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The Promise

By: dark_poet43



Thank god the day was over, Astrid thought as she walked in the door of her apartment. It was raining outside, and the sound of it pounding against the roof relaxed her. The only thing she wanted to do now, after a long day at work, was kick off her shoes and take a long, hot bath. 

The trail of her clothes followed her as she made her way into the bathroom. Astrid took off the last of her undergarments, and then ran the hot water. While the steel tub filled, she got into the cabinet and took out several scented candles, placing them on the windowsill above the tub. She lit them using a nearby lighter. Soon the tub was full, and she slipped into the steaming hot water, letting out a sigh of relief.

Astrid submerged herself up to her shoulders, and then closed her eyes. The rain outside was pouring harshly now, and lightning lit the sky. Astrid barely noticed, for she was recalling an erotic book she'd been reading. She was in a far off world, with a man with dark hair and dark eyes- what was his name? Oh, it didn't really matter. Right now, he was looking at her with his intense, breath-taking gaze. His strong, rough hand was stroking her long brown hair, while the other was on her hip. He was leaning his head in to kiss her mouth, urgently thrusting his tongue inside. Astrid moaned softly. 

Then he had his hand on her bare breast- picturing this, Astrid began to stroke her nipple. Then he was stroking her between her thighs. Astrid rubbed a finger against her clit. She was smiling dreamily to herself.

Suddenly, there was a loud knocking at her front door. Startled, Astrid cursed aloud. Hoping the intruder would go away, she sat still and waited. When the knocking persisted, Astrid sighed and stood up from the tub. Not even bothering to towel off, she grabbed the bathrobe from the hook on the door and put it on. 

The knocking came again as she walked toward the front door. "Hold on, I'm coming!" she yelled, irritated. She finished tying the belt around her waist, and then opened the door. 

She almost gasped as she came face to face with a stranger- a very, delectable looking stranger. A man of about thirty, with shortly-cropped brown hair, deep set brown eyes, and a height of six foot two. He was wearing a tight white t-shirt, showing off his muscled chest and stomach, as well as tight denim jeans. He carried a toolbox in his hand.

"Hello, sorry to bother you," he said, in a very business-like manner. "Your landlord told me that you were having problems with your electric outlets. It's a good thing I came, what with that storm outside."

Astrid was befuddled. "I don't know anything about electric problems. Are you sure you've got the right place?"

Furrowing his brow, the man glanced at the number on the door. "Three o' one? Yeah, it's the right place. I just got the call about an hour ago; they said it was pretty urgent. So if you don't mind-"

He pushed his way in, and Astrid was still left in irritated confusion. She gave up the idea of trying to argue. Instead she sighed and said, "Okay, well you go ahead and start- doing whatever it is you do. I'm going to get dressed."

She turned and made her way toward the bedroom. In the back of her mind she thought, God, how embarrassing! A hot guy walks into my apartment while I'm in a bathrobe and my place is a mess. But more than that, she was angry that nobody had bothered to call her and tell her he was coming. Plus that fact that he had been so rude. Once in her room, she took off her robe and let it fall to the floor.

But before she could even get a chance to walk to her closet, she was grabbed harshly from behind. She cried out in alarm, struggling futilely as she was thrown onto her back on the bed. 

There above her was the stranger, pinning her arms above her, and smiling darkly down on her. 

Shocked and frightened, Astrid screamed and tried to squirm out of his hold. But somehow he had managed to hold both of her arms down with one hand, and with the other he muffled her mouth. 

"Well, aren't you a fighter?" he smirked. "If you scream again, beautiful, I'll strangle the life out of you. Understand?"

Her eyes wide with fear, Astrid nodded. Tears had welled in her eyes, and she was unable to keep them from streaming down her cheeks. The intruder took his hand from her mouth, gently brushing the tears away. "Shh," he whispered. "A pretty girl like you shouldn't cry like that. It breaks my heart."

"Fuck you!" Astrid managed to spit at him. "Let me go!"

He laughed softly. "Trust me, sweetheart, it won't hurt. You may come to enjoy it."

Still gripping her wrists in his hand, he leaned over the bed where his toolbox was waiting. From it he produced a long strand of rope. He then proceeded to tie her wrists to the bedpost. She was crying still, and had begun to whimper softly.

"Shh," he said again. "Just trust me, honey." He ran his fingers through her hair, and then trailed them down to her lips, which were trembling. "Open your mouth," he demanded, though his voice was soft. She didn't want to comply, but fearful of him, she did as he asked. He put his fingertip between her lips, touching it to her tongue. He made a sound of pleasure, as he pulled out his finger and trailed it over her chin down to her neck, leaving a trail of wetness that gave Astrid chills. He chuckled as he felt her shiver. 

Then he wasted no time in putting a hand to her breast, giving it a squeeze. Astrid uttered a soft cry of reluctant pleasure. He rubbed his thumb against her nipple, causing it to harden involuntarily. He did the same to the other nipple, and Astrid writhed. He laughed softly. "Don't worry, sweetheart. The fun is just starting."

"Please," she whispered. "Please, stop." The fight was out of her, and the last thing she could do now was plead. She didn't want this. She was certain she didn't want this. But even as he kept going, now flicking his tongue against her nipple, she moaned in defeat.

He was suckling her breasts like a newborn, his hand slowly moving over her quivering stomach, then to the inner part of her thigh. Then he slid his hand over her nether lips, slipping a finger inside to find that she was already wet. 

"I knew you were enjoying it," he taunted her; his breathe hot against her skin. Astrid cried out with passion as he rubbed his finger against her clit. She hated his smugness, but now had come to love him for what he was inflicting upon her. As his head lowered, an "Oh, God!" escaped from her lips, as she was very aware of what he was to do next. 

His mouth enveloped her, and his tongue flicked deep inside her. Astrid moaned loudly, squirming beneath him, and yet lifting her hips to encourage him. He went on forever, it seemed, until at last she came in a way that she had never done before, screaming as she did so. 

Then the intruder stood up and began to undress. Astrid could not tear her eyes away, as he lifted his shirt and revealed the hard muscled chest that she knew he already had. Then he took off his jeans, showing that he wore no underwear beneath. His member was intimidating, even frightening. Astrid was fearful of being hurt. As he came back to lie on top of her, Astrid had begun to cry again a little. 

Again, he laughed, which annoyed her. "Don't worry, love. I promise I'll be gentle." First he slid his phallus against her opening, making her whimper. Then ever so slowly, he began to ease inside of her. Astrid gasped. Then he was fully sheathed, they both exhaled a low moan. He began to move, lowering his head to rest in the crook between her neck and shoulder. The pain Astrid felt lasted only a few seconds, then the sheer pleasure took hold. She was rocking her hips against him with every thrust he delivered, crying out in rapture. She wanted more than anything for him to release her hands so that she could dig her nails into his flesh.

"Please," she cried out. "Please untie me!"

He stopped for a moment and looked at her suspiciously. But it must have been the wanton look on her face that made him comply. Even as he was still inside her, he reached up to untie her wrists from the bedpost. Astrid sighed with relief, but didn't waste time as she rolled him over unto his back and straddled herself atop him. 

She began to rock against him fiercely, digging her nails into his chest, causing him to cry out. She tossed back her head as she fucked him, and he moaned and played with her bouncing breasts. Soon both of their moans were rising, until the two of them were screaming their release at the same time. Exhausted, Astrid fell against him, her head on his chest. They were both slick with sweat, breathing heavily. After a long, quiet moment, Astrid felt him gently roll her off of him until she was on her side. She lifted her eyes to look at him. Smiling, he placed a hand on her lips. 

"Hush," he whispered. "Don't say a word. I've got to go now. But if you swear to me that you won't tell anyone what happened, I might just be back."

Astrid nodded. "When?" she asked hopefully.

The intruder grinned. "Soon," he said. "I promise."

The Promise



Adrian sat at her vanity, her reflection and Michael's staring back at her. Her breathing was bated, nervous about what she had promised her husband she'd let him do.

Her hair was still up in a loosely pinned bun, held only by two bobby pins strategically placed in her long brown hair. The fine, teal colored straps of her evening gown rested precariously on her smooth, ivory shoulders, one strap threatening to fall at the slightest breath.

Michael easily slid one bobby pin from her hair allowing a huge portion of it to fall delicately around her right shoulder. He slowly brushed it aside, planting dew drop kisses down the back of her neck as he went. Adrian's neck instinctively tilted and her back arched allowing him easier access to the suddenly hypersensitive area. His breath was hot, like small puffs of fire on her skin. She closed her eyes and took in the feel of his smooth lips softly brushing along the sinewy lines of her neck, gasping each time his skin connected with hers.

Michael's fingers quickly found the second pin and the remainder of her hair fell to its full length around her shoulder framing her delicate face. Michael stopped, only momentarily, to view the image of his angel, Adrian, in the mirror again watching as his masculine hands caressed the length of her soft, feminine shoulders. The faltering strap on Adrian's gown finally fell over the edge, leaving an invisible trail down her arm that Michael's lips happily followed.

The subtle aroma of her fragrance only enticed Michael to try to consume more of her, as much as humanly possible. His hands fumbled for the zipper poised at the middle of her back and unzipped it, sliding his hands between the open material. The sudden warmth of the area sent a subdued tingle up Michael's spine. He peeled the Chiffon dress from around her chest, letting it fall the remainder of the way down her smooth, flat belly and lay in a blue-green pool in her lap. Her small yet pert, breasts boldly making an appearance and her pink nipples hardening at their sudden exposure.

Michael snaked his arms underneath hers while his hands grasped hungrily at each of her breasts. Adrian watched it all in the vanity mirror, his hands slowly molding her bosom like clay. She swiftly closed her eyes and lost herself in the feeling of his strong, manly hands on her body. He moaned as his lips ravaged her neck and his fingers toyed with her nipples. Adrian's hands automatically clasped themselves on top of Michael's trying to push them further into her skin.

"Don't..." he said as his hands froze in place on her breasts and his whole body stiffened. Adrian quickly dropped her hands back to her Chiffon covered lap, as she was suddenly reminded of her promise to him. His body relaxed and his hands began to move again, his fingers roaming all the way up from the soft dip just below her neck all the way down to where her dress hugged her at the waist.

A simple birthday wish was all it was, but Adrian had absolutely no idea how on earth she was going to keep her promise to him. Why was this so difficult for her? She merely had to do nothing...

***

"The only thing I want for my birthday tomorrow is not to be reminded of it, thank you very much," Michael said grabbing Adrian's arm and pulling her down on top of him on the couch. "Plus," he said hugging her tightly and kissing her forehead, "I already have what I want."

"Nice try." Adrian teased playfully wiping her forehead clean of his kiss.

"Come on," she chided. "I'm sure you must want something. I never know what to get you. You're the most difficult person I know to shop for."

"That's because you're over thinking it, babe," he said as he softly rubbed her shoulder. "You're making it more complicated than it has to be. I'd be happy with just a nice dinner and movie or whatever."

"Or 'whatever'," Adrian said mocking him. "What exactly is 'whatever'?"

Michael laughed out loud at the utter absurdity of the conversation.

"Why do I get the feeling this conversation isn't going to end until I pick something?" He asked as he grabbed the remote and muted the television set.

"Because it's not!" She said feeling suddenly excited that she finally seemed to be breaking him down. "You have to want something."

Michael sighed and ran his hand through the medium length, brown hair that was faintly revealing small speckles of gray at the edges.

Suddenly, his eyes darted devilishly down at Adrian and an abrupt sense of panic flooded her being. She eyed him suspiciously as she unconsciously licked her lips.

"What...?"

***

"Stand up," he whispered, the words bringing Adrian back into the moment. She took his hand as he helped her up from the vanity bench, her fingers clasped tightly within his as she gathered herself to her feet.

Michael wrapped his arms around Adrian's waist and slid his fingers beneath the cool fabric encompassing her hips. He pushed down with his hands easily taking the silky evening dress down with him. As it fell into a pool at her feet, he let his hand glide lazily up the curve of her bare buttocks and around to her hips and back. He dug his fingers into the juicy flesh, reveling in the satiny feel of her skin beneath his fingertips. His cock had already been at full mast since the very moment his lips first touched her neck. Now, with his wife completely naked before him, Michael felt as if he were going to explode right there. His breathing quickened as he drew her body even closer to his. For a moment, he thought 'to hell' with what he had planned.

His body cruelly ached in a way he wasn't at all familiar with. He'd made love to his wife numerous times over the last year and a half that they'd been married and fucked like bunnies countless times when they were dating, but he honestly couldn't ever remember wanting her, needing her as badly as he did right this moment. He unconsciously ground his hips into her, his body desperately trying to become one with her like it had done so many times before.

So far, Michael had only uttered just the three words he said to her in front of the vanity since they got back home from dinner. Actually, Adrian couldn't even recall them having a conversation on the car ride home. But even with all the silence, Michael's hands and body spoke volumes.

He'd suggested that she get dressed sans the unmentionables she was so accustomed to wearing. The whole idea was a bit more daring than she thought it would be. 'Am I that much of a prude?' She thought. But ultimately, the feeling of walking around in an evening dress with nothing on underneath proved to be more exciting than she'd expected. She was surprised at how incredibly confident and sexy she felt. All eyes were on her when she and Michael stepped into that swanky restaurant and she loved it. So did Michael. She saw it in his eyes.

Michael grabbed Adrian by her hand once more as she stepped out of her dress and followed him over to the bed. His intoxicating cologne was quietly wreaking havoc with her senses. The cool air of the bedroom passing over her tender, exposed skin drew light goose pimples to the surface. Adrian craved her husband like she never had before. It was practically taking everything she had not to touch him like he'd asked.

'Let me seduce you,' were his exact words. His request was reasonable -- the only condition was that she couldn't touch him, talk -- or even participate as it were. Only lay back and enjoy. He'd made it completely clear that he wanted to do everything and that she wasn't to so much as lift a finger the entire time.

***

"I would have thought you'd want it the other way around. You know, me seducing you." Adrian said with a confused look on her face.

"Whose birthday is it?" Michael asked playfully defying her to answer.

"Fine," she said finally, sinking herself further into his arms. She looked down at her hands for a moment, then up at his light brown eyes again.

"Are you really serious?"

"Do you want me to be?" He asked seductively.

There was a sultriness to his voice that excited her. The look in his eyes was unmistakable. He was very serious and a certain 'flutter' rippled in her stomach. The idea was enthralling, but where the hell had it come from? Why did he want to do something like this? The thought came to her to ask, but after thinking about it more, she decided against it. It was his birthday after all, so who the hell was she to complain about what he wanted? Especially if it was her.

Adrian silenced her thoughts as Michael unmuted the television and they both cuddled together on the couch.

***

She sat on the edge of the bed while Michael quickly stripped himself of all his clothes finally unsheathing the raging erection he'd been harboring for quite a while. He used the weight of his own body to lay Adrian down on the bed beneath him, his hips falling between her legs while his unyielding arousal brushed lightly against her belly.

"Don't move," he said trying to paint a visual image of her laying there just beneath him, her body for him to do with whatever he pleased. He sat back on his heels in front of her spreading her legs wide exposing her sex to him completely. He slowly licked up her legs, tasting and teasing at the tender flesh of her inner thigh. Michael reveled in the heady scent of her arousal, the aroma seemingly making his cock even harder than before if that was at all possible.

His tongue wandered curiously further up to where her thigh met her pelvis, her freshly shaven pussy calling him, coaxing him to her. She tasted clean and smooth beneath his taut and hot tongue. He quickly found her clit and let his tongue snake into the slit of her increasingly moist folds, his lips enveloping the small and sensitive bud between them. Adrian's body suddenly spasmed uncontrollably. Michael flattened his tongue against her clit, sopping up all of her incredibly sweet tasting womanly juices as he did.

Adrian was trying like crazy not to grab his head and feed her pussy to him like she was so used to doing. She loved the feel of her hands tangled in his hair while pumping her hips to his welcoming lips like she'd done so many times before. It was pure torture what he was doing to her, but she gathered that was the point. Her hands clutched at the bed sheets beneath her as she writhed, hoping like hell he would soon end the incredible torment.

Michael had no such intention. He was enjoying teasing her, taunting her, making her writhe beneath him. It was his plan all along and he was going to milk it for all it was worth.

He sat up closer at her cunt, took his hands and spread open her velvety soft lips, licking and sucking at each one with excruciating slowness as he did. His tongue circled her clit over and over again causing her already drenched hole to overflow even more with arousal. The heat emanating from her pussy was intoxicating and irresistible. He roughly spread her legs as wide as he could get them before forcefully diving his tongue in into her waiting hole.

Adrian screamed as her back arched her almost completely off the bed from the intense pleasure her husband was providing her. She tossed her head from side to side pulling the bed sheets up in her balled fists.

Michael's tongue was ruthlessly invading her swollen and drenched hole while Adrian was on the verge of one of the most intense orgasms she could remember having. The thought of her being helpless to his whims, the excitement of not knowing what he had planned for her along with his expert invasion of her pussy made the whole situation border on surreal. Adrian closed her eyes and let her body go to a place she'd never imagined.

When her climax finally hit, she'd practically pulled the sheets from the bed entirely, her legs instinctively wrapped themselves around Michael's head as her body twisted beneath him. Pulse after pulse hijacked her body until she was finally able to gain some sense of composure. Her erratic breathing finally subdued, her brightly flushed skin began to return to its normal peaches and cream hue and her body finally relaxed onto the bed once more.

It was all more than Michael could handle. His resolve finally broken, he swiftly pulled his wife toward him by the hips and easily slid his manhood inside her flooded pussy. Her body was so warm and wet that the sheer slickness saturated his cock so much it glistened at each withdrawal. Michael was able to ease some of the tension of his painful his arousal by taking his wife like this, but he had no intention of ending it this way.

Oh no.

He had other ideas in mind.

Adrian wasn't a sexual prude by any means, at least not by her own standards, but there were always some things she was not entirely willing to try. She'd more often than not been curious by or even excited by some of the sexual suggestions her husband had made to her in past. But it wasn't until Michael exited her soaked and nearly raw pussy, crawled up next to her and rolled her on her side that she realized what his real intentions were. With his manhood still well lubricated from her dripping cunt, he spread her cheeks and rubbed the head of his cock along her rear opening. Adrian gasped at the thought as she looked behind her trying to see what was doing.

Michael didn't notice. He was too busy concentrating on the idea of finally being able to experience his wife in a way he never had before. He slipped his index and middle fingers in her wet pussy, slicking them completely. He then poised his middle finger at the outer rim of her back door. Adrian felt the tip of his finger attempt to squeeze through the small opening.

"Michael..." Adrian said looking at him over her shoulder. Her words only made him push in further, breaking the surface of her virgin hole as it tightly milked his finger inside.

"Shhh," he said looking up into her eyes. "Don't be scared. I promise you you'll enjoy it."

He continued slowly pushing his finger inside her as far as it would go, then twisting it to lube her tight tunnel as much as he could before withdrawing again. After he had exited her ass completely, on his next entry he brought his index finger with him. The two fingers stretched her tender opening even more as Adrian gasped again closing her eyes tight and biting her bottom lip. Michael pushed both fingers in all the way and twisted again and slowly easing them out. He did this a few times, each time the trip inside a bit easier than the last. On his last withdrawal, Michael adjusted himself behind her, slipping his hardness inside her pussy once more for sufficient lubrication. He quickly withdrew from her and scissored Adrian's legs pushing the top one forward and spreading her cheeks.

"Just relax, okay angel?" He said as he grabbed his cock and steadied it at her opening.

He held her around the waist with one hand while using the other to coax his manhood inside her, the tip just barely able to dip inside her hole. Adrian moaned loudly at his entry, her ass trying its best to take in the width of his dick. Michael paused, letting her body adjust to his as he kissed her shoulders recklessly. He had both arms wrapped around her waist now only allowing his hips to guide himself in the rest of the way. He continued to push up slowly, forcing his cock into this foreign territory.

Adrian clasped tightly at the pillow beneath her still biting her bottom lip as Michael entered her all the way to the hilt. His hips had finally rested against her buttocks when she felt his hand wander down to the space between her thighs.

"Oh, fuck baby," Michael said collapsing his head at the back of Adrian's neck.

His hand played haphazardly with her clit making Adrian's body jerk sporadically with each movement. She was still trying to adjust to the thickness of her husband inside her previously uninvaded space. Her body felt filled to the brim taking all of him in as he stayed there, unmoving, the both of them reveling in the new and exciting sensations.

Michael finally pulled his hips back, the skin on his cock reluctant to leave this new hot and tight space as it stretched forward at his exit. The large mushroom head of his member barely peeked out of the small, puckered hole before he slowly pushed it all the way back in again.

Adrian's body was starting to relax and comfortably accept his body into hers. The friction of his manhood sliding within her over stretched inner walls began feeling better each time he entered her body. She suddenly found herself craving the sensations, subtly moving her hips to meet with his every thrust.

Michael's hand still toyed with his wife's clit, the both of them releasing uncontrollable moans with each movement. His fingers quickly and unexpectedly dipped themselves in the swelling river between her legs again as Adrian used every ounce of strength she had not to grind his hands into her. She was desperately trying to keep her promise of allowing him to do everything while she simply lay back and enjoyed the ride.

So, they lay there in unbelievable ecstasy, Michael happily fucking her from both ends and Adrian trying not to pass out from the pleasure of it all.

Michael bore his teeth and unconsciously hissed every time his hips met her smooth, luscious ass. He could feel his orgasm rising to the surface. His fingers raced furiously in and out of Adrian's pussy, slipping her into an orgasmic stupor unlike anything she'd ever experienced before.

Her second orgasm shook her to the core. Her entire body tensed and gripped his fingers and cock in unison. Michael could feel her already incredibly tight walls wrenching his cock like a vice inside her.

Michael's climax washed over him like torrential wave. His arms gripped around Adrian's body almost crushing her against him. His dick was literally milked of every last ounce of cum his body had. Her inner walls continued contracting and releasing his manhood in spasmodic rhythm, his body shuddering with every pulse.

After it was over, Michael lay behind her a while longer before removing his fingers from her drenched cunt and pulling his spent cock from inside her. His semen dripped easily from her newly christened hole.

Adrian suddenly felt empty. She had never felt so filled up before and now the thought that the whole idea had originally scared her seemed idiotic. It was the most intense and incredible feeling she'd ever experienced and it saddened her that it was over.

Michael fell to his back and rested his hand on his chest. His breathing was on its way back to normal as he closed his eyes and let out a long, slow whistle.

"Holy shit," he said in such a low whisper, it was almost to himself.

Adrian turned and rested her head inside his arm trying to reclaim his warmth. He cuddled her against him, and kissed her forehead thinking about how this would go down in history as one of the most wonderful birthdays he'd ever had.



The Promise



I looked around the room taking in the chair sitting on the floor in the middle of the room and the eight smiling faces looking back at me. Promise or no promise I had absolutely no business being there. I was a married woman with three kids and not some young, hard-bodied stripper and when the call came I initially said no. And then Gary had pissed me off and I was in a spiteful mood and so there I was.

++++++++++++++++++++

The night had its beginnings a little over eight years earlier. At the time I was in my junior year at college and keeping steady company with Jimmy Briggs. Not going steady, just spending more time with Jimmy than anyone else. 

I was a bit of a "wild child" in those days and in fact Jimmy had met me at a frat house gangbang. I wasn't the star -- Pauline French was pulling the train -- but I was there cheering her on and I did "fluff" a few of the guys to get them ready for her. I was on my knees doing my best to get Jerome Washington hard again. He had just finished doing Pauline and she wanted Jerome again, but in her butt. Pauline had a thing for black basketball players and for Jerome in particular. She especially liked Jerome's cock. Pauline loved anal sex and as far as she was concerned Jerome was designed for anal. Jerome's cock, while fairly long (eight and a quarter inches) was no bigger around than a Ball Park Frank before cooking plumped it up. As far as Pauline was concerned it was an absolutely perfect fit for her butt.

Anyway, I finally got Jerome up and ready and he walked over to make Pauline "airtight" and as I was wiping my mouth with the hem of my skirt I heard a voice say:

"Do you just do guys who are going to ride the train or can anybody get what you have to offer?" 

I looked up and into the deepest blue eyes I had ever seen. "What's the matter," I said, "Don't you like Pauline?"

"I don't mind trains as long as I'm the first one aboard or at least the second. After that though I don't care much for the feel. But back to my question; can I have me some of that?"

"I don't know. The guys I've done are guys I know and trust. I don't know you."

"Then we need to remedy that" and he offered me his hand and helped me to my feet. "We can go downstairs and take advantage of the keg or we can go someplace a little more private; like maybe a booth at Angie's"

"I don't think so. I'm not leaving this place with someone I don't know and have never seen before."

"We need to correct that then" he said and he turned and called out "Hey, Charlie" and Charlie Briggs, who at the time had his cock in Pauline's mouth looked our way and said "What?" 

"This young lady doesn't want anything to do with me because she says she doesn't know me. Introduce us will you?"

"Norma, meet my brother Jimmy. He isn't near as much fun as I am, but as big brothers go he isn't bad."

"There" Jimmy said, "now you know me. We cool?"

"I don't know. Let's go to Angie's and talk about it."

Over beer at Angie's I found out that Jimmy had graduated two years previous and was at the frat house visiting his brother. Actually it wasn't really a visit. Charlie had called him and asked to borrow fifty dollars and Jimmy was dropping it off. We ended up in Jimmy's apartment where I did indeed give him a blow job and a whole lot more. In the morning over coffee Jimmy said:

"One thing I'm curious about. You were on your knees five feet from your girlfriend and you were sucking every cock that was put in front of your face. Why weren't you fucking like your girlfriend?"

"Because once I get started I can't say no. The last time I let it happen there were fourteen guys. I couldn't walk for two days. So now if I'm with more than two or three all I'll do is give head."

"Two or three huh?" he said as he smiled.

For the rest of my junior year and the first half of my senior year I practically lived at Jimmy's apartment. I spent so much time at his place that my roommate back at the dorm was constantly bitching at me over having to dust my part of the room.

I'd been keeping company with Jimmy for about a month when I found out why he had smiled when he said "Two or three huh?" We had just gotten to his apartment from a party when someone knocked on the door. He opened it and let in two guys who had been at the party. Jimmy smiled at me and said:

"Two or three, right?"

After that I could count on Jimmy having one or two friends over two or three times a month.

It was what happened during the second month of my senior year that brought me to the room with the eight smiling faces. Jimmy and I were out partying and on a whim we stopped at the Wild Horse Saloon. The Wild Horse was a strip joint and it just happened to be amateur night. Jimmy tried to talk me into getting up on the stage and competing but I kept saying no. That is I kept saying no until he got a bunch of booze in me. 

I had been watching and I thought I could do better than the ones I saw, but I knew I couldn't win. For one thing the crowd that would be voting seemed to be into big breasts and almost all of the contestants had huge tits and most of their dancing seemed to consist of uncovering their tits and then shaking them at the audience. I considered myself to be a pretty decent looking woman, but I had been shortchanged in the boob department.

Anyway, Jimmy kept after me and before long he got enough alcohol in me that I said "What the hell; why not?" I knew I couldn't "out boob" the others, but I bet that I could "out nasty" them and maybe that would be enough.

The rules were simple. One song, everything except your panties could come off and you could not place your hands directly on your sex. I borrowed Jimmy's pocket knife and headed to the ladies room. I took off my panties and then used Jimmy's knife to reduce them to less than a skimpy thong. In fact, in front all I left was a thin strip that split my pussy lips and you couldn't even tell I had anything in the back because it disappeared into my ass crack. It didn't cover -- it helped highlight.

For music I picked "One Way or Another" by Blondie because it was fast and I could hurry my clothes off and then have more time to be nasty. When it was my turn I burst out on the stage and my clothes went flying. I got down to my non-existent panties in no time and then I prowled the edge of the stage. Every time the words, "One way or another I'm gonna gitcha gitcha gitch gitcha" I would spread my legs, bend at the knees and push my pussy out towards the audience while pointing at some guy as I mouthed the words "gonna gitcha gitcha gitcha." The crowd went wild, but the outcome was what I knew it would be. A big breasted blond won, but I did place second and won fifty bucks and we had our cover charge refunded.

When we were driving back to Jimmy's place he said, "You were great up there Norma. You were robbed by that big titted blond. You had every cock in the house throbbing. When I get married I want you to be the stripper at my bachelor party. Will you do it?"

I was high on the alcohol and my second place finish so without even thinking about it I said, "Sure Jimmy; I'll do it."

"You promise Norma?"

"I promise Jimmy. I'll strip for you at your bachelor party."

In the middle of my senior year I met Gary, fell in love, kissed Jimmy goodbye, kicked the "wild child " out of my life and settled down to be Gary's girl.

++++++++++++++++

Eight years later on a Friday night I was sitting at my kitchen table and fuming. Gary had been gone on a two week business trip and the week leading up to his leaving I was having my monthly. Three weeks with no loving. Every night Gary was gone we talked on the phone and some of those calls were as close to phone sex as you could get. Gary kept saying:

"Hang on baby; I'll be home soon."

He had been due in at three and allowing two hours to go into the office and check in and forty minutes to get home I expected him home no later than six. I had arranged for my mom and dad to take the kids for the weekend. I was perfumed, polished and ready. I had on a sexy, slinky thing from Victoria's Secret and a pair of CFMs with four inch heels. I was ready. I was more than ready. 

And then Gary called. He was at the office and he was calling to let me know he wouldn't be home for another two days. He had stopped in at the office to check in and his boss had grabbed him. One of their biggest clients was coming to town and wanted to try his hand at fly fishing. Matt (Gary's boss) didn't know a thing about fly fishing but he knew that Gary did so he drafted Gary to take care of the client.

"I have to pick him up at the airport in an hour and then take him to the cabin that Matt rented. My fishing tackle is in the trunk of my car so I won't be home until sometime late Sunday."

"Damn it Gary; you can't do this to me. I've been without for over three weeks and I'm sitting here primed and ready for you to walk through the door."

"It's only going to be for two more days honey."

"It isn't fair Gary. Leaving me sitting here hurting while you go fishing just isn't fair."

"Be reasonable Norma; it is part of my job."

"No it isn't Gary. There is nothing in your job description that says going fishing is part of your job. Let Matt handle the client."

"Matt would end up with a fish hook in his finger. I have to do this Norma. The client is too important to the company."

"And your wife isn't important to you?"

"Oh for Christ's sake Norma, get a grip!"

I slammed the phone down, got a beer out of the fridge and then sat down at the table and fumed and the longer I sat there the more pissed I got. I stared at the phone for what must have been a half an hour and then I made up my mind. My kids were gone for the weekend. My asshole husband was gone fishing and I was not -- WAS NOT -- going to sit home and stare at the walls.

A week previous I'd received a phone call from Jimmy Briggs. It had been years since I'd talked to him. We made small talk for a couple of minutes and then he said:

"It finally happened Norma. I finally found the lady I'm going to marry." And then he laughed and said, "Or maybe I've found the only girl who will have me and put up with me. I'm getting married Norma. Can you believe it? Me? Getting married?"

"Well congratulations Jimmy."

"My bachelor party is going to be next Friday night."

I wondered why he was telling me that when he said, "Remember your promise Norma?"

"Promise? What promise?"

"You promised me that you would be the stripper at my bachelor party."

It all came back to me then. The night at the Wild Horse, my dance and what I'd promised Jimmy on the way back to his apartment. He couldn't be serious.

"My God Jimmy, that was eight or nine years and a different lifetime ago."

"You promised Norma."

"I was young, drunk and single at the time Jimmy. I'm a married woman now. I'm a mother with three kids now."

"A promise is a promise Norma."

"I'm sorry Jimmy, but no way."

I remembered that phone call as I sat there and steamed. I reached for the phone. "Hi Jimmy. You still need a stripper?"

They had gotten another stripper, but Jimmy still wanted me to dance for him and so I told him I would be there. He wanted the dance I'd done the night of the contest at the Wild Hose and so I decided that is just what I would do.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

Jimmy introduced me to the seven other guys and then fixed me a drink. The real stripper wasn't due for another hour so I stood around and talked with the guys and drank whatever Jimmy handed me. I was in a pretty mellow mood when the stripper got there and as I watched her go through her routine I knew that while I couldn't match her practiced moves I could certainly "out nasty" her. She finished her routine by giving Jimmy a lap dance. She had him take out his cock and she sat on it with her panty covered pussy and ground around on it for a little bit and then she kissed him, dressed and left. Once she was gone Jimmy smiled at me and said:

"Your turn sexy lady."

I chugged the drink that I had in my hand and then went over to the CD player. I put the in CD I'd brought with me, pushed the button until I got to the track I wanted and then I turned up the volume. As soon as Blondie started belting out "One way or another" I turned and did everything I had done the night of the contest. There was no artful tease, just exuberance. When I got down to my panties Jimmy's eyes lit up as he saw that I had cut them down the same as I had on the night I took second place. The front and back were no more than one inch wide strips that split my pussy lips and disappeared between my butt cheeks. I whirled around the room pointing at different guys on "gitcha, gitcha, gitcha" and bending at the knee and pushing my pussy out at them. Jimmy was still sitting on the chair with his cock erect and pointing at the ceiling so I spun over to him, turned my back to him to face the others and then sat down.

I did not intend to do any more than the stripper had done. I was going to sit on Jimmy's lap, squirm around a little and then kiss him, get dressed, have one more drink and leave. I had not counted on the fact that my panties weren't really covering anything and that there wasn't enough left of them to stop anything. When I sat down on Jimmy's erection it pushed that one inch strip of cloth aside and speared up into me. It caught me by surprise and I hesitated a moment before I tried to lift up off of him, but he put his arms around my waist and held me there as I moaned:

"No Jimmy, no. I can't Jimmy, I'm married. We can't do this Jimmy, we can't."

But Jimmy didn't listen and he held me on his lap and wouldn't let me go. I felt his cock throb and then he started lifting me up and pulling me back down. I kept crying:

"No Jimmy, no. We can't Jimmy, we can't."

But of course he could and he did.

I am a very sexual person by nature and once Jimmy got going my sexual nature took over. I started fucking Jimmy back all the while moaning out:

"Oh God Jimmy; this is not fair. You know we shouldn't be doing this. This isn't right Jimmy."

By then he wasn't holding me and I was raising and lowering myself on his cock. I felt the fires start to build in me and my moaning had changed to:

"Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes."

Someone stepped in front of me and waved a cock in front of my face. I thought, "Well, Gary did tell me to get a grip" and I reached out, took hold of the stiff cock and brought it to my mouth. 

After that it was all a blur as all of the men there took turns on me. When Jimmy came I was lifted off of him and carried to the bedroom where they all devoured me. My breasts were worked on while cock after cock made its way into my mouth, my pussy and my butt. Several times I was plugged at both ends with a cock in my mouth and another in my pussy or butt. Twice I had a cock in all three.

Eventually the guys had no more to give and they began to leave. Then it was down to Jimmy and me. He lifted me off the bed and carried me to the living room and put me down on the couch. "Don't go away" he said as he went back into the bedroom. Several minutes later he came back, picked me up and took me back into the bedroom and I saw that he had put clean sheets on the bed. He put me down on the bed and then got on the bed beside me. "I've missed you baby" he said as he pulled me on top of him and his cock slid into my well used hole. I fell asleep with Jimmy's cock in me.

I woke up in the morning to the smell of coffee and frying bacon. I got up and wandered, still naked, into Jimmy's kitchen. He pointed to the coffee pot and told me which cupboard had the cups and then he said, "I love your outfit." 

I took a sip of the coffee that I'd poured and then said, "Why did you let that happen last night? You know I'm married and have a family."

"Don't try to shit me Norma. You wanted what happened last night. You can say that you didn't all you want to, but you know you would be lying to your self. You knew that if you danced for me the way you did on that amateur night all those years ago that there wouldn't be a soft dick in the room and you know what guys with hard dicks do. And you know what to do with a bunch of hard dicks. Don't forget sweetpea, I've seen you do two and three a time or two before. Whether it was consciously or not you came here to get fucked last night and I can tell by the way you dressed for breakfast that you expect to get fucked again this morning."

Jimmy did fuck me after breakfast and after lunch and at three in the afternoon and before dinner. After dinner I was looking at his crotch and licking my lips and Jimmy saw it and laughed.

"I'm afraid not sweetpea; I'm only human, but I did anticipate your needs."

Almost as if on cue there was a knock on the door and Jimmy got up to answer it. Minutes later he came back with two guys who were at the party the night before.

"Sweetpea, I give you Walt and Mike. Gents, Norma has an itch that is in dire need of scratching."

And scratch it they did until they couldn't get it up any more. After Walt and Mike left Jimmy took me to bed, did me and I fell asleep on his bed for the second night in a row.

In the morning I showered and dressed and Jimmy fed me breakfast and then I hurried home to get ready for Gary's return from his all important fishing trip. When Gary did get home I did not rush into his arms. When he went to kiss me I turned my head so he got my cheek. He stepped back and said:

"That's no way to greet a husband who has been gone for two weeks."

"It is the way a wife who finds out she isn't as important as a fish greets her husband."

"Damn it Norma, I told you how important it was."

"Yes you did, didn't you. Dinner is in the oven. It should be done by the time I get back from picking up the kids."

"Do you have to get them now? Shouldn't we take advantage of their not being here?"

"They haven't been here since noon Friday. The entire weekend is when their absence should have been taken advantage of. I'll be back in a bit" and I walked out of the house leaving him standing there.

The kids were happy to see daddy and after dinner he played with them while I did the dinner dishes. When it was time to go to bed I put on a heavy flannel nightgown. I knew that it would tell Gary that he wasn't going to get any that night. I was not being mean or vindictive, just cautious. My pussy had been heavily used for two nights in a row and even thought I had thoroughly washed and douched I was not going to take the chance of Gary thinking I was a little loose down there. It was going to be at least two days before Gary got any.

As I lay there staring up at the ceiling I thought back to what Jimmy had said as I got ready to come home.

"It was just like old times sweetpea. We'll have to do it again in a couple of weeks."

"No Jimmy. It as a big mistake and I never should have done it. There won't be a next time."

"We will see Norma, we will see."

The thing was that the bachelor party and the night after with Walt and Mike woke something up inside of me. I don't honestly know what I will do if Jimmy does call. With that troubling thought still in mind I fell asleep.



The Promise



I look up from my book, startled by the clomping of boots on the porch of the hideaway to which I was brought last night to fulfill a promise. Situated on a dirt road, miles from the main highway that snakes through this range of the Appalachian Mountains, so remote are we that the electrical grid barely stretches here and cable TV and cell phone service are but dreams to the few inhabitants of the county. Breathless, Evan throws open the screen door and pokes his bald pate inside. His blue eyes alight on me as I greet him with apprehension. 

Comfortably positioned for the last hour in a rocker next to a window through which shines the morning sun, enveloped by a blanket to keep the chill of the morning mountain air from giving me goose bumps, a half finished cup of tea sitting next to me on a coffee table, I have been able to enjoy a quiet interlude before becoming Evan's fantasy girl. His voice trembling with excitement, he announces to his special guest, "I need your help." 

After taking a few seconds to finish the last paragraph of the chapter, I mark the page with a scrap of paper before closing the detective novel in which I have become ensconced since cozying up in the chair. The man to whom I made the promise and with whom I am falling in love has been quite busy. 

Evan is in the midst of creating a scene in which I have agreed to play the starring role. When he was desperately ill one year ago today, I promised him I would do something special today if he was still here to appreciate it.

Through the picture window that looks out on a grand vista of rugged mountains and mist shrouded valleys, I gaze at a wooden stake anchored deeply into ground of the clearing in front of our dwelling. Surrounding the wooden pillar rest four layers of logs stacked perpendicularly one atop the other. Ropes at each end secure the logs in each layer together, lest the pile collapse. Against the pile stands a wooden ladder. 

His labor has created a perch on which for me to stand a yard above the ground in the midst of a pyre. Sweat glistens from his brow and muscular shoulders as he takes a break from toiling in the summer sun. In his hands is a shiny metal chain. The links are a quarter inch thick; strong enough to secure me to the wooden pillar as flames lick my feet, having been condemned in his fantasy to be burned alive for the crime of witchcraft.

"You look like you need a beer," I observe. I take off my reading glasses, lay them on the coffee table and then emerge from my cocoon, rising from the rocker in which I have spent a lazy morning to saunter over to the refrigerator and retrieve two bottles of Corona.

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

The morning light awakened me quite early on this June day, and soon butterflies were swarming in the pit of my stomach when the realization hit me that the day to fulfill my promise had arrived. Evan lay in bed next to me, sound asleep, his innocent expression showing none of the malevolence one would expect on the countenance of someone who has tasked himself with burning a witch.

Wide awake with nothing to distract me from contemplating everything that could go wrong during the scene, I arose and began puttering about the kitchen. The banging of pots and pans and utensils awakened my host, who was pleasantly surprised by the aroma of bacon as he strode into the kitchen. My lover sat at the kitchen table as I prepared our morning repas, but with our heads still heavy with sleep, we exchanged few words.

Evan wolfed down the omelet and bacon I had whipped up for him as the sun came over the horizon, but I had little appetite for breakfast. A half glass of orange juice and a bowl of cereal quieted my grinding tummy. After my host helped me gather the dishes from the table, he entered the bathroom. A few minutes later, the toilet flushed, the bathroom door opened, and he passed me by on the way out of the house without saying a word.

As the self appointed lady of the manor I tidied up the dining area and began washing the breakfast dishes. My hands immersed in dishwater scrubbing off the detruitus of our breakfast from the dishes, pots, pans, and utensils we had dirtied, through the window above the kitchen sink I could see my executioner completing the grisly preparations for the scene that will reward him for enduring a year of pain and loss.

After completing my domestic duties, I paced across the kitchen and the living room, strangely craving a cigarette despite never once desiring one for over a year. I didn't join Evan outside, sensing that while my presence in character will be required for the culmination of what is about to take place, involvement in the preparations by the real me could only be detrimental to the atmosphere and décor he was toiling to create in the clearing in front of our hideaway.. 

Feeling like a domestic beast transforming from pet to meat, I turned my eyes away from the window. No tobacco available to calm my nerves, I hunted down a teapot and filled it with water. As I waited for the contents to come to a boil on the stove, the misgivings I had set aside before making the journey here raced through my mind. When the steam rose from the spout and condensed on the kitchen window, the clearing beyond grew blurry, as if I were looking through a portal to another time and place. 

I imagined that it was Evan's mind into which I was peering as he was enveloped by his fantasy. On the outside of the portal lived the man whose growing love for me had aided him as he struggled for life. On the inside existed a being whose carnal desires sustained his existence in a desperate time, now craving the reward he had been promised. I then dared to consider that it may be my fantasy to be rescued by my lover and his to watch a woman burn to death.

. 

I filled a ball with green tea, dropped it in the teapot, found a cup, and made a beeline to the rocker. My heart pounded as I vacillated between wanting to get what I must do over with quickly or hoping some glitch in my host's preparations would provide me with a reprieve. Finally, I spied the novel on the coffee table where it had been lying perhaps for months, dog eared with cracks in the binding.

My apprehension growing as the minutes ticked away toward the moment of my debut as an actress, I opened 'Secret Nostrums' to chapter one and was introduced to the character of Nicky Zornes. The story of a petite female detective following the trail of an industrial spy through backwaters of the former Soviet Union provided a respite from the fear gnawing at me as the moment approached to fulfill the promise I made one year ago today. 

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

I never thought I'd do the witch thing. My mother fell into the New Age counterculture during her sojourn in California in the 1970's and was practicing Wicca when I was born twenty-six years ago. 

Instead of being filled with the usual play dates and sleepovers and dance classes that are de rigeur for white suburban little girls, my childhood was spent attending coven meetings during which my mother would expound on the virtues of all-inclusive paganism, contrasting it with the oppressiveness of her evil triumvirate-Christianity, Judaism, and Islam, hoping to convert some of the curious souls who dropped by to observe the rituals of real witches. Wicca, she claimed, allowed women to channel the power of nature into human life, which would make our planet peaceful and prosperous.

But I was a geek and a tomboy who early on realized that utilizing our species' intelligence and capacity for rational thought were more likely to assure a bright future for humanity than chanting to supernatural powers for good fortune. An elder in the coven thought that I would become an exceptionally powerful practitioner of the Dark Arts and even become personally acquainted with The Great Lord, the supernatural entity that controlled Nature and to which the coven prayed, but to me at that time, such blather was risible.

My mother, disengaged from popular culture and finding those who employed logic and analysis to dissect the nature of existence anathema, never shared in my joy as I won prizes in science and was selected to be a member of the All-State Girl's Basketball Team. We made an odd couple at high school functions with me dressing conservatively and her favoring the Goth style.

During my junior year of high school my mother found a lump in her right breast. Western medicine anathema as well to her, she refused to see a doctor. Despite relying on the powers of nature for healing by ingesting herbs and modulating the currents of energy that flowed through her body to sweep away the unwanted growth, her tumor predictably grew and spread to her brain, bones, and liver. It was not until the terminal stage of her breast cancer that she even accepted hospice services to obtain pain relief from the narcotic potions that are ubiquitously available to the dying. She died on the day of my junior prom.

After my mother's passing, I reconnected with my father who had been absent since my infancy. He and my mother had a one night stand after meeting in a bar. Child support payments arrived with regularity but my mother's New Age beliefs kept my dad and me at arm's length.

Although I loved my mom and miss her still, the years after her demise have been the happiest of my life. My dad took my interests in the more conventional aspects of life seriously and supported my decision to become a nurse. I now work with cancer patients, hoping to prevent such tragedies as occurred with my mother.

It was a year ago that I became acquainted with Evan.

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

For the past four years I have been an oncology nurse, ministering to the needs of cancer patients during their hospitalizations, providing chemotherapy, pain relievers, hope, and sometimes just a listening ear. Many of those for whom I have cared have died, but those who have a chance of beating the disease become really special to me.

Evan Tyler had the misfortune of becoming a victim of multiple myeloma in the fourth decade of his life. This deadly form of cancer eats away at the victim's bones and produces proteins that destroy the kidneys. A bone marrow transplant provides the only hope for a cure. 

Otherwise the victim may linger for years as the disease becomes resistant to one form of chemotherapy after another. Every patient with this disease for whom I cared, once the pain became unremitting, the weakness unbearable, or having wallowed in their feces once too often, had told the team when it was time to stop. The request to go home with an ample supply of narcotic or even for one of us to finish the job with an infusion of intravenous morphine was then ubiquitously honored.

One year ago today Evan was in the second week of a hospitalization for pneumonia complicated by kidney failure that required temporary treatment with dialysis. We had become acquainted over the months during his admissions to my unit for the usual complications of his disease-infections, bleeding, dehydration, and the like. Distraught by this last in a series of setbacks, he had vowed that day to stop cancer treatment. 

But Evan looked too good to stop. There was no way I could allow him to. It wasn't his time. I had once given up hope for him. But something had brought him through that trial. It is up to me to bring him the rest of the way.

Our patients certainly had the right to refuse treatment. And my personal feelings toward Evan weren't a factor. I had held the hands of many dear patients as they moved onto the next world. Bothered as I would be by their departure, I never tried to impede the natural process of dying if this was their choice.

The situation I faced that day was different. His survival was vital to me, more so than any of my other patients. He couldn't be allowed to die yet. I would be a failure if I permitted him to. It would be a burden I would carry for the rest of my life. But what made him so special and who besides Evan I would be failing, I didn't know. 

Had his chart been at my fingertips, any favorable or unfavorable information in his record could not have persuaded or dissuaded me from the belief that it was my duty to rally him so he could continue benefiting from the miracles of modern medicine. But it was more than my hubris that set off the next chain of events.

Evan was lying in bed watching an old horror movie on his computer when I brought him his morning medicines the day we contracted to create this scene.

"This shit ain't doing me no good. I'm done," he announced, using uncharacteristically coarse and ungrammatical language as I tried to hand him a cupful of pills.

The thirty something engineer had always been soft spoken and articulate, but breaking up with his fiancée the day before and being denied insurance coverage for the recommended bone marrow transplant had taken its toll.

"But without the antibiotic, the pneumonia might come back. You were on the respirator for a week. A relapse could kill you," I explained.

"I'm out of here today. And I've got a trove of Oxycontin at home. If I get bad again, I ain't coming back here. I'm gonna take a handful of those pills and wash it down with a glass of Jack Daniels. And that'll be it. 

"No more Evan Tyler. The stinkin' insurance company won't have to worry about having to shell out another million or so to keep me alive. After I'm gone, email the chick on CNBC so she can let the viewers know the dividend's safe and the company's not going to need no loan from the Federal Reserve to pay for my bone marrow transplant. And let Shelley Mullins know it's OK by me for her to find some other guy to bone so she can start popping out kids."

His fiancée, worried that at the age of thirty-one she couldn't wait longer to have children, returned her engagement ring yesterday.

"The doctors say you have a fifty percent chance of being cured with the transplant. Dr. Stephens says he's sure that your insurance will cover you after they read his letter," I assured him.

Neither was life going well for me at that time. My boyfriend had graduated from medical school the month before after having gotten the internship he had dreamed of. For me unfortunately, the program was on the opposite side of the country. I had decided not to follow him without receiving an engagement ring.

But the newly minted doctor whom I had hoped would ask for my hand in marriage vanished into the belly of an airplane the week before. No marriage proposal, no breakup; I felt as much in limbo as one of the cancer patients waiting for a doctor to tell them whether their tumor had shrunk on the MRI.

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

A year later, I open the bottles of Corona and pass one to Evan. He raises the bottle to his lips and I watch his Adam's apple bob in and out as he pours the amber liquid down his throat. He doesn't stop until the bottle is half empty. 

A loud belch emanates from deep within his chest. We both break out into laughter. He looks at my bottle of Corona and seems disappointed that I have not matched his chug. Only a sip of my beer is gone.

"This is good," Evan remarks, regarding the slender bottle that is now bereft of half its contents. My former patient savors each little pleasure in life anew following the commutation of the death sentence under which he had lived for two years.

I take another sip of beer and admire the transformation of the pale withered cancer victim for whom I had cared just a year ago into a hulking vigorous man, his bald pate the only reminder of his brush with death. I sigh, recalling the passion that he had unleashed in me when he came back into my life.

"I need to figure out where to put your chains," he explains, the soft tone of his voice betraying a hint of embarrassment over the juvenile nature of his project. 

The engineer with whom I'm falling in love is a perfectionist both in his professional life and his fantasies. A fan of the horror movie genre when he was a boy, he confessed to me on the day he wanted to stop cancer treatment that his biggest regret was not being able to experience his fantasy of watching a witch be burned at the stake.

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

A DVD of the campy decades old horror movie 'Black Sunday' was playing on Evan's laptop as we quarreled over whether he should take his pills one year ago today. The image of a slender woman with long dark hair wearing a peasant dress with a plunging neckline caught my eye.

"You see her-that's the old scream queen Barbara Steele. The first time I ever jerked off, I had just watched this flick. The next day the parents were out shopping and I was lying on the couch. I started thinking about the movie and got a boner as I pictured her in my mind tied to the stake, begging for her life as the flames rose around her. I started rubbing my crotch and then exploded for the first time ever. 

"It felt so fucking good, not just during but right after too. From that moment, I was in love with Barbara Steele. We lived in L.A. and I was going to take a bus to Hollywood and meet her. I had it all figured out. She could adopt me or make me her ward, like Robin in Batman. And I'd get to go to her shoots and watch her get put to death all the time for being Satan's mistress.

"But my underpants were soaked! I didn't know that was going to happen and I didn't even know what the stuff was that came out of my dick. My parents were going to show up any time. I figured my mom would take me and my wet underpants to the emergency room to figure out what the fuck was wrong with me. So I put on another pair on and stuck the wet ones in the neighbor's trash. That was when I was twelve, by the way. 

"You know, that afternoon was the best I ever felt in my life before my wet underpants fucking ruined it. If I found out they were about to invent a time machine and I could go back in time and see this scene being shot and hear Barbara Steele begging them to put out the flames, I'd take those goddamn pills and hope I'd get in good enough shape for that bone marrow transplant."

Way too much information, I thought at first. But it was an indication that he was not depressed to the point of anhedonia.

"Maybe we could email her and she could reenact the scene somehow. It would be like the Make-a-Wish Foundation for adults," I countered naively.

"This flick was made in 1960. She must be one hundred fucking years old now, if she's even still alive."

I glanced at my image in the mirror on his dresser and noticed that I bore a slight resemblance to the actress on the screen. A wild idea possessed me.

"This is weird. My mother was a witch. No supernatural powers mind you, but she practiced Wicca. They claim their beliefs to be the same as those of the women who were burned as witches in Europe centuries ago."

"So you're a witch?"

"One of my mother's friends thought I was destined to become a powerful sorceress, so maybe I'm the closest thing you'll ever find to a real witch. But honestly, I'm not much of anything. I don't know anything about Wicca except what I remember my mother telling me. 

"By the time I became a teenager, I had decided that my mother's beliefs were nonsense. And when an adolescent figures out they're smarter than their parent, that's a recipe for trouble. We fought constantly about religion and science, and my lack of respect for the things in which she had placed her faith really hurt her.

"After she died ten years ago, I went to a few church services but nothing really stirred my soul. But I just can't believe there's nothing for us after we're gone. I don't know what I am. Maybe I'm agnostic. 




The Promise



"I don't have the key to a time machine. But I can become your witch. If you take these pills and are alive one year from now, I'll be the victim in your witch burning scene."

Evan looked at me, jaw agape.

"My mother died from cancer. She had a lump in her breast and never had any treatment. The more I insisted that she go to a doctor, the more resistant she became. 

"Knowing that I thought everything in which she had placed her faith was foolish superstition, to prove me wrong, she did everything but see a doctor. Chanting and praying to the gods and goddesses that she believed controlled human destiny were her replacement for surgery, chemo, and radiation. 

"She was dead in six months, having suffered horribly. To this day I am tormented by the thought that had I had just shown some respect for what she believed so deeply instead of always trashing the path she chose, she might have seen a doctor in time."

"Shelley and I broke up yesterday. You know that, don't you?"

"I know. I wish she was here so I could punch her."

"But it wouldn't have been fair to her to drag her down with me."

"Marriage is all about standing by the person you love. Staying with you until the end should have come naturally."

"I guess I'm better off without her."

He took the little plastic cup full of pills and threw them into his mouth. I filled his plastic water cup from his pitcher and handed it to him. I watched his larynx bob back and forth as the water disappeared; convincing me that he was actually swallowing his medications.

"So I made you an offer you couldn't refuse?"

"Nah, I was just thirsty and I figured you wouldn't let me have anything to drink unless I took your goddamn pills."

"You're a bad liar, Evan Tyler!"

"You know how to reel a guy in. How come you ain't married?"

"I'd like to be. But the man I've spent the last three years with ain't the marrying kind, I guess. Last week he moved to the West Coast."

I held up my left hand.

"No ring"

"Did you love him?"

"Yeah, I did; been crying every night since he left."

"Have you been speaking?"

"For an hour the first three nights he was gone. And then there just didn't seem much point to it. So I told him not to call me anymore."

Tears welled up in my eyes.

"I wish he was here so I could punch him," Evan replied.

I turned away, fearing that my eye makeup was going to begin running in streaks down my face; ashamed that a crack had appeared in the calm demeanor I made it a point to put forth. And then I jumped, startled as Evan appeared before me. I buried my face in his hospital gown as he held me in his arms.

"This isn't supposed to happen between nurses and patients," I pleaded between sobs.

"It's therapy. You gave me therapy and I'm giving you therapy," he whispered as he kneaded my shoulders with his bony hands.

"You're a special guy. I'm going to help cure you. I'm not Barbara Steele but I'll be the witch you get to see cry for mercy standing in the midst of flames. Because it's not going to be just drugs or radiation or stem cells that will make you beat this thing. 

"I'm going to give you something extra, something to long for, the thing I didn't give my mother, something I've never given to anyone before. While you're fighting the infections that will ravage your body as the stem cells are taking root in your bone marrow, you will have the edge over whatever is trying to kill you, because I will be there in your fantasy-the innocent young woman standing helpless on a pyre in the midst of flames that are about to consume her, her life in your hands with only you having the power to save me."

"Don't worry. I'm not going to let go. I never wanted to let go of my life. But knowing that I'm going to feel rotten every day until I do or don't beat this thing ain't gonna make it easy. Maybe thinking of what you've promised to do for me will release some of my endorphins."

"I failed with my mother. When she was dying, I could not even provide comfort. To me, she was just a foolish woman who had wasted her life on superstition. I had been nicer to my dog when he was dying.

"Maybe some supreme intelligence intervenes in our lives every so often to teach us a lesson, for with you it seems I've been given a second chance. It's as if something wants to prove to me we're more than chemical bonds between atoms, that instead the chemistry of life allows us to have the dreams and desires that sustain us, and the key to our survival is not just in the sequences of our genes, but rather how everything in nature combines to give us the will to experience life. 

"My hubris over being a creature of logic while seeing my unenlightened mother as the victim of her fantasies estranged us and contributed to her miserable demise. Now I'll look forward to being the witch I should have let her make me, with the purpose seeing you cured this day one year hence!"

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

It was three days ago that Evan returned from the transplant center. Ironically my ex-boyfriend was serving there as an intern and his fond recollections of me gave Evan emotional support as he battled infections and organ failure, helping our mutual patient survive. My hostility toward my ex-lover subsided as I ascribed my abandonment to the whims of fate that were entangling Evan and me.

Evan and I had corresponded by email, his condition too tenuous to allow his return to the East until now. I had dated other men, but still drawn to the engineer fighting cancer, never obtained fulfillment from making love with the charming and handsome suitors who graced my presence.

When his condition was desperate, he alluded to his fantasy in our correspondence. So I would describe how I would plead and beg to be set free as the flames rose around me, promising that my body would provide him with unearthly delights in exchange for my life.

But as his new bone marrow took over and did its job and his health improved, the allusions to his fantasies became seldom and he talked about starting his career over. I became jealous when he announced he and Shelley had spent a weekend together.

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

The day he came back home I met him at the airport. He insisted that we have dinner together that evening. I prepared myself for the worst, expecting him to announce that he had gotten back together with his ex-fiancée.

An hour after his plane landed, we sat in a cozy Italian restaurant. Bottles of red wine lined the walls below pictures of notables who had frequented the place over the decades. Frank Sinatra crooned in the background.

But I would not go down without a fight. Clad in the always appropriate little black dress, the V neckline showing a hint of cleavage, arms bare, and the hem just above the knees, I tried my best to sell myself as the one worthy to be his mate for life. Black pumps would raise my lips closer to his, my fantasies of an amorous encounter growing stronger as the moment of our rendezvous drew closer.

My shiny black mane had just been coiffed the day before at the salon and my straight locks rested on my shoulders. My bangs were trimmed exactly the way they were when Evan last saw me, as a reminder he was in the company of the same person who made the promise that helped save his life.

Abundant blue eye shadow adorned my upper lids, giving my eyes a smoky hue, and with added touches of black eyeliner and mascara I hoped my countenance would be sufficiently sinister to arouse his fantasy of roasting a witch in a sea of flame. Around my neck hung a gold chain, from which dangled a pentagram.

The host seated us at a table in a corner and lighted the candle in the center. I thought of how strange a place this would be to be told your life is about to take another turn.

"Shelley wanted to get back together with me. I told her no," Evan announced.

My face lit up in a smile.

"I'm sorry," I lied.

"So it turns out that you too are a bad liar, Winona Hawkins!" 

"Shelley wouldn't have let me be your fantasy girl. I owe that to you."

"You'd still do it?"

"Damn right I'll still do it. I have to do it. It's the end of your healing process. And I have off this weekend, so we can do it on the anniversary of the promise I made to you."

The waitress interrupted us.

"What can I bring you to drink?"

"Would you like to split a carafe of Merlot?" Evan asked.

"No. I want something special for us. What's your most expensive red wine?" I inquired.

"I'll have to check with the wine steward," the waitress replied.

"This could cost hundreds of dollars; you don't have to do this," Evan insisted.

"You're across from me-alive. That's a big deal to me. I work a lot of overtime and get paid a lot, so I've got plenty of money and not a whole lot to spend it on. Let me indulge us."

The waitress returned with a wine list.

"This bottle of Chateau Margaux he says is our best," the waitress advised me.

"Bring it," I commanded and closed the wine list.

"My brother has a cabin in the mountains in West Virginia. He said I could use it while I was recuperating. I'm sure he wouldn't mind me bringing a friend," Evan explained.

"Would it be a good place to burn a witch?"

"Only those witches who bear a resemblance to Barbara Steele."

"Do I fulfill the criteria?"

"Your kind promise filled my thoughts as I hung onto life over the past year. But we're adults. Just visit me at my brother's place up in West Virginia. That will be enough of a reward for me. I won't force you to recreate some stupid movie scene."

"Of course we're going to do the scene! I've dreamed of this moment. Make no mistake, I feel rewarded that you are free of cancer. But I want to feel like more that a robot that dispenses pills and injects drugs. My mother might be alive if I hadn't thought healing was just providing whatever treatment some clinical study says makes someone survive three months instead of two months. 

"You look great. We hit a home run with you! And I think that part of the reason was after I made that promise you decided that if your death sentence was commuted you would live; you would will yourself to use your second chance to do what everyone dreams of but never manages to accomplish because jobs or relationships or children get in the way. To be your plaything one year after you were about to give up and die would be a great honor for me."

Evan's brow was furrowed after he listened to my soliloquy. He bit his upper lip and then let out a sigh.

Maybe he had changed. Settling down with me and having some kids might be more appealing after beating cancer than experiencing unearthly pleasures as we made love. 

"Throughout the last year, I fantasized that some kind of chemistry existed between us. But I feel a little foolish now. We've never been intimate. We don't really know each other. And you're promising to be my plaything! 

"You're putting me on a pedestal on which I don't belong. I'm just a poor schmuck who got a bad disease and finally had a good break that's made me better, knock on wood.

"I know it was my idea to get together like this tonight but now I don't really know what we're doing here. Is this our first date? Do you like me the way I like you? Or am I still your patient? Was playing along with my fantasy just one of your nursing duties and now going up to my brother's cabin my reward and then that's it?"

I went away for a conference the day after I made my promise to Evan to be the object of his fantasy one year hence. Before I returned, he had been whisked off to the West Coast to have testing done for his bone marrow transplant, and I had not seen him again until that evening.

The wine steward came to our table, the bottle of Chateau Margaux in hand. He presented me the bottle and I nodded diffidently, deflated now that the man I had fantasized becoming my lover had become convinced that I was just a cog in the health care system, albeit with more panache than most, and that he was my guinea pig; the subject for a lesson in humility. Now I felt like a whore, after hearing that he assumed I had indulged his fantasies just as part of my job.

A splattering of dark red liquid covered the bottom of my goblet. I tossed it down my throat and nodded my approval to fill Evan's glass. The wine steward then filled my glass and departed. I whimpered as I took the first sip.

"Oh god," Evan moaned.

I sobbed and tears streamed down my face. He began wiping my face with his napkin as other couples stared. I turned away and prepared to leave the table, but then realized my companion, whom I had met at the airport, had no way home. His apartment lease having expired, I didn't even know where he planned to stay the night. Despite his callousness, I could not abandon my former patient. Neither he nor I had any place to go.

I began guzzling the wine. 

"You shouldn't drink wine like that so fast," he cautioned me.

I slammed the goblet onto the white tablecloth.

"Goddamn it, I'm not some kind of whore for the nursing profession! I think I love you, you big lout! "

"Oh god, seeing you now, so graceful, so intelligent, and dressed so beautifully, I couldn't fathom why you'd have any interest in someone who still might not have much of a future. Thoughts of you are what kept me alive all these months. I guess my little speech was my way of letting myself down from the notion that I had a chance to be the man in your life. But I should have followed my instinct. There is chemistry between us!"

I smiled. 

"So what kind of thoughts did you have of me?"

I watched Evan take a gulp of wine. His forehead turned crimson.

"Were they naughty ones?" I inquired.

"I dreamt of making love to you," he blurted.

"That's pretty staid. What you imagined doing to me must have been a lot more lurid than that for your face to turn so red."

He took another gulp of wine, violating his rule of savoring the expensive beverage. He then looked down at the table and studied the pattern on the tablecloth before letting out a sigh.

"I imagined that you were imprisoned after being accused of witchcraft and that I was one of your guards. All of the guards had been warned never to talk to you; to not even let our eyes meet because one look from you could bewitch us.

"But you didn't have the eyes of a sorceress. I dared to glance at you, and all I saw in your eyes was kindness as you sat on the straw in the corner of your cell, wrists chained together with heavy black iron shackles.

"One day when I passed by your cell you were standing at the bars. I stopped. No one except the questioners had spoken to you since your arrest. Your eyes begged for intimacy, for human contact. 

"I took your hand. You wrapped your fingers around mine. I saw you smile for the first time. And then our lips met for our first kiss."

"I then volunteered for night duty. You would not let me make love to you unless I tied you to your cot, lest the fear that you were using me to facilitate your escape would spoil my pleasure.

"You would cry out as if in pain as I penetrated you over and over, but your emanations were not of pain but of pleasure. Passersby assumed that you were being tortured, and to further our ruse you would curse me every morning as I departed."

"You finally admitted that the accusation of witchcraft against you was true. But you had forsaken the evil by running away from another village and started your life anew in the hamlet where we met. Upon learning this, I sought out the warlock who led the coven you had abandoned. He arranged the sale of my soul to Satan in exchange for your life.

"On the day of your immolation as the flames rose to consume your mortal body, a storm arose, quenching the fire and scattering the constabulary and the onlookers. As I cut away the ropes that secured you to the stake, thunder pealed and lightning struck all around setting the buildings of the hamlet ablaze. When I cut the last rope, you collapsed into my arms and after we kissed I knew I would experience every natural and supernatural pleasure until the time came for me to suffer my eternal punishment."

"So I was the instrument of your damnation?"

"It all fits together. You helped me cheat the Reaper. There's got to be a price to pay."

"You think you're going to Hell because you've beaten cancer?"

"I've been to Hell. Now I'm going to live my life as if I've gotten a reprieve, whatever the next destination is. You're right. I'm going to savor every moment. And one of the things I intend to savor is you."

A tear streaked down my face from the corner of my right eye.

"That's the most beautiful thing a man's ever said to me. But I could have been already taken by the time you were ready to come back. So why didn't you let me come visit you? You insisted that I didn't."

"I was afraid that you wouldn't find me desirable while I was sick. And when I was getting better, I did worry that you had moved on. I wouldn't have been able to bear finding out that you were in another relationship. 

"But I finally summoned the courage to find out the truth about the woman I had let go. Please tell me you're not seeing another man."

I shook my head no and took a sip of red wine.

Evan placed his hands together and blessed himself, giving thanks to his deity that he will still be able to commit a mortal sin.

I chuckled at the irony.

"So you like me?" he inquired like a schoolboy, his eyes pleading for my affirmation.

"While you were gone, no other man could measure up."

He took my hand in his, inspecting the crimson lacquer on my nails that matched my lipstick. He then looked into my eyes.

"This feels so good. You don't know how I've longed to do this."

"Were there any other nurses like me?"

"You're unique."

"So you don't think we're going to do what we're going to do because they're parts of my job anymore, do you?"

He leaned over the table and planted his lips on mine. We kissed passionately and when we broke apart, he replied, "Does that answer your question?"

We made out like two teenagers in the back of my Honda CRV in the restaurant parking lot after dinner. His lack of a condom kept us from going all the way. I found out that he was staying with his aunt. The presence of a seventy year old lady and my father at our respective abodes made further amorous activities uncomfortable, so I delivered him to his mother's sister's house that night.

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

"I'm the one you're going to burn alive and you need my help out there?" I chide him.

"You know it's just a scene!" he protests.

"Anything for my lover"

I stand before him, clad only in a black tank top and leopard bikini panties, no makeup on yet, my blemishes uncovered. My pubic hair peaks immodestly through my underpants, but I feel no shame from the scrutiny of the eyes of the man who has satisfied me as no male ever has. Around my neck hangs the gold chain from which dangles the hex sign pendant that my mother always wore and that I now cherish. 

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

I was scheduled to work the twelve hour midnight shift the next two nights after our dinner at the Italian restaurant, so we were unable to consummate our love until the night before the anniversary of my promise.

Evan arrived to pick me up at my father's house, his brother's pickup truck laden with the logs that would surround me during my ersatz immolation. Clad in the black tank top that I am still wearing, a pair of jeans hugging the ass that I had made sure was tiny for the big event, upon hearing the chime of the door bell; I flew down the stairs to allow him to gain entrance to my domicile. 




The Promise



My semi-retired father was home between stretches as a consultant and regarded the bald headed man who claimed to be taking his daughter on a white water rafting adventure with curiosity, perhaps wondering if our outing would involve bedroom high jinks but too polite to inquire further of the young woman he had grown to love and respect.

After Evan introduced himself and he and my dad had a chance to exchange pleasantries, I gave my father a peck on the cheek and trailed Evan out of my house. My dad watched from the porch as a strange man took his daughter away, and I waved to him from the passenger seat of the pick up, and glad to have his tacit approval for my dalliance, saw a smile on his face as he faded from view.

A few blocks away, safe from paternal scrutiny, I took Evan's hand in mine. A smile of contentment came over his face.

"It's not a dream. This is really happening," he said nervously, his utterance more of a question than a statement.

I took off my seat belt. Evan looked at me disapprovingly until I snuggled up next to him, resting my head on his shoulder.

"I can't believe anything bad can happen to us after all that's taken place to get us to this point. I can imagine no greater earthly pleasure than to finally be touching you, the one I love," I said softly.

Evan wrapped his right arm around me. I closed my eyes, feeling safe in his arms, and soon drifted off to sleep.

When I awoke we were driving down a two lane road through a valley, ensconced on both sides by a thick forest. The sun was directly in front of us and hidden by a cumulus cloud, the edges of which were trimmed with golden light. 

"Are we almost there?" I inquired through a yawn.

"Ten more minutes."

"Is there a dungeon in which to lock your victim?"

"I hadn't even thought of that."

"So you trust me not to escape my immolation?"

"I actually thought we'd have dinner, drink some Cabernet, and sit in front of the fireplace tonight."

We turned onto a dirt road which wound around a mountain, hurtling along at a ridiculous speed until Evan stopped the truck in front of a log home, at least five miles from the nearest dwelling. A thousand feet below us a river snaked through a gorge, and as I looked to my right blue mountaintops melted into the horizon.

"This is awesome!" I remarked, disappointed to only be able to utter a cliché.

"My brother is a developer. He wants to put homes all along the dirt road that leads here. Environmentalists have put up some legal obstacles, which have raised his hackles but don't bother me a bit."

Evan got out of the truck while I, still awestruck, continued inspecting the scenery from the vantage point of the passenger seat. Before I knew it, he had flung my door open and taken my hand to assist me from the vehicle.

"I've never known such chivalry!" I told him as I daintily placed my open toed sandal onto the bare black earth.

I watched Evan scan the vista. A hawk glided by overhead. The wind rustled through the trees. Neither a car nor motor could be heard.

"It's just like we're the only two people in the world!"

I leaned against Evan and wrapped my right arm around his waist.

"We're enjoying a privilege many never experience."

"The transplant must not have taken. I must have died and gone to heaven. It's impossible that we're here together like this."

I stood up on my tiptoes and our lips met. We kissed passionately and sloppily, and when we broke apart my lipstick was all around his mouth.

"This is not a dream. This is our time," I explained as I wiped the crimson streaks from his face.

He held me tight against his chest. I felt his heart pound, signaling his ardor for me. His hands slowly migrated toward my ass, and he hesitated as he came closer to one of a woman's forbidden zones. Even though we had already made out and were alone in the mountains, he still feared breaking a taboo and arousing the ire of his goddess.

"It's OK, I'm all yours," I whispered.

He grabbed my ass and thrust my crotch against his. First startled by his immense hard on, I giggled. I saw his lips turn into a pout until I freed my hands and undid his belt, my fingertips dampened by the seminal fluid which had soaked through his blue jeans.

I reached into his pants and wrapped my hand around his cock and began stroking it, making sure to tickle him just beneath the head, and he swooned with pleasure, just as all my lovers had. I then knelt before him on the ground and jerked his pants down.  

"I should put on a condom," he blurted out.

"No, I can't believe anything will come out of you that will hurt me," I insisted before I took his cock into my mouth.

My lips and tongue worked on the corona and his semen trickled into my mouth as his pleasure built. Just before he would have exploded, I expelled his cock from my mouth.

"See, your nurse is a naughty girl! Did you know a fellatrix used to wash your crotch?"

"I was a naughty boy. I looked down your top and saw your boobs and then jacked off when you left."

"Let's go inside," I whispered as I pulled his trousers back up to his waist and zippered them half way, careful not to snag his rigid member.

Dinner would have to wait for us to finish our amorous encounter.

As we approached the threshold to the cabin, Evan swept me up into his arms and carried me inside. 

"It's traditional for the man to carry his woman across the threshold of their first abode."

I surveyed the cabin. Sturdy but comfortable country style furniture was positioned around the main room. Dark wood cabinets cupboards bearing not a dent or scratch along with a gas stove and refrigerator made up a serviceable kitchen. I peeked into the bathroom and saw tile on the walls and a Jacuzzi awaiting the presence of an amorous couple.

I planted a kiss on Evan's lips but he missed not a step on our journey to the bedroom. The master bedroom was paneled in oak and atop the four poster king sized bed laid a bright red bedspread. I kicked off my shoes as he placed me gently down on the bed resting my head on a pillow.

I had never been a guest in such sumptuous accommodations, and marveled at the fireplace in the wall and bidet in the adjacent bathroom. My brain struggled to place a figure on the price of this estate.

"Your brother must be a very wealthy man."

"I'm the poor one," Evan conceded humbly.

His brother could have paid for all the expensive medical care Evan received, I now realized. It was either pride or simply discouragement over all his setbacks that had made him nearly give up.

"I've never been invited to stay in a place like this. You know, I could never live here. How could I ever clean it?"

"Every room of this place is cleaned once a week whether any has stayed here or nor."

"You and me could come up here and clean it once in a while. That way we could save your brother some money."

"Not necessary; he has a company that flies in a team every week. He has places all around the world and a bunch of people fly around on his tab just to keep all of them in tip top shape.

"And by the way he's divorced. If you're looking for a richer version of me, just go after him. He's away a lot, so you could still have me on the side."

"Don't sell yourself short, Evan Tyler. It is only with you that I want to make love. Please join me on this bed."

Evan took his shoes off and lay stiffly on the other side of the bed, unsure what to do, not unlike a canine that had unexpectedly caught the car to which it had given chase. My ardor for him as great as his for me, I rolled over and then got on top of him, my pelvis straddling his. The furrows in his forehead disappeared as I smiled, taking my time to undo the buttons on his blue flannel shirt.

"I've already had your cock in my mouth. Did you really think you could get away with not fucking me?"

Evan smiled, getting a kick out of my potty mouth. I began rocking my pelvis, dry humping him through our jeans.

"Have you ever made love to one of your patients before?"

"No, I think I'll make it the subject of a case report," I replied, not missing a stroke on his hard on, as he regarded me with disbelief.

"Now you're the one who's being clinical. To be truthful, we're blowing any chance for me to ever be your nurse again. But I think we both have something different in mind."

I then collapsed onto his chest and planted my lips on his. Our tongues battled as we kissed passionately, and then I planted soft kisses on his naked chest, coming closer and closer to his crotch. He obligingly lifted his hips and I yanked his trousers and Jockey shorts down, exposing his magnificent cock. It stood erect, ready to pleasure me. 

I went down on him again and heard him sigh as my lips slid over the shaft of his cock. The tip of my tongue danced on the frenulum, the spot below the meatus that when touched just the right way always drove my men wild. My lover moaned and his fists clenched at the bedding as I drove him to ecstasy. 

I expelled him from my mouth. He grabbed my shoulders and tried to make me go down on him again but I broke away and jumped off the bed.

"Have you ever been to a strip club?" I asked, now standing at the foot of the bed, my hands dipping into the waistband of my jeans. I licked my lips and tasted his semen.

He nodded yes.

"Have you ever had a girl strip for you?" 

"I had a lap dance once," he said meekly.

"How much did it cost you?"

"I don't remember."

"You're lying, Evan Tyler!"

"OK, it cost me twenty bucks."

"Give me twenty dollars. Better yet, give me money as I take off my clothes."

I took out my cell phone and activated the speaker mode. I touched the icon for the music player and selected a song to dance to. Tinny notes of Beyonce's 'Survivor' began playing and I set the phone on the night stand next to the bed.

Evan was laying on the bed his cock erect, pants pulled down to his thighs, clutching a twenty dollar bill between the thumb and index finger of his right hand. Impressions from my knees were on the bedspread alongside of him. 

I leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Don't worry, this is free." And then I planted a kiss on his lips.

I strutted over to the doorway and exited the bedroom. When Beyonce's first note blared out I revealed myself, both arms outstretched against the frame of the entrance way. I then posed leaning to my left, my arm extended against the wooden frame, my right hand undoing my belt buckle.

"Do you remember the name of the girl who danced for you?"

"She said her name was Charlene."

"Funny the things we remember, isn't it?"

He nodded yes.

"What color was Charlene's hair?"

"It was brown."

"How many dances did she do for you?"

By this time my belt buckle was undone and my jeans were unzipped, revealing my black thong. His reticence in describing his encounter with a stripper was a bit disappointing.

"I let her do three."

"So she was hot for you and you had to stop her?"

"No, she was a business woman who wanted my money!"

"And you got away with only giving her twenty dollars?"

"No, I had to pay her twenty dollars for each dance."

"And did you give her a tip?"

"I gave her a hundred more bucks when she was done dancing."

"Did you know Shelley when you went to the strip club?"

"Yeah.'

"You were a naughty boy, Evan Tyler! Was it a bachelor party that brought you and Charlene together?" I asked as I unbuckled the strap from the shoe on my left foot and kicked it off.

"It was nothing."

"Come on, you can tell me!"

"OK, it was right before I found out I had cancer and I was feeling really crumby. We had just gotten engaged and I didn't know what was wrong with me. I thought I had lost my desire for Shelley. 

"I couldn't get it up for her. I was ashamed. So the next night I went to a strip club. It was kind of an experiment. I wanted to see if some other woman could give me a good hard on. 

"It didn't work. That extra hundred bucks was for Charlene to jerk me off. We went into a private room. I had to give another hundred bucks to the bouncer, too. She tried for a half hour. I could barely get an erection. I went home and cried. 

"The next week I found out I had multiple myeloma. I couldn't do it because I was in kidney failure. After I got chemotherapy I was able fuck Shelley again."

I was now sitting on the edge of the bed holding Evan's hand. I had shut Beyonce off.

"I guess it was a bad idea to try to do a strip tease for you."

"No, I was really liking it."

The shame and sadness was now gone from Evan's countenance. His face lit up with a smile.

I turned Beyonce back on. Before returning to my naughty girl act I leaned over and planted my lips onto Evan's. His tongue shot into my mouth and we kissed to the tune of 'Survivor'.

I stood up and wriggled out of my jeans as my lover studied me from his vantage point on the bed. Turning around, I slapped the naked right cheek of my butt. I then began mouthing the words of the song as I lifted my tank top up and down, showing off my torso and the black demi cups of my brassiere. 

I then shed my top and pounced onto the coffee table at the foot of the bed. I spread my legs apart and threw my head back. With my eyes closed, I took my right hand and began playing with the waistband of my thong. My hand wandered to my crotch and I rubbed my clit through the moist fabric.

I threw my head forward and opened my eyes. Evan was staring at his stripper, mouth agape. I stuck my hand down into the thong and gently fingered my clit. I closed my eyes and let my arousal build.

"Did Shelley ever let you see her do this?"

"God no!" he exclaimed.

I stopped myself just before breaking into orgasm. I got onto all fours and crawled from the coffee table onto the bed. 

"Undo my bra!" I commanded my lover.

He undid the clasp between the cups. The black fabric fell away and my breasts fell out of the demi cups, revealing my erect nipples.

"I'm hot for you Evan Tyler! Do you want to suck my titties?"

I closed my eyes and my nipple tingled as my lover caressed it with his tongue. Its counterpart soon got the same treatment. I decided that I wasn't done teasing him yet.

I stood up and let the brassiere fall from my shoulders. I smiled, holding it over my breasts for a moment, as I began swaying to The Beatles 'Day Tripper'. I then cast it onto Evan and one of the cups landed on his erect penis.

The twenty dollar bill had fallen out of Evan's hand. I picked it up, handed it to him, and turned on my side, inviting him to give it to me as a tip. He took the hint and carefully placed the bill in the waistband of my thong.

I pulled the waistband up and down over my hips, giving my lover glimpses of my pubic hair, and as 'Day Tripper' ended, finally yanked it down to my knees and wriggled so that it fell to the floor. I picked it up and tossed it onto the bed

Evan took my thong into his hands and inspected it, enthralled to be in possession of something that had been in contact with a woman's pussy. I seized it from him, lifted it to my face, and unashamedly took in the scent of my arousal. 

I then placed the crotch of my thong over Evan's nose and asked, "Do you like the scent of a woman?"

He nodded yes, his eyes only visible, the black fabric of the flimsy garment covering his mouth and nose. I then threw the thong onto the floor. "Eat my pussy!" I commanded.

I straddled his face with my crotch. The tip of his tongue obediently began tracing a path from my labia to my clit, making me moan with delight.

His tongue danced on the tiny nubbin of flesh that was my homologue to his cock. I held his arms down, imprisoning him as his tongue danced on my swollen pleasure button. I jerked my crotch away and rolled off him when I was at the brink of orgasm.

"Do you need to tie up your sorceress before you fuck her, lest she make her escape while you are in the throes of passion?" I asked as I lay on my side next to him, my torso held up by my left elbow.

"I, I've never tied anyone, I mean a woman, well you know what I mean. I never have practiced bondage on anyone, like a girl," he stammered.

"Would you like to?" I offered.

"Sure," he replied tentatively.

"Well, I guess you'll need rope," I observed.

"I've dreamed since puberty about doing this. I've never even had the nerve to ask a woman to do this with me."

"I've never been tied up. But you're special. You can have me anytime, anyway you want."

He gave me a peck on the lips.

"You're special too."

"Did the witch in your fantasy look like me? Or did she look exactly like Barbara Steele? Or did you go for someone more contemporary like Angelina Jolie? She played a sorceress in 'Beowulf'."

"You were the woman in my fantasy, but of course your private parts were created from my imagination."

"So do my naughty bits please you?"

"The real things are even better than I imagined."

He rose from the bed. His pants fell to the floor and he stepped out of them. He then left the bedroom clad only in a flannel shirt, chest bare, cock still erect, semen dripping from the tip. My hand went back to my crotch when he turned his back as I imagined being penetrated by the thing between his legs.

He returned carrying clothesline, still wrapped neatly and encased in plastic, and a knife.

"I found this in the garage," he said meekly.

I rolled over on my back, spreading my legs and lifting my arms above my head, pointing each of my limbs at one of the posts at the corners of the bed.

"Tie me up, mortal, and experience the unearthly pleasures only a sorceress can provide before you immolate her and send her back to the one to whom she has sold her soul!"

His hand shook as he slit the plastic wrapping with the knife, making me fear that his ardor for the naked woman offering him her body would cause him to cut himself. I fretted that his blood might yet be thin from the drugs he had been given to wipe out his cancer, but he successfully extracted the clothesline from its wrapping, unraveled it, and began cutting off the hanks that were soon to restrain my limbs.

He finally discarded the flannel shirt and sat next to me on the bed, watching me plead with my eyes for him to stick his cock inside me and spill his semen into my pussy. He shook his head no, and I knew his sorceress would have to be bound before he would allow her pelvic organs to throb with pleasure.

He wrapped a hank of clothesline around my right wrist, tied it off with a slipknot, and pulled it tight. As he wrapped the other end around the bedpost and tied it off, he assured me, "I won't hurt you."

I had heard those words before, but never in this context. The men with whom I had had relationships always promised never to hurt me, but it was me who cried when they told me that they had transferred their affections to another. 

I pulled at the rope, tightening the ligature around my wrist. Even though my wrist was beginning to hurt, I believed Evan. Any pain he inflicted on me was certain to dissipate quickly.

"It's tight," I whispered.

"The only way to tie a sorceress," he replied.

"Do you like to see a girl tied tight, so she's helpless?"

"Maybe a little."

"You're a liar, Evan Tyler! I'm getting to know that tone in your voice!"

"Well if they're scared, after I cut her loose then the pleasure we both receive will be even greater."

"That's not the whole truth, is it?"

Evan had tied a slipknot in the rope with which he had encircled my left wrist and as he tugged on my left arm to straighten it, I weakly resisted.

"I get aroused when a woman's feeling a bit of pain. I can't help it. It's something that turns me on. But it's always imaginary. And the victim never dies. I always rescue her."

"So it's only the bad guys who do the torture? Is someone going to show up to torture me?"




The Promise



I guess we all wonder what our last thoughts are going to be when we're dying. I know I hadn't expected that moment to come upon me so soon or while I was enjoying the sensually warm waters and superb beach of a five star hotel. I thought the odd looking little wave that came rushing at me perpendicular to the beach was just a confused but harmless ripple, not worth the trouble of hurrying back to shore from where I stood wading among a school of delightful little fish. And then it hit me, stone cold and implacable and I knew right then, without the need for thought, that I, well off and successful Adam Garnier had made the one fatal mistake we are all allowed and I would be lucky if my stunningly beautiful wife, would even have my battered body to bury or a grave upon which to shed silent tears.

The force and fury of that "ripple" simply wasn't of this world. It could only have come from that hell I had always dismissed as a myth but now found myself praying fervently would not become my next and final home. I had been hit with such violence that all my senses shut down and I wondered if I had not been torn limb from limb. I simply knew I was absolutely helpless in a place I didn't belong. Then sheer, raw panic and survival instinct took over and I desperately tried to ................................

My name is Adam Garnier, I'm employed as Executive Assistant to the CEO of a large electronics company and I am significantly well off. I don't know where the surname came from because there is no French connection in the last five generations on my established family tree. Currently I am approaching the big five o but met my wife Lorraine when I was 35 and she was 23, twelve years my junior. She was a model at the time, mainly advertising hair care and cosmetic products on TV – and no, she wasn't the girl from Luton airport. We married within the first three months.

My wife is one of the few truly beautiful women in the world. Her ambition had always been to do classical modelling but her breasts were considered to be slightly too large, a truth which has given me great pleasure over the years. The rest of the package is equally fine from her narrow waist and nicely rounded behind to endless exquisite legs, not to mention her long very blonde hair and deep brown eyes. Her 5' 9" height nicely complements my 6' 1" and makes her the perfect trophy wife to have on my arm. That last may give the impression that I chose her rather cynically but the opposite is the truth because I adored her from the moment I saw her and I'm a one woman man. Over the years, many very attractive women have signalled their availability but I never succumbed to their charms and although I have enjoyed a lot of corporate hospitality, I consistently failed to make use of the girls that are always on offer. 

Our lifestyle requires us to attend many banquets and special occasions throughout the calendar and frankly that can become rather boring after a while. What we did enjoy were the five or six long holidays we took every year. This time we had chosen The Seychelles for a three week break. We were on a large island but the part where we were situated was not a bay. Instead the coastline was a straight line as far as you could see, a long, fairly narrow strip of very white sand fringed by jungle. The only thing that disturbed the pattern was a finger of rock which emerged from the sand and jutted out into the sea for a distance of about twenty feet. One day after lunch, while Lorraine happily strolled along the sand looking for pretty shells I waded into the crystal clear water, attracted by what seemed to be a profusion of brightly coloured fish clustered near the end of the outcrop. The beach sloped very gradually so by the time I got near to the fish, the water was still well below waist level.

I actually saw it when it was still some distance away. A line of raised water about two feet high stretching from the beach out to the horizon. Instead of coming in from the open ocean, due to the topography and direction of flow it was travelling at right angles to the beach and at some speed. I've stood up to far larger ocean breakers so, feeling no sense of danger; I simply halted to be prepared for the impact. When it hit the power of the water was unbelievable. I later found out that it was the tail end of a tsunami which had originated over a thousand miles away.

Within less than a second my legs were swept from under me and I was carried bodily, head over heels, into far deeper water. Immediately I was helplessly struggling in a churning maelstrom of water which threatened to drag me down. Desperately I kept managing to claw my way to the surface and suck in a mouthful air but every time that my head was again below the surface I was swallowing great amounts of salt water. I knew I was losing when I felt my strength ebbing and it took ever more effort to fight. I can remember thinking 'What a waste' as I resigned myself to death and was actually waiting for my life to flash before me when I felt strong hands take hold of me.

Although in the process of drowning, I had enough presence of mind not to grab hold of my rescuer and instead concentrated on relaxing so that I wouldn't handicap him in any way. I don't think I ever completely lost consciousness as he towed me to the shore but I was certainly mentally drifting for at least part of that time. I can remember that at one point I sensed that he was tiring for his legs strokes started to become more erratic but only a little time later I was lying on my side on the beach with hands pummelling my back and an ocean of water pouring out of my lungs. 

I only awoke properly when I was in the hospital with only two other lucid memories from the time I was lying on the beach. One was of Lorraine telling me that she had rung for an ambulance on her mobile and the other was a brief glimpse of my rescuer. He was on all fours, taking great gasping breaths and with a mass of long, wet, bedraggled hair hanging down from both his head and face. Later my wife explained that I had been saved by a tramp or at least a man who lived rough on the beach. "I've booked him a room in our hotel for the night, it seemed the very least that I could do," she said. 

By 10 p.m. I was recovered enough to leave the hospital and return to the hotel but under strict instructions that I had to go straight to bed. Alone with me for the first time, my wife described what had happened from her point of view. "I saw the tidal wave coming but it didn't seem particularly dangerous then the next moment you'd disappeared in a mass of foaming white water. Even though I knew there was no-one to hear me, I shouted for help and the next second this figure rushed past me, running down towards the water. He was dressed in rags and looked just like Robinson Crusoe, with long hair down his back and an even longer beard at the front. He ran out along that jutting out piece of rock and dived straight in without any hesitation. At that point it looked hopeless and I thought he was just pointlessly throwing his life away. I couldn't believe it when he reappeared; slowly bringing you back to shore. He told me his name is Bruce."

For the first part of the night I slept the sleep of the physically exhausted but awoke when the early light of morning filtered into the bedroom and remained steadfastly awake from then on, my mind a turmoil of thoughts. I could not come to terms with how easily my life might have ended and how much I owed to the man who had saved me. In worldly terms, I had so much and he had so little but he had willingly put his life at serious risk to save mine. What troubled my conscience most was the knowledge that had the situation been reversed, I very much doubt if I would have done the same. 

I waited until we had eaten breakfast when, after a last sip of iced orange juice, I announced to Lorraine that I wanted to reward my rescuer in some way for saving me.

My wife shook her head, "Bruce told me at the hospital that he doesn't expect anything, in particular he doesn't want any kind of medal or publicity. He just wants to slip back into obscurity."

"That can't be allowed to happen," I stated firmly, adopting the authoritative voice that I usually reserved for business subordinates. "I have the ability to totally alter his life and I need to do that to pay him back for saving mine."

"Even against his wishes?" Lorraine drily remarked. 

"The man doesn't know what he wants or he wouldn't be living the way he does, so that means that it's up to me. We have the ability to set him up for life, house, car, bank balance, even a job if he wants one. I feel that it's the very least that I can do." 

"That sounds expensive, how much were you thinking of giving him?"

"About a hundred grand, maybe a bit more, maybe a bit less."

My wife seemed a bit shocked by the figure, "Isn't that a bit much?" she said.

"It's slightly less than I'm hoping to get in my Xmas bonus so we'll hardly notice the loss but it will seem like a fortune to him."

Lorraine shook her head, "I don't understand why you seem so fixated on this. I can't see the logic of forcing something on someone who has categorically said that he doesn't want it."

I took a long time with my answer. My wife was used to this so she waited patiently until finally, speaking slowly, I explained, "All that I have achieved I've done by my own efforts with a great deal of help from you but sod all from anybody else. I've never borrowed money or accepted favours from any other person because I never wanted to be in debt. I've never wanted to be obligated in any way but now I have acquired an obligation that I know I can never fully repay. I've got to do something. The thought of continuing my good life knowing that the man who saved me is somewhere in the world still struggling for existence is intolerable."

My fair lady nodded to show that she understood. "So what are you planning to do?"

"I was thinking of giving him a cheque for the amount that I mentioned and insisting that he take it. I'm quite good at getting people to do what I say you know." 

"He may take it but he'll never cash it," Lorraine said firmly, again unusually disagreeing with me. "I had quite a long chat with Bruce yesterday at the hospital while they were all busy looking after you. It might surprise you to know that he's actually a very proud man. He told me that when he was much younger he worked as a lifeguard on Bondi Beach in Australia. He said that rescuing you was just doing what he was trained to do. He certainly didn't see it as the big issue that you're making it into."

"If he's so proud, what the fuck is he doing living like a bum," I said sharply, showing my irritation.

"He didn't give any details but I gather it had something to do with a woman. Whatever it was it caused him to just give up on life. His religious principles stop him killing himself so he's just living out the years. I suspect that was at least partly why he was willing to put himself in so much danger saving you."

Speaking softly with apology inherent in my tone, I asked, "If he won't take cash, what do you think I should offer him?"

"Why don't you just ask him what he would like?"

"I wouldn't know how. It's one thing just handing him a cheque or the keys to an expensive car but asking him what he wants would be too awkward."

Lorraine seemed to understand. "Bruce is just as embarrassed about rescuing you as you are about being saved. He's already said that he'll feel uncomfortable meeting you again."

"I find that difficult to believe, if he worked as a lifeguard like you say, he must have been used to saving people."

"I asked him that," Lorraine replied, "He explained that on Bondi Beach he was being paid and that made it just part of the job but this was completely different. Also in Australia he had other lifeguards backing him up." 

I nodded and smiled to show that I understood the logic. "Perhaps it might be better if you did most of the talking, "I suggested, "It might make it easier for both him and me."

Loraine started to protest but then seemed to change her mind and her easy acquiescence reminded me that I had effectively handed over control. "Listen to him and try to find out what he's likely to want before making any kind of offer," I instructed. 

With that agreed, Lorraine rang his room number saying that we wanted to meet up to thank him and arranged that he would meet us in the dining room at lunchtime. We were there early but Bruce also arrived spot on time and stood in the doorway slowly scanning the room. He was wearing an open necked shirt and what looked very much like my best suit.

"Oh, I forgot to mention, I lent him one of your suits," my wife said with a bit of a giggle, "I didn't want him to feel embarrassed having to walk round the hotel in his rags so I had a valet take it to his room, it seemed the only thing to do. You both seem about the same size so I thought it would fit. The shirt he's wearing is also one of yours."

As Bruce wended his way between the tables heading towards us, I agreed with Lorraine that he and I were of roughly similar height but I think that I filled the suit better because he had a far more wiry build. I was pleased to observe that he had made an effort by combing and grooming his unruly hair and beard and would have appeared quite presentable but for the fact that his feet were still bare.

When he drew near I rose and stuck out my hand. He returned the handshake firmly before turning to Lorraine. She gave him a quick peck on each cheek and submitted to a brief embrace before they separated and moved to their seats. "I've invited you here to thank you for saving my life yesterday, you've earned my undying gratitude," I told him rather clumsily.

Bruce looked down at the tablecloth, "Think nothing of it mate, any good swimmer would have done the same."

"I very much doubt that and I think you need to be rewarded," I told him. 

This time he looked up and grinned, "So I suppose this meal is on you – I hope so because I certainly can't afford the prices in this place." 

Sensing that the planned conversation was already going slightly off track, Lorraine interrupted to suggest that we should save the talking until after we had eaten and all were happy to go along with this. I took the opportunity to observe Bruce at leisure. I could see that without his beard he would once have been a rather good looking man. His heavily suntanned skin had acquired an almost leathery appearance but his almost impossibly pale blue eyes were a startling contrast to that dark complexion.

I recognised intelligence in those eyes. He also spoke well and I began to realise that his inner man was possibly quite different to his rougher exterior.

Bruce could certainly eat. I surmised that he was deliberately filling himself up in readiness for much leaner days ahead, I know that he kept chomping for quite a while after both my wife and I had finished our meal. At last, when his plate was finally clear, speaking slowly and clearly Lorraine said to him, "I know that you feel that you don't deserve being rewarded for what you did yesterday, but both my husband and I want to give you something to show our appreciation for what you did. Is there anything that you would like, that might significantly change your life for the better? Don't worry about the cost."

"There's nothing I need," Bruce replied immediately with a stubborn edge to his voice.

My wife gave a little laugh which indicated to me that she had gone into teasing mode. "I don't believe that for a moment, you didn't even give it any thought at all. Just think about what you would like, it doesn't necessarily have to be life changing. Please give it some consideration just for me."

Bruce obligingly went through the motions, even holding his clenched fist to his forehead in traditional thinker pose but at the end of all that he shook his head and said, "No nothing, nothing at all."

Lorraine had a real laugh at this visual humour but then told him bluntly, "I still don't believe you. Everybody in the world has something they would like that is out of their reach and I won't accept that you are an exception."

Even I noticed the look of hesitation that passed over Bruce's face and my perceptive wife certainly didn't miss it. "I knew it, there is something," she cried triumphantly. "Listen Bruce, When you saved my husband's life yesterday you also saved mine as well because my life would have been over if I'd lost him. I think you know what I'm talking about. We are both desperate to reward you for that, so please let us grant your wish."

For a moment it looked as if Bruce was about to speak but then he shook his head muttering, "No, I don't want the embarrassment when you feel bound to refuse."

"But I won't refuse," Lorraine told him urgently, "Listen, Adam and I are rich, not obscenely so but we certainly have more then we will ever need. There is very little that is beyond our ability to pay for so please say what you would like and I promise that if it is within my capability then you will get your wish."

"I would very much like to spend a night with you, nothing else," Bruce said quietly, 

There was a long, long silence. Up until that moment I had never understood references about 'jaws dropping' but Lorraine sat there with a look of shock on her face and with her mouth literally hanging open. I have to admit that I was also taken completely by surprise.

"I knew it," Bruce blurted out, "I knew this would happen, I should never have opened my mouth. Please forget I said anything."

"But I can't forget it," my wife told him, "I made you a promise and I have never reneged on a promise in my life. But I need to talk to my husband so please can you leave us for a little while. I'll ring your room when we're done."

Bruce immediately got to his feet and stepped away, seeming almost eager to escape from the table. Before turning, I saw him send a furtive glance in my direction but he couldn't have been reassured by what he saw because I knew that I had an angry expression on my face. 

"You can't be serious," I hissed the moment that he was out of earshot.

Lorraine looked me straight in the eyes, "I'm very serious, I made him a promise and I haven't a choice about fulfilling it. I feel as strongly about promises as you do about feeling under an obligation. Please try to see it from my perspective."

I was very familiar with my wife's promises and knew there was little chance of dissuading her so all I could do was try to mitigate the damage, "OK, you promised to spend the night with him but nothing was said about sex. Go to his room but play cards or something until morning like they do when creating phoney evidence in divorce cases."

"I'm not going to be pedantic about this because it wouldn't be fair," Lorraine told me with a touch of irritation in her voice, "When he said, 'spend the night' we all knew that he was asking for sex and that is exactly what I promised him. Darling you've always known that I opened my legs for other men before we met and that has never seemed to bother you, can't you look at this in the same way?" 

"Alright, fuck him if you must but it doesn't need to be more than a quickie. If 'spend the night' is a euphemism for sex then there is no specification on duration. Anyway, from the lifestyle he lives, I reckon he will be more than happy with just one fast shag. I still don't like it but I think I can put up with that in the circumstances."

My lovely wife shook her head sadly and reached out her hand until her fingers were lying lightly on top of mine. "Adam my love, yesterday Bruce put everything on the line saving your life so I'm certainly not going to hold back on him. He didn't want our wealth, he turned down a fortune because all that he wanted was a night of sex with me and that is what I am going to give him."




The Promise



"But he's only a vagrant," I objected, "He's so far below you socially that it's unbelievable.

"He's the vagrant that saved your life," Lorraine shot back sharply. "Sweetheart, I'm not saying that I want to do it but I now have an obligation. For centuries women have been having sex with men they didn't fancy, just because it was the right thing to do."

"What if I can't accept you having sex with him?" I said quietly, bringing the big guns onto the table.

My wife shrugged. "Then you must do whatever you want to do. I love you and most of the time I love the life we lead, even though there times when it seems a bit pointless. The thing is that I am willing to throw that all away to stand by my principles, I thought that you might understand that."

She had me beat and she knew it. I conceded graciously with a forced smile and the question, "So when were you planning to do it?"

"I thought tonight might be best, to get it over with quickly with less chance for a build up of tension beforehand."

"So you'll just go to his room?" 

"No, I thought it would be it bit more stylish to have dinner first, just Bruce and me. You wouldn't want to be there would you?"

"Hell no, I think I'll go out somewhere for the evening, I might even book into a different hotel for the night. 

"Isn't that a bit drastic?"

"It will certainly be better than lying in bed knowing that you and he are screwing somewhere on the same floor," I told her ruefully. 

At that point we left the restaurant and returned to our suite. I could think of absolutely nothing to say and that situation continued to pertain for what remained of the afternoon. Several nasty remarks did pass through my head but I wisely left them unsaid. Knowing that Lorraine had spoken to Bruce in the hospital the previous evening, I did wonder if this whole situation had been pre arranged then but quickly decided that the thought was unworthy of me. After toying with a magazine for about thirty minutes, my wife suddenly jumped up and announced that she might as well start getting herself ready. Her voice sounded resigned but I thought I could detect signs of anticipation in her demeanour.

Knowing that she would be in the bathroom for at least an hour I headed down to the bar. I could equally well have used the mini-bar in the room but I felt that I needed to keep my mind occupied. The bartender grinned as I approached. "Dead man walking," he said, placing the drink I would have ordered on the bar in front of me, adding, "That's on the house by the way in the hope that some of your luck will rub off on me."

I acknowledged his gesture by raising my glass in a mock toast before taking a sip. "Saved by Bruce of all people," the barman continued, "And what are the odds of him being exactly in the right place at the right time?"

"I hadn't thought of that," I admitted, "I suppose that's something else that I need to be thankful for."

"Weird bloke Bruce," my new friend continued, "There are rumours that he used to be something at one time but he's lived like a bum for all of the six years that I've worked here. He occasionally does some of the dirty jobs around the hotel for the little cash that he needs."

At that point someone at the other end of the bar required service so I took the opportunity to pick up my glass and escape to one of the tables. I certainly didn't want to talk about Bruce, the less that I knew about the man the better as far as I was concerned. Approximately forty minutes later I returned to the suite but found the bathroom door still closed. It was over two more hours before Lorraine finally emerged with me getting more and more angry as the minutes ticked bye. Of necessity I made two visits to the mini-bar but switched to spirit miniatures. 

She looked amazing. Due to the life we lead my beautiful wife is always extremely well presented but her appearance now was in a different order of magnitude. It was obvious that she had taken a great deal of trouble with her hair and she must have spent over an hour on just her eyes alone. I cannot claim that her choice of clothes were too revealing but I don't think she owns any garment more figure flattering than the dress she had chosen and I didn't need to check to know that her underwear would be the most brief and seductive in her extensive collection. My favourite pair of her high heeled Italian stilettos completed the image.

It was too much. "Anybody would think you were all tarted up to meet a lover," I spat out venomously. 

"I suppose that I am in a way," Lorraine agreed happily. I think that she was so pleased with her appearance that she missed the nastiness in my tone. 

"You are not meeting a lover; you are simply going to let yourself be fucked by a man that you made a stupid promise to. Didn't I specifically warn you to find out what he wanted before making any sort of offer," I reminded her.

"It wasn't that straightforward, you were there, you saw how it happened," she protested. "Would it have made any difference if you had handled negotiations instead of pushing all responsibility on to me?" 

"I certainly wouldn't have promised him a night of hot passionate sex with my wife."

Ignoring the jibe, Lorraine gave me a nice smile and asked sweetly, "Do you think you can perhaps stop venting long enough to mix me a drink?"

"Is that a sign of nerves?" I threw in as I moved to fulfil her request.

"Of course I'm bloody nervous," my wife snapped back, "I think that I've got far more right than you to be nervous. I'm going to be fucked by another man for the first time in fifteen years, a man who would be the last one I would have chosen from a line up of potentials. How do you expect me to feel?"

For some obscure reason her words made me feel a whole lot better so I apologised for my bad temper and tried to make her an extra special Margarita. We sat in silence while she sipped her drink broken only when she mentioned that she had rung Bruce while I was out, informing me that they had arranged to meet in the dining room at 8 p.m. I was about to say something about 'making a long night of it' but I choked back the words and let peace prevail.

For me the waiting time dragged, I don't know about her but not a single word was exchanged between us. With some twenty minutes to go I couldn't stand the tension any more so stood to leave. As I neared the door my wife called out "Wait" and I turned to find her walking towards me with a look of love in her eyes. Putting her arms she said softly, "You are the only man I love and I always will. I love you so much. Just remember that this is just sex." 

At that point I tried to kiss her but she turned her face away, saying, "Please don't mess my lipstick, I don't want to have to do it all again." That spoiled it. The whole effect of her loving declaration was negated by the knowledge that she had denied me to save her unsullied lips for another man's benefit. A more generous husband might have told her to have a good time but I am not of that ilk so instead I left the suite tight lipped and seething.

Despite what I had said, I had now had no intention of spending the night in another hotel because I had decided that I had to be on hand if my wife should have cause to need me during the night. Earlier I had noticed that in places there were sections of glass incorporated into the panelling of the restaurant. Furthermore, I knew a spot where someone could stand with a good view of the tables inside while enjoying the benefit of concealment behind some large pots of foliage. 

I was nicely in place by the time Bruce entered. If it were not for my suit I would not have recognised the man. He was had on a different shirt and must have got some shoes from somewhere because the pair he was wearing weren't mine, but the most spectacular difference was his hair and beard. He was now clean shaven and his hair had been cut, not short but to a length that was not out of the ordinary.

With a jolt I realised that he cut a quite impressive figure and that fact started a new train of unease in my guts. 

Only a few minutes later Lorraine came in looking wonderful and I couldn't help noticing how many pairs of eyes turned to admire her. Walking purposefully with a smile on her face, she headed to where Bruce was sitting. He rose to greet her and they shared a brief embrace like the one of the afternoon but this time his brief kiss was on her lips. Separating, Bruce held my wife's chair until she was seated and that irritated me. It was exactly the gesture I always made but I wondered how a beach bum had learned that level of good etiquette. 

I watched them eat until the end of the meal and at the end could only conclude that it had been an extremely poor decision because I had become increasingly unhappy as time went on. I had always known that my stubborn wife was capable of leaving me on a matter of principle but had never even contemplated the possibility of her being seduced away from me by the charms of another man. Now I was not so confident. Even I could concede that they looked good together. Furthermore, they seemed to have established a rapport very quickly and from the shared laughter throughout the meal, an unknowing observer would have naturally assumed that they had been close friends for a long time.

I controlled our fortune and leaving me would mean leaving wealth and lifestyle behind, so many would take that as a guarantee of continued stability but I was not so sure. When we met, although rising fast in my chosen career I did not yet have an excessive amount in the bank. I was always very ambitious but in those early days Lorraine had always been content with simpler pleasures than I. I had been fortunate to secure a position at a firm that was expanding rapidly and that luck continued throughout my career. 

Being in on the ground floor, I quickly achieved high rank and was in position to benefit from a quirk in commerce. Firms regard the wages of employees as an operating cost so sensibly pay as little as possible while still sufficient to retain staff. In contrast they regard the remuneration of executives as being a matter of prestige, so like to ensure that these salaries and bonuses are equal or greater than those paid by rival firms. All of that helped financially but the real reason for my extensive wealth is that I made a series of spectacularly good investments, based on snippets of information that I overheard at just the right time.

I think that my mind must have drifted because I came back to reality to the unwelcome realisation that Lorraine and Bruce were holding hands across the table. Only a few minutes later they stood and started making their way slowly towards the exit, with Bruce's arm draped round my wife's slim waist in an unmistakeably proprietorial manner. It took more time than I had planned to discreetly extricate myself from my hiding place and by the time I was able to again glimpse the pair they were about to disappear from sight at the top of the wide staircase. Luck had again favoured me in that they had chosen the stairs rather than the far faster lifts.

On the top floor I was in place to observe them enter a room five doors along from our suite. I already knew that Bruce had been placed on the same floor but had no idea about the actual room. Of course I could easily have found out his room number from reception but would have been too embarrassed to ask. The moment that the door closed behind my overgenerous wife and her sex partner for the night something very strange happened. I think that it was the first time that I truly accepted that within a very short while, another man was going to be lying between Lorain's lovely legs with his foul phallus plunged deep inside her. All strength seemed to drain from my legs so that I had to lean against the wall for support and I found that I was trembling all over. Even worse was the fact that I couldn't breathe properly and was forced to take in great heaving gulps of air.

I had enough experience of life to realise that I was in the midst of a panic attack and that I was hyperventilating. With some effort I managed to calm myself but that process took over five minutes and during that time I dreaded that someone would find me in that state and especially in that place.

I soon as I was able, I started to walk slowly forward, mechanically forcing one foot in front of the other. From that point I continued, walking and walking, back and forth along corridors and up and down stairs. I believed that I was moving randomly but my subconscious must have been at work because time after time I found myself standing outside the door of the room that contained my wife. Whenever that happened, after checking that the coast was clear I would hold my ear against the door panels for a few seconds. I was well aware that I was torturing myself for no reason but seemed to be in the grip of a compulsion. 

On one of these occasions, in a moment of rage, I was tempted to burst in the door, grab my unfaithful wife and unilaterally declare the promise satisfied but thankfully better sense prevailed. After a couple of hours spent trekking in this manner, I felt it advisable that I leave the hotel completely because members of staff, that I encountered more than once during my perambulations, were starting to give me suspicious looks. On the way out I bought a pack of cigars but this was steady my nerves rather than a desire to re-experience an old pleasure. 

I started by walking straight down to the waters edge but then the thought that another freak wave might hit in the darkness sent made me quickly retreat to a safer distance from the sea. There was a large boulder incorporated into a short stretch of minimal sea wall so I perched on that, lit a cigar and turned my eyes towards the hotel. Although the exterior was floodlit, at that distance the rows of windows seemed like small rectangular shapes. I needed to identify the room where my wife was fulfilling her promise but I was just too far away. It was not a hard decision to break my vow and hurry back to the hotel suite to grab my state of the art binoculars, before going back to my rock.

Over the next few hours, for most of the time, I sat with my eyes focussed on that one particular window. At first there were quite a lot of people in and around the precincts of the hotel but after midnight they thinned out until only a few solitary individuals were to be seen, along with the odd romantic couple. Early on, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention I hid the binoculars when I sensed someone approaching but later was able to continue my observation almost uninterrupted.

Not far along the sea wall from where I was sitting there was a vending stand selling only very mediocre coffee. This would serve to become one of many contradictions this evening that would confuse me. I prayed for something strong enough to wash this night away, but I also felt obligated to keep my wits about me in case I was needed. I visited the vending stand twice during the next two hours. As I approached on the second occasion, the guy manning the counter joked, "Haven't you got a home to go to?"

I'm generally a very private person but his question triggered an urgent need to unburden myself, possibly in the hope that doing so would release the kaleidoscope of thoughts in my head. "I've got a suite in the hotel but I can't go back because my wife is in there fucking another man," I told him bluntly.

My confidant shook his head sympathetically, "Caught them at it did you Sir?"

"No, I knew about it beforehand, you could say that I gave my permission."

This clarification immediately changed the demeanour of my friendly vendor. Giving me a lewd wink he confided, "I've heard of kinky people like you. I've had one or two fantasies myself but I'd never dream of doing it for real. How long have you been playing that game, if you don't mind me asking?"

"This is the first and last time," I said bitterly, "And all because of a stupid promise."

He grinned. "Promises, I know exactly where you're coming from Squire. You promise the little woman something in a hot moment of passion only to regret it in the cold light of day." Then glancing up at the star filled sky, he added," Or night for that matter."

I started to mutter something about my situation being rather different, when I found the coffee seller gazing at me in a quizzical way. "Say, aren't you the guy who nearly got himself drowned yesterday?"

I nodded, "And now my wife is in there screwing the balls off the guy who saved me, she thinks it is the least she can do to reward him."

"I suppose she has a point," he agreed but then, as the realisation hit he said incredulously, "You mean she's with Bruce?" When I nodded confirmation he said, "Then she must be a very generous woman."

"Sometimes too much so," I agreed. 

It was as if discovering the identity of the lucky man in receipt of Lorain's favours had killed his enthusiasm for the conversation because the coffee man now abruptly picked up a damp cloth and turned his attention to meticulously wiping the counter top, leaving me with no option other than to wander back to my lonely observation point.

While perched upon the rocks I pondered which situation would have been worse, dying yesterday at the hands of the sea, or dying inch by inch knowing what my wife was doing. On one hand I was so thankful to be alive. I had so many things I still wanted to do and see. The idea of never holding my wife again almost brought tears to my eyes. Life had been so good that leaving it before my time seemed like such a waste.

On the other hand, I felt my life slipping away from me each and every second that passed. How could I ever look at my wife the same way again? Would any of the things that I held so dear, special, ever be so again? I was alive, but dead inside. Growing old with her seemed more like a chore than the joy that prospect had been just twenty four hours ago.

Around three, again feeling thirsty, I made another trip to the stand only to find that he had packed up and gone. I think that on balance I was more relieved than disappointed, even though that meant that my dry mouth was destined to remain in that state until morning. I could of course have easily returned to the hotel and made myself a cup of quality coffee but, rather the face the mental demons that the room held for me, I decided it was better to remain parched. 

So for hours I sat on my rock watching that set of curtains and imagining what was happening in the room beyond. At home, in the bedroom we have a wall filled with mirror fronted wardrobes and there are also mirrors on the ceiling. I love watching the bodily contortions of my lovely naked wife when she is caught up in the abandon of passionate sex. Now I was paying the price of that indulgence because I had a fund of remembered images to call on. All that was needed was to mentally airbrush out my heavier figure from between my wife's spread legs and paste in that of the leaner Australian. He had saved my life only little more than thirty hours before, but at times I now had an overwhelming urge to kill him. I realised that I was in the grip of jealousy. I had no experience of either of those twin bedfellows envy and jealousy so this was new territory for me. I never had reason to be envious although I knew that many were envious of me and as for jealousy, it had had to be that emotion which was generating my primeval desire to bodily drag the man away from my compliant wife's arms and slowly throttle the life out of him. 

All through the night it felt as if I had a dagger embedded deep in my guts. Despite that, the moment that I visualised them engaged in sexual activity I acquired a painfully stiff erection and was ashamed at the implication that I was aroused by the situation. In contrast, whenever I pictured them kissing or sharing any other emotional intimacy, my penis immediately shrivelled into virtual nothingness and that's when the dagger really started to twist. 




The Promise



The final contradiction of the evening rang in my ears with the word "PROMISE." She was with him because she promised she would. But didn't she make promises to me also? Weren't her promises to me more important? Weren't her promises to me made first? This contradiction hurt and angered me the most. Would this end the marriage? Would my feelings erode away every time I thought about this day?

Gradually the sky began to lighten and that made me feel slightly better. Believing that they were most probably asleep, I relaxed and rested the binoculars on my knee. Fortunately at about eight thirty, with the hotel now lit up by full sunlight, I was again focussed on the window at the moment when Lorraine drew the curtains back. I don't know about her lower half but she was naked from the waist up. She stood and gazed out for over a minute before retreating back inside the room but during those brief moments, with my enhanced vision, I felt close enough to look into her eyes but I knew that, at that distance, she would have been unlikely to noticed me.

Believing that my ordeal was almost over, I returned to the hotel. I was tempted to call in the restaurant for breakfast but I wanted to be in our room when my wife returned and I was uncertain how quickly that would be, so instead I went straight up to the suite. First priority was making myself a very welcome cup of coffee and then I sat down to wait. Being reasonable, I didn't really expect her much before 9.30 a.m. but from then on I was expecting her to appear any second.

It was eleven thirty before the door finally opened and Lorraine walked in. She looked tired but had obviously showered and tidied herself up before returning to me. "What the hell have you been doing?" I snarled the moment she stepped through the door.

My wife looked surprised at my question. "I been showing Bruce how very grateful I am to him for saving your life," she replied softly, "What do you think I've been doing?" 

"I mean until this bloody time," I said, trying to control my anger, "You promised him a night but you've given him a night and half the next fucking day as well." 

"I only wanted to make it special for him, something he would always remember and I didn't want to spoil it by sneaking away like a whore at first light," my wife told me, the expression on her face begging understanding. "We spent a very long time talking and kissing this morning and probably fucked another couple of times as well." 

Ignoring the sex reference and trying to stay on safer ground, I asked, "So what did he tell you?"

"He used to be married but his wife was killed in a car accident and it was his fault. He was driving the vehicle and very drunk when it happened. Bruce walked away without a scratch but she was killed instantly and he couldn't live with the knowledge that he had caused her death. That's why he abandoned the life he had known and came here to eke out the rest of his existence."

Over that long night, I had built up a nice head of resentment towards the guy and didn't want to lose it but despite myself, that story triggered my sympathy. I could so easily imagine how I would feel if the same thing had happened to me. "Did he say anything else?" I asked quietly.

"Bruce said that I look incredibly like his wife, almost identical. He also admitted that he had been stalking us from the jungle for quite a while otherwise he wouldn't have been there to rescue you. He said that he found it hard to believe that I wasn't his wife and just wanted to keep looking at me."

I had been geared up for a row but found that my wife's last words seemed to have taken the wind out of my sails. Lost for words I picked up my laptop a flicked it open which prompted Lorraine to reciprocate by picking up one of her unfinished crosswords and curling up in the corner of the settee. During the next hour I read out a couple of news items and she asked for my thoughts on a crossword clue. There was other desultory conversation but I think we were both aware that we were gingerly tip-toeing round the massive elephant in the room.

Suddenly my wife abruptly put down her crossword and asked, "Do you want to talk?"

I answered by quickly snapping the laptop close and turning to face her as she took the chair opposite to me at the table. "What can I tell you?" she asked.

"What did you do while you were with him?" God, I didn't want to know this, but I had to know this.

"Are you sure that you really want to know? Lorraine asked gently. My voice wouldn't seem to work so instead I nodded emphatically. "In that case, do you want me to give the unvarnished truth or would you prefer the abridged version?"

"The truth," I said, going on to explain, "I can come to terms with the truth but if I suspect that there is something I don't know, it will never stop bothering me."

Lorraine took a deep breath and began, "Bruce had far better technique than I expected but it was very obvious that he hadn't had sex of any kind for a very long time. I reckon that the hotel will need to replace the whole mattress and not just the bottom sheet."

"What are his dimensions like, you know, down there?" For some reason this question was in the forefront of my mind."

A flicker of a smile crossed my wife's face, "If you are asking about his cock, the answer is that it is marginally longer than yours."

"But mine is thicker, right?"

This time the smile remained in evidence longer as she shook her head and said, "Sorry love, I think he has the edge on you there as well." 

That was a shock. "But I'm nicely above average."

"Well he must be nicely above average as well but just a little bit more so. He's also got a bend in his cock that makes it look a bit like a banana - and that gave me some interesting sensations."

That last bit of gratuitous information increased my growing demoralisation and I think that it was realising this that caused Lorraine you say brightly, "You are very much better than him at licking me. You're happy to lie with your head between my legs for over an hour but he didn't stay down there for much more than ten minutes. I think he was too eager to be inside me but apart from that he'd got no idea which buttons to press the way you do." 

That set my mind off on a different track and I asked, "Did you do oral on him?"

"Of course I did. You know how much I love sucking your cock so I was bound to do it with him, especially....."

"Because of that banana shape," I rudely interrupted.

"No, I wasn't going to say that. What I was going to mention that is his penis is very different from yours because his still has that extra bit of skin. I've never experienced one like that before and I was curious to find out what difference it made. I loved playing with it, pushing the skin over the crown and tickling it with my tongue later on."

"Did he cum in your mouth?" I had to ask because that was the image which had caused me most difficulty during the night. 

Lorraine nodded, "But it only happened the first time I sucked him. It happened so quickly it took me completely by surprise and there was so much of it that there was a lot I couldn't manage to swallow although I did try." She grinned, "The rest got out at the corners of my mouth and some even came down my nose."

Struggling with the lewd mental picture that my wife had painted I lapsed into silence. Lorraine waited patiently for me to speak again but after a long moment of me failing to do so, she volunteered, "It turned out that Bruce is a lot younger than I believed. Just going off his face I thought he was about your age but he's actually only a couple of years older than me. I suspect that the tragedy in his life, combined with the hard life he lives, has aged him rather badly." 

"How many times?" I asked, urgently wanting to switch her confession to an area of sex that I thought I could handle better.

"I'm not sure what you want to know," Lorraine said, "Are you asking how many times we fucked, how many orgasms he gave me or how many times he was able to ejaculate?" 

"All three, start with the number of fucks."

"Well there were two before we took a short rest, another afterwards and he woke me up to do it again a couple of times during the night. If we add in the two times that I told you about this morning that makes seven times." My wife paused and then added, "That means that he must have cum eight times altogether."

"How many orgasms did you have?"

"I don't know there were so many and I wasn't really counting," my wife told me honestly, "Sometimes they came so close together that I couldn't really tell if they were separate or one big one."

Based on a great deal of experience derived from conquests among the fair sex while I was single, I considered myself to be an exceptionally talented lover. From that grew the confidence that my wife would never leave me for another because no man could give her as many orgasms as I. It seemed that I was sadly mistaken. "You certainly had a better night than I did," I told her unhappily, "You sound as if you had a bloody marvellous time."

Lorraine bridled at the reproach in my voice, "Adam, I was making a sacrifice; nobody said there was a rule about not getting pleasure while I was doing it."

"I'm sorry, finding out that he is so much better than me hasn't done a lot for my ego," I admitted.

He certainly isn't better than you," my wife protested vehemently, "You can't just go off the number of orgasms because that is just nature at work. It's been scientifically proved that a woman will always cum more with a new man that she does with her regular partner and that is almost irrespective of the sexual abilities of either man. It's just some kind of genetic programming. I don't think I could find a man to keep me as consistently satisfied the way you do."

Feeling slightly mollified, I asked, "What positions did you use?"

"All of them," my told me eagerly, "Both of the cowgirls, doggie style and several positions that I don't think have a name but missionary was my favourite, especially when I had my legs over his shoulders. Bruce has got so much energy and stamina too, like a sexual dynamo. Would you believe, at the start, he came three times before going soft and even then it was only half an hour before he was ready to go again." 

"You talked about kissing, was there much of that?" I asked referring back to words that had disturbed me since right at the start of her 'debrief'. 

Lorraine nodded, "Yes lots of kissing and tenderness too. It wasn't all just fucking because part of the time we were also making love."

That was exactly what I had been afraid of. I had been prepared to put up with animalistic rutting but what she had just admitted to was a very different matter. "I gave my permission for sex but I thought it was on the tacit understanding that all emotional stuff was strictly reserved for me," I said, making no attempt to keep the hurt from my voice. 

"My love, I did what was required," my wife told me simply, "I realised very quickly that what Bruce really needed was to say goodbye to his wife properly so I made that possible by role playing being her and I must have been convincing because he called me Bethany a couple of times. I enjoyed the sex, I really did but I think that was because it was different. The romantic stuff was much harder and I only managed that by pretending to myself that he was you." 

"And what did all that achieved?" I asked, unable to loose my scepticism. 

"What do you think it achieved?" Lorraine countered quickly.

"You made the poor mug think that you've fallen for him. He probably can't believe his luck. There he was living in the pits without a penny to his name and he just happens to be in the right place to do something heroic on the spur of the moment. Next thing he knows the most beautiful woman he has probably ever seen is offering herself to him. But it gets better. In bed she switches between fucking like a nympho and getting lovey dovey, kissy kissy with him. He starts to think he can get the woman to run away with him, with the bonus that he knows she is loaded. He also knows that the poor sap of a husband can't fight back because he saved the jerks life." Having unloaded my built up bile, I sat back to receive my foolish wife's response.

"You've got it completely wrong," she told me, seeming to have trouble suppressing a smile.

"How so, please enlighten me?" Although I tried not to, my anger could not be hidden.

"Bruce is going back to Australia, he says he wants to start living a normal life again," Lorraine said triumphantly. "By lending me to him, you've given him back his life and that cancels out your obligation to him for saving yours."

Relief flooded over me. I could not think of a single thing to say, so instead I joked, "And all at no financial cost." 

The smile disappeared from my wife's face. "I'm afraid that isn't exactly true. You know the money you were going to give him right at the start..."

"The money he refused because he wanted you instead."

Lorraine nodded. "Well I've promised Bruce that he can have it anyway. Think about it Adam, if we've given him his life back doesn't it make sense to help it be a successful one?"

I stood up, walked round the table, lifted my wife to her feet and gave her the first kiss since she came back to me. Very soon kissing wasn't enough and my hands started to wander but she stopped me. "I want it as much as you do darling but it might be better to wait. I'm very tired and you look exhausted, I wouldn't mind betting that you got even less sleep than I did last night. Let's go and have a nap for the afternoon and then, when we are both rested, we can make it a night to remember." 




The Promise



I lay on the bed, watching him undress. The muscles in his arms flexing as his hands moved nimbly. Theo had already stripped me down, his hand sliding underneath my dress as soon as he pushed me into his apartment. He palmed my pussy and yanked my panties to my knees before pulling my dress over my head and shoving me onto the bed.

His dark eyes watched me and a small tight smile turned up the ends of his mouth. His long black hair fell into his face as he looked down, watching his thick nimble fingers unbuckle his belt and pull down the zipper on his tight black jeans.

"You know I'm going to fuck the hell out of you, right?" he asked calmly.

I laughed and allowed my head to fall back against the pillow.

Theo shucked his pants off and pulled the thin white t-shirt over his head. His chest was broad and lean, covered in the fine ink of black tattoos. He wasn't wearing boxers and his fat cock was already hard, bobbing out in front of him as he walked towards me. "I'm not joking. You need to be fucked hard and deep."

"Theo," I murmured, feeling his words make my cunt tighten and blood rush to my already hard nipples.

"Well, just go easy on me," I said as I sat up to meet his approach.

He grabbed my afro and yanked back, making me arch my back. He ran one hand over my face, slowly down my throat and clavicle to my small round breasts, his fingers teasing the swollen nipples. "Oh, never that. You need to learn how to take it like a good little fucktoy."

"But Theo . . ."

He yanked on my hair again. "Shut up," he said and I whimpered. He lowered his mouth to mine, thrusting his tongue inside, tasting me, as I sucked hungrily on his tongue. I moaned into his mouth.

He pulled away from me and pushed me down onto the bed, pinning me underneath his body, his hard cock pressed against my thigh. "You showed up at the gallery wearing that slutty tight dress and no bra," he whispered as he pinched my fat nipples. "Why?"

"I wanted you to see me . . ."

"You wanted me to look at your hard slutty nipples." His hand drew back and slapped my breast. "You dressed like a whore because you want to get fucked, don't you?"

"Yes, I want you to fuck me."

"You're desperate for my fat cock, aren't you?"

"Yes, Theo, please give me your cock."

He moved off of me to lay beside me. He yanked my legs apart. "Raise your knees slut, let me see that cunt."

I did as I was told. I was sopping wet. He slid a finger up and down the mouth of my cunt. "So fucking wet. You're leaking. God you're such a whore."His finger pressed between my swollen pussy lips, filling me.

He added another finger and I cried out brokenly. "Good girl, take my fingers, you're going to need to be able to take much more if you want my cock, and we all know how much you want my cock. Your cunt is leaking all over my bed."

His breathing grew raspy as his eyes looked between my legs, glued to my cunt. "God, your pussy is so wet."

He moved between my legs, wrapping his arms around my thighs pinning me down. I squirmed uncomfortably. "Theo . . ."

He plunged his tongue inside me, devouring my wetness, making my back arch off of the bed. I bucked as he licked and sucked on my clit. He held me in place, making me endure the sweet assault of his tongue until I shuddered in orgasm.

He pulled up, my juices on his lips and tongue and he kissed me so I could taste myself. I sucked on his tongue to get everything, while his thick insistent cock rubbed against my thigh.

"I'm going to fuck you," he said.

I shook my head, my eyes fixed on his cock. "Please let me suck it."

He bit into my shoulder and pinched one my nipples. He groaned. "Fuck, are you begging to suck my cock, slut?"

"Yes, please let me suck it."

He pushed me onto my back and straddled my chest. His fist tightened in my hair and he fed his cock into my mouth. I opened up wide, hungrily, gratefully, sucking and licking, using my tongue to tease the slit. Pulling out every trick I could think of, desperate to please him.

He moaned. "Yes, just like that." He pressed himself deeper into my mouth, fucking it. Saliva leaked down my chin.

He pulled out of my mouth and kissed me. "Such a good little fucktoy," he murmured.

He raised my knees pressing them against my chest and then pressed his cock down into the leaking opening of my cunt. I cried out as I felt the thick head slide inside me.

"Yes, fuck, yes," he said. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me still as he served me his thick dick.

He slowly drilled into me, making me take every inch. I moaned and wriggled while he fucked me slowly at first. The thick lips of my cunt clinging to his cock. "Your pussy looks beautiful around my cock." He looked down, watching his red swollen cock slide in and out of my puffy pussy lips.

Then he shoved forward hard and deep, hammering into me with a low moan. "God, yes . . ." I cried out, as he fucked the hell out of me, just like he had promised.

"I'm going to cum in this pussy," he taunted.

"Yes, please cum in my pussy."

He wrapped a hand around my throat. "Fuck yes slut, I'm going to fill you up."

I used my muscles to milk his cock and he moaned, thrusting into me even harder and faster. His balls slapping my ass. His cock coated with my creamy pussy juice. The thickness of his cock, rubbing deliciously against the base of my clit, making me shudder and jerk on his dick.

"Come on, come on Kia, cum on my cock. I can see you shaking, be a good fucktoy, cum on this dick."

I came, shuddering, eyes rolling back, his hand still gripping my throat as I creamed all over his dick.

"Fuck, you're dripping everywhere."

He shoved into me, again and again, brutally, so hard I knew I would be sore for days, but I welcome it. "Fuck me. Fuck me so hard. Make me your slut," I cried out.

"Yes, fucking slut," he whimpered as his voice cracked. He plunged deeply into me, collapsing on top of my body as he came, his face becoming a smooth mask of pleasure as he poured his seed into my hungry clutching cunt.



I Promise



"I promise I can make you scream with this, mom."

Carol was on her knees, eyes fixed on Josh's massive erection. As her son presented the monstrosity, she took in every graphic detail - the wrinkled sack where two tennis-ball-sized testicles held the promise of indefatigable potency, the alabaster barrel wrought with tortuous blue streaks that throbbed rhythmically, and the head, a purple clementine, that drooled with a menacing hunger. Carol knew in her gut, evidenced by the sight before her and Josh's unfaltering confidence, that her son was probably right. Face flushed, eyes wide, and mouth dry, the 36-year old housewife felt a heat in her belly and a tingling in her pussy she hadn't felt in a long time. 

Quickly losing control of the situation, Carol pretended that she hadn't heard her son. Fighting through the lump in her throat, she managed to mutter, "Uh... sorry baby, I didn't hear what you said." She smiled weakly, "Guess your mom is getting old."

The weak attempt to defuse the situation failed. Completely serious, Josh replied, "I know you heard what I said." He stepped closer, the pungent, yet undeniably male aroma from his cock coaxing a burst of fluid from Carol's vagina that soaked her panties. He looked down into her blue eyes, "And I meant every word. You taught me to always keep my promises."

Josh's unyielding gaze made Carol shudder imperceptibly. She couldn't believe that her son, her handsome baby boy, could reduce her, a fully grown woman, to an awestruck teenage girl. No less than five minutes ago, an errant boy had sheepishly asked his mother to look under his bed for a lost trinket; she even playfully scolded him and mussed his hair. Now, his ruse to reveal his physical gifts successful, a man stood large over a woman, demanding her surrender. 

She stammered, "Swee... sweetie... I... we can't." Fighting every voice in her head enjoining her to succumb, she blurted out the only rational defense she had, "Your father... jesus your father". The thought of her spouse brought along a torrent of guilt and fear, "I love your dad and I could never. We're happily married."

"Bullshit. I know he can't satisfy you," Josh calmly intoned.

Carol was flabbergasted at her son's casual dismissal of his father. Mike had always been a loving husband and father, and until now, Carol had been sure that Josh revered his dad. Besides, while her spouse was no lothario, he was a patient and caring lover. With this rational defense, Carol regained some authority. "You don't know what you're talking about! Your father is a wonderful lover." Yet, even as she said them, Carol's words rang hollow somehow. She couldn't ignore that the years had produced a mismatch between her husband's waning libido and her increasingly desperate desire.

The boy smiled, noting the lack of conviction in his mother's denial. Years of covert reconnaissance on his parents' marital bed had given him a keen insight into his mother's sexual proclivities. Yes, his father used cunnilingus where his tiny penis and insignificant stamina had failed. Hell, he might have even given her a rare climax she didn't have to fake. Yet, it was the small things that neither parent wished to acknowledge that were the most interesting: the innumerable nights when Josh's concupiscent mother was denied by her tired husband, her silent boredom and disgust as the fat old man on top of her thrust away, the dissatisfied way she clamped her legs sometimes, the frantic way she fingered her pussy during an "orgasm" trying to scratch an itch that just couldn't be reach. 

"I know from first-hand experience what a completely satisfied woman looks like. In the past five years, I've not once seen you satisfied."

The initial shock of learning that her son was a Peeping Tom was overridden by the surprise that her son was not a virgin. It should have been obvious, she realized, perusing his cerulean eyes, long dirty blonde hair, sturdy Roman nose, sensuous lips, and square jaw; yet, she had always seen Josh as her innocent mama's boy. Carol felt a twinge of jealousy and an itch deep inside her belly as she saw a vision of her son's tan, muscular arms wrapped around some shrieking high school floozy, his shiny quadriceps bulging as he mercilessly fucked her. The middle-aged mother felt like she was going to pass out.

"First-hand experience?"

'Plenty. Recently, more and more of them have said I'm easily the best they've ever had. I've been training hard for this day, mom." 

Oh god, it was premeditated. Carol began to shake.

Josh knew she was his. He took her tiny hand, and with meeting no resistance, placed it on his penis. The temperature difference between her cool hand and his warm babymaker made him hiss softly. As if by instinct, Carol's fingers curled around the base of the massive cock - she gawked at how much length and girth still remained. 

Josh wrapped his much larger hand over hers and began stroking. He moaned softly, "Aren't you curious mom? Don't you want to know what a man twice as long and wide as your husband feels like inside you?"

Carol watched with morbid fascination as the colossal glans disappeared and reappeared within the pale skin of her son's shaft. The itch in her womb was now unbearable. 

"Yes," she croaked out.

"Stand up." Carol could barely feel her legs. Josh had to help her up.

Without a word, Josh slowly undid the ribbon on his mother's robe. He then slipped it off her shoulders, causing the blue garment to pool on the floor. 

Josh's breathing quickened as he saw unobscured for the first time the body he had secretly worshipped for the last five years. His eyes began at the small, arched feet, complete with pink nail polish and moved onto her round calves. He couldn't help but smile at the soaking white panties and beads of pussy juice running down his mother's milky-white thighs, confirming her obvious arousal. The pleasurable vision continued up over a surprisingly toned stomach and onto the black lace bra that barely held a pair of formidable udders within. Her rapid breaths made the large pale orbs rise and fall under her flushed chest and taut neck.

"You're beautiful, mother," he whispered.

Carol observed as her son greedily studied her undulating breasts, his impossibly large shaft thickening further, jumping impatiently, and spitting a burst of clear pre-cum. It was evident that the handsome nineteen-year-old before her wanted - no, needed - her middle-aged body and she felt a strange sense of pride, even as the fear and ache within her intensified.

Josh stepped closer, and Carol felt a warm, wet prod below her belly-button. She would have looked down to confirm that it was his penis, but she was currently hypnotized by her son's unflinching gaze as he bent in to kiss her. He grasped her small waist in his large hands, pushing her towards her bed, and closed the gap, giving her a deep, sensual kiss that both confirmed the boy's obvious experience and the lack of passion in her marriage. As their tongues danced, Josh's penis traced a line of warm precum on his partner's stomach and his hands expertly unclasped her lace bra. When the long kiss ended and Josh let go, Carol, now breathless, felt her knees buckle and her ass plop down on the bed, watching as her bra fell on her son's erection and slid off. She fell back on her elbows, her flushed chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath.

The erotic sight in front of him sealed the teen's resolve, as he took off his shirt. He heard his mother gasp as she gazed upon his prominent deltoids and muscled chest that tapered down in a ruthless V to his hips. She nearly drooled when she saw his cock lightly slap his washboard stomach. How could this boy, this picture of virility, be related to her flabby, effeminate husband?

He advanced upon the bed, his formidable figure towering over his half-supine mother. "Lay back. Spread your legs." 

The woman who had told him to do his homework and chores all his life followed his imperative without hesitation. The boy pulled down her panties and effortlessly rolled them off her legs, finally gaining access to a treasured vault only a select few sons ever see twice. The ample hair that covered the area was a chestnut brown, just like his own, and the red, engorged, slobbering clam below held the promise of a warm, wet, and soft downy grip as he pounded it relentlessly for hours. He found himself shivering and fought to control his excitement.

Josh stepped between her legs and laid his penis on her stomach. He groaned, "Christ, mom... look how deep I'm gonna be inside of you."

Carol stared with disbelief as the mammoth head drooled a warm pool on her belly a good inch above her navel. "This kid is going to tear my womb in half," she thought to herself somewhat morbidly.

The thought of her womb brought another concern to mind. "Shou... shouldn't we use a... a condom, baby?"

Josh had no intention of dulling sensation during a fuck he'd been dreaming of for years; he needed to feel every bump, crevasse, and grip within the woman of his dreams. Moreover, he found the idea of impregnating his mother quite arousing - his father certainly hadn't been had been up to the task of producing a second Eldridge child. He grabbed his cock and began stroking his mother's flushed, puffy labia with his glans. Carol moaned, her son's ministrations simultaneously providing relief and stoking the heat within her. She was losing her mind.

"I don't have one, and we both know none of dad's will fit me. I can go buy some magnums at CVS tomorrow. Do you want me to stop?" He smiled cockily, knowing his question was rhetorical.

"No!" she almost yelled at him. "I mean... you... you can pull out, right?" Any rationalization would do.

He met her halfway and lied half-heartedly, "Whatever you say, mom."

A silence fell over the room, female panting and the ticking of the clock above the headboard the only audible sounds. Both partners knew what was coming next, and Carol's eyes pleaded with her son to move forward. Josh wasn't going to let his mom off that easy.

He smiled, "Tell me what you want mom." He stopped stroking, producing a whine of resentment from Carol.

"God damn it. You know what I want. I... I want... I want you. I want you inside me."

"Your wish is my command." Josh lifted her milky white calves, placing them on his tan, broad shoulder, and walked forward until his legs touched the edge of the bed, partially folding Carol on to herself. Then, he aimed his swollen glans within the warm cleft and began pushing in. Despite the ample lubrication from both partners, the resistance was significant, and the middle aged housewife hissed and gritted her teeth as the fruit of her loins desperately sought to return whence he came. 

"Ssssss...baby ...honey... JOSH! Ugh... it's not going to ssss... fit!"

However, with the perseverance that momma had taught him, the teen was able to finally work the prodigious crown of his manhood inside, causing a few inches to slide in with little resistance. 

"Ooooh! MY GOD! Pumpkin, I can't do it - you're too big! YOU'RE KILLING ME," Carol sobbed, as the few inches inside her stretched her beyond imagination. She looked down at was horrified at how much of the thick member still remained outside.

Knowing from previous experience that the transient pain would be well worth it for her in a few moments, Josh ignored his mother's protests and positioned himself for the impending assault. He bent forward and rested on his locked arms, further folding in Carol, until his eyes gazed into hers, his head in between her outstretched legs. In this position, the middle-aged beauty was completely at his mercy - all she could do was grab his sinewy forearms and hold on for the ride. 

His 38-year old mother pleaded with her eyes, completely submissive, "Darling... please... you don't need to go any deeper!"

The teen was no stranger to that line. "Yes I do. Trust me, mom. You'll be thanking me in just a bit." Carol nodded - even in agony, the housewife still needed the itch within her soothed.

With measured force, he used shallow thrusts to excavate deeper and deeper within. Each thrust produced a litany of reactions from Carol. A quick jab would yield a reflexive grunt; a slow, deep one would make her eyes go wide and she'd whimper; and deliberate rolls of his hips would produce hisses. One particular thrust, after about halfway in, caused her to reflexively put her hand on his abdomen to impede his progress - Josh smiled, knowing that he was now deeper than any man had ever been inside her.

"Oh god... sweetHEART!... it... feels aahhh... like you're in my throat. Ssss... you're in sooo deep!"

As the boy continued to bury himself in his mother's honeypot, his expertise slowly nulled the pain of the intrusion, converting it first to a strange pressure, and now to a tingling that Carol had never experienced before. Josh also noticed this sensory melioration - his mother's vocalizations turned softer and sweeter, her white-knuckle deathgrip on her arm changed to a soft caressing, and her previously absconding hips now began thrusting upwards with his rhythm.

Josh looked down to assess the physical status of their union. A son's cock slowly, but methodically, sunk in and out of his mother's vagina, his prodigious girth obscenely stretching her pussy lips. As the pipe ascended, the previously submerged portion slick and glistening, it acted as a plunger, bringing up with it a quantity of clear fluid, the aroused quim's response to its burly assailant, that trickled down the mother's thighs and spilled onto the already soaked bed. Sweat drenched both participants and a musky smell hung over the bed. The lecherous teen relished the combination of the raunchy sights, heady smells, and maternal whimpers so few sons ever experience.

Finally, with half an inch to go, Josh's glans made light contact with Carol's cervix. Carol froze up as she felt an unprecedented sensation - the soothing of that ache deep within her. As her son withdrew, she became desperate, panting with her mouth open and begged her son for relief.

"No! Sweetie please - come back! I need you where you were! Please!!"

Josh smirked and thrust back in just shallow of what his mother needed. He repeated his cruel tease, now adding clitoral stimulation with one of his hands to really drive the woman beneath him insane. His conquest was nearly complete.

"Tell me you're my woman. Tell me you don't love that pencil dick loser you married. You tell me that, I'll give you what you want."

Carol sobbed and clawed at his chest, lost between the man she owed so much to and the new man that she now needed. Yet, as the pleasure from her nub grew and the fire within her remained unabated, she knew she had no choice. No matter how much she loved her husband, her son's magnificent cock and his prowess as a lover rendered anything before moot. Any moral high ground she had collapsed.

"I'M YOUR WOMAN! THAT PENCIL-DICK LOSER MEANS NOTHING TO ME IF I CAN'T HAVE YOU! JOSH, PLEAASSEE!!!" She desperately wrapped her legs around him, trying to push him back in.

Satisfied at his domination, Josh began a merciless assault that combined rapid, medium-depth thrusts with continual clitoral stimulation, and with a timing that had made him indispensable in many bedrooms, he drove in fully, his pubic bone slamming into her mons. The fat crown of his pussy pleaser firmly rubbed into Carol's cervix, firmly scratching the itch she had borne for so many years. At the same time, her clitoris and vagina both climaxed. The result was the most intense orgasm of Carol's life.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH... GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!!!!!" she screamed. Her back arched, her legs tightened their grip on her son and shook uncontrollably, her nails drew blood in his back, and her eyes rolled back into their sockets.

Her son expertly maintained pressure while thrusting and rolling his hips, maintaining the paroxysm. As the aftershocks of her orgasm rolled through, she continued to grunt, shake, and shriek for at least another five minutes. 

Josh slowly pulled out, causing another pool of fluid to slosh out of her stretched, battered pussy and dribble onto the soaked bed. Panting, euphoric, completely satisfied, exhausted, and nearly delirious, Carol fell back on the bed.

"That was amazing, sweetheart. You really did keep your promise."

To her surprise, she heard laughter. "I'm not done yet." 

Carol looked up, bemused. She then realized that her son was still rock hard.

"I'm not satisfied. Hell, I haven't even really fucked you yet, mom. Dad won't be home for another five hours - I promise I'm going to make you scream another ten times."

His mother stared blankly, jaw agape. She felt that familiar itch inside her again.

"And like you taught me, I always keep my promises. Now, get on your hands and knees."



The Promise



He closed the car door behind him and came over to the driver's side and leaned on her open window. 

"You sure you don't want to come in for one beer?" he said.

She smiled. They'd gone out for a few drinks and had a lot of fun. She was congratulating herself on how well they'd both behaved given the history...the tension...the...them. And now this 

"Do I want to? Yes. But probably not a good idea," she said. 

"What if I absolutely promise you something?" he said, smiling back.

She turned off the ignition.

"What's that?" she said.

"What if I promise not to touch you?" he said.

"Really?" she said.

"You'd do that?" 

He smiled.

"Cross my heart," he said.

"Unless, of course, you ask me to. Then..." he said.

She laughed.

"That's fair enough," she said.

"Ok," she said.

++++ 

She'd settled in with a beer and felt his eyes on her. She met his with her own, and then looked away

"So, this was fun," she said.

"It was," he said.

The minutes of quiet dripped by like they were coming from a leaky faucet....loud....slow...anticipated.

"Stop looking at me like that," she said, not looking at him, taking a sip of her beer.

"Like...what?" he said.

She smiled.

"You know exactly like what," she said.

He moved to sit closer to her. She was wearing a long dress. She'd pulled her legs up under her. She turned to look at him.

"You promised," she said.

"I did, didn't I," he said.

Now he was looking at her mouth. He unconsciously licked his lips.

She felt her heart begin to pound.

She put her beer down.

"Ok...so...yeah," she said.

"Wait," he said.

"Nope. I can't do this. I've got to go," she said, grabbing her keys.

He quickly moved to stand in front of the door — her arm around him with her hand on the door knob. His arms were crossed.

"I'll let you leave under one condition," he said.

"LET me leave?" she said, laughing.

"Ok, boss, what's your condition?" she said.

"You have to come for me first," he said, smiling.

Her mouth dropped, as it often did with some of the unexpected things he said.

"Huh?" she said.

"You heard me," he said.

"But your promise!" she said.

"Oh, I don't have to touch you for that to happen. I think that's been proven...repeatedly," he said, smiling.

She blushed.

"I can't," she said.

"Yes, you can. And you know what else? You want to," he said.

Her eyes fluttered briefly and she anxiously tried to get a hold of it, but it was too late...he saw. Of course he did.

"Ah..there it is," he said.

"Stop. I can't do this. Let me go," she said.

"Sorry. That's my condition," he said, smiling again.

"You know, in some ways you have not changed one bit," she said, smiling in spite of herself.

"Not in this way....no. And neither have you. Which is why I know this is exactly what you want," he said.

Her eyes fluttered again.

"Stop," she said.

"Yeah? You want me to stop?" he said.

"Yes," she whispered.

"There's only going to be one way to get me to. So why don't we get on with it, shall we?" he said.

She couldn't believe she was seriously contemplating this. But his voice was like honey. Slippery honey that always drew out this delicious inevitability within her. Made everything soooo easy. Especially...this.

He went to take her hand...and she went to grab it.

"Oops!" he said.

"Can't have that! Promise and all!" he said, winking at her. She laughed.

"That's true," she said.

"Come on," he said. She dropped her keys, and followed him. Just like she knew she would from the beginning.

++++

They stood in front of his bed.

"I can't do it," she said.

He moved to stand behind her. She could feel his warmth so close.

"Yeah...yeah you can," he said.

"Otherwise you can never leave. People will start thinking you were kidnapped," he said.

She laughed.

"Technically I have been," she said.

"Yes, I guess you have," he whispered, still behind her.

"But I don't see you killing yourself to escape, either," he said.

She closed her eyes.

"This way you get to blame it all on the bad influence...right?" he whispered.

"Don't," she whispered back, closing her eyes.

"Lie down," he said.

He shut off the light.

"Go ahead," he said.

She wanted him to touch her so fucking badly now. And she knew he knew it too. But she wasn't going to break.

She crawled onto the bed.

"That's it...just like that," he whispered...that voice.

She turned to lay on her back, the back of her hand over her eyes. 

"I can't," she said.

He moved to kneel by her ear at the head of the bed.

"Yes....," he whispered.

"Yes, you can...," he said.

"Think about where you would want my hands..if they weren't bound by a promise," he said

"Shhhh. Shut up," she said Her hips moved on the bed.

Everywhere..she thought to herself.

"You want them everywhere...don't you?" he whispered, reading her mind as always.

She bit her lip. She knew he liked her lips.

"I want to do that," he whispered.

She turned to look in his eyes, look at his mouth. Her hands made fists on the bedspread.

Her long sundress had a deep v neck. Her hands moved to it. 

"Yeah...that's it," he said.

She moved her hands over her breasts, then up into the neck of her sundress and pulled it down over her shoulders. She found her nipples through her bra and squeezed gently. Her back arched and she sighed.

Now he bit his lip, invisibly to her, with her eyes screwed shut.

"Does that feel good?" he whispered.

She nodded, on the road to not being able to speak.

She worked her nipples now, tight and hard, and her breathing was getting faster.

"Wait," he said.

She turned to look at him again, questioning with glazed over eyes.

She watched him move to the bottom of her sundress with her breathing reaching a frantic place. Carefully, slowly, without touching her skin, but soooo close, he pulled it up her legs, past her hips, and she lifted her arms to let him pull it entirely off.

"Easier, isn't it?" he said, smiling.

Now in just her bra and panties, more naked than he'd seen her in a really long time — she was self-conscious until she saw his eyes on her. Saw them move over her. The hunger in them told her she had nothing to fear — but herself.

"Yes," she breathed. Her knees up now, open, she was losing reason and leaning to sensory existence.

"I can't take you watching this," she breathed. 

"Do it," he whispered.

"Do it now. Come for me," he said.

Her breathing caught in her throat. She pulled the straps of her bra down, exposing her hardened, hard nipples. His hands tightened into fists. He was not going to be able to control himself much longer and she knew it. The feverish atmosphere sent her over the edge.

Her hands moved over her nipples, her fingers tightening, twisting, and her gasps grew louder....something he hadn't heard in a long, long time. Their stolen moments were so quiet and whispered — still delicious but not like this.

Her hands moved down now, reaching between her legs, finding her clit through her panties, teasing and stroking it, and her gasps turned to ragged sighs now. She was on the edge, he could sense it. 

He got up and stood at the foot of the bed and she opened her eyes to look at him in a combination of panic and heat — trapped in the most intense way. He reached now to hook his fingers into the sides of her panties, barely touching her but almost. And slid them off....slowly...so slowly...exposing her soaking wet pussy. 

Again, she covered her eyes with her hand.

"Don't...," she said.

"Don't what?" he whispered.

They stood in silence for a minute. Hearts thundering. She sat up now, hair spilling over her face in a mess. Her eyes were primal. She leaned on her hands. Her legs open.

"Touch me," she whispered.

He smiled.

"I'm sorry...what?" he said back.

"I said....," she whispered.

She took his hand in hers, and moved it to her lips.

"Touch...me...," she said.

His fingers traced her lips under her hand, teasing her lower lip, easing it open to her welcoming, wet mouth, her tongue eagerly finding two of his fingers and drawing them in, sucking on them, quietly moaning

She moved to her knees on the bed now and pulled his shirt over his head. Time blended together as he swiftly moved to unhook the remaining coverage of her bra from her back and bent his mouth to hers. She hooked her arms around his neck like she was drowning. 

Just short of their mouths meeting, they hesitated, his fingers working her nipples, both breathing so fast. Twenty years vanished and they were blasting a car radio, rolling in the back seat of a car, hungry for more...more...the edge of a volcano that was about to erupt. 

He teased her mouth with his. 

"You didn't come for me yet," he said.

She opened her eyes lazily, smiling.

"Trust me.....," she whispered, and their teasing mouths met, opened, slowly, gently, tongues teasing and twisting, as her fingers found the button of his pants, opened it and pulled everything out of the way to find his hard cock. The first one that had ever been for her — and in some ways would always be.

The feeling of it in her hands while he was kissing her was too much. She pulled from his mouth and pulled him down on the bed on his back. She climbed over him, straddling him.

"Hey...," he whispered, smiling.

She pushed her hands down on his arms, holding them over his head.

She smiled.

"I'm in charge now," she whispered.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," he said, smiling.

"YOU enjoy it," she said. She leaned to his mouth again, licking it, moving down his body, to his nipples. She dug her fingers into his forearms, rubbing her nipples against his belly while she worked one nipple with her tongue, making hot, wet circles, taking it in her teeth, and then the other. 

His sharp intake of breath drove her urgently forward, and she moved up against him, holding her breast in her hand, to rub her hard nipple against his, hard and wet from her mouth. The sensation drew ragged gasps from both of them.

"Oh.... Fuck yeah," she whispered. His fingers dug into her hair, and her mouth moved down now, down over his belly, licking his belly, ravenous. 

Her mouth found his dick now, and she was almost too overwhelmed with the erotic charge to do it..but she glanced up at him and said...

"What were you saying? I haven't come yet?" 

His eyes fluttered back.

"Get ready," she whispered.

She took his dick in her worshipful hands, holding it, licking the tip of it in a circle, slow, slow circle, until she eased it slowly....slowly.... into her mouth.

She came immediately. He could feel it. He could hear it. She was sliding his cock in and out of her mouth and he could see she was riding out a shuddering orgasm as her tongue worked his shaft, up and down. In and out. In and out. Just the right pace, Getting only a tiny bit faster, every time, he watched her eyelids twitch as she stroked his balls, getting more aggressive, licking, sucking, moaning.

She worked it in and out of her mouth, only stopping to stroke him and lick his balls until she couldn't hold herself back and was on him again, working it, working it, tasting him salty and ready on her tongue, spinning her tongue on the tip of his dick while she stroked up and down with her hand. His fingers tight in her hair, pulling, pulling harder.

She dropped to the floor, pulling him to his feet.

"Fuck my mouth," she said.

"Oh, God, yeah...," he said. 

She dug her fingers into his thighs as he took her hair in his hands and fucked her mouth, steady, even strokes, harder, her mouth hot, wet, hungry, begging for it. 

"Here it comes.....," he whispered.

"Get ready," he said.

Her eyes fluttered and she came again. He could hear her moaning into his dick.

Three, two.....one and "Oh.......fuck..... yeah..." he whispered.

She held tightly to him for as long as she could, until he was entirely done. He pulled away. She looked up at him, smiling, licking her lips.

"Oh yeah?" he said.

"Oh...yeah," she said.

He was still hard. He pulled her up roughly and tossed her back on the bed.

She laughed.

"I'm in charge now," he said.

Her eyes fluttered and in momentary panic she backed away on the bed.

"Fuck that," he said, yanking her kicking legs back to him.

He held her hands over her head, and leaned down over her, looking directly into her eyes.

His right hand moved down her inner thigh.

"The next time I tell you to come, you do as your told," he said. 

She laughed but it caught in her throat as his fingers found her, hot, and soakingly, dripping wet. 

"No...no...no!" she said, trying to fight.

"Oh ....yes. Holy shit, you are so....fucking wet," he said.

He slid two fingers in her, fast, and hard.

"This is how you like it, isn't it? I remember....," he said, smiling.

It took less than a second before she was arching her back, sighs bordering on screams, gasping, pounding the bed with her fists, coming. And coming. And coming.

"Thaaat's it...," he said.

"Shut up!," she said.

"Please, SHUT UP," she sad.

"Oh, no...I'm in charge now. Your job is coming. Again..now," he said.

His fingers worked a steady rhythm in her, over and over, until he stopped, pulling away, and lifted her pussy to his mouth.

"Oh GOD! No. Don't!," she said.

He smiled at her, and buried his mouth in her soft, wet pussy, lapping at her clit, opening her with his tongue, and he had to hold her so tightly to him because she came so violently he thought she might get away.

Her back arched, her moans finally gave out to the scream he'd been waiting for, long....loud.....reaching into his heart and down into his once-again throbbing dick.

And there was only thing he wanted now. She read his mind.

She kicked him away, and lying on the bed, her bare pussy open for him, she asked him for what she wanted.

"Please....please.....," she said.

"Please what...?" he said, already moving between her legs.

"FUCK me," she whispered, her fingers already digging crescents into his back.

"Yeah.....that's what you want?" he whispered.

They were eyes to eyes now, this moment. Waiting for this moment. Waiting for what felt like a century for this moment. It was finally here.

"Oh my God....yes," she whispered, teasing his mouth with hers.

"Are you sure?" he said, and she could feel the tip of his dick teasing her, opening her aching pussy. Almost there...almost.

"Now...now, please," she said.

His tongue took hers as he slid slowly inside her....the explosion was immediate. He wanted to go slow, gently but it was fucking impossible.

She wrapped her legs around his hips and he mercilessly rocked into her, fast, even, deep, harder. Her fingers raked scratches into his back and he loved it. Welcomed it.

Then he stopped, smiling at her.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he whispered.

She was dying, so close to her own explosion.

"Yes! Please....," she begged.

"Well..," he whispered.

She slapped his face without thinking.

"Oh....that's where we're going?" he said.

"Oh...God...I'm sorry," she said.

"One more time, and your brains will be fucked out. That's a promise," he whispered into her mouth.

She gasped. And slapped him. 

Hard.

It was like a starting gun and it was all he needed to finish her fast and good. So good. He fucked her faster, faster, harder, until he knew he was there.

"Oh God, here it comes...," he gasped.

"Come on, baby, me too," she whispered.

They collapsed on the bed after. Quiet. Arms around each other.

Until they both began to quietly laugh.

"So yeah, that went well," she whispered.

He laughed.

"Yes, drinks were fun!" he said.

She laughed.

++++

She stood at the door to say goodbye. She hugged him.

"That was amazing...but how about we promise that was it...just this one time...to get it out of our system... a real promise?" she said.

"Oh, of course," he said, smiling. 

"I promise...," he said.

She kissed him goodbye.

He caught her arm on the way out, and turned her back to him. He kissed her forehead.

"Goodbye....," he said, smiling.

As the door closed behind her, he thought about his fingers crossed behind his back during his promise...and walked back into the kitchen.... Whistling and smiling. 

THE END



The Promise



 Authors note: Ok, so hopefully this is in the right category. It's difficult to categorize it because there will be so many different sexy and sensual scenarios going on. And this story is a "slow to simmer" type of read. However, I promise you'll enjoy it! I welcome feedback and I promise the next section will be sexy! If you think this is the wrong category for this story, please let me know so I can try to put it in the right section! 

Any comments or suggestions are greatly appreciated, as it always helps to see things in a different light!

Enjoy!

*****

Brody dropped the case files on Rebecca Johnson's already buried desk and laughed. "Here you go, busy-bee. You got some catching up to do." She could smell the cloud of body spray following him when he moved. Eau de Asshole, she thought and smiled, her eyes stinging from his acrid musk.

Brody had been in her law school class, but now he was her superior at work. It was unfair, but she knew he'd ended up as second chair on some important cases purely because he went out with the guys after work. Drinks with the boss was a time-honored way to get ahead of your coworkers, and Brody played every card in his hand to climb the ladder. 

She'd bested him in grades and in mock trial in school, and she consistently turned in better, more thorough work here in the office. On every metric that should matter, she could take him. Yet here she was in the fog of his cologne, staring at the pile of discovery documents he'd dropped on her. Just in the act of delivering them to her, he'd played it up to feel like her boss. Psych-outs and power-plays were the norm in any law office, especially for the young turds who wanted to make their name. Rebecca wanted to make hers, and she was fast deciding she'd also like to ruin Brody's in the process. 

She knew it was petty. Daydreaming about Brody getting hit by a car or keeling over and dying from eating someone's stolen lunch again wasn't very nice. Brody wasn't worth her very precious time, especially if she was going to get familiar with the Spinelli case by tomorrow. Getting added to the case was a major accomplishment and a huge opportunity, one she wasn't going to squander for lack of preparation. She opened the top folder and began to comb through the papers, letting the facts of the case find their places in the tapestry of it all, forming a detailed picture in her mind.

Slowly, the argument formed in her head. She knew the charges, and how the DA was treating the case, and she tailored her thinking to fit. It was something she'd always been able to do. Once she knew the facts of something, she could always see the argument, the best path through the bullshit and into the heart of the matter. It was why she'd studied the law, why she'd fallen in love with its language and spirit. It felt good to work that muscle, and she lost herself for a while in her thinking. She noticed Brody over her shoulder and wondered how long he'd been standing there, watching her. 

"Yes?" she asked, annoyed at the intrusion into her space. She closed the folders. Brody had a reputation in school for letting others take the notes and then cajoling his way into study groups. She wasn't sure how he'd passed the bar, and frankly, she didn't want to ask. His family was loaded, according to the office gossip. 

"Just wanted to see if you needed some help going over those. I can explain it to you if there's something you don't get." She clenched her fists and concentrated on stifling the words that were springing into her mouth. 

With all her restraint, she managed to say, "No, thanks. I'll get through it. It's just so hard with all those big lawyer words." She batted her eyes sarcastically, the rest of her face a mask of contempt. To the office in general, she announced, "Stepping out to lunch." It was 2pm, but she didn't care. Rebecca gathered up the documents and stuffed them into her valise, shouldered past Brody and headed for the door. 

"Something I said?" he called out after her. What a tool, she thought, picking up her stride down the hall and into the elevator. 

Beatbutters Diner was just a couple blocks away from the courthouse, but something about the old vinyl booths and the constant smell of burnt coffee always left her feeling nostalgic. She'd spent many late nights here during school, poring over books and case law, or writing lengthy papers arguing the merits of some precedent or another. That seemed decades ago. Damn, was she getting that old so quickly? She was nearly 32, way past being over the hill. The place was nearly empty. 

She nodded at Marjorie, the longtime waitress, and went to her usual booth back toward the bathrooms. Home sweet home, she thought. She lived here or at the office far more than she saw her real apartment. She'd considered adopting a cat, but she knew deep down that she couldn't risk a living thing relying on her schedule. She ordered a cup of black coffee from Marj and put her nose back into the case. 

The Spinelli case was a big one, newsworthy, capturing the whole city's attention. Giovanni Spinelli, the defendant's father, was widely rumored to control most if not all the organized crime on the north side, and his kid was facing some charges stemming from an altercation at a nightclub. Nothing too terrible, but there was a weapons charge and an assault. She could prove the gun was there.

The assault was more of a gray area, and even Rebecca wondered if the victim, claiming to have been punched in the face by young Andreas Spinelli, wasn't just fishing for a settlement. The media was determined to portray Andreas as the rising godfather of his syndicate family. As she looked through the evidence, though, Rebecca found herself struggling to distinguish between the truth and the DA's attempts to get to Giovanni by going after his kid.

She didn't want to think her boss would be so devious, but his was an elected position, and she knew how often politics stepped ahead of justice. Another hour passed, along with several refilled mugs of the warm, dark, thinking juice. A man walked toward the bathroom, but just as he reached her booth, he slid himself into the seat across from her. "Can I help you?" she asked, without immediately looking up from the file.

"Giovanni Spinelli," he said. Rebecca looked up, startled, and closed all the case folders hastily. 

"You can't be here. We can't be talking like this." She started to look for the waitress, but the old man's spotted hand was on hers. It was heavy, and rough, and strong. If his son had half his gravitas and charm, it was no wonder people thought he was being groomed to run half the crime in the city. 

Giovanni spoke again. "Well, I'm here, and we're meeting. Whether you say anything 'bout it is up to you. The only thing that absolutely won't happen is my son remaining behind bars, ya got me? Now, I've made my mistakes, but Andreas is a good kid. He doesn't deserve to be tarred with my brush. I heard you were just put on this case. I remember you as a public defender. You were smart, smarter than those jokers usually are. I knew you'd get out of that pit and climb up the ladder."

Rebecca sat frozen, her eyes wide, as her short career flashed through her mind. She scanned the diner for other lawyers, but thankfully, the place was deserted. 

"Relax. I cleared the place. I need you to help me. Just be fair. Look at the evidence, not at the rumors." Nodding vigorously, Rebecca shakily responded, "Yes, I understand. Of course." Besides, she thought, who in their right mind would say no to the Giovanni Spinelli? Maybe those who want to die tonight. So much for legal ethics, she mused grimly. She tried to steady her hands by choking the life out of her coffee mug. 

Giovanni continued, "Everybody says they're fair, but sometimes people need a nudge to stay that way." He looked at her pointedly. 

"Look, Mr. Spinelli, I don't know what you've heard about me, but I'm not in the business of being bribed." Giovanni raised an eyebrow. Ok, Rebecca you must be feeling suicidal today. Inhaling deeply, she continued, "I'm not trying to put innocent men away, and I don't want to lock a kid up just because public opinion sways in that direction this week. But if Andreas did it, and I can prove that, he'll serve out his time." 

Giovanni smiled. It was a vicious thing, his lips pulled back in a sneer that spread no joy across his features. "Andreas is a good kid. He didn't do this. I need you to understand that, so you can convince the DA to quit going after my kid. If he wants to see me in court, he'll need to come for me. But arresting my boy at a nightclub...? Cowardly." The old man turned and left. 

Rebecca finished her cup of coffee slowly without reopening the files. Giovanni Spinelli, here, meeting her. Why did he think she could sway the outcome, and who in the DA's office told him she was on the case? The questions didn't sit well with her, and she left the diner uneasily, constantly looking over her shoulder. Night had fallen while she'd been inside.

Her lunch break had gone on longer than anticipated, and she hadn't even eaten. She'd been hungry, but meeting a mobster had diminished her appetite. She headed up to the office and gathered the rest of her things, then took the train home. All she could think of during the ride was the old man's hand on hers, and the concern in his voice. Maybe he did just want his son spared this indignity. Whatever his end-game, she knew she'd be off the case if anyone knew they'd met. 

Her first day on a real case, and already she was skirting danger...



The Promise



Author's Note: This story got away from me. I always start with a premise and let the story go where it wants. It was hard to find the end of this one. Tim413413 spent a lot of time cleaning this story up. He is the reason it is getting posted. My mind is already lost in a new story. 

*

I was sweating again. I closed my eyes and tried to calm my thudding heart. I saw her there, in my mind. The light brown hair cropped short and barely covering her ears. I remembered every detail, how her hazel eyes crinkled when she smiled, the way the left side of her lips curled more than her right when she laughed. The look on her face when we made love, her soft, sensitive neck. I could still see the few freckles that lay speckled across the bridge of her nose. All of that was still mine, but I knew it wouldn't last. Holding on to her image for two weeks had been a miracle. I just had one last promise to keep. 

I was jostled by the nervous girl sitting next to me. She was littered with piercings proclaiming her to be a courageous rebel; her jitters spoke of the same fear I felt. They had packed us in like sardines on little plastic chairs that looked like they belonged in some school lunch room. Most of us would leave disappointed and I prayed I was one them. I had only promised to show up -- I hadn't promised to succeed. 

Most of the contestants were younger than I. I closed my eyes again, to shut out their youthful anxiety. I took a few deep breaths, and brought the image of Amber back into my mind. It was still so easy to see her. I knew my memory, such a weak tool, would begin to fail. I had pictures, but they weren't the flowing 3-D I could call up in my psyche. Still so beautiful and perfect. 

I heard the door open and hoped it wasn't for me. "Sandy Riggers?" I opened my eyes as the smartly-dressed woman wearing a headset called out the name. A bouncing blonde three rows away jumped up excitedly. I was just as excited for her. I had been here for over half a day and knew the auditions had to be coming to a close. It was a long shot to be chosen and I had never won a lottery. I had my bad luck going in my favor. I closed my eyes again and spent more time with the memory of Amber, my wife. 

"Ken Fischer?" The lady had returned, and blessedly called out a name which was not mine. I didn't open my eyes this time as Ken gave a quick cheer, and I heard him head quickly to the door. I wished it would end. I was hoping he was the last, but no one dismissed us. I tried to breathe slowly. My pulse was still racing and I needed it to slow down. One way or another, this little bit of personal hell would be over soon. It was getting too late for it to continue much longer. 

"Last one," the woman called, when she returned fifteen minutes later. I could feel the emotions shift as one in the room. The silence was deafening. I closed my eyes again and saw Amber's smile. Her face shifted slowly to a look I knew all too well. The mischievous one, the expression that lovingly told me I had no choice in the matter. My heart plummeted to my stomach and I knew the next words before they were spoken. "David Thaxton?" The groans were loud as hopes were dashed, mine included. My hands were shaking as I opened my eyes, armed only with a promise. I stood slowly, trying to stall as fear mixed with my sorrow. 

"God, you're lucky, man!" the pin-cushioned girl said as I stood. I looked at her, sweat forming on my brow. I was about to say something; maybe offer her my place. The promise kept me from that escape. I just shook my head and headed toward the door I wished was miles away. 

The woman with the headset led me down the hall. She was babbling quickly, in an indifferent manner, about what I was to expect. I stopped listening after she told me I was to stand on a small red X on the stage. I was met, just off the stage, by a young man who fitted me with a wireless mic. He warned me not to touch my chest while I was out there. A man in a green shirt came up and wiped my brow and quickly put some kind of powder on my face. He warned me the lights would be bright, and I should just look at the judges. I closed my eyes again and saw Amber smiling. It didn't slow my heart, but I didn't feel so alone. 

I heard my name reverberate in the auditorium. It quieted the low drone of the audience I hadn't realized was so close. I stood there, my legs unwilling to move. Someone pushed me and I half stumbled toward that little red X. The lights were blinding; I could only make out the first twenty rows behind the four judges' seats. A weak, cordial applause welcomed me to hell. I stopped on the X and turned toward the judges. I could feel the blood driving painfully through my veins.

"Welcome, David," a man I recognized, the fourth judge on the right said. He had a wild frock of black, curly hair running down his shoulders and back. He wore sunglasses and an overly confident expression. I knew I should know his name, but I never watched these stupid talent shows. I found myself jealous of his sunglasses. I nodded to his greeting, not yet trusting my voice. 

"Do you think you have what it takes to win?" the judge asked. He looked a little perturbed that I hadn't really acknowledged him yet. At least he asked an easy question. 

"No," I answered truthfully. I didn't expound on my answer which seemed to bother him all the more. 

"Then what are you doing here?" he asked exasperatedly. I had a feeling procedures would change at the next tryouts. Another easy question. The answer was more difficult to get out.

"I promised my wife," I responded. I remembered when I made the promise and the pain hit hard again. I had to take a long blink. 

"So, your wife thinks you can win?" the man asked with a bit of whimsy. The thought that he would even pretend to know Amber's wishes infuriated me. I know there was anger in my voice when I answered. It felt better than the fear. 

"I don't pretend to know why," I answered thickly, "I promised her and I am going to keep that promise." The audience gasped a little and the judges looked surprised at my venom. There was a pause while Mr. Sunglasses considered my response. 

"What do you plan to sing for us, Promise Keeper?" the judge asked sarcastically. This elicited a small chuckle from the audience. I really didn't like this guy making fun of my promise to my wife. 

"Amber," I answered. The judges looked at each other strangely. 

"The reggae song?" Mr. Sunglasses asked incredulously. I kicked myself for not looking up the name before. Of course there was already a song called 'Amber'. I really didn't want to answer any more questions. 

"No. I wrote it myself," I replied. There was surprise and a bit of laughter at that response. I was gritting my teeth wishing this would just end. 

"Well this should at least be entertaining," Mr. Sunglasses said with a superior smile, "go ahead and keep your promise." He made it sound so amusing. The audience was laughing openly at this point. I rallied around my rising anger, trying to hold the fear at bay. I had to close my eyes to make the faces disappear. I had never sung in public. Only for my wife. I saw Amber there, smiling and proud. I could always sing to her. 

I wrote the words to fit to 'Greensleeves.' I had to borrow others' music since I couldn't read, much less write, music. The tune was almost as pretty as Amber, and fit our love as well as possible. I heard the music start in my mind and I slowly sang to her about how we met and how our hearts merged. I sang of her beauty, comparing it poorly to a sunrise. I sang of her smile, of our dreams and mostly of our love. Amber's face changed, and I saw her concern as I got to the end. I sang about my loss and of her death. I couldn't help the tears or the crack in my voice. My promise kept, I dropped my head and listened to the silence. 

I raised my head and stared into the blinding lights. I think they were waiting for more. The applause started slowly and my anger flared quickly. The death of my wife was not a celebration. I raised my hand in front of my face, trying to shut out the din and the lights. The idiots went on, but my promise was kept. I headed off the stage at fast clip, my pain as sharp as when I last held Amber. The song had fully renewed the misery. 

I heard the judges shouting at me. 'Fuck them,' I thought. The producer lady, the one with the headphones, wisely moved out of my way as I exited. The man behind her wasn't so smart. 

"You signed a contract," he informed me as he attempted to block my way. I was glad of it -- more anger to replace the pain. I tossed the microphone at him and I grabbed him by the collar. 

"Sue me!" I shouted and threw him into a pole. He slipped and fell to the ground and quickly squirmed away. It took a couple of turns down the halls before I found an exit. The crisp open air hit me in a wave. I breathed it in deeply as I headed down the alley, darkness already cloaking the city. I had left my jacket, but the coolness wrapped my pain well. I heard a door open behind me. I ran to the street and disappeared into the city.

I was at the bridge when my phone rang. I didn't recognize the number so I hit ignore. I walked along the walkway, looking at the silently-lowing river. Cars passed, their occupants oblivious to the death of my wife. The whole world was oblivious. My phone rang again -- another number I didn't recognize. I ignored it as well and stopped at the apex of the bridge. 

I closed my eyes as I leaned on the rail. I could see Amber again, so cheerful. I would begin to forget soon. I can't see my parents' faces any more. I didn't want to lose Amber again. I knew it was grief, but that was all I had of her. I never wanted the grief to end. My phone rang again and I didn't even look. I pulled it out of my pocket and dropped it into the river. 

It was joyous to let it go. I laughed at the thought of it, throwing away the world and all its useless machinations. My watch followed and I wrapped myself in a cloak of my memories. I pulled my wallet out and looked at it closely. It was my connection to the world. My driver license, credit cards and the employee badge I should have turned in when I had quit. I opened the billfold and saw an old lottery ticket and a couple hundred dollars. None of it had meaning. I had kept my promise and everything else was moot. I threw the wallet farther. My keys were heavier, they went the farthest. 

I walked to the east end of the bridge, where the river lapped up next to the rocks far below. I was no longer cold, or cared if I was. I climbed over the railing and aligned myself with the rocks the water was kissing below. I closed my eyes and there was Amber again, in all her perfection. Every freckle, every dimple, her arms outstretched and inviting. I didn't jump, I just leaned into her arms. I saw the most precious expression, the same one I would see as we made love. I folded into her as I fell away from the world. I had kept my promise. 

>>>> 

It was damn cold. My entire body was shaking and I could feel my back spasm with each shudder. I tried to lift my head, and pain shoot down my spine. I lay back down and tried to open my eyes. There was light, but not oppressive light. Slowly, my focus returned, and I glanced unknowingly at my surroundings. The light was coming through an assembly of cardboard and wood surrounding me. One side looked to be a pallet that had a series of flattened cardboard boxes woven through its slats. 

I had a torn green blanket over me. I tried lifting my shaking hands, but more pain shot across my back. The blanket smelled foul, like the inside of a wet sneaker. I raised my head enough to see the white stains, obviously bird waste, speckling the blanket. I choked at the thought and tried again to move. The pain was too much so I collapsed on the hard surface making my bed. I was lying, slightly inclined, on cardboard sheets. I suspected there was unyielding cement beneath them. 

My shaking was getting worse. I was soaked from head to toe, and the water was foul. Maybe it was I who smelled so bad. The bridge drifted back into my mind. The events leading up to it and then, Amber. Grief flooded back as the uncontrollable shaking continued. I couldn't even fall off a bridge properly. It would be slow, but I was going to freeze to death. I could feel my fingers going numb and my lips weren't moving right. I closed my eyes, they say it is just like falling asleep. Amber was there, in my mind. Something was missing and I couldn't figure out what it was. My memory wasn't perfect. I knew it was her, but something was off. It didn't look quite right and I struggled, shaking, to bring back the perfect image and things got worse. I was losing her. I hated myself. 

Footsteps, walking through loose gravel, echoed into my cardboard tomb. I opened my eyes, and turned my head toward the sound. The steps left the gravel and became quieter as they hit a harder surface. I realized this must be the person who unsaved me. 

A small section of the cardboard cocoon was pulled away to reveal a cloudy, dismal day. I could make out some large concrete supports and the brownish iron underlying a portion of the bridge. An old black man, his hair graying on both his face and head, grinned at me. His teeth would furnish a dentist with months of work. 

"You're up," he said with eyes brighter than his weather-beaten face. "They call me Houser. I pulled you out the water." He tossed a bundle into the tiny shanty and it landed on my chest.

"Should have left me," I chattered, not realizing talking would be difficult.

"This side's mine," Houser stated firmly, "you want to die, go to the other side." He used his head to gesture along the bridge to the other bank. "Them's dry clothes. They ain't the finest," he smiled again, "but they's dry. Got them from the shelter so they's clean." He crawled into the hovel and reclosed the opening. He didn't smell any better than I did. I tried to sit up and a sharp pain put me back down. 

"Just roll me back into the water," I groaned. Houser laughed. It was a halting laugh that didn't speak well of his mental state. 

"You missed most of the rocks, but found a few. Houser chuckled. "Bet you're real sore about now." That's all I needed, some homeless guy laughing at me about my failed suicide. I took a few deep breaths and cried out as my muscles protested. I forced myself to sit up. The dirty blanket fell forward onto my lap and my upper body felt even colder. I sat shivering, trying not to move much. My lower back would have preferred I lie back down.

"Give me your shirt," Houser demanded. I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to give my back time to get used to the new position. It wasn't fast enough for Houser. "The shirt or you leave. You have to go somewhere else to die," he said, while holding out his dirty hand. I was in no condition to leave and I guess he had a right to demand I didn't die in his home, as crappy as it was. I tried to unbutton my shirt with my shaking hands. The mixture of the cold, and the shooting pains as I moved my arms made it very slow going. I couldn't feel much in the tip of my fingers which made it difficult to shove the button back through the wet hole. Houser started laughing again. "Maybe you don't miss the rocks next time." He barely got it out before resuming his inappropriate laughter. 

"My fingers are too cold," I stuttered between shakes. 

"I'll do it, but don't get no ideas," Houser stated as he, and his stink, moved forward. I tried to give him my 'are you out of your friggin mind' look. I don't think I fully managed it. He deftly undid the buttons and quickly scooted back again. It was agonizing pulling the wet shirt off my shoulders. I must have really bruised my back. The air hit my wet skin sharply, and my shuddering increased. Houser quickly took the wet shirt and handed me a dry one he had liberated from the pile in my lap. It was only an old t-shirt, but it was dry. Pulling it on was another slow, agonizing process. Houser handed me a worn flannel shirt that buttoned down the front. 

"Layers, I learned that my first year," Houser spouted proudly. There was more pain putting my arms in the arm holes. The shirt smelled clean. I truth, it didn't smell at all and that was clean from where I was sitting. I was able to get the shirt buttoned myself, much to Houser's relief, who seemed overly concerned about his virtue. The dry clothes started warming my chest quickly. The shivering didn't stop, but the severity receded, and I had more control over it.

"Now the pants," Houser said, and quickly stepped outside, "let me know when you're done." I smirked, my lips working a bit better, at his worries. Even if I was gay, Houser wasn't my type. I laughed inwardly at that thought. He was old and homeless and had all the right in the world to be from the kooky side of the street.

It took a long time to switch my pants. My lower back must have taken quite a hit and the muscles were screaming. I more or less scooted out of the pants since I was unable to fully bend my legs. Houser had brought a pair of cotton exercise shorts and some old stained cargo pants. I replaced my boxers with the exercise shorts, almost screaming to get them over my feet. The cargo pants were even more difficult. I looked around and noticed for the first time that my shoes were missing. They were probably the same place my socks were. 

"Houser, where are my shoes?" I asked as I rolled over onto my hands and knees. I wasn't sure I could stand up without passing out. I certainly couldn't stand up in the hovel. 

"I put them on the vents," Houser answered, "they's be dry soon." I crawled to the exit and poked my head out into the gray day. I was housed under the bridge, right where the supports met the land. My shaking had stopped. It wasn't terribly cold now that I had dry clothes. Houser looked down at me. "There's socks in there too," he said, pointing into the hut. I crawled back and painfully donned a pair of dry black socks. 

"What's your name, jumper?" Houser asked with a bit a sarcasm. I decided it was best he didn't know. I didn't plan on staying, and I didn't really trust him. 

"Frank," I answered. It was the first name to come to me. I subconsciously felt for my phone and remembered it was at the bottom of the river, along with my wallet. I really wasn't planning to need them anymore. 

"Why'd you do it?" Houser asked. I looked up at him and saw the glint in his eye. I could see he wasn't really concerned about me. He was more interested in the story. I guess I was what passed for entertainment under a bridge. "You bankrupt, kill someone?" he continued. He gave me the best lie, the one that said I was not worth anything. 

"Bankrupt," I lied. Houser laughed his crazy laugh.

"I'm always bankrupt," Houser said, "don't need no money so I don't care if I don't have any. It's you idiots that put worry in it." I chuckled at that. He was right in his own way. 

"You're a wise man, Houser," I praised, His face lit up like a Christmas tree. I have no idea why I found that pleasing. He's an old man who lives under a bridge. Why would I care if he was happy? Nevertheless, his dental disaster of a smile made me feel good. I tried to stand and decided against it when my back fought against it with pain. 

"Lie flat," Houser instructed, "you might be stuck here a day or two. I will take care of you and then you owe me....that's how it works." I slowly rolled over on to my back and slowly straightened my legs. I smiled at him.

"What will I owe you?" I asked. I was thinking in terms of dollars. 

"I don't know yet!" Houser snapped, "you share what you get or do me solid. Nothing more than what you get. I'll ask when I see it. Can't live without helping each other out here." He was talking at me like I was an idiot. It was a simple barter system, favor for favor. 




The Promise



"Sounds more than fair, "I responded lightly, "you just let me know. I will owe you good when I get out of here." Houser smiled again, and nodded his head. He really enjoyed the idea of being owed. I would have to find a way of paying him back. I was impressed how simple his life was. Right now, I envied him. 

"It's almost four," Houser said absently, "kitchen will open soon. Sadie said I could bring you back something 'til you feel better. She won't do it for long so you got to get better." 

"Sadie?" I asked.

"She runs the kitchen," Houser said incredulously, "don't you know anything? You're lucky I found you." He was shaking his head as he headed off beyond the bridge supports. He acted like the whole world knew about the kitchen. 

I lay on the cardboard mattress feeling physically better than when I woke. I closed my eyes and saw my flawed vision of Amber. "I miss you baby," I whispered. The vision didn't improve. I had already lost perfection and I knew it would only fade more over time. My grief returned and I wished Houser hadn't left. I needed his simplicity, as strange as it was.

Houser returned as the sun began to set. I wasn't sure how much time had passed because my watch was on the bottom of the river. It was kind of nice not caring what time it was. I have spent my whole life watching a clock. All that happened was time ran out for Amber and me. Now time could just suck itself. 

"I got you some fried chicken and a cup of jello," Houser said as he handed me a chicken balled up in a napkin and a paper cup filled with red jello. Strangely, it seemed like a feast. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until I smelled the cold chicken. There was a leg and half a breast that had been cut with a knife. 

"Got to eat out here," Houser pointed to the cement. "Don't want critters inside." More homeless wisdom. I crawled out and sat up slowly. I was starting to figure out how to move with the least amount of pain. The lower left side of my back felt like it had been hit with a sledge hammer. If I kept myself tucked a little to the left, I could withstand more movement. 

"Thanks, Houser," I said sincerely, "I owe you." Houser smiled and nodded. I was getting the hang of this favor thing. Just acknowledge the debt and pay it back in kind in the future. If only the rest of life were that simple. I dug into the chicken and it disappeared quickly. It was actually pretty good as fried chicken goes. Even cold, the seasonings partied with my tongue in a snappy way. I was kind of wishing there was more. I emptied the cup full of red jello cubes into my mouth and enjoyed the brief sweetness. I stuffed the napkin into the cup and looked around for a waste can or something. Houser laughed and grabbed the cup out of my hand, walked down to the river and threw it in. Pollution was obviously not part of his ethos. 

It was four days until I could stand and walk properly. Houser said I had one hell of bruise on my back. I guess I was lucky, or unlucky depending upon your point of view. I was certainly happy I didn't have to crawl down to the river to relieve myself anymore. 

Houser and I became good friends. I liked him better than anyone else I knew. I liked his philosophy. There was no way I was going back to my old life, not without Amber in it. Jumping off a bridge didn't appeal to me any more either. I was losing weight, something I always wanted to do. I couldn't care less what time it was and there was absolutely no stress. My home, job, car and old friends would do nothing, but remind me of what I had lost. A week ago, I would have never guessed I could live without all my stuff. Now, I couldn't care less how full my DVR was or whether I had checked my email. I was dropping out and going off the grid.

Houser was a brilliant teacher. He had been on the streets for over twenty years. He dropped out when he lost his factory job. He couldn't find another even close to what he had been earning, so he hit the streets. For him, it worked. He really didn't care how the world turned and had no desire for the finer things in life. I wasn't sure how long I could hack it, but, after four days under a bridge, I was feeling pretty free. I didn't have any obligations to clutter my time. Grief would visit, but never stay long. There was nothing under the bridge to remind me of Amber except my own thoughts. 

"I guess you could make it to the kitchen today," Houser said, "it's almost four so we better get started if we want more than scraps." I looked at him strangely. His time-telling skills were gnawing at me. He wore no watch, but he always had a good sense of the time. Even when it was cloudy. 

"How do you always know what time it is?" I asked with a smile. Houser was always proud of his secret knowledge of the streets. It's one of the reasons why he liked me. I always made a point of drawing it into the open so he could show off. 

"Traffic," Houser answered, pointing to the bridge, "I can hear rush hour starting." He was beaming and I gave him a small bow in praise, which caused a little pain. I had ignored the traffic, but he was right. You could almost count the tires crossing the breaks in the pavement. In his own way, Houser was a genius. 

I followed Houser into the streets for the first time in four days. I am sure I looked a mess. I hadn't shaved or even combed my hair in all that time. I received a few disgusted looks from suited professionals, but most people just ignored us. I felt invisible and found it exhilarating. I am sure my smell wasn't invisible, but Houser didn't seem to be offended. 

The kitchen was in a rundown district. It looked like it had been some kind of factory at one time. It was a three story brown bricked building with large windows, mostly boarded. There was a large sign above a double set of doors that said 'City Kitchen.' One of the doors was propped open, but a line had already begun to form just before the two steps that led to the doors. There was no indication why we couldn't just go inside. 

"Can't go in until 'Sugar Magnolia,'" Houser said as we got in line behind an old woman. "Maggie, this here is Frank." Maggie turned, her face was wrinkled like elephant skin. She smiled, nodded and turned to face the line again. I said 'Hi,' but I don't think she heard it. She was humming to herself and it wasn't offensive, almost like she could carry a tune. 

"'Sugar Magnolia?'" I asked. 

"You'll see," Houser smiled. I waited with everyone else as the line got longer. I let Houser have his fun. I learned in four days not to get anxious about anything. Patience was a way of life on the streets. It was the cost of the freedom. 

Houser seemed to know most of the people in line. A week ago, I would have never thought of them as people at all. It's strange how jumping off a bridge could change your perspective. Not all of the people looked like they hadn't showered for a week or more, and I was surprised at the number of kids in line. There was one mother trying to reign in three young boys who seemed very comfortable with the whole process. 

The civility in the line was the most surprising aspect. No one seemed to mind the wait and there wasn't any attempt cut in or form a new line. I was expecting more of a herd mentality instead of the practiced order being displayed. It went against everything Houser stood for. 

"It's so...orderly," I said. I almost gave it a questioning tone. 

"Sadie don't put up with no shit," Houser replied. Maggie stopped humming and turned around.

"You cause trouble, you don't eat," Maggie said accusingly. She raised her finger and pointed at me with a scowl. I smiled at her, trying to prove I was a good person and deserved to eat. She turned back around and continued her humming. Sadie must be a beast of a woman to invoke such discipline in everyone. I imagined her at three hundred pounds swinging a rolling pin with deadly force. I didn't intend to cause any trouble, so I wasn't too worried. 

I heard an electric pop followed by a hiss of speakers firing up. "Four o'clock, here we go," Houser said patting me on the back. The line started moving forward just before the music started. The song 'Sugar Magnolia' wafted through the open door. I realized that was the tune Maggie had been humming the whole time. Everyone moved forward calmly; there was no pushing or arguing. I have seen ruder people entering high-priced theatrical productions. Maybe Sadie packed an Uzi. 

The line moved forward slowly, but steadily. I patiently waited my turn to head into the door. I smelled chili as I neared the door and my stomach growled. I was hungrier than I thought. I know I hadn't eaten well in the last four days, but it really didn't bother me until that wonderful smell hit my nostrils. Inside the door, the line continued down a short hall and took a turn to the right. The music was more pronounced inside and Maggie was bouncing to the beat. Maybe she was a deadhead from way back. 

I turned the corner just as the song ended. The din of plastic trays and plates replaced the music. There was a stainless steel cafeteria line ahead, manned by people who looked like they would fit comfortably in the line. The first station was being handled by a large woman wearing a white apron over mismatched pants and shirt. Her hair, black with streaks of gray, was pulled back and covered in a white scarf. She was filling bowls with chili and handing them over the sneeze guard with a smile that was missing a few teeth. I assumed she was Sadie. She was definitely imposing enough. 

"I haven't seen you before," a female voice to my right said as I entered the dining room. The room held a good twenty long tables with metal tubed plastic folding chairs. My eyes followed the voice to a woman dressed in a flowing red flowery skirt. Her dusty brown hair was long down her back, held in place by the same white scarf the chili lady was wearing. 

"No, I guess I'm new," I replied, a little lost for words. I wasn't expecting to be greeted. The woman's eyes crinkled when she smiled. She was petite, at least a hand shorter than I. Her cream-colored blouse was practical, but sharply ironed. She stood with both hands clasped behind her back. She looked completely out of place, for one thing, she had all her teeth. 

"Sadie, this is Frank," Houser chimed in from behind me, "he's the one I told you about." Sadie didn't look anything like I expected. She was maybe in her mid thirties and not physically imposing at all. 

"Welcome, Frank," Sadie said, and used her hand to direct me toward the cafeteria line. A small gap in the line was created when she greeted me and I think she was intent on seeing it closed. Something about her manner made me hustle to fill the gap. "You owe me five days, Houser," Sadie called as we moved toward the chili. 

"Five days?" I asked Houser for clarification. 

"Yeah, I gots to work the line," Houser said, nodding to the buffet line, "if you eat a lot, you owes days to Sadie." He smiled as he picked up a tray off the stack. "It ain't bad work, it's just she makes you clean up, you know, before you touch the food and stuff." Houser obviously cherished his grime. He wasn't quite as free as he claimed.

"Cheese?" the large chili lady asked. 

"Sure," I answered and she dropped a tong full of shredded cheddar on top of my plastic bowl of chili. She made an effort to smile as she handed me the bowl. I found myself smiling back and saying 'thank you.' I moved to the next station, and a tall gangly guy with the same apron and scarf handed me a small bowl of fresh broccoli and carrots in some kind of oily sauce. He also smiled and warranted a 'thank you.' The whole process was extremely civil and the service was pleasant. I looked back at Sadie as she greeted everyone entering. You have to admire someone who can organize the unorganized. 

"Brownies!" Houser said excitedly. I saw his eyes light up and he exposed all his bad teeth. An older woman was serving them at the end of the line. Same apron, same scarf and the same smile. With our trays loaded, Houser and I found a seat at one of the tables. 

"Does Sadie run this all by herself?" I asked as we began to dig in. 

"Yep, it's her kitchen," Houser answered with a mouth full of chili. I saw him eying my brownie. He wasn't trying to be overly obvious, but he wasn't hiding it either. I smiled and moved my brownie to his tray.

"I owe you," I said. Houser nodded his head as he stuffed another spoonful of chili into his mouth. I had a feeling I wouldn't be getting dessert for a while. It didn't really bother me, anyone who could help me forget was worth his weight in dessert. 

We ate in the relatively quiet atmosphere of the cafeteria. There was talking, but it was all subdued and very cordial. Not what I expected at all. Houser informed me Sadie wouldn't allow raucous behavior in her cafeteria. I looked back at Sadie and wondered how she could possibly stop a ruckus if it started. Everyone just seemed to accept her iron rule here.

I was watching Houser enjoy his brownies at the end of the meal. Enjoying was an understatement. He was in ecstasy. He savored every bite, and his eyes glossed over. His joys were simple and this was one of his favorites. 

"So, what are you doing here, Frank?" Sadie had sat down next to us without me noticing. I jumped a bit in surprise. I figured I would stick with the lie I started with.

"Financial problems," I answered. I wondered if I smelled as bad as Houser. If so, Sadie didn't seem to mind. She just looked at my face as if trying to figure out something. Her dark eyes seemed to penetrate past my lie and I sensed she didn't believe me. 

"You're not buying Houser's freedom of the streets crap are you?" Sadie smiled sweetly at Houser as she said it. Houser was still lost in his second brownie and seemed oblivious to the teasing insult. For some reason I didn't feel like lying to her again. There was something about how she presented herself that just made it feel wrong. 

"Right now, yes," I answered honestly, "it's kind of refreshing." Houser was nodding as he relished another mouthful of the brownie. He was more aware of the conversation than I gave him credit for. Sadie rolled her eyes and gave me an expression just short of disgust. I suddenly wanted to take my answer back and try again.

"You owe Houser?" Sadie asked, nodding toward the brownie monster. 

"Yes," I answered quizzically. 

"Then you take his five days," Sadie said as she rose, "I'll see if I can change your mind. Be here tomorrow morning at nine; don't be late." Sadie headed off before I could respond. I was shocked by the authority she just assumed she had. Houser smiled with a mouth full of brownie.

"We're even," Houser said, obviously pleased with the turn of events. I looked after Sadie, her skirt swinging from side to side as she headed toward the serving line. She walked with authority that no one seemed to question. She inspected the line, and was pointing out things while workers hustled to make everything right. Not what I expected at all. 

It was a chilling morning, doubly so since I had to leave the hovel before the sun was above the buildings. I made it to the Kitchen well before nine or at least Houser said I would be early. I was stamping my feet on the steps, and hugging myself when I heard the door begin to open. 

"You're going to have to collect better clothes if you want to make this your lifestyle," Sadie said, while waving me in. "You're early," she commented. 

"Don't have a watch," I responded as I stepped into the warmth. It was the first time I had needed a watch since I threw it in the river. She locked the door behind me and started walking to the dining area expecting me to follow. I followed like a dog. 

"The door to the right," Sadie instructed while pointing to the far wall, "leads to a shower room. There's a wash basin to wash your clothes and a dryer. Clean up, and we'll get started in about an hour." She turned, and headed back toward what I expected was the real kitchen area. She left no room for dissent. 

"What if I say no?" I asked. Might as well find out how this all works. I wasn't used to feeling like someone's slave. Sadie turned around and looked at me with a calm glare. 

"If you're not clean, you can't touch the food," Sadie stated firmly, "if you can't help, we won't like each other." Her hands found her hips and she stared at me. I almost came back with a smart-ass remark, but couldn't find the courage. She was very imposing for such a petite woman. 

"Clean it is," I said cheerfully. I really didn't want Sadie's ire. I had a strange feeling it would be a costly thing to behold. Sadie just turned and continued on her previous path. 

The shower room was large. I guessed the building must have needed it in its prior life. It was set up like one you might find in an old dormitory. A row of sinks, a hall of toilets and a large, open shower room with five shower heads. In the sink portion, there was a utility basin with an old dryer next to it. I followed Sadie's instructions. 

I stripped down and threw my clothes in the basin. There was detergent above the faucet which I used to scrub the clothes. The water turned a nasty shade of tan as I washed. I guess five days in the same clothes does that. I rinsed the clothes as best I could and went to toss them in the dryer. The dryer held a towel that I guess was meant for me. I exchanged the towel for my clean, but wet, clothes and put the dryer on a one hour cycle. 

Above one of the regular sinks was a set of hotel toiletries sitting on the metal tray below the mirror. The tray held a cheap plastic-wrapped toothbrush and comb, along with a small bar of soap, a tiny toothpaste tube and a mini shampoo. I didn't recognized myself in the mirror. My reddish-brown hair, which hadn't been combed in five days, was matted, and it stuck out in strange directions. I was sporting the beginnings of a sparse beard, and I was shocked to see some of it coming in gray. I had never had gray hair before. My face was basically filthy with streaks of oily dirt where I had wiped it with my dirty hands. I had aged ten years in five days. Amber would have been pissed. 

I grabbed the soap and shampoo and headed to the shower. I scrubbed myself thoroughly and then repeated the process a couple more times. I closed my eyes with my head under the warm rain and tried to see Amber again. She was there, missing the perfection I could once see. I hated losing that perfection, but it wasn't ripping me apart as before. I knew I wouldn't be jumping off any more bridges. I also knew I wouldn't be returning to my old life. The mirror convinced me Houser didn't have the answers either. I owed him five days, so that's how long I had to figure out things. At least Sadie had my day planned for me. I really didn't want to think any more. 

I dried off, combed my hair and brushed my teeth. I felt slightly more normal. I lost a little portion of the freedom Houser had tried to instill. It was replaced with a desire to do something. I just wish I knew what that something was. I looked at my scraggly baby beard and wished I had a razor. I didn't like the gray hairs -- Amber would have hated them. I remembered trying not to shave on Sundays. It was just a lazy thing, to make Sunday a do-nothing day. Amber nixed it almost immediately. I remember her sitting me in a chair, then straddling me and shaving me herself. We made love like teenagers that day, me promising never to not shave and her promising to shave me personally if I reneged. The memory brought a mixture of tremendous love and horrible sadness. A potent mix that always caused tears. I wished I had a razor.

I spent another twenty minutes with my memories while I waited for the clothes to dry. I washed out my towel and exchanged it with my clothes in the dryer. I set the dial for thirty minutes on the dryer and fired it up. I walked out a clean man. 




The Promise



"A bit better," Sadie commented as I entered the dining hall. She was obviously waiting for me to emerge. "Let me see the hands," she ordered. I held out my hands with a small roll of my eyes. She ignored my eyes and looked closely at both sides of my hands with special attention to the nails. 

"Take the chairs off the tables," Sadie ordered. I assumed she had accepted the cleanliness of my hands since she didn't make me rewash them. "Tuck them under, equidistant apart. Don't move the tables, they are exactly where they belong. Meet me in the backroom when you're done." She headed off with a purpose. I looked at the legs of the tables and the north sets of legs were lined up perfectly on a tile line. The northeast leg of each table was on a tile corner. Sadie may be a little OCD. I lowered the chairs and tucked them under and scooted them to make sure they were equally spaced. I walked around when I was done and adjusted a few, so the chairs lined up with the tables in the same rows. I rechecked each table to make sure it hadn't moved. Then I went into the backroom. I had no idea how Sadie got me to be so anal about tables and chairs. 

I walked into the backroom, one of the cleanest kitchens I have ever seen. All the stainless steel sparkled and everything seemed to have a place. There were no utensils or pots and pans lying out. Even the tiled floor looked spotless. Sadie was sitting on a stool, working with a set of papers. She looked up as I walked in and pointed to an apron and scarf that had been laid out on the counter. I donned both. 

"That's the hand wash station," Sadie said, as she pointed at a small sink along the wall. "Push the lever with your leg and wash your hands. Before you touch any food or anything that will touch food, you wash your hands. Paper towels are in the dispenser next to it." She went back to her papers, making notes on one of them. 

I was a little surprised to not see anyone else working. I moved over to the sink and washed my hands. It seemed a little over-the-top since I had just gotten out of the shower. I guess I touched some chairs, but I assumed they were strictly sanitized like the rest of the place. I was drying my hands with the paper towels when Sadie looked up again. 

"There are Roma tomatoes in the walk-in," Sadie said and pointed to the large steel door, "they are on the left side, second shelf. Bring out two boxes and set them on the floor by the prep sink." She indicated the large sink with the high curved faucet. She then went back to her papers. I started to walk toward the walk-in and decided my silent obedience was a bit much. 

"By the way, good morning, Sadie," I said with a tiny bit of smart-ass. I kept moving toward the walk-in so she couldn't find fault. Sadie surprised me by looking up briefly with a smile. 

"Good morning, Frank," Sadie replied and returned to her work. I guess authoritative regimes could be cordial. I found it pleasing to make the great leader smile -- my little bit of rebellion for the morning. 

I hauled the two boxes of tomatoes out to the sink. They were a bit heavier than I had thought so it took two trips. 

"Open the boxes, then, wash your hands again." Sadie didn't look up from her work this time. I sighed as I opened the boxes and washed my hands again. Sadie rose from her work and washed her hands as well. "We never allow our skin to touch the food," she instructed as she dried her hands, "We always use latex gloves; I'm guessing you will want the large ones." She pulled a pair of small, disposable latex gloves from a rack mounted on the wall next to the sink. I grabbed a pair of large. 

"It's taco night and you're prepping the tomatoes." Sadie's motions were practiced as she blindly grabbed a metal colander from the wire shelf above our heads. "Both boxes need to be prepared. Rinse, core, slice then chop. These will be used for taco toppings." She handed me the colander, "Load it up and hold it under the water to rinse them." She walked off to grab some more tools for the job as I began rinsing the first batch of tomatoes. 

Sadie returned with a cutting board and a pair of small clawed spoons. She deftly maneuvered, with her feet, a wheeled garbage can over toward the sink. "Touch the garbage can and you need a new set gloves," she warned. She retrieved a wet tomato from the colander and showed me how to take out the small hard core at the top with the clawed spoon. The core went into the can and the tomato onto the cutting board. We started coring the tomatoes together. She wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty. 

"I have seen your face before," Sadie said absently as she quickly cored another tomato. 

"I don't see how."

"No, I've seen it." I remembered her greeting everyone at the door last night. She was good with names. "'Frank' doesn't jog my memory. Perhaps you have another name." Her smile was slight, but I did see the small curve. I cored another tomato, conscious she was doing two for every one of mine. 

"I like the name Frank right now," I said truthfully, while respecting her deduction, "yesterday was the first time I have ever seen you, so I am sure you must be thinking of someone else." I couldn't see how our paths had crossed in the past. My mind was drawing a blank. 

"It will come to me," Sadie said, "I never forget a face." I needed to change the subject. Amber didn't know Frank. It was easier to try and forget as Frank. 

"I thought there would be other workers."

"Not until one," Sadie replied, "I only need one for prep." I felt like I was in a coring competition. Every time I moved to catch up to her pace, she would accelerate. Finally, I surrendered and slowed to a reasonable pace. "Nice try." Sadie was wearing a smirk as she slowed to a pace just a bit faster than mine. She obviously liked to win. 

"So how did you end up here?" I asked Sadie. I was truly interested in how a model of efficiency could find herself running a free soup kitchen. 

"Long story. Maybe I will tell you sometime." Sadie paused, then smiled and said, with emphasis, "Frank." 'Touché,' I thought. She was willing to trade stories, but not give hers up for free. I just smiled back. Sadie had a quick mind. Amber would have liked her. 

"How do you fund this place?" I changed the subject to something more comfortable. 

"Donations. Lots and lots of donations." Sadie lost her smile as she continued to core her way through the pile of tomatoes. The answer seemed to exhaust her. 

"501(c)(3)?" It came out of my mouth before I could stop myself. It was habit. Sadie stopped coring and looked up at me. 

"Do you understand financial statements?" Sadie had already surmised a lot. I wanted to feign ignorance, but I had asked the question too confidently. 

"Yes."

"Will you look at my books?" Sadie's question sounded almost pleading. I sensed her confidence didn't extend into accounting. So much for totally ignoring my old life. 

"I can do that." I didn't want to sound too confident about my abilities. Sometimes people hand you a horrible mess and expect you to create facts from thin air. 

"Okay, tomorrow, same time. I'll get someone else to prep." Sadie's mood changed. She started coring with enthusiasm. I thought I might have just bitten off more than I could chew. 

I learned a lot about mass food preparation. Sadie changed from authoritative to patiently instructive. Maybe her books were more than a mess. I was being buttered up for tomorrow. Strangely, I found the labor fun and relaxing. It was fairly easy, different and repetitive. Nothing you had to think too deeply about. Each task had an endgame, a place where I could identify that it was done and enjoy that sense of completion. I needed the mindless labor, and today I was good at it. 

At 1:00 four other homeless workers showed up. Each had worked for Sadie before, and confidently went to work after reading a chart on the wall. Trudy, the large women who was serving chili yesterday, didn't read the chart. Sadie instructed her verbally as a matter of course. I suspected Trudy couldn't read. Sadie just took it in stride and ignored the limitation. In fact, she put Trudy in charge of teaching me how to brown the beef. Trudy smiled and waved me over to the grill. 

Trudy redundantly educated me about washing my hands and using latex gloves, which I took in stride. She showed me the controls for the hood and emphasized the exhaust fan had to be on when the grill was on. I had lessons regarding grill controls and clean up. It was fifteen minutes before Trudy thought we were ready to get the meat from the cooler. Her personality was a lot like Sadie's, only leaning more toward the compassionate side. 

Trudy's hands moved quickly, chopping beef and searing it on the grill. I watched her hand maneuver the large metal spatula with practiced agility. She handed it off to me and I proved my lack of coordination quite handily. Trudy found it entertaining and amusingly grabbed my hand every once in a while to steer it toward beef that might otherwise burn. My college degree was useless compared to her experience. It was refreshing to be taught something new and to have a teacher so enthralled with the experience. 

We transferred the first batch of meat to a large metal pot and sent it off to someone else for sauce and seasoning prep. 

"You single?" Trudy asked. There was a twinkle in her eye and I couldn't help blushing. The question came out of nowhere. I mumbled, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn't scar the rapport we had. I could think of nothing that would not come out insulting. I whispered some truth for both our sakes.

"My wife just passed away." It was quiet enough to remain private. Trudy nodded slowly and leaned into me compassionately. 

"I'm sorry," Trudy whispered back. I wasn't sure if she was sorry about my wife or the fact she flirted. 

"Thanks."

"We have three more pots to fill," Trudy said, returning to the job at hand. I think she saw my need for manual labor. When I returned with more meat, there were two spatulas at the grill. We worked in tandem with the next three batches. She didn't flirt any more, but we bonded over the searing meat. She started humming 'Amazing Grace' as we cooked. I joined in after a few moments. Trudy smiled at me and I realized she was humming for Amber. I was touched that she understood, although she had never met my wife. 

I turned to hand off the second pot of cooked meat to the next station. I caught Sadie staring at me. She clumsily went back to her paperwork. I wondered if she had heard my confession. I hoped she hadn't. I only told Trudy to spare her feelings, and mine. 

If you do prep, you get to eat first. It was a wonderful rule that my growling stomach appreciated immensely. I had been smelling food all day, and had had nothing but water. I was getting used to eating only once a day, but it's tougher when watching it being prepared. There was no cheating or snacking in Sadie's kitchen. I even had to wait for 'Sugar Magnolia.'

Luckily, Houser was near the front of the line. I waited until he sat down before I started eating. It wasn't so much manners as it was a show of friendship. I liked him liking me without the need for my past. I loved feeding off his lazy enthusiasm for life. It was refreshing. Houser lamented about the desert. He hated jello day and passed on his wiggly lemon chunk to me. I like jello. The mix of coolness and sweetness always seemed to please my tongue. Amber used to make triple-layered jello concoctions for me, mixing flavors that should never go together. She never found a combination I wouldn't eat.

"Good evening, Houser." Sadie had snuck up on us in the middle of our desert discussion. Houser nodded with mouth full of food. She leaned down and whispered in his ear. He nodded again. Sadie placed a plastic wrapped brownie on Houser's tray. Houser smiled, showing all his awful teeth. 

"I gots to get you warmer clothes," Houser said, never taking his eyes off the brownie. I snapped my eyes up, looking after Sadie. She was moving off, back to the front of the line. Her flowered skirt, greenish this time, swaying confidently back and forth. The books must be in really bad shape. 

Houser showed me the shelter where I could get some warmer clothes. It wasn't exactly stylish, but I was now wearing an old brown jacket that looked like it might have been used by someone in construction, and a pair of military boots. The laces in the boots were brown and looked strange against the black leather. It was better than the old loafers I had been walking around in. I really looked the part now. Everything mismatched, but functional. 

The next morning started the same as the first in all but one respect. Sadie was smiling when she opened the door. The books must be an absolute disaster. I took a shower, which I now appreciated greatly, and met Kevin . Kevin was a shy younger man who was to replace me on prep. We shared the dryer. Not unexpectedly, there were two of everything waiting for use. Two towels, two toothbrushes and two shampoos and soaps. Sadie never prepared more than necessary. Exactly what was needed and nothing more, but it was always exactly what was needed. 

Sadie took me into a small office connected to the kitchen. It looked as clean and organized as the rest of the building. There were three four-drawer black file cabinets labeled by year, plus a small desk with an old computer and small printer. A stack of folders, each labeled with a month and year, were piled next to the keyboard. 

"These are this year's receipts." Sadie pointed to the stack of folders, "I hope you are familiar with the accounting system." She logged into a small business system I was quite familiar with. I nodded my head. So far so good. "Can you make sure it is all correct. Nothing can be wrong." I looked at her worried expression. All of this seemed too neat and orderly to be worrisome. "You just want me to audit the books?" I asked, the surprise evident in my tone.

"Please, it's important." Sadie left before I sat down. She never even doubted I would do it, but I did note she used the word 'please.' 

I made myself familiar with Sadie's chart of accounts and printed off a balance sheet as of the first of the year. With that starting point, I began matching receipts to journal entries. Her record keeping was meticulous. I had very little trouble reconstructing what she had done. There were no journal entries without supporting documentation and each receipt corresponded to an entry. I was impressed. It is rare to find such perfect record keeping. I ended with printing a current balance sheet and income statement. Everything was perfect to the penny. It had only taken me four hours to complete. 

"What's the verdict?" Sadie asked as I walked into the kitchen with my notes. She seemed apprehensive and I couldn't understand where it was coming from. There was no way she could think her books were bad. 

"All good," I responded confidently, "you expensed some things as repairs that I probably would have capitalized, but you did it consistently. There is nothing wrong that I could find. In fact, they are very accurate and well done." Sadie visibly let out the breath she had been holding.

"Do you think you could look at the three previous years?" It began to make sense.

"You're getting audited," I stated. Only the IRS could make someone like Sadie squirm. She waved me back into the office.

"Yes," Sadie answered once we were alone. She pulled an envelope from a drawer and handed me the letter inside. The IRS was auditing her last three tax returns and wanted to examine her supporting documentation. There was a paragraph about providing necessary documentary support to maintain her charitable status. The letter seemed to be worded a bit differently than a standard audit letter. The amount of money involved usually didn't generate IRS flags and certainly didn't warrant an audit this deep. 

"This seems a bit heavy-handed," I offered when I handed back the letter. 

"Will you look at the last three years?"

"Hell yes," I answered, with some fight in my words. I never did like it when the IRS picked on the innocent. Frankly, Sadie was doing the world a favor. I had only known her for three days and I could tell the city needed her. "It will take a few days and I'll need the tax returns."

"Each year has its own drawer." Sadie hastily pointed toward the file cabinets, "The first folder contains the tax returns." "It will be alright," I said, trying to calm her nervousness. "They can only go after fraud. I've seen nothing coming close to that. If your tax returns reflect your financials, this will be nothing but an annoyance." Sadie looked slightly more relieved and even gave me half a smile.

"Thanks." Sadie left the office for a moment then poked her head back in. "What the hell are you doing here?" I guess my skills didn't make sense with my homelessness. 

"Nothing criminal, I assure you," I said in all honesty. Of course, if I was a criminal, I would have said the same thing. Sadie seemed to size me up and accept me at my word. Either that, or I was the only one convenient to trust. I was busy putting this year's files into their proper drawer as she returned to work. 

Kevin and I were in the front of the line when 'Sugar Magnolia' came over the speakers. It seems auditors gain the same rights and privileges as prep cooks. It was polish sausage night and Trudy winked at me and gave me a slightly larger portion. I winked back in a friendly way and waited for Houser again. 

Houser was happy as ever. It was white cake night which was half way to a brownie for him. I think he measured his happiness in grams of sugar. I, on the other hand, prefer a more mellow desert. I moved my cake to his tray.

"I owe you," Houser said with a mouth full of half-chewed polish sausage. I wished I could live day to day like he could. He seemed to have no concerns beyond the present. I envied the freedom he had built in his own mind. My mind was still lost in the past. My precious Amber was gone and I was forgetting her face. I could imagine her touch and her voice. It was her face that was fading. The rest would follow. My mind was too weak to hold on. 

"You owe me nothing but good company," I said. Houser laughed and told me about the boat he saw get caught among the pilings under the bridge earlier. It took the better part of the day and two more boats to get it free. To him, it was quality TV. I laughed when he told me how one guy was trying to rig a pull line while straddling both boats. They invariably pulled apart and sent the guy into the river. To Houser, the incident was as good as white cake. For me, a moment not lost in the past. 

"Good evening, Houser." Sadie had snuck up on us again. "Why don't you show Frank how get a warm bed tonight." 

"Sadie, a man lives where he wants," Houser stated firmly. It was funny watching him consolidate behind his beliefs. I was strangely flattered. Sadie rolled her eyes, reached into the pocket of her blue flowered skirt and placed a plastic-wrapped brownie on his tray. Houser smiled and I stared dumbfounded at Sadie. "But a man ought to know all the options," Houser retracted quickly.

"Thank you, Houser." Sadie never really looked at me. She just headed back to monitor the line. 

"You're the best thing I ever pulled out of the river," Houser said slowly as he unwrapped his precious brownie. 

"Did you tell Sadie how you found me?"

"That's for you to say." Houser took a small bite of the brownie, obviously trying to make it last. "Sometimes it's best not to say -- leave it in the past." That I had to agree with. 

I slept in a lumpy, but warm, bed that night with many other homeless guests. The shelter had rules, which I followed, and I was up, showered and out by 8:00 as directed. The rules were what kept Houser away. "If I want to sleep the day away, I will." His words, not mine. 




The Promise



Sadie was happy to see me the next morning. Maybe I was more reliable than the average homeless person. It was nice to start out the day with her smile. 

"You ever going to shave off that fuzz?" Sadie asked. I could see her eyes on my chin. The mirror told me it added a few years to my looks, but I was getting used to it. Amber would have hated it. Strangely, that's why I finally decided not to shave it. It reminded me she was gone, and I didn't want to forget. I was worse off without her and my scraggly beard was proof. 

"Someday," I answered with a smile. 

"It makes you look old." Sadie turned and started walking toward the kitchen. I followed, liking my beard a little less. 

I went to work on last year's financials. It took me all day to audit the financials and reconcile everything to the tax return. I questioned Sadie about a single donation entry marked Charity Ball. She produced a paper ledger with the handwritten names of all the donors and the amounts they gave. The Kitchen put on the ball every February. It was the biggest fundraiser of the year. I tallied the donations and they mirrored the entry. It was a pretty successful event, generating a little over $35,000 in donations. 

"I notice you don't take a salary." It struck me as odd. She spent seven days a week here and there was no disbursements to her name. In fact, there was no payroll at all.

"I don't need the money," Sadie said nonchalantly. 

"Independently wealthy?" I was grinning.

"I don't know, Frank." Sadie emphasized my phoney name. "Am I?" We were still in the trade story for story mode. I wasn't willing to give up mine and she was stubbornly holding on to hers as leverage. 

"I'll just make up a story then," I said, tongue-in-cheek.

"Make it a good one." Sadie laughed and returned to her work. I liked her laugh. She didn't laugh enough. Neither did I.

I found only one entry without supporting documentation. It was for fifteen dollars and was expensed as window cleaning. Hardly material, but I followed up anyway. Sadie had given a young boy the money to clean the windows. He obviously didn't have a business that could generate a receipt. He was homeless with his mother and just wanted to help. Sadie allowed it and paid him out of petty cash. I assured Sadie it wasn't going to be a problem. 

I now knew the words to 'Sugar Magnolia' by heart. I really wanted to ask Sadie why she played that song every day. I knew it would cost me my past so I just sat with Houser and tried to quell my interest. It was jello night so Houser passed me his. He didn't say I owed him and didn't draw attention to it in any way. We were like a married couple. We knew what each other liked and just simply traded food. Amber and I used to raid each other's salads at restaurants. I would go for her onions and she for my olives. We would do it in the middle of a conversation, without breaking thought. It was a simple thing and I was fond of the memory. 

"You have any family?" I asked. I wondered why I never asked the question before. I was so busy hiding my past, I never thought about his. He simply nodded and went on eating. I could tell he really didn't want to go into it. There was no eye contact, and his gritty smile wasn't evident. I dropped the subject and knew we would be better friends because of it. 

I spent the next day on the two-years-back books. There was absolutely nothing wrong with them. I couldn't even find simple addition errors. Sadie was as stringent with her accounting as she was with her kitchen. I pulled the IRS letter out of the desk again and reread it. It used harsher language than I had seen in past audits. Something of the Kitchen's size was usually handled by mail. Here they were demanding an on-site audit with veiled threats hidden inside their demands. The two tax returns I reviewed didn't seem to warrant any kind of review. Nothing in them should have raised any flags. The letter was certainly not indicative of a random audit. 

"This audit doesn't feel right," I said as Sadie came in to check my progress. "It almost seems hostile." She hesitated before she responded. Then she sat down.

"I think it is an attack, but I can't be sure." Sadie sighed softly, looking at the letter I placed on the desk. "The city tried to rezone this block for a developer. It would have forced me out so I fought it and won. I don't know how they could have done that." She pointed to the letter. "But I think it might be part of the same thing." She looked up at me. "The IRS doesn't do things like that, do they?"

"No, but people do." My anger was brewing again. Someone was the friend of an IRS field agent. It was the only way the letter made sense. Dismantling Sadie's enterprise would silence her opposition. It was a roundabout, but effective way. I simply wasn't going to allow it to happen.

"We'll just make sure they fail." There was determination in my mind and I wanted Sadie to hear it in my voice. I was surprised when she blushed at my words. 

"Thank you, Frank. That makes me feel a lot better." Sadie stumbled the response out with an awkward smile. She hesitantly rose and exited the room. It almost seemed like she wanted to say more, but thought better of it. She was flustered and I wondered what I had said that caused it. 

Sadie surprised me the next morning with a cup of coffee and a doughnut. I had never seen her serve any food before four. I had never even seen her eat. I stared at it in shock when she placed in on the desk. She blushed again and left quickly. I didn't even have time to get a 'thank you' out. It was completely unlike her. 

I spent the morning, warmed by coffee, traversing the first year the IRS was interested in. They were as immaculate as the other two. I was determined to leave no stone unturned, so I went through the Charity Ball ledger as I had the other two years. 

I was absently totaling the donations when my eyes were attracted to the name column. A sense of familiarity pulled my eyes. 'Amber and David Thaxton' was handwritten next to a donation of fifty dollars. My eyes welled up as I ran my fingers across the names. Amber was always giving small sums to one organization or another. My name must have come from the check. The irony of it all hit hard. I felt tears running down my cheeks and I squeezed my eyes to get them to stop. They didn't, so I let it go. I saw her perfectly again, my mind had rebuilt the image. With it, the pain came slamming back. I buckled under the pressure and the floodgates opened. God, I loved that woman. 

Sadie picked that time to check on my progress. Fooling no one, I turned away and quickly wiped my eyes. I stumbled out of the office mentioning the need to use the restroom. The tears kept coming as I hurried past Kevin who was busy peeling potatoes. I spent fifteen minutes, sitting on the toilet, slowing my heart. I rinsed my face, trying to dull the redness around my eyes. 

Sadie was sitting at the desk when I returned. "Close the door," she said, and motioned me to the seat on the other side. 

"My husband died nine years ago." Sadie was looking directly at me. "The kitchen was Richard's creation, the only thing he had done right, he told me. I promised him I would keep it running. I don't think he envisioned me running it personally, but here I am." She looked down at the desk. "The whole world thinks you're dead." My mind was reeling. She made sense now, her running this place fit. Her telling me about it meant she knew something of me. 

"Most of the world doesn't know I exist," I countered. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be angry. I just didn't want more memories. I was having trouble not remembering on my own. 

"I'm pretty good with faces, it was your beard and name that through me off." Sadie tapped the ledger with Amber's and my names. "You just looked the same way I felt when Richard died, David." I excused myself again. Having Sadie know was just as bad as seeing Amber's name in the ledger. I was dousing my face in cold water when I began to wonder how she knew my face. She wasn't guessing, she knew. I don't remember ever meeting her prior to a few days ago. Maybe she knew Amber, that would explain the donation. I settled my emotions and returned for the second time.

"You knew Amber?" I asked, choking on her name. 

"Close the door," Sadie responded while shaking her head no. "I know of her. The whole world knows her." I sat down confused. "I'm sorry, seeing the name in the ledger must have hurt." I closed my eyes and nodded. I really didn't want to start crying again. I wasn't confident my voice wouldn't crack. 

"You can hide here for as long as you need," Sadie offered.

"The police looking for me or something?" I asked with quite a bit of confusion. 

"Not any more. They think you're dead." I shook my head, trying to wrap my thoughts around what Sadie was saying. Amber's image kept flashing in my mind. I had an estranged sister, it would have taken her twenty years to report me missing. I had quit my job, they wouldn't have cared enough to check up on me. I guess maybe a friend, but I hadn't been gone long enough for them to worry enough to call the police. 

"Why would they think that?" 

"You don't know?" Sadie seemed surprised.

"Know what?" Sadie went to work on the computer as I looked on. A few moments later she turned the monitor towards me. My picture was on the screen under the headline, 'Promise Keeper Believed Dead.' The banner across the top was the daily paper's logo. It was a picture of me, on stage, with my hand held out before me. 

"Your song 'Amber' went viral." Sadie said softly. 

"It was just a prelim. It wasn't supposed to be broadcast," I said as I leaned into the computer screen to read the article text. The text mentioned finding my wallet in the east river. The fact that it contained money, indicated I wasn't robbed. Their assumptions were correct, the end result was not. 

"How did your wallet end up in the river?" Sadie asked softly. I could see the concern in her eyes. 

"Houser fished me out of the river," I answered. I wasn't ready to say the truth out loud and probably never would. I skipped over it and then added a weak justification, "It wasn't a good time for me." 

"And now?"

"Time to think," I answered, "I just need time to think." Sadie looked like she might have misunderstood so I added, "No more bridges in my future." She smiled. 

"Take all the time you need, Frank." I smiled at her use of 'Frank.' 

"I'll figure things out as soon as we get through this IRS audit," I said as I continued perusing the article. Sadie got flustered again and fumbled her way off her seat. I had no idea what was causing it. I pretended to ignore it for her sake, and mine. 

"I'm sorry about Amber," Sadie whispered before she opened the door. 

"I'm sorry about Richard." We shared forced smiles. At least we understood each other that far. 

Embarrassment was my main emotion as I surfed the web for the first time in a week. My fame was fading, as all digital fads do, but I had shined brightly for a few days. I couldn't watch the video, not out of shame, but out of fear of the pain returning. Amber had always said I had a lovely voice, I had just assumed she was biased. I sang for her because she got a kick out of it. For us, it was like foreplay. I never had a desire to share it with the world. I made up songs for her and her alone. The words were sometimes silly and sometimes drivel from my heart. Loud pillow talk and nothing more. Now the world knew because of a dying promise I could not deny. I loved her too much for that. 

The blogs were the worst. Half had me as an insane idiot and the others thought me some kind of love god. Offers of marriage and psychiatric help were abundant. It was just a promise, it wasn't meant to go this far. I was going to have to hide for a while. The story would die a quick death as all things internet-related do. Amber would have gotten a kick out of the whole thing, but then I would have had her at my side. I could have weathered any storm with her there. 

I went back to work and finished the last tax year. Like the rest, no errors. That, in and of itself, was amazing. Books this clean were usually done by professionals. The IRS can dig as deep as they desired, there was nothing to find. Sadie was pleased to hear my summary. I could still see a little fear behind her eyes, but the IRS had a tendency to do that. 

"Do you remember Amber?" I asked pointing at the charity ball ledger. 

"Sorry, there are lots of attendees and most of them bring checks from their friends." Sadie's eyes went sad. "I'm sure she was lovely, I can see her in you." I could only nod at that. Amber was certainly lovely. 

Houser joined me for dinner once again. It was brownie night so he was an absolute pleasure to be around. I moved my brownie to his tray and he just nodded and kept telling me about his day. There was an accident on the bridge that screwed up his time keeping, but, other than that, it was the same day as always. 

Maggie sat down next to me, her face all crinkly with her smile. I guessed I had become a regular and was considered safe. Houser placed my brownie on her tray. I gave him a confused look. I had never seen him give up a brownie. I thought maybe he was sweet on Maggie.

"Maggie got me new boots," Houser said, nearly bringing his leg and a construction boot up on the table. 

"Nicely done, Maggie," I said as I admired the nearly new treads on the sole. 

"Figured someone wanted 'em, don't fit me." Maggie was speaking with a mouth full of meatloaf. The boots did look warm and I knew Houser saw the value. It was strange how my priorities were changing. A month ago, I would have just run out and bought a pair if I wanted boots. Now, I was slightly envious. Sadie snuck up on us again. This time it wasn't to speak to Houser. 

"Thank you for all your work, Frank" Sadie put a glass of jello on my tray. It had three layers, red, green and yellow. The layers were slanted, obviously she had spent some time putting it together. I had a strong feeling of déjà vu and Amber, sending a shudder down my back. I just stared at the glass, not knowing what to say. 

"I thought you liked jello," Sadie said with pain in her voice. She started to reach out to take it back. She couldn't have known. I reached it before she did and pulled it close and forced a smile. 

"It's perfect. It was just unexpected." I looked back at the glass, tilting it to examine the layers. "It's actually quite beautiful. Thank you." I glanced back at her. She was wearing a grin that spanned the whole room. She turned and went back to her duties on the line, her blue flowered skirt floating across the floor as she moved. Maggie giggled and shared a stupid look with Houser. 

"It's just a thank you," I said, exasperated. Maggie went back to eating. Houser just smiled at me. I spent a good five minutes examining the jello. Fond memories of Amber washed through me. I remember coming home from work with an arm full of flowers, we had fought that morning over something stupid. Amber had found letter molds and spelled out 'I AM SORRY' in different colors of jello on the kitchen table. We were like that, never seeking blame in the end, just sharing forgiveness. Amber was just unique about it. 

I refused to be in a mournful mood with a glass full of jello. I smiled at my memories and destroyed the jello's symmetry with a spoon. It was well chilled and tasted wonderful. The irony of the day was not lost on me, finding Amber's name in the journal and the three-layered jello. There was pain, but there were also good memories. I decided to concentrate on the memories that shown brightest. The pain would have to take a backseat. 

"Thanks for the jello." Sadie was busy watching the hall as I spoke. She turned to me with an honest smile. She really needed to smile more and so did I.

"Your time is done here," Sadie said cheerfully, "what will you do with your day?" I looked around the room and felt a kind of affinity towards the place. I hadn't been here long, but I was comfortable here, for now. 

"The work here is kind of therapeutic. I wouldn't mind staying on if you can use me." Sadie looked at me with curiosity. I could almost see her thinking. It wasn't the reaction I expected.

"Prep or the line?" Sadie asked when her mind was made up. 

"The line. Might as well learn it all," I said honestly. Sadie laughed before she spoke.

"1:00, you'll just love the clean up." Sadie had a mischievous grin on her face. I had seen it on another woman before. I smiled graciously, somewhat wishing I would have said prep. 

Clean up was a bitch. Sadie was adamant about sanitation. Nothing was clean until she inspected it and it usually didn't pass on the first inspection. Luckily, there were four of us slaves so the work wasn't totally oppressing. I washed hundreds of dishes, pots and pans, a lot of them more than once. The floor was done twice. Sadie would find the grime in places Sherlock Holmes would have missed. She seemed to relish finding issues when I thought I was done. I think she took my volunteerism as a challenge. I sucked it up and by the time we were done, I would have confidently eaten off the floor. 

I spent the next four weeks learning the hard part of running a soup kitchen. Sadie began to trust me to manage the deliveries. She was hesitant at first and I don't believe she had ever allowed anyone else to do it in the past. The first time she watched me like a hawk. It was simple inventory control to me, but to her it was like lopping off an arm. Reluctantly, she began to trust I wasn't going to screw it all up. 

We would receive both ordered goods and donated goods. The donated had a very short shelf life, the reason the grocery store donated them in the first place. It was priority that these short-lived items found a place on the next day's menu and everything was visibly marked so nothing expired would ever find its way onto a plate. 

I watched Sadie develop menus. This was something she would never relinquish control over. It was as much art as science. The expiration dates drove some of it and experience drove the rest. She worked up to five days in advance, solidifying a day's menu as it drew near. It was not something you could easily automate. There were food clashes that needed to be avoided and last minute donations that needed to be squeezed in. She allowed me to watch, but laughed when I offered to help. This menu was her domain and it would take an army to drag it away. 

The army arrived a week later in the form of microscopic soldiers. I walked into work to find Sadie, pale and sweating, slumped on stool trying to work on the menus. Her eyes were bloodshot and I could tell she hadn't slept the night before. She looked absolutely miserable. 

"Go home," I said compassionately. 

"Can't, too much to do." Sadie covered her mouth with her hand when she spoke. Her voice was raspy like something was stuck in her throat. 

"Give me the keys," I said forcibly, "and go home. You're going to get everyone sick." I think it was the thought of contamination that finally convinced her. Reluctantly, she handed me the keys.

"I promised Richard," Sadie said softly while looking around. It was important to her that I understood why she was here, as sick as she was. I understood, maybe the only one who could. 

"I will make sure the promise is kept." I said it with conviction because I meant it. When Sadie's hesitant red eyes meet mine, I added, "I promise." Her eyes sparkled for a moment as she held my gaze. 

"Thank you." Sadie moved off hesitantly. 

I ran the City Kitchen for the next three days. I had to send Sadie home every morning those three days. I made it easy for her to leave, everything was in perfect shape and I was the picture of confidence. It couldn't have been farther from the truth. I had no idea how Sadie did it seven days a week. I felt like I was being pulled in ten directions at once. Workers didn't show, deliveries were late, menus didn't fit supplies and clean up ran later than it should. I screwed up the prep list on the first day sending the next two days' menus into turmoil. The days were long and grueling. Sadie had made it look so easy. With the help of some of the more experienced volunteers, we were able to pull it together at the last minute. 'Sugar Magnolia' always played at 4:00 and people were fed. I was a stressed mess.




The Promise



Sadie took back the reins on the fourth day. She smiled at the obvious relief on my face. I confessed it all, the problems, the botched menus and the overall mismanagement. She walked around inspecting the kitchen as I explained the problems that still needed solving. She ended in front of me as I explained about the lettuce I had to throw out because I didn't use it in time.

"Did anyone leave hungry?" Sadie asked calmly.

"Well no, but..." Sadie didn't let me finish. She went up on toes and kissed my forehead.

"Thank you, David. You did wonderfully." Sadie's smile burst through my misgivings. I let out the breath I was holding and stopped the tirade of my failures. 

"I'm glad you're back," I admitted as I handed her the keys. It felt really good to put the place back on her shoulders. She was even stronger than I had given her credit for. The kiss was a little disturbing. I could still feel the impression her soft lips left. I was happy when she sent me to reset the tables for the day. Back to simple, completable tasks. 

Three days later the IRS invaded. A black-suited field agent with two similarly-suited accountants descended on Sadie's books. It was a witch hunt. Normally, an auditor would look at significant transactions and a random sampling of others. These three did as I had done and checked every transaction and journal entry. Each, and every, bank statement for the last three years was scrutinized. The questions were insulting and bordered on acquisitions. My ire was already sky high when the audit came to a close.

"We will assemble our findings and you will be notified within two weeks of the results," the head field agent said. His name was Terrence Douglas and sported an obvious toupee. I could see the frustration on his face. I suspected he wanted to find glaring problems. 

"You don't foresee any issues, do you?" I asked, thinking I already knew the answer. 

"We will make a formal response only." Terrence's face was not friendly as he packed up his note pad and calculator. My anger was growing. The IRS was always a pain, but usually polite.

"You must have some idea," I added with my hands on my hips. Terrence looked at me from head to toe, then at Sadie with more than a bit of disdain.

"I recommend you secure proper guidance." Terrence closed his briefcase and started walking out. It was all I could do not to take a swing at the asshole. His words told me they intended to find problems. I couldn't imagine it would get anywhere in the long run, but they were going to pull Sadie through the ringer. 

"What are they going to do?" Sadie asked. I saw fear in her eyes.

"I'm not sure, but it won't be good." I didn't have the heart to lie to her. "In the long run, nothing will come of it. I'm just not sure how long the long run is." Sadie looked ill. She seemed to be taking it as a personal failure. 

"We'll get through this." I thought the words would be comforting. Sadie found them shocking. 

"We!" It was the first time I had heard Sadie raise her voice. "There is no 'we.' It's me they are attacking. You're just some guy who dropped out. You risk nothing and then walk away clean." She raised a hand to shoo me away and returned to the kitchen. She returned to work, making sure not to look my way. It was time I left. I just didn't know where to go.

I left as quietly as I could, unseen. Sadie was right, I could just walk away. I walked for the rest of the evening, my stomach churning with bile. I thought I saw friendship in Sadie, I thought I could help. I had done nothing but raise her hopes, only to watch them get flung from a bridge 

That night was cold. The seasons were changing and I wasn't ready. I huddled sleeplessly in a warehouse doorway, trying to avoid the wind. I closed my eyes and tried to see Amber, build her face in my mind. I saw only Sadie, hating me. I shivered with my knees tucked tightly to my chest. I wanted my wallet, keys and phone back. I wanted Amber and my life back. The shaking increased, memories of my first wet day under the bridge. The cement I was sitting on did me no favors. I nodded in and out. 

"Move on." I awoke shivering. Above me was a cop dressed warmly. Around me I could see the rotating reflections of red and blue lights. "Can't loiter here; you have to move on." He gave my boot a little kick. I had trouble rising, my chest was having trouble bringing in the cold air. I stumbled a little, trying to wake up my cramped legs. "Next time buy some warm clothes instead of booze." He stood there making sure I was headed away. I heard a car door close; it sounded more hollow than it should. The rotating lights stopped and police car drove past me as I lumbered on.

The air tasted colder than it should. I realized my nose was nonfunctional and dripping mucus. My body had caught up with my soul -- both feeling lousy. The cop was right, I needed warmer clothes. Maybe it was time I went home. I didn't like the idea, not with all the memories, but I knew I wasn't built for the streets. I was no Houser, not strong enough. I needed sleep. Then, I could do what was needed, whatever that was. I tried to cough, but my lungs argued about it and decided to remain clogged. At least the shaking had stopped.

I stumbled forward for blocks. Directions were muddled and I wasn't sure if I was going the correct way. It was still dark and traffic was minimal. Houser would know what time it was. I laughed at that, me and my college degree easily shown up by an uneducated homeless man with bad teeth. My laughing didn't sound right, way too throaty. A laughing frog came to mind which made me laugh more. I had to stop with my hands on my knees to catch my breath. It felt good to laugh, but I knew it was sapping my energy. I had to find a place to sleep. I found another entryway, wood this time. I curled up against the corner away from the wind. It was better than the cement. I closed my eyes and Sadie's image formed in my mind. I was puzzled why it wasn't Amber's as I drifted off to sleep. 

>>>>

It was music that woke me. It entered as a dream on the cusp of my memory and then the dream faded away. I was late, late for dinner. I sat up too quickly and ended up in a small coughing fit. When my eyes focused, I was in an office I knew well. Sadie's office. I could hear 'Sugar Magnolia' playing and the general din of food being served. It was muted by the closed door, but it was obvious it was 4:00. I was on a fold out cot with two thick blankets now bunched up on my lap. 

I wasn't sure how I ended up at the City Kitchen. I remembered finally finding the wooden entryway and trying to get some sleep. In hindsight, it seemed like an asinine decision to sleep outside last night. I should have gone to the bridge to see Houser, or to the shelter. I still wasn't good at dealing with pain. I stood and coughed some more. My feet were steady, but my head felt like a brick. My nose was stuffed up and I could feel thickness in my eyes. I must have found my way back here. Sadie must be really pissed. I had to stop this stupid self-loathing homeless shit and get my life back. 

The kitchen was in full swing. I was walking slowly with a foggy head. Trudy spotted me ambling toward the dining room and called out, "Sadie, Frank's awake." Sadie swung quickly around the corner, her green flowered skirt swaying with the momentum. Her long hair flowed just moments behind her, catching a small draft and flaring out for moment. I saw determination in her green eyes. I was ready for an earful so I preempted.

"I'm sorry." It came out hoarsely, my throat wasn't ready for words. So I cleared it with a cough quickly and continued, "I'll get out of here and leave you alone." 

"What the hell were you thinking?" Sadie's voice was controlled, and I don't think it carried past me. She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the office. I followed, her will being stronger than my mushy brain could counter. "I had everyone looking for you." She pushed me back on the cot and began covering me with the blankets. 

"I thought..." Sadie didn't let me finish.

"You didn't think," Sadie stated firmly, then her voice cracked, "if Houser hadn't found you...God... you were blue when he brought you back." There were tears running down her cheeks which she quickly wiped away. I was confused and my brain wasn't processing at full speed. She sat down on the floor next to the cot, spreading her skirt evenly around her. "I am so sorry." It sounded like she wanted to say more. She couldn't get it out and wiped away another tear.

"I don't understand," I said quietly. One minute I thought she wanted me to leave and the next to stay. 

"I don't either," Sadie said, her voice cracking, "it was ten degrees last night, I thought you were going to die." She dropped her head into her hands and sobbed. 

"I didn't though." It was an obviously useless statement. I thought back to crawling into that wooden entry way. It was almost my grave. "My stupidity isn't your fault." Sadie tried to say something, then thought better of it. She stood, instead, wiping her eyes.

"I'm going to get you some food. You're not to leave." It wasn't a request. I watched her leave with her hair bouncing on her back. Something had changed and I couldn't completely wrap my head around it. 

Sadie returned and allowed me to sit up. She placed a plate of roast beef and mashed potatoes on the desk. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until the smell hit me. She sat with me, watching me eat, smiling while I chewed. When I pushed the empty plate away, she spoke. 

"I want to take back what I said." Sadie looked at me, then her eyes drifted toward the empty plate. "I was angry...I can't really explain it and it confuses me." She looked back at me with her clear, green eyes. "I don't want you to leave, although I know you might. I wouldn't blame you." 

"I'm pretty messed up," I admitted. I tried to kill myself and then almost did it accidentally. "I'm not sure if I do more harm than good." Sadie put her hand over mine.

"I have been playing Richard's favorite song every day at 4:00 for nine years." Sadie smiled as she thought about it. "I've been hiding in a soup kitchen behind a promise. My acquaintances all live on the streets. I am the poster child of messed up and I am highly efficient at it." I didn't move my hand, thinking she might remove hers. I felt guilty enjoying the human touch. The last person I touched died in my arms. It felt nice to be close to someone again. 

"I threw my life away to live in a cardboard box with Houser," I said to top Sadie's concept of messed up. She laughed as I smiled. It was nice to see her eyes crinkle and little dimples form on her cheeks. I was happy she didn't remove her hand. 

"So you'll stay for a while?" Sadie's eyes were hopeful. 

"I could use the distraction this place provides," I said honestly. "Those little solvable tasks are welcoming. I would also like to see this IRS thing through. I kind of pisses me off." Sadie's smile widened. 

"You can sleep here until you find someplace better." Sadie rose and picked up the empty plate and silverware. I felt a small emptiness when she removed her hand from mine. The shelter had better beds, but this felt more like home. I could get used to the cot. "If you feel better in the morning, I'll put you to work." She started walking out, then stopped in the doorway and turned back toward me. "Thank you for not hating me." She spun back around and disappeared out the door before I could form a response. I had no idea where that came from. I was hating myself, not her. 

I ate dinner with Houser the next day. I thanked him for finding me the other night. It turns out I actually walked back to the City Kitchen with his help. I remembered nothing of the walk. Houser's lecture on how to survive winter on the streets was long and disjointed. There was no lesson plan, so he verbally hopped around telling me things out of order then backtracking to fill in the holes. I listened patiently, knowing he was the reason I was there to learn it. I gave him my white cake, the first repayment of many.

Sadie and I began working closer together. I learned proper menu management and inventory control. The problems that plagued me during her brief sickness were the norm, not the exception. She just had the tools to deal with them without panicking. The management skills she taught me would put Harvard Business School to shame. There was a change in Sadie during my schooling. She would smile more and become more tolerant. I still had to do it right, without exception. She just identified the many errors in a pleasant, non-demanding way. 

I was able to get into another Roma tomato coring contest with Sadie. I attacked with vigor and was handily beaten again. She had nine years on me, but I think I did a lot better than the first time. I suspected I could beat her given a few more tries. I loved her victory face. Maybe I would never win.

I really enjoyed the escape from my past. I also knew that staying forever wasn't much of a possibility. I had commitments I had been ignoring that would cause festering problems if I continued to neglect them. Using the office computer, I logged into my bank account. I had a few months of overdue bills and some of them mattered. A few clicks of the mouse and my mortgage and utility bills were brought up to date. I had to transfer cash from savings. I had enough to withstand nine months, maybe longer, if I ignored some things. Amber had always insisted on the buffer. She was my better mind. 

I would lose my cable and the paper. Those bills were mailed. Nothing to really fret about, I wasn't using them anyway. I was a little concerned about my car. I had left it in the parking lot of the theater and I wondered if it was still there. I shrugged my shoulders and made the back payments hoping it wasn't already repossessed. It felt a little weird paying the bills. I had spent a lot of time these last weeks, trying to avoid real life. I was taking a step toward normalcy, and I still wasn't wholly comfortable with the move. I had already checked the boxes and hit 'pay' so I couldn't step back. I stroked my growing beard and logged out. It was just a step, I'll take the leap later.

Three weeks after the IRS audit, a letter arrived. Sadie was crushed and I was livid. The IRS had identified the fifteen dollar window cleaning payment as an undocumented cash disbursement. They claimed it indicated fraud and were notifying Sadie that a seven year audit of both the City Kitchen, and her personally, will commence in ninety days. It was the second time I had seen Sadie cry. This time it was on my shoulder. It took a few minutes to return to work.

The City Kitchen's fundraising banquet was a week prior to the new audit. The pressure mounting on Sadie showed in her face. She couldn't stall the banquet, its proceeds are necessary to keep the kitchen open. 

"They're going to ruin me," Sadie said with surprisingly calm, "maybe this was all meant to end." I saw the signs of depression setting in. I knew them well.

"Only if you let them." I avoided the word 'we.' It was hard not to try to make it our problem. It felt like it was ours. 

"I'm going to need you if I fight," Sadie said as she stopped chopping celery and looked up at me. I tied off the garbage bag I had just pulled it out of the can and smiled with confidence. She needed the support. 

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." I watched her lips curve into a malicious grin as she went back to the celery. The knife moved with blazing speed. I think she was imagining IRS fingers as she chopped. 

Sadie woke me early the next morning. She handed me the morning paper. There was a small article in the bottom right of the front page. 'Promise Keeper Alive?' was the heading. 

"They say there were movements in your accounts," Sadie said quietly. There was no one else here so I wasn't sure why she was almost whispering. "They are requesting you come forward." 

"I paid some bills the other day," I whispered back. It was contagious, the whispering. "I guess they were monitoring the accounts." I read the article and, as Sadie had said, a detective Berkhard was asking me to come forward and claim my wallet. "I'm not ready to go back. Not with that singing thing." For some reason, I didn't like being forced back into society. I was planning to drift back slowly. Sadie sat on the edge of the cot.

"You can hide as long as you need." She took the newspaper back. "Forever if you need to." Amber would have loved Sadie. Amber never let the world tell her what to do. She made up her own mind and then steered the world to it. I saw a lot of that drive in Sadie. I just needed to get the IRS out of her way so she could live her life, her way.

"Thank you," I responded, and meant it. Sadie's eyes sparkled as she rose. 

"We have work to do," Sadie stated. It wasn't lost on me that she used the word 'we.' I jumped out of bed. There were people to feed and an IRS audit to thwart. 

A week before the banquet, my beard had finally come into its own. Sadie hated it, but endured it for my anonymity. She gave me a trimmer so I would at least keep it groomed. I had spent countless hours going over Sadie's tax returns. There were no glaring errors. Nothing that would even hint at fraud. I was confident the witch hunt would end the next week. The IRS has a lot of power, but would still have to defend themselves in court if need be. 

Unfortunately, I was not prepared for the next bomb to drop. Sadie and I were standing at the head of the line, monitoring the dining hall when a large gentleman in jeans, red shirt and cowboy hat pushed his way to the front. Sadie moved quickly, her glare set to dagger mode. 

"You must be new." Sadie stated the obvious and moved to block the cowboy from moving forward. I moved in next to her, thinking she looked awfully small next the large man. 

"Sadie Millstead?" the man asked with little politeness. 

"Yes, and your name?" Sadie responded with an equal lack of charm. The man handed her an envelope. 

"You've been served." The cowboy smiled and headed out the door. Sadie's shoulders slumped, then her back straightened again. She moved back to allow the rest of the line through, gritting her teeth. 

"Can you keep your eyes on things, Frank?" Sadie asked with false calm. I nodded and she headed off to the office. She didn't return. 

When the meal ended I started the cleanup process without Sadie. When everyone was assigned a task I went to the office, my temporary home, looking for her. I found her asleep on the cot. Sadie's eye sockets were blushed red and sunken. I quietly moved to the desk where a stapled set of papers lay. The top sheet had a few small crinkled spots where wetness had dried. Tears. 

I picked up the papers and read. I felt my throat knot at the first few paragraphs. A class action lawsuit filed by a donor claiming fraud. There were twenty some pages of legal language and the citing of precedents. Both the City Kitchen and Sadie were at risk. These people, whoever they were, were not going to stop with a fraudulent IRS audit. Sadie was right, they were going to ruin her. 

I sat on the floor and watched Sadie sleep. I wanted to wake her and tell her it was going to be okay, but that would only make it worse for her. In the end, she was innocent and would prevail. I just didn't know when the end would arrive. The lawyers she needed to hire would most likely charge enough to send everything into a financial tailspin. 

I rose, opened the file cabinet and retrieved the donor book for three years ago. I turned to the page with Amber's name and ran my finger across it. Amber saw something in this place, something in need of support. There was no way I was going to let Amber or Sadie down, not while I was breathing. Defense was no longer an option. 




The Promise



I left Sadie sleeping, and quietly left the room. She needed the sleep, and I needed to think. I cleaned and inspected, letting the helpers go once everything was to Sadie's standards. I locked up and sat in the dining hall, thinking. The rudiments of a plan developed, I knew the lawsuit wasn't the end. The timing was deliberate. They meant to kill the banquet and destroy the City Kitchen's funding. Things would get worse before they got better. I would need help, and, to get it, I had to come out of hiding. 

I woke to a pounding sound. I had fallen asleep, my head pillowed in my arms on the table. I wiped the drool from my lips and went to open the door. An elderly gentleman, one I had seen eat often, was there. I remembered his name as the dream fog cleared.

"Sadie said to be here at 9:00," Ralph said, rather surprised I wasn't Sadie.

"Come in and let's get started." I opened the door wider and stepped aside. I was worried about Sadie. It wasn't like her to let anything slide. I got Ralph into the shower room and went to check on Sadie. 

I found her back at the desk, staring at the lawsuit. There were black circles around her eyes. I was thankful there weren't any tears. She must have run out last night. 

"Ralph is here," I said as business-like as I could. Sadie looked up to me with a forlorn look. 

"Does it matter?" 

"Yes," I responded. I had a litany of reasons to go on and knew they would fall on deaf ears. Short and simple was the only good response. 

"They are destroying me." I saw defeat in Sadie's eyes. 

"The banquet will be next." I said it firmly. I didn't want to sugar coat it. Sadie's eyes widened with fear.

"It will bankrupt the Kitchen," Sadie said. I sat down on the cot as I watched her face go ashen. 

"I won't let that happen." There was determination in my voice, hopefully something Sadie could latch onto. 

"I don't think we can stop these people," Sadie said, holding up the stack of papers. I gave her a confident smile. The smile held more confidence than I felt, but she needed more. 

"No one's going hungry, Sadie. I need to speak to some old friends to see if we can't turn this around." I pulled the donor book out again and turned to the page with Amber's name and pointed at it. "She thought this place was worth funding. I promise you, her donation won't go to waste. Ever." Sadie's face firmed up. 

"What do you want me to do?"

"Make sure you open at 4:00." I needed to handle this alone. "And don't lose heart. It's going to be a very long week. Let me take care of the rest." Sadie stood up and nodded her head. 

"I'll make sure we stay open," Sadie said, "whatever happens, thank you for trying." She moved past me quickly. Her determination had returned, but not her confidence. I felt a little sorry for Ralph, he was bound to catch the brunt of her frustration. I sat down and made the first call. 

"Herzog and Associates, this is Karen may I help you?" the receptionist greeted me. I knew Karen, but I really didn't want to explain myself.

"Doug Herzog, please," I said, trying to jump past the hurdle.

"Mr. Herzog is busy right now, would you like to leave a message?" It was bite the bullet time. I took a deep breath.

"Karen, it's David Thaxton. I really need to speak with Doug," I said it quickly, hoping she would just let me through without an interrogation. No such luck.

"David, oh my god, are you alright?" There was concern in her voice that exceeded the relationship we had had in the past. I guess notoriety does that to a person.

"I'm fine Karen. It's really important that I speak with Doug," The secret was out. I needed to move forward at a quick pace now. 

"Alright, I'll see if I can't get him out of the meeting. Hold on a minute," Karen said, then added, "Amber was right, you sing wonderfully." I felt my throat knot a bit. I had forgotten she had known Amber. The two would talk during the company Christmas parties. I just sighed a 'thank you' and waited for Doug. 

"Where the hell are you, David?" Doug asked when he came on the line, "The whole damn world is looking for you." I wanted to skip that part so I did. 

"I have a problem Doug. I know I don't deserve your help, the way I quit and all." I knew he would help anyway, I just wanted him to know I knew I was a jerk, "It's just that you're the only one I could think to call."

"Your wife died, so skip the bull. What do you need." Doug had given me a pass. I had new respect for him. 

"You know those pro bono hours your CPA requires? Do you think you can throw some to a friend of mine?" 

"I'm listening," Doug responded. I told him everything. I did leave out some of my personal failures, like the bridge incident, but told him the rest. I told him about the City Kitchen and how its mission is to feed the homeless. I told him about Sadie and the IRS. I gave him the best guess as what was happening and ended with the class action lawsuit. 

"Her books are clean?" Doug asked.

"Some of the best I have ever seen," I responded honestly. "Whoever is doing this, has strong connections. I promised Sadie I would do what I could to end this." Doug laughed. 

"I would never stand between a promise and its keeper," Doug joked, "how many agents came the first time?"

"Three."

"I'll have six suits present and I need to see the books beforehand." Doug was all in. "Let me know when the banquet is and I'll make sure it's company policy." 

"Thank you, Doug. You have no idea what this means to me," I said, trying to remain manly and not get all choked up. "I'll get you whatever you need. I know we're on the right side of this one." We ended the call with a lot of testosterone lingering across the line. Doug liked the idea of fighting the IRS, especially if he expects to win. To him, this was the accounting equivalent to a showdown at high noon. 

"An auditor from my old firm will be here tomorrow," I said to Sadie who was cleaning some potatoes. She stopped scrubbing and looked up.

"You told someone you were here?" Sadie asked incredulously. 

"It's war, honey, no holds barred." I blushed when I realized I had used a term of endearment. It just slipped out, as if I had been speaking with Amber. I moved quickly toward the door, hoping she wouldn't notice. 

"Go get em, honey!" Sadie yelled. I heard her laughing, which sounded good. Ralph was giggling, which sounded bad. 

I moved quickly now that my mind was made up. It took no time to walk the ten blocks to the sixth precinct. It was in an old three story brick building, probably a good fifty years old. It had a set of steep steps that I was sure wasn't to code anymore. I walked in and straight to the desk that was manned by a uniformed cop.

"I would like to see Detective Berkhard, please." 

"Name, please," the cop asked, not looking up from the form he was filling out. 

"David. He is expecting me." I answered. I really didn't want a scene at the front desk. The cop picked up the phone and dialed an extension. The brief interruption seemed to bother the man. Whatever he was working on was more important than my visit. 

"I got a David out here for you." The cop looked up at me after a second, "David who?" I sighed.

"Thaxton," I whispered. The cop just smiled. 

"Come on up, Tony. You definitely want to meet this man." The cop hung up the phone. "My wife thinks you're some kind of great romantic. I have you pegged as in idiot." His grin spread the room as he expressed his view. 

"A bit of both, mostly the latter." I asked for this. I would have to deal with the results. The cop laughed and held out his hand. I shook it with a great deal of surprise. A short man sitting on the bench jumped up and headed to the desk. 

"Who's this, Sergeant?" The man was wearing business casual with a long sleeve polo shirt. Nothing expensive, but not street duds. 

"Leach,mind your own business," the sergeant responded sharply. He looked back at me and used his eyes to direct me down the hall. I was grateful for the fence he put up. This was going to be hard enough to weather. 

I met Detective Berkhard about twenty feet down the hall. He wore a brown suit with a dull yellow shirt and a golden-shaded amoeba tie. His hair was cut military style with zero sideburns sitting on a six foot frame. He looked like the type of guy you want standing next to you in a dark alley. 

"You David?"

"Yes." I held out my hand and the detective shook it. I saw his expression change as he saw past my beard. 

"David Thaxton," he said, and shook my hand harder, "Tony Berkhard." I added my smile to his and nodded. He lead me to a small conference room and indicated I should take a seat.

"I understand you have my wallet," I said. It would sure save me a lot of time if I didn't need to replace the IDs and credit cards. It would also be a convenient way to end the speculation of my death. 

"Yes we do." Tony was still smiling. "My wife thinks you are some kind of super husband." His expression changed quickly when he realized what he said. "I am sorry about your wife." 

"Thank you," I said in my practiced, ignore the painful memory, tone. "I don't really deserve the myth that seems to have developed." 

"Well, obviously you're not dead," Tony said, returning to a subdued cheerfulness, "can you tell me where you were or do I have to read it in the paper?" It didn't sound like an official request. I don't think I was obliged to tell him anything. He just had one of those trusting faces and a pleasant attitude that was difficult to deny. I spilled the beans for the second time that day. I wasn't sure if he could help with the attacks on Sadie and the City Kitchen, but I let him know that was why I finally decided to end the hiding. 

"You haven't seen the paper?" Tony asked.

"Nope."

Tony pulled out the paper from the trash can next to his desk. He turned a few pages on the front section, folded it over and handed it to me. The title of the article was "City Kitchen Sued For Fraud." The speed at which these people were operating was phenomenal. 

"Shit!" I said as I read. I especially liked the part where they claimed that Sadie Millstead had no comment. "They are moving faster than I thought. This is going to kill the banquet." 

"You could fill ten banquets if you just let people know you will be there," Tony claimed, "my wife would demand tickets. I could get half the force to show up." I smiled at the thought. Maybe my five minutes of fame would be worth one banquet. 

"I don't have much time. These guys are a few steps ahead of me," I said. I could call the press, but I didn't know anyone I could trust. The story could spiral out of my control and become about me. 

"I think I can help you with that." Tony picked up the phone and dialed. "Rick, Leach out there? Okay, send him to my office." He hung up. "Leach is our resident freelance journalist. He follows us out to crime scenes and sells the stories to the paper. I think you two can use each other." He smiled conspiratorially. Leach walked in.

"David, this is Bob Townsend. We affectionately call him Leach." I rose and shook the hand of the confused-looking man. 

"What's this about, Tony?" Leach asked.

"A story for a story, Leach," Tony, said indicating an empty seat to Bob, "David needs some press and in exchange you get an exclusive." Realization washed across Bob's face. 

"David Thaxton?" Bob asked, looking at me. I nodded. He smiled from ear to ear. "Deal!"

For the third time that day, I explained what had happened. Leach was taking copious notes as I spoke, and asking questions to clarify what I said. Tony seemed proud of himself for putting us together. He excused himself to get my wallet. 

"So you want me to let everyone know you will be at the banquet. That's it?" Leach asked. 

"Yep and I would prefer they don't know where to find me prior to the banquet," I responded.

"You'll talk to no other reporters?" Leach was bursting at the seams. Tony returned with a plastic bag containing my wallet and some kind of form. 

"No one but you," I agreed, "at least until you get a chance to print the story." Bob smiled and rubbed his hands together. 

"After all this time, why are you coming out now?" Bob asked. I thought I just explained it all to him. 

"I just told you, to help Sadie and the City Kitchen," I said, obviously frustrated. 

"You don't owe them anything, why would you risk it?" Bob was pushing me. I had no idea why, but I was edging on angry. 

"Look, I promised her I would help. So I'm helping." This time I made it sound final. Bob's pen went into hyperdrive. 

"You just can't make this stuff up," Bob said absently, "another promise." Tony laughed and I sighed. Bob was going to blow it out of proportion. The banquet needed it so I let it go. "Is it okay for me to bring a cameraman to the banquet?"

"I thought you were newspaper," I replied.

"Freelance. With this story I'll be a media superstar." Bob celebrated with his hands in the air. 

"Okay, but keep it low-key. I don't want this to be circus." Bob laughed at my remark.

"Too late for that. I'll just try to make sure you don't look too clownish." Bob was cleaning up his notebook as he spoke. "I'll need another interview the day after the banquet. It shouldn't take more than thirty minutes or so." I nodded my head. "I have to get this out if I am going to make the paper tomorrow. I won't leak your location, but some will guess it. I would stay hidden if I were you." He shook my hand and scurried off.

"You've been 'Leached,'" Tony said sarcastically. He pushed over a form for me to sign. It allowed me to get my wallet back. "You know it's going to be a madhouse, right?"

"If that's what it takes, so be it." I signed my name and retrieved my wallet. "I have to break into my condo, think I will get arrested?"

"Come on, I'll drive you." Tony laughed as he grabbed his jacket. 

It was strange being back in my home. It was comforting and alien at the same time. Everything reminded me of Amber, not as strongly as before, but just as depressing. It was hardest in the closet, where her clothes collided into mine. My section kept getting smaller over the years. Fond memories of joking with her about being a pack rat burned through my thoughts. I couldn't live here anymore. Even if I would pack away everything of hers, the walls would still bleed her passing. It was just too much love to lose. 

My pants were too big in the waist and I had to drop two notches on my belt. I had lost a lot of weight since I jumped off that bridge. I looked in the mirror and couldn't tell whether it was a good loss or an unhealthy one. I wondered if my beard hid an emaciated visage or a strong jaw. I wouldn't shave it today, I would save that for the banquet. I packed some toiletries and filled a suitcase with more clothes. I was done living like a beggar. 

I put together a new set of keys from my spares and grabbed my warm jacket out of the closet. It was sitting next to Amber's parka. A person could survive the North Pole in that parka. Amber hated the cold, and loved how the parka would shield her against it. I always thought it was overkill. I grabbed it and brought it with me. No need to let it rot on a hanger. It was time to start letting the past go. 

Tony drove me to my car. It stood, lonely, in the vast parking lot next to the venue I had sung in so long ago. It argued with me, trying not to start, but eventually kicked into a nice idle. I thanked Tony for all his help. He thanked me for promising to make an appearance at the annual Guns and Hoses boxing match next month. I couldn't say no after all he had done. I wasn't sure what I could offer a bunch of police officers and firefighters, but I agreed. I returned to the City Kitchen, this time with a car and a full wallet. I felt more normal, although I wasn't confident it was a good thing.

Dinner was in full swing when I arrived. I left my bags in the car, but brought in the parka. Sadie did not look good. I could see the strain in her eyes, and knew it had been a difficult day. She was stoic at the head of the line, but I knew she just wanted to collapse and let it all go. I smiled at her as I entered and got a bit of a surprised look at my slight transformation. 

"The caterer for the banquet canceled," Sadie said quietly when I moved next to her. "There was an article in the paper and they didn't want to be part of it."

"I think they will reconsider tomorrow," I said confidently. I would have to move heaven and earth if they didn't, but I didn't want Sadie to know that. She needed my confidence. I needed her confident. 

"What did you do?" Sadie asked, looking at me, confused.

"Everything I could," I responded, "where's Maggie?" Sadie pointed to the end table in the back. Maggie was eating with Houser. "I'll be right back." I walked over to the two of them. 

"See if this fits you, Maggie," I said, holding up the parka. Maggie's eyes went wide as she stood up and removed her old jacket. I held the parka up like a gentleman and let her step into it. It fit her wonderfully.

"I ain't never had anything this nice." Maggie said, as she ran her hands along the fake fur lining.

"You do now." Amber would be pleased. She would have loved to know the parka was keeping someone warm. "Payment for the boots," I added, nodding over to Houser. He gave me one of his ugly toothy smiles. 

"I owe you, Frank," Maggie said, "I owe you a lot." 

"You owe me nothing and my real name is David." I was done hiding. "I had something I didn't need and you needed it. Simple as that." Maggie surprised me with a hug. It wasn't the first time I was hugged by that parka. I fought the tears and hugged her back. At least Maggie would be warm this winter. 

I walked back to Sadie, clearing my eyes with the back of my hand. That was a little harder than I had expected.

"That was nice of you," Sadie said as I approached.

"It was Amber's," I said nodding back at Maggie and the parka. I saw concern form on Sadie's face. 

"You went home?"

"Yes, I can't stay there, though."

"You're welcome to stay here," Sadie said, "as Frank or David."

"It's David and I would like to stay for now," I said honestly. 

"I'm glad," Sadie said and quickly went to deal with an issue on the serving line. I watched her skirt swirl with her hips as she moved and realized I was glad also. 

It was at the tail end of cleanup when a well-dressed lady entered. She was wearing a tailored dark gray business suit with a silk blouse. She was carrying an expensive black briefcase case as if it was part of her. Her black hair was pulled back severely and secured tightly with a tiny black bow. She walked like she owned the place. I disliked her immediately. 

"Sadie Millstead?" the woman asked, holding her hand out to Sadie. Sadie nodded and shook her hand. "I'm Barbara Cane, a lawyer at Helick, Cane and Walters. I wonder if we could talk for a moment." Sadie led her to one of the dining tables. I hovered, re-cleaning part of the floor in the dining room.

"I represent a party who is interested in resolving the predicament you find yourself in." Barbara held a half grin while she talked. I suspected it was always there, but I found it rude. 

"What predicament would that be?" Sadie asked, acting so innocent I almost believed her. 

"I am speaking of the charges that have been leveled against you and the City Kitchen. I assume you have seen the paper." Barbara didn't let Sadie's act fool her. It seemed to be a game she liked to play. 

"I don't concern myself with the idle chatter in the paper," Sadie said, waving her hand in dismissal. "My accountants assure me I have been more than forthright and all the issues will disappear in time." Barbara lost her grin. I don't think she was expecting Sadie's strength. In truth, I didn't expect it either. 




The Promise



"Things could get worse," Barbara stated. Sadie's face was turning red and I could see fire in her eyes. 

"Who is this party you represent?" Sadie asked, holding back her sting. 

"The party wishes to remain anonymous," Barbara smiled. 

"Then we are done here," Sadie said calmly and rose. Barbara just smiled and stayed seated. 

"I don't think you are considering the possible ramifications," Barbara threatened. Sadie exploded and shocked me.

"Bring it, bitch!" Sadie said loudly and pointed to the door. Barbara tried to hold her own, but fumbled her briefcase standing up. I guessed she was used to more decorum when she threatened people. I had to stifle a laugh as I stopped the phoney cleaning to watch Barbara scamper out. 

"Tell me I didn't just destroy my life," Sadie said, moving toward me. She was shaking with the release of adrenaline. I folded her into my arms. She seemed a natural fit as she wrapped her arms around me.

"Bring it, bitch?" I questioned softly. 

"It's all I could think of. She was threatening me in my own place." Sadie looked up to me. "Did I overdo it?" 

"I was kind of proud of it. I just never heard you use a bad word before," I said with a smile. Sadie tucked her head back into my shoulder.

"I hope I didn't make it worse," Sadie whispered.

"Doesn't matter. We will get through this." I wanted to take back the 'we' as soon as I said it.

"You said 'we' again," Sadie responded without moving from my arms.

"I meant it." I wasn't in control of that word any more. I might as well own it. Sadie squeezed me harder. I was glad I did. 

The next day we got a taste of the madhouse to come. Bob, true to his word, made the front page. An exclusive interview with the living Promise Keeper was big news. Without making any direct accusations, he detailed Sadie's plight and the possible demise of the City Kitchen. How I promised to save it and vanquish the bad guys was implied in every word he wrote. He promised articles to follow that detailed my exploits since my singing debut. The time and place of the banquet was clearly written. He used poetic license to rename it the 'Save the Kitchen' banquet. It was over the top and the public sucked it up. 

Calls started pouring in. The caterer was one of the first with an apology. They were willing to cater the event for free, as a donation to the cause. The banquet venue called and asked if we needed more room. They moved us to their largest room at no additional cost. Best of all, Sadie was Sadie again. She was moving like a woman possessed. Everything was happening on schedule and everyone knew their job. With every phone call she received, her confidence spiked. 

The mayor's office called and asked if it was okay for the mayor to attend the banquet. He would like to say a few words of support. It seems the police and firefighters union reps were going to be there, so the mayor felt obliged. I saw it as a win. The mayor certainly couldn't endorse the City Kitchen and then allow a developer to destroy it. 

That afternoon, an auditor for Herzog and Associates showed. Tom Brandon, a man I had worked with in the past. We had a quick reunion and I took him to the office. We spent the afternoon going over the initial data and supporting documents. Like me, he was impressed with Sadie's books. Tom called Doug just before we opened for dinner. 

"David's correct, these are clean and easy," Tom said over the phone, "I'll need two guys and two days to go through it all, but I doubt I'll find anything." He nodded and said yes a few times then handed the phone to me. 

"You stirred up a hornets nest, David," Doug said pleasantly, "I got a call from a Barbara Cane this morning. After the article, I guess she assumed you would come to me for help. She tried to convince me it would be in my best interest not to help."

"I met her yesterday. Sadie told her, and I quote, 'Bring it, bitch.'" I said it with a grin in my tone. Doug burst out laughing. 

"I like Sadie already," Doug responded, "I told Barbara much the same thing, just in a more civil-minded manner. I did find out that your developer is the one and only Patrick Abernathy. You certainly don't pick small opponents, David."

"Mr. Abernathy picked us," I said. At least I could now put a name to the slimeball.

"Well Barbara pissed me off so I put in a call to Sarah Ferguson. Her firm is willing to defend the class action, pro bono of course, if Sadie will agree." I put my hand over the phone speaker and leaned out the office door. 

"Doug Herzog found you a good lawyer, pro bono," I called out to Sadie, "you accept?" She laughed and nodded her head. I really didn't need to ask, but felt it was appropriate. 

"Of course she accepts," I answered, "Doug, you have gone way beyond the line of duty here. I'm not sure if I can ever pay you back."

"I'll get it back in spades," Doug said lightly, "the firm that backed the Promise Keeper. It has to be worth a ton of billable hours. You going to sing at the banquet? My wife is expecting it." 

"I wasn't planning on it. I was hoping the talent show was the last time I had to sing," I said honestly. I didn't really like the fear associated with being on stage. 

"Well that will give me a leg up on the pool," Doug said, "right now it is two to one for you singing. No worries, Tom will bring a team out early tomorrow and get started. Tell Sadie to let us worry about the IRS. She just needs to get you to sing." Doug hung up before I could respond. It didn't occur to me that people would want me to sing. The Leach was planning on bringing a camera. There was no way I could sing for the world, much less another audience. 

"Doug said you should let him worry about the IRS," I informed Sadie, leaving out the singing part. 

"I can do that," Sadie said as she removed her latex gloves. 

"Sarah Ferguson is going to take care of the class action," I added. I was full of good news. Sadie threw the gloves in the garbage, wrapped her hands around the back of my neck and kissed me on my lips. I wasn't sure how to respond. They were soft lips and slightly moist. She pulled back an inch and looked me in the eyes.

"My apologies to Amber, but you had that coming." Sadie smiled and headed out of the kitchen. It was 4:00 and people needed to be fed. It was the snickers from the crew that broke my trance. In my defense, they were really nice lips. I heard 'Sugar Magnolia' over the speakers and headed out to join Sadie on the line. 

Surprisingly, the first person in the line was a uniformed police officer. 

"You must be Sadie Millstead," the officer said, "and you must be David Thaxton." He smiled and held out his hand. I shook it as he explained. "There are two officers outside making sure the press and fans stay out. I'm supposed to stay down here in case they screw up. Unless you want to be on camera, you'll probably want to stay inside. It is a madhouse out there. I'm officer Brennan by the way." 

"Thank you, officer," Sadie said, "I hope this won't be necessary for too long."

"Just until the frenzy dies down," the officer said, "your car caused most of it." He looked and smiled at me when he said it. I guess everyone knows I'm here. Should have taken a cab.

The night went without incident. We fed officer Brennan who also took some desert to the cops outside. No unauthorized homeless look-a-likes made it into the City Kitchen, but we were kind of in a prison of our own making. Sadie decided to spend the night on site. I chivalrously gave up the cot. To her, it was a foregone conclusion -- it was her cot anyway. I made do on a dining table. It was a little hard, but a couple of blankets made it tolerable. 

The next two days saw the auditors hard at work. Sarah Ferguson stopped by the second day with a copy of the class action suit. She and Sadie talked strategy while I helped the auditors with data demands. In the middle of it all, we prepped the kitchen for the night's dinner. The Leach showed up just before 'Sugar Magnolia' to get some background on the City Kitchen. His articles had created a frenzy and he needed more information to keep them going. I took him to Houser, the resident expert on the subject. Bob had no trouble fitting in and making friends. He liked to listen and Houser liked being the expert. It also helped that I slipped Bob a brownie to grease the wheels.

The media spent those days camped out in front of the City Kitchen. Detective Berkhard made sure there were enough police that the media kept their distance. A couple of reporters tried to sneak through as homeless and were caught. Maggie pointed them out and looked good doing it in her new parka. It was a zoo, but no one left hungry so Sadie was happy. 

The day of the banquet brought with it a wonderful surprise. In the past, Sadie would run the kitchen as normal then rush to the banquet site leaving a crew to clean. It made for an extremely hectic day. Before noon, two men and a woman, all dressed in white chef attire met with Sadie.

"Mr. Morgan sent us," the tall blond man said with an air of authority, "I'm Tom Flounder and this is Randy and Karen. We're here to replace you for the day and let you concentrate on the banquet." Morgan Catering was the firm catering the banquet. I guessed they wanted to make sure Sadie wasn't upset with their flip flop. Sadie looked them up and down and decided they could handle it. 

"That would be lovely," Sadie said with a grin. 

"Do you think we could meet David Thaxton?" Karen asked. I blushed at the request. I was not used to my fleeting fame. Sadie laughed and introduced me. 

"The beard makes you look older," Karen said as she shook my hand. I could see undeserved admiration in her eyes. 

"It was just a disguise," I informed her, "I'll shave it soon."

"I sure hope so," Sadie interjected, "I've hated that thing since the first day." I suddenly hated the beard myself. 

"And you could use a haircut," Karen added, "have you thought about what you're going to wear tonight." I tried to say something, but Sadie jumped in.

"I was thinking black pants and shirt. It would look dashing with his frame." Sadie had obviously put some thought into it. I was going to try to tell her I didn't have anything like that when Karen jumped back in. 

"He would need black wingtips, short heeled with a matching leather belt." Karen examined me closer. "Maybe the shirt should be collarless with a hint of gray to offset the pants." 

"Ladies," I said, a little exasperated, "I don't own anything like that. I was just going to wear some khakis with a polo shirt." Sadie shook her head and smiled.

"We're going shopping, David. There's no way I am going let you look like a dork." Karen giggled at Sadie's demand. I just sighed and agreed. 

Sadie spent the better part of an hour with the crew, explaining the planned menu and how things worked. She explained the 'Sugar Magnolia' dinner bell and was adamant about the 4:00 time. Tom took notes and complemented Sadie on the cleanliness of the facility. He put her mind at ease and guaranteed her no one would leave hungry. He certainly seemed competent and I could tell Sadie thought so as well.

It took four police officers to get us out of the City Kitchen. We were able to make it out the back with limited exposure. A plain cloths officer, Roger Cummings, was assigned to drive us where we needed to go. 

"So, you're really going to sing at the Guns and Hoses?" Roger asked, after we escaped in his unmarked car. 

"I never said I was going to sing," I answered, trying not to sound ungrateful for the force's help. Sadie looked at me, a little surprised. I had forgotten to tell her about the event. 

"You got to," Roger went on, "it's the only reason my girlfriend is going to come. She hates the fights, but she adores you." A felt my face flush again. It was only one talent contest. This was getting a little out of hand. I certainly didn't deserve anyone's admiration. 

"You agreed to this?" Sadie asked. I looked over to her.

"Tony asked. I couldn't say no, not with everything he was doing to help us out," I explained. Sadie took my hand in hers.

"Us," Sadie said softly. Some guilt leaked into my mind, memories of Amber. Sadie's hand felt good in mine. I wasn't sure if I should like it. My heart was beating faster than it should. "I'll be there with you, singing or not." She squeezed my hand with affection. God help me, I squeezed back. 

Roger took us to a men's shop downtown. An older woman waited on us, her hair turning gray in a classy manner, with name tag that said Sally. I felt like a mannequin as the ladies had me try on different pants and shirts. They discussed the results as if I wasn't present and pretty much ignored my likes and dislikes. I tried on six pairs of shoes before Sadie was happy. Comfort was not one of the criteria she considered. I would have just picked a pair of nice brown cloth shoes if I had a choice in the matter. I had to admit, I did look pretty sharp in the mirror. I just didn't think I could live up to the image staring back at me. Sadie was pleased so I agreed, as if I had much of a choice.

I pulled out my card as we approached the register. Sally spent some time ringing it all up and I wondered if I would need a second mortgage to pay for it all. She shook her head and smiled when I tried to hand her the credit card. 

"We would like to donate the clothes Mr. Thaxton," Sally said calmly, "for the City Kitchen."

"You recognized us?" Sadie said with big smile.

"Not at first, that beard kinda threw me for a loop," Sally said, matching Sadie's smile.

"Thank you, and please call me David," I said, genuinely touched by her generosity. 

"You're so welcome, David," Sally said, "I really hope you remember us next time you shop." The offer was laced with a fondness I didn't deserve. I was happy my beard covered a good portion of my reddening cheeks. I was not designed for fame. 

"Of course," I stuttered. Sadie stifled a giggle and led me out the door. 

The next stop was a hair salon. The beard was going to go, and with it, whatever I had left of my anonymity. Sadie was excited. I would have preferred if she just handed me a razor. My hair was long, but I had become comfortable with it. She wasn't having any of it. For some reason, I was letting her run all over me. She was a formidable woman. I was sure Amber would have liked her. Amber would have never let me get so shaggy.

Cindy was my stylist, or so she said. She looked too young to be anything but an amateur. She had dyed blond hair combed incredibly straight with a sharp part on the left side. The hair stood in stark contrast to her dark black eyebrows. 

"What are we doing to your hair today?" Cindy asked. Again, before I had a chance to answer, Sadie jumped in. 

"First, let's lose the beard and then..." I raised my hand sharply and gave Sadie a look. I didn't want to, but I kind of felt I was losing myself. It was my head after all. "Sorry," she said and covered her smile with her hand. I gathered my thoughts and realized I screwed up. 

"Um...shave off the beard and..." I had no idea how I wanted my hair. I turned my head sideways and looked at it in the mirror. The shaggy dog look might be comfortable, but it looked like crap. I rolled my eyes, "and however she wants it." I nodded my head weakly toward Sadie who was no longer covering her silly grin. I had put my foot down, directly into dog shit. 

"Get it off the collar and ears," Sadie kicked back in without missing a beat, "leave the sideburns down to about here." She touched just in front of my ear sending an unexpected shiver down my neck, "Can you use a trimmer to layer it a bit, you know, business-like, but with a little modern style." She had some kind of vision for my head. It had to be better than my vision. Suddenly, I had two women touching my head all over, discussing trimmer sizes and part positions. I was a mannequin again. 

I am not ashamed to mention the fear I felt when Cindy came at me with the straight razor. I was white knuckling the arms of the chair and gritting my teeth as the her hand approached. The blade looked hellishly sharp and she looked virginally young. I didn't move a millimeter as she dragged the blade up my neck. It was an agonizingly slow process and I prayed the whole time I wouldn't see bright spurts of red liquid shooting up. 

"I'm really quite good at this," Cindy commented, when I inadvertently sucked in my breath, "it's been a long time since I have cut off anyone's nose." Sadie laughed. I remained perfectly still. It turns out Cindy was right, she was very good at it. Not a nick or even a bad scrape. My nose was where it belonged when Cindy applied a hot towel to clean off the excess shaving cream. Cindy's eyes went wide when she removed the towel.

"I know you." Cindy's smile grew. "You're that promise guy." I think my face was already red from the hot towel. At least I hoped so. I raised my finger to my lips and formed the international quiet symbol. "You're the promise guy," she repeated in a whisper. I nodded my head. "Can I get an autograph?" she asked. I rolled my eyes. Sadie thought the whole thing was hilarious. Cindy didn't wait for an answer, she grabbed a marker and I ended up signing her blow dryer. It was my first autograph, and hopefully my last. 

Cindy went to work on my hair. Large clumps were falling down onto the cape she had covered me with. I felt she was touching me more than necessary. Her fingers would slide along my neck and up behind my ear. She would lightly fluff my hair as she cut, her fingers not flicking, but combing along my scalp, almost petting me. At first I thought they were accidental. Their frequency increased and it began to feel like foreplay. 

Sadie moved closer to me, examining the length being cut off. She absently placed her hand over mine. Like magic, Cindy stopped the stroking. It was some kind of secret female nonverbal communication. Sadie stepped back again, but Cindy never returned to the caressing. It was strictly hair cutting from then on and I was thankful for it. 

I was able to stop the hair gel. Both ladies thought it would be perfect finale. I thought it would be a pain in the ass. I didn't want to spend my mornings fussing with my hair. If my hair wanted to jump out of place, well that's everyone else's problem. I can't see it anyway. 

"You really have to stop flirting with every girl you meet," Sadie said once we had returned to the car. I heard Roger snicker up front. 

"I didn't do anything to encourage her," I claimed, "I'm just happy it stopped." 

"You look a lot younger without the beard," Roger stated in the rear view mirror. I rubbed my hand along my newly shaved face. I had to admit it was nice to finally get rid of the beard. Sadie ran the back of her hand softly along my jaw. 

"It certainly feels a lot younger," Sadie commented. Roger's eyes whipped back to the road in embarrassed reflex. The hand was an intimate gesture. It didn't seem like it affected Sadie that way. She just smiled and turned her head to look out the window. My thoughts turned to Amber, then back to Sadie and the back of her hand. I closed my eyes and tried to see Amber. It was hard, the image imperfect and my thoughts were muddling it up. My memory was such a weak tool.

Roger brought the car to the back of the hotel, the venue for the banquet. We entered through an employee only door where a tall brunette in a business skirt and white blouse greeted us. 

"Welcome Ms. Millstead, Mr. Thaxton," the woman said confidently, "I'm Tammy Kardigan, the manager. We have adjoining rooms prepared for you on the seventh floor. I think it's best we head up there to discuss the preparations. It's a madhouse out front." She didn't wait for a response as she took us to the service elevator.