0 comments/ 20583 views/ 4 favorites Fade By: capnmitch I wake just before dusk, safe and secure in my room. Enveloped by darkness, but still able to see the faint traces of the sun's last light under the door to my bedroom, I sit up and pause at the edge of my bed. I pull my hair back away from my face, only to have it tumble forward again. The fog in my head clears at the same moment the light winks out from under my door. Bright-eyed and alert now, I can think about the night ahead. I slip off the end of my bed and pad around the room. The floor is cool against my bare feet and it heightens my senses even further. Yes… tonight I am hungry. Tonight I will hunt. Smiling to myself I quickly go through all the necessary motions, getting together clothing, money, keys, etc. In the shower I ponder my options. Should I go to the park, the library, or the clubs? The warm water on my skin is delicious, like thousands of warm fingers on my skin. Drying myself after the shower, I return to my options. Remembering the last fiasco at the park, and the sadly empty library, I once again decide on the rather obvious choice and start laying out my clubwear. Though not raver wear nor the typical Goth uniform of black on black on black, I am dressed fashionably enough to be noticed without drawing too much attention. Feeling the fabric against my skin focuses me and I walk with purpose from my room. Dressed and out of my own special room, I begin to play at belonging again. Breathe, don't glide, and don't move too quickly; nothing out of the ordinary here. After leaving the house, I climb into my car and start out into the city. On my way in, I pass a huge four-wheel drive monstrosity carrying three men in camouflage. My teeth flash as I laugh in the shadows of my car. I realize that's what this body is to me; it's my real-tree camo. I'm now submerged in the sights, smells and sounds of a city at night. The old have gone home from their day jobs, living their little suburban lives. The young have taken over the city and all is as it should be after the moon comes to preside over her children. I realize it's Sunday night, and that means thinner crowds… well thinner crowds everywhere but at that little club just outside the city's safe edge. They call it the Church, and it's filled with people absolutely obsessed with darkness and debauchery and the pleasures of the flesh. It's the image that they wish to portray; these lonely, desperate children, playing at being adults and making choices based on what feels good. I love them for it. I stroll in smiling, unlike the somber black-clad youths trying to look like what I am. I chuckle to myself as a walk through the dark entryway and head directly upstairs. I can see the dance floor from there, and I can see I'll be leaving soon. All I have to do is find the perfect… and there you are. Dancing to the music that pulses like a living thing, the movement of your body is fluid and beautiful. Not alone on the dance floor, you move from partner to partner with your eyes closed. Bodies slide and grind against you, you return the passion. Fueling the movements of those around you, touching when touched and slipping away, you tease the entire dance floor. I make my way down the stairs and scan the dance floor. Knowing you'll make your way to me soon enough, I enjoy the heat and the press of warm flesh against me. The smell of sweat and musk and perfume and hairspray and cigarettes and alcohol is everywhere. And over all of it is sex, raw human desire. I allow myself to swim in it, the feelings and sounds and smells bombarding my body are more intoxicating than any liquor. And suddenly, you're there, your body against mine. I open my eyes and look down into your face and the connection is made. Your eyes slip open halfway and you smile up at me. You're grinding against me; I can feel your breast pressing urgently against my chest. I am moving with you, our bodies writhing in concert… both of us feeling the movements of the other and matching them. Songs blend into others as we dance. You spin and now you're facing away from me, our bodies just as close as before. You slide down my front, your hands on my thighs as you sink towards the floor, never breaking contact with my body. Pushing off from the floor, your hands slip to my inner thighs before quickly sliding around to my ass as you continue to wriggle and move to the music. As the music changes to a slower song, you turn back to face me. Looking me in the eyes you seem to be considering something. The decision is made easily enough and you take my hand and lead me off the dance floor. When we don't head towards a bar or towards the stairs, I'm honestly confused for a moment. I follow, smiling as the hunted leads the hunter by the hand into the dark corner near the back stairs of the bar. Pulling me to you, you lean in and whisper in my ear, "You're mine now." Still smiling, I turn and say very softly into your ear, "No, little one, you are mine." I enjoy the look of indignation, the little pout as you pull away and narrow your eyes at me. I'm changing the rules of your little game and you don't like it. I know right now is a make or break moment for the night, and I know how badly you want to think you're in control of the game. But I also know that I'm not playing a game and I sense you've been in control of every one of these little rendezvous. I can feel you wanting to let go of the wheel, just once, and let someone else drive. The pout breaks and you tilt your head slightly and say, "Alright, let's see what you got. You're not like the men I usually meet here…" I dismiss this quickly by saying, "You don't meet men here. You meet children playing dress up." I step forward and take you into my arms, catching you off guard. The thunderous rush of your blood beneath your fragile, delicate skin taunts me. The musk of your sex, almost covered by the other scents in this place, teases me for the first time and I realize I want more from you. I lean in to kiss you and you readily respond, collapsing against me, surrendering yourself to the moment. The sweet taste of rum is still on your tongue and the intoxication you feel is nothing compared to the waves of desire that flood through me. The kiss is exquisite torture. Both of us want more, and both of us delay it every moment we stand here in this place. You had meant to play with me and toss me aside, now you know we'll finish the night together. I take you by the hand and lead you outside and to my car. I open the door for you and walk around, looking away, giving you every opportunity to leave if you so wish. I hear your door close and open my own and sit down behind the wheel. I look over at you for the first time since we were inside. You smile, lean in and kiss me and say, "I'm yours." The drive was a blur, your hands everywhere and the slight smile never leaving my face. I can feel you starting to worry, since even with your hands sliding between my legs, nothing stirs. "Don't worry love," I say when you touch me there again, "I promise you're doing everything right." We rush into the house in a flurry of movement, touching and kissing. You've given over all control, letting me touch you, kiss you, taste you. My hands are slow and deliberate. I can feel your pulse everywhere my lips touch, my teeth graze your skin and you shudder with pleasure. Your nipples strain against the fabric of your bra, showing even through it and your blouse. I oblige your desire and peel the thin shirt from your body. I pull you to me, trying to take my time with the rest of your clothing. My skin remains cool to the touch, even in this passionate embrace, but your warm skin is so inviting. Temptation starts to seize me and it is all I can do to keep from taking you right now. You keep pressing your hot skin against me, stirring the old hungers as well as the new. I am suddenly passionate, matching the frenzy you've been barely containing. Your bra and skirt are gone, my shirt torn from me in a desperate dance of seduction and consummation. You drag your nails down my back as you pull me closer to you, bare breasts now crushed against my chest. My white flesh remains unmarked by your passion, your nails leave no trace of their passing. Your hands find their way into my hair and the back of my neck, pulling my mouth away from yours and to your neck. Kissing, licking, trying desperately not to… "Bite me," you moan into my ear, "Please. Bite me hard…" The invitation sends a shudder through my entire body as the newer hunger washes over me. The fact that I want to give into both is the only thing that keeps me from accepting your invitation. My body will not respond without the help of your blood and something about you makes my hunger less important than pleasuring you. I place my teeth on your neck and the need almost overtakes the desire. I release the sweet flesh between my teeth long enough to whisper, "Not yet, love… not yet." I lift you into my arms and your legs naturally wind around the backs of mine. Your lips touch mine again for a moment, then our mouths open as we explore each other. Tongues entwined, tasting each other. I can no longer wait. I carry you to the bed, sliding my hands down your body as I place you onto the bed, I take the final slip of silk that stood between me and your sex and cast it aside. You spread your arms and writhe on the bed, inviting me to join you. My pants slip to the floor and I lean over you, kissing your mouth, your breasts, your stomach. Kneeling onto the floor I start again, this time at the pulsing artery at your ankle. Trying desperately to resist its song, I kiss my way up your calf. You spread your legs willingly before me and I kiss your inner thighs. The blood courses through you there like a river, and I know the hunger will not be held at bay much longer. I forget my pretenses, my illusions; I drop the veil of humanity that I wear like suit and see the understanding in your eyes. You know what I am, you always did, and you were inviting the release. Now, lying beneath me, naked and defenseless, you show the first trace of hesitation, the first moment of fear. You don't withdraw; you don't recoil from my touch, which brings a smile to my lips. I descend again, slowly kissing from your inner thigh to the silken flesh that surrounds your lips. Mouth open, I lightly suck your lips and clit into my mouth. Starting at the taut skin where your sex begins, I slowly drag my tongue all the way to your clit and slip it side-to-side back down. Continuing this motion, I begin to apply firm pressure with my tongue, flicking it deeper within you on the way up as well as down. The slight tension that had found its way into your body dissipates and you begin to rock slightly along with the rhythm of my tongue. All of my senses are focused on the slightest change in you; your shallow breathing, your light sighs and shuddering moans, and always, always the sound of the life in your veins. Your heart is pounding now, and I change before you can climax. Releasing the suction, I start to use just the tip of my tongue to caress and just barely part your lips, teasing you. You stop rocking, hips squirming beneath this new lighter kiss. Knowing not to keep you waiting too much longer, I quickly suck your clit into my mouth, tugging it and pulling bracing it ever so lightly between my teeth before beginning a rapid butterfly flick with my tongue. You won't last long with such direct stimulation, so, keeping your clit in my mouth but releasing the suction, I begin to thrust my tongue deep into you. Instantly reacting, driving your sex into my face, you start to cry out. You begin to buck wildly against my mouth, hands full of my hair, your thighs quivering as they tense before the exquisite relief. One fluttering gasp is followed by a long cry of pleasure as your orgasm flows through your body. Wanting you now, knowing that I'll need you so that the old desires can be met I move up your warm, flushed body. You understand desire, but the hunger is something that you will never know. I pause for a moment at your breast, slipping a nipple into my mouth for but a moment before continuing on. The thunder of your heartbeat is hypnotic, and I know I can deny neither my desires nor yours any longer. Raising myself up over you, I look directly into your eyes. Parting my lips so that you can understand fully what I seek, I whisper, "Ask me again…" You look back without hesitation and say, "Bite me. Please." My lips meet your neck just long enough to find the sweet source below the skin. A bright, piercing pain draws a hiss from your mouth before the bond takes us and we are suddenly one. A connection is made as the blood starts to leave your body that you've never experienced. A heartbeat becomes heartbeats as my body reacts to the gift you have given me. Blood spreads through the surface of my body, hardening me in response to both the feed and the desire I have for you. The old hunger forces the now sated one aside as I slip into your willing and soaked sex. Lightheaded and connected in a way you've never experienced, the penetration is beyond pleasure. Using my tongue to quell the bleeding at your neck, I begin to slowly rock my hips. Unable to focus on anything other than the moment, you immediately respond to the rhythm of my thrusts, grinding your clit fiercely against me. The first climax you experienced fades to insignificance as this bond only intensifies and overshadows what you've ever felt before. From deep within you a moan begins, and it draws a similar sound from me as we continue to climb towards a place neither of us have been. I can feel every sensation, not just my own. As the blood weakens you and strengthens me, you are experiencing everything I am. I know what it is to be filled, from the infinite variations deep within to the electric, almost too-sensitive clit. You know the exquisite feeling of the sensitive shaft and head slipping over and over again into your tight, perfect warmth. We remain entwined, your precious blood just one of the things we share, our orgasms building as you begin to fade. Pleasure on pleasure, more ecstasy than either of us has ever known building to a climax impossible without the bond we share. Your entire body begins to quake as the moan escalates into a cry then into a scream of pleasure. My teeth slip free from your neck as I withdraw from your sex, and the weakness that normally follows an orgasm is doubled from your gift. You taste blood in my kiss before I rise from the bed. It's your last memory of me before you fade... Fade Away I'm Brent Willis. At twenty nine years of age I had a real problem; a cheating wife. But I'm getting ahead of myself. ____________________ First a disclaimer; I've never been good at English, Literature, or Social Sciences. I'm a math, economics, business guy. Don't get shitty about my inability to use flowery language or provide tantalizing descriptions of people or events because I'm a "just the facts, ma'am" type of guy. In addition to what I described in the above paragraph I feel that I need to present to you my honest strengths and weaknesses, without false modesty for the strengths, and without downplaying or sugarcoating the weaknesses. I'm very good looking, successful in business, trustworthy, treat everyone with respect regardless of their station in life, and have almost always been honest. I am a very considerate lover, putting my partner's satisfaction above mine. I am gentle during lovemaking – for six of the seven women who I have had intercourse with I have always been told, and believe, that this is a real plus and I left them well satisfied with every encounter. For one woman who really, really liked it rough I was a major disappointment. Also, maybe because of some of the above characteristics, the parents of every woman I have dated have loved me. Sometimes I think that the mothers liked me better than the daughters do (ha, ha). As far as my negatives are concerned I am hopelessly un-athletic, and I'm not very perceptive. I am easily emotionally hurt by others' negative comments or actions (I have a thin skin), and oftentimes wear my emotions on my sleeve. Despite average physical strength and dexterity I eschew physical confrontation, and I am not aggressive enough in any area of life except business and investing. Despite my lack of aggressiveness I have a real vindictive streak for people who wrong me and if there is no physical threat to me seek revenge. Details of my interaction with the two main characters in this tale, Melissa Thompson and Doreen Bronson, in the distant past would contribute nothing to this story and would bore you, so I'll make it quick and simple. I dated Melissa in college during my junior year, but we broke up just before summer. That was difficult for me, but not devastating since it was basically mutual – she was more commitment-averse than I was but she never hid that from me or led me on. I met Doreen during the summer after my junior year. Melissa, Doreen and I went to different High Schools in the same metropolitan area, and all attended the closest large state University. I dated Doreen exclusively during the summer and half-way through my senior year when Melissa popped back on the scene. I dated both of them – I didn't hide it from either – until just before graduation when both gave me "shit or get off the pot" ultimatums. It was a difficult choice. Both are beautiful and sexy, but Melissa a little more so. Both really seemed to be in love with me, but Doreen a little more so. Both are smart and come from good families (although it didn't make a difference, Melissa's family is extremely rich, Doreen's upper middle class). Sex with both of them was great, probably a little more satisfying for me with Melissa, although it seemed from Melissa's standpoint the sex was a 9 out of 10 whereas from Doreen's it was a 10. Doreen was always candid about everything; Melissa was significantly less candid, although I never caught her in any major lie. I chose Melissa. Doreen was devastated and didn't even attend the graduation ceremony and I heard from friends that she moved out of the area shortly after graduation. I also met with Doreen's parents, Tom and Lydia Bronson, when I broke up with her since I had established a good relationship with them. They understood how sincere my affection for Doreen had been and what a hard decision it was for me, and we parted on good terms. Melissa and I got married six months after graduation and lived in the same metropolitan area that we grew up in, in a condo purchased by her parents, Jack and Carolyn Thompson, as a wedding present. Melissa's parents really liked me, even more so than most of the other parents of women that I dated. Melissa's mother, Carolyn, always greeted me warmly and bragged about me to her friends in front of me. Melissa's father, Jack, not only liked me but was very impressed with my business acumen. He wanted me to come to work for one of the companies he owned but I told him that I wanted to keep my business life separate from his and make my own way. I didn't ever want anyone to suggest that I got promotions or responsibilities just because I was "the son." Even though I never worked for him, after two years of marriage to his daughter, Jack insisted that I have power of attorney over Melissa's trust fund (somewhere around $15,000,000) since she had no business acumen whatsoever. The trust fund money would be hers once she turned thirty, but I was in charge of every part of it – except for about $3,000,000 of preferred stock in one of Jack's companies which could not be touched until Melissa was thirty two, and even after that there were restrictions. Married life agreed with me despite finding out some things about Melissa that during our courtship I had never observed – not surprising considering my lack of perceptiveness. She was more materialistic and much more concerned with her status in the community than I realized before marriage – in fact how she was viewed by rich, successful, and high-society people in our metropolitan area was one of the most important things in life to her. Despite revelations about Melissa that were of some concern, I was happy in our marriage. Melissa seemed to be there for me when I needed her, such as vigilantly standing by me when my parents – my only relatives that I cared about – were killed in a car crash after we had been married three years. The money I got from my parent's estate – after taxes and expenses were paid – I put in an offshore account. I never told Melissa about it, and she never asked. It wasn't money that we needed to have the lifestyle that we wanted, but it was a significant amount of money, on the order of $1,000,000. I intended to tell her about placing it in an offshore account but never got around to it – maybe there was a Freudian reason that I didn't, I don't really know. When Melissa and I just turned twenty nine (our birthdates were only three days apart) we decided that she would go off the pill and we'd start a family, something that we always agreed upon since we got engaged. Even as unperceptive as I normally am it seemed to me that when she did go off the pill that her libido increased. Her libido had always been what I considered normal given my experience with the other six women that I had had sexual relations with before marriage, so that we normally had very good sex three or four times a week. After she went off the pill it seemed that she got more sexually aggressive and vigorous during sex, and our frequency increased to five or six times a week. Despite the fact that she went off the pill she didn't get pregnant right away. We both understood that it would likely be at least a couple of months before she would conceive, so it didn't concern either of us. As I previously mentioned, I treat everyone with respect which made me popular with the employees of the Country Club that Melissa, me, Jack, and Carolyn belonged to. I didn't really golf or play tennis much because I simply don't have the requisite hand-eye coordination, but I did enjoy meals there, swimming, and playing cards. Several of the employees liked and trusted me enough to come to me with business problems, and I always did my best to help them out. Perhaps the employee that I was most friendly with was Jasper, the captain of waiters in the Golf Grill. One Saturday morning at the club, pursuant to our standard procedure, Melissa went off to her golf lesson while I intended to go swimming and relax by the pool since the week had been particularly stressful at work. I got delayed in conversation with a few people, and as I approached the locker room Jasper came up to me with a very concerned look on his face. "Brent," he said – I insisted that all of the employees call me by my first name, although Melissa wanted them to call her "Mrs. Willis" – "could I talk to you for a second?" "Sure," I replied, expecting it to be about some financial issue that he had. Jasper led me into a private alcove, got a tear in his eye, and when with concern I asked "What's wrong?" he blurted out," I hate to have to tell you this, Brent, but your wife is cheating on you; even as we speak." "What?" I said, aghast. "I've suspected it for two weeks but I confirmed it today. She's with Jeremy, the assistant golf pro, in Massage Room A. Apparently the lock on the door is broken but they don't know it. I opened it up by mistake and saw them – although they didn't see me. Go look now." I'm sure that the color drained from my face, and I almost fell to my knees; I had to hold onto a chair back for a few seconds to regain my balance. Being confrontation averse there was no way that I would challenge Melissa if I caught them, but I had to know. I briskly walked to Massage Room A, which had a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door. I cracked it open; the lock didn't work, just as Jasper said. There was Melissa on her hands and knees on the massage table with Jeremy's cock in her pussy while she moaned "Harder, fuck me harder!" Before I closed the door I did notice that he had a condom on; but my vision quickly became blurry after that. After I closed the door I collapsed onto the floor. My mind was in turmoil. To say that I was devastated would be the understatement of the decade. I finally regained enough awareness to realize that I needed to get out of there. As I hurriedly exited the building I went past Jasper and was able to cough out "Thanks for telling me, but do not tell anyone else under any circumstances, please," before tears formed in my eyes. Jasper replied, with real concern in his voice, "You got it! Sorry, man." I drove in a fog until I came across a bar that was open. It was a relatively high class bar in a nice part of town, actually the suburb that Doreen's parents lived in, near some restaurants and clubs. I almost never drank hard liquor, and rarely more than two glasses of wine a day if I drank at all. I got absolutely plastered sitting at a table by myself in a corner of the bar. By the time that I stumbled out of the bar it was dark, and I was beyond drunk. My plan was to get into my car without a seat belt on and crash it into a brick wall and kill myself; I obviously was overlooking the air bag. The last thing that I remember is falling down. I only know what happened the next twelve hours from what other people told me. I awoke in strange surroundings. It looked like a guest room in a residence. I was dressed in the same clothes that I was wearing when I left the Country Club. I had a splitting headache, and otherwise felt like shit. Unfortunately, I had not forgotten the reason for my malaise, so I felt worse emotionally than I did physically. I slowly walked out of the room I was in, found a bathroom, and after relieving myself looked in the mirror. I looked as bad as I felt, including having a large bump and scrape on my noggin. I thought that I recognized the second floor hallway that I was in, but couldn't place it. I heard sounds of meal preparation and people talking on the first floor, so I stumbled down the stairs. I was shocked to see Doreen's parents, Tom and Lydia Bronson, in the kitchen. "Well, Brent, glad to see that you're among the living," Tom said, peering at me over his reading glasses and putting down his newspaper. "Hit, Brent, breakfast will be ready shortly," Lydia chirped from near the stove. "Tom...Lydia...I...I have no idea how I got here," I mumbled. "Have a seat, Brent," Tom said, getting up and helping me into one of the kitchen chairs, "and I'll tell you the story." "Thanks, because I have no recollection of anything after I left a bar during what I presume was last night, and was trying to find my car," I mumbled. Tom proceeded to relate the story, with Lydia occasionally throwing a comment out. Basically Tom and Lydia were going to meet some friends at a restaurant about a block from the bar I came out of. As they walked toward the restaurant they saw a guy fall and hit his head on the sidewalk and went over to help. When they determined that it was me Lydia went to get their friends. They and their friends helped me to their car and drove me to their house, cancelling their dinner plans and getting takeout with their friends instead. "I'm so, so grateful that you helped me out," I said. "I'm particularly grateful that you brought me here instead of to a drunk tank or a hospital." As Lydia brought some pancakes and juice to the table she replied "Considering what you were mumbling we thought it best to just bring you here. Get some food in you – you need it." "What did I say?" I asked, completely perplexed. "That can wait until after breakfast," Lydia responded while dishing me a stack of hotcakes. At breakfast the three of us talked about a number of things, but not about the previous night. Of course I inquired about Doreen and they told me that she had been married for three years but was now divorced and had moved back to the area and lived only about ten miles away. She was a successful entrepreneur. "Is she still as beautiful as she was in college?" I asked wistfully. "You'll have to judge that for yourself; she'll be here shortly," Tom replied. "What!" I yelped. "She can't see me like this!" "She won't mind," Lydia nonchalantly replied. "She's anxious to see you, especially if what you mumbled last night is true." By then breakfast was finished, and after I helped clear the table the three of us went and sat in their living room. "What did I say last night?" I sheepishly asked. "There's no reason to relate everything," Tom said pensively. "Let me just hit the highlights – rather lowlights. Your wife Melissa was cheating on you, there is no way that you'd start a family under those circumstances, you drank hard liquor for the first time in two years to drown your sorrows, and you were planning on killing yourself. Does that about sum it up, Lydia?" "Those are the lowlights," Lydia responded with a bemused look on her face. I buried my head in my hands. After a minute or so I raised my head. "I'm so, so sorry to burden you with my problems," I said, on the verge of tears. "I really, really, don't know what I'm going to do, but I likely would have killed myself last night if I had been able to get to my car. I think that you two know that I'm very emotional," I continued, choking up. "Sensitive – a quality that I've always admired in you, Brent, but maybe too sensitive for your own good," Lydia said, walking over to me and holding my hand. After we talked in generalities for a few more minutes the front door opened and in walked Doreen. Except for a streak of blond in her hair, Doreen looked virtually no different than she did the last time that I saw her eight years ago. If anything, she looked slightly better. I was very nervous about what her reaction to me would be; I got the most pleasant surprise of my life. "Hi, Brent," she said in a voice so cheery that it seemed that me breaking up with her eight years ago never happened. "You look like hell," she giggled, "but I still need a hug." She held out her hands, I took them, she pulled me up off the couch, and she gave me a sincere, tight hug. After a few seconds of apprehension I hugged her back, and then started sobbing. Lydia broke the tension. "I think that you two have some catching up to do. Tom and I have plans to go to the mall to shop; we'll be back in two hours," Lydia said, squeezing my shoulder. I seriously doubt that Tom had been planning on going shopping on Sunday morning and early afternoon, but he pretended like that was the most fun thing ever, and off they went. As soon as they left Doreen cut right to the chase. "Brent, you know that we've both always been straight with each other. Is there any reason for that to change now?" After a slight pause staring into Doreen's beautiful hazel eyes I hesitantly said "No...I, uh, really need a friend now; someone that I can be candid with and open up to." "Good," she said with a grin. "Let me start. My marriage ended because my husband cheated on me. I can't blame him too much, however, because I'm sure that he sensed that there was only one man that I ever loved, or likely would ever love, and it wasn't him. It was you. From what my parents tell me, I may have a chance to get you back, and if I do I intend to take full advantage of it." I don't think that I would have been more stunned than if I had been hit by the electrodes of a Taser! I'm sure that my mouth was agape and my eyes the size of baseballs as I remained speechless for what seemed like a long time, all the while staring into Doreen's eyes while she returned my stare. Finally she broke the silence. "Is that direct enough for you?" she asked with a crooked smile. "Yeah; I'd say that that was definitely direct enough," I cackled. "Seems like I made the wrong choice eight years ago," I continued. "That's the right attitude; now let's figure this thing out," Doreen continued with a big grin. "Let's sit at the kitchen table and make notes about how things proceed from here." And so into the kitchen we went, Doreen got a legal pad and pen out of a drawer in the den, and we got down to business. Apparently I had been a soul-baring moron the previous night when in my drunken stupor because Doreen seemed to know all of the salient details of my situation; I just clarified a few things for her. I did make it clear in our discussions that I wanted to get the ultimate revenge on Melissa, regardless of what else we did, and wanted to get as far away from her as possible. By the time that Tom and Lydia had gotten back two hours, and two full pots of coffee for Doreen and I, later, Doreen and I had the basics of a plan on how to proceed. In making the plan I had constantly reiterated my need for ultimate revenge and to get out of my marriage; she told me that she'd do anything to help as long as I ended up with her; and the ideas gushed out. We each made a "To Do" list, a list of things to avoid, and a list of possible major pitfalls. We promised to meet for lunch every other day to refine things and see how we stood in completing our assigned tasks. There were only two people that we really needed to trust; Tom and Lydia. Well maybe Jasper too. Neither of us had any problem with trusting Tom and Lydia, and they were honored to be taken into our confidence. We told them only as much as we needed to. I believed that I could trust Jasper also. The most immediate problem was to explain to Melissa how and why I had been gone since yesterday early afternoon, now an expanse of more than twenty four hours. Since I looked like hell, including the bump and scrape on my head from passing out on the sidewalk, we were confident that it was doable. Doreen drove me to where I had left my car; fortunately it was undisturbed. I had left my cellphone in the car. I checked the messages on my cellphone, which included ten from Melissa and one from her father, Jack. The first one, chronologically, was from Jasper. "Hey Brent," Jasper said. "Just thought that I'd let you know that I saw Melissa. She asked if I had seen you. I told her that you had an emergency come up and looked all around for her, including on the driving range and course, but that you couldn't find her or Jeremy so you took off with instructions for me to tell her that you'd be in touch as soon as your emergency was resolved, and to take a cab home. She had a very distressed look but bought my story completely. Good luck, man, and let me know if there is something that I can do to help." Fade Away The messages from Melissa and Jack were all about the same, with increasing levels of concern, about my whereabouts. Doreen and I decided that I would call Melissa, tell her that I had been mugged, and had been taken without I. D. to a clinic, and that I would be home in an hour or so. I placed the call. Melissa sounded frantic when she answered the phone, and relieved. I cut the call short. Doreen and I kissed; not a full-blown passionate one, but not just a "good friends" kiss either. "I need to remain true to Melissa until our plan plays out," I told Doreen. "That doesn't surprise me," Doreen said with a big smile. "Once it does play out, however, I'm going to fuck you to death," she chuckled. "Woe is me," I dramatically replied. "My only concern is if you can act properly with Melissa in a way that doesn't raise her suspicions," Doreen said. "That's my major concern too," I replied, "given how emotional I am. But you've given me the courage to do it since I know that there's a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I'll find a way," I said with a determined look on my face. Doreen smiled, we exchanged one more quick kiss, and I was off, first to buy some Plan B pills and a burner phone at the pharmacy, and then home. Melissa and her parents were bordering on hysterical when I got home. My appearance gave them no reason to doubt my story about the mugging since my head injury was real, my clothes dirty and disheveled, and my hair a mess. I had hidden my wallet in the car and would pretend that I had to get new credit cards and a new driver's license since they had been stolen, although thankfully my car keys had not been. Having Melissa's parents there helped. I may have not been able to pull it off if they hadn't been there since my anger boiled to just below the surface when I saw Melissa; but I remained relatively calm and played the disoriented victim to the hilt. Considering her activities on Saturday, I was really quite surprised that Melissa appeared very sincere in her concern for me, and there is no doubt that she had not slept the night before. She looked almost as bad as I did. Her parents decided to stay overnight. After Melissa and I showered and had a dinner that her mother, Carolyn, cooked we more passed out that went to sleep. My skin almost crawled as she lay her head on my shoulder, but I sucked it up and within minutes I was in never-never land. Over the next three weeks things progressed basically as Doreen and I planned. Doreen was as diligent as anyone that I have ever seen in accomplishing her tasks. After two luncheon meetings with her there was no doubt in my mind that I should have married her instead of Melissa. All my old feelings for her returned in spades, and I was blown away by her devotion, competency, and efficiency. There was much to do, and things were complex. Since I was having difficulty in interacting with Melissa I wanted to stay on schedule regardless of many minor setbacks. In order not to raise suspicions, and to accommodate her enhanced libido, I even had sex with Melissa eight times. Each time I fantasized that it was Doreen, and the morning after each session I crushed up a Plan B pill and included it in the breakfast that I "lovingly" made for Melissa, and watched her to make sure that she ate it before I left for work. There is no way in the world that I wanted a child with her! It sounds strange considering how horribly upset and devastated I was when I witnessed Melissa's cheating, but three Saturdays after that terrible event I was hoping that Melissa would be cheating again. I needed her to be in order to execute my plan. Using the burner phone that I had purchased at the same time as the Plan B pills I called Doreen first thing Saturday morning to insure that everything was on track. It was. I kissed Melissa for the last time as we parted on Saturday morning at the Country Club, she to go to her "golf lesson," and me to swim. I tracked down Jasper, got his pledge not to ever tell anyone that he had told me about Melissa's cheating or that I witnessed it three weeks earlier, and gave him $10,000 in cash. After a delay of about twenty minutes more I surreptitiously removed the "Do Not Disturb" sign from Massage Room A and made sure that the lock was still broken and that Melissa and Jeremy were inside. Then I enlisted the help of the director of the Club training facility and the head golf pro, ostensibly to find Melissa, frantically telling them "I have a real emergency!" I maneuvered the other two so that the head golf pro opened the door to Massage Room A. As expected there was assistant golf pro Jeremy fucking Melissa doggy – again I noticed a condom (thank God for small favors). The head golf pro blurted out "What the fuck," the director of the training facility gasped loudly, and I yelled "Melissa!" The copulating couple looked at us with completely startled and chagrined faces. Melissa screamed. Jeremy quickly pulled out his cock and tried to pull up his pants, which were bunched around his ankles. I got a totally distraught look on my face – not hard to do considering the circumstances and certainly not requiring any acting on my part – and then turned and ran, sobbing. The sobbing was an act, although inside my heart was bleeding. As I exited the area of the training facility I heard the head golf pro shrieking at Jeremy. I quickly drove home and left my already prepared note with my wedding ring on the kitchen table. I also left my regular cellphone there since I did not want to take the chance that it could be used to track me. I had had the LoJack on both my car and my laptop computer disabled two weeks earlier. My laptop computer and a suitcase with the only possessions that I valued (some mementos of my parents), and a few changes of underwear and socks, were already in the trunk of my car. My note read: "I loved you more than life itself. I can't live with your betrayal! God save my soul!" I don't know how Melissa got home so quickly but she got there before I left. I would rather not have seen her, but in may actually have worked out for the best as far as partially satisfying my need for revenge was concerned. Melissa was genuinely panic-stricken. She kept grabbing me, I kept pulling away. She kept trying to make eye contact, I avoided it. She yelled things like "Going off the pill made me too horny," "my hormones are all screwed up," "it was just sex," "I made him always use a condom," "I need to have your baby," and "what will my parents say if you leave me?" The only thing I said in response to all of her hysterical rants was a genuinely emotional choking reply to last question. "Tell them that you killed our love, and me." There were tears in my eyes as I pushed her away from me then ran out the door. One part of my revenge required me to act on Monday in order to insure that it was complete since for most institutions money transfers can't reliably be confirmed on the weekends. Doreen rented a hotel room in her name in a busy part of town, and I parked my car at a remote part of another hotel lot about a block from the one that she and I stayed in Saturday and Sunday nights. Although Doreen and I slept together and were affectionate during our two nights in the hotel, we didn't have sex; I needed to ostensibly "die" before that could happen – but knew that it would be passionately over-the-top once that occurred. Pursuant to our plan, I changed my appearance as best that I reasonably good in the time available. Doreen cut my hair much shorter than I usually wear it, dyed it blond and styled it differently. I put on blue contacts to hide my normally green irises, and plain plastic lens glasses. I applied a fake professional blond mustache that looked entirely real; and I wore clothes that Doreen had purchased for me that were vastly different than the type that I normally wore. Doreen and I went to movies Saturday and Sunday nights in a theater adjacent to the hotel, had most of our meals room service, and went over our plans again and again so that we knew every detail by heart. Monday morning I made electronic transfers of the assets worth approximately $12,000,000 in Melissa's trust fund that I legitimately had complete control over to six different charities that Doreen and I had obtained all of the necessary electronic transfer information for. Five of the transfers went through – the sixth did not and there was no time to try and get information about another charity, so the five transfers would have to do. One of the six charities was one that Doreen had set up several years ago and which she still had operative control of. After we made the transfers, and got confirmation that they had been completed, Doreen drove me to my car. That's when there was a major glitch in our plans. I underestimated the resolve and influence of my father. Apparently he had virtually every law enforcement officer in the city looking for my car because when we got to it there was a squad car sitting right next to it, with a policeman inside the squad car. We needed my car because it had been specially modified to execute the major part of our plan. We had made some contingency plans, including purchasing a disguise for Doreen, and a back-up disguise for me. Doreen's nimble mind immediately came up with a solution. She put on her disguise, ran up to the squad car, and frantically told the officer "There's a guy in the hotel lobby with a gun. The policeman immediately got on his radio and then laid rubber driving from the remote area of the lot that my car was parked in toward the front entrance of the hotel. As soon as he was out of sight I ran to my car, hopped in, and Doreen and I took off for the remote coastal mountain road where I had modified the guard rail. As I drove to my "suicide" spot, with Doreen following behind me, I pushed a button on my laptop which sent off all of the emails that Doreen and I had carefully written over the past three weeks. The emails were staged so that one would be sent every few minutes. It took about an hour for us to get to our desired location, and by then all of the emails would have been delivered. Doreen did a great job of crafting the emails while still using some of my catch phrases, and other writing idiosyncrasies, so that it would appear that they came from me, yet were much more succinct and effective. The emails basically said that I was too weak a person to overcome the betrayal occasioned by my wife's extramarital sex, and apologized for ending my life without personally saying goodbye. The emails included statements of the pain and anguish that I felt much more effectively than I would have been able to execute – although the statements did 95% accurately express my real feelings. The email to my father, Jack, was most poignant. I apologized to him that my need for both suicide and revenge was so great that I breached his confidence in me by emptying Melissa's trust fund, and hoped that he could find it in his heart to eventually forgive me. The "suicide" spot had been carefully selected. There was a sheer drop-off from a mountain road to a part of the ocean that had severe but constantly changing undertows. Any but the most ingenious investigator would conclude that no one could survive the fall off the cliff, and that the person's body might never been found, and certainly there was no way to accurately predict where it might end up if not beaten to smithereens by wave and rock action, or consumed by sea creatures. A few days earlier I had put acid on the bolts at one part of the guard rail at the "suicide" spot, and then another material that could simulate natural corrosion. My car had been modified so that by remote control the accelerator rod within the engine compartment would be thrust forward, but when it reached its end of travel would actuate a small explosive device that would likely destroy it. Doreen and I parked our cars on the shoulder of the road at the suicide spot. We looked with binoculars until we were quite certain that there were no other vehicles within sight. Then I positioned my car so that it was facing the guard rail and about thirty meters away from the area where the guard rail bolts had been weakened. I actuated the remote control so that the vehicle accelerated. There was just enough momentum when my car hit the weakened guard rail to break through and fall off the cliff, landing in the ocean hundreds of feet below. Doreen and I had also disabled the driver's side airbag of my car and had impregnated the part of the leather-wrapping on the steering wheel where my head would hit in an accident with my blood and tissue. We also put my fresh blood on the steering wheel leather wrap, but had impregnated it to be sure that some would remain in case the fresh blood was washed away by ocean wave action. The car windows were open, and the seat belt not attached, and my wallet was loose in the car so that it would be sure to float out of it at some point, and hopefully would be retrieved by divers. As soon as we saw the car hit the water, we got into Doreen's car and took off. We drove four hundred miles away that day, and four hundred more the next, paying for everything with cash, until we got to an initial destination city where Doreen had made arrangements to pick up a document helping to establish my new identity. We spent the first two whole days and three nights at our initial destination city in our hotel room. This time we weren't just ordering room service; we were fucking each other's brains out. I expected my traumatic experience with Melissa to stifle my sexual abilities for a while. In actuality, the opposite was true. It was in large part due to Doreen's absolute devotion to me – as she clearly demonstrated by the excellent planning and execution of my escape – and how sexy she was. I quickly found out that not only had Doreen become slightly better looking over the last eight years, but that she had become significantly more passionate. So much so that our first time together I broke from my normal tender love-making and we fucked each other's brains out. After that we alternated between gentle loving and animalistic fucking, more times in two days and three nights than I thought was humanly possible – at least for me. After this period of constant fucking, fingering, tonguing, toy action, and sucking, we had to take a break. We were both completely sore and barely able to even walk or pee without pain. Before we left our hometown, Doreen had obtained a certified copy of a birth certificate from a child by the name of Alex Simmons. Alex was born in a rural area without computer records just a year before I was, and had died shortly after his birth. At our initial destination city, using a photograph with my new appearance, we purchased a customized counterfeit Australian passport in Alex Simmons' name. Doreen had determined that Australian passports were some of the easiest to forge, and two weeks ago had located an expert forger in our initial destination city. My counterfeit passport was perfect; it even had fake trip stamps to and from Thailand and two other Asian countries, a fake stamp indicating entry into the U. S. a month ago, and a "broken in" look to it. It would readily support my story that I was a native American who had moved to Australia as a child and was now returning. With my new birth certificate and passport in hand we leisurely drove to our final destination city on the opposite coast from our hometown. We made a point of fucking in every state that we traversed, even if it was for just an hour in a Motel Six. When we got to our final destination city we rented an apartment and finalized plans to start our new life together. I had already transferred the money that I had inherited from the offshore account in Brent Willis' name into a new offshore account in the name of Alex Simmons. Using my birth certificate and the Australian Alex Simmons passport I was able to set up a U. S. bank account and transfer some money from the offshore account into it. Within six weeks I had a driver's license, credit cards, and every other normal piece of identification one would expect. Within six months Alex Simmons had a U. S. passport. During our trip escaping my former life we regularly checked in with Doreen's parents, and also checked Internet sources for stories about Brent Willis. Things were grim for Melissa. Within a week of my "suicide" my car had been retrieved from the ocean using a barge with a crane, divers had found my wallet, and almost everyone I knew had been interviewed and my financial records combed. Since in the three weeks before my "demise" I had only gotten $30,000 in cash, all in transactions that seemed mostly legitimate and not actual cash transactions, since that was not an unduly high amount considering my lifestyle, and since there was absolutely no activity of any kind in any of my bank, credit card, or brokerage accounts, it was assumed that I was dead. My "death" was confirmed shortly thereafter by scientific testing of my vehicle. Technicians recovered my blood and tissue from the leather wrapping on the steering wheel. The clumsy (intentionally clumsy on my part) disabling of the driver's side airbag in my car plus my suicide note for Melissa and suicide emails to all my acquaintances, left no doubt in the public's mind that I had committed suicide. From everything that I had gathered, public condemnation of Melissa and Jeremy was extraordinarily harsh. Of course Jeremy immediately lost his job and all indications were that the head pro at the Country Club would make sure that he never got another golfing-related job anywhere in the United States. He was reported to have left town within a week of being caught with Melissa. Melissa was a pariah in high society circles. She even suffered the indignity of being expelled from the Country Club, even though she would certainly have resigned on her own. Attempts by local reporters to interview her were unsuccessful, and there was no indication that she ever left what used to be our condo. One unfortunate part of the execution of my plan was what it did to Jack and Carolyn, Melissa's parents. I always knew that they liked me, but I didn't realize that they loved me as a son. One quote from Jack in the city's biggest newspaper reduced me to tears. "Our loving son is dead, betrayed by his wife. Please respect our privacy and let us grieve for our terrible loss." Doreen and I had just started our new life in our apartment when Tom and Lydia informed us that there was going to be a memorial service for me, arranged by Jack and Carolyn. Although it was still long before I could legally be declared dead, there was no one who didn't believe that I had committed suicide. Doreen decided that she would attend the service, and flew back from our new city to our hometown. When Doreen returned I could tell that she was holding something about the ceremony back from me. She tried to be flippant about it, but I wouldn't have it. After a couple of days of me pestering her, in tears she told me about how awful it was. People that I didn't really recognize cared that much about me apparently did; it was a very solemn event. Jack broke down several times trying to deliver a eulogy, which had to be finished by his brother. Carolyn looked like death-warmed-over and quietly sobbed throughout the entire service. Melissa was not in attendance. She was reported to be in a mental health facility. Not only would no attempt be made by Melissa's family to recover the $10,000,000 that I sent to charities from Melissa's trust fund, but the family gave $2,000,000 more – the amount that I intended to send but wasn't able to – to another charity in my name. Fade Away ______________________ My memorial service was four years ago. I was legally declared dead two years after it. Doreen and I married as soon as Brent Willis was declared dead– we are now Mr. and Mrs. Simmons. When we got married we already had a little girl, and we now have a little boy on the way. Doreen and I have no money problems. In addition to my inheritance we have the money from the sale of Doreen's business to her employees, and the salary that we get from the charity we work for. Ever since the charity that Doreen set up got their $2,000,000 donation they have had enough money to hire her as the full time operations director, and me as the financial director and investment counselor. Through the charity we have been able to help hundreds of underprivileged families and get great satisfaction from our work, including by increasing our outreach every year. Tom retired and he and Lydia moved to a place only about fifteen miles from our house in order to be near us, and especially their granddaughter and their grandson-to-be. I love Doreen more than I ever loved Melissa, and she loves me more than Melissa ever did. That makes me feel guilty that I didn't choose her after college. The entire mess with Melissa and her family could have been avoided. I stopped trying to find out what had happened to Melissa, Jack, and Carolyn. The news was never good, and just enhanced my guilt. The last that I heard Jack and Carolyn had established a scholarship in my name at the college that Melissa, Doreen and I had attended, and Melissa had gotten out of the mental health institution after six months of treatment and moved away. Doreen and I could not be happier with each other and our life together except for one thing. We could not have more guilt than what we feel for how absolutely successfully my "revenge" was executed. We now know that not even guilty Melissa, let alone innocent Jack and Carolyn, deserved what we did to them. I wish that I was not such a chicken-shit and had confronted Melissa and simply divorced her. "What ifs" are a bitch! Fade In Notice to the reader: This isn't my normal type of story. If you're wanting or expecting a "torch the bitch" story, please, don't bother to continue. This one could've gone into several categories, and finally I just picked the one I thought fit best. Should you still decide to read this, I hope you enjoy it. As usual, there is very little sex, but a different point of view. Fade In One the other hand, I didn't want him to get off light either. Was there a way to let him get my "death money" from her, since the only thing she did to earn it was to betray me, and still not let him benefit from it? If there was, how could I make it happen with my extremely limited ways of communicating with the world of the living? I had plenty of time to ponder these questions, or so it seemed. I also hadn't decided what—if any—action I should take to help her. I was correct with my earlier assessment of this situation—this sucked. Two weeks into my torment, I began to hatch a plan using bits of information that I got from watching Jim plan how he was going to steal my "death money" from Becky. He was going to transfer it all to a bank in the Caymans within hours of the insurance check clearing. Once it was confirmed in his account, he was going to leave in the middle of the night, meeting with his accomplice, Jayne, on their way to a "well-earned" vacation in the Bahamas. So, if I timed it right, he'd transfer the cash, then I could somehow deliver the evidence of his crimes to the right people and they could hopefully pick him up before he boarded his plane. I was working out the details of how to get the goods on him and how to let people know, when I got the surprise that Tom foretold. Jim and Jayne spoke at least once a day while Becky was at work, and being the interested party that I was, I always listened in. Jayne had been voicing her concerns to him about his bedroom activities with Becky, when Jim let the cat out of the bag. "Babes, I'm not fucking her that much...very little...at the most once a week. Yeah, being pregnant lowers her sex drive." "WHAT?" I screamed. A thousand questions began to run through my mind. Jim laughed, "No, it's not mine; I got a vasectomy years ago, remember? She was almost a month along when I finally seduced her, and even she didn't know it. She absolutely freaked out when she missed her period. She was feeling guilty enough after our first time lead to her old man's death, but to be pregnant...and not even know who the father is..." He laughed again. "You know she called me up as soon as she got back from the doctor. I'd still been trying to 'give her comfort' from a distance because she pushed me away after the accident. She calmed down some after I told her that I'd been 'fixed' due to a genetic fault in my family. A few days later, she told me that she was considering an abortion as she thought couldn't deal with a constant reminder of her betrayal to Ken. Her family talked her out of it, telling her that a small piece of Ken would live on—of course they didn't know that we did the nasty, right there in the church kitchen." He laughed again. My anger rose to a new height as he gloated and flaunted Becky's pain. She was MY WIFE! I LOVED MY WIFE! "GET OUT!" I screamed in his face, as I never screamed before. He sat up in the chair and looked around in a panic. I think he heard me this time. My anger was not subsiding and I had not noticed his reaction. I went about the room trying to knock things over or break anything that I could "touch." I did knock over a plastic flower arrangement and a picture frame from our wedding. Jim was seriously spooked. He was holding the phone away from his ear and Jayne was loudly asking him what was going on. I directed my attention to him and ran right at him...okay through him. This time, he felt it. "Shit! What the hell is going on here?" Jim yelled. "Who's here? Come out right now and I won't kick your ass!" I went from angry to confused, until I realized that dipshit did hear me, feel me, and see what I did. I laughed harder than I ever did, partially at the fear on his face, mostly from relief of all the pent up emotions. "Who's laughing? I can hear you laughing! Show yourself right now and I won't have you arrested!" I hadn't even considered that he could hear me laughing. Was it all the pent up emotions, or was he just in a very receptive state because of my other actions? I wasn't sure, but I thought I'd try something. I got in his ear and yelled, "I'm Ken Goodman and I'm back!" "No...it can't be you...you're dead! What's going on...you can't scam me...how are you doing this?" "I'm a ghost, asshole!" I yelled again. I must've lost my emotional edge, because he didn't react to that. I was getting tired anyway, having been filled with so many confusing emotions, not to mention having laughed harder than I had in ages. Several hours later, when I faded in again, it was almost time for Becky to come home. After my proclamations, I realized that I did still love her, but I really hated what she'd done to me...to us. However, if she was pregnant with my baby, I had to see her...I need to touch, or at least try to touch her belly. I needed to confirm that she had my baby in her. When she came through the door, I was waiting on her in the kitchen. As I looked at her, she looked as thought she'd lost weight overall, but there was definitely a baby bump on her, made more noticeable but her thinness. She walked into the family room where shithead was watching a Cubs game on my big screen; he gave her a "I'll interrupt my game for just a second" peck on the cheek before she sat down on the nearby couch. "What a day!" she proclaimed. "Any luck in the job search, Jim?" "I have one new lead, and I haven't heard back from the interview on Monday yet." He hadn't looked for anything nor gone to any interview. "That's good; just don't give up. I know it's hard out there in this economy, but you'll get something soon." "Oh, I haven't given up. I'm not even close." He turned his attention back to the game, "Run, like you stole something! You're going to get tagged, dumbass! Damn! They got him..." An errant thought occurred to me that if I could do a little something here and there and make the Cubs lose more often, I knew it would ruin his day, but I couldn't do that to all the "innocent" Cub fans out there. Wait...is there such a thing as an "innocent" Cub fan? After all, they had to know what they were getting into by choosing the "loveable losers" in the first place. Still, Wrigley was a couple hundred miles away, and I didn't want to be away from shithead long enough to let him make plans I didn't know about. Becky rolled her eyes at Jim's attention being shifted to the game. As she settled in, I went to her and looked at the life growing in her. I slowly reached down to caress her belly, and my heart melted. When I touched her, she got a peaceful smile on her face. I rubbed both hands around her baby bump, and I could almost feel the warmth from both of them, and the love she had developed for him. HIM? How could I know it was a 'him?' I could 'feel' that I was going to have a son and in that second, it all became real to me. Becky closed her eyes and relaxed, basking in the emotional bond we three now had. With my right hand, I reached inside her womb and touched him, to let him feel my love. I moved my other hand to Becky's cheek and her head listed to that side, just like it did when I used to touch her face. We were in bliss for several minutes until... "Get wings, you damn ball!" Jim was yelling. The announcer was using the standard phrase, "...it's going...going..." as the potential homerun ball approached the outfield fence. "...and it drops just inside the fence! That was so close...only one run will score for the Cubs." I was angry at him for ruining our moment, so I got up and tried to smack him up side the head. I didn't actually connect, but it made me feel better. I focused my anger for a moment and aimed my finger at the "power" button on the remote and succeeded in shutting the TV off. Jim was about to accuse Becky of shutting it off, when he noticed that he had the remote on the arm of the recliner he was sitting in, and it was too far for her to reach. "I must've bumped the button," he said aloud, reassuring himself after the events of earlier today. He then noticed that Becky was looking very confused. "Are you okay, hun?" "Yeah, I must've dosed off for a moment." She reoriented herself, "It's the craziest thing, but I dreamt that Ken was here. He was holding me and my baby. It felt so wonderful that I didn't want to wake up." She heaved a sigh. Then her face went sad again as she missed Ken so much. Jim felt a colds shiver go up his spine and got a bit nervous at the mention of my name; unusual for him, but not out of character after his experience this morning. "Well, he's not here; I am. I'll stay with you through all of this. I'll even raise his child as if it were my own. I have promised you this." "I know you have, and you're a good man for sticking with me. I know I haven't been the easiest woman to live with since the accident, and my being pregnant hasn't helped any. I'll go start supper." He had her fooled and wrapped around his finger, but he was a professional con man. I followed her into the kitchen, and when she reached for something from a high shelf, I wrapped my arms around her waist, as I had done so many times before. I just held her, and she seemed to feel me, or was it my love, again. It was not as intense this time, but every bit as pleasant and warm. In a moment, she shook me off, like I was a remnant of a good dream that interrupted her task. I guess that's what I was. Now, when I was alive, I wasn't into cuddling, as I got sweaty and hot very easy. If it was before or after sex, I'd enjoy the afterglow with a good, but short, cuddle. Occasionally, during the cold nights of an Illinois winter, I could snuggle on the couch watching a movie with Becky under an afghan that her grandma had crocheted, but that was about it. Since my untimely death, that hug was the best feeling I'd had, period. I felt warm inside and almost alive again. I began snuggling with Becky every night after that. I found my way into her dreams a few times by caressing her head while she was dreaming. We had conversations of a sort. It's hard to communicate with the living, and my talents weren't good enough to keep the link open for very long. My messages to her were aimed at protecting and looking after the best interests of my unborn son. If he were to grow up and be emotionally well adjusted, he couldn't have a mother wracked with guilt and consumed by thoughts of it every time her son reminded her of his father, now could he? My feelings of the betrayal turned into anger directed at myself for neglecting her, and Jim for seducing her. I was beginning to forgive her for my son's sake, and for the happy times we did spend together. My first thought message to her was that I was very happy to be having a son. She wanted to know how I knew. I told her that I was watching over her—and him—and I would do all I could to make sure she was happy and that he would grow up to be a good man. The next night, I told her that she should no longer cry for me. She needed to find a good man to help raise my son. He would need a strong father figure in his life. She would need to 'move on.' She resisted that notion, even though we both knew that dipshit was sleeping only inches away. She thought that if I would visit her like this, she could find the strength to raise him by herself. She was sad when I told her that my time was limited, so her plan was not an option. She thought that by being with another man, she would be betraying me again. I told her that was only true with this man, but offered no other details before fading out of her dream. Their relationship began to cool after that. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't seem to get it back on track. He told himself that he only had to make it last for two more weeks until he could get his hands on the money. He'd make every effort, but wouldn't push too hard, so it wouldn't come to head, or at the very least she'd feel very guilty throwing an unemployed 'nice' guy out of her house. Several nights later, I told Becky to buy a voice activated recording device and plant it in the family room (where he usually took his calls from Jayne). She questioned me as to why she needed to do this. I told her it would become apparent when she did. It took three nights of dreams to get her to do this, and she finally caved in. The night after she set it up, I told her to prepare herself for a brutal truth to be revealed when she listened to the recording the next day (as I'd heard him incriminate himself rather well that morning). I told her to be calm and have a close friend with her when she listened to it, but not to listen to it at home. She grabbed the recorder from under the end table on her way out the door to work the next morning and had, Jenny, her best gal pal from work, come into her office for a closed door meeting. She explained that her trust in Jim was faltering, so she planted this device, and wanted to have someone with her when she heard it—just in case. They listened to Jim talk on his cell to Jayne, and they were both in shock and tears in a short time. He belittled Becky in every way he could think of. He told Jayne how much he looked forward to running away with her and how he counted the days until then. He asked her if the account in the Caymans was set up and got the information from her for the transfer. He even discussed the plan with Jayne and told her that the date was set for the deposit and he was going to buy the airline tickets the next day. Jenny comforted her and when they had calmed down, Jenny said, "Becky, you have to call the cops. You don't know what he may do to you if he finds out that you know. You can't go back there without some sort of protection or plan. You have the baby to think of, as well!" After some prodding, Becky took the afternoon off and spent it with the bunko department and the district attorney, telling them her story, and letting them hear her evidence. That night, Becky had a lot of trouble falling asleep next to "a known criminal," but when she finally did, I was there. She wanted to know how I knew. I just told her there were few secrets on this side. She asked why I hadn't just told her what Jim was doing, and I replied that she probably wouldn't have believed me. Con men like him were quite good at making people believe what they wanted. She was concerned for the baby's safety, and I told her that he hadn't seriously hurt anyone yet, and was very likely to just run away if he thought he was found out. She told me that the cops were going to set up a sting and they needed a few days to get it done. They needed her to act as if nothing was wrong. I told her that I'd help where I could, but I wouldn't let him harm her or little Ken. "Little Ken?" she sat straight up in bed, eyes open. Her sudden motion startled me and I fell off the edge of the bed, silently to the floor. Jim was also awakened, but somewhat groggy, and asked, "Are you okay, hun?" "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I just had a dream about what I should name the baby. I'm naming him Kenneth Ryan Goodman Jr." "But you told the gynecologist that you didn't want to know if it's a boy or girl, so what if it's a girl?" "He's definitely a boy, and he will bear his father's name." "Okay, now go back to sleep." Becky relaxed a little more around Jim after that. The cops didn't want to up the timetable so as not to tip him off. They bugged the house and gave Becky a bracelet that had a panic button, so if Jim started to go after her, she could call for help day or night. I watched Jim and reported to Becky that he had no clue that we were on to him and his plan. One night, Becky asked my why I was doing this...why I was doing my best to help her after she'd betrayed our love as she had. I told her that I had forgiven her. Even though I was partially to blame by neglecting her, that Jim was the one who deserved my wrath. He took full advantage of the situation, as was his nature, and that she'd been manipulated by a professional. At first, he'd only wanted some sex while he located a mark for his next scam, but suddenly, with the insurance money coming in, she became the mark. She had some responsibility in this, but since I didn't have to worry about her cheating on me again, it was easy for me to put my son's best interest ahead of everything else. I also told her that I still loved her, in spite of her mistakes. She professed an undying love for me, as well. I told her that she should leave room in her heart for another—one to help raise my son—and possibly his children as well. I'd do my best to guide her to a good man. She didn't want to think like that...not after all that had happened. I asked her how she would feel, if it was her that had passed on. Would she want me to find someone to help raise our child in the best way possible? Reluctantly, she understood. I told her that letting someone else into her heart would not force me out. I reminded her that she had a big heart with lots of love, and that she'd have the happiest life possible if she could remember that. It was time for me to fade out and both of us to get some rest. It was the day before the money transfer when we'd learned that Jayne had come to town and was staying at a hotel by the airport. Jim had been taking a few things to her that he wanted to take with him, like Becky's jewelry. He knew he'd have to leave most of his clothes behind so as not to alert anyone, which didn't trouble him too much because he'd be buying more and better clothes to befit his new image. He'd also spent the latter part of the morning and the early afternoon there, enjoying Jayne's physical attributes. When the time came, Jim got up from bed at one in the morning. He went to his laptop and set up the transfer. When he got the "transfer confirmed" message from the cops (not the bank like he thought), he sent a text to Jayne to come pick him up. He got dressed and stole a couple of things from the house that he'd taken a shine to during his stay. Becky had pretended to be asleep, but got up when she heard the front door close. She watched him put a small bag in the trunk, give a smoldering kiss to an attractive woman she'd never seen before, and get in the car. She breathed a sigh of relief. They got to the airport by two for their four o'clock flight to Atlanta, where they would switch identities and fly to Miami, switch identities again and take a cruise to the Bahamas. Airport security stopped them as they went individually through the baggage screener. When they were both securely in the detention area, they were arrested and taken to the police station, where they were formally charged with a long list of crimes. They were going away for a long time. Later, Becky had to go to the police station to identify the stuff Jim took as stolen, when she met a new man from the D.A.'s office. He was only out of law school for a couple of years, but was a widower with a two year old daughter. Every time they'd get near each other, one of them would drop something, or bump the other. After a while, they took the hint, and he asked her out to dinner. It's a good thing he did; I had maybe one or two more "bumps" left in me. That night, I told Becky that Joe, the guy she'd met today, was indeed a good man, who would be a good husband and father, and if there was any chemistry there, that she shouldn't let him get away. (I already knew there would be 'chemistry,' but I didn't want to give anything away, or spoil it for them.) I told her, with tears in my eyes, that I believed that my time was now up or very soon would be. I told her that we didn't have a chance to say goodbye last time, and since I wasn't totally sure when I'd be leaving, we should say it now. She didn't want me to go; I told her I didn't want to go either, but I would do what I could to watch over her and little Ken. In her dream, we hugged and held each other so tight. In the bed, I moved my hand down to her belly, and touched my son as I had that day a couple weeks ago. Back in the dream, Becky and I stood arms around each other, and little Ken between us. We kissed and I felt myself fading out. Goodbye, my love. Live a good life and we will meet again. I love you. She replied that she'd love me until the end of time, as I faded out of her sight. Fade In Becky cried until she woke up. She realized that even though she was really alone now, that I would be there in ways she couldn't understand. I was watching her, and my heart was breaking. I felt Tom's arm on my shoulder, "It's time to go." "I don't want to go. I need to stay here and take care of my son. I need to..." "Shut up, doofus." He started floating with me away from the house, away from the ground, and the earth. "Haven't you ever heard of guardian angels?" Fade To Black This story originally appeared in a slightly different variation, and I owe much thanks to the following authors who offered support and encouragement; Carnage Jackson, TRL, Tim Bisley, VoodooJoe, KMB and Victor Field - a guy couldn’t wish to ride with a finer posse of ruffians. 22nd May, 2002 I stood in the ever expanding line that snaked away from customs and stretched back and forth on my heels in a vain attempt to get some life back into my legs. I was thirsty, badly in need of a shower and starting to feel rapidly pissed off. The flight from London to Los Angeles had seemed as long and drawn out as always, the food had been poor, the movie had been worse. A woman roughly the size of Alaska had shoehorned her way into the seat next to mine and had insisted on making small talk until the meal arrived to take her mind off conversation. While she was shovelling mashed potatoes into her mouth I’d escaped to the bathroom for as long as possible, then returned with my Walkman firmly in place. I feigned sleep and listened to music and fantasised about a parachute or an escape pod. Just as sleep was starting to look favourable the dulcet tones of the Captain rang out, announcing our imminent arrival at LAX, and I groaned as the lady next to me became excited again. I’d imagine that as soon as she had cleared arrivals she’d be heading for the nearest all-you-can-eat buffet. Finally, I reached the X-ray and scanning equipment and offered my worn passport to a young guy who wore both his uniform and experimental beard with unease. I watched my small bag and laptop getting probed and searched while the officer stamped the relevant pages and looked questioningly at the photo and then at my pale, stubble-scattered face. I replied with a smile and tried to look the same as I did nine years ago, a physical impossibility. Just as I was starting to have visions of being led into a side room containing rubber gloves and vaseline he handed the passport back. ‘Are you here on business or pleasure Sir?’ I pocketed my details and sighed. ‘Business.’ ‘Well, have a good trip.’ ‘I’ll do my best,’ I replied, and walked on past his booth to where my bag and laptop where waiting for me. As soon as I collected my things I searched out the exit signs and pushed my way past the throngs of people waiting for their suitcases to come spinning around on the travelators. I’d long ago given up that game. You start to travel often and you soon pick up a few tricks. Number one is learning to pack everything you need into hand luggage. It saves your time and your temper. Cabs lined the exterior of the arrivals building like a swarm of flies, and I fell heavily onto the backseat of one and told the Spanish driver to head for downtown. I checked with the driver for the right time and adjusted my watch accordingly. 5.37pm. My eyes were heavy and felt like I’d been awake for a week. The late afternoon sky was mustard yellow and hazy with pollution, and the sun hung like dirty ball of silver and gave off a heat that was sticky and uncomfortable. I cracked the window as soon as we hit the freeway and breathed in a neat combination of exhaust fumes and smog. Three seconds later I closed the greasy glass and leant back and shut my eyes. The driver kept his foot to the board and sang along with a Jennifer Lopez tape that was roughly the volume of a nuclear blast and possibly just as hazardous to my health. I tried to keep my mind filled with happy thoughts and failed. After the combination of speed, traffic, blown red lights and J-Lo had virtually driven me insane we arrived at the Marriott, situated just off the former party avenue of LA, Sunset Strip. The hotel was my base for the next couple of days and I could think of worse places to be staying. In the seventies it had been infamous for debauchery and rock and roll excess; Bowie was a regular and Zeppelin often booked the entire top floor. Countless television’s had made their way into the pool from various balconies and Keith Richards was once found in an elevator near death with a spike in his arm. Scenes like that were now a world away. The Marriott was as cleaned up as the current stable of pop acts troubling the charts, and was now a haven for tourists and businessmen. Not to mention scruffy journalists. I walked through a lobby that was bright, cool and piping Beethoven through unseen speakers and side-stepped a large man dressed in a Haiiwanain shirt juggling multiple bags. The girl at the reception desk was young and beautiful. The smile that she greeted me with was the first good thing that I’d seen since leaving London. Of course, it was as fake as the rest of the city, but right now I was beyond caring. I gave my name and watched as she scanned through bookings on the computer. ‘Room on the seventh floor, Mr. Wilson. Shall I have someone collect your bags?’ I raised my meagre possessions to indicate that there was no need, thanked her, collected my key and headed towards the elevators. I shared the ride with the man wearing the bright shirt; he exited on the fourth floor, heaving his luggage out with much difficulty and cursing. Presently I was at the seventh, and I was almost staggering with fatigue by the time I found room 714. I was just sliding my card into the lock when the door on the opposite side of the corridor was flung open to the sound of raised voices. A woman with ink-black hair and large breasts barely concealed by her sprayed on dress strutted out, followed by a guy wearing just a towel, his skin shining with some kind of oil. He had a fist full of bills in his hand, which he waved at her impatiently. In return, she span on one heeled foot, called him a fucking asshole and strode off towards the elevators. Towel boy’s expression changed from anger to disappointment and finally settled on embarrassment as he noticed me. I gave him a bemused look for a moment and he shot back inside his room and slammed the door. I grinned as I opened my own door. The Marriott might well have spruced it’s act up, but there were something's that would never change. My room was bright, cool and clean. There was a large TV, desk and the usual fixtures, but I ignored all of them. At that moment the entire focus of my life was for the large double bed that dominated the floor. I regarded it for a second with as much pleasure as an alcoholic would lavish on a fresh bottle, dumped my stuff on the rug, kicked off my shoes and fell into it. I rolled over and wrapped the covers around me and the earth just seemed to fall away. ********** I was in the kitchen fixing an omelette when the phone rang. I cradled it on my shoulder and continued slicing a tomato. ‘Hallo.’ ‘How would you fancy a trip to Los Angeles?’ My editor Barney Hammond was always keen to get to the point. He was a man low on pleasant greetings. ‘Morning Barney.’ ‘That’s right. So, how about this trip.’ I put my knife down. ‘How about some details?’ ‘New movie. Twentieth Century Fox. Just your kind of thing.’ He was right. It was just the kind of job I liked getting involved with. Fox had given the greenlight to Daredevil, based on the comic book hero of the same name. Superheroes were big business at the moment, and every major studio was looking for the next blockbuster. I knew that the movie was in production, and I’d picked up a few details from around the internet, but nothing major. Ben Affleck was starring in the title role; he was an actor I liked and thought could do good things with the part. I knew nothing of the script, the director or the budget. The only other cast member I knew for definite was Jennifer Garner, who was slated to play a character called Elektra. She was starring in a hit TV show in the States called ‘Alias’, which I was yet to properly see. Word was that the show was sensational. She certainly was. I’d seen clips of the show and a couple of movies she’d featured in previously. Tall, dark hair and eyes and a set of legs that went on forever. Stunningly beautiful. Barney had arranged a set visit for my magazine and we’d been allotted good access. He wanted a set-report and interviews with the major cast and crew, and that was where I came in. ‘The usual expenses and what have you,’ said Barney. ‘I’ll have all the details e-mailed to you.’ ‘Sounds good. When am I due to leave?’ ‘Tonight.’ Good job I’d put the knife down, or I’d have been missing a thumb. ‘Tonight? Jesus, Barney, thanks for giving me plenty of time to prepare.’ His laugh was flat and cynical. ‘Listen, I can send someone else. Plenty of guys waiting to fill your shoes if you can’t handle it.’ And again he was right. There were dozens of people who’d have taken my place at the drop of a hat. Ten years ago when I was a nineteen year old rookie thrashing out obituaries for the local paper my first editor told me that a good writer drops everything in favour of the story, and that was a piece of advice I’d always remembered. Of course, George Hales had slumped dead across his desk one afternoon at only forty-three, but that was something I tried to forget. ‘No, No. I’m in.’ I replied. ‘Send me what I need...’ ********** When I finally forced my eyes open the world seemed very pale and a cool sensation brushed my cheek. There was a soft, musical noise and the smell of spring flowers somewhere in the distance. I lay there for a few seconds and let my senses adjust before I finally realised I was lying in bed, my vision washed out from the sheet that was covering my face. With a groan I pulled the covers down and propped myself up on one elbow. The drapes were still drawn, but enough sunlight filtered through the material to let me see the girl that was chasing a large yellow cloth across the surface of the table. Her blonde hair was fixed up high on her head and the black skirt she wore was short enough to afford me a great view of her thighs. I blinked a couple of times and watched her before I realised that the noise I was hearing was her humming to herself. I groaned again and she looked over her shoulder with a flash of blue eyes and a coy smile, and returned her attention to the furniture, giving the wooden surface a small squirt of polish. That explained the flowers. ‘Excuse me?’ She looked again. ‘Good morning sir.’ ‘Who are you?’ I asked. For a brief second I had visions of a porn mag situation running through my mind. You know the kind of thing; I-never-thought-these-letters-were-true. That kinda bullshit. ‘Housekeeping,’ she replied, this time not looking around at me. That was okay though, I was more than happy to converse with her ass, which was almost fighting for escape it looked so lively. ‘You always start work when people are in bed?’ She stopped the cleaning and turned towards me. ‘Not unless they say I can,’ she said, and when I didn’t answer she continued. ‘Which you did.’ ‘Did I?’ She nodded. 'Absolutely, about ten minutes ago. You don’t remember?’ I shook my head and ran a hand through my hair. ‘No. I must have been really out of it.’ ‘Tough night?’ ‘Story of my life,’ I yawned. ‘You always start the rooms so early?’ She smiled, and I guessed she wasn’t long out of her teens. Suddenly I was happy to be in LA. ‘Depends what you class as early,’ she said. ‘It’s after Ten.’ For a brief moment I just lay there, propped up on one elbow and hoping that my inevitably dark circled eyes and messy hair would be enough to convince this sexy looking maid that I was worth risking her job for by jumping under the sheet with. And then my brain started to work, and I realised what she’d just said. ‘What time did you say it was?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s almost Ten fif-’ ‘Fuck it!’ I flung myself to the edge of the bed and threw back the sheet in once quick motion. Unfortunately sometime during the night I must have stripped myself, because at around the same time my feet hit the floor I realised that I was completely naked. I watched the maid’s eyes flick down my body for a moment before she quickly turned her attention to a blank piece of wall. I cursed again and snatched the sheet up and around myself, already sensing the rush of blood that was heading for my face. Shit, I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m just really late.’ I started to pace the room for my clothes and bag, and couldn’t see anything. In a daze I whirled around on the spot and already felt the first stages of some supreme jet-lag forming. ‘Where’s all my stuff gone?’ ‘In the closet,’ she said, still focusing hard on the wall. ‘And don't worry about it. You do this job for long enough and you see everything, believe me.’ ‘I didn’t really mean you to see my everything,’ I muttered, dropping the towel into a white pool at my feet and stuffing my legs into the first pair of jeans that I’d grabbed out of my bag. Jesus Christ, how could I have slept so long? More to the point, how could I have been so stupid as to not ask for a wake-up call? I was scheduled to be at the Fox Studios for nine. With traffic it would be a miracle if I made it by eleven. ‘Would you like me to come back?’ she said. I fell on the bed and pulled on my boots. ‘No, I’ll be gone in thirty seconds.’ I glanced over my shoulder at her. She was rearranging items near the fridge, her back bent which accentuated the curves of her butt even more. ‘Okay, it’s safe for you to turn around,’ I said, as I started to button my shirt. As she turned their was large grin on her face. ‘Somewhere you should have already been?’ ‘You wouldn’t believe it,’ I said, grabbing my laptop and a bunch of notes that I’d made on the flight. ‘You should get some breakfast.’ I laughed, searched frantically for my phone and spotted it under one of the pillows. ‘Breakfast? You’re joking. I haven’t even got time for a shower,’ I said jamming the phone into my pocket and snapping the last button closed on my shirt before glancing up at her. ‘What’s your name?’ ‘Kirsty.’ Cute girl, cute name. ‘Kirsty, I’m Rich. How do I look? Professional?’ She looked me up and down and the answer was written all over her face. Of course, I looked like a sack of shit. Two minutes ago I’d been comatose. Finally she spoke. ‘Do you want me to lie?’ ‘I’d appreciate that.’ She grinned. ‘You look great.’ Superb. I made a bolt for the door, already racking my mind for plausible excuses concerning my lateness. ‘Sorry about all that again,’ I said, pointing at the bed. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Kirsty. ‘Have a good day.’ I let the door slam on the sound of her sweet voice and jogged down the corridor towards the elevators. Have a good day? I’d need to put some effort in and work on that. Because let’s face it, the beginning hadn’t been that fucking spectacular... ********** The morning light was glaring and the weather had already decided to crank the heat as high as it possibly could, and I fished my sunglasses out of my top pocket. There was a small coffee stand at the edge of the sidewalk infront of the Marriott and I grabbed a cup of something hot and dark before hailing a cab. The back-seat of the taxi was black vinyl, and in the heat penetrating through the back window had turned into a virtual hotplate. I shuffled around in an attempt to avoid blistering and as we lurched out into four lanes of traffic I prayed for as few hold-ups as possible. The Gods must have been smiling on me, because we made the four mile journey in around fifteen minutes, and for Los Angeles on a Wednesday morning that was nothing short of a miracle. The closer that we got to the Hollywood district the more things changed. Cars got bigger, palms got greener, plastic surgery became more noticeable. The streets were wide and clean and filled with expensive boutiques and smart diners where the thousands of hopefuls worked their passage while they waited for the big break to arrive. We cruised into the heart of the World’s film capital, the place where dreams are made and hearts are broken. All the major studios seem to be situated next to each other, like a set of powerful neighbours spying on what the other is doing, and in quick succession the cab passed Universal, Dreamworks and Antamount before the familiar searchlight logo of Twentieth Century Fox loomed before us. We pulled to a halt across the street from the imposing main gates and I pressed Dollars into the driver’s hand and peeled myself out of the stifling cab. I checked my reflection in the glass of a phone booth and tried to work my hair into some semblance of style as I trotted across the street. The back of my shirt was already damp and sticking to my skin, and I hadn’t even had time to run a brush across my teeth. Lack of dental hygiene was a sin in Hollywood that ranked just below murder. Yeah, I was in great shape to meet movie stars. The guard who stood before me at the gates had a head the same size and shape as a bowling ball, but his tone was friendly enough. ‘Help you, sir?’ I gave my name and stated my business and he ducked back inside a small booth and proceeded to tap away on a keyboard. His partner, smaller and meaner looking, kept his eyes firmly on me. After a moment the guard returned and waved me through. ‘Straight down, Mr. Wilson. Stage 13, off to the right.’ He paused for a minute and then checked his watch. ‘You know you’re late?’ I thanked him and assured him that I was aware of my tardiness, and quickly made my way into the Fox Studio complex. A huge expanse of offices, all marble and reflective glass, rose ominously to my left, and a parking lot filled with the very best that European Motor companies had to offer was away to my right. Beyond and into the distance stood the large warehouses that made up the soundstages, the places where the real magic happens. The small roads that burrowed between the stages were a hive of activity. Small electric vehicles buzzed around carrying people and equipment, guys in overalls humped large sections of bare plywood back and forth and more clipboards were being checked than I could count. And above all the activity the sun still burned fiercely in a sky that looked as if it had never been introduced to a cloud. All in all, a typical Hollywood morning. I dodged a blue pickup that sped into my path and reached the first of the buildings, grateful for the shadow that was thrown across me. I looked at the time, 10.46am, and kept moving in the direction of soundstage 13. ********** There was more security at the building’s entrance, but it was nothing more than a formality, and I soon found myself inside the blessedly cool interior. There were a couple of simple looking offices that were stuffed full of desks, paper and no people, and away down a corridor I could hear the sounds of hammering and raised voices. I removed my sunglasses and headed for the noise. The corridor emerged into a huge indoor area several stories in height and the length of a couple of tennis courts. The heat here was back with a vengeance as several enormous spotlights shone across a very impressive rooftop set that dominated the whole area. There were perfect recreations of the tops of buildings, adorned with all the usual stairwells, windows and neon signs that you might expect to have seen in New York City. I knew from my hurried research that that was where the picture was set, and the production crew had done a fine job in their imitation. Behind the set hung an enormous blue curtain that stretched upward from the floor and curved almost around the ceiling, stopping before it hit the gantries of lighting. This was the special effects bluescreen, and it was here that the digital wizards would paint the rest of the city during post-production. I spent a minute taking in the look of the set, already forming ideas for the opening of the article in my mind, and then looked around for someone to introduce myself to. Just then there was a nudge on my shoulder which saved me the trouble. Fade To Black The guy that stood before me was weighed down with a huge script casing, several bungee cords wrapped around one arm and a tray of sodas balanced on the other. ‘This is a closed set, chief,’ he said, cocking his head to one side and wiping the perspiration from his forehead onto the sleeve of his T-shirt. I fumbled around in my back pocket until I found the laminate the security guard had given me and held it up. ‘Sorry,’ I replied. ‘I guess I should have been wearing this.’ He peered at the press pass and his face broke into a smile. ‘Ah, no problem. Who bothers with that crap anyway.’ He juggled the sodas onto the other arm and held out his hand. ‘Jamie Selkirk, production assistant.’ We shook hands and he thrust the tray of cans in my direction. ‘Give us a hand with these and I’ll sort you out.’ If you’ve never been on a movie set before you’d be surprised at the level of inactivity that seems to be occurring. Of course that’s not the case, but even so, it appears to the untrained eye that most people are standing or sitting around doing nothing waiting for someone else to bark instructions. That was the impression I got now as I followed Selkirk away from the set and into another corridor that was the start of a maze of offices that the production team of Daredevil had commandeered for their use. I passed glass windows separating rooms full of designs, storyboards and people hunched over drawing boards until we reached a tiny office that was quite obviously a dumping ground for all the other crap that no-one wanted in their own space. I placed the tray of sodas on the edge of a desk that was overflowing with paper while Selkirk sorted himself out. He cracked one of the cans and tossed one to me, which I accepted gratefully, breaking the seal and pouring half of it straight down. Selkirk upended his own can, crunched and then threw it across the room into an already full wastebin and belched loudly. ‘Listen, you can use this to work in,’ he said, already collecting new items to carry and heading for the door, ‘and as long as you wear that pass you shouldn’t have a problem around the crew. Holler if you need me.’ He threw me a small salute and was away up the corridor before I even had chance to thank him. There was a bathroom to the rear of the office, and I used the handbasin to freshen up and pushed water through my hair to get it looking somewhere near acceptable. Although I was late on set I knew from experience that nothing major ever happened before lunch, and with the full access that I seemed to have been given my mood started to improve considerably. I returned to the office, drained the soda and stored my laptop and phone in a secure place. All I needed with me was a dictaphone, and I checked the battery and tape while standing infront of the rotating fan that was managing to reduce the heat in the office to somewhere around ninety degrees. I was ready. ********** When I arrived back at the main stage there was still very little happening except for more people standing around doing nothing. I kept my distance and walked around the edge of the city mockup, marvelling at the detail involved and starting to feel the first twinges of excitement that I always do when I’m on a movie set. I might have been working, but I was still a major film fanatic - after all, that was why I got into this line of work - and the thrill of being back amongst the Hollywood machine was more than enough compensation for my shitty flight and the scorching weather. Someone must have noticed the grin on my face because it didn’t take me long to become heavily involved in conversation with one of the crew. This was the way I liked to work. Nothing too intrusive, just chat and observe and grab chances with the major movers and shakers when possible. I spent a very pleasant next couple of hours being shown around the different sets and through the costume design until I finally managed to sit down for a conversation with director Mark Johnson, who gave me all the usual lines about retaining the spirit of the comic strip and how they were trying to come up with new visions and ideas. I’d heard it all before and no doubt it was Johnson’s practised line, but I’ve got to admit he had a real, almost fanboy enthusiasm for the material, and the structure of the article started to take place in my mind. I thanked him for his time and once more stood on the sidelines making verbal notes on the dictaphone. But as entertaining as Johnson was, to the standard movie going public he was a virtual unknown, and I needed something more substantial. Something along the lines of Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner. Trouble was, in the time I’d been there I hadn’t even seen anything being shot, yet alone any major stars plying their trade. And then, as if my thoughts had been transmitted around the set, Affleck came ambling around the corner wearing the kind of outfit that would have been out of place anywhere but here. I knew enough about the comic book, and had seen the production sketches, to know that he’d nailed the look of Daredevil successfully. I primed my tape and made my way through the snakes of cables and lighting before presenting myself infront of him. I’d heard rumours that he was rude and off-hand to journalists; luckily that proved not to be the case. He answered all my prepared questions with good humour and left me with some cracking anecdotes about the shoot and the difficulties he’d had getting used to wearing a suit that might have seemed more at home in a leather bar that had regular S&M nights. I was getting some good stuff. He was about to excuse himself for a lunchbreak when I noticed a large, ugly looking bruise wrapped around the bicep on his right arm. I indicated to it and asked him how it had happened. He looked down and stroked his thumb across the deep yellow skin. ‘That was from Jennifer,” Ben grinned, looking for all the world like the Hollywood star he was. “She hits pretty hard.” I whistled softly. “I can see that. So the two of you square off in the movie then?” He nodded. “Yep. I’m really proud of what we’ve done so far. Even though she’s continually kicked my ass.” He stood, the deep red of the superhero costume creaking around him as he did so. “Good to talk to you, but I’ve gotta get some lunch. Ask her how many times she beat the shit out of me.” He laughed out loud as we shook hands, and I watched him walk away towards the catering areas. Seemed like a decent guy. Thoughts of lunch made my stomach rumble, and I realised that the last meal I’d had was the unrecognisable lumps of food on the plane, and that must have been... Well, the jet-lag was kicking in fully now, but I knew for sure it was a long time ago. It would have been easy to get a free feed from the on-set catering, but experience had taught me that the quality of the food they served was relative to your on-set status, and visiting journalists ranked further down the chain than even the lowliest grips. I decided to wait until I got back to the hotel; truthfully it wasn’t all that hard a decision. If I could just get an audience with Jennifer Garner, especially now I knew that she’d given Affleck a regular beating; that was a story I wanted to hear. How it usually works on movie sets is that you have to wait for a publicist to introduce you to the star that you want to interview. That’s all well and good, but it generally means that you’re sitting around for hours to get a simple five minutes. It’s dull and depressing, and as I’ve already said, not how I like to operate. Just give me a bit of freedom, let me off the reins for a while, and I’ll keep out of the shot and still get the story. Daredevil was one of the most relaxed shoots I’d ever been on, and I decided to keep my low profile and see where it led me. With any luck, it would lead me straight to Jennifer. I took a final quick scan around the set, saw no-one important, and made my way back towards the overflowing office that Jamie Selkirk had shown me to earlier. I’d noticed a set of double doors at the far end of one of the corridors, and I now made my way towards them after stopping in the office and grabbing my laptop and phone. If what I was planning was frowned upon by security I could very easily get kicked off the set, and the last thing I wanted was to have to fight to get my gear back. I pushed the doors open and delighted in around four seconds of fresh air before my lungs realised it was actually as hot outside as it was in. Just as I’d suspected, the doors led to the back of the lot, and I was immediately rewarded with what I’d hoped to see; a long line of wide, fat trailers in a static procession against the side of the soundstage. These grand looking trailers were used for everything from extra wardrobe space to makeup facilities, but more often than not they were occupied by actors who transformed them into personalised refuges while they were waiting out the long hours before being called to set. At least, that was what I was banking on. I hadn’t seen Jennifer inside, and I knew from the pictures I’d called up from the web that there was no way I was likely to miss her. So chances were, see was sitting in air-conditioned luxury out here waiting for her cue. I fanned my shirt against my skin, which gave absolutely no relief at all, and started to trot along the line of trailers, my eyes scanning the small plaques bolted to the doors. Some names I didn’t recognise, and some didn’t have names at all. But the further I went, the larger the temporary homes became, until I saw Ben Affleck’s name attached to one that was possibly larger than my apartment back in London. I moved on, the roadway now thrown into blessed shade, and passed Colin Farrell’s name. And then finally, right at the far end and totally engulfed in shadow, was a white trailer raised slightly on metal stilts with a silver door. And on the door were the two words I’d been looking for. After taking a quick look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching me, I jumped up the couple of small steps and rapped gently at the door. There was no reply, and after a moment I heard music from inside. I knocked again, three hard beats this time, and this time a voice rose over the music and told me to come in and I never hesitated. The first thing that struck me was the cool chill of filtered air, instantly causing the perspiration to shrink against my skin. Next was the music, The Clash blasting out ‘Janie Jones’ at a level loud enough to reverberate off the walls and right back in my face. Third and finally were the two women at the far end of the large room. The first was standing with a large powder brush in one hand and a fistful of hairclips in the other. The second was sitting infront of a mirrored makeup counter, a magazine in her hands and a pair of the longest legs I’d ever seen propped up before her. Both stopped what they were doing and looked up as I entered. Under normal circumstances the makeup girl would have been enough to have turned my head if she’d passed me on the street; long blonde hair and big blue eyes will do that to a guy. But by placing herself next to Jennifer Garner she was relegated to nothing more than ordinary. I’d rarely, if ever, laid eyes on a more beautiful woman. A wave of dark auburn hair flowed across her shoulders, the pale skin of her face was flawless and a contrast to her full crimson lips, and her eyes, surrounded by carefully applied dark shades of colour, were deep enough to fall into. She was in costume, a leather outfit much like I’d seen Affleck in earlier, but on her body it was a true work of art. A bodice that held her waist tightly and pushed her breasts up into a gorgeous cleavage that almost made my head spin, and trousers that gripped every square inch of those impossibly long legs. Her bare feet were crowned with neatly painted toenails. I almost had to shake my head clear to stop myself from staring at her. When she smiled it changed her whole expression from dark to brightness in a single moment. ‘Yes?’ I managed to push my eyes back into my skull and gave it my best grin. ‘Wondered if you could talk for a few minutes?’ I said. Unfortunately my question was in direct competition with Joe Strummer’s screaming vocals, and as such was lost in a wall of late seventies punk-rock. Jennifer looked at me blankly for a moment, smiled again and then twisted in her seat until she could reach the volume button on the stereo that was on a shelf to the left of her. As she did so the leather trousers stretched tightly, and I saw that her butt was a cute as the rest of her. After the music had gone she looked back at me. ‘Sorry about that.’ ‘Don’t apologise, that band has to be loud,’ I replied, taking a further step inside. ‘Totally agree,’ she nodded, and looked me up and down as I stood in her doorway. Just a wild shot in the dark, but I can guarantee she wasn’t giving me the same visual appreciation as I had to her. Her next question confirmed it. ‘You don’t appear to have a pizza on you?’ ‘They’re not standard issue for journalists I’m afraid.’ Her smile faded. ‘I should have guessed.’ I didn’t know if she based that statement on my appearance or my wiseass attitude. Probably a combination of both. ‘How did you get down here?’ I jiggled my pass where it was pinned to my shirt. ‘I am actually supposed to be here. I was just hoping to ask you a few questions while you weren’t on set.’ ‘I’m sorta getting this make-up done,’ she said, indicating to the girl standing behind the chair. I resisted the obvious line about saying how she didn’t need it, and instead pulled out something I knew might work. In my experience actors love getting one up on each other, and I now recalled what I’d been told earlier. ‘Okay, but I was just interested in hearing how you gave Ben Affleck a major ass-whupping.’ Her expression softened and I saw a trace of the smile reappear. ‘Is that what he said?’ ‘Actually, he said you kicked the shit out of him.’ Both she and the makeup girl cracked up at this, and as Jennifer laughed her breasts shook within the confines of the bodice and her hair fell across her face. She brushed it away and looked at me with those deep, dark eyes. Jesus, this girl was gorgeous. The pictures I’d seen and the small clips I’d viewed in anticipation of this meeting hadn’t done her justice at all. ‘He’s being kind,’ she giggled, swinging her legs down and reaching for a bottle of water on the shelf. ‘Is he?’ I said. ‘That’s not the impression the bruises on his arm gave me.’ There was a pause as she contemplated me over a swallow of water, and I saw a tiny dribble of liquid escape from her bottom lip and slide it’s way over her chin. Just watching that moisture made me feel hotter than ever, despite the air-con. She wiped her mouth delicately and smiled again. ‘So, how about a few minutes of your time?’ I continued. Jennifer glanced up at the make-up girl. ‘Are you about done with me, Amy?’ Amy nodded as she packed various brushes and items back into a large case. ‘Not totally, but I need to go and get a few things anyway. I’ll be ten minutes easily.’ Her voice was soft and coloured with a southern accent. She snapped the case closed and stood. ‘Just try not to get messed up, is all.’ ‘I won’t move a muscle until you get back, I promise,’ said Jennifer, watching Amy as she picked up her gear from the long couch along one side of the trailer and move towards me. I nodded at the pretty make-up assistant as she passed, and in return I got a coy smile that was all blue eyes hidden beneath long eyelashes. A second later the door snapped shut behind me, and myself and Jennifer were alone inside the cool room. She eased herself out of the chair and when she stood I once again had to stop myself from staring. She was tall, almost as tall as me, and her body was lean and devoid of anything except all the right curves. Bare arms that had just the lightest definition of muscle, and I could instantly see that she was fit but without losing her femininity. And of course, all that leather just looked incredible on her. ‘Do you want something to drink?’ She asked, turning and crossing to a fridge that was set into the wall. ‘This heat is getting ridiculous.’ ‘I know, even makes me wish for my own British weather,’ I said, and thanked her as she tossed a bottle of mineral water to me. ‘At least you’ve got the air-conditioning in here. It’s like the tropics over on the set.’ She gave me that eye-watering smile once again. ‘Tell me about it. Try running around wearing this costume.’ ‘Must be torture,’ I said, taking a long swig of water, and watching her as she sat back down. ‘You bet. I just have to keep peeling all this stuff off between takes and taking a cold shower.’ Somehow, I managed not to choke on my drink and keep an even expression. A dozen thoughts ran through my mind, and it took me about half a second to construct an image of Jennifer ripping the leather trousers from her legs to reveal sweat soaked skin, before a cool stream of shimmering water slid over her body as she let the shower chase the heat from her body. ‘So, can we start on some questions?’ I said, somehow managing to remember that I was a professional. ‘Sure’, she replied, leaning back in her chair, ‘Just don't be too hard on me, okay?’ ********** Once we settled into talking things went well, and infact Jennifer turned out to be one of the best celebrities that I’d interviewed. She was funny and full of enthusiasm for the project she was involved in, and after she started talking it was difficult to get her to stop. That wasn’t a problem though, and I let my tape catch all her thoughts concerning the high level of training she’d had to take on for the role and working alongside more established stars such as Colin Farrell and Affleck. True to what he’d told me, she had kicked his ass on several occasions, but admitted that she was more used to physical action due to her time on ‘Alias’. I confessed that I was yet to see the show and she pulled a stern face, then broke into a laugh that affected me in several places other than my ears. I promised to see it as soon as the season run started back in England, and she followed this up with telling me that a second season was scheduled to air in the States in the fall. ‘So with the show and this movie, you’ve got your work cut out,’ I said, finishing my water and tossing the bottle into a wastebin across the room. She nodded. ‘Yeah, but I can’t complain. I spent enough years wiping tables and waiting for my break. Now it’s here I’m gonna enjoy it.’ ‘What about an the possibility of an Elektra spin-off project. Would you consider it?’ ‘Well, I’ve heard rumours’, she replied, leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms above her head and yawning gently. This caused her chest to lift up against the strains of the leather bodice, and I let my eyes trace their way down her neck to where a good portion of her breasts were on display. If she’d have coughed I’d have almost certainly seen a nipple, and I had to shift in my chair slightly. ‘Regardless, after ‘Daredevil’ you’ll be the girl of choice for all the comic book boys.’ I said. She lowered her arms and grinned. ‘I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.’ ‘Well, if the work dries up you can spend your time doing the guest thing at conventions,’ I said, returning her grin. ‘Plus, they’ll be dozens of websites in your honour. Probably already are.’ ‘Actually, there aren’t,’ she said, and levered herself out of the chair quickly, causing her hair to spill in streams around her neck and making the black leather bend and creak around her legs. I stayed seated and watched as she moved across to the mobile air-conditioning unit that was bolted solidly to the wall of the trailer. She placed both hands on either side of the unit and leant forward, and the jets of cold air circulated around her, making her shoulders shake as she shivered. She turned to look at me, and the combination of dark eyes, deep cleavage and windblown hair ensured that my dick was now rigidly hard. Fade To Black ‘Curiousity made me enter my name into a search engine,’ she said, smiling again. I drew my knee up higher and placed the tape player in my lap. ‘Hey, we’ve all done it. Even those of us who aren’t famous.’ ‘Find anything?’ ‘Only that I share the same handle as dozens of doctors and a few serial killers. I’m sure you had much better results.’ She shook her head and still stood lapping up the icy air. ‘Bits and pieces on the show, some pictures of me and rest of the guys, but nothing juicy. I was hoping for loads of cut and paste fakes of me with big boobs and a skinny ass.’ She laughed at this and moved back from the wall. ‘I think you’ve probably made it when you find a bunch of fantasies about you. What do you think?’ What did I think? At that moment all I could really think about was getting back to my hotel room and jacking off to the mental image of Jennifer leaning over the air-con and the aural memory of her incredibly sexy voice. My dick was about to explode if I didn’t deal with it. What did I think? Truth was, I knew of a place on the web where fantasies were spun about many, many female celebrities. It was a place where I was a regular participant, and I’d checked in with the site just a few hours before I’d left London. It had surprised me that Jennifer’s name hadn’t cropped up there. ‘Well,’ I said, swallowing hard, ‘I’m sure when the movie is out you’ll be all over the place. Fakes and all.’ I paused and then let my tongue go for the first time since I’d met her. ‘Not that you need anything faking.’ As I’d said this Jennifer had been reaching into the refridgerator once more, her back to me. She stopped and turned quickly, and her face looked serious. I cursed myself silently for coming out with something so tacky and decidedly inappropriate, and I knew at that moment the interview must surely be over. She let the fridge slam shut behind her as she moved over to where I was sitting. I tried to keep my eyes on her face but it was almost impossible, and as she stood before me I couldn’t help but once again take in all the leather and soft skin filling my vision. ‘That almost sounded like a line,’ she said. Her expression was still stern but the tone of her voice didn’t match it. Instead her words were soft, almost quiet, and for the first time I noticed the sweet scent of her perfume and a tiny strip of skin peeking out between the bottom of her corset and the waistband of those incredible leather trousers. She was close enough so that I would have been able to lean my head forward and kiss her flat stomach. I looked up at her. ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ I said. ‘Just being honest.’ ‘That’s the trouble with you English boys,’ she said, and a moment later her she lifted her hand and I felt a finger caress my ear with the lightest of touches. I stared at her almost open mouthed, and when she looked away from my disbelieving eyes and downwards I realised she must have seen the unmistakable lump in my jeans. ‘You’re just too polite,’ she continued. ‘I guess so’ I said, stunned that my tongue and vocal chords were working correctly. Her finger stroked me again, and in my mind I could now see two things happening. One, I was mere moments away from a sexual encounter with this utterly gorgeous star, or two, I was mere moments away from being kicked out of this trailer, off the set, and possibly out of my career if she made the right calls to the right people. One thing was for certain though, I was definitely moments away from getting my shorts in a sticky mess. Jennifer leaned down towards me, her hand on my shoulder and her lips close to my ear. A lock of her hair fell against my neck, soft and supremely erotic. She spoke, her breath hot against my skin. ‘You still haven’t told me what you think of this outfit,’ she whispered. ‘Do you approve?’ A part of me had been in strong approval ever since I’d first walked into the trailer. I could feel my heart pounding against my chest, beating out an overdriven rhythm as I turned my face to her and let my cheek graze against hers. I looked down, straight down the front of the leather corset that was held closed with black laces, and took in the entire view of her breasts, her cleavage now even more pronounced now she was leaning over me. ‘It feels really tight against my skin,’ she continued, her mouth now brushing my ear and making me shiver. Her words were nothing more than breath against me. ‘I think you should touch it.’ I pressed my face tighter against her cheek and almost let out a groan as her tongue flicked out and dabbed against the edge of my ear. There was no way I could resist, and I lifted my hand and ran it up the smooth expanse of black that was seemingly painted over her skin. The leather was soft and deliciously warm and my fingers slid easily around to the inside of her thigh, her legs slightly apart as she stood over me. ‘That’s it,’ she said, forming a tiny kiss on my neck as she did so. ‘Just slip your hand-’ Whatever she was about to say stayed locked in her throat as the sound of the trailer door opening both pulled us back from where we just about to go. Jennifer straightened up quickly and pushed her hair back behind her ear, and I grabbed my laptop and slammed it across my lap, regretting my enthusiasm as I gave my nuts are decent slam. I could feel blood colouring my skin and I felt hotter than ever. The make-up girl Amy came through the door, a Pepsi in one hand and a bunch of red material in the other. She closed the door behind her, smiled and commented how cool it was in the trailer. Jennifer said hi and sat back down in the chair, and I merely gave what I hoped was a genuine looking smile. I felt incapable of speech, not least from the fact that my balls had started to ache where I’d knocked them. However, the pain didn’t seem to have affected my hard-on, which was still standing proud and more in need of attention than ever. ‘If you guys have done, we really need to get you finished,’ said Amy, crossing the trailer and setting the red cloths on the makeup counter. Jennifer looked at me with a smile that said everything yet gave away nothing. ‘I think we are,’ she said innocently. ‘Got everything you need, Rich?’ Sure, I’ve got everything I need, with the exception of a healthy bank account, a vintage Ford Mustang and a few spare minutes to fuck your brains out, I said. Actually, that’s a lie, I didn’t say that at all, but believe it when I say the thought was running paramount through my mind. Especially the fucking part. ‘Seem to have,’ I said, surprised at how level my voice sounded. I gingerly rose to my feet and hoped for the best, grasping my laptop firmly and holding it infront of my crotch. I slipped my dictaphone into the front pocket of my jeans and took the time to rearrange myself while I was down there and look a little more respectable. Amy span on her heel and dropped to a crouch in one easy movement and started rooting around in one of her boxes. Jennifer glanced quickly over her shoulder and saw that the girl had her back turned on the two of us, and then silently mouthed at me to come over to her. My feet moved and I seemed to float across the floor towards her, and as I did so she proceeded to do one of the horniest things that I have ever seen in my life. With me standing infront of her, and with the makeup girl no more than three feet away, I watched as she pushed her slender fingers under the waistband of her trousers and eased them down between her legs. The black leather stretched and showed the clear outline of her hand as it pressed against herself, then moulded itself back against her flesh as she withdrew it. She leaned forward and held her middle finger up towards me, and in the glare of the lights shining brightly around the mirror over the table I could see that the finger was wet and glistening. As if in a dream I opened my mouth and lowered my head to meet her hand and felt the damp skin slide across my tongue. The taste was sweet and hot, and I never took my eyes from Jennifer’s as I sucked the juices from her finger. It lasted a mere moment, and then she pulled it away from me at exactly the same time that Amy turned around to face me. Jennifer shot me that wicked smile once more and gave me her hand again, but this time to shake it. ‘It was good to meet you,’ she said. ‘Likewise,’ I replied in a voice that didn’t sound like my own. I wanted to say something more, felt that I had to say something more, but then Amy moved in and started to mess around with Jennifer’s hair once again, just as she had been doing when I’d entered the trailer no more than twenty minutes ago. I took her hand, felt the same finger that had just been in my mouth on my palm, and shook it gently. ‘Another time, maybe?’ I said, the suggestion and hope obvious in my voice. ‘You never know,’ said Jennifer, and immediately turned away from me to look at her reflection in the mirror, her face now showing the same innocent look that I had seen when I first entered and not the sex-hungry expression I’d had hovering above me minutes later. The mirror image glanced up at me. ‘Take care.’ I took that to be most definitely the end of our meeting and the end of anything that might have occurred between us. Feeling rejected and slightly confused I grasped the case of my laptop tightly and crossed towards the doorway. I allowed myself a final look back at the two women, Jennifer sitting patiently in the chair while the makeup girl stood behind her and ran a feathery brush laced with light colour across her cheek, before I stepped quickly back out onto the Fox backlot. ********** I stood at the bottom of the trailer steps and immediately knew two things. One, it was hotter than ever, and I knuckled away a bead of sweat as it dripped stinging into my eye. Two, my erection was now agonisingly hard. I may not have gone that far with Jennifer, but I could still taste her body on my lips and feel her mouth on my ear, and that was causing so much blood to surge to my dick that I feared I might well pass out due to lack of oxygen in my brain. I started to limp back in the direction that I’d come, past the long line of trailers, and thought about what had just happened. In a few minutes I’d gone from a simple, lighthearted interview with a beautiful star to the very real possibility of sex, a possibility that would have almost certainly have been fulfilled if we hadn’t been disturbed. How? I was positive that I hadn’t come up with a with a winning line and it definitely wasn’t based on my looks. After several hours of bathroom attention I can scrub up fairly well, but today I looked as if I’d been run over by a truck and buggered by a posse of escaped convicts. The maid back at the hotel had told me as much. I couldn’t work it out. My watch read 12.55pm. I’d spent a good deal of time observing the set, made plenty of verbal notes, and interviewed the people that I’d intended too. There was more than enough information to get a decent article together and justify the magazine flying me across the Atlantic, which was good, because after the incident in the trailer my mind was hardly on work anyway. All I wanted to do was get back to The Marriott, get some food, take a shower and jack off, not necessarily in that order. I started back towards soundstage 13 with the intention of thanking the assistant Jamie Selkirk for his time and getting off the lot as soon as possible. I switched my laptop to the other hand and reached into my backpocket for my phone. Bernie would be waiting for a progress call back in London, and if I told him everything had gone well he would relax and I could take it easy for the rest of the day before catching an early flight tommorow morning. My phone was gone. I checked both the front and back pockets of my jeans and found some cash, the room key and my dictaphone, but the Nokia was missing. I stopped and cursed out loud, causing a couple of guys cruising past on a modified golf cart to look my way, and suddenly realised that I must have left it back in Jennifer’s trailer. I’d placed it on the sofa next to where I’d sat, and with what had happened and with the speed with which I’d felt the need to get out I’d completely forgotten about it. I swore again. I didn’t want to go back there. Not that I didn’t want to see Jennifer again, but it had felt awkward between us when Amy had returned and I wasn’t keen to repeat the experience. But I needed my cellphone. Not only was it virtually brand new, but it had all my numbers and contacts which were vital to me. There was no way I was prepared to leave it behind, and I turned and quickly retraced my steps. I’d be in and out in seconds, and I didn’t even really have to say anything aside from mere politeness. I’d got what I needed for the piece, and that was the main thing. The door was still closed, and once again I could hear music, a band I didn’t recognise doing a slower tune than before. I knocked and waited, my heart beating and lodged somewhere in my throat, but there was no reply as before, so I quietly opened the door and slipped inside. The music got louder and the cool atmosphere hit me again, and then I turned my head to the left and looked inside at the main area of the trailer and stopped dead. The makeup chair had now spun round and was facing in my direction. Jennifer was slouched down in the chair, her legs spread wide and her butt almost hanging off the edge of the seat. Her leather trousers lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, and although she still wore the bodice the laces were now loose and pulled wide too reveal the deep red nipple of her left breast. Her fingers of one hand pulled at the nipple while the other was twisted in the fine blonde hair of Amy, the makeup girl. Amy was down on her knees between Jennifer’s legs and was dotting a string of kisses slowly up the inside of her thigh, and the higher her mouth travelled the wider Jennifer’s legs went. Amy moved her head down and as she did so Jennifer’s pussy was revealed fully to me. A tuft of neat black pubic hair framed her slit, and even from my distance of a good six feet I could see her lips were shining and wet with the same juices that I had previously tasted. My view lasted for just a second, as Amy’s head moved upward and Jennifer threw her head back and gasped loudly as the sexy assistant touched her tongue into her dark hole. I stayed silent and moved back into the doorway and tried to hide myself behind the couple of inches of doorframe while I watched this display before me. Jennifer now had both hands tugging at Amy’s hair as she pulled the girl’s face hard between her legs, her thighs gripping her tightly and her feet resting on her back. Jennifer’s moans were frequent and her toes curled as she continued to be licked, and her tiny toenails were splashed with little dots of red. My eyes went from her feet to Amy’s body; she was wearing a short grey skirt which was now pulled up over the smooth curves of her butt to reveal tanned cheeks and a pair of slim white panties which barely covered the almost-exposed mound of her vagina. The material was damp, and I could tell that Amy was getting as much pleasure from giving the tonguing as Jennifer was from recieving it. Amy’s hand suddenly appeared on her panties and she began rubbing two fingers hard against her body, pushing the cotton into her pussy for a moment before she tugged the gusset of the panties aside and slid a finger deeply inside herself . The music was still going, but now I couldn’t even hear it. I knew I should get out of there before I was seen, but there was no way I could even move. I flattened myself against the door and tried to adjust my throbbing dick which was now a lump of solid steel in my jeans once again. Jennifer took her hands from Amy’s rocking head and stretched her arms above her head, her eyes closed, and the movement caused her other breast to appear fully over the top of the bodice. Her tits were proud and full and the nipples erect and pointing skywards, and I desperately wanted to move forward and suck them into my mouth and double the pleasure that her slender body was recieving. Jennifer’s mouth opened and she started to form words, at first barely more than gasps and nothing that I could make out over the music, and then as her delight increased she became louder. My pulse quickened as I heard her tell Amy to fuck her, to use her finger on her, and Amy complied, removing her fingers from her own masturbation and using both hands to spread Jennifer’s pussy apart, and just for a brief second I saw skin wet with juices and saliva and Jennifer’s engorged clit before Amy dived her face back down once more. This time Jennifer screamed, the muscles on her neck and arms tensing as Amy quite obviously hit the right spot again and again. I could see Amy’s arm moving back and forth as she pistoned her finger in and out and Jennifer’s whole body started to shake and her legs gripped Amy’s back and pulled her forward. She dropped her hands and gripped the girl’s hair as her breathing whistled out of her throat and a spread of red flushed across her heaving tits, moaning as Amy bought the orgasm to her body. For a moment the atmosphere was filled with cries and the sweet smell of sex, and I had to bite my tongue as I rubbed my hand across my crotch as I watched Jennifer Garner rock with a climax right in front of me, before her tense body slumped back in the chair with a sigh. She stroked a hand through Amy’s hair and she breathed hard. ‘God, that was incredible,’ she said, looking down at the girl still with her head between her legs. ‘I love it when you lick the come out of me,’ she continued, stroking her hand through Amy’s hair. As she did so Amy moved her head so it rested on Jennifer’s thigh and I saw how swollen her pussy was after the intense oral and orgasm she had just recieved. Her pubic hair was curled and matted to her skin and her lips and clit were dark crimson. Amy just lay there with her head on Jennifer’s thigh and gently flicked her tongue back and forth, softly cleaning the wet streaks from her skin. I realized that I wasn’t breathing, and felt my lungs burn before I had to let out air. I gasped, barely audible over the music which I now recognised as The Cocteau Twins, but it was loud enough to make Jennifer’s eyes flick towards the door and land straight on me. I felt my guts turn to water as I was spotted, and I knew for sure that I was in deep shit. A big part of me just wanted to grab my phone and make a bolt for it, but I seemed unable to move. I thought Jennifer would shout out but she stayed silent, just contemplated me with those deeply dark eyes as I stood a few feet away watching her makeup artist play with her almost naked body. We looked at each other for a few seconds, before a slight smile formed on her full lips. That was the last reaction I was expecting, and I don’t know if my face echoed my shock but Jennifer’s smile turned into a full grin before she rested both hands around Amy’s neck and started to pull her away from between her thighs. I was sure she would turn Amy around to show her my voyeuristic standpoint, but without breaking her gaze she lifted the girl up her face and locked their mouths together. They kissed with passion, and Jennifer ran her pink tongue over Amy’s lips before pulling her head down into the dark shadows of her neck. She hugged her tightly and I could see that in the position they were in Amy had no chance of seeing me. ‘I can taste me on you,’ Jennifer whispered into Amy’s ear, letting her left hand flow down over the white T-shirt covering the girl’s back and drift over the perfect curve of her ass. She pulled the cheek apart and Amy gave a muffled squeal as her panties were pulled even further into her crack. Jennifer smiled and licked Amy’s ear in much the same way as she had done to me earlier, and she looked back at me for a moment before pointing to where my phone lay on the couch. She raised her thumb and finger to her ear in the universal telephone handsignal, and then mouthed four silent words to me. My breath hitched again as I realised what they were: Give me your number. Fade To Black I stood like a statue for a moment before the words sank in, and then I knew it was time to get the hell out of there. I silently shot my hand out and grabbed my phone and slipped it into my pocket, never taking my eyes from the movie star and the make-up artist making out with increasing fury before me. There was a scrap of paper scrunched into the bottom of my pocket and I pulled it out with a slightly shaking hand and saw a stub of pencil on the work counter to my right, and forced my eyes away from the kissing girls while I scribbled my cell number and also the name and number of my hotel. I’d had mobile communication problems before, and there was no way I wanted a poor signal or my battery to go dead if a beautiful and obviously horny actress was going to call me. I was about to drop the scrap on the counter when a thought popped into my head, a thought relating to a conversation we’d had earlier, and I can’t explain why but I also quickly scrawled something else beneath the two numbers. You can blame it on my dazed mind. I left my message and gripped the door handle, allowing myself one final look before I left. Amy now had her mouth on Jennifer’s throat, her hands gripping the soft mounds of her breasts, and in return Jennifer had now pulled Amy’s panties to one side and was brushing the tip of her index finger down the groove of her butt, pushing slowly against the tight entrance of her ass. I gazed at the sight, for one agonizing moment imagining diving across the room and burying my cock deep into Amy’s wet tunnel while Jennifer held her open for me, and then I opened the door and stepped quickly outside. I’d chanced my luck enough for one day. After I’d stumbled away from the line of trailers and narrowly avoided crashing through a pane of glass that was being carried in an almost comical fashion by two overall-wearing grips, I leant heavily against the wall of the soundstage and took several long deep breaths. I lowered my head to my chest and felt my hair fall into my eyes while I gave myself a moment to compute what I’d just witnessed. I’d heard it said on more that one occasion that a movie set was full of surprises, and after today that was certainly something I was in agreement with. And maybe my luck was changing, because apart from not getting busted for what I’d seen, it appeared as if the brief encounter that I’d had with Jennifer had a chance of continuing. The cynical part of my mind told me that there was no way she’d call, but life is all about taking chances. You just never knew. I realized I was grinning, and I levered myself away from the wall and headed towards the door of stage 13. Inside was now a hive of activity, with colonies of personel running back and forth with props and lighting, but my mind was now far away from the filming of the comic book spectacular. Jamie Selkirk appeared once more loaded down with armfuls of crap, and I stopped him and thanked him for his time and indulgence. He asked me if I’d got everything that I needed and I assured him that I had. That was very nearly the truth. We shook hands and I made my way off the stage and back past the security, flipping open my phone as I did so and placing a call to Bernie back in London. It would be mid-evening in the capital and when his voice-messaging kicked in I guessed that my editor would either be down on the workfloor checking copy or firmly seated at the table of his favourite bar. I left a couple of sentences informing that everything had gone well and I wasn’t knocking up too much on the magazine’s expense account, and by the time I’d snapped the Nokia closed I was at the main gate. Hailing a cab took no more than thirty seconds and soon I was back out in heavy traffic and being fried on the backseat again. The driver watched me through the rear mirror. ‘You okay pal? Looking a little pale back there.’ I nodded. ‘I’m just beginning to enjoy my jet-lag,’ I replied, ‘and this weather isn’t helping.’ ‘You know, this goddamn city will kill you,’ he said with a grin that was more gums than teeth, before throwing the taxi into a microscopic gap in the traffic and leaning heavily on the horn. I rested my head back on the seat and blinked up at the dirty roof of the cab, but all I kept seeing were images of Jennifer. I wondered if she’d call, and just that thought was enough to get me hard again. I also wondered if she’d act on what I’d written below my number? She’d said she wanted to see a website where fantasies were traded and celebrity females were discussed, and as I said before I knew of a place where this happened. Had I been too bold in my thinking, would she be offended, or would seeing my name at the site maybe turn her on even more? The way she’d acted this afternoon, I had to tell myself that it was the latter. I also debated what my buddies would have thought if they knew I’d just directed Jennifer Garner to our cherished little corner of cyberspace called Literotica. I’m pretty sure there might have been a drink in for me... ********** The journey back to The Marriott was slow and torturous, and it was nearing two-thirty as I was walking through the revolving doors back into the hotel lobby. After the briefest of stops to check for messages I was into the elevator and by the time I’d reached the seventh I was virtually running down the corridor towards my room. Here we can keep the details sparse but all you need to know is that it took mere seconds for me to dump my stuff and drag my jeans down and not much longer for me jerk-off to a climax that had me flopping back down on the bed and panting like a guy who’s just run a marathon. I lay there for a few minutes watching the revolving fan on the ceiling before I had the horrible idea of the maid coming back into the room. It had been embarassing enough that she’d seen me this naked this morning, I didn’t want her to see me with my shorts round my ankles and my come drying in pools on my stomach. I pulled myself up, flung my clothes into the corner of the room and hit the shower. The shower wasn’t a great relief, truth be told. Sure, it cleaned my body but it filled my mind with images of Jennifer, and I recalled the look in her eyes when she told me how she had to keep peeling off the leather and taking cold showers. I could imagine her doing that now and then stepping into the cubicle behind me, her hands working their way down my back as she held her body against mine, her daik hair dripping with water as we kissed, erect nipples stabbing against my chest before she raised a her leg and wrapped it around me before lowering her slippery pussy down over my dick, giving the same gasps and moans as I’d heard when Amy had been licking furiously away at her. I stopped, span the temprature dial to cold and cried out with shock as the heat turned to ice and made every pore on my skin scream with mercy. My erection quickly sank away to nothing and my balls crawled up inside my body as I forced myself to endure the freezing water and take my thoughts away from fantasies that would inevitably lead to wanking. If Jennifer was going to call me, and if something was going to happen between us, I wanted something left in reserve, if you know what I’m saying. I spent a full minute chilling myself down until my teeth were chattering faster than a Mexican tapdancer and then threw myself into a towel. I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to keep my mind off what had happened back at Fox. After I’d dressed in fresh clothes I left the hotel and took a walk down the infamous Sunset strip until I came to the Whiskey A Go-Go, once the place for bands to be seen in Los Angeles and a sleazepit that still kept it’s reputation for all things debauched. Inside was dark and depressing and stank of old alchohol, just as it had been the last time I was here eighteen months ago, but that was part of the Whiskey’s charm. I sat at the bar and drained the first beer in one shot and the second with less haste while I swopped small talk with the barman and looked at the greasy photographs of the famous names who had played here. There was Jim Morrison, looking down on me with long dead eyes, and it gave me a secret thrill to be sitting in the same bar where the Lizard King had carved out his mighty reputation. I was going to stay for a third until a guy sporting a Kiss T-shirt and a fine growth of acne approached and offered me speed, and I decided that was my cue to leave. I found a good diner and read the paper while I devoured Chilli and too much coffee, then mooched around the shops and picked up a couple of old punk albums from a cool store called Finyl Vinyl, took a quick look at the ocean and then made my way back to the hotel. It was now late afternoon and the traffic was a solid block of metal and noise, but at least the heat had died down to something approaching bearable. A busker had set up outside The Marriott and I listened to him giving a very decent pass at an old Jeff Buckley tune before tossing a couple of dollars in his cap and leaving the street behind me. Up in my room I flipped the TV onto the news channel and kept the volume low in the background while I tried to work on the notes for the article. But whenever my fingers hovered over the keyboard of the laptop and I tried to come up with the killer opening line all I could see was Jennifer. I listened back through my verbal notes on the tape and when my interview with her started all I heard was her sensual voice telling me over and over again to touch her. It was useless, and after a wasted half-an-hour I realised work was impossible. I stretched out on the bed and half watched an old episode of Cheers while I thumbed through a magazine, and when my yawns became more frequent I didn’t fight the onset of sleep. ********** When I awoke the room had been overcome with darkness and my left arm had gone numb from where I’d lay awkwardly. My face was mashed into the pillow and my mouth was stale from the food and beers that I’d had earlier. And the phone was ringing. Now I was awake. I rolled over and felt my back protest from the too-soft bed and looked at the phone on the sidetable, illuminated in a grey light from the TV set. I reached out my hand and suddenly stopped an inch above the reciever, let my fingers hover. Could it be Jennifer calling me? My friends or family would almost inevitably call me on my cellphone, and if it was night here then it would be very early morning back in England. It couldn’t be any of them. Who else would call the hotel telephone? I hadn’t left any instructions at reception to be contacted, and the only other person who knew I was at The Marriott was- Barney Hammond. My heart sank. Of course, my editor was always up before the dawn, regularly crowing about how he’d done a days work by the time the staff had dragged themselves into the office. If anyone from London was calling it would be him. Probably heard the message I left and was eager for a progress report. I sighed and snatched up the reciever. ‘Hello.’ ‘I was starting to think you weren’t going to pick up.’ The voice was soft and low, the same voice that had been swimming around my head for the last few hours. I opened my mouth to reply and found that nothing came out. ‘Are you there?’ said Jennifer. I could feel the blood racing in my veins. She’d actually called me, I couldn’t believe it. Sure I’d imagined, fantasied that she would, but the truth was I wouldn’t have bet money on it happening. ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘I’m here.’ ‘You took a long time to answer.’ ‘I was sleeping. Sorry.’ There was a pause, an awkward silence filled the line, and I thought that the conversation might be over before it had begun. Then she spoke again. ‘I looked at the website you wrote down for me.’ She stopped, as if to add something more, but nothing came, and I guessed she was waiting for my reaction. ‘Look, maybe I was out of line,’ I said quickly. ‘I didn’t mean to-’ ‘I liked it.’ I swallowed, felt the click in my throat. ‘You did?’ ‘Well, I didn’t see my name there, but apart from that I thought it was very... Interesting.’ I shifted upwards on the bed, found the remote and snapped the tube off. ‘It just a bunch of people writing about various fantasies. Some of those fantasies happen t be female celebrities, that’s all. We all have a good laugh about it.’ ‘I wasn’t being negative about it, I thought it looked really good. Obviously I’ve not hit big enough yet,’ she said, and I recalled what she thought about not really making it as a star until you had fantasies and fakes of you plastered over the Internet. I contemplated for a second about what I was going to say next, and then went ahead with it. ‘Maybe I could change that?’ She laughed softly, and even though her voice was disconnected and sterile from the phone line she sounded as gorgeous as during our meeting, and I could feel the first twinges of yet-another erection from my suggestion and from her tone. ‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘you might have some good material as well, after this afternoon.’ I was glad that she’d bought up the afternoon, it was a subject that I didn’t have the first idea how to start talking about. But now she’d broken the ice. ‘I didn’t mean to spy on you,’ I muttered. ‘Yes you did,’ she said, and when I didn’t reply she continued. ‘That was something else that I liked. I knew you were watching all the time.’ ‘Christ, are you serious?’ ‘Totally. It was exciting to know that you were watching Amy lick me. It gave me the sweetest orgasm, as I’m sure you saw.’ I’d genuinely thought that Jennifer hadn’t known that I was taking in all of the little show that she and the cute makeup girl had put on. It had seemed as if I’d gatecrashed a very private incident and only been discovered at the last moment, and I told her this. ‘I hadn’t planned on you coming back,’ she said, ‘but it was just a bonus when you did. Anyway, I was so turned on that I don’t think I’d have cared if the whole crew had been standing in the doorway.’ I heard that incredible laugh once more. ‘It might have been the end of my career, though.’ ‘Why were you so turned on?’ I asked, adjusting my own arousal in my jeans and praying for the answer that I hoped for. ‘You know why. If Amy hadn’t have come back you’d have been fucking me instead of her.’ When Jennifer said that line it wasn’t in some brash, porno-style way but with a voice that said the F-word in a tone that sounded like shyness. After what I witnessed the last thing I knew she wasn’t was shy, but that still didn’t change the fact that it was one of the most sexy sentences I’d ever heard. My dick was like a bar of iron, and Jennifer must have been able to read my mind. ‘Are you hard?’ she whispered. ‘Very. I’ve been hard all afternoon just thinking about you.’ ‘Did you jerk-off while thinking about me?’ ‘You better believe it.’ ‘Do it again,’ she said, and almost before the words were spoken I’d unbuckled my jeans and let my dick spring free. ‘I wish I’d have been able to see you doing it this afternoon.’ I worked my hand up and down steadily. ‘Tell me what happened when I left,’ I said, my voice harsh from my dry throat and excitement. ‘Have you been with Amy before?’ ‘A few times, she’s really nice,’ Jennifer replied. ‘After you went she made me come again just by kissing me and sucking on my nipples. She rode herself up and down on my hand as she did it.’ I lay back and let my head sink into the pillow while I listened to Jennifer tell me how she’d had sex with Amy, how it started after Amy had helped her wriggle into her skin-tight costume during the first days of filming and the feel of the girl’s hands smoothing the leather over her had got Jennifer wetter than she had been for a long time. ‘It’s like the other day,’ she breathed into my ear, ‘when she slid the trousers down you saw me in today and just bent me over the arm of the couch and fucked me with her mouth. Do you know how good that felt? For me to just lie there while she spread my legs and slid her tongue into my pussy, for me to feel her soft fingers pushing into me while she licked my butt. Would you like to do that to me?’ I was so turned on I could barely speak, took all my effort to say that I would. ‘If she hadn’t come back this afternoon I’d have let you. I’d have let you push my face down and take me from behind.’ Jennifer’s voice had changed, became more breathless and slightly deeper, and I wondered if she was masterbating the same as I, giving herself pleasure from her own dirty words. ‘Let you do what you wanted to me. Even let you fuck me in my ass.’ She paused, and I could only hear her breathing, then: ‘Are you still wanking?’ The moan from my throat and my almost tortured gasps were the only reply I could manage. I was having to concentrate from not coming there and then, and with Jennifer telling me all the things that I could do and that she wanted me to do to her that took a monumental effort. ‘I bet you’d like to have me right now?’ She said. ‘Would you?’ ‘More than anything,’ I replied. ‘I’d love to fuck you.’ ‘Then come and do it.’ ‘I don’t know where you are.’ ‘I’m outside your hotel.’ I froze, my eyes wide and my hand solid on my dick, and waited for her to say something else. She didn’t, and as I listened for the first time I could make out other faint sounds on the line. The odd car, a vague shout, some general street sounds. Now my blood pumped faster than ever. I’d just assumed that Jennifer was at her own apartment or hotel or still in the trailer at the Fox studio complex. That she’d checked out the website and then decided to call me from the comfort of her surroundings, wherever they might be. Not for a moment did I think she was in my vicinity. ‘You’re outside?’ She laughed again. ‘Don’t sound so shocked. If you don’t believe me take a look out of your window.’ I swung my legs around and stood up from the bed and edged over towards the expanse of glass that lined one side of the room. I still had my jeans around my ankles and I lodged the reciever of the telephone between my shoulder and ear while I pulled them up around my waist. The window went from floor to ceiling and although the room was dark and it was unlikely anyone could see in I still didn’t want to risk the chances of someone spotting me with my balls hanging out. I leant against the glass, cool against my forehead, and looked out into the Los Angeles night. Before me were rivers of lights and in the distance a slab of darkness that was the ocean. I looked down, and the streets took on more definition, neon and cars and lit apartment buildings, bars and people. I looked still further down, onto the street below me that The Marriott was built on. ‘I don’t see you,’ I said. ‘Where do I look?’ In my ear I heard a noise, a metallic click, and then the vague street sounds became a lot more defined. And from my vantage point I saw a car parked on the far side of the street, very slightly down from my building, a car which now had an open door. And then I saw a figure step out and look upwards, not in my exact direction but towards the upper floors of the hotel. Even from seven stories I could tell that it was Jennifer. ‘Do you see me now?’ ‘Yes, I can see you. You look absoloutely beautiful.’ She giggled. ‘You’re too far away to tell.’ I shook my head. ‘I know you are. You’re incredible.’ ‘If you want me, then I’m right here,’ she said, and I saw her lean casually back against the side of the car. ‘Let me give you something for your story.’ With that, the line went dead. I watched her for a couple of seconds more, and then slammed the reciever back into the cradle and dived across the bed and into the bathroom. It would have been useful if an official from Guinness had been on hand to record the time it took me to scrub my teeth, splash my face and gargle with mouthwash; I may well have made it into the book of records for the world’s fastest clean-up. I danced around the bedroom while I slipped on some clean jeans, boots and a shirt that was less creased than all my others, grabbed my key and my wallet and was soon sprinting down the corridor towards the elevators like Maurice Green on medal day. The elevator door was standing open, and skidded to a halt inside it and jabbed the button for the lobby, checking my watch as I did so. 10.14pm. Fade To Black As I decended I checked my teeth in the mirror wondered if I should have shaved, then realised that I’d had a chin full of stubble when I’d first seen Jennifer, and that hadn’t stopped her from climbing all over me. I checked my nails, and as I did so realised that my hands were very slightly shaking, from anticipation as well as excitement and nervousness. Was I really about to cross the street and meet Jennifer Garner, me a lowly English journalist and she a gorgeous actress? Did moments like this ever happen in real life, or had I fallen asleep on my bed and still as yet not woken up? I pinched the skin on my bare arm and decided that pain I felt meant that I wasn’t dreaming. A ding, and the doors glided apart, and the expanse of the lobby was before me. I crossed the tiled floor quickly, walking evenly so as not to draw attention to myself, and even managed a nod and smile to the girl behind the reception desk. A desperately thin man wearing red trousers was being led through the revolving doors by a well-groomed terrier, and I let them pass before going out into the cool night air of the city of angels. ********** Jennifer was across the street away to my left, still leaning against the car which I now saw was a deep blue Audi. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and if anything she looked even better than when I’d seen her in the Elektra costume. She was a wearing a plain white t-shirt that was cut short on the sleeves and showed an inch or two of midriff, faded blue jeans and a pair of black boots. I jogged steadily across the street on legs that still didn’t really feel like my own and as soon as she saw me she stood up from the Audi and her face broke into a big smile. I stopped infront of her and for a moment did nothing more than stare, drank in the sight of her, and this time found that I knew what to say. ‘I was right.’ She frowned. ‘Right about what?’ ‘You do you look beautiful,’ I said, and moved towards her, into the arms that she held open for me, and we embraced, pushed our bodies against each other. I threaded my hands up into her soft mass of hair and pulled her face to me, met her parted lips with my own and felt her tongue slide into my mouth as we kissed deeply. She pushed herself against me and my thigh went between her legs, and even through her jeans I could feel the heat that she had there. In turn I ground my erection up against her, and felt her hand move from my shirt down to cup me, pushing into the lump my dick had formed. In reply I forced my thigh up against her pussy and she gasped hotly into my mouth and kissed me harder, our tongues fighting against one and another. My hand found it’s way over the front of her t-shirt and grazed her nipple that was stiffly pushing against the cotton. I squeezed, and she gasped again before breaking out kiss and looking at me directly with those deep dark eyes. ‘You’ve got to fuck me,’ she said, ‘right now.’ ‘Come up to my room then,’ I said, easing my hand under her shirt and onto her stomach. Only a few feet away cars were streaming past behind us, but I didn’t care. My only concern in the whole world right now was the woman before me. ‘No, I want to do it out on the street.’ I laughed. ‘Here? You’re crazy. We’ll get arrested.’ She grinned and kissed me quickly, still with her hand on my dick, and looked around over her shoulder. ‘Over there. We’ll do it over there, c’mon.’ I looked and saw the entrance to an alleyway that led down between two buildings, the small gap ominous and bathed in dark shadows. ‘I don’t know, Jen,’ I said, but she had already grabbed my belt and was pulling me away from the car to the sidewalk and in the direction of the alley. ‘It’ll be so horny,’ she whispered in my ear. ‘We’ll be able to see whoever goes past, but they won’t see us. Come on.’ At that moment I was so consumed with lust and only thinking with my cock that if she’d have suggested we strip in the middle of the street and screw in the traffic I’d have probably agreed to it. Although there were people about it wasn’t crowded, and I hoped that the gloom would be deep enough to conceal what we were about to do. Jennifer giggled again as we stepped past two elderly ladies and grabbed my hand as we both jumped into the shadows. I didn’t need to worry if the alley was concealed enough; it was as dark as Indian ink, a solid blackness that was all consuming. Jennifer grabbed me and held me tight against her, and for maybe half-a-minute we stood still and both looked out towards the street. We had moved maybe ten feet into the alleyway and looking back at where we had come from appeared like a square of light in the darkness. She was right, we could see the cars and the people moving past the entrance, but no-one would be able to see us, not even if they stopped and peered into the alley. My eyes had adjusted to the dark, and I could just about make out Jennifer before me. She kissed me again and then pushed me away from her, and I watched as she grabbed hold of the hem of the t-shirt and raised it up over her belly, revealing milky skin, and then over her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra and even in the shadows I could see how hard her nipples were. I started to unfasten my jeans. There was a noise behind me, and I saw Jennifer’s eyes flick up and over my right shoulder. Before I could even turn my head something struck above my right ear, sending a cloud of pain through my temple and pitching me forward. I felt my feet slip on the slippery bricks of the alleyway and I lost my footing, stumbled and fell heavily, and my face crashed against the ground. Before I could turn or even cry out there was the sound of heavy footsteps behind me, and then I felt a fresh agony as a boot drove itself into my kidneys. I rolled over and tried to come up with the mementum but the boot caught me again, this time against the base of my spine. It was too dark to see anything, to get any bearings, and I called out Jennifer’s name, told her to run before the boot caught me again in the stomach and the air whooshed out of me and I went face down in the alley. I couldn’t hear anything save for the sounds of people moving close behind me and the sounds of traffic out on the street. I looked up and saw a yellow taxicab pass the alley entrance, but it may have well been a thousand miles away. I took another blow, this time to my ribs, and I cried out as my hair was grasped by a large hand and my head was yanked backward, stretching my throat and causing the cry to turn to a gag. Tape was wrapped briskly around my mouth, cutting off any future plans that I might have had of noise, and a knee slammed me in the back as I was held down, and I wondered where Jennifer was or what was happening to her. She hadn’t made a sound since I’d been attacked. I closed my eyes, dirty stone caressing my cheek and a mixture of blood and mucus pouring out of my nose making breathing a near impossibility. I could sense two people, one kneeling, one standing. From the position that I was in there was no way that I could make out any details, and when I tried to twist my neck to see my head was once again pulled up by the hair and my nose was smashed into the ground, bringing more blood and making my eyes smart. And still I heard nothing save for the deep breathing of whoever was above me and the street traffic. Then a voice, deep and rough, close enough to my ear so I could smell sweat and dope on his breath. ‘You’ve got to understand.’ The knee moved from my back but I was still held by large hands, and even if I could get away I was in too much pain to do anything about it. The powerful grip twisted me around and threw me back against the wall of the alley, and I lay slumped in a heap against the gutter that ran the length of the building. I looked up and saw the shapes of three figures standing menacingly above me. Two were obviously big, heavily built guys. But the third? The third was... A flashlight snapped on, the full brightness of the beam concealed by a palm covering the lens, and it was at that moment that I realised what a complete fucking idiot I’d been. It was also the moment that I seemed to lose a few more of my precious brain cells to insanity. Jennifer stood above me, flanked by the two big men who’d just given me a decent beating. She was unharmed, her hair and clothes neatly in place, and the same smile that I’d seen throughout the day still on her face. But this time, I noticed, the smile never touched her eyes. ‘Look at you down there,’ she whispered, all measure of beauty now gone from her voice. ‘Look at the state of you.’ She paused and crouched down before me, contemplated me for a moment. ‘Did you really think you were going to get to fuck me?’ I didn’t know what to think, how to think. Fires of pain were coursing through my body and my mind was incapable of rationalities. I felt like I wanted to be sick, and as soon as the thought crossed my mind I felt the bile rising in my stomach, and one of the goons must have realised what was about to happen because he ripped the tape away a mere moment before I threw up, foul vomit and more than a little blood splattering the floor of the alley. I spat and looked up at where Jennifer had jumped away from me and was eyeing me with obvious disgust. ‘Why?’ I said, my voice shaky and sounding as if I was about to cry. ‘Just tell me why you did this?’ ‘Because I can,’ she replied. ‘You like to watch me. I like to watch you.’ ‘I don’t understand.’ She crouched down beside me once again. ‘It’s like this. You came breezing onto the set of my movie today full of yourself, and as soon as you saw me you wanted to have me. I know you did, I saw it in your eyes. And it was possible that you might well have, had it not for us being disturbed. I let you have a taste of what might have been but that wasn’t enough for you, was it? You had to come back for more.’ She stopped and brushed her fingers against my hair, making me flinch. ‘I knew you’d forgotten your phone, and I knew you’d be back,’ she continued. ‘That’s why I had Amy all over me as soon as I could. It wasn’t you that had got me horny, it was the thought of you seeing me, of watching me. Just knowing that you were there turned me on even more. And then you left me your number, which was fine, but also address of that website. I frowned and ran my tongue over one of my front teeth. It felt loose and my whole gumline was throbbing. ‘Are you telling me that this is all because I told you about Literotica?’ She shook her head. ‘No, I’ve got no problems with your cute little site. I said I liked it and I meant that. But you leaving that for me to discover that place was like a little message. Like a game. And I love playing games.’ I stayed silent but nodded my head in agreement. That was something I had begun to realise. ‘It’s a game to me to turn you on, like I did in my trailer, and like I did when I was talking to you on the phone. It makes me horny to know how far I can take things, how far I can lead people into doing what I want them to. Like getting you to come into this alleyway with me. That was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be.’ I spat blood again. ‘Did you have to have the shit beaten out of me as well?’ I said, and looked up at her with an eye that was already beginning to swell shut. She smiled. ‘Actually, yes. That’s all part of it too. As I said, I like to watch, no matter what it might be. I thought you might have put up more of a fight though. I’d like to have seen that.’ I struggled into a sitting position and felt my back scream in protest. ‘I’ll bet. What makes you think I won’t just call the cops?’ I said, already feeling stupid for even saying it. Jennifer laughed, and this time the brick-shithouse twins laughed with her. ‘Because you’ve got nothing to tell them. Who’s going to believe you? And anyway, I know far too much about you. Where you work, your phone number, everything. What do you think your magazine would say if they knew that they’d flown you over to LA and you’d spent most of your time trying to fuck one of the stars of the film you’d come to report on? Or if I complained to the production manager of my movie that you’d been sneaking around and spying on the stars. What kind of phone call do you think he’d make?’ She looked down at me, and there was almost pity for me in her eyes. Shockingly, that was the most painful thing of all. ‘This is my game, Rich. Mine. And I always win. You were never even in it.’ She made a quick gesture to the twins and they stepped into line behind her as she turned and walked to the entrance of the alley, shutting the flashlight off as she went. I watched as they appeared in the light from the street, and Jennifer stopped and turned back towards me. ‘Have a good flight home,’ she said. ‘And maybe you could a write a story about me for that site, if you get the chance. Just make sure you only tell the good parts though, or who knows what could happen.’ She blew me a quick kiss and left, and I watched her and one of the guys get into the backseats of the Audi while the other squeezed his way into the drivers position. The indicator flashed, and a second later the car pulled away into traffic, out of my line of sight and out of my life. I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged myself as I sat there, grim relief against what had just happened but better than nothing. My whole body felt alive with pain and I groaned as I moved. I tried to look at my watch but the face was broken and twisted, so instead I just sat there with my head on my knees and thought over and over again how stupid I’d been. Tears came and I let them, and the salt ran down my face and stung sharply against the grazed skin that I knew was there. I stayed that way for a long time, listening to the traffic, to the people moving past the alley entrance, and to the sound of my own heartbeat knocking against my chest... ********** I finally got back to my room after skirting around the back of The Marriott and giving a porter the last ten dollars from my wallet if he’d let me into the building through the back kitchens. He did, and I fended away his questions by telling him that I’d been mugged in the street, which wasn’t far from the truth. To his credit he never even suggested calling the police, and I neither knew nor cared if he believed me or not. He gave me a shot of scotch and took one himself before showing me to the service stairs and telling me too take it easy. Seven flights of stairs when you’re healthy is tiring. When your broken and bleeding it’s exhausting, and my joints were aching so badly and my ribs were giving me so much pain by the time I’d made it to my room that I was virtually weeping again. I was afraid to let myself look at my reflection, and instead found a trash bag and stuffed my ruined jeans and bloodstained shirt inside before I bought the shower to life and hobbled underneath it. The water stung wherever it touched my skin, but I endured it, leant with my hands on the tiled wall and looked at the water draining away beneath my feet turn from pink to clear. The spray massaged my aches and made me feel slightly better, but by the time I’d stepped out and gingerly toweled myself dry I started to throb in many places once again. My ribs were in a bad way and I suspected one or two might be cracked. I needed to check myself out. It took me a moment to pluck up the courage to look at myself in the mirror, and when I did I wasn’t disappointed. My nose had taken it badly, there was a lot of crusted blood still in my nostrils and bruising was already starting to appear under my eyes. An ugly graze worked a haphazard route down my right cheek past the corner of my mouth, and when I painfully parted my lips I could see that one of my front teeth was chipped and that my gumline was raw. The left side of my face was relatively unscathed, but there was a mass of yellow and brown already forming around my ribs. When I turned around and looked over my shoulder I glimpsed more bruising to my lower back and between my shoulder blades. Even my fingers hurt. I couldn’t bear to look any longer, and instead I limped to the bed and eased myself between the cool sheets, placed a call to reception for a six a.m wakeup call. It took a good five minutes to get myself into a position that I could call comfortable, and after I settled I started to think of how I was going to explain my beating to everyone when I got home, and how I was going to be able to write the article on Daredevil without thinking constantly about what had happened to me. Most of all though, I thought about Jennifer, about the type of person that she was and the reasons why, and why there were some games played in this life that I wanted no part of. That night I lay awake for a very long time. ********** I made it back to London late the next afternoon and walked through Heathrow looking like I’d just spent the weekend in Kuwait. Both the reception staff at The Marriott and the customs officials at JFK and Heathrow took an interest in my lumps and scrapes, but I stuck with the line about being mugged and they all bought it. Back in the office the guys expressed concern and bought me beers as a consolation, and my friends and family fussed around me and made all the right sympathetic noises. My editor Barney was naturally for concerned more for the story than my health, but seemed satisfied when I told him I’d got plenty of material while I was over there. That wasn’t a lie; I’d got plenty of material all right, some of it I was desperately trying to forget. It took me a few days longer than normal to write the story, mainly because I kept grinding to a halt while dark thoughts entered my mind, but eventually it was done and Barney was satisfied. It was due to be published in January in preperation for the film’s release a month later, and I took my fee and used it to pay for a long weekend away in Prague with a couple of close friends. I felt I deserved to do something worthwhile with the cash. I started to forget about what happened in Los Angeles and got on with my life, until February this year and the worldwide release of Daredevil bought all the memories flooding back. I saw the trailers and looked at production photos with Ben Affleck in his superb costume and Colin Farrell and Michael Clark Duncan hamming it up as villians, and I knew that the movie was going to be a hit. I’d known that the day I stepped on the set. And of course, I saw pictures of Jennifer Garner, looking beautiful and deadly in her leather outfits, and I knew that many guys were going to start going crazy about her. I also knew that the girl I saw on the trailers was very different from the one that I’d met. Very different. So after a few sleepless nights and a couple of sweat-soaked nightmares, I decided to exercise the demons from my mind in the only way that I knew how; I’d write them out. I’d been toying around with the idea of another story for Literotica, something based in as much reality as I could, and now I had the perfect material to work with. Jennifer had even suggested it with the very last thing she’d said to me. The result is the story you’ve just read, and against the advice Jennifer gave me, I’ve left everything in with nothing edited out. I hope you’ve enjoyed it, but most of all I wonder if she’s enjoyed it, if for the last few months since our encounter she’s been monitoring the site and waiting for something about her to appear. I wonder if it’s given her a secret thrill, or if my telling of the story will one night find me losing my bearings in an alleyway again? I’ve changed my phone number and put the Atlantic between us, but you never know what might happen. I wait for the next move, and wonder if I really should be playing this dangerous game... Fade to Black Something was odd. Dan looked over at his neighbor's garage. The door was open, and trash cans were spilling out onto the driveway. It just wasn't like Kyle to leave his doors open. Raccoons are such a nuisance in this neighborhood. He walked over and noticed the paper on the lawn. This was just a little out of the ordinary. Kyle ran every day, and always stopped for his paper. He also never left the front door open. Kyle was a theatrical tech designer, and was always working with sound or lighting projects in his home studio. These projects often required silence or darkness, and for that reason, and the raccoons in the woods bordering their back yards, he had developed the habit of buttoning up the house quite tightly unless he or Jeannie were outside in the yard. Dan knocked on the frame of the open door and called inside to see if anyone was home. Just as he was about to call out to see if everyone was ok, he saw Kyle lying on the floor in the doorway to his studio. A small pool of blood had formed beneath Kyle's head. His face looked battered. His arm was bent back at a hideous angle, and there was bruising anywhere not covered by clothing. Kyle had been beaten in his own home, and left without aid. Dan quickly dialed 911 on his cell as he called out for Jeannie. He managed to restrain the adrenaline pumping energy through his veins long enough to give the 911 operator all the information he could, then raced from room to room to ensure that she wasn't also lying beaten in another room, needing his help. She wasn't there. Dan had barely completed his sweep of the house when a police car pulled up in front of the house, lights blazing. An ambulance followed closely, and while the EMT crew attended to Kyle, the police questioned Dan about what he had found. As Kyle was rushed to the emergency room, one question reverberated in everyone's mind, Where was Jeannie? Fade To Black Kyle and Jeannie met in college. They were both enrolled in theatre programs in drama schools in NY, right in the heart of one of the most active theatre communities in the world. She was studying to be an actress, learning how to create the illusion of a story on the stage. She was wonderful, but somehow she had difficulty taking direction, and much preferred to give it. Her teachers noticed this, and noticed how creative her ideas could be. They began to groom her for a career as a director or in theatre management. Kyle was into the back stage magic of the theatre. He didn't have to create illusions as an actor did, he created different realities through sound, lights, effects and his set designs. He made it so the actor's job was easy for an audience to believe. Kyle was immediately recognized as brilliant. He was one of those rare talents who understood all the aspects of technical theatre, and was as comfortable designing a lighting look as he was a sound plot. They met when they were both hired to do a summer stock project up in Connecticut the summer after their junior year. Jeannie was brought there as stage manager for her mentor and professor, who had just been hired as the director for two of the company's four summer productions. Kyle had worked there for two previous summers as a house electrician, but this year had become the assistant lighting director, and had the opportunity to design one of the shows. Working closely together the two were instantly attracted to each other. These would be there first of many productions together, both as students and later as they built careers in the field. Jeannie was a slender, willowy vision, with a killer smile beneath her deep brown eyes. She was deliciously curvy where it counted, but without a speck of extra weight. Her long tanned legs poked out from the shorts she always wore, and her tops were conservative enough to say "Please behave...." while just revealing enough to say "I may have a surprise for you." Kyle was dashingly handsome. He was an avid runner, claiming his best ideas came during his morning roadwork once his brain was cleared of the mish mash of day to day distraction. He looked like he worked out regularly, but really didn't need to. The day to day lifting and climbing he had to do was a perfect replacement for the weight training his friends advocated. He was fit and trim, and reasonably sure that if he kept doing the work of realizing his plots even when he was the designer, he would stay that way for life. They had spent two weeks of hollering at each other from remote corners of the theatre, focusing lights, aiming special effects speakers, and calling cues before they finally got to sit down with each other. They had to program cues into the lightboard, and while they sat together became increasingly friendly. When they had finished, Jeannie leaned over and kissed Kyle on the cheek, saying how much she enjoyed working with him, and that he made her job something to look forward to every day. Kyle kissed her back, only not on the cheek. She responded, and their little tete a tete in the control booth became rather heated. The theatre door below opened and slammed as the director came in and called to them. "Kyle! Jeannie! Are you finished yet? We need to lock up!" They quickly straightened themselves out, and came down from the booth. "All done, and you're going to love it!" Jeannie answered as she scampered down the stairs well ahead of Kyle, intent on hiding their little tryst They began to look for opportunities to be together, but as the production began its run, time became precious. Jeannie rode every day with her prof from her apartment in the city, while Kyle was staying at home, a short drive in the other direction. One night, Jeannie's prof wasn't coming to the show, but staying in the city to celebrate his daughter's birthday. Jeannie would be in charge, but had no place to stay. Kyle offered the guest room at his home. No one else was there, as his parents spent summers up at the Cape, so there was plenty of room. Jeannie was delighted. She didn't really they would need a lot of room. One bed would do. It was late when they got to his house. Jeannie had fallen asleep in the car, and he didn't want to put her off by taking advantage of her being so tired. After all, she was becoming very special to him. He didn't feel towards her like he did those shallow girls he'd picked up at either his college parties or one of the many post show theatre parties he'd been to. So when they got to his home, he was the perfect gentleman, the perfect host. He brought her to her room, at least the room where he intended her to sleep, and made sure she was settled. Then he crept off to his own room for a much needed rest. There would be time to visit the next day. He was vaguely aware of the door to his room opening, and of someone joining him in his bed. Soft, slender arms enwrapped him, and the sweetest kiss he'd ever experience was delicately placed on his lips. He could feel her naked body's warmth pressed against his. She kissed the back of his neck as her hand slid down his chest, under the waistband of his shorts, and caressed his steadily hardening cock. He turned and kissed her hungrily. She slid his shorts down his legs, and pressed her body against his. Her breast felt so warm pressed against him. His penis slid gently between her legs, and entered her welcoming wetness. Their bodies joined, and began to sway beneath the sheets as they kissed hard and groped each others' bodies in the discovery of a first lovemaking. "Kyle? Kyle? Get Doctor Kenton, he's waking up. Kyle." His vision flickered and was greeted by the harsh fluorescent tubes of the lights in the hospital recovery room. It was hard to focus, and he was quite confused. Only one eye was working. He tried to rise, but was restrained, and he immediately began to struggle against the restraints. "Easy, Easy, Kyle! You've been in rough shape, but we'll get you through it. Don't fight us! We're on your side." He relaxed onto the bed and regarded the post-op nurse who was talking to him. Doctor Kenton will be right here and explain everything. "What's wrong with my eye!?" Kyle was alarmed as he realized his eye was heavily bandaged. "It was badly hurt, but I have to wait and let the doctor talk to you. Stay Calm he'll be right here." Indeed the doctor arrived very shortly. He examined Kyle as he explained his injuries. Kyle had been beaten. His eye was bandaged because it had taken at least one serious blow. An optical surgeon had repaired the detached retina, but work had to be done to repair fractures of the skull around the eye socket as well. He had suffered a pretty severe concussion as a result of the blow that had caused these injuries, and they were very glad to see that he still had control of speech. Kyle's arm was severely broken and in a cast. He had nearly died as a result of a ruptured spleen and internal hemorrhaging. If his neighbor had been an hour later in finding him, he wouldn't have survived. His nose was broken, along with several ribs. He had been unconscious for two days since he was discovered, and they were still trying to determine the time of his attack in order to gauge how long he had been lying unattended. "I don't remember an attack." The doctor frowned and began to ask questions of Kyle. When he realized that Kyle couldn't remember any of the circumstances surrounding the weekend or the Friday before, he began to ask general questions. When finished, Dr. Kenton knew that Kyle couldn't remember anything that had happened since his freshman year, before meeting Jeannie. Kyle's attack had left him with severe memory loss, and only time would tell how soon it might return. Detective Porter, who had been assigned the task of investigating Kyle's case, was visibly disturbed. His timeline of the incidents leading up to the attack had reached a dead end at last Friday, when Kyle had de-activated the home security. Where was Jeannie all this time? Fade to Black Senior year had been a blur. Kyle saw Jeannie regularly, and their love grew daily. Both of their careers were already established by the end of the year, with Kyle working regularly as designer at several small suburban houses, and frequently backstage at downtown theatres for established designers. Jeannie landed a job backstage at one of the large opera companies resident at Lincoln Center, a steady job with great benefits she could keep for life. They shared a small apartment around the corner from her theatre and enjoyed the bustling performing arts scene in the city. He remembered the tender moments they shared. She was a tasteful decorator and a master shopper, and had done their apartment up in such a chic manner they had become a popular hangout for their friends. He was a gourmet cook, and whether making a dinner for themselves and company, or just for candlelight on the two of them, he always had her eyes rolling in delight over his delicious cooking. Her eyes rolled in bed too! He had a way of pushing her buttons sexually that she never could have wished for. He could make her cum a dozen ways. She was a bit embarrassed that oral and anal sex disgusted her, and had done her best to accommodate him, but couldn't follow through. It didn't affect Kyle though. He always seemed satisfied to finish by slowly entering her, and gently thrusting his penis into her aching pussy. He loved holding it still while buried to the hilt inside her. He loved clutching her tightly to him and kissing her until she could stand no more and began to ride his engorged cock, sliding back and forth while their mouths were cemented in a kiss. She would moan into his mouth when she came, humping wildly against him by that time forcing his own orgasm to explode deep within her. Kyle woke in a cold sweat, still in his hospital bed. Jeannie. How did Jeannie fit into his life now. They had told him of his amnesia, and how slowly it might come back. They told him he would have sporadic episodes like this, and would almost be re-living his life as the oldest memories lost would be the first to return. He wasn't prepared for how vivid the dreams were, or how much thoughts of making love disturbed him. Earlier today, Kyle could only think of Jeannie as a girl he knew from the summer stock company, and now he had these memories of living with her flooding back. He was anxious to remember how she fit into his life over the years his concussion had stolen from him. Where was Jeannie now? Memories of their early life seeped back into his mind over the next days. Her advancement in her career led to an eventual position as a stage manager for a very active suburban theatre which hosted plays and concerts alike. It was a company that liked Kyle's work and used him often. The couple did well financially, and decided to marry. He could remember the wedding now. In vivid detail, the ceremony in the small church came streaming back. He could hear the small organ playing Bach, and smell the distinct aroma of the beeswax candles burning at the altar as his eyes watered at the luscious sight of his bride walking towards him, smiling. He could taste the delectable meal at the little Greek restaurant where they had their wedding feast. They had danced and then hugged their family and friends as they left for the little inn where they would spend their wedding night. It was perfect. The room was lit by the fire in a brick hearth just beyond the foot of their bed. They stood beside the flickering flames and kissed. They swayed to music that wasn't there. Tenderly, he unbuttoned her satin gown. As elegant as she had looked wearing, the glow of the fire did even more for her nakedness. He body was beautiful, and she approached Kyle slowly, taking him in her arms. He returned her passionate kisses, and swept her body to the bed. They made love slowly that night, each spending time to know every inch of the other's body. They kissed every inch of each other, and when finished making love, spent hours gazing at each other's face, dreaming together of a long life growing old together. They woke up in the morning as they fell asleep, face to face, gazing at each other. Finally she pulled herself close to him, and he felt her leg wrap around his hip. His hardness responded, and soon he entered her again. Soon her eyes rolled back as she entered yet another orgasm. He wasn't far behind, and he came holding her tightly. Again Kyle woke in his hospital bed in a cold sweat. He still couldn't stay awake for long, but always woke up distressed when his dreams involved sex with Jeannie. Why did he always awaken in such a startled fashion this way? Was he still married to Jeannie? If he was, where was she? He asked the nurse to tell him what they knew about him. "I can't do that," she replied. "I don't know enough about you to be able to fill in blanks. I can help prompt you to remember, but if I offer something wrong, it could cause worse problems. Unfortunately, your concussion and the condition of your eye dictate we keep you calm and quiet. Stress isn't an option right now, my friend." Dr. Kenton came by on his evening rounds. He was pleased to see Kyle remembering events up to his wedding, but there was still a 15 year gap. He agreed to give Kyle some information, as long as Kyle received it calmly. "You are still married to Jeannie, according to the neighbor who found you and saved your life. You are still working as a freelance theatre designer, and do quite well. You own a fine home very near this hospital. You and your wife have had no children, but otherwise are the stereotypical happy couple living the American dream." The doc went on to explain the seriousness of Kyle's injuries again, now that Kyle seemed more alert and lucid. They had all confidence that he would recover fully from everything. He went into medical explanations of each injury in detail, and Kyle heard nothing but blah blah blah. He wasn't hearing the answer to the question he wanted to ask but could only think: Where's Jeannie? Jeannie laid back on the dock beside the lake. The water felt cool on the fingers of the hand that draped over the edge. Clouds hovered overhead, slowly making their journey over the hills that rose steeply on either side of the lake. She was in another world, far from the rat race in the city, away from the constant demands of sniveling actors and Prima Donna musicians that came to perform on her stage. She was also far from Kyle. She didn't quite know what to think of that realization. She was sure she loved Kyle still, but he was such a workaholic. He could never find time to get way, and his schedule was so rigid she just didn't feel like their time together was a priority. This little getaway with Steve was just what she needed. What could Kyle do to her anyway, divorce her? Oh well! She looked over at Steve. He stood on the shore, with his back turned to her, curling dumbbells in the sun as he completed his morning workout. Muscles rippled up and down his back, his huge arms glistening with sweat. Steve had been a college football star, and had played several seasons in the NFL before injuring his knee. Now Steve ran a local health club chain, and kept his body in this rippling lean state. He had been smart about his money, and hired a manager who invested his NFL earnings in real estate. Who cared that he was dumb as could be about every thing except money? He couldn't hold a conversation about anything except football and body building, but when he swept her into his embrace it was like something out of a dime novel. She swooned when he lifted her and carried her to the bed. So he was a little small in the department where most men measure themselves for comparison, he loved licking her pussy for hours. She in turn loved the orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. "Ok Kyle," she mused "divorce away! We have no kids to hurt, and look what I'll wind up with! I'll be married to Mr. Universe. That makes me Mrs. Universe! I'll trade in a dusty theatre for a gym where I can work out when I want, or sit around ogling body builders in lycra tights all day if I prefer." She couldn't wait for his call. After Kyle confronted them at the house as they left last Friday, she had half expected a process server to track her down here with divorce papers anyway. She picked up her cell for the hundredth time today, just to make sure it was working and ready for his call. The battery was charged. There was a full signal, thanks to that convenient cell phone tower she spied up on the hill top. The ringer was on loud, but there were no calls from Kyle. They hadn't called her from work, as she had arranged this vacation week months ago. No calls from Kyle, a week after he had begged her not to go with Steve. How can you beg for someone's attention one minute, and then not call for a week!? Yet here it was Friday and nothing from Kyle. She sat up on the dock. Her naked body glowed with a weeks worth of sunning all afternoon and touring different wineries and sampling different taverns each night. She loved the Finger Lakes. The evening sun cast such a beautiful glow on everything here. Why had Kyle always insisted on vacationing at the cottage on the Cape? No crowds here, no teeny bopper beaches, just the quiet solitude of the woods. Kyle again. She couldn't break free from thinking of him. Why hadn't he called, it was so strange? She sat up and called her home number. The message service answered. It was aggravating to hear a recording of her own voice answer. She left a message in Kyle's box, that she'd be home early Sunday, and they could talk then. When she hung up, she sat pensively with the phone still in her hand. Maybe there would be no divorce. Maybe Kyle would roll over and beg her to come home. Yes, he'd do better from now on! Cook clean and keep her in the manner befitting a goddess. Ah yes, Kyle the cuckold would serve her every whim, while she ran off to enjoy the fabulous body of her stud Steve. Of course, after Steve swept her off her feet and served her with his talented tongue, she could always go home and have Kyle fill her throbbing but empty pussy with that big beautiful dick of his. She'd make him beg, and he'd never ask for oral or anal again. Although, she' found them to be not quite as disgusting since she had tried them as forbidden fruit in her affair with Steve, so maybe she'd offer them to Kyle as a way of placating the anger he was surely feeling. Mmmmmm, it was a delicious dream.... Fade to Black Kyle should be home. If he was angry, why hadn't he called, and if he wasn't angry, what was he feeling. She knew he didn't have a show this weekend. He wasn't home, he hadn't called in a week, he hadn't even sent a text. This was very strange. He was robbing her of the argument she had been rehearsing in her mind since she left. She wanted this fight, she wanted to see his passion, and he wasn't even satisfying her with it now. She called home again, and this time keyed in the code to her personal message box instead of the general family box. It was full. There were frantic calls from neighbors, from Kyle's mom, and most disturbingly several from a detective Porter. Apparently Kyle had been badly hurt. Apparently, his injury had attracted police attention. Oh my... Her mind raced, but eventually focused back on the last time she had seen Kyle. Kyle kneeled on the floor begging her not to go. He clung to her bag, telling her nothing could be so bad that she'd go away like this without even telling him anything. She'd expected a more dignified reaction, and saw this display as beneath him. "Honestly, I don't know how you can expect me to respect you as a man. Get up and face facts. You don't treat me like I'm important, Steve does. You lift lights high into position on a pipe, Steve lifts me into bed in arms so strong they leave me breathless. You complain that I don't make love passionately to you any more anyway, so what will you be missing? I need a week away. I need a vacation, not at the Cape. I need to know how another man can make me feel, how it feels to be worshipped. " She looked at him with disdain as he sat back. Steve stood snickering quietly in the doorway. It caused her to grin as well. "Be a man. Let me go. If he doesn't measure up, I'll be back next week, and we can talk." Kyle let go of the suitcase. "If you leave, everything will change. There's no going back to where we were." "Why do you think the place where we were was so special?" She grabbed her bag and went out the door. "I'll be right there," said Steve. "I just got something to say to this little wimp." As Jeannie sauntered to the car, Steve walked up behind the sullen Kyle, who was slumped where he still kneeled in the hall. Steve's massive arm sent his fist hurtling towards the back of Kyle's skull. The beating was short but uneventful. Since the first blow had smashed Kyle's face into the baseboard, he was unconscious from the start. He didn't feel Steve kicking his gut, or pummeling him with his fists. He didn't feel his spleen rupture, his bones break. Steve wanted to leave a memory of intense pain for Kyle to wake up to. He left without closing the door, got in the car with Jeannie, and headed north to the lake. Jeannie smiled the entire trip. She remembered meeting Steve last winter. Kyle had always stayed so trim and fit with his running and high physical level at work. She however had plumped up a bit, and though not fat, looked much closer to 40 than her husband of the same age. She joined Steve's gym and contracted him as her trainer. She could still remember the way he had first felt her up in the hot tub when they were the only two there. She had been so enamored by the attention she had let Steve take her upstairs to his apartment and they fucked wildly all night. It had been like nothing she had experienced with Kyle. Though Steve's dick was smaller than Kyle, he was so vigorous in its use he was an animal in bed. Kyle had been on a trip to supervise a touring troupe of his latest show in Chicago, and was away for a week. He even called her and spoke tenderly of how he missed her that first night at the very moment Steve was sliding his rock hard dick in and out of her tight virgin asshole. Steve came in, spewing his seed into her bowels just as Kyle was hanging up with a tender "I love you." As Jeannie's ass spasmed as she whispered "I love you" too, though really not directing her words at Kyle, but at Steve. She fucked and sucked Steve in every imaginable way that week, until Kyle arrived home that Sunday too weary from travel to make love. It was a good thing. Because Steve's sperm was at the very moment dripping out of the just-fucked pussy of Jeannie into her sopping wet panties. Jeannie woke from her daydream worried. She worried about Kyle's condition, because she really did still love him. She also worried about the ominous message Detective Porter had left, asking her to contact him regarding the matter of Kyle's beating. He wasn't calling to inform her of the attack, it sounded more like something she should already be aware of. She saw the hulking figure of Steve finishing his workout with chin ups on a low hanging branch. "Steve, what did you mean when you said it was taken care of, he was defeated?" Steve looked up, "What do you mean?" "Last Friday, at my house, when we left, and you came out of the house after me, you said 'It's taken care of, he's defeated.' What did you mean by that?" "Aw you know, just marking my new turf. I had to let him know who rules the roost. There's only one top dog in any pack baby, and I'm gonna make sure I'm yours." "Steve, what did you do?" "I punched him in the nose, roughed him up a little. It was really no big deal." "Steve, the police left a message on my machine, Kyle was badly hurt!" "Not by me baby," Steve lied. "He was awake and moaning when I left. Maybe he got hurt after getting drunk, or had a burglar beat him after we left." "We have to go back." "No way," he answered, "we have two more days of sunning and drinking and two more nights of fuckin' to do!" "Steve, this is serious. Kyle was badly injured, and the police will be suspicious that I wasn't there, and wasn't in contact. It's not going to look good if you hit him, he turns up beaten, and we don't come back! You want to trade two nights of fuckin for two years in jail?" She scurried into the house, and packed both of their bags. When she came out, Steve had packed his most important personal items, his dumbbells into the trunk of his car. "Ok, you may have a point he said. Let's go." They tossed the bags in back, locked the cabin, and raced south. Fade to black. Kyle's bandages were removed from his eye Friday morning. His body clock was finally freeing itself from the effects of his trauma and the anesthesia for his surgeries. He was alert and flirting with his nurses. Repeated interviews with the police had yielded nothing yet, which frustrated Detective Porter. Kyle was pleased to have remembered his pleasant home life with Jeannie, his work on shows up until about a year ago. He also remembered some sort of big project with his studio. There was something that involved his recording rig, something about sound effects. It nagged at him, but he couldn't get a clear sense of what it meant. He also remembered an intense pain. Somehow, it felt related to the pains in his head, but he couldn't place how. He slept easily Friday night, knowing he'd be able to go home Saturday. As Kyle was falling asleep Jeannie arrived home to a dark house. Steve carried her bag in for her, and both were stunned to see the notice taped to the door that the area had been a crime scene, but that processing was complete, and occupants could return. Inside, Jeannie froze at the sight of a large pool of dried blood on the hallway floor where Kyle had lain. She looked at Steve. "Just a punch in the nose, huh?" Steve blanched. In his rage he may have gone a little overboard, and if he left Kyle in a critical state without aid, he could be charged with something more than a simple assault. His mind searched for an explanation. It wasn't his mind that he had exercised to a precision machine. "We can't tell the cops I hit him." Steve said. "We have to tell them I left first, carrying your bag to the car, and that he was fine when you left." "This is bad, Steve. This is very bad." "Jeannie, stick to the story, we'll be ok. We'll look like heels for leaving and not being here for him, but they can't pin anything on us." "Us?" Jeannie was incredulous. "I was in the car. Anything that gets pinned on anything will be on your sorry hide, not mine! Separating from Kyle, even divorcing him is one thing. Going to jail for beating him is another!" "You were with me baby. And you heard me say he was defeated. You are in this with me. I may not be the smartest guy on the block, but I know what an accomplice is." She thought about it, and realized Steve was right. She wouldn't be able to explain their abrupt departure away, unless they claimed they left Kyle in good shape, leaving the possibility that someone else had come in and beaten him. How did she get into this mess anyway? She agreed with Steve, and they set their story straight. By the time they had decided what to say, it was nearly midnight. She called detective Porter, and he told them he would meet them at the police station immediately. This was an urgent matter and couldn't wait until morning. Jeannie wanted to go to the hospital first, but Detective Porter was insistent. He told her that Kyle was medically out of the woods, and was probably resting. He pointed out that she hadn't been in a hurry to see Kyle when he was in critical condition, and even tonight she had gone home rather than directly to the hospital. There was no reason to disturb his rest, which was badly needed for his recovery. There were questions that needed to be answered. Jeannie didn't respond until the detective offered to have a patrolman pick her up and drive her. She and Steve got in the car, and headed to the station. They were questioned separately, but both had rehearsed their story. They didn't offer much, relying on a lot of "I don't know." They did admit they had been at the house and seen Kyle. They admitted he had been very distraught when they had left, but that he was physically unharmed. Porter didn't believe them, but had no evidence to prove his hunch. He was aware that Kyle was being released from the hospital today, so he decided to hold the two in lockup until Kyle had a chance to get settled, and until Porter could warn him his wife was coming home. It might also give Steve and Jeannie a chance to believe the other had rolled and given up the truth, and maybe they cold get them to talk more freely. Porter was waiting when Dan, Kyle's neighbor brought him home. Kyle got out gingerly, still very sore from his savage attack. He waved Porter into the house. Dan's wife Kim had been over earlier and cleaned up the hallway. The house was beautiful and inviting, and something smelled delicious. She smiled as she came out of the kitchen, inviting everyone to the table for a home-cooked welcome-home meal. Though Kyle appreciated Kim's efforts, especially cleaning up the reminders of the incident, he was uneasy being home. He cold now remember events that happened last week, right up until the day of the incident, and not having those last pieces frustrated him. Kim and Dan cleaned up the kitchen, and said their goodbyes. They had worked out a schedule with some of the other neighbors to drop in every hour or two and make sure he was ok, at least over the weekend. They made certain he knew that if he needed anything, he should call right away. As they left, Detective Porter looked at Kyle and said, "She'll be home soon you know." "I know. She was here already." Kyle nodded at Jeannie's bag by the door. "I know. I held them today, just to make sure you were squared away and ready to meet her. He'll probably be with her." "I'm ready." Detective Porter noted the resolve in Kyle's voice, and the determination in his eyes. "I want to show you something." Kyle led Porter into his studio. Porter was impressed with the array of sound gear, digital imaging equipment, and computer gear in the room. Kyle led him to a computer workstation connected to a large mixing board. "This is my main audio recording rig. I have all kinds of interesting files on here. Some of them I forgot, until just a minute ago. For the last day or two a memory has been nagging at me. There was something about a project I was working on, but couldn't remember. When Dan and Kim left, it reminded me of another couple leaving the house, the couple that left the house last Friday just before I was attacked. It is possible I was recording something when they came to call, and neglected to turn the recorder off. It is possible there is an audio file on here that would explain things to you, in case something happens to me. It is possible that I recorded everything from the time Jeannie and Steve left here until the recording reached my pre-set limit, which was set to 12 hours." "I should just take that in to our lab." "I wish you wouldn't. I'd be happy if you let me fight my own battles." Detective Porter regarded Kyle. He wasn't suspicious. He didn't have to be, because he knew Kyle's intent was to return the thrashing and humiliation Steve had generously lavished on him last week. "Kyle, I love to watch a good bare knuckled fight, unfortunately, I'd have to arrest both the participants and witnesses. I also love to see an underdog come back strong and take back what he lost. Steve is a big guy, and works out hard at that gym." "It won't matter." "Hey, what I don't know won't hurt me. Just give yourself time to heal a bit longer." Kyle nodded. Detective Porter wished him the best, and made sure Kyle had his phone number on his cell's speed dial. Fade to black Steve brought Jeannie home from the county lock up that evening. Her hair was mussed, and her clothing was disheveled. They both came into the house, but Steve waited by the door while she came alone into the living room. "Hi." She said meekly. Kyle just looked at her, expressionless. "I heard you were hurt, so I came home early." Inside, he was exploding. He wanted in the worst way to jump out of the chair and berate her for her feigned concern, for coming home a whole two days early from a trip she shouldn't have taken to have an affair he didn't understand and couldn't condone. But outwardly he showed nothing but cool. "That's right." She was surprised at his lack of emotion. After his scene begging her to stay, complete with frantic tears and draping himself over her bag, she expected more. "Are you ok now?" "I'll heal." "We have to talk." "No we don't. We talked last week." "Kyle, we can't just let this fester in our minds, you have to talk this through with me. I need to know what to expect." "Expect to separate, then divorce. Expect to go away from me and never be welcomed back. Expect me to treat you with the respect any other human deserves, but without the love and care I felt for you a week ago." Well, part of this was as she had expected, but she hadn't expected him to be so cool and calm. So she would stay a couple of days, and then move out once she had her affairs in order. She set her bag down and turned to sit. "I said you're leaving." She turned to look at him quizzically. "I meant now. Go." "I don't think you understand what's going on here. I may have offended you, and I may have ended our marriage, but I have given up no rights to my home or belongings. I'll move into the guest room, but I'm staying here until I get my things together and move out...." Before she could continue her tirade, Kyle clicked a remote in his hand. The whole house stereo he had installed sprung into action and played back a recording of last Friday's events. You could clearly hear her sarcastically belittling him as she told him she was going on a vacation with a real man, and that he couldn't stop her. You could hear Steve laughing as she told Kyle she planned to fuck and suck Steve all week, or even longer until she was satisfied. You could hear Kyle pleading with her to stay and work it out, whining pitifully to her as he fought to keep hold of her bag. Her heels clicked noisily on the floor as she left, with Steve saying "tough luck little wimp." After the door slammed shut you could hear it open again, with Jeannie calling "C'mon Steve" in the distance. He called back to her, and then you can clearly hear him say to Kyle, "Just so there are no ideas about following us, or trying to stop us." This was followed by the sickening sounds of Kyle being pummeled by Steve. You could hear Steve grunt as he kicked Kyle repeatedly in the ribs, and worse you could hear him taunting Steve, telling him how he was going to beat the shit out of him today, and then fuck the shit out of Jeannie that night. On the way out, Steve left a parting blow: "Now your head is as broken as your wimp-assed heart. You just lay there in your blood and think for an hour or two. You'll realize she needs the big dog to make her happy. But she'll come back to you when she realizes the big dog can't stay with any one bitch for long." Kyle looked at a mortified Jeannie. Steve came around the door frame scowling at Kyle. "Why you little conniving pansy..." Kyle stopped him by waving one finger. "Porter doesn't have the recording. But he'll get it if I want him too. I don't want him to put him you in jail. I want a re-match." Jeannie was horrified. Steve grinned from ear to ear. "I propose a wager. You both have to accept, and your terms are different, or there is no deal, and Porter gets a sound file in 10 minutes via e-mail. Six weeks month from today, once this cast is off my arm and my ribs have healed." "You can't win." Steve shook his head as he spoke. "No I couldn't win after that cheap shot last week. This time we fight, fair and square. No sneaking up from behind to cold cock an unsuspecting victim...you coward. You're going to see me coming, and not be able to stop me any more than I could stop you lying there unconscious last week. Are you sure you can win under those terms? Bare fisted, man to man, no weapons?" "I'll rip you up." "Bet your gym." Steve looked at him again. He wasn't prepared to risk anything of that magnitude. He owned the gym, and the building it was in, lock stock and barrel. The building had several offices which were lucrative tenants, and was an incredible cash cow. His apartment took up the top floor of the building and was a luxurious space with views over looking Long Island Sound. But Steve didn't believe this guy could be no match for a fit lifter like himself. Sure David beat Goliath, but David had a sling.... "Bet all your gyms." Steve paused to think of his expanding business. Not only did he have his flagship club, but had built six satellites around town, and they were flourishing to a point that he was considering selling franchises. "What, bet all that against your house and all this nifty electronic gear? Are you nuts?" "No, my house and gear are not on the table. You are betting against this recording and all copies. You are betting against jail time, and losing all of your property later in civil court. You are betting your businesses, your real estate." Silence hung over the room as Steve realized he would be fighting for his own freedom. "And your cars." Steve had several vintage and late model Corvettes, one from ever decade back to the 50's. They were his pride and joy, and the entire town knew it. It made the stakes incredibly high, but Steve thought Kyle was nothing. "Done." "And the cabin at the lake." "Fine, fine, you hold all the cards don't you. I'll risk it all. But there's really no risk, I'll thrash you." Kyle looked at Jeannie. She had listened to him catalog stakes to Steve, and now braced herself to hear her risk. "If I win, I want it all and I want you gone. No contesting the divorce, no taking anything from this house or our cottage, and not a dime from our bank account or investments. You have to watch every minute of the fight. You also have to live with Steve until the fight, and if I win, for an entire year after." Fade to Black Jeannie trembled, but nodded her agreement. She knew Steve was strong. But she also knew how in shape Kyle was, how much he ran. She had seen him manhandle reels of cable and lengths of pipe backstage that typically took two guys to move. "Kyle?" He looked at her with that same blank expression, and again it made her queasy to not be able to read him. "What if I'd rather bet on you?" "You already made that choice last week. This week your choice is freedom or jail" Fade to black The weeks passed quickly, and Kyle spent them building his strength back. He had begun to take lighting projects again. His absence from the scene had left a bit of a hole, and his return was widely welcomed. He was asked about his attack at every turn, but refused to give details. The circumstances surrounding his wife were the source or a torrent of rumors. It was widely known that she was now living with Steve. There were those who suspected the truth, and were waiting to see what Kyle would do about it. He was known for a tenacious personality, and none of these people believed he would suffer the indignity of a beating and the taking of his wife without reaction. The stories that Jeannie had abandoned Kyle in his darkest hour, and the fact that he was so well liked had made her a pariah in the theatre scene. The night of the fight arrived. Kyle walked into the gym in a T-shirt and sweats. Steve was already by the ring, clad in ridiculous looking boxing shorts and a muscle shirt emblazoned with the logo of the gym. Jeannie sat sullenly at a table, holding an envelope containing Steve's titles and contracts, his stakes in the bet. Steve was surrounded by many of his friends, and all of his gym staff and clients. They were all egging him on, cheering and teasing him about the "light work" he was about to take on. They teased even harder when Kyle entered the room. Kyle and his lithe runner's body looked like no match for Steve's bulging hard body. Kyle walked straight past Jeannie and dropped his folio containing his contracts, and the recording, on the table next to Steve's. As he climbed into the ring he said "Let's go! no bells, no refs, no stopping until one of us is beaten." Steve grinned and lumbered to the ropes climbed in, and offered his hand to Kyle. Kyle looked at it and without taking it, threw a jab at Steve's nose. Steve looked up, stunned, with a trickle of blood eeking out of his right nostril. "No bells!" Kyle said as he stung Steve again. The impressive bulk of Steve's physique made him look great, but he wasn't as flexible as Kyle. His stiff frame slowed down his reaction time, as he moved poorly compared to Kyle's light-footed bobbing and weaving. Steve lumbered after Kyle, but just couldn't make his big body react fast enough to pin down the speedy Kyle. Every time he got close enough to hit his opponent, Kyle made him pay with a flurry of jabs to the face. It didn't take long before Steve's face was swollen, and he slowed in his attempts to bulldoze Kyle into a corner. Steve soon realized that in the center of the ring he was no better off. Kyle didn't look that big, but he also a short man, and had a sizeable advantage in reach. He also wasn't slowing down, while Steve was getting tired from throwing so many haymakers, the best of which barely grazed their target. As Steve grew weary, Kyle began to connect to his body. It didn't take long before Steve's hands grew heavy, and dropped. Kyle picked him apart. "Give it up, Steve. You can barely stand. You can't defend. You've lost." Steve looked up at him, panting heavily. Both eyes were swollen, and blood was oozing from his nose and a nasty cut beneath the one eye that could still see. "Give it up now, and I'll leave you with more than you deserve. Apologize in front of everyone here. DO it now, and I'll just take this gym, this building and the '58 convertible. You keep the rest. If you don't give up now, I'll knock you out and keep it all." Steve knew he was beaten. His head was down already when his body sunk to its knees. "I apologize." Kyle went to the table and fished out the deeds to the building, the gym, and the title to the '58 Vette. Keys in hand he looked at the unbelieving assembly of Steve's friends and associates. "I'm closing the gym and opening a theatre school here. I will honor employment contracts you have with Steve, but will expect you to work for me in a useful capacity. If he transfers you to one of his other gyms, I will release you from your contractual obligations here. For those of you who are tenants in the building, I will honor your leases and will treat you fairly in negotiations when they are up. There will be a different atmosphere here however, as this room will be renovated into a theatre. Should you choose to vacate your leases due to this change, I will release you." Jeannie stared incredulously at Kyle. They had long shared the dream of establishing a community of theatre professionals and amateurs alike, dedicated to furthering the state of theatre arts. He was not only establishing their dream without her, he had the resources to do it because of her betrayal. She felt left out entirely, and suddenly very lonely and cold. The color drained from her face, she stared at a beaten Steve. His face lacked no pigment whatsoever, as it was already blackening with bruises, and red with blood from the cuts that his friends were just bandaging. Steve never looked so pitiful, so broken. Kyle never looked so bold. There was no gloating, no arrogance, just the cool confidence with which he did everything. Fade to black Six months later, Jeannie was still living with Steve. Neither had been interested in the other sexually since the fight. Still, they had to live together as part of their bet. It was a cool co-existence, as each believed the other was the reason for the failure of their fortunes. Jeannie had quickly and quietly moved from her home, which was now entirely Kyle's. The divorce was finalized long ago. Kyle didn't speak to her since the fight, and didn't return calls the few times she had tried to call. Steve had worked to continue to build his business, but growth had slowed as word of his failure in the ring spread. He was saving what he had by offering membership packages designed more for the elderly and moms who didn't work outside of the home. Two of his satellite gyms had closed, the rest had lost much of their glamour. He had lost his penthouse apartment when he lost his building to Kyle, and had to move in to a little condo near one of his remaining gyms that now served as his flagship. His swagger wasn't so bold now, and often was completely missing. Instead of the aura of confidence he exuded before the entire episode with Kyle, he appeared considerably less formidable. His mood was frequently sullen, and he worried continually about finances, as he no longer had the rents from his downtown building to support his other ventures. Kyle had successfully converted the main gym to a marvelous theatre space. He had converted smaller areas into rehearsal spaces, shops and dressing rooms. He carved out room for an intimate little cabaret theatre, and on the first floor and opened a coffeehouse with a small stage. A summer season was already planned, and the town was buzzing with excitement about the possibilities Kyle was proposing for actors and audiences of all ages. As was his intention Kyle had been so intently busy setting up shop, it almost seemed as if he had forgotten the entire attack which took place not even a year ago. He still remembered vividly though. He remembered every night when he walked through his own front door. He remembered every night when he fell asleep in his lonely room. He remembered every time he entered a theatre where he and Jeannie had collaborated on a project. As hard as he tried, he couldn't avoid the memories of sharing a half a lifetime, and still not knowing the woman he had considered the love of his life. He was working on a light plot at home in his studio one night when the doorbell rang. It was Jeannie's brother, Peter. Peter lived in Boston, and rarely left that city. He had in fact, only visited Jeannie twice during the entire time she and Kyle were together. His presence meant something was wrong. "Hi Kyle. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I really need to talk to you about my sister. Would you mind if I came in?" Sensing urgency in Peter's words, Kyle stepped aside and ushered him to the living room. He offered a cup of coffee or a beer, but Peter declined. "I'd really like to get right to the reason I came to see you. I'm really sorry things worked out so badly between you two. I thought you were a great couple, and want you to know our entire family was shocked by my sister's sudden change of heart. She is committed to keeping her part of the bargain. She knows she was foolish to give you up for a fling. But her life with Steve just isn't right." "She chose Steve over me," Kyle muttered. "It just seemed appropriate that she get exactly what she wanted." "She chose a fling. She was wrong and betrayed you miserably, and nobody blames you for how you responded. She was foolish, but living with Steve is torture, and now he has made it physical. He hit her, and broke her nose last night." Kyle was not pleased to hear Jeannie was being abused. He wanted her to have to live with Steve's stupidity, with his early American jock décor, with the life of a fulltime gym rat. He wanted her to be disgusted with Steve's sexist comments and expectations, with his selfish attitudes, with his inexhaustible vanity. "Take me to her." He said to Peter. "She's in the car. She wouldn't come in. She's too proud. She didn't want me coming in, and she's really pissed off. I just want you to release her from her promise to spend a whole year living with Steve. She doesn't even want that, but I think next time he'll hurt her worse." Kyle stood up slowly, and headed for the door. Peter was right behind him. "Please speak gently with her Kyle. She's been through hell, and though she brought it on herself, she's suffered enough." Kyle went to the car, and opened the door. "Please come in," he said to Jeannie. "We need to talk." Jeannie looked reluctant, but slowly got out of the car. She started into the house, and Kyle whispered to Peter, "She'll be fine. Go to Steve's, get her things, bring them here." Kyle ushered Jeannie into the kitchen. A wealth of memories flooded back to her. Kyle hadn't changed anything, it smelled the same, looked the same, felt like home. The only difference was that her pictures were all gone. Kyle had replaced them all with pictures of his family. Her eyes welled up with tears, as being erased from her home in this way was devastating. She considered this her home, since she had yet to make a new one and considered living with Steve to be a temporary hell. She hadn't been replaced, just erased from this place she had once loved. Kyle was acutely aware of her tears, and though he was moved by the woman who was still the greatest love of his life, he didn't go to Jeannie. Instead, he poured her a cup of coffee, and fixed it just the way she had always loved it. He fixed her coffee like no one else, even Jeannie herself. The smell of the steaming brew in the mug and that perfect blend brought her back to herself, though reminding her once more how perfect the husband and life she'd thrown away had been. "You're moving out of Steve's. Peter's getting your stuff now. You'll move in here. You may stay in the little apartment we built above the garage. You will be independent. When you get right again and start working, you can move out when you choose. If you wish, I'll find you a job in my new shop." "If you decide not to move out, you may stay as long as you like. I don't ever want to witness romantic activity of any kind, though I intend to bring dates home if I wish. I expect you to care for your apartment, show care for my property, and respect our neighbors and guests. These are the only conditions of living here, there will be no rent. There will be no expectations or promises of any kind of relationship other than a promise of common decency." "Someplace in me, I'll always love you. In another place I'll always be afraid of whatever is inside you that could have betrayed me the way you did. I didn't want you abused by Steve, so I don't expect you to finish your year with him." She sniffed back a tear, and looking up for the first time into Kyle's eyes in months, thanked him. She blubbered something about going to live with Peter, but Kyle reminded her that the NY theatre scene was her life, and she wouldn't be able to be without it for long. She knew he was right, and agreed to move in. "Wait here. I'm going to help Peter. Make yourself at home." The significance of his last statement was music to her ears. Fade to black. Kyle pulled up behind Peter's car. He walked right in to Steve's house like he owned it. Steve didn't exactly like this move, but wasn't in much of a position to object. He had hit Jeannie, and now was here with her brother and the guy that had publicly whipped him. Either of them could send him to jail for abuse now, and Peter was using that angle like a slave driver. Steve was carrying Jeannie's things to the car. Peter had helped him pack, but Steve was doing the carrying. There wasn't much, as her part of the divorce agreement had left her just a couple of keepsakes and her clothing. Steve came back inside from the last trip. He began to speak. "Don't say a word." Kyle was seething. "You know what has to happen now, right?" Steve didn't want to hear it. "You broke her nose. You hit a little woman and messed up her face by breaking her nose. Stand up." Steve looked at him, but stood obediently. Kyle stood too. He stepped close to Steve, and before either Steve or Peter could predict what might happen, Kyle broke Steve's nose with a swift right. Fade to Black Three years later. Jeannie still lives in Kyle's apartment. She doesn't date, but is considering starting. She is one of Kyle's most valued colleagues, working as a stage manager, director and teacher at his theatre center. She sees Kyle as her best friend, and a respected boss. She has written a play that has had success in regional theatres, and has been published by a major publishing house. She is financially independent and starting to seem like the Jeannie of old. Kyle's acceptance of Jeannie back into his life was taken as a signal by his neighbors, family and the theatre community. She was welcomed back into those circles in almost the same stature she had enjoyed all those months ago, even though no one forgot where she had been. Steve sold his businesses, and after a period of reflection, discovered he didn't like the jerk he'd been. He finally put the degree in PE he'd earned in college to use, taking a job at a local elementary school. He developed a soft spot for working with kids with physical handicaps and other special needs. He has become a Special Olympics coach and volunteers with the physical therapy department of a local Children's Hospital. Kyle's theatre project thrived, and his programs were accredited by a local university. His programs for school children are highly regarded, and have become very profitable. His professional productions play to packed houses, and have drawn the attention of top NY critics who usually don't stray to far from Broadway houses. Kyle and Jeannie lived close by each other, but rarely spoke. Though he took care of her when she needed it, he did that out of his own sense of responsibility. She had been the love of his life, and he couldn't see her in complete ruin, beaten and shunned by the community that ran the profession she lived for. Once he had set her up safely, he wanted nothing more from her. He dealt with her professionally, after all, she was good at what she did, and was a tremendous asset to his company. He could not however see her in any other light, and rarely even spoke with her on the level of a friend. Jeannie accepted her position in Kyle's life as a blessing. She wasn't in jail, she was working, and she was able to make amends with Kyle in at least a small way. She felt living near to him with no chance of his ever again loving her was better than the alternative. There was no way to really make anything up to him, but perhaps, if she stayed here until she saw him happily settled with a new love, and maybe a family, she could be at peace. It was inevitable. Kyle fell in love with a divorced woman he met at the Cape. She summered in a neighboring cottage with her brother's family and her young daughter. She moved in with Kyle that fall and they were married that October in a beautiful, but small ceremony in Kyle's back yard. Jeannie had declined the invitation to attend, but had watched the event from her bedroom window, the only one with a view. She cried bitter tears as she remembered the events that had brought her to this point, and now the last chapter was complete. Her tears landed on her last little suitcase, she had already loaded the rest in the rental car that sat outside of the garage. When the party moved into Kyle's house for dinner, Jeannie grabbed her bag, and got in her car. She took one last look at Kyle's house before she drove off. She knew he would find the goodbye letter she had left on his desk once he returned from his honeymoon. She checked her carry on one more time to make sure she had her ticket and passport, and her signed contract for her new job as a stage manager in London. Kyle had his new life now. She shed one last tear, and left to find hers. Fade to Black I was at my guy Ken's apartment talking when he walked in. He was tall, light skin and fine as hell. He was wearing a black T-shirt, blue jean shorts, and white shoes. "Dee, this is my guy Black. Black this is my girl Dee." Ken said introducing us. He sat next to me on Ken's black leather couch, checking my attire. I had my legs crossed, causing the short black skirt I wore to ride back into my lap, showing off my thighs. My black shirt was a v-neck that laced up the back. My three-inch heels tied around the ankle. My black hair fell to my shoulders, cut in layers to frame my face. I had just come from cutting a date with my ex short. I had him drop me off at Ken's apartment building around nine as soon we finished dinner. Ken has been my best friend since we were five. Our mothers weren't the best of friends growing up, but happened to have gotten pregnant at the same time and sent us to the same schools from preschool to high school. Even if we had hated each other as our parents did growing up, we still would have been stuck with each other. So unlike our bickering mothers, we ended up being inseparable. "So you're basically telling me you got all dressed up for nothing?" Ken said, continuing our conversation before Ken came in. "To be honest with you, I was going to go through with it, but fuck that. I'm not about to be made a fool of. I'm not settling for a man that's damn near married so he can leave me for the next best thing." "I feel you." Ken said. "Now what?" "Now I start over. Be by myself for a minute." I said. "The sex wasn't all that anyway." Everyone laughed. "I need a drink." "Vodka's in the cabinet to your left." Ken said once I stood up to go to the kitchen. I stood there, staring at the cabinet, trying to keep my tears in check but when does that ever works? I wiped my face with a paper towel, made my drink with a half glass of vodka, the rest cranberry juice, and made my way back to the living room. As I walked past Ken's chair he grabbed my hand. "You cool sis?" "I'm good." I sat down next to Black and then crossed my legs so that my leg was rubbing against his. Ken peeped game but didn't say anything. "What you doing tonight Ken?" "Got this girl coming over at about ten." It was already a quarter past nine. "Never mind then." I turned to Black and looked him in the eye. I could see why they called him Black, his eyes were so dark they looked pitch black. It looked good on him with his thick black eyelashes. "You got plans tonight?" I asked him "Not at all." "Think you can accompany me to the park. I need some air." "Let's go." I downed my drink then stood up. "Y'all just gonna leave like that? My girl ain't even here yet!" Ken said. "And you just got here." He said looking at Black. I grabbed my black handbag. Black stood up and gave me a hand. "Did you drive here?" "No. I live two blocks away." I answered. "Cool. I live on the fifth floor." He held my hand as we walked toward the door. "I'll call you Ken." I said. "Whatever." He said waving us off. I closed the door on my way out. *** I was sitting on the back of the bench. My foot planted on the seat, my left leg crossed over my right leg, my backside balancing itself on the backrest. Black stood in front of me, his hands resting on the side of my thighs, right below the hem of my skirt. "You alright? I know you were saying it's over between you and dude..." "Nothing ever started." "But I'm looking at you and you acting like you ain't hurting." "Yeah, but I'm not bout to cry over it. I knew my heart was already broken when he walked back in my life. It was just a matter of feeling it. But you know what?" I said as he put his hands on my waist. "What?" Black picked me up then put me on my feet... "I started losing feelings for him every time we had sex. The worst it got..." he pulled me down on his lap. "...the more I started see the truth..." his hand slid up the back of my shirt, "...and now..." his lips touched my neck, "I've wasted five months on semi good sex..." he bit the spot below my right ear. I shuddered. "I need some..."his other had hand slid under my shirt, over my stomach. "really...really...really..." he ran his tongue over the same spot he bit, "bad." I felt his erection against my ass and was very impressed. "Baby, I got some condoms at the crib, but they're only Lifestyles and I don't think the regular shit is going to work for you." I said. He lifted his head up from my neck. "We'll hit up the CVS on the way to your crib." He stood up. "You ready?" He asked looking down at me. "I told you I need it, didn't I?" "Enough said." *** I pulled my shirt over my head. Slid my skirt down, let it pool around my feet then kicked it to the side. I stood before him in my heels and black boy shorts that were showing more than half of my ass. I had Black strip down and had him sit at the foot of my king-size bed. The lights were off and the window was open so the streetlights dimmed the room. I straddled him, placing my small but firm breast in his face. He pulled me closer to him. I did a slow grind over his groin, feeling his erection pressing hard against his boxers. I was wet with anticipation. Without warning, Black lifted me up and put me on my back. He snatched my panties off and his boxers were gone in the same swift motion. My legs were spread eagle, his hardness sliding over my clit. I grabbed his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. I reached behind me to my right for the box of condoms lying on my bed, took one out, ripped it open and rolled it on him. He slammed it in and I screamed for him to do it again. He pumped in and out a few times before he slammed it in again, then again, and again. "Damn baby, that don't hurt?" "Yeah," I moaned. "but keep going." He smiled, his full lips looking sexy as hell. "That's what's up." He said. I put my legs over his shoulder and he gripped my thighs and got in deeper. "Damn Black, you're so damn big..." My nails scratched his back, he held on to my thighs tighter, hitting it with a slow rhythm but with the same force when he connected. "Shit girl, damn..." I couldn't hold it in much longer. I came hard, holding on to his shoulders tightly. He pulled me closer as he pumped harder and harder into me. "Fuck...damn..." His voice was deeper, sexier, when he came. He got up, walked over to the bathroom, and came back seconds later. I was sitting on the edge of the bed waiting. "Damn girl! You pussy is ...damn" I laughed. "Come here Daddy." "Mmmm, I like that." He walked over to me, his dick semi erect. "Say it again." I took his dick in my hand. "Come here Daddy." I said, licked up the shaft then let it disappear inside my mouth. "Yeah baby," his hand ran through my hair as he looked down at me. "Suck Daddy's dick." My head bobbing back and forth, swirling around the head from time to time made his soldier stand at full attention. I grabbed the base, stroked it a few times, sucked on the head, let my hands fall to his thighs and deep throated his long black snake. "Shit girl!" I sucked it harder and harder, looked up at him, felt his dick tense up and then I stopped. I stood up. He roughly pulled me into his arms and kissed me hard. His cock pressed against me. I let his tongue explore my mouth. His hands were on my waste sliding down to my ass, and to my surprise he picked me up and carried me over to the dresser in front of the window. He sat me down on the empty surface and grabbed another condom from the box that we knocked on the floor. He walked back over to me as he rolled the rubber on for round two. He took hold of my legs, pulled me to the edge of the dresser and slid right in. I felt the cool breeze coming in from the window against my back as fucked me. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, trying to get him in deeper and deeper. I held the back of the dresser, threw my head back, biting my bottom lip trying not to scream with the open window behind me. "What's wrong boo?" I looked up and he was looking down at me. I shook my head. "Oh, you trying to hold back?" Before I could answer he slammed into me. My mouth parted and I gasped. "You like this dick?" He kept up the hard pace, making me scream: "Hell yeah, I like it Daddy." He hit it harder. "Say it again." "I like it Daddy, I like it." It went on like that until I came, loud and harder than the first time. He held me close, my legs wrapped around him tighter as I felt his dick convulse inside of me. "Shit Ma, yo shit is good as hell." "We ain't done Daddy." I whispered in his ear. I made Black walk over to the bed after he disposed of the second condom. I stood in front of him and handed him the last condom from the pack. He tore open the gold and black wrapper, never taking his eyes off me as he put it on. He bent down and kissed my neck, the spot right below my right ear, then sucked it. I almost collapsed in his arms. He held me up, his arm snaked around my back. I pulled back; stopping the intense pleasure he was giving me from that sensitive spot, and turned around. His hands were on my hips. I bent over, climbed on the bed on all fours. He got the picture and slid right in. He fucked me hard, harder than he did before. I grabbed his thighs from behind and sat up, my back against his chest. His hand found my hair, yanked my head back, and kissed me. "Pull it harder." The pain was so intense and felt so good. I arched my back, my walls held on tighter to his shaft as he penetrated me. "Damn Ma, you bout to make me cum." "Harder." I said. He bucked harder and pulled my hair again. "Like that baby?" "Oh, just like that Daddy, yeah." He fucked me harder and harder. I couldn't hold on any longer, he was pushing me over the edge. I dug my fingers into his thighs and seconds later I felt his release and I came with him. His moaning and testaments drowned out my calling his name over and over again until we both collapsed on the bed. We laid there not saying a word, his arm draped over my side. My backside arched against his midsection. "You sleep Dee?" He asked. "Nope." I laid there thinking about what I had just done, not once but three times. I didn't know that man. What the hell was I doing? "So I can feel like less of a slut, please tell me your name." I said. "Dante Alexander." He said. "And you know damn well you're not a slut." "True, but..." "Baby, we're grown, you can do whatever you want. You don't have to be good all the damn time. Did you enjoy yourself?" "Yes..." "You plan on asking me for money before you kick my ass out?" I laughed. "No." "Can we do this again?" I thought about it. "I'd like that." "Aight then. Besides, I don't fuck with sluts. And I plan on fucking with you" He pulled me closer and put his lips on the back of my neck, sucked a little, then gently bit down making me gasp. "You know we just used the last one. You better stop." "Shit, looks like we need to hit Target for that family size pack." Black said making us both laughed. We fell asleep with me lying against on his chest with the cool breeze blowing against our bodies from the open window. Faded Card Copyright Oggbashan January 2005 The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons. * * * * * This morning, Valentine's Day, my post was the usual bills and advertising rubbish except for one large envelope addressed in a hand I didn't recognise. I took the post through to the kitchen, sorted out the rubbish, paid the bills and put them aside to post. I stood in the kitchen holding the large envelope. It was Valentine's Day. If it were a card, who would send me one? My ex-wife certainly wouldn't. She seemed happy enough with her new husband. The animosity at the time of our divorce had faded. We had become friends again; friends with many shared memories of a marriage between people who should never have been more than friends. I made myself some coffee and sat at the kitchen table looking at the envelope. I felt that it was important and that once I opened it there would be consequences. I had to mentally shake myself before I slit the envelope carefully. Inside there was a Valentine Card folded around a smaller sealed white envelope. It was a fairly plain one with the message 'Be My Valentine'. Inside the card was blank except for the hand-written words 'Remember the enclosed?' The handwriting was still unfamiliar. I opened the smaller envelope and drew out the contents. It was a faded Valentine card. I recognised it at once. I didn't need to open it to see the poem I had written ten years ago. I had sent it to Mary. It had been the first and last time I had sent anything to her. Even when I sent it I had known that it was too late. My memory went back to ten years and two weeks ago. I had asked Mary if I could take her to the Valentine Dance. Her reply was still engraved on my heart. "I'm sorry, John. Someone else asked me and I accepted." She had hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. "Thank you for asking." Another peck on the cheek and she was gone. I was heartbroken. For weeks I had been working myself up to asking her. Now I was too late. I still sent her the card I had prepared knowing it was useless. I asked Hazel to the dance. Mary was the inseparable partner of Graeme. I wasn't surprised when they announced their engagement. Hazel and I congratulated them. Mary kissed my cheek for the third and penultimate time. She said to Hazel: "Look after John. He is a good man." Hazel did. Eventually I was an usher at Graeme and Mary's wedding. Hazel was a bridesmaid. Mary kissed me for the fourth and final time at the wedding reception. By then I knew that Mary and Graeme had been an item for about six months before that dance. I just hadn't known because Graeme was away so much with the Territorial Army. The four of us were friends. Mary and I treated each other politely but with reserve. She and I knew that I needed just a little spark to ignite what I felt for her. We both avoided any situation that could provide that spark. Mary loved Graeme and I was jealous of him and happy for her. Their marriage was obviously idyllic except that they wanted children that wouldn't come. After seven years of marriage they started having fertility treatment. Hazel and I had married. The first two or three years were acceptable. The next four were a gradual decline in our relationship. We just didn't fit together. Hazel was and is a party girl. I'm more prosaic and home loving. The eighth year Hazel lost her sense of proportion. She seduced any available man just to show that she could. Eventually I had had enough and started divorce proceedings. The day in court was a disaster. It should have been an easy divorce on the grounds that we were incompatible. Hazel blew up and shouted in open court. The result was front page in our local daily newspaper. 'Court Sensation. Dying Man's Wife Accused' The night before Graeme and Mary had been returning from a dinner dance when they were hit head-on by a stolen car. The other driver was dead instantly. Graeme was on life-support for eighteen hours before he died. Mary had her arms and legs broken and eventually recovered. Hazel didn't know about the accident. She thought that I was carrying a torch for Mary and that I had always considered her, Hazel, to be a second-best choice. I had never known that someone had overheard me ask Mary to that Valentine Dance and be refused, nor that that person had later told Hazel. She had kept it bottled up all the years we were married. Hazel knew that my solicitor and I had ample evidence of her infidelity. She was worried and burst out that I had been Mary's lover for years. She knew it wasn't true. Later that day her solicitor persuaded her to issue a full retraction. Unlike the front-page accusation, the retraction was published in a small paragraph on an inside page of the paper. Mary was unconscious when the accusation was printed. Graeme had died between Hazel's outburst and the paper's press deadline. Hazel was mortified that she had added to Mary's grief. Mary forgave her. So did I. Hazel eventually accepted that while I might have wanted Mary before her, I was Mary's second best. Mary had chosen Graeme and I had been too late. That was two years ago. Since then Hazel had married one of the more energetic of her lovers and seemed happy with him. I had stayed single, as had Mary. Now what did I do? I had a Valentine Card from Mary, reminding me that ten years ago I had desired her. It was an obvious invitation. Would the old scandal be resurrected if I met Mary? How would Hazel react? The last was easiest to solve. I picked up the phone and rang Hazel. "Hazel?" "Yes, John?" "I have a problem you might help me with." "You have?" "Yes. This morning I received a Valentine Card..." "Good for you. So did I – from my husband." "...from Mary..." There was a silence. I waited. "John." "Yes, Hazel." "I know there was never anything between you and Mary while we were married. I lashed out when we were at our lowest point. I hurt her, and you." I waited. "If you want to think about a relationship with Mary..." Hazel stopped. I could hear her breathing. "...then you two have my good wishes." "Thank you, Hazel." "That took some effort to say, John. Now I have said it, please believe that I mean it. You both deserve some happiness and if you find it together then good for you." "Thank you." "Treat her well, John." "I will, Hazel, I will." "You were too good for me." "Nonsense," I replied briskly. "We just weren't right for each other. I loved you. You loved me. We were like oil and water. Great apart and useless together." Hazel laughed. "Not exactly useless, John. I remember... But I shouldn't. I'm a respectable married lady again. Good luck with Mary." "Thank you, Hazel. Best wishes for Valentine's Day." "And for you. With my love to you both." "Bye, Hazel." "Bye." I put the phone down. Hazel had given me her blessing. I picked the phone up and dialled Mary's number so carefully inscribed on her card. Perhaps today would fulfil the expectation I had all those years ago... Faded Star I had just finished my third year at college and was back home at my parent's place. I was driving down the street towards the house when I noticed someone was moving in a few houses up from us. I didn't pay much attention and I headed home. The next day my Mom asked me to mow the lawn and so I fired up the mower and started to cut the grass. I hadn't been mowing for five minutes when a car pulled up and a dark haired woman got out. I was surprised. It was a woman I had seen on TV many times. She had a series of her own many years ago. I still see it once in awhile on reruns. She walked over to our property so I stopped the mower to find out what she wanted. I will call her Kate. Kate said she was the person who had just moved in up the street. She needed someone to mow for her and would I be interested. I told her I was on summer break from school. I wouldn't be able to do it for long. She said that was okay. Could I stop up and take a look at the size of the job and we could discuss a price. I can always use the money, so I said I would come by later. After I finished and showered I walked up to Kate's house. Her property was about the same size as most of the houses in our development. I figured I could knock it out in a half hour's time. Kate must have seen me. She came out of the house and we discussed what needed done. She offered a generous amount of money. I said yes and that I would be by tomorrow to cut the grass. I went over early to avoid the heat. I knocked it out in just under thirty minutes. When I finished Kate came out and invited me in for a cold drink. I couldn't turn that down. There were boxes all over the place yet. Kate said it was slow going to get everything in place. Kate then told me her life's story. After the successful TV series ended there were no more good offers for a series. She wasn't broke but she wanted to work. She ended up doing some plays and voice-over ads and such but nothing came her way like the show she had been on. After years of toughing it out in Hollywood she decide to move back here. She said she was born just twenty five miles from where we lived. Kate said she always vowed to move back once she retired. I did ask if she had a man in her life. She said she had traded marriage for a career. She didn't regret it but she was too old and not interested in the dating scene these days. I figured Kate to be in her early fifties. You couldn't tell by the way she looked. She had black hair down to her shoulders. She was tall and thin and could pass for a woman ten years younger easily. I do admit giving her body a good looking over. I hadn't been laid in a few months and I wondered what sex would be like with an older woman. All I had on that day were a pair of shorts and my sneakers. I was sweating like crazy. I think Kate was giving me the eye as well. We were standing so close I just gave in to my urges. I leaned in and kissed her on the mouth. You should have seen the shocked look on Kate's face. It was my turn for a surprise. Kate reached out and slapped me flush across the face. I think we were both surprised. I turned around and started to head for the door. I guessed my mowing days were over. I was almost at the door when Kate ran towards me and grabbed my arm. "I am so sorry Alex, you just caught me by surprise. I didn't mean that." I could tell she was shocked by her actions. She must not have slapped very many men in her lifetime. I figured I might as well try this one more time. I pulled her into my body and I kissed her hard on the lips. This time there was no slapped face. She seemed like she was getting into it. All I knew was that I wanted her badly. I sort of pushed her back into the kitchen area. I used my hands to start pulling up on the edges of her top. I managed to pull the top off and I fumbled around until her bra fell to the floor. Kate wasn't big titted. That was alright. I liked women who were thin and tall. It didn't take much to kick off my shoes and pull off my shorts. I was half hard as it was. I got the rest of Kate's clothes off and there we were naked. Kate had a dark muff and it was untrimmed. I could see she was panting already. I moved her over to the counter top. I boosted her up and spread her legs. I think Kate was shocked at how fast things were moving. However she didn't tell me to stop. I moved in close and guided my cock to her opening. I slowly started to push in past her folds. God, was Kate tight. It was obvious she hadn't been fucked in a long time. I worked my dick in and out. It must have taken me a good fifteen minutes before I had my cock buried in Kate's pussy. Once I was entirely in her, I had her put her hands around my neck. I hoisted her up by her legs. We stood there in the kitchen fucking as I held Kate up off the floor. I am sure this wasn't something she had ever done before. She held on for dear life as I thrust my fat pecker deep in her tunnel. I love to hear when a woman moans as you fill her with cock. Kate was making these whimpering noises as I drove my dick in the whole way. I did manage to walk with Kate over to the couch. I put her on her back and I took her there. My ass was like a jackhammer as it went up and down and I filled Kate's tight pussy with my thick snake. I might have been about eight inches in length but Kate managed to take all of me inside her wet hole. I don't know what it was about making love to an older woman but I wanted her to submit to me. I know how silly that might sound but I wanted her all to myself. "I'm going to fuck you anytime I want now Kate, you're mine from now on." Kate's eyes got big. It was like she agreed to all my statements. How do I know this? After I told her she was mine, her pussy clamped down hard around my dick. It was like she never wanted me to pull out. I lowered my face and I took each hard nipple into my mouth. Her nips were like hard pebbles resting on her chest. It was obvious she loved to have her tits suckled. Kate had her legs around my backside. Between her squeezing my prick and my back I was getting close to cumming. I didn't even ask if I should pull out or not. I just had to fill her with my love cream. That is exactly what I did. I pushed in hard one last time and held my cock in place. I blew some hot wads of my cum deep in her tummy. Kate's eyes lit up when she felt the heat of my baby juices coating her pussy. Her arms gripped me tightly and she held on as I filled her with my batter. That was some of the most intense fucking I had ever experienced. I must have had a big load stored up for just this occasion. It seemed like I shot one load after another for a good ten minutes. When I finally did pull out I looked down to see my sticky cum leaking out and down Kate's ass crack. Kate didn't move for the longest time. I could see she was trying to catch her breath. "Oh my God Alex, that was so incredibly intense!" We had a opened mouth kiss after we finished and Kate went into the bathroom to clean up. When she came back out it looked like her legs were wobbling. She sat down in a chair and started to cry. I wasn't sure what was going on. "Thank you Alex, I have missed having a man make love to me like you just did." I wanted to stay longer and maybe go some more but it was getting late and I was supposed to meet up with some friends that evening. I told Kate I would stop by tomorrow and we could talk further. That night out with my friends, all I could think of was the hot sex with Kate. I wanted her again, that much was certain. Would she let me fuck her again or would that be a one shot deal? The next day I walked up the street to Kate's place. When the door opened Kate was naked. She pulled me inside. This time we went directly to her bed. Kate made me hard using her mouth. Once my cock was erect she had me get onto my back. Kate got up over top of me and she rubbed her pussy lips against my shaft. I thought I might pop right there. Kate didn't torture me too long. She quickly sunk down on my bone and I started to pound her tight pussy. I had her small tits in the palms of my hands as I brought my ass up and pushed my dick in as far as I could. If I thought Kate was vocal the previous day, this time she was practically screaming. She begged me to fuck her as hard as was humanly possible. I never thought a woman in her fifties could act this way. She was like a greedy slut who couldn't get enough cock. Kate rode me for awhile and then she got on all fours for me. I slipped my dick in from behind and my hands were on her hips. I was able to get so deep in that position. Kate must have thought so as well. She said I was hitting just the right spot. Her pussy was clamping down and then releasing my cock like a vise. I was kind of surprised that I gave her another large load of my cream that day. I thought I would be tapped out from the first time around. I found out Kate loves to feel me when I blow my load inside her tight pussy. Kate told me she had been fixed when she was younger. She didn't want any babies to interrupt her acting career. I much preferred to fuck using my bare cock. It always felt more sensitive to me. I didn't have to worry about making any babies either. Kate drained my rod of every drop of cum. I began to wonder if I would be able to hold up fucking this older woman. Kate and I became lovers and friends that summer. The main problem was I was due to go back to school in just a few days time. Kate was upset I was leaving her. She didn't want me to take up with any women at school. I didn't say a thing. Kate was thirty years older than me. The fun couldn't last forever and she probably knew it. I fucked her the day before I left. I gave her a gift of my cum to remember me by. I told Kate I would be back around Christmas time. She said that seemed like such a long time from now. I took the bus back to school the next day. I did have something to remind me of Kate. My cock felt raw from all the fucking we did that last week I was home. Even though I didn't commit to anything, I know I will have my cock buried inside Kate soon enough.