I don't know what she saw, how she was navigating. She vanished before me on the slope and I followed her over the unseen ledge. Monica survived the fall, but died days later of a pulmonary embolism. My head had been gouged open and I took a seven month nap.

There was a news story I'd read about this woman in the UK who'd suffered from some brain sickness and she'd come out of her coma perfectly fine except that she now had a Jamaican accent. A little British housewife talking like Marley because her brain disease affected the parts of her brain that control speech.

I woke up a different person.

There's a disconnect. I know this because I can still remember the guy I used to be, but I just don't feel the same way about things that he did. The changes are mostly inconsequential: I like yogurt now, I read a lot more, and I have no idea why I used to like basketball. Some differences are extreme: I have a compulsion to run at least three miles every day, I don't miss Monica with an appropriate depth of loss, and then the other day I fucked the shit out of my daughter.

Jill. She's out of college now and manages a shift at a fairly up scale restaurant. Before my head was scrambled we'd had a good father/daughter relationship; I was never dad of the year, but I did okay, and Jill was a real sweet kid. I was very proud of her. And none of that has changed except the relationship thing. I like her like anyone close to me, but my paternal circuit is shorted out. I know she's my daughter but I don't feel it. Jill's just another woman to me.

I tried not to let it show, but it turns out it's easier to pretend you don't love someone than it is to pretend you do. She saw through it before too long, and I think it shocked her; we haven't really spoken much since then. She's got her friends and her life and I just let her have all the room she needs. From her perspective, Jill's lost both her parents, but having me around isn't going to help out either of us.

Still have the mountainside cabin and I still like to ski so I've been staying out there mostly, just me and the mountain that kicked my ass. It's been very good for me and I have come to treasure the solitude, being alone means I don't have to wonder how others perceive this different me. I didn't realize how used to being alone I was until I stepped out of the shower one evening and surprised Jill.

She had her own key, and maybe it was the weekend? Sometimes the meds I take for my headaches make me loose track of what day it is, but then I guess she'd just wanted to get away from the city, maybe hit the slopes, maybe cry a little at night for her Mom? I hadn't told her I was staying at the cabin but for whatever reason she was there I was glad to see her. I was standing there, wearing nothing more than the cloud of steam that followed me out of the shower.

Jill wasn't shocked and the surprise had worn off, she just sized me up like she'd probably done to a hundred other guys, a hundred guys who weren't her father, and she looked so much like Monica. The pale skin of her arms turning pink where I grabbed her, the black mane of her hair was a curtain that opened around her face; her blue eyes went wide as I drew her to me. They were the bright color that frames a coral reef, the color of drowning. Nobody in the family had those eyes, so maybe she wasn't really my daughter, but that had nothing to do with it anyway. I didn't take her because she was or was not my daughter; I took her because she was a woman. She didn't say no, never showed revulsion or outrage. In that moment when I snatched her arm and pulled her to my naked frame I saw the waves of desire rolling across those coral blue eyes.

Her voice was far away like she was trying to remember a dream. "This?" she was perplexed, astonished, "This is what I have been feeling? I thought ...oh god Dad, I thought there was a weird distance between us, growing apart, but that wasn't it. That wasn't it at all." The tension slipped away from her, she molded herself into me, the dark shroud of her hair spilled over her face as she turned her eyes away. One of her hands reached up and slowly her fingers traced the scar. Hardly speaking; sotto vocce, "How do you want me?"

"On your knees."

She didn't kneel, she threw herself down, she crashed down on her knees, and ran her open mouth down the side of my cock, her lipstick smearing red through the trail of spit she slathered on to it. It was so wrong I thought my fucking head would explode. 

Her soft mouth stretched and her breath rasped and heaved. Jill's tongue never stopped dancing. I closed my eyes and wove my fingers through her hair, every muscle in my frame was tense enough to hang a suspension bridge from. My cock slid over her juicy tongue and down her throat, stretching out her face with every thrust. I looked down at her. The tears and the wincing, Jill's lips distended around my engorged cock. She looked just like her mother and when she took me all the way, forcing her face down, down even further, so determined to get me all the way in, she felt like Monica too. Her throat spasmed and opened up. Jill's nose was mashed up against my stomach and her rubbery tongue lapped away at my balls.

"Good girl! Oh... my good girl!" At the sound of my straining voice, Jill looked up at me. Her lips were stretched wet around my cock and there was pride in her eyes. I went crazy, it was too much. I took control then, holding her head tightly and fucking her mouth in full stroked abandon. The head of my cock came out to her lips and then I drove her face back across the length of my shaft until my balls were on her chin. Every time I pulled back, her tongue hungrily slathered the head, a splash of saliva poured across her face and soaked sticky her breasts. She began to scream and cry, but I didn't give a shit about her, I just wanted that mouth. What the hell is wrong with me? My own daughter and I was throat fucking her like a crack whore. Who the fuck have I become?

At the time I was too busy smacking my sloppy dick across her face to ask these questions. A beast had a hold of me and it told me to mouth fuck this girl. I popped my cock from her mouth and she made desperate noises as she gasped for air. "oh God oh God oh God..." Her face was slathered with drool, dripping and slimy.

"What's the problem? This is what you want? If this isn't what you want, you know what to say?"

Jill shook her head, the beard of drool waving like a sticky curtain hung off her lip. Her eyes were a blend of angry excitement. With her arms limp at her side, I grabbed the base of my cock and used it to wipe away the tears. Calmly and soothingly I said, "OK. We need a magic word. This magic word will put a stop to this. I'm not raping anyone. It's only good for me Jill if this is what you really want. What's it gonna be?"

She thought for a moment, wiped her mouth and choked out, "We'll use my porn name."

I almost had a fucking coronary, "You're porn name! Jesus that explains a lot!"

Sigh. "No dipshit, ...you know that old thing people joked about a few years ago? The name of your first pet and the name of the street you grew up on."

"Oh. Huh. Thennn ...your porn name is Larry Eleventh Avenue."

"Sheila Eleventh Avenue."

"What, the cat?"

"Yeah, my first pet."

"Nononono... what about the turtle?"

"Who the hell is Larry the Turtle?"

"You were two. Don't remember?" I shoved my cock between her lips so she wouldn't interrupt the history lesson. "Sheila was the first pet you remember, but there was a whole menagerie before that cat. The Turtle. Dozens of fish. A Guinea Pig." I was gently sliding over her tongue, poking around in her wet mouth. "Larry the Turtle was your first pet. You were fascinated by him. You remember any of this?"

Pop. "Not so much"

Thrust. "Well when this gets too dark for you ...and saying NO isn't going to convince me to stop, just say your porn name."

Pop. "Larry Eleventh Avenue."

Thrust. "That's right. So when you said that just now were you just trying it out or we're you telling me you've had enough?"

Pop. "Just practicing, I want more, faggot."

I slapped her sloppy face with my cock as she laughed. "Dipshit. Faggot. You got a real nice attitude Jill, real nice. You know I'm tired of looking at your fucking disgusting face. Turn around." Her eyes lit up like lightning. She turned around on the floor, down on hands and knees ass up in the air. I paused to marvel at this woman, skin smooth and unblemished, she still had the glow of youth. The exciting curve of her ass framed the rosebud of her anus and moist enthusiasm dripped from the puffy mound of her slit. She was trembling, anticipation and lust. My raven haired daughter was the most brazen and wanton slut I'd ever been with and I wondered if she was like this with every lover or if it was just the forbidden lines we were crossing. I knelt and ran my mouth across her backside, starting in the folds of her tangy cunt and licking up to her puckered asshole. Jill squealed and pushed her ass back into my face as I ate her out, smearing her juice across my stubble.

"Ooh, your face is scratchy," she said, "but please don't stop. Keep going, ungh ...sweet hell that is fucking awesome! It's wrong, but awesome!"

My tongue was on her smooth pussy, unraveling and parting the folds, devouring my way to her engorged clit. When I got there I attacked it, worked it over like a boxer at a quick bag, back and forth, back and forth, my stiff tongue batted her rubbery clitoris into submission. The folds of her cunt turned rosy pink and the little man in the boat stood up and cheered. Jill was panting loudly and sporadically barking out unintelligible squeals of encouragement.

I drew my mouth away to catch my breath. "Fuck! Jill you're so delicious! Your cunt tastes like something sweet and rare: moonlight and whiskey on Prom night!"

She looked back over her shoulder, her lipstick had pinked up around her blowjob lips like when she had Kool-Aid mouth as a kid, and her shock blue eyes were rimmed in red, tear streaked eyeliner framed them like a raccoon's. "Dad ...oh god, I hope we never come to our senses, I hope we never come up for air or awake from this dream or whatever, ...but I swear if you don't fucking get back to work down there I'm going to stomp your balls. Drop the poetry and eat me!"

She squirmed and laughed and I gave her the works. I slathered my daughter's cunt with saliva and mercilessly drove my tongue down onto her clitoris mashing it down into her pelvic bones. She went wild and sprayed her girl cum onto my chin. I tongue fucked her, sliding between her labial lips and into her cunt, sucking up all of her juice. She came a second time and pleaded with me to stop, no no keep going! I lifted my mouth up to her ass and spread her cheeks wide until her anus was a puffed out blossom. I leaned in and spat my mouthful of cunt juice on to her asshole and then I tongue fucked that too. I rimmed her out while working my fingers across her hairless pussy and when I shoved three fingers into her, her cunt just fell wide open.

In complete disbelief it stared into her. At 22 I knew she wasn't a virgin but this was pretty extreme. "What the fuck Jill!? I could park a canoe in there!" Panting she explained about a college boyfriend whose thick cock had been a challenge to accommodate but she'd managed to work it in, and soon realized that it was one of her favorite things about sex.

"Some girls want length, but I needed it thick. He fucking made me crazy."

Jill turned over on her back and dragged the back of her hand across her sticky mouth. "It was tough after we broke up, I mean I like all kinds of shit but that was something else. So I started using these big fucking dildos. It's not the same but it's close enough sometimes. The upshot is I'm thoroughly stretched out."

I watched as she spread open her pussy and mashed her fingers down on her clit, furiously working it and rebuilding her fire. "OK ...ok you need to fuck me now, fuck me right now!"

Now my cock isn't some little tootsie roll or anything, it's on the bigger side of average and it gets the job done (unless I'm wasted in which case it doesn't do anyone any damn good), but I knew looking at my daughter's wide open cunt that there was no chance that my prick was gonna do the job. I mean it would be like tossing a fence post through a picture window. "Hey girl, you know this isn't going to work, right?"

She already had the vibrator in her hand.

"Where did you get that from? Did you have that in your bag?"

"I take it with me kind of a lot actually. It's not like I'm a perv or anything. You just literally can't plan on when you need it sometimes, and I need it sometimes." The way she emphasized "need" really spelled it out for me. "My daughter is secretly a fucking slut! ...and also you enjoyed your father's cock fucking down your facehole so I think that qualifies you as a five star perv." I shoved my cock into her vast cunt. I thought was gonna need a map to yank it back out, but then without hesitation Jill brought the humming vibrator between us and jammed it into her pussy, sliding it in on top of my thrusting cock.

"Ungh! ...S...sometimes I just go with where the day takes meeee." Jill pinched her eyes shut and squealed. I stopped fucking her as she fed more of that plastic cock into her, "Today this is what I want."

"Deviant." Two syllables and it was all I could possibly get out. Her cunt had been loose, but now as she slid more and more of her vibrator in, there wasn't anymore room. My cock felt constricted, it was very tight now, but it was also vibrating too. The feeling was just unlike any pleasure I'd had before and it was blowing my mind. Jill just laughed and squealed. We were in an awkward position, the vibrator was about the same size as my cock and she was working it in with both hands so I just leaned back and marveled at what I was seeing and what I was feeling. My slut daughter was heaving and sweating, squirming around on the floor in tandem with me. With a final cry of agonized desire Jill shoved the last two inches of the vibrator into her snatch and the folds of her cunt enveloped it completely. I could still feel it, but I couldn't see it. For a moment we both laughed at this bizarre accomplishment, but then I got down to the business of fucking my little girl.

I had to start up slow, I had been so close to cumming and I wasn't ready to go there just yet, not when Jill still needed more, and I wanted this terrifying, wonderful experience to reach as high as it could for both of us because I wasn't sure it would ever happen again. I began stroking the full length of my cock into her and the noises she was making became more urgent, more insistent. I could feel the muscles of her cunt convulse and spasm against the onslaught of my increasing thrusts and the mechanical vibrations from her plastic friend. It's a dubious testament to my daughter's vaginal muscle control that the vibrator never popped out, but remained lost inside her as I fucked her hard. The rhythm reached a furious pace and I was so focused on my performance that I hadn't noticed that she was shuddering through a series of orgasms, spilling out her passion across our thighs as we ground against one another. We were soon a sticky sultry mess. I kept pounding into her but she was pounding me, railing her tiny fists against my chest in an attempt to break my concentration and get my attention.

"Ogg! Gawd! STOP! ...fuck ...L-Larry! Larry-ee!"

I stopped. "Larry Eleventh Avenue?"

Unable to speak, she just nodded furiously and pushed at me to disengage. I withdrew, my cock popped out of her shimmering wet and looking huger and happier than it had ever been before. She fell aside from my embrace and with a grunt of effort she pushed the dancing vibrator out of her, launched it like a torpedo. I made a noise against the tile floor like an enraged hornet and as it skittered around it left a wet trail of juice behind it.

Jill was heaving and shaking and trying to catch up with herself.

"Jill? You going to recover here or what?"

She gulped in some air and gave me an exhausted smile from behind the dark curtain of her hair that hung limp and tangled over her face. "Yeah, I'm good that was just ...so ...just farther than I've ever been."

"We ain't done. Open up." I stood up and walked my erection over to her mouth. It slid it right in, between her smeared up lips, her beautiful face concealed behind a mask of sweat and spit and lust. She was passive at first, just holding her mouth open for me to fuck and I tried not to get too rough, giving her sometime to recover before I really laid into her. With smooth strokes my cock landed the runway of her tongue and looking down I flashed on a memory of her as a child being spoon fed from tiny jars. Was this woman really the same girl? I could rationally define our relationship, but my head injury had stirred me up so much that I just didn't feel like her Dad. Twenty-two years past baby food, I was smearing something else across her face.

Jill was starting to respond. Her tongue and lips and the sucking of her mouth was fanning the fires. She closed her eyes and moaned as my strokes became thrusts. I went the distance and just like before her throat took all the cock I had to give. She huffed and choked and breathed out of her nose and I held the back of her head and mashed her face into my abdomen. "Listen up."

She turned those haunted eyes up to me and I tenderly brushed away the strands of hair that had fallen across her face. "Think wet. Think sloppy. Slather me up. You'll thank yourself in a minute. Comprendez vous?"

Jill went work, spitting and sucking and coughing up gouts of slime. I remained still and she fucked her face down on to my pole. Our eyes were locked on to each other; mine were filled with astonishment and her's were turning hard, as though I'd insulted her with a challenge. Jill's eyes were the eyes of a competitor hungry to prove herself.

"I know what you want next." She pumped my sloppy cock in the furnace of her grip. "I am going to make you cum so hard."

Jill went down, down father, her throat gasped as I slipped into her gullet, and when she pulled back she forced out a curtain of saliva and mucus that tented my cock. She didn't even pause to wipe her mouth but instead spun around and stuck her ass up in the air. Her voice was thin from the ordeal my cock had inflicted on her throat, "You're not going to get any sloppier than that so do it!" As I looked down, and began to position myself, I saw the quivering bud of her anus pout open ever so slightly. "Did I read your mind?"

"You're blowing my mind." I slowly lowered my mouth and licked my daughter's asshole. My hands spread her ass cheeks apart and I tongue fucked Jill's anus, running my tongue around the muscular ring of her ass and plunging it inside. She moaned and writhed, pushing her ass back against my mouth. I did that for a short while, until she was wet enough and relaxed enough, and then I grabbed my cock and ran it up the crack of her ass. Her fingers clawed at the tile floor, looking for purchase against what was about to happen. My cockhead is slightly bulbous and about the size of a plum and I set it in the crater at the center of her anus and when she felt me on that spot my daughter Jill pushed back against me saying, "Ok Ok. Okay Dad. Ok. Do it, Fuck me there!"




Brand New Me



The pressure of her pushing back and me steering my cock into her with my hands caused her to open up with a sigh. The head of my cock popped into her asshole. My other hand grabbed Jill by her long black hair, with a turn of my wrist wrapped it tight in my grip, and pulled slowly. Her head came up and she made a tiger noise as I drew her ass back on to the happiest penis in the whole wide world. Seriously, seeing my prick slowly vanishing up the very eager ass of my youngest daughter, was a real high point in my life. Jill was so hot and slutty, It's sick and depraved and wrong, until it happens to you.

There was no way I could last, no man has that reserve of strength to hold back. I put in maybe a dozen full strokes before my balls began to boil. Jill was reduced to a feverish brain that had lost all contact with everything except her own anus and what I was doing to it. She was making little wispy squeaks every time she exhaled and I was roaring, roaring out to the world that I was ready to make a mess. My daughter heard the call and out popped my cock, with one push she'd forced me out of her and turned. We were ending as we'd begun, her on her knees with my cock in her mouth. No hesitation, the meat that had just come out of her ass became the meat going down her throat, filling her and flooding her. I erupted through the whole transition. The first spurt I injected into her rectum and the second across the outside of her ass. The third lashed across the bridge of her nose and my last feeble shot spilled across her tongue where she gulped it down with a grin.

We lay heaving and catching our breath on the slick tile floor of my bathroom, our eyes were elsewhere, I wasn't quite ready to look my daughter in the face. It was a complex moment for me, I was very worried for her. I was the one with the personality altering head injury, in my mind I recognized that Jill was my girl, but it only felt like something that existed only on paper, the terms of some long ago contract. But to her I was still her Daddy, or was I? Could I still be that? Did I want to?

We were a big mess. Covered in sweat, spit, semen. The air was ripe with the smell of sex and ass and we were exhausted, like climbers reaching the top of some undiscovered Everest. I peeked. I glanced. I hazard to look my little girl in the eyes as we lay on the cool floor of my bathroom. Jill gave a little smile, maybe a touch of shock crossed her face. She said, "Oh man, I'm such a fucking mess right now and all I want to do is get in the shower." I thought about that very same thing, but I was drunk on after-lust and I didn't even know how to stand up, much less manage to get in the tub. "Looks kinda too far away for me to manage just yet. You go first." But neither of us moved, we lay there just breathing. There wasn't any after glow, we didn't light cigarettes. Jill and I had pulled back into our shells, got introvert, wandering around in our own thoughts carrying an armload of strange feelings.

"I miss Mom. You miss her too, right?"

"I think so. I'm not the same as I was before."

"No shit; but you know I'm not like Mom ...is that true? Am I like her?"

"No. I don't think that. Jill ...you're not taking her place. I don't want that."

"Good. I don't want to sit in her shadow. I don't want you screaming out her name when it's my darling pussy you're fucking. But I wonder ...What is this? What are we if not daughter and father?"

Jill stood up, wobbly. She looked at the mess of her face in the mirror and said in a voice that was almost a whisper, "Two messed up lonely people who probably need a shit-load of therapy." Then Jill turned towards me, catching my eye reflected in the big mirror. "Hey if I'm Larry Eleventh Avenue, you never said what your porn name would be."

"You can just call me Dad."

"Jesus, gimme a break Dad." 



Brand New Tennessee Waltz



The auditorium was resplendent in green and red streamers and silver bells and papier-maché ornaments of every color, and the student volunteers were all in great spirits as they made the final preparations for dress rehearsal the next day. As Patti surveyed her charges and their lovely work for the Christmas pageant, she was almost happy. The melancholy that had been her constant companion since June was at low-ebb at last, and she could almost sense her victory over it at hand -- if only she could forget the empty apartment she'd be going home to in another hour or so, or the near-certainty that she would be reminded repeatedly of the reason why. 

As confident as she'd always been in the bedroom, Patti never had been half so upfront when it came to taking the first steps toward all that. Not even before last June, never mind afterward! So as she watched the kids and listened to their cheerful prattle, she wasn't surprised to find her resolve to finally ask Tom the librarian out slipping a bit once again. 

Toby, from her senior English class, was among the last of the students to finish, and he looked unusually glum as he packed up the leftover garlands. "I guess we take these back to the supply room?" he asked her. 

"Yes, please," Patti said. "Great job, by the way. The theater looks great!"

"Thanks." Toby sounded as sad as he looked as he said it.

"Toby? That's not very Christmasy, is it?" Patti commented. 

"I guess it isn't," Toby said. "Just seems like an awful letdown now that it's almost over, you know?" 

"It always does, Toby," Patti agreed. "But that's why special occasions like this are so special, don't you think?"

"I guess so," Toby said. "It's just, we've been working on it all these weeks and doing practically nothing else, and -- I mean besides our homework of course! And..."

Patti laughed. "Nice save there, Toby," she said. "But really, I know just what you mean about being sad when something is over that you've been so involved in. And yes, it is hard."

Toby, who had been looking adorable in the colorful sweater Patti suspected his mother had knitted herself, suddenly looked horrified. "Oh my God!" he exclaimed to Patti in a minor panic. "I didn't mean...I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking of..."

"Toby! I know you weren't!" Patti was relieved to realize her smile was genuine as she tried in vain to calm down her beloved pupil, who looked near tears. She wanted with all her heart to take him in her arms and stroke him like a puppy, and gave serious consideration to violating her own rule about no contact with the students -- it was Christmas, after all. Cooler heads prevailed, and she settled for an affectionate touch on his hand. "Toby, it's perfectly all right," she said. "I've worked at a lot of these events, since I was your age and younger, and I've felt what you're feeling nearly every time. That's all I meant."

"Th...thank you," Toby stammered. "I hope you've been, you know, okay. Everyone knows we're not supposed to talk about it, all my friends say so."

"So do mine," Patti said with a laugh that was only partially forced. "And I have been fine. Time heals all wounds, and I do love my job. That helps a lot." 

Toby was rescued from any further comment when his fellow pageant committee member, Sally Jean, appeared with another bag of supplies they didn't need on the stage. "He's not getting all mushy on you again, is he?" She said it with a grin whose meaning Patti had known for weeks, and which Toby once again failed to notice. 

"Oh, I think mushy is okay at Christmas, Sally Jean, don't you?" Patti asked. 

"I certainly do," Tom chimed in.

"Maybe a little," Sally Jean conceded. "It's just, all week, it's been 'aren't you sad it's over?' and I'm like, 'no, it's Christmas!' But I guess he doesn't see it that way. I mean, yeah, it's almost over, but then you have the holiday at home with your family for nine days off school! Who'd miss that?"

"Not everyone enjoys that time with their family, Sally Jean," Patti reminded her gently. She realized as soon as she'd said it that she'd have been better off saying nearly anything else.

That was still a moment too late, for Sally Jean had the same reaction Toby had had a moment before. "Ohmigod, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean!"

"She knows you didn't," Toby interrupted. "Is there anything else to clean up in the auditorium?"

"No, it's all set for dress rehearsal," Sally Jean said. "But, listen, I promise, I --"

"No apology necessary if you drop the subject now, Sally Jean," Patti said firmly. "Toby's right, I know you didn't mean anything by it." 

"Oh...okay," Sally Jean said. "Good. I mean, thanks."

Once again Patti could have smothered Toby in affection, for he put a stop to the awkwardness and put an end to weeks of obliviousness in one fell swoop. "Say, Sally Jean, want to go get a cocoa at Sammy's?"

Sally Jean's delight was palpable. "Yes! Thank you! I mean," she paused and looked at Patti, "If you don't need us..."

"I don't, and I think cocoa is a wonderful idea for the both of you!" Patti reassured her. "I'll see you both tomorrow for dress rehearsal?"

"Great!" Sally Jean said, collecting her coat from the pile in the last row of seats where all the kids had left theirs.

"Thanks," Toby added, and he held the theater door open for Sally Jean. 

Patti gave Sally Jean a conspiratorial wink and a smile just before the door shut behind them, and the smile only grew as she enjoyed the relief of no more awkward comments for the moment. Once again she felt awash in the frustration and humiliation that had been her near constant companion since June -- even the kids pitying her, for heaven's sake! -- and she very nearly made up her mind to forget about asking Tom out. Nearly...but hadn't she suffered long enough over George and Jolene? 

Patti would remember getting dressed that bright summer morning with George, the usual endearing way he admired her as she fastened her bra, the way he once again feigned needing help with his tie so he could smell her perfume as she stood up close in her underwear and helped him with it -- joking one last time about how she'd rather tie him up and him looking more than willing -- and how she let him zip her into her bridesmaid's dress even though she was perfectly capable of fastening it herself. A bit pedestrian after three years together and him having done just about everything she'd wanted to try at least once, but safe and secure and still with the muscles she'd fallen in love with while cheering at his football games back at Emory. 

She would remember walking with him to the church, hand in hand and ever so proud to be so resplendent on a summer's day in her hometown, to which she hadn't wanted to return but now she was glad George's job had brought them there. She would remember Lucy's wedding, and being able only to wave to Jolene in the pews with her anonymous date from work because she'd refused to wear the royal blue bridesmaid's dress, and thinking it just wasn't right that the three of them weren't all together for this one last adventure as single gals, and wondering if now George would finally propose to her, and wondering what sort of 21st century woman she was if she still felt the need to let him take the lead, and once again giving in to the hopeless romantic that had fallen for the sensitive linebacker in the first place. 

Of course she would remember the waltz at the reception, joyful and secure in George's arms as they glided across the floor, and the moment when Jolene happened to float by with her date. It would have been so easy to simply finish the dance, but no...

"Jolene! Here he is! So glad I can finally introduce you!"

"Hello, Patti. This is...erm...Adam! This is Adam. Hello, George, so lovely to finally meet you!"

"Enchanté, Jolene," and a kiss on the hand. "Would you care to finish the dance with me?"

"Would I ever!"

Patti couldn't help but remember the awkward silence in the car when they finally drove home that night, and the many questions about Jolene, and the flimsy excuse of a business meeting he had the next afternoon -- on a Sunday -- that he'd forgotten to tell her about, and the little voice in her head that had persuaded her to get in her car and drive downtown and find his car parked outside Michelangelo's, and the sorry look on the bartender's face when he saw Patti at the door and nodded to the booth all the way in the back, where she caught them.

She remembered all that, but the long days and weeks that followed were a merciful blur to her by the time school started again in September. 

Jolene had had her hair and nails done that morning back in Nashville, and had managed to keep everything pristine through the long drive. Looking resplendent (if not particularly Christmasy, but who gave a damn about that over the age of twelve?) in her tailored blue-gray pantsuit, she harbored no doubt that she would knock George's socks off -- and everything else for good measure! As she gunned the Mercedes Benz coupe her father had bought her down the exit ramp into the snowy streets of her hometown, her imagination ran wild with what was to come. Ultimately she had to force herself not to think too much about George just yet, for she could feel her panties getting moist and she didn't want to stain her clothes before he had the opportunity to tear them off her. 

George was damn lucky he was so irresistible, Jolene groused to herself for perhaps the twentieth time since leaving Nashville, for he knew perfectly well how much she hated coming back here. They both knew Jolene was persona non grata among her old friends and neighbors, ever since Lucy's wedding -- even Lucy hadn't spoken to her since then -- and likely would be for years to come. But George had driven out to Nashville without complaint every other weekend since June, and he'd been patient as could be in explaining to her that this one time he had business in town that he just couldn't get away from, and after all, were they planning to leave the house at all through the holiday week anyway? 

That thought once again opened the floodgates between Jolene's thighs, and she gave up on trying to hold it back. It was about time George tried getting a little messy anyway, after all. For six months she had been fairly vanilla with him to help wean him of the plain-jane sex she was sure Patti had stuck him with for all that time; but enough was enough. Really, it was a wonder he'd stayed with Patti all that time when she was so very straight-laced and demure. Why would any man settle for that? 

Poor Patti -- Jolene did feel sorry for her old friend. Of course, Patti had been a damn fool to come back after college and an even bigger fool to think a prize like George would ever marry her; did she really think it was all going to have a storybook ending? It undoubtedly had been hard on her, but Jolene knew she'd done her mousy, retiring ex best friend a favor. She'd only set Patti free to find a man more her class and her speed. Anyone could see that.

Anyone could, but Jolene knew that wasn't how small towns worked. They hated her. But there was nothing to be done about it now; and after all, she had been smart enough to stay the hell away once she was out. With any luck, George would propose to her this week and she would finally persuade him to get a transfer to some bigger branch of the bank, and then she'd never have to come back at all. 

Anathema or not, Jolene was confidence itself as she parked the coupe outside George's house and stepped outside into the frosty mountain air, wrapping her mink coat tightly around her as her heels clicked on the pavement up to his door. Mildly relieved to find no one out and about, she stretched and collected her overnight bag and the bouquet of carnations from the passenger seat, and beat a hasty retreat to the one house in town (other than her mother's) where she knew she was still welcome. 

Patti's mood lightened a bit as she noticed that the kids had tied the red and green balloons into bundles using the knots she had taught them. Once again she wondered what they would think if they knew just how their unassuming and ladylike English teacher had learned to tie those knots! She worried a bit that some parents would guess that particular secret, but there was no way any of them would reveal their own knowledge of such things. And then there were the many of them who had tried much too hard to offer their condolences since Lucy's wedding -- perhaps they would prefer to imagine just what Patti would do if she could get near George with her ropes now!

That idea made Patti laugh out loud. Thank heavens the kids were all too far away and making too much noise to notice! Deep down, of course, Patti really didn't want to know just what she might be capable of doing to George at this point. He had, of course enjoyed it more than he would ever dare admit -- even to her -- on the few occasions when he had let her tie him up. 

"What's tickling you, Patti?" came a male voice behind her.

"Oh, nothing, Mr. McCollister," she said, thinking how appropriate it was that the subject of her wildest teenage fantasies should be the one to ask. Back in tenth grade she had spent every day in world history class imagining everything from holding his dick while it peed to tying him to his bed to have her way with him. A decade later he was still gorgeous -- but still happily married, too. That had not stopped Patti from revisiting some of her old favorite fantasies since her desires had finally started perking up again lately. 

"For heaven's sake, darling, call me Jim!" he told her yet again. "I'm your colleague now, not your teacher."

"Aw, sorry, Mr...I mean Jim," Patti said with the innocent grin that, she had long since learned, did the trick to ensure no one in their conservative little town ever had the foggiest idea how kinky she was. "I'm sure you can appreciate it takes some getting used to, being in this place as a grown-up. To the extent I even am!"

"Oh, Patti, you certainly are," Jim said. "The way you've carried yourself since June...listen, it's none of my business, but I just want you to know I'm really impressed." After an awkward pause, he added, "And nice earrings."

Now Patti's gentle laughter required no explanation. "Thank you!" she said. Reaching up to touch the green ornament hanging from her right ear that matched her sweater -- the one on the left was red, to match her skirt -- she confessed, "I've been hoping Tom would notice, you know?"

"Oh, he has, Patti. The man worships you. But he's afraid to reach out to you just yet."

"Really?" Patti didn't know Jim was even friends with Tom, the school librarian; but she couldn't help but trust a guy she had once wanted so to give her virginity to in a series of different filthy ways. 

"Since I've been working with you on the pageant, he's been asking me how you're doing, and hinting at it about as strongly as a guy can. He doesn't want to bother you if you're not ready yet, that's all."

Patti's heart leapt. "Thanks! You know, Jim...the truth is, I'd have probably been ready months ago if people didn't keep reminding me. I keep waiting for the day when no one feels the need to ask me how I'm doing as if they expect me to say 'Gee, I only tried to slit my wrists twice last week' or something." She shook her head. "George and Jolene broke my heart, but they're not worth moping over forever!"

"Well, Patti, listen," Jim said. "If you want my advice..."

"Go ahead, Jim."

"If you show people you're over it, I think most of them will get the hint. But Tom won't, he's just too darned shy. I'll tell you what, though, shy guys are the best. I know, I was one!"

"I don't believe that!" Patti recalled his gregarious personality all too well from when she was his student, and had been barely able to pay attention to his lectures because she was lusting after him so much.

"You only knew me after I'd been a teacher for years. You have to learn to play the part if you're not outgoing by nature like you are, Patti. Give Tom a try, you'll see." He picked up the box of extra lights that the student volunteers had left in the seats. "Well, I have to go pick up Sally at ballet. Merry Christmas, Patti!"

"Wait." After all these years, Patti just had to touch him this once -- he had, after all, quite possibly just saved her from spending the holiday alone. She surprised him with a hug and a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Jim, and Merry Christmas." 

Patti had made up her mind long ago -- back when she was a student right there in that very same school, terrified that word might somehow get out about the crazy fantasies she had not yet acted on back then -- not to be just another demure Southern belle. Time to stop wallowing and start taking the bull by the horns. Patti turned on her heel and headed for the exit, but her mobile phone rang just before she got to the door. She checked the caller ID: Lucy. Probably calling with another invitation to dinner out of pity, Patti mused, stuffing the phone back in her purse. Even if it wasn't that, her dear friend could wait and would certainly understand, and probably applaud, her newfound-at-last resolve. 

George's house was dark and showed no sign of what time of year it was, except that it was chilly inside. Jolene was annoyed, but not surprised. He'd made it clear enough on the phone that he wasn't even going to bother putting up a wreath. "I'm never there anyway, am I? Besides, are you really planning to spend our holiday looking at the Christmas tree?"

"Well, it'd be nice to have one to admire when we snuggle on the couch and watch TV, wouldn't it?"

"I'd rather you be watching me than a dead tree, Jolene."

That had mollified her enough to drop the subject -- but not to give up her fight to inject some holiday cheer into the house. And so as soon as she had the door locked safely behind her and the heat turned on, Jolene set about doing all she could to spruce the place up. The moron hadn't even cleaned up the living room, but that could wait. First priority was the bedroom. 

Jolene was annoyed, but not surprised, to see it was a mess as well. The bed was unmade and the sheets smelled as though they hadn't been washed in a month, and his dirty clothes were strewn all over the room. Wanting to keep her pantsuit crisp and clean for his arrival -- due in under an hour, she confirmed with a glance at her watch -- she stripped down to her underwear and hung the suit carefully in the closet, to be retrieved once she was done cleaning. 

It took just a few minutes to gather up the dirty clothes and wrap them in the dirty sheets, and she even deigned to throw them in the washing machine, though she didn't bother to sort them first. Finding clean sheets took a bit longer, and getting them on the bed was a bit of a chore, but the improvement was worth it. Somewhere in the midst of her work, Jolene caught a look at herself in the mirror in her turquoise lingerie and began to consider not putting her suit back on. As hot as she looked in the suit, she felt absolutely smoking without it, and of course George would agree. Maybe he would even be persuaded to be a bit more aggressive for a change. Six months after he parted ways with sweet and innocent Patti, it was about time, after all. 

Once Jolene had the bed made, turned down, and strewn with carnation petals (she hadn't been willing to pay for roses only to rip them apart), there was still plenty of time to clean up the living room before their agreed-upon time for him to beg off work and come home. She remembered a moment too late that she hadn't drawn the curtains, but on arriving in the living room in her underwear, she decided she didn't care who might see her from the street. They might hate her, but George loved her, and now this was her home too, nearly, after all. In any event, she soon had the living room just as tidy as the bedroom, and there was no sign that anyone had seen her. 




Brand New Tennessee Waltz



Regrettably, that "anyone" included George, who was now a few minutes overdue. Jolene returned to the bedroom to make a final decision about getting dressed again. Taking stock of herself in the mirror, she made up her mind to go one better still and greet him wearing nothing but a smile. After doing away with her bra and panties, she took one last look at her own luscious breasts and freshly waxed pussy and wondered why she hadn't thought of this in the first place -- of course she ought to show George just how lucky he was! 

Just as she was about to climb onto the bed, one last idea struck her, and it was off to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and found a jar of the cherries George loved so much in his drinks. She rinsed one off, carried it back to the bedroom and, once she'd struck the right pose on the bed, she placed the cherry carefully between her pussy lips. As she lay back on the pillows and petals, she rehearsed the line she would greet him with any minute now: "It's yours. Come and get it!"

She had plenty of time to practice the line, for George was running very late. Fifteen minutes, and at least the cherry wasn't uncomfortably cold in her pussy anymore. Half an hour, and it slipped out onto the otherwise-clean bedspread, and Jolene was too annoyed with him to care. An hour, and she got up and put her clothes back on in disgust. Six months ago, he'd been stupid enough to park his car outside the restaurant where Patti had tracked them down so easily. Jolene never had known men to learn from their mistakes. 

As Patti approached the school library, she was relieved to find the lights were still on. Knowing she hadn't missed her chance with Tom, she dawdled for a moment now and checked her phone to see if Lucy had left a message. She had: "Hi, Patti. Listen, I'll explain later if I have to, but...just don't go to Molly Mae's after work today, all right? And if you hear any wonderful news over the weekend, yes, it was me. I made the phone call. I know that must sound ridiculous, but you'll understand. At least I hope you'll have cause to understand. If it doesn't work out, I'll tell you everything. But here's hoping I don't have to. Love you, dear!"

Patti stared at the phone. How utterly weird, especially for her normally so levelheaded friend. But there was no time to waste trying to make sense of that. 

She found Tom in the library just as he was about to lock it up and go home. Dressed as usual in his adorable cardigan sweater and corduroys that she had so often wanted to help him out of lately, and most of all those wonderfully old-fashioned glasses, his very unpretentiousness as he looked up from his desk in surprise made her heart skip a beat. "Patti?" he said, and she was flattered to realize he sounded as nervous as she felt. "Oh, no, did I forget an after-school program or something? Heavens, there's so much going on this time of year, and I always forget something. But I didn't think I'd have forgotten if I were expecting you! I mean, not that I --"

"Tom," she interrupted him with a smile, "Relax. You didn't forget anything." She sat down at a study table and waved invitingly at the empty chair across from her. "I just came by to see if you'd like some company, because it's Christmas and I certainly would."

"Well, that's very thoughtful," Tom said, and he did help himself to the proffered seat. "I've been wondering how you've been, so busy with the pageant and all. How's that going."

"Brilliantly," Patti said. "I adore those kids, working so hard. But seeing all that togetherness and peace and love...well, it doesn't help with a situation like mine. But I'm not here to whine about that, I promise!"

"No, I know, Patti!" Tom reassured her. "I've never heard you whine about it, which amazes me, frankly. If I were in your shoes..."

"If you were in my shoes, you'd have realized months ago that those two deserve each other," Patti said. "And you'd be wishing everyone else would shut up about it already. Which is why I really appreciate that you never have given me any well-intentioned pity. Thank you, Tom."

"You're very welcome...is that what I owe the pleasure of this visit to?"

"That, plus I've been wanting to get to know you better for a while now," Patti confessed with a grin like she'd seen Jolene put to great use so many times back in the day. "You...God, this is harder than I thought! No wonder guys get so wound up about asking us out!" The words had already slipped out by the time she realized just what she had revealed.

Tom looked bewildered and delighted all at once. "Are you asking me out, Patti?"

With a deep breath and a smile of pleasant embarrassment, Patti said, "Yes, I guess I am. Tom, all semester, I...you've just been so friendly and unpretentious and so adorable in those sweaters and glasses, and if there's one thing I learned last summer, it's not to be afraid of your feelings for anyone. Life's too short for that, and it's too short to mope over losing a boyfriend who deserved to be lost."

Tom was as calm and collected as Patti had always seen him, but he also looked delighted. "I don't know what to say, Patti!"

"'Yes' would be a good start, wouldn't it?"

"Well, of course! I just meant -- wow, here I'd been trying to work up the courage..."

"I sort of suspected," Patti admitted. "And I'll tell you what, that's another thing I learned last summer: shy guys are the greatest!"

"You've been talking to Jim, obviously."

Patti burst into laughter and joyfully took both of Tom's hands in hers across the table. "Guilty as charged!" Her mission accomplished, she now took her first good look around the library she had known and loved a decade before. "God, the memories of this place!" With a final squeeze of Tom's hands, she stood up and took a leisurely walk up and down the clearing between the stacks and Tom's desk. The study carrels she remembered so well were still placed at the end of each row. "Have you ever caught a student masturbating at those desks?" she asked. 

"Patti! You've got to be kidding! You didn't do that when you were a student here, did you?"

Patti looked at him with a wicked, deadpan grin. 

"You're joking."

"Nope," Patti said. "It was a matter of hiding in the wide open. No one expected you to do it here where you might be caught, and that made it that much easier to get away with it, if you were quick. And I was. The things I used to imagine doing to...well, it doesn't matter who."

Tom chuckled. "No, I don't suppose it does. In any case, no, I've never caught anyone back there. But now I wonder if I just haven't been watching closely enough."

"Probably not," Patti said. "Kids will always find a way to pull that off on the sly, won't they?"

"I never really did," Tom said. "That just had to wait until I got home."

"Speaking of getting home, Tom, do you want to get out of here already? If we're going out, we ought to go out, huh?"

"Shall we start with a drink at Molly Mae's?" Tom asked. "I was thinking of heading over there once I closed up anyway."

Patti's eyebrows flew up - what had Lucy said? "Oh, God, Tom, normally I'd love that, but...Well, this is going to sound absurd, but..."

"Oh, no, it reminds you of George, doesn't it?"

Patti responded only with a coy look. It was as good an excuse as any. 

Tom looked at his watch. "It's awfully early for a banker to be getting out, isn't it?"

Enough of that. Time to turn on the charm again. "Tom," she said, holding her hands out for him. He took them and stood up, and she put her arms around him. "I know you've heard about how lonely I've been. Now that we've got this out in the open between us, wouldn't you rather just take me home? It'll be dark soon anyway," she added; the winter sunset was less than an hour away now. 

"Oh, well, I'd love to, Patti, but...my place is a mess."

"So what?" Patti said. "I can even help you clean up if it's that important!"

Tom dissolved into that shy chuckle that had been among the first things to melt her heart in the first place. "You're not making this easy, you know, but...I'm a single guy -- or was single until a minute ago -- and usually I go home alone..."

"You don't want me seeing your porn stash?!" Patti couldn't help laughing a bit, though she tried not to.

"I'm so embarrassed." Tom began to pull away.

Patti tugged him back closer to her. "Don't be! Tom, maybe I should've told you this before I asked you out, but, well, I'm kinky. You won't embarrass me or yourself with your porn, I promise."

Tom looked relieved, but not surprised. "I kind of guessed."

"You did?"

"Patti, you just got done telling me you used to masturbate here in the library!"

Patti laughed. "Yeah, and that was the least of it. I didn't even get into what I was imagining while I did that."

"Wow." Now Tom did look surprised. "I mean, it's all fine whatever you fantasize about, but you hide it well."

"Don't we all? Especially in a small town like this?"

"I guess so," Tom admitted. "Just tell me one thing. This George jerk, who left you for your best friend, was he..."

"Not really," Patti said. "He was a guy. Not a man, but a guy. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am most of the time. Every now and then he indulged me, but he just wasn't that openminded."

"The bastard probably told your ex-friend all about it, huh?"

"I don't know," Patti said. "But he doesn't seem to have told anyone else. I'd have heard about it by now. But never mind that, it's in the past. So just what kind of porn is it that you didn't want me to know about, Tom?"

"Christmas porn," Tom confessed. "I got a stack of DVDs, and I was planning on spending tonight on the couch with them. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Patti said. "Not unless you won't let me join you!"

Four blocks away and across the square, Patti's accidental excuse for not going to Molly Mae's was indeed there and well into his third pint. The Christmas songs were coming fast and thick on the jukebox, his colleagues were in rare form with their jokes, and his two interns, Jane and Meg, were looking fantastic in their now slightly rumpled business suits. The latter was shamelessly running her hand up his leg and giving him a sidelong glance for permission to keep moving it up -- freely given with a wink and a nod. 

He'd been a bit annoyed when Jolene had called his secretary to say she wouldn't be able to get into town until tomorrow, but now he was grateful for the reprieve -- however fleeting -- from getting stuck with the bitch all week back at the house. "God bless last minute meetings, huh?!" he exclaimed as Meg finally clutched his balls gently but firmly under the tablecloth. 

"You've got to tell her it's over sooner or later, George, you know that, don't you?" said Billy, his protégé at the bank, who was smart enough to have remained single. 

"I just don't want to ruin her Christmas," George said. "This is my gift to her. When she does get to town, I'll put up with her for the rest of the week and leave her with a nice memory, and then ditch her when she's back in Nashville and can't do any damage here."

"God, that's so magnanimous of you, George," said Jane, stroking his leg from the other side. 

"Magnanimous," mimicked Jack, George's senior partner. "There's an SAT word for you."

"Yes, well, I passed mine, didn't I?" Jane chirped. "And George here was impressed enough to hire me for the semester!"

"Yeah, that's right, Jane, he hired you for your brains," said Billy. 

"You did, didn't you?" Jane demanded, now shamelessly following Meg's lead and looking like she might squeeze a bit too hard if she didn't like his answer.

"Well, of course I did, dear," George said. "I believe every girl deserves a chance to prove she can think as good as she can look, or something." Sensing the two interns were looking ready to come to blows over him, he added, "Now, listen, girls, it's Christmas and that means we share. There's plenty of me to go around --"

"Trouble at three o'clock, George," interrupted Billy in an urgent whisper. 

"Well, that's past, isn't it, Billy? It's nearly five o'clock!"

"No, you moron, I mean --"

Billy didn't get to finish. But there was no doubt as to what he meant, for at that moment Jolene made her presence known loud and clear to everyone in the now rather crowded pub. "George!" she shrieked in a voice loud enough to wake the dead. "I knew it! I get to your place and get the whole bedroom all gussied up and everything, and where the hell are you?!"

"Where am I?!" George responded, jumping up defensively and spilling both of the ladies' drinks in his panic, his own still clutched in his hand. "Expecting you tomorrow, that's where! Besides, we're only having drinks here!"

"Tomorrow?! Uh-uh, honey, we've had it marked for today for weeks! All the girls at the office were sure you were going to propose to me, too! Instead you don't show up at all, and you're yukking it up with these..." She gestured at Jane and Meg, and noted along the way that George's pants were unzipped. "These children?!"

Meg jumped up. "Look, you bitch, we're only --"

"What did you call me?!" Jolene lunged at the younger woman, and Billy and Jack had to pull them apart. "Do I really look that naïve?"

"Do you think we don't know how you landed him in the first place?" Jane shot back. "Where do you get off being surprised if he does trade you in for a nicer model?"

"Jolene, look." George flashed his best flirtatious grin, the one Patti had always fallen for but which, he now recalled, had never worked on Jolene. "We're just out for an after-work drink, and my secretary did say you'd called to say you couldn't make it up here until tomorrow! And...and I was going to propose then, if you must know."

"You didn't tell me anything about that, Georgie!" snapped Meg, who threw George's own drink in his face and stormed out of the bar. 

Jolene looked torn between chasing after her and continuing to accost George. She chose the latter. "I never called your office and I never said anything about coming tomorrow! You liar! You couldn't even keep it in your pants for Christmas?!"

"Now, hold it right there!" Now George was also screaming at the top of his lungs, and everyone else in the bar was looking at the altercation. "I did get a call saying you couldn't make it till tomorrow, and I think I know who it really was, too." 

The bouncer was already on his way over to break things up and probably to remove some or all of them. But Jolene didn't see him, so she didn't let that stop her from slapping the man across the face. "Bastard!" she growled. 

"Let's go, Jolene!" said the bouncer, grabbing her by the arm. "You guys, too," he added with a cursory look at the rest of their party.

"I'll leave if you want, but I'm not getting thrown out on the sidewalk with her!" George bellowed. "God only knows what she'll do to me!" 

"And that's just what you deserve," growled the bouncer, who like most of the town knew all about Patti. "But it ain't my problem, buddy."

Patti hadn't forgotten Tom's flimsy claim that his place was a mess; but she wasn't at all surprised to learn that was nonsense. His cozy living room was immaculate, a well-trimmed Christmas tree by the window and a neatly-folded quilt draped over the couch across from his wide-screen television. "One thing I'll say for your hometown, Patti," Tom said as he ushered her inside and hung her coat up. "It's something else that a high school librarian can afford to rent a whole house, even a tiny one like this."

"It's beautiful," Patti said, looking around the tastefully-decorated room, which looked nothing like any single man's home she'd ever seen before. The promised DVDs were stacked neatly by the television set. "May I have a look at the discs?"

"Please do," Tom said, settling himself on the couch. 

Patti shuffled through the DVDs. "On Comet, On Cupid, On Into My Pussy...Jingle All the Way Down On Her...Santa the Red Nosed Bloodhound...red-nosed bloodhound? Period fetish, Tom?"

"I don't have one, if that's what you're asking. I didn't know what that title meant when I bought it. Honest."

"More's the pity," Patti said with a wicked grin.

"What?! Oh, I'm..."

"Oh, you're about four days too late for that to be an issue anyway," Patti reassured him. "But don't assume I'll keep my hands off you next month." Patti picked up another stack, and held up the first of the bunch. "How about Elves in Jail here?" she suggested, holding up the cover depicting two women in red caps preparing to yank a very frightened-looking young man's green tights down. She looked at Tom and saw he was just settling himself in his chair and pulling the blanket over himself. 

"Haven't watched that one yet," Tom said. 

"Then it ought to be a treat for both of us," Patti said, and she opened the case and put the disc in the machine. 

Tom had his hands under the blanket now, and Patti was sure he'd already unzipped. As if to confirm as much, he burst into shy, almost girlish giggles as their eyes met. "I suppose you think I'm a prude for bothering with the blanket," he said. 

"Prudish?" Patti asked. "No! Endearing, Tom. Endearing." Before sitting down, and without breaking eye contact, she reached under her skirt and pulled her panties and tights down, and kicked them in a wadded bunch over to the side of the room. With a grin but no more words, she sat down and spread the blanket over her lap, and soon had her hands at the ready. 

Jack and Billy having taken their leave immediately under the guise of getting Jane home safely, George found himself faced with Jolene glaring at him out on the sidewalk. There she stood, an implacable rock, an unavoidable obstacle to the safety of his car, drawing the worst sort of attention from townspeople who were out and about for the dinner hour. There was no point in trying to sweet-talk his way out of this one. "Look, honey, I swear to God I got that message and I had no way of knowing it wasn't from you!"

"Do you think I would've told your secretary that instead of telling you to call me back?!" Jolene snapped. "We had today planned for weeks! And you knew what a chore it was for me coming back here! If I had to change anything about it, I'd have told you!"

"That...makes sense." For once, George was utterly caught off-guard. "But I had no way of knowing it wasn't you." Figuring the best defense was a good offence, he went on. "How do I know it wasn't you?! Maybe this was all some kind of test to see if you'd find me cheating! And oh, look, you didn't! I was just out with the office!"

"Then what do you call what that girl did to you when you said you were going to propose to me?" Jolene demanded. 

"I call it a very overactive imagination," George said, surprising even himself with his alacrity. "College girls always did find me irresistible, I can't help it. But I also can't be responsible for what she wanted!"

"Do you think I was born yesterday?!" Jolene demanded. "Hell, do you think I don't remember how we met? I knew the day I met you I couldn't trust you!"

"Don't you dare go there!" Now George was shouting at the top of his lungs, and he was vaguely aware that passerby were stopping to eavesdrop openly on their fight. "It takes two, doesn't it?"

"Excuse me?!" demanded Jolene. "My best friend introduces her boyfriend to me and he comes on like a Mack truck, and I give in because I feel sorry for him, and I sacrifice my best friend along the way, and --"

"Sorry?!" George interrupted. "What on earth did you feel sorry for? Patti was a wonderful woman, and I broke her heart for you."

"Yes, George, sorry a hunk like you was stuck with such a blushing flower. For six months I've gone easy on you in bed because I didn't think you could handle the shock after all that time with her, probably only letting you do missionary with the lights off, but I'll have you know this week I was going to cut loose. Now you'll never know what you were missing."




Brand New Tennessee Waltz



George felt his anger evaporate as he burst into laughter. "Patti a blushing flower...good lord, Jolene, did you even know her?!"

"What the fuck are you talking about, George? Of course I knew her!" 

"No, you didn't, not if you think she was a prude. Shit, I was the prude in our relationship, and I just stuck with it because I thought that's what you wanted."

"Do they even remember they're in public?" snapped a young man who'd heard most of the exchange, grabbing his girlfriend's hand and setting off down the street. 

"Homewreckers!" called out the girlfriend over her shoulder as she followed. The rest of the crowd began to dissipate, though some hangers-on remained. George had no doubt Patti would hear every word of the incident from several of her friends, but he didn't care. 

"You're a liar, George, but I already knew that!" Jolene insisted. "You're just making that up. I knew Patti since we were little girls. She was always the quiet, shy one."

"Still waters run deep," George said. "She probably just didn't trust you with her secrets. And she was right. She shouldn't have trusted either of us. I'll bet she never even told you about Mr. McCollister. I wouldn't want my best friend knowing I imagined tying my teacher up either."

"Mr. McCollister..." Jolene was speechless for once -- how else would George even know that name if it weren't true? "Whatever! The point is, George, I'm not Patti!"

"That's the first time you've been right all day." George pulled out his car keys. "Now get lost."

Jolene was sharp enough to spot a policeman on the beat, arriving on the edge of their circle of spectators, gently ordering them to move along. It looked like Danny Hopkins, who she was pretty sure had had a crush on her in ninth grade. Perfect. "George, don't get behind the wheel after all those beers!" She said it not in the angry hiss she had used exclusively up to that point, but in her old honey-sweet cheerleader's drawl. 

Of course it caught Danny's attention, and he rushed through the now-dissipating crowd to confront George. "Sir, you're not going to get behind the wheel while you're drunk, are you?"

"I'm not drunk," George said, clutching his keys defensively as if he were considering stabbing Danny with them. 

"Could've fooled me, sir," Danny replied, taking note of the damp spot where Meg had christened George's coat. "Now look, I don't want to have to take anyone downtown this close to Christmas, but I could arrest you both for drunk and disorderly here!"

"Oh, Danny, I haven't even had a drink," Jolene said. "You can even pull a breath-a-whatchamacalit on me and see!"

"If you both take off about your own business, I won't," Danny said. "But I'd better not see that car move until morning."

"'Night, George!" Jolene chirped. And she clicked off down the sidewalk, debating whether to collect her car on the next block and drive back to Nashville, or take a detour to George's house and trash the place. Or visit her mother -- it was really only fair as long as she was in town. 

George stared after her. Danny stared at him. "Sir, you've got ten more seconds to get lost."

George looked at the ground to avoid letting the cop know he'd won. "Merry Christmas," he mumbled, and, unable to think of any alternative, he shuffled up the sidewalk in the opposite direction from Jolene, toward the town square. At least he could admire the crèche and maybe buy a hot cider if the vendors were out and about.

"That poor elf!" Tom snickered, as the two busty prison guards nearly smothered him with their breasts while strip-searching him. 

"I think he got that speeding ticket in his sleigh on purpose, so he'd end up here!" Patti rejoined. As the guards pulled the elf's tights down to reveal a hard cock fit for a horse, Patti let out a noise that was half sigh, half laugh, and she went to town on her clit with her right hand while holding her vulva open with her left. "Oh, God, yesssss..." 

"You like that, huh?" Tom asked. 

"Love it!" Patti grunted. 

"I loved watching you pull your tights off before, too," he said. "Beautiful."

"Oh, Tom, that's sweet!" She took her eyes off the screen just long enough to convey her appreciation, and to drink in his rhythmic stroking under the blanket. More than ever, she wanted to throw off both their blankets and ravage him. But there was no reason why she couldn't have her cake and eat it too. As she watched one of the guards lie back on the table before the elf while the other gave him a firm nudge and guided him inside her colleague, Patti enjoyed a shiver of impending orgasm and rubbed herself just a little bit harder, but more slowly to savor it all for a bit longer. 

Tom's lovely comment echoed in her ears as she indulged, and so did the subtle skin-on-skin rhythm she could only just hear from his chair as the guard pulled her top off and massaged the elf's back with her breasts. Patti had little doubt Tom would enjoy that sight, and a sidelong glance at him confirmed that he was working it harder than ever. "God, that must feel amazing!" he said under his breath.

"Want to find out later?" Patti offered. 

"Ohhhhh!" Tom came with a jerk, and pulled his hands out from under the blanket to wrap his penis in the spot he had just stained. "God, Patti, that just made me...and yes, I do want to." He looked over at her. "But first, I want to see you come too." 

"Rewind it to just before she puts him in the other guard," Patti said. "That's what I want to come to." Tom complied, and Patti stepped up her pace just enough as once again she watched the elf's terror turn to pleasure as his comically large cock slipped effortlessly into his captor's pussy. Slipping two of her own fingers inside, she rubbed harder than ever with her thumb and only just remembered not to hold back on making all the noise she wanted as she came. Deeply contented, she looked over at Tom, who was still clutching himself through the blanket. "Thank you," she said. "This is going to be fun!"

"Already is, isn't it?" Tom asked. 

"And how! You know that's my first one in six months with another person? And we haven't even really touched yet!"

"Wow," Tom said. "I'm...honored."

"Honored?" Patti asked. She threw off her blanket and stood up, her clothes askew but all still on. "It's not a matter of honor, is it, Tom? It's about sharing!"

"Well, I'm glad you shared this with me, then," Tom said. He released his grip on the stained blanket but didn't remove it yet. "That's all I meant by 'honored'." 

"Are you sure you didn't mean 'honored' that I trusted you after playing the woman scorned all these months?" Patti began undressing, starting with her sweater and camisole. "If you did, well, that's sweet, Tom, but it's not what I want. What I want..." At that point she paused for a dramatic flair as she unzipped her skirt and it floated to the floor, welcoming Tom's hungry gaze upon her bush. "...Is for you to understand that I want to move on with my life, and I think I want to do it with you. I realized today, it's partly my own fault everyone's been pitying me, and if I want it to stop, then I have to do my part to show I'm ready." She undid her bra and tossed it in Tom's direction, but in the heat of the moment her aim was off and they laughed as it bounced off the curtains. "When you're ready to love again, you have to let yourself be vulnerable again," she said. Looking down at her nude body, she said, "I think right now I am, don't you?"

Tom laughed, enjoyed a brief first look at Patti's body, and turned away quickly like the gentleman he was too good at playing. "For heaven's sake, Tom, look at me!" Patti said. "Do you think I don't want you to, when I just tore off all my clothes right in front of you?"

Tom did look at her again, this time letting his eyes linger over every lovely inch of her body. "I really did just mean I'm delighted to be here with you, Patti." On that note, he stood up and dropped the blanket, and lost no more time in following Patti's lead. 

Jolene hadn't even told her mother she was coming to town; after all, she had planned on spending the entire week not only at George's house, but in his bed. That, of course, was out the window now, and there was nothing stopping her from simply collecting her car next time around the block and driving back to Nashville. But just this once, she wanted a bit of coddling and a reassurance that it was okay, and after all it was only right that she stop in and say hello. It was a small town. Word would get back to Mom and her husband, Pete, if she didn't stop by.

The house she had grown up in was just three blocks over from the square. Jolene recognized a few of her favorite ornaments from her childhood on the Christmas tree in the picture window. No doubt Mom and Pete had let his two little brats decorate the tree again this year, so she was relieved to see they hadn't broken those particular ones at least. 

Opening the front door, she heard the television -- no doubt they had all just finished dinner. She also heard a gasp, unmistakably Mom's -- followed by Pete's stern "Who's there?!" Jolene emerged into the living room to find him rushing towards her; he backed off when he saw who it was. "Ah, Jolene! Merry Christmas." He leaned in and she let him kiss her cheek. 

"Aunt Jolene!" shrieked his two brats, Carla and Timmy, in unison. "Merry Christmas!" They threw themselves at her before she could do anything about it, so she let them hug one leg each as they were so very fond of doing.

"I'm not your aunt, but Merry Christmas," she said. She grinned at her mother, who had at last gotten up from the couch. "Hi, Mom."

"I didn't know you were in town, dear," Mom said. "You know, you probably shouldn't be. An awful lot of people are still angry with you."

"Oh, Mother, it's Christmas!" Jolene protested. "How could I not come see you and Pete?"

"How could you not call first?" Mom replied. "We had no idea. You know, we could have made arrangements if you just had to come."

"If I just had to?! Mother, what's gotten into you?" Jolene was relieved that Pete had the good sense -- for once -- to bring the two brats out to the kitchen and give mother and daughter some alone time. 

"Jolene, do you expect me to believe this was planned?" Mom demanded. "I suppose you came out to see that man and you caught him with another woman, is that it."

"It's out already?!" Jolene was too flabbergasted to bother trying to deny it.

"Not that I know of."

"Then how did you know?"

"I didn't. But I know men like that, and I know you, Jolene."

Jolene burst into tears and reached for her mother. "Oh, Mom, I'm afraid it's true."

To her shock, Mom stepped back and held her hands up. "Jolene, you are one selfish young lady. I already knew that, but I had hoped it wasn't this bad. You think you can show up here unannounced and I'm going to kiss it better? Not this time, my dear."

"Mother, what on earth..."

"What?! Jolene, do you have any idea how many dirty looks I've had to put up with from people who were at that wedding? What do you think they're thinking about me as a mother? And are you really surprised at what George did to you? He did it with you, didn't he?"

"That was different!"

"How, Jolene? How on earth was it different?"

"We were meant to be together! He wasn't meant for Patti, anyone could see that!"

"Patti was your friend, dear, and she was always such a lovely girl."

"That's just it! She was a girl, and he deserved a woman! Anyone could see that!"

"Yes, well, if you're a grown woman, you can take care of your own problems. I'd appreciate it if you leave Pete and me alone with the kids now. We're enjoying the holiday, and we don't need you mucking it up with your real life soap opera. Besides, I don't want the kids getting any ideas about your lifestyle."

"You're not even throwing me out of our house on a night like this, Mom!"

"It's my house, not our house, and yes, I am. Get out, Jolene."

Jolene gave her mother a last, silent and disbelieving look, and nearly tore the door off its hinges letting herself out. 

Tom looked adorable curled up on the other kitchen chair, across the table from Patti and just as naked as she was. "Should've broken out the wine during the movie, I suppose," he said as he refilled her glass.

"Nah," Patti said. "Then we wouldn't have had both hands free."

"Hadn't thought of that," Tom admitted with a laugh. "Of course, maybe I'd be safer then."

"Safer?" Patti had a feeling where she knew he was headed.

"I mean, if you suddenly tried to tie me up with my ties or something..."

"Oh, Tom, I would never do that!"

"Oh, I know, Patti, I was only teasing."

Now it was Patti's turn to laugh. "Well, I know, but I meant if I were going to tie you up, I wouldn't use your ties. Silk can cut you if you tie it too tight."

Tom joined in the laugh and looked down at his wine glass. "Good heavens, what have I gotten myself into?"

"Not me yet, and more's the pity!" Patti rejoined. Gulping down the last of her wine, she stood up. "But in all seriousness, Tom, you know I would never push you into anything like that if you didn't want to." She took his hand and drew him up, and took his hard cock in one hand while slipping the other arm around him. "Honestly, all I really want now is to be able to trust somebody again, and to have some gentle fun." Recalling their earlier discussion, she added, "Oh, I said I'd rub your back with my boobs, didn't I?"

She was expecting yet another you-don't-have-to-do-that disclaimer. But to her surprise, Tom said, "Yeah, you did, and it still sounds incredible."

Patti pulled back. "Go lie down on the couch."

The square was abuzz with families coming back from dinner in the downtown restaurants, or out with friends to admire the display and the lights. George recognized some of them, but he knew better than to try to make small talk with any of them. There was still no telling who was still furious on Patti's behalf, after all. 

After a glance down the block confirmed that Officer Friendly was still out and about, George sat down on the bench across the walkway from the winter wonderland display and took a deep breath, doing his best to forget all that had transpired since that damned phone call. Just who was it anyway? It hardly mattered now. 

A trio of bundled up children were gazing in wonder at the snowcastles and elaborate Christmas trees, and George found a bit of solace in admiring their innocence from afar. Late nights out and about admiring neighborhood light displays with his own family came to mind, and the sense of absolute peace when Mom or Dad carried him inside half-asleep from the car afterward, and all the promise that lay under the tree for the big morning. Singing in the church choir, telling his buddies how much he hated it because that was the cool thing to do, but privately loving the carols and the camaraderie that came with singing them. Enjoying the last days on campus after finals, when at last there was time to drink in the holiday spirit. And, despite his best efforts, he thought of Patti. Their first Christmas together as a couple, senior year at Emory...how adorable had she looked in her red dress at that party she'd dragged him to!

George stared glassy-eyed at the clutch of happy snowmen posed around the miniature house at the center of the display, and did his best not to imagine the little cottage in the pines he could have been sharing with Patti right then, if only. He felt the tears coming, but he didn't care. 

If the angle was a bit awkward, the lovely sensations she was getting and undoubtedly giving were completely worth it. So Patti didn't mind a bit as she hovered over Tom and grazed her breasts up and down his back. "Oh, Patti, that feels great!" he said.

"For me too," she said. "Lovely." After one final long, leisurely swoop up and down his back, she collapsed on top of him and lavished kisses on the nape of his neck. "Turn around," she whispered between kisses. She propped herself up on her hands so he could flip over, and then greeted him with the enticement of her breasts hanging in his face. The look of wonder on his face was just as endearing as his gentle touch as he caressed them. "Ohhhh, that feels great too!"

"Likewise," Tom whispered. 

Without another word he raised his head to her left breast and danced his tongue across her nipple in the most wonderful way. As Patti arched her head back and exhaled in appreciation, she finally allowed herself another thought of George: he had never been half as gentle as that! A few wonderful moments later as his fingers found their way to her pussy, she realized he was just as adroit with them as with his tongue. "Ohhh!" She sat up to give him easier access, and reached out for his free hand to place on her right breast, which was now itching for the same treatment he'd given the left one. "Oh, Tom, Oh my god..."

She rocked uninhibitedly back and forth over him as he drew her near to another orgasm, and looked him in the eye in helpless joy as it overcame her. "Thank you," she whispered breathlessly, and no sooner had he slipped his fingers out than she had his cock in both her hands and was guiding it in. 

"Merry Christmas, Tom," she said, holding still for a moment to enjoy the delicious fullness, and giving him an inner squeeze.

"Ooh!" he said. "Do that again!" She did, and then set about rocking gently back and forth to his further delight. 

George could only take so much of the holiday cheer in the square, but even he could see he was now in even worse shape for driving. It wasn't a terribly long walk home, he finally had to admit. With a final wistful look at the happy families and the beautiful twinkling lights, he got up and stumbled up the sidewalk. 

It wasn't a long walk, but it seemed long in the frosty windchill and the stinging in his eyes from the tears that hadn't stopped completely. He tried to focus on anything else -- even his bladder's stern reminder of all that beer -- but it was no use. House after brightly-lit house with the Christmas trees in the window and the snowmen out front reminded him over and over what a damn fool he'd been and the price he'd paid, and the lonely Christmas he was facing as a result. 

Only when he finally turned onto his street did it occur to him: What if Jolene was there? That bitch was capable of anything just now, and it would be just like her to think she'd somehow get away with it -- and quite possibly she'd be right. He'd be fine as long as he was able to get her out of the house and lock the door after her, he told himself again and again as he drew near the house. 

To his relief, her car wasn't in the driveway and the windows were dark. He'd have to get the locks changed now, but for tonight he could throw the deadbolt and shove the couch across the door inside and that would be enough. When he unlocked the door and stepped inside, he saw the couch would be fairly easy to move, as it was missing all its cushions. It took him a moment to register that, or where they were, but he saw soon enough. They were on the floor, along with the contents of his bookshelf and DVD rack, and the magazines he'd left on the coffee table. His professionally decorated Christmas tree was lying across the floor, blocking the way to the dining room, several of the ornaments shattered on the hardwood floor. Stepping around it to assess the damage in the kitchen, he saw and smelled that it was only limited to one thing: a smashed bottle. 

Another wave of anger bubbled up as he realized that one bottle was his 30-year-old scotch -- of course she would know to go for that one. George stood for a moment and tried to remember where he kept his broom and dustpan so he could sweep up the broken glass...and just as quickly realized he wasn't yet sure that she wasn't still in the house. He turned on his heel and raced to the bedroom, jumping over the fallen Christmas tree to cut through the living room, and found the bedroom equally trashed but empty and apparently safe. The mattress pulled off the bed and a sheet or two ripped, his shirts pulled out of the drawers and strewn all over the room, a couple of the drawers also pulled all the way out for good measure, but nothing appeared to be missing at least. 




Brand New Tennessee Waltz



George's relief set in just long enough to remind him that he still really needed to pee, which in turn reminded him that he still hadn't checked the bathroom. Flipping on the light, he saw that she wasn't there. But she had been, for the word "ASSHOLE" was scrawled across the mirror in lipstick. 

"Yeah," George muttered out loud. "That's right."

If Tom had any lingering nervousness about Patti unleashing her kinks on him, she diffused it easily with her gentle approach. Tantalizing his chest and sides again and again with the light touch of her fingernails, she thrilled to his adoring gaze as he watched her breasts bounce about in the dim but cheery light from the Christmas tree while she rocked her way to a third orgasm. "Gonna come!" she proclaimed. 

"Do it!" he encouraged, grabbing both her hands and squeezing them as she obeyed with a joyous roar. 

"Whoooh..." Patti stopped to catch her breath but continued to clench him lovingly inside. "Now what about you, Tom?"

"I've been having so much fun just listening to you."

"Yes, and it's my turn to listen to you!" She slid back, withdrawing him most of the way, and was delighted with the gasp he let out in response. "So that's how you like it, is it?" Before he could answer, Patti went to town on him at the newfound angle, which was most enjoyable for her as well. "Oh, Tom, you're gonna get me there again too! But you'd better join me!"

"Gladly!" Tom helped it along by grinding his hips up as best he could. As his own responses grew louder, he surprised Patti by reaching in to tease her pubic hair with both hands. "Yeah, that's the stuff!"

"Ooooh, I like that!" Patti declared. "Like 'em natural, do you?"

"Yessssss, so much fun to play with -- Ohhhhhh myyyy...." 

At last Patti had the joy of watching and feeling him burst into orgasm, and with the lovely sensation of his fingers in her bush she had no trouble following suit. Her only regret was that the chance to admire his face lost in the throes of the big moment was so fleeting -- but it was worth it to share the feeling with him. 

"God, beautiful, c'mere..." Tom held up his arms and gave up on trying to be articulate, and Patti lay down in them. "Beautiful, Patti."

"Thank you," she whispered. "You too, Tom. Merry Christmas."

After a triumphant kiss, they both opened their eyes and gazed up at the twinkling lights on the tree. "Too perfect, isn't it?" Tom mused. 

"No such thing," Patti said. "If life can be as horrible as it was for me last summer, it can really be this beautiful too. It's only fair, isn't it?"

"Let's hope so," Tom agreed, laying his head gently on her breast and giving it a final nibble. 

The road back to Nashville was miraculously devoid of traffic, so Jolene was able to use her lead foot most of the way. It wasn't fast enough to keep the tears of rage out of her eyes or to take her mind off the image of George with those two sluts at the pub. She tried to drown it all out with the radio, but it was Tennessee at Christmastime and that meant "If We Make It Through December" was omnipresent. After it came on for the third time on as many stations, Jolene snapped the radio off hard enough to wonder if she'd broken the switch. Traffic in the city was crummy as usual on a weekend night, but she welcomed being forced to focus on something else at last. 

The parking lot where she usually left her car was full. Jolene thought about arguing with the attendant that she was a monthly subscriber and ought to have dibs on the next spot, but who knew when there would even be a next spot? Instead she gunned the car through the downtown streets, doing her best to ignore the flashing red and green everywhere until she finally pulled up behind a minivan that was pulling out. Thanking her lucky stars that Daddy had bought her a little coupe, she had no problem sliding in behind the minivan before anyone else had even seen the spot. 

It was six blocks to her building, half of it through streets that were likely to be awash in annoyingly joyful folks, but at least she wouldn't have to spend it with that two-timing bastard George. After making very sure the car was locked up, Jolene gathered the front of her coat tight against the chill and rushed up the street, her eyes focused on the sidewalk so no man would feel the need to tell her to smile. 

Sure enough, no man did. But just before she crossed the street into the relative peace of the second half of the walk, a voice called out from her right. "Spare change, ma'am?"

Though well-versed in ignoring panhandlers, Jolene felt the need to look up this one time. He was crouched in the fire-exit of the last bar on the block, wearing what looked like three raggedy old jackets. "Little somethin' for Christmas, ma'am? Please?"

Jolene thought of her mother, and her hometown, and Patti, and she nodded and opened her purse. She pulled all the cash out of her wallet and flipped through it. Nearly $200, from the look of it. 

She handed it all to the shocked beggar. "Merry Christmas," she said, and she turned and walked home before he could count it or thank her.