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In the Stacks Ch. 01

By: LadyTigeress



She tapped at the keyboard slowly, picking out just the right words to convey for the story she wanted to tell. Lost in her own, self-made world, she only barely caught the flash of movement in her eye, followed by the gentle ding as the door to her shop struck the small bell that hung over the frame.

Silhouetted by the setting afternoon sun, was a petite figure. A bag, burdened with books bulged to one side and she tottered under its weight. As she passed the stacks and stacks of tomes in the quiet, corner bookstore, she made little to no noise, yet, the bookseller watched her with her peripheral vision intently.

The older shopkeeper quickly hit alt-tab and switched from the window of the writing program she was using, to the main credit and check out form. The petite figure approached her, her load now much larger than she had originally thought.

"Excuse me," the visitor said. "I was wondering if you're currently buying books." 

"Well I don't buy just anything, you know," the shopkeeper replied, adjusting her glasses more to the end of the nose to get a better look at her with her own vision. "I have to be somewhat picky; otherwise we get inundated with bad romance novels and cheesy post apocalyptic crap."

That brought a smile to the smaller, younger woman's face and she replied, "No, nothing like that. Mostly textbooks, and some stuff from my personal collection. I just moved here."

The shopkeeper introduced herself, extending her thin hand, "Welcome to Orchards. It's small, but growing. My name is Marilyn, and I own the store."

The younger one smiled brightly and said, "I'm Penny." 

She unloaded the books on the counter and shook Marilyn's hand.

"Well you go look around, Penny and I'll see what you've got here, okay?" Marilyn said.

"Well, um, I was wondering if you paid cash?" Penny asked.

"I can, but it's about a half of what you'd get for trade. I can't give out a whole lot that way." Marilyn said. She looked down at Penny who had the look of desperation on her face.

"Well do what you can, I'm kind of running short these days." Penny asked, nearly bleating.

Marilyn nodded, and Penny stood nervously.

Most of Penny's books were well taken care of or new. They had no breaks along the spine, nor dog-ears or tears. In the textbooks, there were no post-it notes, no highlighting, no underlining, nothing like that. Generally, she did not take textbooks, although these were modern enough that they still might be in print, and this gave her an idea.

"Do you know we have a community college here in Orchards?" Marilyn asked.

"Uh, no." Penny replied. Her big, sad blue eyes spoke volumes.

"Clark College, just down fourth plain, you can't miss it. You'll get better money for your textbooks there. These are all pretty recent, and I'm sure a new student could get some get better use of them."

Penny gushed, "Oh thank you! I'm really running low on cash."

Marilyn smiled, knowing she wouldn't be able to move the damn things.

Penny's collection of fiction was eclectic, to put it kindly. A lot of big names, and a few up-and-comers. A large stack of Koontz, assorted King, and Straub. She had a tendency to lean toward horror and fantasy, although Penny had a healthy selection of true crime and forensic studies. The dollar tab rose higher and higher, and after she tabulated their value turned toward Penny.

"I can give you twenty in cash, or forty in trade. That's quite a stack you have."

Penny looked at the stack of them and bit her lips, then asked, "What do you think I'll get for the textbooks at the college?"

"Easy a hundred. You have a lot here, mostly literature, stuff that kids will need. What were you, a history major?"

Penny's eyes bugged out, "Yeah, had to drop out. Couldn't afford it any more."

Marilyn bit her lower lip. She hated to see kids dropping out from lack of money, but she was old, and jaded enough that the possibility of a sob story was not out of mind.

"So you just moved here?" Marilyn asked.

"Yes, from Seattle. I wanted a small community, I'd like to try writing some historical fiction." Penny said.

Marilyn smiled, "Historical romance is always a good seller. I mean, I don't know the writer's end of the market, but I can tell you the little old ladies come in and out of here with boxes of them, day in, and day out."

Penny's eyes lit up, "Wow, really?"

She was so excitable, and Marilyn found that youthful exuberance charming.

"Have you had anything published yet?" Marilyn asked.

"Well not much, I post to a few blogs and do some online things, but nothing in paper. I guess I don't feel its real writing until it's in a book. I like the feel of paper in my hands, there's something cool about that," Penny replied, brightly.

"Well E-books do sell. It's not a bad market for the beginner. They say once you get the first novel down, the rest come along," Marilyn pointed out.

"Wow, I guess I have a lot of work to do then," Penny said. She looked slightly dejected, and Marilyn opened up her till.

"So you want twenty in cash?" She asked.

"Actually, if you think I can get that much out of the textbooks, I'll probably take the trade. I could use some new reading." Penny said.

Marilyn smiled, and filled out a business card with her balance on the back and stamped it, admonishing, "Now don't you loose that."

"Thank you," Penny said, smiling brightly, "I won't. Say, do you know when the college bookstore closes?"

"Same as I do, seven. If you hurry, you might be able to get there, as it's just past six-thirty." Marilyn quickly scrawled out a map as Penny scooped up the textbooks into her bag.

"Thanks again, I'll be back," she said, nearly prancing out the door, heading toward a battered old hatchback, with a University of Seattle bumper sticker on it.

Marilyn turned back to her monitor, the sound of the door's ringing echoing throughout the empty store. She hit alt-tab and the word-processing program she had been using came back into view. Her eyes played along the intricate sexual scene she had been outlining and wondered where it was going.

She poked at the keys lightly, in spurts. She had once timed herself and was able to get six-hundred decent written words per hour, on the days she wasn't interrupted by customer flow or telephone calls. Her peers had told her that that wasn't a bad rate, but she always felt it was horrible, considering she could type at ninety-two words per minute doing straight copy.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the two women, one large and submissive, and the other smaller, and dominant. The entire concept of dominance and submission excited her terribly and caused her to gyrate in her seat. She smiled and almost could feel the hot breath of her characters.

The door's bell rung again, this time with a regular customer, Henry. Henry was the owner of the pizza parlor next door. He had a stack of three paperbacks in one hand and smiled warmly at her. Henry had wanted to get into her panties ever since she opened the store, now over ten years.

"Hello, Henry," She said in her silky, almost sultry voice.

He smiled at her and said, "Marilyn how goes it?"

"It's a living," Marilyn replied. "Books come, books go."

He looked at Penny's healthy stack, "Well it looks like you're doing okay." 

"Not too bad," she said, and held out her hand for his stack. She looked at him and said, "A buck and a half in trade."

He nodded at her and then went straight to the thriller section. Henry currently was reading Dean Koontz, and selected a favorite of hers, 'Watchers'. He grabbed it, a copy of 'Mr. Murder' and returned, setting them in front of her.

She totaled the bill at five dollars even, and he used the trade he brought in plus some additional trade on another card, and left her with a dollar and thirty-five in cash.

The warm summer evening sun stared to cast crimson and orange streaks and lit up the front of her shop. Henry turned toward her with his head in his dreams.

"Y'know this reminds me when I was a kid. My date and I would drive up into the hills there, and watch the sun set."

She looked at him dryly and said, "Why don't you take your wife? I'm sure she would appreciate getting out of the house."

Henry coughed and looked at her coolly. He opened his mouth up to reply and she merely waved her hand, "Go on Henry. I'll see you tomorrow."

Henry smiled at the thought of a new try on her, and she stepped behind her small counter, her rattan cane in one hand, following him to the door, turning off her 'open' sign and pulling the shades to the store. She locked the door checked it to make sure it locked and set the front door alarm.

She left out the back door, setting the alarms of the back door and drove a few short miles to her small tract home.

***

With nearly two hundred dollars in her pocket, Penny was happier than she had been in a very long time. When she got home, she listened to her voice mail to find out she had an offer for a temporary job, starting tomorrow. She quickly dialed back the office, and got the night operator who then assigned her the job. She had to be there early in the morning, and realized that it was just after eight.

She went to the plain, functional kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards, finding a container of microwave popcorn packets and tossing one of those in. As it cooked, she locked the doors to the dingy little apartment and peeled off her top and jeans. Dressed in only her undergarments, she retreated to the bedroom, to remove those as well. She slipped into a silk kimono, its cool comfort a definite relief to the heat of the July day, and turned on the two fans mounted in windows in her living room.

Her most valuable possession, a laptop computer, she took from its case and set it on the coffee table. She turned it on and then went back into the kitchen for her popcorn. When she returned, Windows had booted and she began to surf the internet.

She lurked on many different forums, reading posts, short stories and writing techniques. She belonged to several writers' critique groups, and while she did not feel good enough to post to them, she was learning a lot. She munched popcorn while she surfed with one hand, not wanting to get the keyboard or touch pad dirty.

As the night wore on, her surfing went from more mainstream websites to websites that are more exotic. She read short stories on the Nifty Erotic Story Archive, and posted a story to literotica.com. She was delighted to find her previous story, the first chapter in a novel had good reviews.

Breathless, and flush with excitement, she began to write chapter two. The second chapter to her story had the inkling of a soft sexual scene between a man and a woman. She wrote for a few hundred words into it, but realized at a certain point, that it was very difficult to write.

She tried to let her fantasy life flow and it became challenging for her. She had dated only a very little bit in college, and while the boys were all over her, she really did not have much interest in them, and had only had sex a few times.

She was making herself frustrated and then decided to surf more. She elected to go into a section of nifty that she had never been in before, and ended up in the lesbian section. She had no idea where to go, so started off in the adult relationships. She found three or four stories of boring trite crap that clearly were written by men attempting to get themselves off, and then found a stimulating piece.

In it, two women who worked side by side had become friends, and one of them announced to the other she had fallen in love with her. A lot of discussions, arguments, and confusion ensued, and at a certain point, they ended up sleeping with each other.  

She smiled at the piece. She might not be much of a writer, but she did know good writing skills when she saw it. She was somewhat astonished to find she was slightly wet, and was happy she had no roommate to see this bit of embarrassment. As the night drew on, she read more stories in this section, and then looked at the computer's onscreen clock and gasped. It was nearly ten and she had to be up at five. Quickly she shut the laptop off, and went to bed.

***

Marilyn wrestled with her story over the next few days, working through her writer's block as she usually did, by going around the project. She simply put that story down for a while, and wrote on something else, usually her progressive blog, or some submissions to some publishers she had out, or some of the day-to-day business of the bookstore.

The bookstore was merely a front operation; she was primarily an author, one who specialized in lesbian bondage erotica. She had four anthologies under her belt, and innumerable short stories. She wrote for various websites and blogs. She was trying to break into mainstream literature, but always felt that she was handicapped as the pseudonym she used was being associated with erotic fiction. Still, the checks were good, but she understood Penny's desire, to hold the paperback in her hand.

Thus, she ran the store and wrote while taking in people's opinions about what they liked and did like. She had bought it with some of the money her late husband had left her. She didn't think about him much any more, it had been over fifteen years ago, and her only son was now living in Chicago with another man. 

About six o'clock the doorframe bell jingled and Penny walked through. She was dressed in a conservative office dress, and had a big smile on her face.

"Hey Penny," Marilyn said.

"Hi Marilyn." Penny replied.

"You look nice," she said and then inquired, "Job interview?"

"Yeah, I think I nailed it too. It's just a part time gig, but that's all I wanted really. Just enough to pay for the rent, and keep me in popcorn," she smiled, laughing.

Marilyn chuckled as Penny began to fill in the details – she would be working at a legal aid shop printing out papers and helping people fill out forms mornings at the law firm on the other side of the strip complex.

"This means I can come in here and buy more books!" She exclaimed gleefully.

"Well I like that part, certainly." Marilyn replied dryly.

"Hey, I want to know if you've heard of an author. I've been reading some stuff on the web and I've heard she's really good," Penny asked.

"Do my best," Marilyn responded.

"Cat Palifa," Penny countered.

Marilyn gestured with a hand, "Lesbian erotica, BDSM, bottom shelf, aisle fourteen, left side, first set of shelves. I favor her anthology, Slutty Machismo to Fluff & Doc but that's just me."

Penny's jaw dropped.

"You'd better get it before one of the local dykes does. I can't keep it in stock, especially now that she's becoming a he," Marilyn explained.

Penny's eyes grew wide and she scurried for the book. Only one copy, and as she knelt to find it, she felt a darkness cover her, and Marilyn loomed over, the rattan cane with it's silver head in her hand providing her balance. Marilyn's eyes bored into the younger woman's soul and then she asked innocently, "Did you find it?"

"Y-yes, ma'am," Penny said, instinctively.

Marilyn smiled her catty, dominant smile and then spoke softly, "I hope you enjoy it. I know one the authors that contributed to it. She's a friend of mine.

Penny quivered. She her body felt afire, and she had no idea why.

She paid for the book on credit, and had a good sixty plus dollars remaining. 

Marilyn watched her walk out to her battered car and licked her lips.

Over the course of a month of Penny working in the legal aid shop, she would come in nearly every day. Marilyn had to admit she had become used to Penny coming in when she got off work, usually about noon time and they would chat for fifteen or twenty minutes. Sometimes Penny would buy a book, sometimes not. On Fridays, Marilyn would close the store for an hour or so and they would have lunch together.

One Thursday evening, as Marilyn began to write a short story about running her hands up and down those thighs, the bell to the shop tinkled and Henry came in, sweating his big beefy man scent. She could smell the liquor on his breath.

He was stinking drunk.

"Well you don't need to worry no more, pretty lady," He slurred.

Marilyn tilted her head, but did not reply.

"My wife left me last night. Damn bitch is gone for good, and I'm happy for it."

Marilyn's face was impassive. It only meant that he would come in here more, she surmised. Most annoying, she really did hate to loose the time.

"So I'm thinking a little you and me might be in order, babe. You're one hot tamale, for an old gal, if you get my drift."

"I'm afraid I have to close early, Henry. Perhaps we should have this conversation later, say, when you're sober."

"What's the matter, babe, got a hot date?" He bellowed.

"I have plans," and she did. It was her intention to prune her roses this evening.

"Ah man, my first free night in twenty-six years and my girl freezes up on me." He declared.

The tic from her accident clenched her face, and her hand wrapped itself around the head of her cane.

"Let us understand something, Henry. I am not your girl."

"Oh hey now, the divorce is coming," He said happily, trying to calm her.

She stood on her stool, looking at him with all of her power, all of her drive, her cool, blue eyes drilling into him.

Henry blinked for just a moment.

She lifted up the rattan cane, and with a single, powerful stroke slammed it into the countertop making a horrific snapping noise. In the quiet of the bookstore, it might have been mistaken for a gunshot.

"Uh, um." Henry said, stammering.

"Unless you're prepared for the yarn I will spill to the police about how you keep coming in here and harass me when you're drunk, I advise you to leave, and come back only to trade paperbacks."

"But baby, I thought we could have a good thing." Henry protested.

"Henry, do us both a favor and go back to your wife and grovel to her to take you back. I may be a cripple, and old one at that, but I assure you this cane will hurt you. Whom will the police believe? A drunken ass, or a little old lady? Hm?"

"Well I'm a business man, I've got connections," he blustered.

"Perhaps I should tell your wife's divorce lawyer that you like to be spanked, Henry."

Henry became pale.

"Maybe I should tell that lawyer that we've been having a long-standing affair. I'm sure I could invent all sorts of little sexual perversions you might enjoy."

She snapped the cane again, causing his half-open mouth to close abruptly.

"Or maybe it's the truth Henry. Is this why you have been chasing me all this time? Just to get a taste of my cane?" She nearly hissed at him in her powerful dominatrix tone.

Henry quivered and she could see it in his eyes. He was a sub of some sort, she sensed. Maybe he would never admit it, but she smelt the excitement of him. Idly she toyed for just that single instant of breaking him. It might be a fun little diversion. Have old Henry on the floor groveling. Could be very, very entertaining.

She pulled the cane back with her hand and put its tip on the floor, and stood.

His eyes affixed upon her, glittering their green little greedy color. He took in her body, slim, trim, with curves in the right places. Perfectly dressed, as usual. His eyes hit her face and when they plumbed the indigo of her eyes, he knew she could see into his soul. She spoke softly, with her smallest voice, forcing him to strain.

"Leave now, Henry. We will forget this ever happened. You just keep bringing in your books and I'll order the odd pizza now and then."

Henry was nearly mesmerized and he pivoted on a foot, turning about ninety degrees.

"I'll see you tomorrow, doll face. We'll grab some grub."

She neither confirmed, nor denied him, her face a mask of stone.


In the Stacks Ch. 01



The jingle of the bell over the door echoed in her mind nearly as much as the snaps of the rattan cane. She waited a few moments to watch him lurch past her storefront and then quickly slithered to the door, locking it, pulling the shades, and turned off the open sign. Her heart was beating.

The last thing in the world she wanted to do was deal with this bastard again. Perhaps a closed-circuit camera would be in order. That or a good beating.

Friday, the store was busy in the morning, with a covey of little old ladies, each bearing a cornucopia of books. It got busier as mid and later morning drug on, and Penny came in about twelve-fifteen. She saw the business, swamped, and took some initiative.

"Let me give you a hand," she said, and cleared off a table of books that were ready to be stocked. Marilyn was never happier to have help. Penny had the process pretty much down, quickly sorting books she felt Marilyn would and would not buy. Marilyn was able to process things much faster, and during that time Penny quickly figured out the cash register and took in money. The register space was very small, and the two women bumped into each other continually, rubbing behinds, hips and once, breasts.

At two o'clock, the mob faded, and Marilyn took a deep sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Penny. I would have had them lined out the door still were it not for you."

"No problem. I was happy to help." She replied, her perennially upbeat face shining brightly.

"Let me buy lunch," Marilyn said.

"I won't turn that down," Penny replied. 

Marilyn pulled a twenty out of the till and asked her to run next door. Penny eyed her curiously.

"Don't you know?"

"Know what?" Marilyn looked at her confusedly.

Henry was in a car accident last night. Drunk as a skunk. Wrapped himself around a phone poll.

Marilyn's face and heart fell.

"I... I'm sorry, I didn't know you two were close."

"Is he..." Marilyn started.

"Oh, no. Airbag and safety belt saved his butt, just no one to open the restaurant this morning."

Marilyn sighed a deep sigh of relief.

Penny eyed her.

"Is there something between the two of you?" She asked.

Marilyn thought it an odd question but answered anyway, "no. In fact we got into a bit of a spat last night."

Penny eyed her and responded, "Oh."

"Look, I'm tired, I've had a busy morning, and this is a bit of a shock. Why don't I close early, and you can come over. We'll have Chinese delivered in."

Penny's smile was warm, "Hey I'm good with that plan."

In an hour, the two of them were dipping chopsticks into spicy chicken with hot fried rice and deep fried shrimp. Marilyn had made them both a stiff drink and they were giggling like schoolchildren.

"So like, you know authors that were in that Cat Palifa book?" She asked.

"I know one of them. She's a wicked old girl who has a thing for spanking." Marilyn cackled, knowing she was referring to herself.

"Wow," Penny said.

"Why? Did you like it?" She asked a little too eagerly.

The alcohol had gone right to Penny's head and she flushed with an affirmative.

"Uh, yeah. It was interesting," Penny said.

Marilyn's predatory instincts, already titillated by the encounter with Henry last night kicked into overdrive. She asked innocently, "what parts about it did you like?"

Penny flushed even redder, "well, uh, the bare butted spanking was pretty cool."

Marilyn let a corner of her mouth rise.

"I have to say, that's something I've always been fond of," Marilyn admitted.

"Um, can I ask you a question?" Penny inquired.

"I can't stop you from asking."

"In that story, the woman doing the spanking, she looks like you, and she carries a rattan cane. You wrote that story, didn't you?"

Marilyn smiled and replied, "Guilty as charged."

"So you like spanking people?" Penny said. Her breath was quickening.

"I enjoy it immensely. I like the feel of a hot red butt in my hand, the squirm. Why do you ask, Penny? Do you like being spanked?"

"I don't know. I've never been spanked," Penny said.

There was a silence and Marilyn made them both another drink, and invited Penny to the couch to sit. Marilyn pulled a big notebook out and laid it in front of them on the coffee table. In it was a copy of every story she had ever written.

Penny was able to get through the third one before she was squirming. She was wet, hot, and panting. The third drink was in her system, and Marilyn was ready to reel her in.

"Would you like to be spanked, Penny?" She asked, softly tracing the side of her face. 

Penny's face was a mask of embarrassment, flush with shame, need and desired.

"Yes." She replied.

"Yes what?" Marilyn.

Penny looked confused and then realized, "yes ma'am."

Marilyn sat back in the couch and turned her palm up, tapping against a thigh.

Penny took a deep breath and lay on her, with Marilyn guiding her. Marilyn pulled up her skirt to reveal a thong. She hissed in Penny's ear.

"My what a naughty girl. No slip. Just these thin little excuses for panties. This will not do. My girls are good girls who wear proper underwear. This is unacceptable; do you understand me, young lady?" She said, in her terse, mommy like tone.

Penny bleated, "Yes ma'am."

"I don't think you do. I think I need to give you a reminder that you need to be treating your body with respect. Yes, I do." She pulled at the thong, bringing it down. She could fell the younger woman's sex, hot and moist on her lap.

Her hand pulled back with a short, smart spank, the palm cupped slightly to make the noise and shock greater.

Penny gasped.

The hand came again, with a series of small short strokes making Penny squirm, and writhe. Marilyn felt her own wetness come and as she did, Penny's ass quivered more and more with pink handprints on her pale butt.

She noticed Penny was crying ever so slightly and then leaned over, "will my little girl continue to be a slut and wear these horrible things?" 

"No, no ma'am."

"You're wet my little slut."

Penny nodded.

Marilyn softly probed her sex with two fingers; Penny's slit was incredibly tight despite the volume of lubrication.

"Does this feel good, my little one?" Marilyn asked.

"Y-Yes ma'am. Oh, god, oh yes," she moaned.

"Does my girl like her spanking?" Marilyn inquired.

"Yes ma'am. I've never been this hot, ever!" Penny squeaked.

"Flip over, my little pussy." Marilyn demanded.

Penny squirmed over and Marilyn grabbed her hair, pulling her in. She kissed Penny deeply her tongue invading the younger woman's mouth with a hungry, eager desire. Penny squirmed even more as three fingers dilated her tightness, and Marilyn's thumb rubbed her clit in small, tight circles.

"Oh, oh, oh ma'am," she squirmed as she broke free of the kiss.

Marilyn leaned over and bit into Penny's throat, sucking at the base hungrily marking her girl, chewing her. The pain was intense, and Penny writhed, screaming into Marilyn's ear. Her vagina clenched against the fingers, literally sucking them in hungrily as she climaxed.

Marilyn released her bite, and Penny fell back upon the couch.

Penny was dazed, but Marilyn kept her attention by slowly licking Penny's cum off her fingers.

"From now on, when you are done working with the law firm, you will come to the bookstore and work for me in the afternoon. After all," she said, "we aspiring writers have to stick together."

"Yes ma'am," Penny said with a smile, her forehead drenched with sweat. She hesitated then spoke boldly, "I don't know how, but I want to try to make you feel good."Marilyn pulled her up tightly and rocked her in her arms, "Don't you worry, girl. We'll get to that, in due time."

Penny kissed her softly, on the lips and the two of them talked quietly, cuddling for a very long time.



In the Stacks Ch. 02



The library had been pretty uneventful in the months following my encounter with the stranger in the stacks. Things were back to normal much to my dismay. The stacks were quiet and empty once again and I began working more at the front desk hoping to catch the stranger entering the library. I was sure I would catch some glimmer of recognition in his eyes and know instantly that it was him that afternoon. I thought maybe he had returned but was unable to find me. There are after all several floors to the library. My eyes jumped up as if by reflex every time someone walked through the entrance.

I began to think that maybe my mystery lover in the stacks had been just a one-time thing. Or worse, a figment of my imagination. It was like a dream that had seemed all too real at the time, but, looking back on it, was actually quite impossible. As time went by, my hopes that he would return and ravish me again began to dwindle until I had nearly forgotten about the incident all together. 

Until Tuesday.

"Sara, would you mind shelving the books for me today? I need to leave early for a doctor's appointment and Rachel asked if she could man the desk. Do you mind?" Brian asked.

"Sure, no problem" I said even though I did mind. Things were slow today. There weren't many patrons, it being a sunny Tuesday afternoon, so I was just reading a book at the front desk with the occasional interruption when someone wanted to check something out. Shelving required actual physical work. Not to mention I would be standing for the rest of the afternoon. But I couldn't refuse. Rachel had been doing most of the shelving for the past few days and I felt guilty.

I grabbed a cart full of non-fiction books. I figured the non-fiction floors would be quieter, less patrons asking me annoying questions and it would be easier for me to daydream. The bad wheel on the right side of the front of the cart kept pulling it to the right and I struggled to keep the cart moving straight as I headed to the elevator. A man was already waiting there and he looked over at me as I wheeled the cart in his direction. My first thought was that he was not bad looking for an older guy. Not that old, but old enough - I'd say late 30s, early 40s. He smiled and his green eyes seemed warm and welcoming. And he had that dark brown wavy hair and pale skin combination that I loved. After quickly making eye contact and smiling in that Hi-I'm-waiting-for-the-elevator-too kind of way, he nervously looked back up at the numbers above the elevator indicating which floor it was on. I could sense that he was anxious as the elevator numbers slowly counted down to our floor and I found it adorable that I could make a man who was probably old enough to be my father as nervous as a teenage boy in the presence of the homecoming queen. I smiled a bit to myself and I think he happened to glance over at me as I did this and caught me. As if it were contagious, a smiled curled up the edges of his mouth too.

The elevator door slid open and a little old woman with silver tufts of hair popping up all over her head and glasses that indicated she must be as blind as a bat without them waddled out. I looked over at the man who had been standing beside me to see if he would make the first move to get onto the elevator or if he would let me go first with the cart. As I had expected, he did the gentlemanly thing and, with a smile, ushered me on to the elevator. I smiled back and with some resistance from the book cart managed to squeeze into the tiny elevator. I pushed the cart all the way to the left leaving only a few feet for both the green-eyed man and myself to stand next to one another. I could have positioned the cart differently so that we wouldn't have to stand so close, but I decided against it. In that split second as I got onto the elevator I decided I wanted the possibility of accidentally touching him. I wanted to be able to smell his skin, the starch in his shirt, his aftershave. As he stepped onto the elevator after me I wondered if he realized what I had done.

I reached past him and pressed 6. He watched my finger press the button and then, with only a brief hesitation, pressed 7. The door closed and slowly began its ascent. We both stood there silently, looking up at the floor numbers flicker at each floor, not knowing where else to look. He moved, changing his weight from his left leg to his right. In the process, his upper arm brushed against mine. My body suddenly felt a rush of warmth as if I had just done a shot of whiskey. I suddenly became aware of my breasts as I inhaled deeply. Out of the corner of my eye I could tell that he noticed them too. I was wearing an angora v-neck sweater that dipped to just above the center part of my bra. From the right angle, my black lace bra and the inner curve of my breasts were clearly visible. I wondered how much he could see. I wondered if there was anything I could do to let him see more. My nipples, sensing all the attention my breasts were getting decided to get firm and steal the show.

I could tell he was getting fidgety and the silence was not making anything any more comfortable. Just when I thought the tension could not get any more unbearable, the elevator stopped at my floor. He smiled somewhat uncomfortably and stepped off the elevator so that I could wheel the cart out. As he got back in the elevator and turned around, the expression on his face was one of relief as though he had been holding his breath the entire time and was finally free to exhale. I was a little disappointed the elevator ride had ended so abruptly, but I had work to do.

I pushed the book cart to the last aisle and began shelving. The floor was empty, as I had expected. Even the adorable little study nook that was hidden on the floor all the way in the back here was empty. Usually, you have to get here early to claim this little piece of privacy with its large wooden desk and old-fashioned green leather chair.

Ten or fifteen minutes passed before I heard anyone else on the floor. The footsteps were heading straight towards the back where I was working and I turned around to see who would be keeping me company. As the person reached the last bookshelf and his face came into view I couldn't help but grin to myself. His eyes quickly turned towards me and we made eye contact for a few seconds. He didn't seem surprised to see me, and he gave me a friendly smile as he headed towards the study nook. I distractedly went back to shelving books, all the while stealing quick glimpses of him poring over some book and watching him out of the corner of my eye. I stole glances of his dark brown hair, his crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up revealing his well-toned forearms, his slate gray pants, and his black shoe-covered feet crossed and curled beneath the chair. After several minutes passed, I realized that he had yet to turn the page of the book he was reading. I wondered if he was even reading the book at all. I curiously looked over at him, ignoring subtlety and stealth. He noticed me staring at him and looked back at me. For a moment we both just stared at each other like we were competing is some sort of visual game of Chicken, trying desperately not to be the first to look away. I lost.

A few seconds later, he pushed his chair back away from the desk and stood up. He walked over towards me and stopped within a few feet of me. I was afraid to look at him and I tried to continue shelving as though he weren't there, unsuccessfully of course. I detected something vaguely familiar in his voice as he muttered "'Excuse me." He reached his arm out in front of me for a book that was just above my head and slowly pulled it off the shelf. He held the book in his hands, but instead of looking at it, his gaze focused on me. I couldn't resist it any longer and I looked over at him, into his olive green eyes. 

He reached up with his right hand and placed it on my cheek, letting his thumb rub over my raspberry colored lips. He bent down and kissed me, pressing his firm lips against my waiting mouth. I felt his tongue gently dip into my mouth and flick against the tip of my tongue. I stopped resisting and put my right hand on the back of his head and pulled him closer to me. His tongue moved deeper into my mouth, thrashing with mine, and he let the book he was holding fall to the ground with a loud thud. We slowly turned so my back was up against the bookcase and he pressed his body up against me. We were kissing voraciously and, as if by instinct, I began to lift my right leg and wrap it around him. The folds of the cotton twill of his pants tickled the inside of my naked thigh sending jolts of electricity through my body.

His lips began traveling down my neck to my chest to the skin at the edge of the neckline of my sweater and finally, he pulled the sweater down to reveal my breasts that were eagerly waiting to feel his hot tongue on them. My hand - still on the back of his head - became nestled in his soft hair and I pressed him against me more firmly as he sucked one nipple and then the next.

My pussy was aching for him and I could feel my panties dampening beneath the rose-colored pencil skirt I was wearing. Being pressed against the bookcase was becoming increasing uncomfortable and I gently nudged him in the direction of the study nook. He understood and stopped what he was doing to follow me to where he had been sitting only moments ago pretending to read. 

I sat down on the wooden desk, hiked up my skirt a bit and spread my legs apart. He moved in between them and began kissing me passionately again. I lifted my legs up and rested my high-heeled feet on the arms of the chair, enclosing him. His lips found their way back down to my chest, but this time, he decided that rather than negotiate with my sweater, he would just remove it entirely. He peeled the sweater off of me and tossed it in the corner revealing my breasts, which were only just barely being contained by my bra. He cupped each breast and squeezed them gently, rubbing his thumbs over the nipples through the lace of my bra. I grabbed one of his hands, which caught him by surprise and moved it down to the juices that had soaked through my panties. His fingertips began kneading my clit through the wet fabric and I couldn't help but moan. This seemed to cause something to explode within him and he instantly pulled open his belt and began to undo his fly. I quickly unbuttoned his shirt and reached my hands in to the well-defined chest lying beneath. My hands wandered over his chest until I knew he was completely unzipped. I then moved my hands down and around him to his back and slid his pants and boxers down over his ass.

He pulled my soaking wet panties off of me and dipped one and then two fingers deep inside me. My pussy was begging for his cock and my small, quick moans were his cue that I couldn't stand waiting any longer. He pulled his fingers out of me and slid his hard cock in deep. The wet, velvety walls of my pussy enveloped him as he began thrusting in and out of me, gradually increasing speed. My feet arched as he began slamming into me and my fingers were digging into his back, clenching him tighter each time he rammed into me. My bare ass against the desk felt so good and I couldn't believe this was happening... again! 

Suddenly, he kicked the chair back behind him and pushed me down flat on the table, shoving the book he had been looking at onto the floor. He climbed on top of me, pulled my skirt up some more and continued fucking me on top of the desk. My thighs were trembling now as I wrapped my legs around him. He was kissing me ravenously, his chest pressed against my breasts, his hands holding my arms down over my head at the wrists, his throbbing cock furiously pounding at my dripping pussy. I could feel the wave of release begin to rise deep within me. He could hear in my breathing that I was close. He kept going, faster and harder. I couldn't contain it any longer. The orgasm washed over me, sending shivers throughout my body. A second later I could feel him coming too. He stayed inside me for a moment and gently kissed me before slowly pulling out.

He pulled up his pants and patted his pockets as though he'd lost something. Finally, he pulled out a small white cotton handkerchief from his left pocket and handed it to me, somewhat sheepishly, for me to clean up. I smiled at this and took the handkerchief from him. He finished zippering up his pants and buttoning his shirt as I recovered my panties and slid back into my sweater. We both straightened our hair and he leaned down to pick up the book that he had pushed onto the floor. He placed it back on the desk next to me and we looked at each other and smiled devilishly. I recognized something then as I stared into his eyes. Could this be the same man as the last time?

Suddenly, we heard footsteps echoing through the stacks heading in our direction. I quickly smoothed down my skirt making sure it was in place and darted for the book that was lying on the floor where the green-eyed man had dropped it. A little old woman rounded the corner and spotted me.

"Oh, miss! I'm glad you're here. I can't seem to find..." Her words just trailed off as I watched the green-eyed man behind her smile at me and walk off down the aisle towards the doorway and out to the elevator. The old woman hadn't even seen him and just continued yammering on.

"Excuse me! Are you even listening to me?" The little old woman was annoyed and scrunched up her bubblegum-pink-painted lips in frustration, waking me from my trance.

I sighed. "I'm sorry. What was it you were looking for?"



In the Stacks Ch. 02



Marilyn's eyes flickered as the summer dawn broke. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, slowly waking up. A quick glance over to the nightstand to her old wind-up clock showed the time at just after seven. 

She was surprised that she had slept in so long, and then began to remember the events of yesterday. She took deep breaths and looked to the other side of the bed, half-expecting to see Penny there, but she was not.

What was she doing, anyway? Fooling around with this girl. Swatting her on the bare bottom and fingering her silly right there on the couch like a fucking teenager! Outrageous! She must be getting senile in her old age.

It was Saturday, and she had a normal routine. She would open the bookstore at ten, after making her weekly trek to see her husband.

She swallowed and took a deep breath. What would Thomas say? How could she deal with her shame when she saw him? Could she even talk to him? She knew in her passing conversations, she had mentioned Penny, but nothing, ever like this. She had kept her desires regarding other women locked down pretty tight, but now, with this, she had no idea what to do.

She sat up in the bed, the thin camisole draping across her body, following her petite breasts and curves as she moved. She took deep breaths and grabbed for a Shambala Edition of Lao Tzu's the Tao Te Ching. She read a few passages from it and found calmness in them. She looked on the dresser and saw a picture of her and her husband on their wedding day, back in nineteen-forty. She was sixteen, a Wac, he, seventeen, an Army Ranger.

She put her hand on the filing cabinet that served as a nightstand and pushed herself up, wavering a bit. She grabbed for her crook handled cane. Like her silver-capped one, it was made of rattan, but unlike it, was a spanking cane. Softly, using it she balanced herself. Slowly, she ambulated, balancing carefully, moving smoothly. In the house, she rarely used the cane, but this morning, her bones felt weak, and she needed it to stand.

The bedroom had its own shower with toilet, and she turned on the hot water and sat on the commode. She watched the steam billow out, and thought of Penny again. The young girl was so alive, so vibrant. Like a beacon over the ocean, she illuminated a path, a way through the darkness. She thought of Penny's small, tender butt when her hands ran across it, the jiggle from the hips, and then that warm, soft cleft that sucked on her fingers.

Stepping into the shower, she took the handheld shower massager off its' hook and ran it across her weathered, tanned back, then lower, using it to pleasure herself. She felt so alive as the jets reached deeply into her and imagined Penny on her knees licking and sucking at her.

She staggered, her body off balance, and then her mind refocused itself, and went to the task of cleaning her body. Shampoo, body wash, rinse. Conditioner, shave, rinse again, all in her neat, tidy, little-old-lady manner. 

Idly she pondered and then decided that perhaps she needed to soak. Flipping the bathtub's drain, it quickly filled with the nearly scalding-hot water. She slowly slipped to her knees and felt the water bake at her bones. Her fantasies took her hands over and she worked her body, playing it like a classical instrument. 

Before long, she shook softly, a small climax came. Nothing particularly spectacular, it was a rather prefunctionary orgasm at best, but it did the job. In the hot water, it made her drowse ever so softly, and she soaked for quite a while, a luxury she did not often allow.

At last, seeing the wrinkles on her hands, she admonished herself yet once again, and struggled out of the tub. Carefully wiping her feet, she used countertops to balance herself, and looked critically in the full-length mirror.

She allowed herself some pride, as close to seventy, she had the body of a fifty year old. She lifted weights to combat osteoporosis, and had given up smoking in the nineteen-seventies. Her vices she limited to a small shot of Irish Whisky a few nights a week, writing bondage stories, and apparently now, Penny.

She toweled dry her hair, and styled it with a dab of mousse and the flick of a wide-toothed comb. A bra and garter belt, stockings, and panties layered with a camisole, and then followed by her nice black skirt with the wide belt and shiny buckle, followed by a loose, white turtleneck.

She re-looked over herself in the mirror, again, critically. A stray gray hair she picked off the skirt, and discarded in the trash. After the second inspection came a very light application of makeup, not much more than a lip-gloss and translucent powder. Her mother believed that one should wear so little makeup it wasn't visible, yet enough to refine her appearance. She agreed with this philosophy.

Down the hall, she made herself a quick breakfast of a grapefruit half with some toast with butter, jam, and hot Earl Grey tea. The warmth of the tea warmed her from the inside, just as the bath had warmed her from the outside, and between the two of them, put her in a very good mood.

After eating, she put her dishes in a dishpan in the sink, filled it with hot water, and let it soak. She turned and then went over to the shelf that held her purse and keys. On it were some books with classical authors, and she selected some Tennyson, Dickens, and on an impulse, Melville. On top of this pile, she laid a very well worn copy of a collection of Rudyard Kipling's work.

These she put into a homemade bag made of cut-up old pieces of jeans she had bought at yard sales. It was patchwork and wholly eclectic and she had taken great pride in making it. It was not often she had these craft-making impulses, but when she did have them, she honored them.

She backed the black Cadillac out of the garage, and sped to Visa Rose Nursing Center. When she arrived, it was shortly after eight-thirty.

The Saturday morning charge nurse watched her approach, and always admired her, the classic lines of a lady, in a long-forgotten world. Always polite, always civil, and utterly devoted.

"Good morning, Mrs. Marshall," Kathy, the lead floor nurse said.

"Good morning, Kathy." Marilyn replied.

Before she even opened her mouth to inquire, Kathy presented Marilyn with the plastic flip-open chart that had become her husband's life.

"Thank you, Kathy." Marilyn replied. She flipped directly to the chart notes and looked over the last few days. She noted that the bedsores he once had been healed. Her only displayed emotion was a flare of her nose as a horrific smell permeated through the nurse's station.

Kathy of course, was used to such things, but Marilyn, no matter how many Saturdays she came here, was not. She held her breath as the bin passed by, its contents were two laundry bags full of soiled materials and one garbage bag full of biological waste.

Kathy had turned and was talking to someone when Marilyn closed the chart and laid it quietly on the nurse's station, she waited patiently for a break in the conversation and then said, "anything new?" to her.

Kathy looked at her and replied, "No. Thomas is stable, outside of that minor infection."

"Thank you, Kathy."

Kathy's head popped to the left for the moment and then turned back toward Marilyn.

"Violet and Trinity are working on him now, if you want to give him a moment," she said.

Marilyn merely nodded.

Soon, an enormous woman waddled out of the room with a huge bag full of sheeting in one hand, and a smaller, bag in the other. She dumped both bags into her bin, and stripped off her disposable purple nitrate gloves into the garbage bin. She stuck her hands into a large thigh-mounted exterior pocket, pulled out another pair, snapped them on with a flourish, and went back in.

A smaller woman came out, with a sheaf of paperwork in one hand, and glass vials of blood in the other. She, too, bore the purple nitrate gloves, and took a moment to peel them from her hands. Her name badge read, 'Violet, RN'.

Marilyn walked toward her.

"Mrs. Marshall," Violet said warmly, "how are you?"

"I am well, thank you, Violet," Marilyn replied.

"I'm hoping these will show your husband's antibiotics have run their course." Violet said, holding them up.

Marilyn nodded, "of this I have no doubt."

They both heard the sink run from the room, and Trinity's voice echo, speaking to Thomas, "Well big guy, you're all taken care of. Nice fresh sheets, clean comforter, you're going to do all right today, Tom. Vi and I won't be on tonight, but you know the weekend crew, they're as right as rain." Marilyn could hear the joviality in Trinity's voice, and then she came bursting through his door, using an inside-out glove to hold yet another trash bag.

"Hey Mrs. Marshall, he's all ready for you," Trinity said with a smile.

"Thank you, Trinity," Marilyn said, somewhat coolly. 

Trinity was oblivious of the older woman, and pushed her cart away, heading down the hall, where the other laundry cart had gone.

Violet took that excuse to leave as well, and Marilyn Marshall knocked first out of habit, and then opened the door to the room that had been her husband's home for the last twenty years.

Thomas Marshall's eye was closed; he was lying on his back. The left two inches of his face was a singular mass of scar tissue, with small peaks and valleys where pieces of bone protruded out. He had no left eye, and had a glass prosthesis that barely fit into the skull, but rarely was it inserted. Most of his nose had been sheared completely off; in fact, his once noble, almost Roman visage was now more reminiscent of a pig prior to slaughter. Without muscle tone, the facial flesh merely hung from him.

Thomas had no left arm, his legs amputated at the thigh. He used a tracheal tube to breathe, and had a bag that held a chocolate-looking substance that dripped constantly into his system. 

When she pulled back the covers, she found a newly placed ostomey bag attached to his abdomen, and a fresh catheter coming out of his uncircumcised penis. She had seen both of those enough times to not let them bother her, and so, inspected their placement for infections.

Satisfied that the plumbing was intact, she addressed him.

"Good Morning, Thomas. Today is Saturday the Twentieth of August, in the year two-thousand and five. I have brought with me some of your favorites." She kissed him on the forehead.

She sat to his right, where his only ear was, and pulled out the Tennyson. She read to him from that book for fifteen minutes, then switched to Dickens knowing that, 'A Tale of Two Cities' was one of his favorites. She concluded the story, and put a stick mark in the back of the book. It was the seventy-third time she had read the story to him.

From there, she told the story of 'Bartelby the Scrivener' a short story by Melville which they were both partial of, and then cracked open his supreme favorite, Kipling. It was from this book, she read the most. This book had traveled with him when he joined the Army, this book went with him when he went over to France, and was with him through the tour in Italy.

In the bottom left hand part of the book was a chunk taken out where it had stopped a bullet from a German soldier.

The book was a gift to him, from her, the first thing she had ever given him. She had saved money up from her babysitting jobs to buy it. Thomas had longed to be an English teacher, always claimed he felt naked if he did not know where his Kipling was. 

After the second great world war, he stayed in France, and sent for her. It was here she learned to speak French and German fluently, and eventually he became part of the Diplomatic Corps, and they transferred to Thailand, where they spent ten years of their lives, and she bore him their only child, William in nineteen fifty-seven.

It was there that she lived his dream, to be a proper, British schoolteacher, and it was there that she learned how to wield the rattan cane as a punitive device. She had lost track how many bottoms she had blistered, first as a teacher, then as a disciplinarian. She never admitted to anyone, even Thomas what it meant to her, to use the cane in that manner.

She finished, 'The Jungle Book' for the umpteenth time, and closed it.

She waited for him to say something, as she usually did, as if she were speaking to someone who was conversant. Gave him a few minutes to digest the story, and then spoke.

"The store is going very nicely, thank you for asking. Remember I was telling you about that fellow that keeps hitting on me? Well it seems that he got drunk after I threw him out of the store and wrapped his car around a phone pole. I suppose I should visit him or something, but I never really did like him. Oh, yes. I, um, I'm having an affair."

She waited for his judgmental tone. It never came.

"I know, I know, it's a shock, but it's not with the pizza boy, give me some credit. No, this is different, Thomas. It's with a woman, well barely a woman, a girl. Her name is Penny; you might recall me talking about her. She's a regular at the store."

Marilyn started to weep.

"It's been so long, and I wouldn't let her touch me, no, not unless I'd spoken with you. I'm so sorry. Please, please, Thomas, forgive me."

Marilyn sobbed, long, choking gasps of tear-filled anguish, her face in her hands. The shame of her feelings poured from her eyes, and dripped through her fingers. Her salty tears ran down her arm.

A part of Marilyn then lost hope. She began to understand that her husband was never coming back. Quickly, she smothered those feelings as best she could. She had to hold her head up high.

She kissed him on the forehead.

"I'm sorry, Thomas. I truly am. Please accept my apologies."

She walked into his bathroom, used only by the adjoining rooms and looked herself over. Smeared mascara, foundation powder all in globs around her eyes. No this would not do at all. She had a business to run.

She wet down a paper towel, wiped off her makeup, and slowly reapplied it, trying desperately to re-plan her day.

***

When Penny awoke in the morning, she, too, felt around for the person that wasn't there. She had a tiny bit of a hangover, but Marilyn had kept her late, until most of the alcohol was out of her system, and had made Penny promise to call her on Saturday to let her know she had made it home.

Penny squirmed a bit on the cheap futon of her room, and then remembered the spanking. Her butt was still a bit sore, and when she reached around to touch it, she could feel just a slight hint of heat.

She closed her eyes and remembered, Marilyn showing her all those stories she had written, and then asking her if she wanted a spanking.

Her eyes glazed over with these thoughts, they burned into her memory. She slept in the nude, but still could feel Marilyn softly peeling up the skirt, and then the stern tone of disapproval.

Penny quivered with the voice, it excited her, to have her butt exposed to the open air, and then when Marilyn chastised her, it only furthered to embarrass and shame her. She struggled with these feelings in a logical manner, but then was lost, when she remembered Marilyn softly peeling the thong down, her nakedness and shame complete.

Then those short, powerful strokes, oh she remembered those.

Penny scrambled to her tummy, and moved her hand back as far as it could go.

She spanked herself, with a hard, resounding thump. It made her squeal, made her bleat. She didn't realize how much she hurt until she did it again, and again.

She tried hard to spank herself like Marilyn did, but after the third or fourth time, her arm wouldn't go back as much, and despite the sting, just didn't have the sharpness, the power of Marilyn's weathered palm.

She flipped back over on her stomach and stuffed fingers into her snatch, working them in and out, pulling hard on a nipple. She gritted her teeth, sneering, twisting the nipple hard, and causing greater pain. Her body writhed, and she grunted on the cheap, flimsy mattress as her thumb ground into her clit, her knuckled rubbing her labia in a crude attempt at fisting herself.

She gasped, feeling the pucker of her ass clench and then her back arced back, and she climaxed hard, rubbing herself even harder with her fist during the orgasm. Her fluids lubricated her knuckles and she rode herself to a second, more powerful climax. 

She panted.

She raised her fist to her face, and extended out her fingers, covered in goo.

'If Marilyn can do it, I can do it.' She told herself.

Softly she licked her fist, and fingers clean, tasting the juices of her womanhood for the first time.

Penny remembered the look on Marilyn's face. That cool exterior, the power of her. She remembered softly as Marilyn held her, and stroked her face. 

What she remembered most was Marilyn telling her she always wanted a daughter, especially someone as bright as Penny was. She told her it was a shame that she dropped out of college. She told her that her writing was getting much better, and that with a little more spit-and-polish she would help Penny to craft a well-constructed query letter to the right people.

Marilyn said she could not promise Penny anything, that editors were fickle creatures, like the Unicorn of old, and they had to be tempted with only the very best writing if they were to come out in the light of day.

On top of all this, Marilyn told her one single thing, one thing that Penny had never heard in her life. She whispered into Penny's ear the following sentence:

"I believe in you. I believe in the work that you do, and I believe in the person that you are now, and the person that you will become."

Penny cried softly as she recalled this.

When she told her mother and father she was going to drop out of College, they berated her, told her she would never amount to anything. Penny was their third child and only daughter, the only child that had not graduated from college. She hastily packed her belongings from their house, and fled to Orchards, a small community that she had an assignment to write a report about in junior high school. She had no idea where else to go.

Orchards was on the I-205 corridor just before Portland, Oregon, to the East of Vancouver, Washington. It was a sleepy little unincorporated town, and Penny actually found it a very interesting place when she did her report on it. It was every bit the cross between rural and urban that she had hoped for, and if she ever wanted nightlife, she could always cross the bridge.

Not that she needed any kind of nightlife now, with Marilyn.

Penny wondered what the older woman tasted like. She longed to bury her face into Marilyn's thighs, and softly nuzzle her pubic hair. She wanted to be dominated by Marilyn, to be used by her. 

The logical side of Penny stopped these mechanizations for a moment.

Why? She had led an uncomplicated life, with the usual insignificant looser men. It's not like she wasn't an unattractive woman, by any stretch of the manner. How did she end up being a lesbian and more so attracted to older women? Hell, how old was Marilyn anyway? She had to be in her forties. Hell, maybe even into her fifties.

What was it about Marilyn that was so damned attractive anyway? She certainly wasn't anything out of the ordinary, she reminded her a bit of one of her English professors.

That thought made Penny drift back a bit

Yes, what was that old woman's name? Newman. That was it, Mrs. Newman. Lit two-oh-two. Dickens and all those other old guys that bored her to tears. Why couldn't they at least read something contemporary like Piers Anthony or James F. David?

She thought about it some, and remembered Newman as a short, muscular lesbian. She always wore these tight, taunt black pants and a shiny black belt that made her look like she was going on safari or something. She spoke in these lower, sorts of nasty tones and had an edge in her voice.




In the Stacks Ch. 02



Penny flushed as another memory took her head, about how once Newman had given her a good dressing down in the middle of class about something she should have read and didn't. She went straight back to her dorm room, and ended up frigging herself madly. She had forgotten all about that.

So was that the beginning then? The beginning of all this need to be controlled? Of her lesbianism? She remembered once, in a bar, another woman hitting on her, and she simply refused. It's not that she found it so disgusting, like her friends did, it's just that at that time, she wasn't interested.

Now, it seemed she was.

She fingered herself once more, feeling the fluid from her pussy from before. Softly, she wiped it up with her fingers, and licked at it again. She smelled her fingers, and found it to be a powerful, intoxicating smell.

Okay, she figured, maybe this is what she was trying to run away from in Seattle. It's not that college was very hard, and really, she could have probably gotten some more student loans, or a grant, or borrowed money from her parents and siblings. She just felt something inside needed to distance herself from them. Something deep, something powerful. She was fighting something, on a primal level.

Sighing to herself, and not wanting to rub her clit until it was raw, she hugged her stuffed bear, Monty and held him for a while, staring at the ceiling.

Only when her thoughts turned back to Marilyn did she realize that she was falling in love with the old woman, or had a serious crush on her. For all she knew, Marilyn had no such feelings for her, and that she was, at best, a sympathy fuck. A way for a dirty old woman to diddle a young girl. This prospect actually excited her even more, and she flushed with the possibility of more debauchery that Marilyn might do to her. 

She sat Monty up properly on a pillow, left the futon unmade and padded naked to her small shower cubicle. She ran hot water out of the pipes and peed on herself in the shower, something she had been doing since she was very little that she found disgusting, and a turn on all at once. She realized she was a walking mixed bag of emotions and feelings. 

The hot shower finally distracted her, and she put her shoulder length crimson hair under the spray, lathering, washing, and conditioning. Down below, she touched up her pubic hair with a razor, hating it since puberty. One day, she thought, when she was a rich author, she would have someone laser it all off, but until, she was a slave to shaving.

After toweling off, she decided a quick braid was in order, and French braided her hair quickly without looking at it in the mirror. She knew that it made her look young enough to be carded, and thought it just might turn Marilyn on even more.

She put on another pair of thong underwear, for she didn't have any other kind, and a short, plaid, pleated skirt. For a kick, she put on her white push-up bra and a white button-up short-sleeved shirt, with the buttons low enough for some cleavage.

Penny didn't generally wear makeup, but today, some lip-gloss was in order, she thought. 

As she preened in the mirror, she noticed the dark purple hickie that Marilyn had laid on her last night. It was impossible to disguise it for anything that it was, and Penny could care less. In a way, it made her Marilyn's property, her possession, her girl.

That thought made Penny flush, to be Marilyn's girl.

She walked out of the bathroom, and poured herself a healthy bowl of peanut butter captain crunch and doused the whole thing in chocolate milk. Now this was breakfast!

Once on her sugar buzz, she fired up the laptop, and read her email. A small electronic publisher wanted to publish one of her stories of romantic erotica and was offering her a flat fee of one-hundred dollars for it. She danced with glee; the money could not come at a better time with rent due next week.

Marilyn would be so proud of her, as she had proofread and offered her some pointers on this particular story. She would be happy for her, and hopefully as excited as she was.

After she answered the rest of her email, she perused some more adult story sites, and happily posted her good news to two email lists she was on; knowing her compatriots on the list would be equally pleased for her.

It was quarter to ten when she finished all of her postings, and updated her two blogs with the good news. She printed out the email and tucked it into her backpack, along with a few books to trade, and headed out to Marilyn's bookstore.

Marilyn looked up at seeing the shadow across her glass door front. She had composed herself and was attempting to avoid making the day a total loss by working on one of her stories. She had gotten back into the scene easily enough, with the hard-core top beating the hell out of the larger women for some minor infraction. It was going along smoothly and when Penny's bright, shining face popped through the door, it was all Marilyn could do not to put her over her knee for a kick.

"Hey Marilyn," she said with a beaming smile. The dark bruise of the hickie she inflicted on her stood out like a beacon on her cream-colored skin.

"Hello Penny," she replied, with a soft touch of coolness. She had resolved to break it off with Penny now and today, and continue begging forgiveness to Thomas for the rest of her days. Yes, that was the plan.

"I've got some great news!" She said excitedly, and proffered the email.

Marilyn scanned it, and could not be more proud.

"Congratulations," Marilyn said, knowing now, she could not break it off. She wouldn't take away from Penny's day. Just would not do it. Couldn't do it to her.

Penny wrapped her arms around her like a child, tearfully, so pleased that she had pleased her, and Marilyn felt something well inside her. It wasn't the pride of Penny's publishing, it was something else, something deeper, more powerful than that. She struggled to put her finger on it.

Penny kissed her tearfully on the cheek exclaiming, "I owe it all to you, really, I do."

"I did nothing a few good English classes couldn't have taken care of." Marilyn said, playing it down.

Marilyn felt Penny's perky beasts press into her, and, felt a slight arousal. She smelled the clean scent of Penny's young hair and then had no choice but to pull her close, pull her tight.

Softly, the contrast of young, perky lips and older, mature lips met, and both of them realized the charge, the power that was between them. The kiss was brief, powerful and broken when Penny caught the movement of someone coming toward the bookstore.

Marilyn was thankful for Penny's foresight, especially when Howard came ambling through the door.

He looked at Penny standing in the cashier's area, very close to Marilyn, closer than he ever got.

His lips pulled back into a sneer and took the scene in, reading it for what it was, instantly.

"So that's it, huh? You just want a taste of the young action, is that it, Marilyn? Want a little tongue with the girl here. Well I know how it is. You fucking cunts just go have your fun. You just wait, bitch, they're be hell to pay."

He turned on a foot and then spat back at them, "and Marilyn, give my best to Thomas."

The door jingled as he left.

Penny's eyes were large, and filled with curiosity.

"Who, who's Thomas?" She asked, her lower lip trembling, stuttering a touch.

Marilyn licked her lips and opened her mouth to speak.

The phone rang.

Penny was closest and without even thinking picked it up. "Orchards Paperbacks, this is Penny."

The gruff, low voice on the phone was full of curiosity.

"Marilyn Marshall, please."

"Who may I say is calling?" Penny inquired.

"This is her son, William," The voice growled.

What little color Penny had in her face drained away. She handed the phone to Marilyn and said, "It's your son, William."



In the Stacks Ch. 03



"I'd like to return this," a man's voice uttered. He slid the book across the counter slowly.

I breathed in deeply and exhaled with some annoyance. I was getting to a sexy scene in the book I was reading and my body was beginning to feel the first tinges of arousal. Trying to read while working the front desk almost guaranteed that I would be interrupted at the worst time, but it never stopped me from trying.

My eyes scanned up the chocolate brown button down shirt that stood before me to the broad shoulders, and then finally to his familiar face. He smiled and I returned the gesture.

He was back. Just seeing his face and looking into his eyes made my body feel as though it was reliving our last encounter in the study nook. Warmth pulsed through my body seeking out all of my erogenous zones and making them spark like firecrackers.

"Sure," I said coyly as I reached for the book in front of me, letting my fingers touch his for a moment before sliding the book towards me. "Is that all?"

I glanced down to check the date on the card in the back pocket and noticed a small white piece of paper was folded in half and neatly tucked into the pocket. I looked back up at him for confirmation that the note was from him.

His sly smile was still curled on his face as I began to unfold the note. In his small, neat handwriting was written: Meet me in one of the private study rooms on the 8th floor. Ten minutes.

As I began to look up from the note, I caught him already walking away. I leaned over the counter straining to see where he was going, but he disappeared around the corner. I was in a bit of a daze, running through my mind every possible scenario for what would happen when I met him upstairs in just a few minutes.

A large stack of books were dropped on the counter with a loud thud. "I'd like to check these out, Miss," a voice squeaked from somewhere behind the stack.

After stamping the last of what seemed like an endless number of books, I jumped off my stool and headed straight for the back room to find someone to take over for me. "Amy, do you mind taking over the desk? I need to go eat lunch. I'm starving." Amy, the new girl, gladly took a break from monotonously labeling the new fiction books and I went straight for the elevator. I was already five minutes late and I feared he might have decided to leave.

As the elevator slowly made its ascent, scenes from our previous encounter began creeping into my thoughts. My bare ass on the desk. His skin brushing my inner thighs. His weight on top of me.

The doors opened on the eighth floor and I felt like a child on her first day of school as I stepped out of the elevator. Scared but excited at the same time. My heart was racing and my pussy aching and wet.

I walked down the hallway that was flanked on both sides by private study rooms that were reserved for one person at a time. I peeked in the window of the first door on the left and saw a middle-aged woman taking notes from a large dusty volume. Inside the first door on the right was a teenager surrounded by stacks and stacks of books and writing intently as his fingers scanned a page in the book in front of him.

It continued this way for the next few rooms. People studying or writing. None of them were the man I was looking for. I came to the last door on the right and noticed it was slightly ajar. I opened the door and stepped inside, but I didn't see anyone. I was about to turn to go when I heard the door close behind me. I didn't bother to turn around. I knew it was him and I was relieved that he was still here.

He placed his hands on my shoulders and whispered in my ear. "For a minute there I thought you might not show."

His hands slid down to my breasts and he began slowly kneading them through my sheer cotton top. My nipples were hardening and I could feel his cock, already hard, against the small of my back just above the waist of my denim miniskirt. He moved his hands to the back of my bare thighs and slid them up to my ass. Reaching under my skirt, he found the thin strip of fabric of my thong and slid it over my ass and down to the floor. With his left hand he reached around and pushed the cup of my black satin bra up and cupped my breast firmly. With his right, he gently bent me over the desk in front of me and then slid my top up, slowly placing kisses from the small of my back to just below my shoulders. My back arched and my breathing became heavier. As he continued to fondle my breast, I could here his belt unbuckling and his fly unzippering. My pussy was aching for him and I could feel my juices begin to drip from my wet hole.

Suddenly, his hands moved down along the curves of my body. He got down on his knees and within seconds I could feel his hot tongue exploring the intricate crevices of my pussy. His tongue found my clit and began lapping at it mercilessly. First one wave and then another shot through me and my body began to tremble. I was struggling to hold back the moans that were forming at the back of my throat.

He stood up and pressed himself against me, rubbing the tip of his cock against my pussy. My fingers curled up on the table as if I were trying to dig my nails into the wood.

"Oh god, stop teasing me and just fuck me," I begged.

"What do you want me to do to you? I want to hear you say it," he teased.

"FUCK ME!" For a split second I worried that someone might have heard me. At this point though I didn't care. I needed him inside me and it didn't matter what I had to do to get it.

As the last syllable escaped my lips, I felt the tip of his cock plunge inside me as far as it would go. With both his hands on my breasts, he began moving in and out of me, gradually increasing his speed. 

Just as I was about to experience my third orgasm, he pulled out, quickly lifted me up and turned me around.

"Get on the table."

I shimmied myself onto the table, pulling my skirt up to my waist to allow him complete access. He lifted my legs up onto his shoulders and his cock slammed into me once again. His hands grabbed my breasts as he continued to pump into me. From this angle I was able to see his big throbbing cock sliding in and out of me, glistening with my juices. My right hand slid down and I began rubbing my clit in a circular motion. My left hand clenched his ass, trying to pull him in closer.

Another orgasm was building inside me. I couldn't hold back my moans any longer and the explosion pulsed through me. 

"I'm going to come," he said as I began to come down and my cries subsided. He slid into me a few more times and then came deep inside me. After a moment of recuperation, he smiled and kissed my ankle playfully. I could feel his come oozing out of me as he slowly pulled his cock out. He offered me his handkerchief as he had done last time and I accepted appreciatively.

I recovered my thong which was balled up in the corner and straightened myself up - pulling my skirt back down to respectable level, fixing my bra and sliding my shirt back down. I ran my fingers through my hair to make sure it wasn't too disheveled and he was re-buckling his belt.

"You go out first and I'll follow," he said.

I took one last look at myself to make sure everything was in place and there was no evidence of what had just happened – other than the grin on my face that was sure to surface the moment I stepped out of the room. After a deep breath, I slipped out the door, closing it behind me. Thankfully, there was no one else in the hallway. I quickly walked to the elevator and pressed the down button. A few seconds later, he came up along next to me and we stood there waiting for the elevator in silence.

The doors opened to reveal an elderly man in his 70s with a newspaper folded under his arm. Always the gentleman, my friend (whose name, by the way, I still did not know) motioned for me to get onto the elevator. I stepped on and he followed, positioning himself just behind me.

"I'm interested in using the room again next Tuesday. Same time. Would that be possible?" my mysterious friend asked.

"Sure, Mr. ..."

"Smith" 

I grinned. "Of course, Mr. Smith."

The doors opened onto the first floor and the elderly man with the newspaper stepped out. As I was walking out, Mr. "Smith" leaned in and whispered into my ear. "I can still taste you."

His breath on my neck warmed my entire body and his words made me even hotter. I refrained from turning around and walked straight towards the front desk.

"I'm back," I announced to Amy who was reading.

"Oh, hey," she replied and looked up from her book. "Are you ok?" she asked. "You're all flushed."

My hand impulsively jumped to my cheek. "Oh? No, I'm fine."

"Well, I'll go back to labeling." Amy slid off the stool and returned to the back room.

I resumed my place on the stool and watched Mr. Smith as he headed out the front entrance.



In the Stacks Ch. 03



Marilyn looked directly into Penny's eyes, and relaxed, trying to loose her normally cool demeanor. Maybe today was the day to break it off. This just might work to her favor.

"Good morning, Will," she said.

"Noontime around here, Ma," he said gruffly.

"Well good afternoon then," she replied, matching his gruffness with a catty tone. Marilyn heard the bell ring, and stepped back, as Penny took in trades, and processed purchases.

"How's dad?" He said.

"Oh you know your father. Not much changes with him," Marilyn replied.

"You said the last time he spoke he had an infection?" He inquired.

"Yes, they took care of that. He's as healthy as a horse." Marilyn backed up.

"I see you've got another book out. Chris and I read it. He liked it, I was sort of hot and cold over it," Will replied.

"Oh," Marilyn took interest, "what didn't you like?"

"I'm not sure if it's a clear representation of a gay male life. I can see you're trying to stretch out your writing boundaries and that's great. Are gay men that promiscuous, though? Not that I know all that many, mind you," he said. 

Marilyn rolled her eyes, "well I think that probably some are, and some aren't. So how is your roommate, anyway?" 

Will coughed into the phone, "Chris is fine ma, fine. He got the lead in a local production of Romeo & Juliet for the summer Shakespeare festival."

"How wonderful," she replied, warmth in her tone that he was unused to, and suspicious of.

"Yeah he's real happy about it," Will replied. He did not inform her that Chris was rubbing his neck and shoulders and listening to every word. He shivered as Chris licked the back of his neck softly.

"So Ma, how's it going?" He said.

"Quite well, quite well indeed. The bookstore is finally turning a reasonable profit, and things are showing signs of improvement," Marilyn said, her eyes glued to the bounce of the hemline at Penny's skirt. "How are things over there? You find a girlfriend yet?"

Will opened his mouth to speak. Chris had been walking him through this for a while now, and he had mustered his courage to out himself. Marilyn interrupted him:

"When am I going to get a grandchild anyway?" She demanded.

Will's mouth snapped shut and he growled, "I don't know, maybe never. I don't like kids, Ma, you know that. Never liked being a kid, and don't like them now."

"Nonsense, you'd make a wonderful father," she said.

Will licked his lips, and then heard over the receiver Penny's singsong voice telling a customer how much she liked the sundress she was wearing.

"Who's that?" Will asked.

"Oh, that's just Penny," Marilyn said.

"Who's Penny?" Will inquired, putting his mother on the spot.

Marilyn swallowed the saliva in her mouth, "she's a girl I hired for part time work, in the afternoons. She'll give me some more time to work on my writing and other projects."

Penny tilted her head, looking at Marilyn. 

"She's very cute," Marilyn said. "If you ask nice, I'll fix her up with you."

Will inwardly groaned, "no thanks, ma. I'm pretty comfortable the way I am."

Penny glared at her, and Marilyn pursed her lips at her. Penny flushed as Marilyn spoke, "you sure? She's adorable."

"Yeah, sure, Ma, just send her right out. I'm sure Chris would love to chat her up. Maybe they can exchange makeup tips or something," Will growled at the phone. Chris went from rubbing his shoulders to a short nip on the neck.

"Why don't you get to the point?" Chris said, whispering into Will's ear.

Will nodded.

"Ma, um, Chris and I are going to be having a little gathering here in September, and we'd like you to come up. You have store help now. You don't have any excuses."

Marilyn wanted to scrunch her face up and growl at him ferociously, but with a store full of people and more coming in, she had little choice but to be polite and cheery, "oh you do know I hate flying."

"Ma, this is important, look, I'm trying to tell you something here," Will elevated his voice, trying to make himself heard over the din. He heard his mother say something to a customer.

"Will, I've got to go, I really do, Penny's getting swamped, we have the end of the month sale this weekend and it's crazy.

"Look ma, this is important. I need to tell you something, I'm," Will spoke in rapid tones.

"I love you boy, give me a call at home in the next couple days, we can chat then." She said, and hung up the receiver.

"Gay," Will replied to the dial tone.

***

Chris continued to rub Will's neck.

Will's massive shoulders sank and he hung the phone up on the receiver. He turned to his boyfriend, his big eyes lidded with tears, "I tried, Chris, I really did. She hung up on me. She just tramps all over me."

Chris wrapped his thin, wiry arms around Will and softly nuzzled him, "Its okay lover. It's all right." 

Chris led him to the couch where Will stretched out, putting his massive bearded face into Chris's lap. He felt the gentle touch of Chris's chiseled nails through the massive mop of his chestnut hair. Will cried softly.

They were a couple of opposites, both inside and out.

Chris was tall, thin, lithe, with blonde hair, and steel blue eyes that could pierce someone's soul with a single critical look. He was overly effeminate, and his close friends occasionally called him, "Pristopher" even to his face, even though Will never could. Chris had embraced his homosexuality as a child, prancing about dramatically. In school, he excelled in speech, and the arts, while his scores in math and language left him wanting. While he couldn't create literature, he could make it better. He won a scholarship in theater to a local collage and it was there he met Will in 1979.

Will was shorter, stockier with a scraggly beard, moustache, and was the stereotype of the gay male, bear. He hid his queerness from himself, and everyone else. He tried dating many women in college trying to figure it out, but being so socially inept, each of those relationships collapsed within weeks. He was a structural engineer, and enjoyed numbers and logical answers to problems. He had issues with his own emotions, and many thoughts about the world around him, yet kept an impassive, taciturn demeanor.

They met in collage, as assigned roommates, and after Chris survived a vicious gay bashing, Will took it upon himself to watch after him. They became housemates, after college. One night, Will got a phone call from Chris to pick him up at a bar where his boyfriend had dumped him. When they got back, Chris realized that Will loved him, even if Will was not willing to admit it at the time.

When dawn found both men in the same bed, Will realized his problem, and his shell of logic began to crack.

Now, years later, Will had pretty much outed himself to everyone except his mother whom he only saw every few years. He had grown very fond of having emotions, and being able to feel his feelings, and thanked Chris for it. Chris had learned the value of stability. He was now able to do simple tasks like balancing a checkbook and being able to make house payments on time.

Together, as a couple, they had been together for twenty years, their bond cemented after the accident that destroyed Will's fathers' life. As far as Will was concerned, the car ended his life, and he would have pulled the feeding and breathing tubes long, long ago, were it not for his mother.

Chris's mother took Will in, insisting he call her, 'Mom' and Will learned the value of having a family. With Marilyn so far away, and building her own life with her writing, the bookstore, and caring for Thomas, they naturally drifted apart.

Only now, when gay marriage was becoming legal, did the matter come up again.

A year ago, Chris had started stashing money away, and two months ago, he bought a ring for Will. They went out to their favorite park, and Chris got down on one knee and proposed to him.

Will sobbed with happiness and answered in the affirmative.

The wedding was set for the upcoming September, in Montreal. They had already found a location, Will had applied for and received time off, and his co-workers were planning a bachelor party for him. 

Will wanted his mother to come ever since they started to make plans, wanted to show her how happy he was with Chris, and the good things that Chris brought into his life. Marilyn and Chris had never gotten along very well, she found Chris's effeminate side to be very difficult to take, and never let Will forget it.

"How my big old Teddy bear doing?" Chris said, still stroking Will's tear-stained face.

"Better," Will gasped.

"I love you." Chris said, and cradled Will's head up. The two men kissed softly, tenderly, and then broke apart.

"I love you too," Will replied.

"We're going to make it, you know? We have come this far, stayed by each other's side. We'll make it," Chris said firmly, drawing upon the strength that he had learned from Will.

Will sat up and locked his lips into Chris's face, sucking on the fairer man's lower lip tenderly. Chris mewled softly and whispered, "Don't start something you're not prepared to finish, lover."

Will wrapped his arms around Chris's back, drug him atop his rotund tummy, and rubbed his bushy moustache against Chris's mouth, trailing down his neck with a series of sharp, nipping kisses.

Chris quivered, and his hands reached up Will's shirt, and found Will's big puffy nipples with their oversized aureoles. Before long, clothes from both men hit the floor, and Will ended up on the bottom, in a classic sixty-nine position. The only sound in the house was the bubbler of the fish tank, and the slurping noise of cocksucking.

***

Marilyn put down the phone and immediately dove into the line of customers, taking trades in left and right while Penny's quick fingers ran the till. Marilyn had never seen the place so busy, it was almost as if Penny's bright exuberance drew in the masses like a shining beacon to everyone else, not just her.

Penny was polite to all parties, even those that were a bit irritated at having to wait so long to have their purchases rung up. She made sure that every customer got a bookmark with the store's logo on it, and the little kids got Sorbee's, a kind of sugar-free hard candy. 

The traffic in the store caused the entire place to become warmer, and Penny felt her body get stickier and wished she had put on some additional deodorant. She watched a man come in wearing a full suit and tie, and a hat, reminiscent of the nineteen fifties. He took the hat off when he entered the store, and browsed through the shelves that held the thriller section.

When most of the kids had left, and the store was empty, he came up toward the cash register, the books he wanted to purchase in his hand.

He smiled pleasantly at her, as Marilyn stood behind her, to one side, still sorting all of the incoming trade.

"Will this be all, sir?" Penny asked.

"Yes, thank you." He replied. 

Penny counted out his change and bagged his books. He looked at her for a moment, and pulled from his interior breast pocket a thick envelope.

"Marilyn Marshall?" He inquired to Penny.

"No, um, Marilyn?" She called.

Marilyn moved over, leaning a bit more than normal on her cane for balance.

"I'm Marilyn Marshall." She said.

He handed the envelope to her.

"You have been served. Good day, ma'am." He said. He replaced his hat upon his head, and with his books, under one arm and walked out.

Marilyn frowned, and tore open the envelope.

A subpoena stared up at her.

"I didn't know you got game, girl." Penny quipped.

Marilyn did not get the joke, scanning the subpoena.

"Bah. It's Trish's attorney trying to stir the pot." She declared.

"Trish, that's Henry's wife, right?" Penny asked.

"Yes, this is a deposition hearing. I'm supposed to give some sort of statement, they will probably ask me if I'm having an affair with him or some such garbage." She said, a dark, brooding scowl crept upon her face.

"I knew I should have beaten him when I had the chance," she quietly hissed.

"Well, um, have you?" Penny asked.

Marilyn glared at her with a scathing glance, that caused Penny to actually fear her, "Give me a little credit girl, you're the first person I've been intimate with in twenty years."

Penny's eyes bugged out.

A large figure followed by a smaller figure loomed at the storefront, and in came the two Saturday regulars, Trinity and Violet.

Trinity held the door open for Violet. She was wore a flowing, obviously hand-made skirt with broad vertical stripes of various shades of blue and purple. She wore around her neck a thick leather collar with a heart shaped tag on it, and her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.

Violet wore a sundress of pale yellow that only barely matched her skin. Her face had the stern, hard edge of a top. In her hand, she carried a half inch of red brochures.

"Ladies," Marilyn said.

"Hey Mrs. Marshall," Trinity said with a grin. Her misses sounded like miz.

"Mrs. Marshall," Violet intoned.

"How can I help you two this afternoon, and shouldn't you be in bed?" Marilyn asked, always amazed at how little sleep they required.

Penny eyed the big one, Trinity, and stood in front of the till attempting to shield Marilyn from what she believed to be a perceived threat.

"Actually, Mrs. Marshall, I was wondering if we might be able to talk to you about a group we're helping to form," Violet said. "I've noticed that you keep a healthy stock of literature that, shall we say, is for the discriminating lady."

Marilyn cocked an eyebrow, looking much like Mr. Spock.

Trinity grinned her big silly grin and opened her mouth, "you've got a great selection of bondage goodies, Mrs. Marshall."

Penny stared coldly at Trinity.

Violet proffered the pamphlet to Marilyn. In it was a bondage-dominance group forming in Vancouver. Violet said, "You're the only serious purveyor of lesbian erotica this side of Portland. We were wondering if we could promote our group in your store."

Marilyn looked the brochure over and then handed it to Penny.

Penny unfolded it, and noted it was a women's only playgroup, dedicated to safe, sane, and consensual bondage practices.

Marilyn studied Penny's face, reading it. She watched her eyes move, her face, and lips purse as she read some of the gorier aspects of what the group wanted to offer.

"If you have anything that we could raffle off, that would be a big help, really. Our group is just getting started, and we will take whatever we can get. I was thinking perhaps if we could just put some of our brochures in your books, then we would be able to discreetly target the audience in question," Violet said politely.

Marilyn replied quietly, "perhaps we could get a recommendation to your group as a resource for literature of that nature?"

"I already talk up your store, you got great stuff. I bet we could put one of your business cards in our email letter. Maybe you might wanna buy some advertising space once we get a newsletter out?" Trinity drawled.

Penny looked up to her and then over to Trinity, still distrustful. "How much would you be charging, then?"

Marilyn could not suppress the hint of a smile. Penny's protectiveness, while unnecessary was touching.

"We'd need to discuss that with the newsletter editor, we're still in the pre-formative stages for that," Violet responded.

"Why don't you leave your brochures and let us take a look at them," Marilyn asked. "We'll take them home, and discuss them."

Trinity now openly leered at Penny, "yeah, I bet you will." Her eyes focusing on the purple hickie.

Penny felt the heat in her rising, and she opened her mouth to speak, acid on her tongue, ready to verbally barbeque Trinity when she felt Marilyn's hand softly on her shoulder.

"It is a decision we will make together," Marilyn said. She now knew that there was no way in hell she could just drop Penny off. "I'm sure you were aware, but there are two competent erotic writers in this area. They are also patrons of this store, and I am sure they would be interested in your group as well. I imagine if you approached them, they might be willing to donate a portion of sales to your group.

Violet's eyes lit up, and Trinity grinned her big stupid grin that Penny wanted to rip off her face. "We would be very happy if you brought our group to their attention, and would be appreciative of any donations we could get from them. If they have a signing, for example, we could get our group to come out as a field trip sort of thing to buy copies."

Marilyn nodded, pleased that she would be able make money in more than one way off this arrangement. She was also catty and wise enough to know not to give a yes or no answer at the initial meeting.

"Why don't you come around the store in the next couple days, Violet? We can chat about it more in detail after Penny and I have had a chance to discuss it."

"Thank you, Mrs. Marshall. I'll be happy to do that."

Trinity poked through the back issues of the magazines and found a long-buried copy of, 'On Our Backs'. She slapped it on the counter, and Penny wrung her up with the usual pleasantries.

Violet waited for her at the door as Trinity commented to Penny, "that's one hell of a curling iron burn you got there, girl. Maybe someone as young as you shouldn't be playing with that sort of thing," She said cattily.

Marilyn bit at her lower lip and watched as Penny kept her professional edge and replied, "We'll see you again. Thanks for coming in."

Penny looked about the store to make sure no one was in it and then growled, "Cunt."

Marilyn let loose a belly laugh.

"What?" Penny asked defensively."

"They're regulars," Marilyn said.

"New to me, and I've been coming here for a couple months now."

"Yes, but never on a Saturday. They work a compressed work week and have four days a week off," Marilyn said.

"You know where they work, too?" Penny asked astonished.

Marilyn nodded and then spoke quietly, "they work where my husband lives."

Penny's face got darkly quiet.

Marilyn sat on the stool, Penny leaned against the counter.

"I know I should have told you, but I'm married, with children, rather just the one child."

"Yeah, that part I know. But you don't have a wedding ring on," Penny observed.

Marilyn's eyes were tired.

"Twenty years ago, my husband, and I were driving from Chicago, where my son lives, back to Orchards. We were on the outskirts of Washington on State Route 14 when a drunk driver slammed into us doing forty. He hit the driver's side of the car, and left Thomas and I for dead after himself being thrown into the Columbia River."

Penny reached out for her, and hugged her tightly, "I'm so sorry." 

"Thomas never wore his seat belt, and the car that hit us mangled his body very badly," she said. Tears began to stream from her face. "The airbag mis-deployed and he suffocated on it as it pressed into his face. I watched him die as the police pulled up. One of the police officers was also a reserve paramedic and was able to intubate him and bring him back. The damage to his brain was too much, however. The fine man that was my husband is gone now, merely a memory in the mind of myself, and my son."

Penny felt horrible and her tears ran in long, large rivers down her face.

"So you see, I am married, and I am a devoted and faithful wife."

"Until me," Penny gasped.

"I have to also be honest with you, I wanted to sever our relationship this morning. I went to see my husband and to beg his forgiveness."

Penny swallowed, her face filled with fear.

"I can't do that, Penny. I'm much older than you are, and you make me laugh. You make me smile. Somehow you got into me, and I don't know how." Tears filled her lined eyes, the wrinkles on her face warm, and happy.




In the Stacks Ch. 03



Penny's fear faded and she held Marilyn tight and both women cried together for a time.

"I felt very special, when you were talking to those two. You said that we would make the decision about those brochures. I felt included."

Marilyn nodded.

"I meant what I said last night. I believe in what I see in you. I see a bright, shining source of energy, of stories that people will want to read. All you need is some focus, someone to offer a guiding hand." I would like to be that hand.

Penny nodded and nuzzled softly into Marilyn's neck, her lips softly touching the base of the throat of the older women.

Marilyn held her gently and rocked her slowly, stroking her head.

Penny felt wanted, desired, and needed. She felt strength, and passion.

Marilyn's eyes softly roamed the bookstore, and as it was still empty did something that was very unladylike. She copped a feel of Penny's young butt through the skirt.

"I've been celibate for twenty years, Penny. You have lit my fire, little one. I hope you understand what you have done. I have a lot of make up time."

Penny reached her face up and softly, teasingly, licked Marilyn's lips.

Marilyn's face sneered just a touch and she nipped softly at Penny's lips, chewing enough to sting, and made her squirm.

"I, um, I tried to, um, spank myself this morning," Penny said, after their kiss parted.

Marilyn laughed.

"No, I'm serious. It's not an easy thing to do!" She exclaimed.

Marilyn laughed harder.

Penny's eyes glittered and she crossed her arms indignantly.

Marilyn tried to calm herself, but still had a huge smile on her face and then asked, "So how far did you get?"

"Not very," Penny said, crossly.

Marilyn swooped next to her, pressing into her personal space, her mouth coming a fraction of an inch to her face. She spoke quietly, "I think you just like to be spanked. You were so wet last night when I put you over my knee."

Penny flushed bright red.

"Tell me, Penny, when you spanked yourself, what did you think, Hm?" Marilyn said, one of her hands snaking around to the short skirt, and feeling the flesh of her butt.

Penny swallowed, as the heat rose in her face.

"Y-you. I was thinking about being in your lap again." Penny said.

Marilyn squeezed her ass tightly, and scratched at it with her sharp, claw-like nails, causing Penny to quiver. Marilyn saw the shadow at the store door this time, and backed away. Penny was flush, and took a few moments to compose herself.

Marilyn stepped to the till, hit the, 'No Sale' key, and pulled out a twenty, which she handed to Penny. "Go grab some food, would you? Hopefully Henry is open today, or someone else is opening the store."

Penny scurried off, to get something and nearly ran smack into Trish who was just coming out of the pizzeria.

"S-Sorry, Trish," Penny gasped, avoiding the older woman.

"Penny? I didn't know the law office was open on Saturdays?" Trish asked. She was a very androgynous woman dressed in a casual outfit of jeans, tennis shoes and a hoodie. Her face was weathered, and unlike Marilyn who smiled, Trish's face was full of dark, frowning lines. The lines of a woman who had led a harried life.

"I'm um, working for Marilyn today. She's having a sale."

"Oh." She said coolly.

Penny waved at her with a quick, "see ya," and went into the pizzeria. Henry was not there.

Customers came and went in a steady trickle, and Penny returned with a pizza pie, reporting to Marilyn that she had seen Trish.

"Bah," Marilyn said. "Bloody busybody. She came in here once, demanding to sell me advertising on their menus. Has all the business sense of a cucumber." 

Penny grinned, "Well I told here I was working for you now, so she got kind of chilly on me."

"Good for you, Pen. We'll have us a couple of slices of pizza pie. I still have a big hunk of that Chinese left over from last night. You'll have to come over and help me eat it," Marilyn said, looking at her directly in the face, watching curiously.

Penny's face lit up like a beacon giggling, "Ooh! A dinner invitation. Is this is a formal affair, or shall I just come as I am?" 

Marilyn leaned a bit closer to her and said, "I don't recall it stopping you last night, young lady."

It was Penny's turn to belly laugh, and she turned slightly pink, and then looked around found the store empty then and eyed Marilyn, "well I bet you don't wear slips in ninety degree heat, either!"

"Au contraire," Marilyn said. She put her lame foot careful half way up the stool, pulled the skirt up to show the slip, and then pulled it up enough to display the hosiery. "Real stockings too, not those wretched pantyhose. Hideous things, those."

Penny's jaw dropped as the garter came on display, and Marilyn smiled at her. Her hand reached out to stroke the leg and thigh, the French Silk stockings cool and comfortable to the skin. Marilyn's thighs were not wrinkly, but strong, muscular things, and Penny caught just a peek at the black satin panties. She felt Marilyn's warm, strong body, just for those few moments.

"Marilyn, I have to talk to you about something. Last night, last night was incredible for me, but I also have some other needs." Penny said.

Marilyn nodded for her to continue, gesticulating with a piece of pizza, chewing slowly, and taking small bites.

"I've slept with boys, but never, ever with a girl. I want to touch you. The way one woman touches another. I mean, I love a good spanking. I was so hot, even if you didn't finger me, I would have been frigging myself in the car. I have an urge, a desire. I want to lick you."

The corner of Marilyn's mouth rose.

"You want more than just a spanking," she said softly.

"I want a relationship," Penny said firmly. 

"We're already friends, I think maybe this is just a natural course of that. We've discovered that we can give each other pleasure," Marilyn said.

"Well you never got anything out of it, last night," Penny pointed out.

"I got to spank your cute little ass. I like doing those sorts of things." Marilyn said.

Penny quivered.

"Maybe, if you're a very good girl tonight, I'll read to you from my big book of bedtime stories," Marilyn said, nearly whispering the words.

Penny licked her lips.

Marilyn set down her slice, moved forward, pressing into her, and then continued, "My dear, you look flush. Very, very flush. If I didn't know any better, I would say you had a fever. Tell me, dear, are you feeling...hot?" 

"Yes ma'am," Penny whispered.

"You poor dear. Since you live alone, and have no one to care for you, you had better spend the night with me. I think you need some tender, loving, care," Marilyn said. Her hand softy ran across Penny's hairline, her knuckles gently rubbing against her cheek, down to her exposed throat, and softly pressed upon the hickie. "Penny, I have never slept with a woman, either. Perhaps tonight, we can change that, in both of our lives."

Penny's eyes watered with happiness, and she kissed Marilyn tenderly on the lips.

Throughout the remainder of the afternoon, when there was no one in the store, they would softly steal kisses from each other. Marilyn kept the store open until its normal closing time, 7:00 PM, and had Penny run and get her laptop and overnight bag.

Marilyn had just set the table when Penny arrived, grinning wildly.

Marilyn had her put her things in the guest room. Marilyn had touched up her makeup, gave herself a light spray of perfume, and she had to admit, that she was very hot about the idea of having an overnight guest.

Penny helped Marilyn microwave the food, and set it on plates, and they sat and ate, talking mostly about Penny's story offer, and Marilyn's current project, a fifth anthology.

"Generally, once you get broken into print, anthologies are the way to go. You never make a whole lot of cash over them, but you can make enough to have that steady trickle of income coming in that you can cut down your work hours."

"Well working for you, and the law firm, I won't have a lot of time for writing, although I can use the cash," Penny said.

"When it's quiet, you can putter on your laptop, if you like. I often do a lot of writing in the mid-afternoon. Don't have much to do, most of my little old ladies come in the morning."

"Cool," Penny nodded.

"Unfortunately, it'll just be minimum wage, but I can also get some other banking and things like that done. Usually I have to close for an hour or so to do that sort of thing, and I've always wondered what sort of business I lost during that time." Marilyn pointed out.

"I'll let you know. What are you thinking about that bondage group?" Penny asked.

"Oh, I'm thinking that I defiantly need to work with them. I was also thinking that once you got an e-book going, we could have a disc signing party, that would be fun," Marilyn said.

Penny cocked an eyebrow curiously, "disc signing party?"

"It's the new epublishing rage. You show up at conventions, and sign discs with your work on it. I have been that it's a good way to get out. I've never done it, using a pseudonym and all," Marilyn said.

"I haven't decided to use one yet. I'd really like to just use my own name." Penny said.

Marilyn shrugged, "I started writing all this back in the seventies, and hid a lot of it from Thomas, – and I just didn't feel he'd understand."

"So bondage and spankings weren't a part of your life with him?"

"Goodness no," Marilyn said. "I was a teacher in Thailand, where corporeal punishment was expected and encouraged. I learned to cane from some of the masters of the art. They used all sorts of goodies there."

Penny's mouth gaped.

Marilyn looked into her eyes, "they would punish a student, even to the university level where I taught, with a good caning. In public, mind you."

Penny just stared and then babbled, "In America you'd get sued."

"Well in this day, yes. When I was growing up, they would use a ruler on the knuckles. I was not much of a troublemaker. I was a good girl." Marilyn said.

"Uh-huh," Penny said.

"Are you impuning my honor young lady?" Marilyn said, in her high-handed tone as they cleared off the supper dishes.

"I didn't say that," Penny squeaked.

"I don't think I like the tone of your voice," Marilyn hissed. "It's very disrespectful. Very disrespectful indeed. I think you need to be taught a lesson."

"Um, well, um," Penny flushed.

Marilyn grabbed her arm, and spun her around backwards, pulling it up, forcing her against the counter, in a swift, catlike pounce.

"I think you're a mouthy little girl, who needs a good spanking. Don't you?"

Penny's breathing turned into an audible pant, and Marilyn twisted the arm up just a touch.

"I didn't hear you," she said coldly.

"Yes ma'am," Penny said.

"Yes ma'am what?" Marilyn insisted.

"I'm a mouthy little girl, and I need a spanking." Penny said, her lower lip trembling.

"I didn't hear you," Marilyn growled into her ear.

"I'm a mouthy little girl, and I need a spanking, ma'am!" Penny shouted.

"Yes you do." Marilyn said, and then gave her a command. "You go kneel in that corner over there, and I'll get to you."

With a fling of her hand, Penny went flying to the general area of the corner. She tumbled to the floor, crawled to the corner, and stuck her nose into it.

Marilyn took her time.

Slowly, she poured hot water into the dishpan, and carefully cleaned each plate by hand for she did not own a dishwasher. She wiped down the countertops, wiped out the microwave, and then removed the decoration from the oaken dinner table. From the kitchen drawer she pulled out a wooden spoon, inspected it, and then discarded it. 

She poked about the utensil drawer, and found a very wide spatula with a comfortable handle on it, and she test smacked it against her hand. It gave her a satisfying smack and she slammed it against the counter far harder than she would ever strike Penny.

"Yes," she said. "This will do nicely."

"Girl," she growled, go stand at the table.

Penny moved like lightening.

Marilyn grabbed her by her braid, and pulled her back about two feet and then pushed her forward. Penny instinctively put her hands out on the table to stop her fall, and ended over in a bent over sort of position.

"I want you to know young lady, this hurts me a whole lot more than it will hurt you."

She pulled Penny's skirt down until it hit her ankles.

"Still no slip, I see. I thought we had this discussion already, you naughty little girl. I see you have those hideous thong panties. You're a little slut, do you know that?"

"Yes ma'am" Penny said.

Marilyn pulled the panties down to her knees, and stuck her middle finger into her wet sex.

"You're such a slut, girl. You deserve this, don't you?"

"Yes ma'am. I'm a slut. I deserve this spanking, ma'am." Penny said. Glazed eyes reflected her internal calmness, and emotional safety.

The spatula struck, a short warm up strike.

"One ma'am," Penny said.

The second, third, and fourth blows were slightly stinging, and Penny counted them out in succession.

"Five ma'am," Penny roared as the spatula arched back for a full swing. She started crying.

Marilyn watched her becoming concerned, and landed the last spanking on the other cheek, causing Penny's entire body to shake as she shrieked.

"Six Ma'am!" Penny exclaimed.

Marilyn held the spatula in her hand.

"Is my little girl learning anything today?" She whispered into her ear.

"Yes ma'am." Penny said.

"That's good. I've never said you were stupid, merely uneducated." Marilyn said. She kept penny bent over, and then removed her shirt, and unclasped her bra, feeling the warm, succulent breasts of another woman for the first time. Marilyn's hand gave her a playful, undisciplinary swat. "Sit on the table, little one."

Penny moved slowly, her muscles aching, and when her butt hit the table, she winced.

Marilyn pulled up a chair, and softly wrapped her lips around a pert nipple at the edge of a pear-shaped breast. She sucked greedily and Penny grasped her head, encouraging her, moaning lewdly.

Minutes later, Marilyn's face was softly lapping at the pink flesh of Penny's tender mons, enjoying the tasted, and lavishing her clit with tender, loving care. The tip of her tongue flickered softly and lips sucked gently at the hood. Marilyn shoved the handle of the spatula into her tiny cunt and fucked her with it. Penny did not hold out for long, and gave out a long, roaring orgasm.

In a quarter-hour, Penny had coaxed Marilyn into the bedroom, and felt the older woman's hands on her head, guiding her into the softest pubic hair she had ever felt. She nuzzled Marilyn's thighs, teased her with soft, fluttery kisses, and ran her hands over the older woman's flatter, smaller breasts with their huge suckable nipples.

Marilyn felt the build up of climax her thighs quivering, grinding, and she rubbed Penny's nose into her cunt, as the younger woman jammed her tongue into every fold she could find. Marilyn relaxed, slowly riding the girl's mouth, Penny's lips softly sucking at the inner and outer labia, tongue finding her much-neglected clit, and flicked it wantonly in her mouth.

Marilyn grabbed her hair hard, pulling and then reared her hips up, climaxing hard than she had in over twenty years, with a loud, "AHH" sound, sweat pouring from her body.

Penny licked at her nether regions, drinking in all that she had to offer. She felt Marilyn's hands pull her up, and the old woman kissed her passionately, tasting her own juices from another woman face.

They were both dazed with the power and ferocity of their sex, and in the stereotype of men, they fell asleep in each other's arms shortly after climaxing.

***

Several miles away, a dark clad figure looked at the strip mall containing the attorney's office, pizzeria, bookstore, and the other smaller stores. It drove around the back, and pulled out a large metal container and slowly poured its contents along the base of each of the stores. Quickly, stealthily, it ran around the front as well, and made sure the petroleum went into each mail slot, every potential opening, finding all the exposed wood that could be easily ignited.

Returning behind the store, it set a crude homemade timer consisting of a kitchen timer, battery, and hobby rocket igniter.

Thirty minutes later, the entire mall transformed into a mass of flames. The fire raged high in the hot July night.



In the Stacks Ch. 04



I settled into an overstuffed, dingy green armchair near the window with my cup of cappuccino. This café is my Sunday morning ritual. I get my morning coffee and sit for hours to people-watch. This particular morning there was a good mix of 20- and 30-somethings. My eyes grazed over a few guys who might be worth a second look. I caught one guy peering over his book, looking at me, and I quickly looked away, staring down into my cappuccino as I took a sip. My eyes continued to scan the room until a familiar face coming through the doorway caught my attention. I couldn't believe I was looking at Mr. Smith. I never expected to see him outside the library, especially downtown in my own neighborhood like this.

I grinned and watched him as he and the other people who had shuffled through the door behind him wandered in and found tables. My eyes followed him, waiting for Smith to notice me. I wondered what he would do. 

He walked over to an empty table near the counter, pulled out a chair and the woman who had been walking behind him sat down. She was blond, thin, and pretty in a Midwestern-homecoming-queen sort of way. They exchanged a few words, he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, and then went to the counter to order. It wasn't until he was carrying back their drinks that he finally made eye contact with me. My grin was gone and I was just staring at him. He stopped abruptly and just stared back like a deer caught in headlights. On his left hand, I noticed a wedding ring that hadn't been there during any of his visits to the library. Smith quickly regained his senses and continued towards he and the blond woman's table and sat down.

I didn't know what to do. I was only partly angry, slightly jealous, and mostly turned on by the fact that I was "the other woman." I suddenly felt a bit disgusted with myself for enjoying this fact. I assumed this blond woman sipping her latte obliviously must be his wife. Unless Smith had made a habit of fucking a girl everywhere he went. Maybe she was the checkout girl at Gristedes, I thought. I pictured them having sex on the conveyor belt at the ten-items-or-less register and I couldn't help but giggle to myself.

My curiosity was killing me. I needed to get a closer look at this Pepto-Bismol-pink-clad woman. Plus, I wanted to see Smith squirming in his seat. I abandoned my unfinished cappuccino and headed towards the bathroom downstairs so that I could walk by their table. As I walked by, I discreetly looked the blond woman up and down, sizing her up. I knew it was ridiculous to feel this kind of competitiveness with her, but I couldn't help it. I was happy to spot a few tiny wrinkles beginning to form around her mouth and that her breasts were not quite as firm as mine. After I was clear of the table, I glanced back to look at Mr. Smith. As I had suspected, he had been watching me walk by and I recognized a mixture of uneasiness and excitement in his eyes as he stared up at me.

I followed the narrow stairway down to the greasy lower level. There were two single-occupancy restrooms that were both occupied. I stood there, distractedly, waiting for a bathroom that I didn't even need. A few moments later, Smith's voice whispered into my ear, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't think it would matter. Does it?"

Without turning around, I replied, "I don't sleep with married men." I wasn't really that angry, but I wanted to make him sweat a little.

"I don't remember us sleeping, do you?" he quipped.

I tried rather unsuccessfully to hold back a grin. Smith wrapped his hands around my waist, slipping them under my soft cotton top so that I could feel his skin on mine. His fingertips played with the waist of my low-slung jeans. I could feel my body beginning to respond to him. My skin tingled and my nipples began straining against the fabric of my top. The heat had convinced me to go without a bra this morning and I hadn't expected getting so excited that this fact would become so obvious. Smith looked down over my shoulder and discovered my secret. He smiled and his right hand began to creep upwards, seeking to confirm his suspicions.

Just as his fingertips grazed my nipple, the bathroom door jerked open and Smith's hand went into reverse at top speed. The woman who came out didn't seem to notice and brushed right past us and up the stairs.

Smith quickly pushed me into the bathroom by the waist and locked the door behind us. Without hesitation, he began unbuttoning my jeans and I wriggled out of them, slipping of my shoes as well. He lifted me up onto the sink and began kissing me ravenously as my fingers tangled themselves in his wavy brown hair. His mouth moved down my neck to my chest. His thumb pulled down the neckline of my top and he cradled my left breast up to his lips and then my right. I suddenly dropped my hands down to his fly, anxious to release his throbbing cock. I hastily unbuckled and unzipped his pants. His thick cock sprung free and I slid his pants over his ass and they dropped to his ankles on their own.

I grabbed him and pulled him to me. He grabbed the thong that was barely covering my dripping wet hole and with one hard thrust delved deep into my pussy. I gasped and Smith began thrusting into me hard and fast. My thighs clenched around him and my hands searched for something to anchor me. My right hand gripped the sink and my left clawed at the cinderblock wall as his cock rammed into me. His hands were gripping my ass, moving my body in unison with his. The friction both inside me and on my inner thighs was driving me crazy. Mr. Smith's mouth found my left breast once again and his tongue began to lash at my swollen bud without slowing down his thrusts in the slightest. From our escapades at the library, I was becoming increasingly skilled at muffling my moans, but he seemed determined to break me. I could feel myself coming to the brink of orgasm. Smith pumped once, twice more and released deep inside me just as my body surged. 

We stayed like that for a moment, his still-hard cock buried within me, and his head resting on my shoulder. After a brief recuperation, we were once again aware of our present situation. We were in a slimy public bathroom in the basement of a café where his wife was waiting upstairs drinking latte. A quick glance at my watch revealed that we had only been down here for about ten or fifteen minutes. He should be safe, I thought.

We quickly got dressed and I looked at myself in the mirror to make sure I looked presentable. I looked at Smith's reflection. "So, Mr. Smith... what's your real name? I think, at this point, I deserve to know." I watched him coyly as he put his hands in his pockets.

"Ethan," he replied. "Ethan Jacobsen."

"Do you have kids?" I could feel my conscience kicking in.

"No. Cindy and I haven't gotten around to that."

I felt a bit relieved that I wasn't breaking up a family. Not that being a mistress was so noble, but at least I wasn't an all-out home-wrecker.

I opened the door and discovered there was someone standing there waiting to use the bathroom. It took me a second, but I recognized him as the guy who had been checking me out earlier from behind his book. When Ethan stepped out after me, a look of confusion came across his face, but it was quickly replaced by a knowing smile that he made no effort to conceal.

We walked past him and headed up the stairs. Ethan placed his left hand on my ass, his fingers curled down between my legs. I wondered if he could feel how wet I still was through my jeans.

"So, are we still on for Tuesday, or is once a week enough for you?" I teased.

"We're still on for Tuesday," he said confidently.

As we reached the top of the stairs, his hand dropped back down to his side and we resumed our stranger act. He walked ahead of me towards his wife who was staring into space. Ethan's placed his hand on her shoulder, waking her from her trance.

"Honey, what took you so long?" she asked. "Your coffee's going to be cold."

He pulled out his chair and slid into it. "There was such a long line and only two bathrooms. Sorry."

This answer seemed to satisfy her and she took another sip of her latte. 

I headed straight for the door and left the café, walking past the windows and around the corner. I could feel Ethan's eyes following me as I walked away and I resisted the urge to look back. 



In the Stacks Ch. 04



Penny had draped herself protectively over Marilyn's sleeping form, pulling her tight. She loved the smell of the older woman's flesh, the feel of the warm body next to her. She would softly wake, from time to time and smell the delicate scent of Marilyn's perfume. Marilyn's sleep was hard, and Penny envied her, she always slept poorly when she was in an unfamiliar bed.

Softly, they dozed together, until the early hours in the morning. In late July, the dawn would break in Orchards about four or so in the morning, providing a slow, gentle, soft light.

A little after four, the telephone rang.

Marilyn's eyes snapped open, she felt Penny's hand pulling her tight. She leaned down, and kissed the forearm softly.

The phone rang again.

Penny groggily muttered, "what, who?"

"Phone," Marilyn said. She struggled to one side of the bed and felt around for her cane. The early morning was difficult for her, the leg with the pins in it painful, and slow to move.

"I'll get it," Penny said. She rolled quickly off the bed, buck-naked. Marilyn saw the perfect half moons of her ass as they danced out of the doorway, and down the hall.

Penny looked first in Marilyn's small, tidy office, and finding only her cellular phone charging but not ringing, went into the kitchen. There, on the wall was an avocado green phone with a dial on it. Penny picked it up and spoke grumpily into it.

"Hello," she said.

"Ma, this is Will," he said, exasperated. "I just got a phone call from the Orchards Fire department, they..."

Penny interrupted him, "This isn't Marilyn. Let me go get her."

"Who the fuck are you?" Will roared into the phone.

Penny became irritated with him and snapped, "It's Penny. Gimmie a damn minute and let me go get her."

Will was in shock, and couldn't believe what he had heard, until he heard his mother's caustic voice on the phone. "Will? What's going on?"

Marilyn woke up immediately as he related what the fire chief had told her, "a what? A fire? When? Right, right, we'll get over there right away. Okay, okay. I'll call you later. Thanks, Will, I appreciate it."

Penny cocked an eyebrow.

"They called Will as he's the emergency listing for the business. The bookstore's in flames, along with the whole strip mall." She said.

Penny gaped, and shook.

Marilyn took a deep breath, and exhaled.

Penny wrapped her arms around her, expected an onrush of emotions from Marilyn, and was somewhat puzzled when they didn't come.

"Aren't you upset?"

"I've got insurance, and my personal collection of books is safe, so I don't feel real bad," Marilyn admitted. "I'm more worried about the other businesses. That was Henry's sole source of income. I'm sure the law firm is paid up, and I know the Laundromat is a chain."

Penny gaped at her.

"Always remember girl, there are a lot of people worse off than you. I'm fortunate to have a business; most people have to work for someone else. Besides, we don't know the extent of the damage. A fire can mean any number of things. I," she paused, "want to look on the bright side."

Penny swallowed.

"Yeah, I know. I'm one of those people that has to work for someone else..."

Marilyn looked aghast, having put her foot squarely in her mouth.

"I'm sorry," she said plainly. "I'm still tired. Let's quit standing around here naked and go and see what all the fuss is about, shall we?"

Penny looked at her, and smiled, "but I like seeing you naked."

"I like seeing you over my lap with your ass beet red too, girl, but I don't think you can take the cane yet," Marilyn threatened, lightly snapping the cane on the counter. She was smiling, so Penny didn't take her very seriously.

"Yes ma'am," she saluted playfully.

"Rapscallion," Marilyn said, and swatted her on the rump as Penny led the way back into the bathroom. Penny winced just a touch, for there were a couple of hard, red lines where the mark of the spatula strike had left a small welt.

Quickly they dressed, Marilyn in her stockings, garters and slip, and Penny just her skirt and top, much to Marilyn's consternation. She watched Marilyn take some heavy-duty painkillers to deal with her hip injury.

"I'm going to ask you to drive, Penny. Do take it easy on me, I'm just a little old lady you know."

"Uh, huh." Penny said.

They piled into Marilyn's Cadillac and the engine started instantly. Penny felt the power of the larger car, the throb of the powerful V8 and was unused to the automatic transmission.

Marilyn said nothing, even as the strip mall came into view, she could tell the entire mall was a total loss. She sighed deeply, remembering the children yesterday. How their little shining faces lit the storefront up.

Penny pulled outside the cordoned off police line, and Marilyn got out of the passenger's side. She turned to Penny and said with a smirk, "You know, I always wanted a driver."

Penny rolled her eyes at her and gave her a scathing glance.

Marilyn smirked and promptly walked up to a small white car with a single red light on it, magnetically attached. There was a man leaning up against it, watching the fire, the firefighters, and talking to a senior female police officer.

Penny stood behind her, and looked at the huge blaze, the entire strip mall was on fire.

"Arson," she said simply.

Marilyn turned her head, and Penny explained to her:

"There's no other answer. The buildings are burning evenly, the odds of multiple sites like that starting at once are incredible."

A dark, coarse voice addressed them.

"That's an interesting deduction."

Marilyn turned back, as the man, talking to the police officer opened addressed them. She walked forward another step and said, "Marilyn Marshall, the bookstore is, or was, mine. This is my personal secretary, Penny."

Penny had no idea she had such skills, and accepted the promotion in stride.

"Well, Penny, you've got a good eye," he said, shaking Marilyn, then Penny's hand. "It is indeed arson. Probably gasoline, it is one of the most common flammables used in the starting of fires. It's open and shut, we've already caught the perpetrator. My name is Carson Wallis, I'm Clark Counties Chief Fire Examiner."

"Oh? That's fast work," Marilyn then inquired, "Who?

"Henry Sparling." He said.

"Henry?" Both women gasped.

"We found him drunk, in the field behind the bar, across the street, unconscious. He had an empty can of gas next to him." He gestured with his cigarette toward a patrol car with a person in the back, pressed against the glass of the passenger's side. "I doubt if he's anything close to sober.

Marilyn's eyes were sad, and filled with shame. She felt awful, the way that she had treated him, and knew, deep inside, she was somehow responsible. She lurched on her cane, and slowly walked toward the panda car.

Henry's back pressed against the passenger's side door, his head was shaking, and she could see he was almost convulsing. He was bare-chested, and had a horizontal red mark a few inches wide about mid-back, below a long, old scar that stretched from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. She wondered if he was going go vomit, and went over to the driver's rear side window and crouched down, balancing on her cane.

"Henry?" She whispered.

He raised his head. His face was stained with mud, and dirt, and he had a small cut on his chin. His eyes saw nothing but the fire, and tears streamed down his face. He was a mere shadow of his arrogant self.

"Marilyn, is that you?" He whispered. She could smell the mix of bile and alcohol on his system, as well as the pungent smell of gasoline, presumably from his pants.

"I'm here Henry, it's going to be all right," She said.

"No! No, it's not, Marilyn. The restaurant was all I had, I have nothing now, nothing!" He screamed, "they think I did it, but I was drunk, Marilyn, I couldn't have done it, don't you understand, I, I..."

Henry started to cry, and shudder uncontrollably, his eyes not fixed on Marilyn, but on the fire itself. She smelled the rank smell of urine, and realized that Henry's bladder and bowels had loosened themselves in the back of the Police Car.

She stared at him for a few moments and then shook her head, and stood erect. Carson was talking with animated gestures to Penny, and the Policewoman was approaching her. 

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, we can't have you talking to the suspect." She said politely.

"That's okay, officer," Marilyn looked down at her name badge, "Schantez. We're friends, I suspect he'll need an attorney." Marilyn said.

"His wife was called, she said she would call his attorney." 

Marilyn looked at her and then asked in a quiet tone, "Where did you find him?"

"At the bar, across the street. Drunk, in the field, like Carson said. We found him pretty much by accident, really. One of the firefighters spotted him as they were cutting through the back roadway."

Dawn was breaking, and Marilyn finally took the scene in full. The strip mall was a complete, total loss. Flames became embers by this point, between the water damage, and the fire damage, everyone would have to start over. She bit at her lip for a moment, and then stared at the figure in the car.

To think that Henry, who always joked with her, always hit on her, always wanted to be opening doors for her did this, was unconscionable. She started to weep slowly, quietly, stoically.

When Penny turned back toward her and saw those tears, it was as if a knife stabbed into her. She rushed to Marilyn and hugged her tightly. Marilyn could only hug her with one arm, feeling very frail, and very old.

"Penny, take me home," she said, finally.

Penny nodded and eased her into the Caddy. Marilyn held in one hand, the business card of the officer, and as they pulled into the driveway, let loose with a long, hard cry.

Penny, too, sobbed, and managed to get them both into the house where they collapsed hard on the bed together, holding each other, and crying. Slowly when the tears faded, Marilyn realized something.

Penny was still there. She was still strong, still the same, bright shining Penny that she had come to rely upon. It was, in some ways a blow to Marilyn's ego, to need, or want help, yet Penny was there. 

Softly, she reached out with her hand and pulled Penny even tighter, and softly kissed her forehead. Penny returned the kiss, and soon their intimacy resumed, not a sexual intimacy, but a sensual intimacy. A long, tender, gentle cuddling. Softly, they fell asleep, and this time, neither one awoke when the phone rang.

Will grunted, and took a long, hefty drink from his Venti Frappachino. Chris looked at him, worried.

"No answer," Will said.

"Could they still be at the store?" Chris said.

"I don't know," Will muttered. He dialed the store's number and got an error message saying the call, 'could not be completed' as dialed.

"Store's phone is down," Will said to Chris.

"Shit." Chris said. He pulled out a fine-ground nail buff and started to shine up his nails.

Will watched him for a moment, sitting there in the middle of a starbucks. They settled next to a window, people watching on the busy street and chatting. It seemed like Chris had everything in his bag, which most everyone jokingly referred to as, 'his purse'.

Will on the other hand, crammed his pockets full of crap, and even in the July Chicago afternoon wore a jacket. He hated being cold, and swore every winter to move to Texas.

After much fumbling and self-groping, he produced his PDA, an antiquated Handspring Visor. He snapped the network card in, and pulled the replacement stylus out of its slot.

"Going to write that letter after all, huh?" Chris asked, now pushing the cuticle back with an orange stick.

Will shrugged, "I've got to get it outta me, Chris. It's killing me."

"I can hear that. Oh my, hunk alert at three o'clock." Chris said, swishing his nails toward Will.

Will turned his head just enough to see that Chris had indeed spotted a more than attractive young man. Stripped to the waist, t-shirt in hand, jogging along the side of the road. His tanned, muscular body poured down with sweat. He moved fluidly and had a good pace. Will stared for a moment or two, just to get the image in his head, and then turned back to the PDA.

"So why again, are you marrying me?" Will muttered.

"Oh stop it," Chris said. "There's only one reason to marry, you big lug. Just because I'm going to be a married woman doesn't mean I'm blind you know." 

Will cocked an eyebrow at him and grunted, tapping out the start of his email to his mother with the on-screen keyboard. Graffiti, the language of the handspring visor was as foreign to him as masculinity was to Chris. His nostrils reeled at the scent of the clear nail polish Chris pulled out and started to coat each finger with.

Will tapped away, and then was distracted once again as Chris swung his fingers wildly, fanning them, hoping to make them dry quicker.

"Well what do you have now?" Chris asked, impatiently.

"Dear Ma. I'm sorry to hear about the bookstore, I hope the damage isn't very bad. If you need help rebuilding you can always call on me and Chris and we'll help however we can."

"I believe that would be, 'Chris and I'" Chris said.

"Yeah whatever." Will grumbled.

"You really don't want to do this, do you?" 

"I do and I don't? I mean she knows, she has to know. Hell I've been living with you for over twenty fucking years."

Chris swished his fresh, still wet nails against his breast and said, "Darlin, you mean that by living with me, you're queer by implication! I am wounded, sir!"

Will was unamused as Chris made the best use of his dramatic training.

"I was thinking more that I never had a girlfriend for more than a couple weeks."

"You were just waiting for the right one to come along, and here I am. Your princess charming," Chris beamed.

Will's stoic visage finally broke and he cracked a smile to one corner.

"I love you, you know that?" Will said. 

Chris snaked his hand over, and took the stylus away from Will. Softly he held the bigger man's hands.

"That's why I want to marry you. You're a good man, Will Marshall."

Will felt uncomfortable and opened his mouth to object.

Chris put his finger on Will's moustache.

"Shush, you. I don't want to hear how fat you think you are, how thin you think your hair is getting or how short you think your dick is."

Will growled at him.

"I'm serious, dammit," Chris said in a perfect Mae West. "Some things we do in our lives are about love, not about the hunk of the month."

"You don't ever turn it off, do you?" Will said.

Chris sighed deeply, and then over dramatacised Will's voice, in a near perfect impression, down to the sulk, the shoulder drooping and the grunt.

"Well it beats wandering about looking like someone tried to use a shovel as a suppository." He sounded like a cross between Lieutenant Worf and Seto Kiaba.

"I don't either sound that way," Will blurted.

"Only when you're worried, or scared, or in this case, both."

"That bad?" Will offered.

Chris nodded.

Chris pulled Will's hand back, and softly stroked it in both hands.

"You've been biting your nails again, dammit. Will what am I going to do with you?"

Will at this point realized he was being a bit of an ass and lowered his head over his frappachino, sucking at the open top of the dome lid. A white trickle of whipped cream came across his moustache, as he made an obnoxious sucking sound.

"That was this morning," Chris said.

"Yeah, so?" Will said.

"We're in public," Chris said.

"Like that ever stopped you," Will countered.

"Humph. Pick on the queen, why don't you? I'll get you for that, Will." In the flash of an eye, a different color polish was out, and two of Will's fingers became coated in a beautiful crimson red.

"God dammit," Will roared in mock ferocity, drawing stares from the tables around them.

"And here I am, all out of polish remover. Oh me, oh my. I guess you'll have to wear it. I always knew I should have been a beautician."

Will reached out with the pained hand to grab for him.

Chris admonished, "Now now, they're wet. You don't want to smudge, do you?" Will grumbled as Chris quickly painted the rest of the hand's nails. "I'll have the other one now, thank you."

Will begrudgingly handed over the other hand for similar treatment. "You know I've got to go to work tomorrow. This all has to be off by then," he declared.

"Philistine, destroy my art just to fit in with the dress code. It's not like they aren't throwing you a bachelor party. Did you even say you were getting married to another guy?"

"Oh I think they know," Will said. His office walls were pasted of pictures of him and Chris, at various festivals, with friends, working in charity organizations. His screen saver was a countdown to the day they would get married, and his computer wallpaper was a picture of Chris in a tuxedo, with purple painted nails, accepting an amateur theater award.

"Uh, huh. You probably gave me some safe name, like, 'Betsy' or 'Marylou'"

"Nope. I said you and I were going to Canada because the laws were Machiavellian, and that our fearless leader was a hate-mongering bigot who was more than happy to tread upon the basic civil rights of sexual minorities."

"As a good dyke friend of mine once said," Chris chimed in, "Bush is for licking, not for voting."

Will smiled broadly, and fanned his nails in a crude but passable imitation of his boyfriend. His Mae West needed a great deal of work, but he chimed in nonetheless, "and darling, isn't it the truth."

Chris threw back his head and laughed, a squealing, high-pitched peal, which earned him a growling, 'faggot' from someone in line.

Will's eyes saw red, and he glanced around, glaring. Other than the nails, he would have looked utterly ferocious.

"Oh don't you worry, I've got my mace," Chris said. "I'll protect you from those big, bad breeders."

Will was still a bit on the paranoid side, but relaxed. He would be the first one to say that Chris's effeminate nature could get on anybody's nerves, but also Chris proved a valuable point, wherever he went. Life was meant to be lived, and to have fun with.

Will pawed for his cell phone with the hand whose nails were dry. He flipped the speed-dial and rang his mother's house again. Still, no answer. He went back to the PDA and resumed typing the letter to his mother.

He got it into a good working draft, and was using a spelling checker on it. A sickening, splatting sound hit the window, where a huge glob of spittle began to drip down. Chris scooted back in his chair, and they both heard an anonymous voice say, "Queers," in a derogatory tone.

Will growled again, but with the passing circulation of people, there was no way that he could know who did it. He watched Chris become very quiet, and write in a small moleskin notebook. His face still had the fear from the first gay bashing so many years ago. No matter what Will did, that fear had never, ever, gone away.

Finally, Will decided that he would include what just happened in his letter. He never would, nor did he want to become, the writer his mother was. Yet, there was a part of him that said it was important to document these events.

He asked Chris if he wanted anything more to eat, and smiled when Chris said he had to watch his, 'girlish figure'.

Will came back with a thick slab of chocolate cake and another frappachino. He knew Chris would end up mooching at least half off the plate. To counter this, he gave Chris the PDA and asked him to read it.

Chris had to take his time with reading things, but once read, had nearly total recall, the result of training as his years as a thespian. "Did you really have to put that last bit in?" He asked.

"I want her to see what we face. I've read her work. She thinks that gays run around and have anonymous sex in the backs of bars like Queer as Folk. We've had a monogamous relationship pretty much from the beginning."




In the Stacks Ch. 04



Chris eyed him, "you realize we're the exception, not the rule."

"Don't burst my bubble, dammit." Will said, smiling. Once he had gotten up the courage to start going to the bars with Chris, he found many men thought he was physically attractive despite his extra weight. He only trusted Chris, and soon, Chris found he didn't want to be intimate with anyone else. Slowly, they faded from the bar scene entirely.

"Will," Chris said, putting the polished fingers over Will's crimson red nails. "Send it. It's fine. If she blows up, it's her issue, not yours. You've done your best, love."

Will copied the document into an email client, and sent the email. Thousands of miles away, Marilyn's server downloaded the message dutifully, and it sat on her hard drive waiting for her attention.

***

When the noontime sun began to stream through the windows and heated the bedroom, Marilyn awoke. She felt the scratch of the clips of her garter belt against her skin, the pain from the pins of her hip. She also smelled the sweet, gentle scent of Penny's hair softly draped along her shoulder. Softly she stroked Penny's strawberry blond locks. Her petting ran to her forehead, along the pert, cute nose and then to those pleasure-giving lips. Penny felt the hand, and tenderly tugged at a fingertip with the softness of a kiss.

Marilyn ran her finger down the cheek, and down to the quickly fading purple blossom that she had inflicted upon her.

Penny squirmed and her eyes flickered open.

"We were tired," she said, looking at the clock.

Marilyn gazed at it. Half past twelve.

"I'm old, I can do these things. You young whippersnappers should be up jogging or whatever," she said.

"Right, me jog? You're out of your mind. That stuff's all bad for you. I just eat popcorn and mooch Chinese food from you," Penny declared.

"Ah, I knew it. You're just here for the food," Marilyn said.

"It's a fact. Nothing turns me on more than microwaved chow mien. I have to admit it." Penny pushed up on her hands and draped her crimson locks across Marilyn's forehead, and then softly lowered her head.

With the tenderest, most succulent of kisses, Penny softly suckled on Marilyn's lower lip, her tongue probing the older woman's mouth. Marilyn softly grabbed at her hair, and pressed Penny's face into her own, sucking on the tongue. They stayed like this for a few moments, in a slow tantalizing oral dance.

"I suppose now, you're going to leave me for a Chinese short order cook," Marilyn said dryly.

Penny shrugged and her kisses trailed down to Marilyn's neck, and softly her teeth nicked at the old woman. She sucked hard, and even chewed. Marilyn moved not a muscle and seemed to thrive on the pain nearly as much as Penny had a couple of nights before.

"You like it too," Penny said.

Marilyn shrugged. "I've always liked being bitten. I think yours stems from a possession issue as a submissive."

Penny looked at her, "that's my girlfriend, the armchair psychologist."

Marilyn reached up to her and kissed her softly right on the lips. She stared into the younger woman's eyes. "That's my girlfriend, the sarcastic submissive. Put on another hundred pounds and you could be Trinity."

"Hey! I'm nothing like that sow!" Penny yelped.

"Hah. I saw you staring at her, walking around in that collar. Tell me you wouldn't like to feel leather around your neck."

Penny swallowed.

"I've read about the collar, but I don't really know all what it means."

"It's a mark of submission, think of it like a wedding ring, but deeper. Power play, what we do, is a different layer of sexuality, and of sensuality."

Penny relaxed upon her, and Marilyn's hand reached under her skirt, and softly stroked the mark where the spatula had hit her. She triggered the nerve endings just enough to make Penny's butt quiver involuntarily, but did not actually touch her sex. She softly watched the glaze on Penny's eyes form, that soft smile.

"You like that, don't you?"

Penny nodded. She didn't want to speak, she was merely enjoying the elements of sensation, the concepts that her mind soaked in like a sponge. A nagging question, however, popped into her head.

"What do you get out of it?" Penny asked, softly.

"Power, control. Lordship or Ladyship. It's the ultimate in trust, and you have to honor that trust. It's like holding a child. You can bend, but the true master knows that if you break, you'll maim for life."

Penny nodded and softly unbuttoned the top couple of buttons on Marilyn's blouse. She then undid the older woman's bra, and softly started to nurse at the weathered nipple. It felt so good in her mouth, and she sucked as if milk would come.

Marilyn stroked in her face and said, "When you nurse a child, sometimes you get aroused. Men suck on our breasts to arouse us, and our bodies are programmed to respond, yet, when you use the breast for the intended purpose then a pavalovian response occurs."

Penny's mouth opened long enough to ask the question, "so getting your tits sucked turns you on, huh?"

Marilyn watched her head go from one nipple to the other, and squirmed her hips ever so slightly, looking into the younger woman's eyes with her soft, loving glance. She replied, "You might say that."

Penny softly reached down and moved her hand up Marilyn's skirt, tugging it up. She slipped her hand under the smooth slip and softly rubbed at the front of Marilyn's panties. Marilyn's eyes closed as she felt the soft palm of the hand gently caress her cleft. Her breathing became a bit quicker as the younger woman's rubbing took the firm of slow, gentle circles.

"You know Marilyn, you wear too many damned clothes," Penny said. "A person could get lost in all those layers."

Marilyn looked at her dryly, "you say this like it's a bad thing, to use the modern vernacular."

Penny smiled and giggled a bit, and then stuck her head under the skirt and then under the slip, her vision being greatly diminished. She felt the warm moistness of Marilyn's nether regions, and softly pushed her thighs apart. Her warm, hungry lips sought out the cool, satin panties, and she softly put her lips to the source of the musk, drawing it through the layers of cloth.

The hot air felt wonderful to Marilyn, that moist breath made her quiver with anticipation. Penny's face softly sucked deeper at the panties, and she tasted the traces of musk of Marilyn. Her head shook this way and that, and with her teeth, she tenderly tugged the panties to one side. Their before her, lay the object of her passion, the old woman's slit.

Her tongue softly ran from the lowest part of her cleft, along her labia, chewing very gently, very, very softly. Her kisses provided enough suction to arouse Marilyn further, and as her moisture began to form, Penny lapped it up hungrily. Marilyn grunted and grabbed at Penny's head through the skirt and slip, and jammed her face directly into her slit. 

Penny's tongue softly batted at Marilyn's clit with the tip of her tongue, rolling the sensitive member in her mouth in the most tender, and loving manner. Marilyn grunted softly and then growled, "There's my good girl."

The tongue flickered faster, and faster, her teeth softly grated against the hood, and Marilyn gritted her own teeth. Her hips ground into the younger woman's mouth, and she tossed her head back, roaring in pleasure.

"Yes! Yes!" She cried, in the most powerful climax she had ever had in her life. Her body took in long lungfulls of air, and she quivered again as Penny's tongue did not let go, and she orgasmed again in a soft rolling chain of pleasure. As her body calmed, she softly stroked Penny's head through the cloth.

Penny smiled when she pulled her face back, smeared with Marilyn's bodily fluids glistening in the sunlight. She felt so good to be able to please Marilyn, and secretly hoped one day Marilyn would give her a collar, like Trinity's.

Softly the two women kissed, and Marilyn hungrily cleaned Penny's face with her thirsty tongue. Wickedly she smiled at the younger girl.

"I have something I think you're going to enjoy, Penny. Why don't you help me get undressed and let's take a shower, shall we?" She smiled lecherously.

Penny beamed brightly, and within five minutes, she was bent over, grabbing the safety bar in the bathtub as Marilyn used the hand held shower massager on her young snatch. Penny's legs were spread open as wide as she could get, and Marilyn sat on the edge of the tub, the curtain barely holding the water inside.

Softly Marilyn rubbed Penny's clit with the softest setting on the shower massage. At the same time, her jagged teeth softly chewed on Penny's ass, her jaws closing enough to deliver tension, and pain, but causing Penny to squirm. With two fingers, she worked in and out of Penny's quim. Penny moaned gutturally, barely able to hang onto the bar.

Marilyn could sense that Penny was close and then, pulled her lubricated fingers out of Penny's tight bush and stuck them into her ass, causing her to squeal. The shower massage got kicked up a few notches, and Marilyn directed the needle-like spray on Penny's nipples, while her mouth took up slack where her fingers were, licking and sucking on her clean, moist bush.

Penny nearly fell as she orgasmed, and her ass squirmed as if a fire hose gone wild, eventually ending up on Marilyn's lap, in a warm, superheated afterglow in the shower.

"Wow," Penny said, dazed. "That's wild. A very handy gizmo to have on a dark cold lonely winter night, huh?"

Marilyn smiled and nodded. She whispered softly into Penny's ears, "Maybe this winter, our nights won't be so cold, or lonely."

Penny nodded in affirmation and the two women kissed in the moist hot air, living completely in the moment. 

Over the noise of the moaning, and the shower, neither heard the telephone ring, again. 



In the Stacks Ch. 05



Monday morning breakfast found Penny flipping through the want ads while Marilyn perused the editorial sections, and then found a neat little article about the fire in the business section. She folded up the paper and laid it on the table with the article up.

"I normally don't mind making a little ink, but just not in this way," Marilyn replied.

Penny circled two or three ads, nodded at her, and then asked, "Marilyn, would you mind if I used you for a reference?"

"Not at all, feel free," Marilyn gestured and watched Penny's worried brow.

"Going job hunting today?" She asked.

"Yeah, I'll go home and dump out some resumes and start re-plastering them around. I imagine I can get some sort of sympathy hire out of the deal," Penny replied.

Marilyn nodded. "I still have to call Will, we sort of got distracted there in the shower."

Penny grinned happily and nodded. She then said, "apologize to him for me, would you, I was pretty short with him. He was sort of the last person on I expected to be calling at four in the morning."

"I'll be happy to do so. Will is used to my growling by this point. Hopefully I won't get the queen."

"Huh?" Penny asked.

"Will's housemate is a fairy of some sort. Effeminate man, heavy in theater and all that. I saw a production he was in once, and as an actor, he's brilliant, it's just that he's a serious swish," Marilyn said.

"You didn't tell me Will was gay." Penny said.

"He's not. Well I don't think he is. He's an engineer, and probably no woman would want to marry him except another engineer."

Penny looked at her suspiciously and then asked, "How long have they been living together?"

"I don't know, it was before Thomas's accident. Over twenty years I guess."

Penny coughed in a long, sarcastic manner.

"What?" Marilyn said, completely oblivious.

"I hate to break it to you, but you're son is as queer as a three dollar bill."

Marilyn looked at her coolly, and studied her freshly washed morning face, "and what, Miss Sherlock, led you to this deduction?"

"How big is their house?" Penny asked.

"This one is four bedrooms. They started out in a studio flat when Chris worked night shift, right after they were out of college," Marilyn said confidently.

"Okay, Marilyn, even money says he's queer," Penny said confidently.

Marilyn wrinkled her nose. She was not a betting woman, except when it was a sure thing. She knew her son well. "You're on. What's the wager?"

Penny pulled out the email offer to buy the story on the table, "a hundred bucks."

Marilyn arched an eyebrow, and replied, "I was thinking more of a ladies bet. You don't have that kind of money to toss around."

"I don't intend to loose," Penny said. "Then again, if I could spank your butt..."

"Ah, no. Let us make it dinner, okay? Winner picks the place, looser pays, nothing over a hundred bucks total."

Penny offered her hand, and Marilyn shook it.

"So what are you going to do without me all day?" Penny asked brightly.

"Work," Marilyn replied dryly. "I've got to go deal with the insurance people, and decide what to do. If it is Arson, the bookstore won't be covered."

"Even if you had nothing to do with it?" Penny said.

"I don't believe so, no. Arson is arson. I might be able to get something out of a total loss policy, but I doubt it. The store was self-sufficient. I bought it about ten years ago from a retired social worker for about sixty thousand dollars, and only a few months ago was showing a serious profit. It was more of a hobby business than anything else. It let me talk to people though. It gave me somewhere to go, something to do. It got me out of staying home and just writing all the time, which gets real old."

"I imagine so. Still, it's what I aspire to do, be a writer," Penny said. 

"Writing is a lot more than actually writing, though. Its research, talking, and a lot of listening. A writer has to have a lot of tenacity, and believe in who they are, that what they have to say is important, and worth saying. Even in a genre, like erotica, the writer must be able to convey a whole story, not just a series of bizarre sex scenes."

"Not that there's anything wrong with a series of bizarre sex scenes, now is there?" Penny said, smiling.

Marilyn looked at her and rolled her eyes, "all right, you go peddle your papers. I have some work to do. I'll have to get to my safety-deposit box, and I may swing by and visit Thomas."

Penny said quietly, "maybe one of these days, um, you might introduce me?"

Marilyn looked at her.

"He's scarred pretty badly, Penny. A good chunk of his face is gone. Really there's not much left, but he's my husband, and I have a certain loyalty."

Penny swallowed, and asked her and then said, "and Will, do I get to meet him?"

"Considering you've already chatted on the phone, I don't see why not." Marilyn said.

"So here's the question," Penny said. She lowered her voice, and spoke clearly, and carefully, "will you tell him about us?"

Marilyn thought a moment. Then she replied, "Considering I don't know of any personal secretaries that answer the phone for their managers at four o'clock in the morning, I may be put into that position. I will probably omit the fact that you're young enough to be my granddaughter."

Penny smiled, "I needed to hear that. I haven't talked to my folks since we started seeing each other, but I will have no shame in doing so."

"I suggest, however, you do omit my age, at least to begin with. It's difficult enough dealing with a lesbian daughter, but with her lover older than Methuselah, well you get the idea."

"You're not that old," Penny scolded.

"Seventy two in May." She said, smiling warmly. 

Penny looked at her, and said, "Really, Marilyn, I had no idea. I figured you were in your fifties."

"Considering Will is forty-six, I don't think that's possible."

Penny shrugged, to her it made no difference. She stood stretched, leaned over and kissed Marilyn on the cheek nuzzling her softly. Marilyn's weathered hands softly wrapped herself around the young flesh, and held Penny tight.

"An old woman could get used to having you around." She said softly.

Penny hugged her very tight, and felt so safe around Marilyn, as if she were the old woman needing comfort. Their tongues met in a soft kiss, and then Marilyn said, "off with you. Let me know how the job hunting goes."

"Should I come by later tonight?" Penny asked.

"Wouldn't be the same without you. Besides, you'll be buying me supper."

"Six?" Penny asked.

"Make it seven, I'm not sure how I'll be with the insurance people, or even if they will grant me an audience today. Give me a chance to freshen up."

"I really need some fresh clothes, too. I've been wearing these for like two days now." Penny said.

There was a long pause and Marilyn said softly, "perhaps you should bring a few things to leave here. I'm sure that you'll be in and out enough."

Penny's young saucer eyes were large and emotion filled.

"You mean that?"

"I mean, I'm sure you won't be here every night, but I'm sure over the next couple days I'll need some help with some things. I know your job finding takes priority, but I would appreciate any help you can give." Marilyn said. She had a quiet, serious tone in her face.

"So, like a couple of changes of clothing. I was thinking also if I brought my good interview clothing, I can schedule interviews Tuesday morning, if I was staying here tonight."

"That's my Penny, good critical thinking. We'll make a writer of you yet." Marilyn said, softly petting Penny's arm.

Penny's happiness was evident. She grabbed her dirty clothing and laptop from the guest room, and waved at Marilyn as she drove off.

Marilyn waved softly from the window and then sat on the couch for a moment, resting. In her mind, she had prioritized what she was to do, and about what time she was to do it in. Right now, her email needed attention

As she walked to her office, she wrote in her head the email to Will. She was going to thank him for calling, apologize for not calling yesterday, and then let him in on the inside joke about Penny thinking he was gay. He would get a kick out of that, she thought. Her son was such a masculine man, he could not possibly be a homosexual. He only let Chris live with him as a matter of sympathy. Perhaps, she thought, she should talk to him about kicking him out. Who knows what Chris would drag home, after all?

She booted up the computer and started to read the last three days of email. There was an interesting blurt of mail from the various electronic lists she subscribed to, and then an email link from another local small business owner to the local newspaper, The Columbian.

She clicked on the link, and found a large article about the arson, and other links on the page that took her to an article about Henry that the paper had written about his pizza parlor. She noticed that this linked article came through a search engine that used the paper's morgue. This fascinated her to no end, and figured out now she could search through news clippings online, and typed in her own name. 

Only the grand re-opening of the bookstore popped up, and then this most recent story. She typed in Penny's name, and found nothing. She thought for a few moments, and then retyped in Henry's name.

Articles about him littered the paper. Every couple of years, Henry would enter the big chili cook-off competition, he would donate to little league baseball teams. He evidently was the small town boy that went off to college and came back to make good. He had owned a variety of businesses. Marilyn found his marriage to Theresa in the back articles and even the births of all of his children. At the beginning of the search, there was one article about Henry when he was twelve and apparently the captain of the all-star baseball team.

The story was not about baseball however. It was about another fire.

A barn fire, that happened on his father's property. Henry had nearly escaped with his life, when a lightening bolt struck the barn in a freak accident and set it afire. A fiery beam hit Henry square in the back, knocking him cold. His younger brother, Clifford rescued him, by lifting the beams up, burning his own hands, and freeing Henry. The article went on to describe both teens in stable care at St. Joseph's hospital. The article was dated July 10, 1952.

Marilyn sat back for a moment and tapped at her lips, re-reading it. She printed it out, and saved it to her local hard drive, creating a new folder entitled, "Henry" to her desktop. On a lark, she also saved all of the related articles about Henry's life as well.

She also searched for his brother, Clifford. He was another local boy done well. He owned an automotive shop off Highway ninety-nine. He too had a wife, and a couple of kids, and sponsored a soccer league as well. He spoke at the rotary and in every picture she saw of him, she saw his left hand, curled up, at his side. She wondered about this, and then proceeded to save those articles to her hard drive as well.

She thumbed through the remainder of the emails, getting finally to Will's.

She bit on her lips as she read it.

She could see the sincerity behind it, she could feel his love for Christopher. She smiled when he told her about how Chris made him laugh, and feel good about his life. She winced at his bad grammar and fought the editor in her to rip apart the writing.

Then she got to the part about Chris and Will in the Starbucks. About how they were minding their own business, holding hands, and people spitting at them through the window.

She swallowed her own saliva, and clicked on the, 'reply', button.

She did not write in her professional style, but more in the laid-back style of a mother who had just received a shock. Her note was quick, and simple. It read:

"Will—

I love you, and always will. I'm happy you have someone in your life, to share with. I have always worried about that. I still want grandkids, and think you will make someone a wonderful daddy. You have made me proud, son. 

Love, Mom."

Marilyn sent it quickly, before she had a chance to change her mind. Despite all his effeminacy, Chris really was a good person, to stay by her son all these years. She resolved to think about him in a little bit better light.

With that out of the way, and the nine o'clock hour coming, she called her insurance agent and left a voice mail. She took her cell phone, got dressed properly, grabbed the Tennyson, Dickens, this time some Shakespeare instead of Melville, the book of Kipling, and went to see Thomas.

***

The whisper of the respirator greeted her as hey lay on the clean sheets. They always kept him immaculate here in his corner room. She paid extra for it, every month, to make sure he did not have to share a room. She did not bother to look at his chart this time, and merely sat to his left stroking his hand, and kissing his forehead. His left eye was still gone, his right eye closed tight. He looked unchanged from the last time she saw him.

She cried openly.

"I'm sorry, Thomas. I really am. I couldn't break it off. She's just so young, and it would crush her. I feel so horrible, and now, the bookstore is gone. I swear to you, my whole world is coming to an end, and yet, there she was, in my bed." 

She babbled openly to him, describing the fire and Henry. She then spoke softly, "I got an email from Will today. I do not quite know how to tell you this, I'm sure it's a shock, but he is a homosexual. He and that Chris fellow that I have been telling you about, apparently they have been together for quite a while now. I know this is hard to swallow, Thomas, but really, he seems so happy, and gay." 

She realized that she had made some sort of joke and nudged him with her elbow. "Get it? Happy and gay? Okay, okay, I know it is a bad joke, but still. Will said that I should be looking for a wedding invitation in the mail of some sort. Maybe I'll take Penny, oh wouldn't that set a cat amongst the pigeons." She smiled, nudging him.

"Thomas, I love you, and I always will. I have been faithful to you, until now, so please, try to allow me this indiscretion. It has been so long since anyone had held me or touched me. I'm an old woman, and I need love and affection too. Penny is so bright, so beautiful. She is an incredible person. I think you would like her a lot, I think. In some ways, she reminds me of you, with those big, innocent eyes, wanting to explore life, and live it to its' fullest. I remember when you picked me up at the airport in Paris in forty-five, we declared we would explore all of France, and by god, we did.

She has that same drive, that same desire. She wants to write, and to include history with her writings, to create a world, that people can come to and be safe in. I remember when I started teaching, you would ask me what I had imparted into their little minds today."

Her tears flowed, but not of sadness, not of sorry, but of happiness.

"I remember teaching little Will how to use chopsticks, and how the other kids made fun of him because he wasn't Thai, and then when we came back to Boston, how the other kids made fun of him because he was so tan. We have shared so much of our lives, is it wrong to want to have someone to share your life with? I hope not. Please, Thomas, do not hold it against me. I beg of you."

Her only reply was the sound of the respirator, its smooth even movements providing his lungs with its sixteen respirations a minute for many years now. She watched the arm inside of its' clear cylinder like an external lung. 

She opened the Tennyson and read to him for nearly a half hour. She wasn't sure that she was giving him some sort of penance, but felt better, especially once she read him a passage from Romeo & Juliet. Inside, despite her fair performance, her heart was elsewhere. Her guilt mounted, and she read him an incredibly long series of passages from Dickens, and then Kipling.

Softly, she kissed his hand, and softly stroked what little hair he had left. 

She bade him good-bye, and walked out of the room.

A few moments later, Thomas's right eye snapped open, and moved wildly around the room, attempting to scan anything that it could find as a recognizable object. As the cornea had become a cataract, only different layers of grays, whites, and blacks were identifiable.

As quickly as it opened, it closed again, and a single, solitary tear ran out the right side tear duct.

***

When Marilyn turned on her cell phone in the parking lot, it went off. The insurance agent affirmed the worst. Arson was not covered. She thanked him politely and was determined to find the underlying cause of this matter, only one man knew the complete truth, and that man was Henry Peterson.

Marilyn drove to the Clark County Jail where Henry was being held pending a bail trial. She requested to see him. She had to be on a specific list in order to see the prisoner, and as she was not on this list, she couldn't see him. All she had to do was get approval from the prisoner to get on the list. Of course, since she wasn't able to see him to obtain this permission, it was rather a roundabout method of doing things.

The situation was absurd, and the Deputy agreed to ask Henry for her if she could to see him. She would be by sometime tomorrow. The Deputy promised her that it would get to him today, and then cautioned her that she would be thoroughly searched.

Marilyn smiled and told the clear that she hadn't been frisked in ages, and was looking forward it. Both of them got a good laugh over it, and she said she would see him tomorrow.

She drove out of downtown, and took St. James down past the small community of Minnehaha into Hazel Dell, and unincorporated area like Orchards. Here was a small, locally owned home improvement center that had helped her make the shelves from her bookstore.

She went wandering amongst the aisles, having an idea as to what she was looking for, for two very distinct projects. She ended up getting, among other things, two sets of blocks and tackle, a sheet of plywood cut in half, door hinges, doweling of various diameters, screw hooks, screw eyes, and a healthy amount of nylon rope.

The sheets of plywood she had to use the rope to strap across the roof, and then started to head back to her house, moving slowly. As she cruised the long strip of stores that was Highway Ninety-nine, the heart of Hazel Dell, she caught sight of a store that triggered something in her head. It was an automotive story whose large sign read, "Peterson's Parts". She pulled carefully in. It was just after ten in the morning, and the store had just opened.

She walked in, heard the tinkling of a bell above the door, and felt a twinge of nostalgia, wanting her old store back. In the front of the store were empty cashier stands, and toward the back, two men were talking to each other. One looked remarkably like Henry, the other's man, considerably older. He held one hand inward, to his body.

The older man smiled at her politely and walked out from the counter. He wore a name badge that read, "Cliff" and was gregarious in tone and said, "how may I help you, ma'am."

Marilyn thought for a moment, and then decided to go with the direct approach.

"Clifford Peterson?" She asked.

"Yes ma'am, that's me. My store and I have been here for thirty years, serving the fine folks of Clark County and beyond."

"I'm a friend of your brother's. My name is Marilyn."

Cliff looked at her darkly.

"If you're a reporter, get out of here." 

"I'm not," she said, re-introducing herself. "My name is Marilyn Marshall. I owned the bookstore next to your brother's pizzeria."

He looked at her softly, "so you're his girlfriend?"

"Most certainly not," Marilyn snapped.




In the Stacks Ch. 05



"Theresa said he was seeing someone."

"The only thing Henry was seeing that I knew of was the bottom of a bottle."

The younger man chuckled, he had walked behind Cliff. His name badge read, "Austin", and she recognized the name from the online Morgue. He was one of Henry's sons. "That would be my dad all right. Never knew when to stop."

"I'll be honest," she said, "I lost everything. I'm not hoping to get back from him, but I want to understand why."

"What I want to understand," Cliff said, "is how?"

"How?" Marilyn echoed, curiously.

He lifted the damaged hand up to show her a severe burn scar. The pinky and left finger were fused together, and the rest of his fingers were seared.

"I got this in a fire," he said. "A fire that Henry and I were caught in as kids. A burning beam from a barn hit him, and I was able to get it off, but not before it scarred the hell out of his back."

She watched him carefully.

"Henry is afraid of fire, Marilyn. Terrified of it."

"Dad had the fireplace in our house bricked up. He always sent mom down to check on the furnace when the pilot light needed relighting. We didn't have barbeques as a family. For the Forth of July he had us kids and mom go over to Uncle Cliff's house, while he got drunk."

Marilyn nodded.

"Have you had a chance to talk to him?" Marilyn asked them both.

"No," Cliff said. "He's supposed to get a bail hearing today, but we got a phone call telling us not to pay for it. He said that he's just a drunk and doesn't want to get out. He said he'd just get drunk again and something else would end up in flames."

"So he admitted to doing it?" She asked.

"Not in so many words. Marilyn, I think he was so drunk, he didn't know what he was doing," Cliff said.

"Dad would go over to The Tap, that little tavern across the street once he closed the pizzeria. He'd get drunk over there and then go back over to the pizzeria and crash in one of the booths until the staff came to open the place in the morning. He didn't have anywhere to go. Mom threw him out months ago," Austin explained.

"I thought he only recently got served with divorce papers?" Marilyn said.

"They've been on the rocks ever since she thought he was having an affair," Austin replied. "With you, she always thought."

Marilyn shook her head, "No."

Cliff looked at her and then said flatly, "he couldn't have done it. He went to the full-service stations so he wouldn't have to pump his own gas. Anything flammable would give him the jitters. He made Theresa quit smoking when they first started dating."

"Mom was always the strong one, anyway. She always though of my father as a weak man," Austin said, wistfully. "She said the only thing he was good for was making money and drinking booze."

Marilyn nodded.

"She stood by him though, Austin, you have to admit that." Cliff interjected.

"That's true. She just badmouthed him every step of the way. She tried to do it to us kids too, that's why my brother ran away to join the Marines. He writes me an email now and then, but never comes back. My mom always blamed dad, but really, she drove him away."

"Bit of a matriarch, is she?" Marilyn asked.

Cliff nodded, "oh she had him whipped from day one. He'd do anything for her, really. That just sort of grew out of hand, she became demeaning, and destructive."

"She'd throw vases and stuff at him. Once she threw a frying pan of hot grease at him, and then got angry with him and made him clean it up when he ducked. Mom's temper was legendary. The minute I could get to college, I did." Austin agreed.

"He'd stay in the loft, above the store, just because he didn't want to go home during the summer breaks." Cliff said. "I don't have any kids, so Austin's kind of taking over for me."

Austin smiled, a little embarrassed.

She looked at the two of them, and felt their sincerity. Their opinion of Henry was much like hers that he could not have done this thing, but then if he didn't, who did? She bought one of those little green pine tree shaped air fresheners for her car and headed home. 

For a change, she pulled the car into the tidy, organized garage, and closed it behind her. Her first task was unloading, and all of the hardware she laid out in order, and gently eased the huge chunks of wood. These she stood up against the wall.

She put on a canvas apron, one that she had relegated for gardening and outdoor work, and took a t-square off a nail in the wall. Carefully she drew horizontal guidelines across each piece of wood, making them identical. After that, she took a once-inch brush and carefully painted lettering using deliberate strokes, taking care that each side was identical. 

From there, she separated the pins out of the hinges, and using the horizontal guidelines, affixed the hinge halves to each piece, making a sign that would stand alone when placed upon the ground. She put a box fan in front of the sign, to help the paint dry and then fetched a small stepladder.

The rafters to the garage were exposed and largely unused and she teetered on the stepladder with a power drill, carefully grinding through a two-by-four of a truss. She put through one of the eyebolts, and used a washer and two nuts to hold it tight. On the eyebolt, she affixed the block and tackle.

After much examination, she ended up drilling a hole at the mid point, and each end of the long dowels, and ran short pieces of rope through. In the middle, she attached another hook bolt and affixed this to the block and tackle. She lowered it enough, and grabbed at each end, leaning on it, putting her full weight on it. It held tightly, and she tried deliberately to break it, bouncing up and down as much as she could. Her artisanship held, and she made another dowel similar to this one, and set up the second block and tackle about seven feet away from the first one, on another rafter.

She set sturdy metal brackets into the sides of the wall, facing opposite and carefully hoisted up both long dowels. The slack rope she wound over the brackets. It made a very tidy, inexpensive suspension system.

Examining the signs, she found them not quite dry, so she went inside, out of the heat. The air-conditioning fired at her like a torrent of ice cubes and actually forced her to sit down because of the temperature shock. Softly she relaxed and lay back lengthwise on the couch. All that hard work could take a lot out a person, and she dozed for about fifteen or twenty minutes in lieu of lunch.

Waking up refreshed, knowing she was going to be out wandering in the sun, she exchanged her skirt and top for a lighter weight cotton dress, omitting the stockings and finding a large hat. She slathered her arms with sunscreen and found her biggest pair of sunglasses.

Between the fan and the garage's hundred plus degree heat, her signs had dried nicely. She loaded them on top of the caddy, tying them down yet again. Slowly she backed out, and headed for the wreckage of her bookstore.

Instead of pulling in the back as she usually did, she pulled toward the front, as close as she could and surveyed the area. It was a complete loss and she was able to see it fully now, in daylight. Between the fire, and the water damage, nothing survived. Softly she lifted up the police line, and walked into the ashes.

Marilyn did not see the darkly dressed figure sitting at the window of the Tap Tavern across the street. She was lost in her own little world. When the figure left the Tap, put on its motorcycle helmet and kicked over the 1992 Kawasaki Ninja it made little noise. The motorcycle, tuned by hand, its noise suppression system so advanced that it made little more noise than a bicycle. The figure parked the bike in the shade of a tree in the parking lot and stealthily crept upon the scene. It was dressed completely in black, and stood out in the daylight like a sore thumb.



In the Stacks Ch. 06



Marilyn again surveyed the charred scene and stepped backward, her hand still on the police, 'do not cross' tape. The sun dazzled her eyes, as she had forgotten her glasses in the car. She walked to one side of it, and fumbled with the rope. 

The figure in dark clothing was respectful distance away and started to move slightly faster, but made no noise whatsoever, and only when the two large, heavy signs threatened to come tumbling down upon Marilyn, did a black leather glove reached out on the other side of the car, and steadied the sign.

Marilyn heard a rumbling voice from within the helmet.

"Let me give you a hand with that, Mrs. Marshall."

Marilyn tilted her head like a dog that had heard a familiar, yet altered voice.

The strong, leather gauntleted figure easily lifted the clapboard sign and held it above, creating a square eclipse. It grumbled to her, "What do you want it."

Marilyn pointed to the entry point to the police barricade.

The figure set the sign up, and turned it so that it pointed toward the parking lot. 

The lettering read:

"We will rebuild, and continue to serve the community. 
--Orchards Paperbacks"

The figure laughed a long laugh, and then Marilyn knew who it was. The motorcycle helmet came off and sweat dripped off Trinity's brow.

"Way to go, Mrs. Marshall. Don't let the bastards beat you down."

Marilyn smiled at Trinity.

"I was just coming by to see if there was anything left, and then I saw you pull up." Trinity said, thumbing her gauntlet to the Tap Tavern across the street.

Marilyn looked at in, and then at her.

"I wasn't aware we had a lesbian bar in Vancouver," Marilyn said.

Trinity laughed heartily, "Just North Bank, but that place is a pit. I've got a friend of mine that works over there, and her mom owns the place."

"Really," Marilyn said. "I've never been in there."

"Well I don't think it's your kind of place, really. You strike me as an uptown girl," Trinity replied.

"These old bones don't get out too much, honestly. Just out to see Thomas, and a little Chinese now and then," Marilyn noted.

"Well Violet and I were hoping to change that, actually. There is a business meeting, really a brainstorming session tonight. We were hoping for some ideas from established business people. I guess, maybe with the fire, you might have some free time."

Marilyn looked at her coldly.

"Or not," Trinity offered.

"Where is this meeting at?" Marilyn inquired.

"The Holland restaurant, downtown. We've got the back room." Trinity said.

"What time?" Marilyn asked.

"Seven-thirty." Trinity replied. "Can we count on you?"

"If nothing else," Marilyn said, "I'll need more brochures for the new bookstore."

"That's the bomb, Mrs. Marshall. I knew we could count on you!" Trinity said, excitedly.

Marilyn could not suppress a small smirk from the corner of her mouth.

"Maybe you could invite them authors you were talking about?" Trinity asked.

"I believe that should be, 'invite those authors', and I'll speak with one of them. One, I know will be making some donations to the group in the form of e-books to be auctioned off."

"Damn, girl, you work fast. We were just in there on Saturday." Trinity said.

"I have some pull with them. I can swing a mean cane," She said with a smile.

"I bet. Penny's a lucky little girl." Trinity grinned.

"Penny?" Marilyn inquired desperately attempting to look innocent.

"Oh don't play that with me, woman. It wouldn't surprise me if you had a full stock dungeon and paddled her tight little ass every night."

"Trinity," Marilyn said coldly, "such things should not be left to speculation."

"Maybe we can get you to donate a caning for an auction," Trinity said, completely without shame.

Marilyn cocked an eyebrow.

"Well the idea of a slave auction was being kicked around. No reason why the Dom's can't go on the block as well," Trinity explained.

"So you'd put your behind up on the auction block, Trinity? Hmm? It might be worth it just so I can give you and that smart mouth a good drubbing," Marilyn growled. She lifted her cane by the crook and snapped it into the palm of her hand with a resounding smack.

Trinity bit at her lips, watching not Marilyn, but the cane.

"I guess, um, we'd have to talk to Violet about that," Trinity said, quietly.

"You tell little Miss Violet that Penny and I will be there tonight, you understand?" Marilyn said, quietly.

"Yes ma'am," Trinity said quickly, and quietly.

"I didn't hear you, girl. It wouldn't do for me to have to do this in public, now would it?" Marilyn hissed.

"No ma'am," Trinity said, louder.

"Good, good. Now tell me a little more about the Tap over there, would you?"

"What do you mean?" Trinity said, slipping out of submission mode.

"Your friend over there, does she work nights?" Marilyn asked.

"Nope. Mom closes. She goes to school in the morning, and then opens at ten. I go over for lunch once a week, usually today, when it's empty. That's why I always come over here on Mondays."

Marilyn nodded and then probed a bit, "so mom owns the bar, huh?"

"Yeah," Trinity said. "I've met her a couple of times, she's okay. Her name is Ann. She's had this steady boyfriend for a few years now and I guess gives her good business advice, enough that she could get the kid through college."

"Where's you're friends dad?" Marilyn asked.

"Well she doesn't really know who he is," Trinity said, matter-of-factly, "it's on of those out of wedlock things, but I'm thinking it must be the boyfriend, they're all touchy feely. Never met him, though. She doesn't talk about these things, I think she's ashamed of him or something."

"That seems a shame, Trinity. I understand that life happens, but it must not be easy not know your dad." Marilyn said.

"I don't know," Trinity said. "It never hurt me none. I have a good life, a good woman, I'm an aunt, or an uncle or something like that. I've got happiness, so I'm not so sure I needed a dad."

"Yes," Marilyn said, "but you're a strong woman. Not everyone is that way."

"Hey now," Trinity said, protesting mirthily, "smell isn't everything."

Marilyn did not even bother dignifying this with an answer, but did back off the questions regarding the ladies in The Tap, instead asking simply, "quiet place, is it?"

"Yeah, mostly. I don't know, I only go there on the off days – Mondays and Sundays. I hate crowds, and I'd rather spend the time with Vi Y'know." Trinity drawled.

"I imagine your work schedule is pretty challenging, not to mention working with your lover. Doesn't give you a lot of away time." Marilyn stated.

"Well the thing is, we're out at work and stuff, so we rarely work with each other, so that's cool. We can sometimes have lunch with each other, and sometimes we don't. She goes to see her parents on Mondays, and I go out, have a beer, and buy some books or something like that. I remember the social worker that owned the store before you did. I remember when this strip mall came in," Trinity paused, pulled her lips over her teeth, and then licked them softly. She gestured to the burnt husk of the restaurant. "I went to this pizza parlor when I was eight years old for my birthday. They lit a candle on my pizza. I had to wear a dress, but I was still happy."

Marilyn watched as the big woman spoke. Not many people could, or would wear leather in the dog days of August, but Trinity could, and Trinity did because she could. Marilyn saw a potential with her, an iteration of a dream past, a wanton desire to do something with her life that somehow she passed up. It was a long, held-back sadness.

"How come you never became a nurse?" Marilyn asked.

"I hate school," Trinity replied blankly. "I like helping people. I like making them smile. I wish to this day I that could make Tom laugh, not for you, but for me. I like making the old people laugh. It's a good thing."

"Violet is a lucky woman," Marilyn said.

"She says so. I think she's full of shit, myself, but then I always have. Even when she was a charge nurse busting my ass for juggling coffee cups in the dining room, she was full of shit then. I saw her at leather night over at the Egyptian Room, and she bought me a beer. I think it was a Mea Culpa of some sort," Trinity put her hand on Marilyn's Cadillac. "I was sort of embarrassed, but I was already scheduled, it was stand up night, and I was the emcee. I'd juggle beer glasses, spoons, and make bad jokes about having menstrual cycles and people getting their rings stuck in my cunt. Violet laughed so hard she spewed beer out of her nose. It was one of my better nights."

"So you're a comedian," Marilyn said, dryly.

"A straight line like that from a dyke like you, c'mon sister, give me something to work with," Trinity said, a wry smile on her lips. "I never went real far. I do some of the local clubs, but really, I want a gig in Vegas. Doesn't have to be a showstopper, hell it could be a warm-up. I don't care. Maybe some comedy magic. I learned some stuff from Karol Fox and Eugene Berger's books. Making people laugh makes me laugh."

"Interesting," Marilyn said.

"You? You can't have been a bookseller before Tom. You were someone's schoolteacher and I bet you have fifteen gazillion grandkids," Trinity initiated.

"Not a one. I have the odd habit of writing Haiku on Friday nights when I'm all alone, and drinking single malt whisky."

"No shit. I love Haiku. Pity Violet would kill me if I wanted to stay in your stable," Trinity said, looking into the older woman's eyes.

"I'd make you wear a dress. You'd hate it. Besides, I'm new to the scene," Marilyn replied with a sly smile.

"Bullshit. I've seen you growl at some dumb son-of-a-bitch in the store. I can see what you're capable of Mrs. Marshall."

Marilyn dropped her voice a handful of decibels and made the big woman strain to hear her. With a single flip of her wrist, she drew the rattan cane up into the air, and grabbed it neatly just above where the rubber bottom was affixed. Her wrist moved like lightening, and the crook of the cane snapped against the wheel well of the car, striking the rubber with a sick thudding noise. "You have no idea what I'm capable of, Trinity. The same devotion that I give to Thomas is the same amount of forethought, the same amount of concern and love that I give to everyone, in anything that I do."

Trinity looked like a two by four hit her. She repeated what she had said earlier in the conversation, "Penny's a lucky girl."

"Maybe," she said. "Maybe, just maybe, Trinity, I'm the lucky one. This heat is wretched, you know, Trinity. I should be heading home."

Trinity nodded although she didn't look as if the heat was affecting her at all.

"So you'll be there tonight, right?" Trinity asked, unbuckling the helmet to her motorcycle and affixing it on her head.

"I think so, unless Penny has a burning desire not to." Marilyn said.

"All right!" Trinity exclaimed and held out her fist.

Marilyn looked at it cautiously.

"You're supposed to hit it. One of those funny new fangled social customs," Trinity explained.

Marilyn tapped at it with her fist and Trinity grinned.

As she peeled out of the parking lot, Marilyn read the license plate, "FUNEDYK".

***

Will brooded over the electronic mail, and even after Chris scolded him for trying to read more into it than was there, he still did not relent.

"She was drunk, obviously," He said.

"Oh my lord," Chris said, swishing his nails. "I don't know about this children business, I don't like stretch marks, not one little bit. A baby would ruin my figure."

Will rubbed his eyes and then asked Chris softly, "babe, could you get me a beer?"

Chris returned with two, and met Will in the hallway as he was moving from his office to the living room. It was where the two of them went when they wanted to talk, which was a good deal of the time. They sat in the long part of the sectional, on a larger-than-life plush couch that they both used for a whole lot more than watching television on. They sat in the middle, next to each other, and had the television down very low. Will was a news junkie, and would often lie on the couch just listening with his eyes closed, waiting for Chris to come home from a performance.

Will opened one of the beers and handed it to Chris, knowing that Chris would ask him anyway as Chris would do anything to avoid chipping a nail. Chris waited until Will opened his and then both men took a long, drink of the Canadian blue-labeled pilsner. 

"I needed that," Will say.

Chris softly rubbed his nose and lips into the nape of Will's neck and smelt the big man's powerful musk. Will could not help but shudder, Chris's lips were ice cold from the beer.

"She's trying, I guess," Chris said.

"I was wanting more. I wanted some sort of, something. I wanted..." Will started.

"To be yelled at." Chris said, shutting him up.

"Huh?"

"For a long time," Chris said, "you've been ashamed of being gay."

Will's face went pale. He looked at Chris, right now the calm one, the centered one, all traces of effeminacy gone.

"I...I..." Will started. Softly Chris put his finger on Will's lips.

"It's happened to everyone. I got lucky and figured out I was a girly-man when I was a few years old, and have played it up ever since. It's a lot harder for you macho men. Seriously, how many people at work know you're marrying a guy?"

"Everyone," Will said proudly. "First I said that I was getting married to Chris and someone then asked if it was Christy or Christine or what, and then I said Christopher."

Chris smiled broadly, "that's my husband, the romantic. You know what they said when I told them that I was going to propose?"

"No," Will said.

"I got a wide variety of responses. A lot of them apparently thought I was loose and slept around a lot, and were very surprised. Some of them that know me fairly well were very happy for me, and my makeup guy, he was ecstatic. He and I talk a lot, and he's in a good, safe, long-term relationship now. I have your picture on my mirror, that one that we took when we did Niagara Falls. You and I against the dawn I have that blown up to 8 x 10."

Will winced, "I look horrible in that picture. My hairs all over the place, I look like Telly Sevalaus without the sucker."

"It's you though, that's one thing I like about you, that you're a bit rough, a bit imperfect. When I'm on stage I have to be perfect, for the audience. That kind of pressure can be daunting. Live theatre isn't like a movie that you can re-take repeatedly, or a television show that you can edit and hack to bits. It's a real challenge for the actor, and that's one reason I like it so much."

"Right, but sometimes, Chris you do that to yourself. You play this little femmy thing. You've backed yourself into a corner with that behavior. If you tried to butch up now, people would say you'd lost your sense of humor," Will responded.

"This is why I say you have some shame about being gay. I think that all gay people do. I deflect it with humor and effeminacy, but it's there. Our society uses the word, 'queer' as a derogatory room, like people used, 'nigger' seventy years ago. We're the new popular hated class. That little swarray at Starbucks should have proved that to you." Chris said.

"I can't help but think that painting my nails in a public place, just might have had something to do with it," Will said.

"What? Just because it clashed with your shirt. I just don't understand at all, you're getting so I have to dress you every day." Chris swished. Will understood he had touched a bit of a nerve.

"You like being you," Will said. "I don't always like being me. I'm jealous of you a lot, Chris."

"I love you for being you, though, dammit!" Chris roared, his tears starting to flow. "You don't need to be anyone else for me. You were the only friend I had that visited me in the hospital when I got beaten up, and I realized then, that you loved me."

Will licked his cracked, dry lips and then sucked on the beer can. Softly he said, "I loved you a lot longer than that, Chris."

Chris's eyes got big.

Will continued, "I remember when you and I first got shacked up, everyone asked me what it was like, living with the queer guy. They asked me if I was gay, and only when I threatened to beat the shit out of two of them at once did they back off. I guess you're right, I do have some shame about being gay. I think there was a part of me that always knew, though. I can't tell you how many of the local high schoolers I lusted after. We would do these sleepovers and be running around in bvd's all night. I had to pretend I was asleep most of the time, and just sort of watch them move around at night."

"What about all those girls you made a big show of parading around, huh?" Chris poked him.

"Most were just friends, and a couple were lesbians. I told the other guys in the dorm I was trying to set a good example for you," Will said.

"You scamp," Chris said, fluttering his nails once more, "here all this time I thought you were being a perfect gentleman and taking them out to hotels and proper places. The girls never told me anything bad about you, so I just figured that you were one of the good guys. I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Will!"

"I am one of the good guys," Will defended himself. Softly his hands went down and gently stroked Chris's knee.

"I know. You were never mean to me, never cruel. Maybe you didn't understand all the guys I was shagging, but you weren't, well, rude. Goodness knows I was young and attractive then, and getting laid was as easy as falling off a log."

"Like it's hard for you to get laid now," Will said, his brush of a moustache nuzzling toward Chris's neck.

Chris squirmed and his face lit up with a soft tinge of pinkness and he softly pushed at Will's face, as you might a puppy when you played with them.

Will growled firmly, and grabbed the nailed hand with on of his hands and leaned over, pinning Chris with his weight, softly licking and suckling on Chris's neck. "How good did you say your makeup artist was?"

"Oh he's real good. The best in the..." Chris gasped as Will's teeth sank into Chris's nape, sucking on the flesh, marking it in a matter of seconds with a hickie the size of a shot glass.

"Will!" Chris squealed with angst. 

"Paint my nails will yah," Will said in a mock effort at dominance. He leaned heavily on Chris, pushing him into the incredibly padded sofa, pinning him. His hands softly ran up Chris's shirt, softly stroking the gently tuft of blonde tummy hair, and then tenderly fingered Chris's aureoles.

Chris's sculpted nails softly scratched at Will's head, and the two men's tongues played with each other for several minutes. 

It didn't take long for both men to feel arousal, and the prospect of having an early evening intimacy looked good until the phone rang. Will looked at Chris with a scowl.

"Oh just get rid of them," Chris said. "I've got a need, and as I like to say, where there's a Will, there's a way."

Will smiled at him, kissed him on the lips, and then reached for the phone on the end corner of the coffee table. 

"Hello," he said.

"Hello Will," Marilyn said.

Will rolled his eyes and shook his head, "Hello Ma."

Chris softly pleaded with his eyes for Marilyn to be kind, he bit his lip, and his libido faded as if he had seen a picture of Nancy Reagan naked.

"Yeah ma, I got your email," he said. Marilyn peppered odd questions at him. He answered most of these in a series of grunts, 'yeah's and 'no's. She made mention that she had seen his father and that was oddly out of her schedule.

He inquired how he was doing, and then became curious when she said that everything was all right. He knew his mother, and her feelings, and could sense when she was hiding something or trying to shield him. He asked her how she was doing. Her answers were noncommittal, and nondescript.




In the Stacks Ch. 06



She tried to parlay him verbally by asking about the wedding, and its venue. He explained that it was a beautiful park that Chris and he discovered on one of their sightseeing trips into Canada. The wedding was scheduled for the early afternoon. He spoke dreamily of the locale, and the warmth in his heart spoke to Marilyn. Chris softly held his hand as they had resumed more of an upright position.

Marilyn politely inquired about the invitation which she had received in the mail today, and that she would probably be bringing her assistant, Penny. Desperately she tried to change the topic, but Will hounded her, and asked exactly what sort of assistance was needed at four in the morning.

Marilyn held her breath, and explained that she was getting older, and frailer. Penny had been working in her store, and that she was an aspiring writer, they had been getting along great guns. As far as Will was concerned, this was a thin veil of smoke, but as he had nowhere to go with this information, he let the matter go.

After they hung up the phone, both men cuddled softly, wanting to rekindle the lost moment.

"I guess she's okay with this," Will said.

"What's she going to do," Chris replied, "spank you? Take that monstrous rattan cane and blister your hide. Utter nonsense, dear boy, you're a man. A man's man, at that."

Softly they kissed and the moment returned.

***

Penny pulled up Marilyn's driveway about six-thirty, happy that she had two interviews scheduled for tomorrow. She had a small, leather, garment bag, her laptop and her purse. She had showered, changed clothes and looked utterly professional, and wondered if Marilyn had gotten a hold of Will so that she would not have to make dinner.

When she walked past the big window, Marilyn had waved her in, and she had dropped her things in the guest room as Marilyn was telling Will she loved him and hung up the phone.

Penny came out smiling bright, and asked, "Well..."

"You drive, I'll buy," She said.

"Ha!" Penny said.

"Funny part was he outed himself in an electronic mail to me. Then this came in the mail," she held up the gold-gilded invitation and handed it to Penny who scanned it.

"Married, in Canada. How romantic," she said.

Marilyn cocked her eyebrow at her, and listened to her completely nonjudgmental tone. As far as Penny was concerned, this could have been from a heterosexual couple.

"I've already RSVP'ed. You're coming with me, personal assistant."

"How did that go?" Penny asked.

"Well, I think. I'm not sure, but Will isn't a terribly deep man, I doubt if he'll think we're sleeping together," Marilyn said. "Where do you want to have supper at, and get a snack now, we have a pre-dinner engagement."

"We do?" Penny asked, as Marilyn threw her the keys.

Marilyn explained the meeting while she gave Penny directions through downtown Vancouver, its maze of one-way streets maddening for someone even as patient as Marilyn. They arrived shortly after seven-fifteen, and Penny held the door open for Marilyn.

The server asked how many were in their party, and Marilyn explained that they were there for the meeting in the back, and quickly they were ushered to a side room. When the doors opened, a small group of people, perhaps twenty at all, looked at them en masse'. Among them were Trinity and Violet, and there, in the corner was an interesting addition, Officer Schantez from the fire scene. 

None of the group, save for Trinity, had any sort of appearance that could link them to bondage, dominance, sadism or masochism, yet, to be part of this small, elite group, you either had to know someone, or knew someone who did know someone. Marilyn smiled gently and Penny held out a chair for her, as if she were a man.

Trinity winked at Penny and Penny's glare back was so cold it could have frosted a beer mug. There was a tall, thin man at a center table who had leaflets and began circulating them about. These were the same leaflets that Marilyn was going to put into the bookstore earlier.

The meeting opened promptly at seven thirty, and members went around in a circle, talking about themselves. Marilyn introduced herself, not saying anything about the bookstore. Penny introduced herself merely saying that she was Marilyn's girlfriend. With both women being feminine in nature, some in the group wondered who was top, and who was bottom.

"Our first matter of business," Ron, the thin man, "is a location. A quiet place, preferably well removed, such as a cheap warehouse, or an abandoned barn or something like that. Somewhere where some of the larger pieces of equipment could be stored, and that we wouldn't have to be constantly bolting and unbolting things."

Violet offered, "I also think that somewhere remote would be better. The idea of having a wide-open space appeals to me. I think we could have a lot more possible scenes, scenarios."

Another voice piped up, "If it's big enough, we could have a camp-out, an entire weekend of play time."

A forth voice chimed up, "if we could hold events like this, then we could have a fair income stream. If we had a theme party every month, with open play on the weekends, this could get really popular."

Marilyn listened to the crowd, made of largely of realists. They understood both the legal and moral issues of having a permanent bondage play space, the kind of attraction that it would draw, and how careful they had to be. She admired their planning, their thinking, and their commitment. She made a mental note to thank Trinity at an appropriate moment.

Penny raised her hand, "I think what we need is a space that's both indoor and outdoor, and that suggests to me a barn, or farm. I know when I was driving down from Seattle, on I-5, I saw plenty of old broken-down barns on abandoned ranches. By the freeway, the property would be much more expensive, but if we were able to go out a little bit, not only would we have a larger space, but easily accessible by the free way."

Violet smiled at this point, "even better if it could be the house of one of our members."

The second voice piped out, "or some kind of a front business that wouldn't mind."

Marilyn turned this over in her mind for a little bit. A quiet country orchard would work, she imagined. Some sort of organic farm perhaps. Perhaps a bookstore built into a country home, that could be interesting. 

Marilyn's thoughts were interrupted by Ron who pointed out, "Great ideas, guys, but for that sort of thing we need some initial capital."

"Only a down payment," Marilyn said. "If one were to get a remote kind of property, it wouldn't be more than thirty, or forty thousand dollars. If the group could promise the owner a sort of secondary income, in the form of use lease fees, then the investor would already have a hook on how to get their money back."

The group chattered back and forth for a few moments and then Penny offered, "what if the house itself was the business, sort of like a bondage bed-and-breakfast. A little quiet country retreat where artists and writers could come to have some quiet time, and if you knew the right key phrases, you could play in the dungeon as part of the stay."

That idea was well received and Marilyn leaned over to Penny and whispered deeply, "and I know one little girl who would probably end up being the chief maid, eh?" 

Penny flushed as many others thought this was a wonderful idea.

Ron piped up, "With the house as the business, and a primary source of income, at this point, all you'd really need to do is find some venture capitalists."

Marilyn spoke softly, "I know of a couple bondage authors I could talk with. They aren't rich, but if they have a space to come in and perhaps play they might be convinced to buy in. Maybe we could make this more like a membership group, with dues and that sort of thing. Far more formal, but that may be the way we have to go. I'm still rebuilding my own business, and I won't be able to offer much help."

This got the group talking, and several other ideas sprung up. The idea that struck the group the most was to manufacture bondage furniture. With a large space, like a barn that was a feasible idea, and no one would ever question materials going and coming.

The meeting broke up about eight thirty, and Penny soaked Marilyn for a long, expensive supper at the local Red Lion Inn. Marilyn was very happy to pay, her mind swimming with ideas.

"You're really getting into this thing, aren't you?" Penny asked, as she drove home.

"Yes. I feel that I have hid quite enough. I mean if my son can come out to me at forty years of age, and I can act on my lesbianism at the age of seventy, well why not have a little fun?"

Penny smiled, nodding her head, "That's cool."

"How did your job-hunting go?" Marilyn inquired.

"I've got two interviews in the morning," Penny said.

"Pity," Marilyn said, looking at her.

"What?" Penny said.

"Well, I cobbled together an interesting little idea I read about."

Penny looked at her, an eyebrow cocked. She stopped the car in the driveway and reached for the remote control for the garage door.

"Leave her out tonight," Marilyn said.

"You're up to no good again, aren't you?" Penny said.

"I'd just like to try something, if you're up to it. We haven't done anything really much other than spanking, and I was wondering if you were feeling a bit, oh, adventurous?" Marilyn asked softly.

Penny grinned.

"Garage then, little girl."

Penny missed completely the ropes and sections of wood hanging from the rafters, and instead busied herself looking at the tidily organized hardware on the wall. She turned as Marilyn removed the silk scarf from her neck, the hickie that Penny had laid on her was now a healthy bruise. Penny bit at her lips seeing the mark, and hoped the Marilyn had not paid too much attention to it.

This hope, of course, was in vain.

"Now little one, we must discuss this matter of you and those teeth of yours." Marilyn said coolly. 

Penny quivered just a touch as Marilyn danced the scarf around Penny's face, and then quickly tied it around her eyes. The overhead light of the garage faded, muting to dull shadows and vague shapes.

"Knee, little one. We have something new for you tonight. Something to let you know that I am quite serious about your training. Something I think, you may find very interesting."

Penny knelt, and Marilyn softly lowered one of the rods via the block and tackle mechanism.

"Raise you arms," Marilyn commanded. She placed the rod into Penny's hands and then softly tied rope around her wrists to the rod, not hard enough to make marks, but hard enough for Penny to realize she was being bound, her arms stretched out. Penny had no idea of course, of the pulley system.

Marilyn smiled, looking at her handiwork. Softly she stroked Penny's chin.

"Yes little one, how do you like that, Hm? It is just the sort of thing that you deserve right now for marking your old woman up. Maybe I'll just leave you like this for a while. That could be fun, yes, I like that idea."

Penny was silent, feeling the stretch and pull of her arms out. It was a new, and not at all uncomfortable sensation. She wondered what Marilyn was going to do next, and then realized that the bar was slowly moving up.

She had to struggle to get under it, as it rose slowly. She heard the sound of the turn of a wheel, of a pulley, she assumed. Marilyn's old muscles worked beautifully as Penny's young hands rose higher, and higher, until she was just on the tip of her toes. She felt her arms stretch, tug against their sockets and then her feet fell free.

Penny's pulse pounded and she heard the throbbing sound in her ears. She wasn't sexually aroused, but felt so utterly blissful, so lost and so out of control. Her legs kicked softly, the heels of her flats popping off, the shoes hanging on only by the clutch of her toes.

"Pretty as a picture, that's my little girl," Marilyn said. Penny's hands were about seven feet in the air, and her feet danced all of six inches off the concrete floor. Penny's smile was broad as Marilyn softly ran her hands up and down her body, her withered old fingers prodding all of the soft bits, gently twiddling her nipples through the fabric.

Penny felt the sensation of being touched, and coupled with the helplessness of being hung up created a new sensation. This feeling was a deepening of her submission, and a greater sense of security. Softly Marilyn's voice probed her.

"Well little one, do you like it?" She said.

"Yes ma'am." Penny replied, quietly.

"I didn't hear you," Marilyn said.

"Yes ma'am!" Penny bellowed.

Marilyn smiled and softly she reached up and softly started to tickle at Penny's abdomen. The sensations were tenfold and Penny shrieked with laugher, her lower body struggling while an obscene, joker-like grin played across her face. Marilyn's own smile looked at Penny's bound body lecherously and during the tickling, her sense of power grew. She wanted to see Penny strung up like this on a regular basis, paddled, spanked, writhing in pleasure, her juicy little pussy just waiting for Marilyn's tongue, her voice begging to be allowed to cum.

She took some deep breaths and then slowly lowered Penny down to the floor. Penny did not return to the kneeling position, but instead crumpled to the floor, her face with its pert lips had a look of pure bliss.

Marilyn kicked off her shoes as Penny came down, and then put one of the bare feet in front of her nose.

"Prove to me your worth, child."

Softly, Penny's mouth roamed Marilyn's toes, gently lapping, licking, and softly, tenderly, kissing and nuzzling. Marilyn felt the power of her role now in Penny's life, and knew she would continue to mold her into a proper young lady. Penny's mind was clear as a bell and had only one, single function, to give Marilyn pleasure in whatever way Marilyn desired.



In the Stacks Ch. 07



On Tuesday morning, Penny backed out of the driveway carefully, under Marilyn's watchful gaze, her beat up old Honda trailing smoke. She waved at Marilyn, and she waved back, nearly hitting a parked car on the side of the roadway and pulled into traffic.

With two interviews on her plate today, she had surprisingly little on her mind. She was feeling very calm. With that calmness, she allowed her mind to play back to the meeting last night, with all of the bondage aficionados, and then later, being strung up by Marilyn.

That memory was so blissful, so utterly peaceful, she played it over, and over in her mind. The dull, long ache of the arms being stretched, and then hung up, the uncertainty, the wait, and then the tickling from Marilyn's long, strong fingers, their knurled bones playing her body like a fine musical instrument. Penny sighed and hoped somewhere deep inside that she was giving Marilyn some sort of pleasure, but because of the old woman's naturally taciturn nature, she was unsure, and at times very unconfident.

Her first stop was at her old flat. 

It was only a few scant months ago that she felt adult, and independent. She was a big girl, a woman who stood on her own two feet. She paid her own bills, and was aspiring to be a writer.

While Marilyn always encouraged her to write, and had even suggested that she tried to peck out at least two thousand words a day, she hadn't been able to come close to it, much less being able to do some of the research she had wanted to do. She'd been caught up in the whirlwind of her romance with the older woman.

Yet, was this really a romance? Marilyn had yet to tell her that she loved her, and Penny, despite herself, knew she was smitten, but was it really love? She'd had many instances of puppy love in high school, and then a couple in college, but she was an adult now, a big person. Was being tied up and held by your wrists then coming down and sucking some old woman's toes love or not?

Penny looked at the clock on the microwave and realized she had a good hour to putter around. On a wild whim, she headed back to her bedroom to see if there were any additional clothing she might need over the next week or so, and made a mental note to grab her microwave popcorn. After all, at a certain point, they would probably need to eat in.

When she opened the closet door, her thin wardrobe greeted her, and she looked carefully amongst the clothing. Mostly tattered old jeans, a few flimsy skirts, but nothing good. Nothing worthy of Marilyn certainly. Then again, if she did wear something amiss, she was more likely to get a decent spanking, and certainly, that was a heart warming thought.

She pulled up the beanbag chair in her room and sat on the floor after spying a couple of boxes she could take a few minutes and go through. One of these boxes was of great interest; it was a stack of old stories, and even a few fledgling manuscripts. She thumbed through them, and found a lot of the work was very poor.

She bit her lips.

This was discouraging, she never could be able to show these to Marilyn. She sighed and felt the cold draft of the closet airplay on her, giving her a chill.

'I'll never make it as a writer,' she thought. Her mind washed itself in waves of cold cruel doubt, and she felt very small. By living at Marilyn's, even for these few days, she still put herself in someone else's house. She wasn't on her own, she had no independence.

Was that entirely true though? Marilyn had asked her to stay.

This was all very confusing, and layers of conflict, layers of doubt, and shame started to mount in her mind. There was no way that she felt the same blissful feeling that she did before, and yet, when she thought about being strung up, when she thought about a spanking, the shame faded.

'What was the deal,' she wondered. What was it about this bondage that was so powerful? Where was it written that someone could take away all of her personal shame, all of her discouraging feelings in one easy whap. Is this what Marilyn could do to her? 

She rubbed at her eyes for a moment, eyeing the box of personally rejected manuscripts. She took the top two or three, the more recent works, and decided to take them to Marilyn, and maybe just caution her about them. That would do it. She remembered that Marilyn had never been mean when it came to her reviewing. Maybe a little heavy handed with the red pencil, but not vicious.

She grabbed the teddy bear at the head of the bed as she stood, and looked at him. "Morty, old boy, I just don't know what to do some days."

Morty looked back at her with his plastic fixed eyes and she stroked his fur softly. She lay back on the bed, her legs stretched out toward each corner of it, and then her mind went back to last night. What if, she could talk Marilyn into hanging her by her feet next time? Stretching her out from both ends, yes. Now wouldn't that be incredible? Bet it would hurt like hell though, being stretched out by your own weight and all that, still, Marilyn could figure out how to do it, in a safe way.

The thought of this brought back the peacefulness of yesterday's hanging and put her back in her proper mood, and then, behind Morty she spied something else, her diary.

She snapped it open and pulled out the flat rectangular pen stuck into the spine and started to write longhand. This time, the journal was different. It wasn't about what story she was writing, or how many words she had to put down, but it was about Marilyn, and her feelings.

The last few days she poured out into the journal, scribbling madly, in her distinct copperplate. Page after page she filled, telling about Marilyn, spankings, the fire, Henry and even a short blurb about Will. These words she paid no attention to, as far as grammar and spelling were concerned, this was simply a purging of her mind, a cathartic mechanism that she had developed as a child in rural Tacoma. Her writing was peppered with passive voices, adverbs, and half-remembered quotes.

She then started to write about her base feelings, her sensations, and the helplessness. She wrote about the shame she felt when Marilyn didn't find a slip under her skirt, and then the conundrum, as she had no intention to ever buy or wear any. She took deep breaths and realized that she wanted punishment, that there was some self-loathing, and a lot of self-shame. From where though? Could this be about the low self-esteem she'd been thinking about before, or was this a reflection of her leaving college. It wasn't like she really wanted to drop out, but also she felt she was wasting her time. All school would teach her was how to be something somebody wanted her to be.

She blinked for just a moment, seeing Morty and then swallowed the saliva in her throat. That was it, pure and simple. Oh, there were tons of English classes that would help with her spelling and grammar, a few creative writing classes where she and her classmates could swap stories, but the fact of that matter was that there were no classes specifically geared to the profession that she felt called to, writing. It was a fascinating thought, really.

She knew Marilyn had once been a proper English teacher and all that, but that wasn't the life for her, no. She could find plenty of people to feed stories back and forth with, including Marilyn. She also noted that Marilyn didn't push her to go back to school, which she found interesting. 

As she put the diary down, and then set Morty on top of it, she caught view of the clock radio on her bed and realized her little writing session had cost her dearly in the way of time. She grabbed the handful of manuscripts and headed off to her ten o'clock interview at the bank.

* * *

Marilyn chose her wardrobe with care today, wanting to look particularly eloquent, but paying attention to the volume of metal in it. She went against her traditional long skirt with its wide, thick buckled belt for another sundress and hat combination. Marilyn had owned perhaps three pairs of pants in her entire life. She considered herself as progressive and as liberal as they came but still liked skirts and felt that was the sort of things that a proper lady should wear.

Her shoes were slip on, and the camisole had no metal supports or anything like that. After much debating, she decided to forgo stockings and garters, fearing the metal garters would set off the detector. Once dressed she headed into the kitchen and started rooting around in an upper cupboard.

In this cupboard, Marilyn kept her candles and flashlights; she found an old box of wooden strike matches. She took one of them, and tucked it into the hem of her skirt. Quickly she touched up her makeup and grabbed her clear acrylic cane. Being transparent, she reasoned that it was more likely that they would allow her to have it. She didn't use it very much, not liking that it had a lack of flexibility in comparison with her rattan canes. Still, if she was going to be a little old lady, she must look the part.

In the bathroom, she carefully brushed her teeth, and then blotted out the extra moisture in her mouth, this lack of moisture would cause her to cough quite a bit, and make her voice sound raspy. She experimented with facial expressions, and came up with a very nice pleading look, in case the deputies gave her any trouble.

With all that in mind, she quickly sped to the Clark County Jail, missing Penny's driving already. She never really admitted to herself how much she hated driving until she got someone else to do it. Traffic was a pain, and despite her skill, and experience, driving was tiring for her. It forced her concentration.

The maze of one way streets that consisted of the downtown of Vancouver, Washington were maddening even for the experienced driver, and as she passed the Holland, she had to force herself to relax and remember the little shortcut she used last time. With calmness returning to her mind, she then took a few moments to wonder what she should say to Henry.

"Ah, you're back." The guard said.

"Yes, Officer," Marilyn said formally. "Were you able to get me on the list?"

"Actually he didn't want to do it," the officer said. "I sort of had to talk him into it; I told him said it was important that you see him, if you know what I mean."

Marilyn smiled when he winked at her, and she did her best to give him the soft tingle of a blush, "well perhaps not that important, but there is life in these old bones yet." 

"You'll still need to go through the metal detector, however, and I'm not sure that we'll be allowed to let you keep the cane."

"Oh," Marilyn said, lowering her voice to little more than a bleat, "I have such a hard time walking you know, I can barely drive anymore. I should have taken the bus, but I had to see how my Henry was doing." 

He ushered her through the stand up metal detector, but it still went off. She looked at her hands, and then realized what an idiot she had been; there was a large metal bangle off the one wrist. All this pretending to be a fool must have turned her into one, she surmised.

The guard took it in stride, took a small hand wand, and waved it around her hands, feet, and arms, with no difficulty, just the bangle. Marilyn held her breath the entire time, and hoped there wasn't a sniffer dog. Her only other metallic objects consisted of a couple of ballpoint pens in her purse, a metal business card holder, and her car keys, all of which they allowed through after a quick hand search.

She tottered down the hall with the guard, walking carefully with the can, deliberately laboring each step. Officer Metzger spoke, "Now you won't be able to a touch him, it's just through the telephone in a plastic booth. Not much privacy, but you can have a short chat. Twenty minutes."

"Well any time will do, I suppose," Marilyn said. She hoped there was a clock, she would have to play this just right.

Officer Metzger got her seated and she watched Henry as he was ushered through a door on the other side of the wired window. He looked beaten, and broken, and was not able to look Marilyn in the eyes as he walked toward the booth.

They handcuffed one of his hands to a ring on his side of the bench, and helped him sit down. He picked up the phone.

"Hello Marilyn," He said.

"Hello Henry," She responded. "How are you faring?"

"Um, well, it's not the pizza place, that's for sure," he tried feebly to joke.

"I'd have brought you a book, but, well you know how all that went," she said.

He couldn't help but crack a smile, and then asked, "Marilyn, is it all...gone?"

"Yes, everything. You've really done it this time," Marilyn said, goading him.

"The bad part, Marilyn, you've got to believe me. I didn't do it." He said. This was the first time his eyes met her, his doe brown, boyish grin trying to shine through, clashing horribly with the orange prison uniform.

"They found gasoline on your clothing," Marilyn said.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, but, I..."

"They found a gas can near where you were found, in the field."

He got quiet.

"Tell me something, Henry, when did you become such a firebug?" Marilyn said.

"Marilyn, I, I never, no..." He said.

"I really should have beaten you that night, you know. You would have liked it, wouldn't you?"

Henry licked his lips, and she watched a slight tinge of a blush creep across his face.

"You're a little subbie boy, aren't you Henry. Boffing your little mistress and then going home to the wife, letting her catch you just so that you could be yelled at. I imagine it was quite the little thrill, wasn't it Henry?"

"Marilyn, no, nothing like that," he tried to correct her.

"I know you've been wanting into my knickers for quite a while now. I imagine it was quite a slam to your ego to know I was licking out little Penny's sweet bush, now wasn't it? Let me tell you something, Henry, she's twice the person you'll ever be."

Henry swallowed, and she knew she had him in her grasp. Now to break him. She removed the match from her skirt and palmed it, showing it to him. His eyes dilated, and she saw the face of his fear and watched his breathing quicken.

"Tell me something Henry, I do need to know..." She said.

Between the fear, and the submissive state she had put him in, Henry would have sang like Diana Ross if he thought that it would help his standing with her.

"Who were you boffing all these years?"

"Ann," he said. "We started going out in high school. I never stopped loving her."

Marilyn turned it over in her mind.

"Her daughter," Marilyn said, "is yours. You helped her buy the bar. She was happy when Teresa kicked you out."

His eyes dilated, affixed on the match, and she could see the fever in them.

"Yes. I helped her build the business, and kept Lisa in enough money to go to college."

"But Theresa got jealous, didn't she? Torched the whole place. I bet she hoped to catch you in there."

"She couldn't have," Henry said. "She was at the coast. She had the travel trailer, she was gone, Marilyn. She said that I had to choose between Ann and her, and if I was back at the house when she got back, I could never see Ann again."

Marilyn nodded.

"I don't even know if she's back, I don't care. All I wanted was to go home," He said. "I made my choice, Marilyn, my wife was willing to take me back."

The corner of Marilyn's mouth rose only slightly in a smile.

"You really are a son-of-a-bitch, aren't you Henry?"

"Yes," he gasped. "I am. I know it Marilyn, you don't need to tell me."

"What will you do when you get out?"

"I don't think I will," Henry said. "I think they are going to prove me guilty, and Marilyn, I deserve it. I deserve to go to jail."

"Spineless man," Marilyn spat. She waved the match in her hand slowly. "You have no balls, you know that Henry? Men like you make women like me lesbians. You will be free whether you like it or not, and when you do, Henry, you will be forced to deal with both of the families you have made and broken. Do you understand me?"

His eyes affixed to the match, between it and the cold calculating tone of her voice caused him to sweat almost uncontrollably.

"Yes, Marilyn." He said.

She administered the coupe' de grace.

"Yes, what?" She hissed.

He looked at her with the small sense of hope in his eyes. "Yes ma'am."

"That's better, little man. I'll be keeping my eyes on you." She said. Marilyn stood, and left, leaving the match for him to stare at as she walked quietly away.

* * *

Marilyn sat on the couch with Penny, reading her stories. Penny, filled with dread, watched as Marilyn swished through the copies of them with her red pen without a care. Marilyn worked quickly and carefully, in her ruthless, hacking manner. She destroyed adverbs without a single thought, separated run-on sentences with mighty blows, and added grammar comments in the margins, scribbling in her quick, perfect, cursive script. She couldn't bear it anymore and slipped off the couch and into the kitchen.

While waiting for Marilyn's scathing report, she made popcorn, not able to watch. She sat on a stool in the breakfast bar, and waited for the popping to stop, trying to catch it at that perfect moment just prior to scorching. She sipped on the glass of wine she'd poured for herself. Marilyn had had supper waiting when she came home, Penny was very happy to tell her about her interviews, and Marilyn had nearly demanded to see her work when she made mention of the box.

"Finished," Marilyn called out setting the pen down.

Penny dropped the only mildly scorched popcorn into a large plastic bowl and set it between them on the coffee table. Marilyn was in the corner of the sectional, and the stack of red covered papers on the sofa next to her. She bit her lips and looked at the stack, then at Marilyn.

"Looks worse than it is. You always have to remember the draft rule, to loose ten percent between drafts. These just need a bit of tightening up. Ever read, 'Elements of Style?'" She asked.

"Yeah, in school. Didn't get a lot out of it," Penny said, picking up the stack.

"It's kind of a bible. Might be worth thumbing through again. Your work is solid, it really is, Penny. I think you should be submitting stories to some of the shorter romantic magazines as soon as you clean them up some."

Penny looked at her, "you mean it?"

"Oh yes. You might even Google for some information about the independent press. There is a lot of good independent press out there. Lot of people making their own magazines and that sort of thing. Lots of good epublishers looking for romantic shorts." Marilyn said.

Penny's bright eyes shone happily, "so you think I have a chance?" She asked.

"Certainly," Marilyn replied, smiling. She stretched out on the couch some, and softly beckoned Penny closer.

Penny leaned over and gently let the older woman stroke her face. Her withered hands were tender, and soft, and Penny quivered as a finger softly traced her lips. "One thing I have a question about, though," Marilyn said.

"What?" Penny said.

"All of these stories, they have men in them. I would have assumed, at some point, that would you have written some lesbian erotica." Marilyn said.

"Um, well, a lot, well almost all of this was when I was in college. I mean I thought about other women, but well, you know. You're my first." Penny said.

"Perhaps this is what makes this relationship so special for both of us," Marilyn said, petting her chest. Softly Penny lay back into Marilyn's lap, and Marilyn lowered her voice to nothing above a whisper, speaking softly into Penny's ear. "You have brought life to my old bones, girl. Life greater that I have thought possible. I had my routine, you know. Bookstore, six days a week, Thomas on Saturday mornings, and Friday nights, Chinese, Whisky, and Haiku."




In the Stacks Ch. 07



"Whisky?" Penny interjected, making a face. "Tastes like paint thinner on ice."

"It's an old woman drink. Sometimes you just need to be able to let go."

Penny tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow.

"Then again, when you're seventy, I suppose a couple of shots of whisky doesn't compare with going out with some young stud to a club or whatever it is you did," Marilyn said.

"Wine coolers," Penny said. "Sometimes I'd go out to the local pub by the collage, but Fridays and Saturdays were just full of people, crammed to the gills. I liked to get a couple of books from the library on Thursdays, and a four-pack of wine coolers. I'd peel my clothes, or even on some nights, dress up, just for myself."

Penny turned pink in her reminiscing.

"Really?" Marilyn said. Softly her lips dipped softly and kissed her on the temple, "what would you dress in?"

Penny blushed even greater, "well, I have this little pink satin nightie that I was pretty fond of. It was cool, and smooth. I'd put it on, and slide around under the covers, and read my books."

"I bet you'd touch yourself, too, wouldn't you? Hm?" Marilyn whispered again, this time a tongue softly stroking the side of her ear. 

Penny quivered and nodded, "oh, yes. I would just lie there, and let my fingers wander. Up, and down. I like to stretch my legs out, when I touch myself. Just me and my imagination, there in the candlelight."

Marilyn's hands softly reached down further and gently rubbed at Penny's hands, and Penny turned. Their lips met in the tenderest of kisses, with only the tiniest feathering of tongue. Marilyn made a soft purring sound as Penny's mouth became hungrier, chewing softly on the older woman's lower lip.

Hands started to roam each other's bodies. Both being women, the bodies were familiar, but it was still a wonderful sensation to be able to touch someone else. Penny's young, eager lips trailed down Marilyn's neck, to the other side, and Marilyn gritted her teeth as another mark formed. She made no effort to stop Penny.

"That'll cost you another hanging, young lady," she said in a soft, non-threatening tone.

Penny smiled.

"That turned you on, didn't it?" Marilyn said. Her hands were now reaching to Penny's flat, sculpted abdomen.

"Oh yes," Penny said.

"When they get a dungeon made, I'm going to hang you up in front of all of them, and show off my little Penny. I want them to see my possession."

Penny flushed, and softly she reached back behind Marilyn and unzipped the top of her dress.

"Marilyn," Penny said. "You're beautiful to me. I... I love you." 

Marilyn reached out with a soft grip, and guided Penny's chin. 

She tenderly pulled the girl forward, until their eyes met.

"Penny," she replied, "I love you too. I don't know how it happened, but in the last few days, my life has been flipped upside-down. The only center point in it has been you. To me, that is what love is about, being there for someone. That won't stop me from loving Thomas, and I will not allow him to stop me from loving you."

Both women started to cry, and then both felt a little embarrassed, their emotions pouring out to one another like two tributaries forming to create one great river.

Their kissing became feverish, tongues exploring each other's mouths, lips sucking hungrily. Penny reared up at a moment, softly helped Marilyn slip out of the dress, and then peeled off the camisole. Reverently, she completely undressed Marilyn and neatly folded her clothing on the chair. Her hungry mouth took a hard, thick nipple and sucked it softly. She could feel the arousal of Marilyn with her hand, and gently stroked the delicate membranes of her sex.

Marilyn closed her eyes and felt the younger woman's hungry mouth, and eager fingers work her body with skill that belied her innocence. Softly her legs rocked back and forth against the hands, and she felt her wetness flow freely. Penny moved her head, leaving a trail of kisses, nuzzling down to the ivory public hair. A quick flick of her tongue found the older woman's clit, and softly she played at this nub.

Marilyn moaned lewdly, her legs rising softly, and Penny felt the warmth of the older woman's thighs press against her flesh. Her tongue was long, and lapped with teasing, flicking stroked. She only stopped when she felt Marilyn's hand on her hair, slowing her down, and then drawing her back up. They kissed, and Penny rubbed her face into the other woman's lips. Marilyn pulled at Penny's clothes.

Penny stood and softly gyrated ever so gently, slowly peeling off clothing, standing first in a bra and skirt, then just her undergarments. Finally, she peeled down just to her panties, one of those small little thongs that Marilyn just did not get.

Marilyn gestured and Penny draped herself on the older woman, her old hands flipping the thong off with a single, almost obnoxious gesture. Both women hungrily lapped at the soft folds of the pubic mons, highly aroused. Marilyn slipped a few fingers into Penny's incredibly wet tightness, and once her hands got slick, moved the attentions from her mouth to Penny's tart ass.

The young girl gasped, as first, the warm wetness of the tongue slipped into her nether hole, and as she offered no protestations then felt the firm bony fingers of Marilyn's digits stretching her tight. She gasped, and then her mouth sucked harder onto Marilyn's clit, as the older woman's face returned to her now incredibly wet slit.

Penny's fingers teased Marilyn's snatch in a long, drawn out, teasing manner. She could feel the build of her own climax, and the grind of Marilyn's thick, muscular folds drawing her hand into her, deeper and deeper. Both women flicked each other's clits madly and they grunted, working in a feverish way, desiring nothing more than to please the other. In a rarity they climaxed together, each face becoming a gooey mess of the other's thick female honey.

After some rest, they eventually drifted to the bedroom, to softly fall asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

At two o'clock in the morning, in the Vista Rose Nursing home, Trinity had just finished lunch and met with her hall partner, Esmeralda. Esmeralda was a squat woman who spoke little English, but Trinity was fluent enough in Spanish to be able to deliver comedy licks to her. Esmeralda was much shorter than Trinity, and were referred to by the rest of their co-workers as long round, and short round.

They started at one end of their hall, with a pair of older women in it. Carefully they crept into the room, turning on only as few lights as possible. After washing their hands, they donned purple Nitrate gloves, gently checking each of the older women for any sign of incontinence, both urinary and fecal. Satisfied there was none, they repeated the process, slowly, carefully working their way up the hall.

Due to a shortage of floor nurses, Violet had charge of two halls, including this one. After they came out of one of the corner rooms, Violet was there with a clipboard.

"Can I get you to take these vitals?" She asked.

"I'm on it," Trinity said. She had a spynometer in her lab coat, as well as a stethoscope, and a tympanic thermometer. When they were at work, they were all business, and worked tightly as in hand in glove.

The three of them heard a crash from one of the rooms, and then the long, drawn out sound of a respiration machine, with its high-pitched whine. They looked at each other for a moment, and then realized, the only person on this wing to have a respirator was Thomas Marshall.

Violet swung the door open, and flicked on the light.

Thomas's back was arching in air, as he seized, his mutilated, scarred body dancing as if a powerful electrical current went through it. His tracheal tube nearly pulled out, his only hand flailed, slamming it into anything and everything that it could hit. The gastric feeding tube spewed a horrible smelling syrupy chocolate mess everywhere, and after the sheet fell off, they could see his ostomey bag was full, nearly to the point of bursting.

His only eye was open, yet dilated, he was grunting and rasping as his body became starved for oxygen. 

The three women moved as a team, trying to calm the injured man, yet, the most they could do is ride the seizure, moving things away from the tender tissues of his body. They heard long unused bones crack and then, the repertory tube finally snapped away, a string of mucus following it. 

His body seized over, and over, until it shuddered one last time and came to rest.

Violet moved like lightening, and started barking numbers out:

"Seizure at oh-two-two-three, lasting forty five minutes. Tracheal and Gastro tubes pulled, pulse is... Pulse is..." 

She looked at Trinity.

Trinity's eyes got wide, and wrapped the oversized blood pressure cuff around one of the stumps of his legs. She took the reading twice, and then looked at Violet, shaking her head.

"Go get me the nurse on three; we've got to call him," Violet said, "preliminary time of death at oh-two-two-four."



In the Stacks Ch. 08



Will sat stoically in first class, sipping scotch out of a plastic cup. The smoky acrid taste hit the back of his mouth. He held the sting of the alcohol in his mouth for as long as he could and then swallowed it. He took long, deep breaths in between drinks, and then turned to his right.

Chris was asleep, lying against the window, a white pillow folded against the right side of his face. The navy blue blanket once pulled tight against his neck had now fallen down. Will softly reached over, pulled it back up, and softly ran his finger across the stubble that had formed on Chris's face.

They had managed to catch the red-eye from Chicago to Portland, Oregon, the closest city that had an airport to Orchards, Washington. Penny had called, and had first gotten Chris, and then him, to inform him that not only was his father dead, but his mother had fainted, and being transported to Southwest Washington Medical Center. Penny was distraught, and he had to calm her many times in order to get specific information.

Will had asked Chris to get on his cell phone and set up the reservations, call their respective jobs, and handle those duties while he got on the hospital about his mother. By the time that the ambulance got there, they had determined that she had simply fainted from shock, and he even managed to talk to her for a few minutes.

He listened sympathetically as she cried deeply. She sounded weak, and drained, and on the verge of shock again, but it didn't matter to him. He was merely happy she was alive and able to communicate. 

Chris got them a cab, paid an incredible sum of money to the ticket agent and they went through security. They made quite a fuss at Chris who had taken off his belt, shoes, removed all the money in his pants, cufflinks, rings, glasses, and innumerable other metallic objects and still made the damn thing go off. When they waved the wand in front of his groin, he declared that no matter how much they asked, there were some rings that were not very easy to take off.

Will bit his lips, smirking, watching the discomfort that the homeland security supervisor had as her began to question Chris about some of the specifics. Chris pressed the matter causing the man to squirm, proclaiming how much better sex was with the, 'Prince' and that really he had dated quite a few men that had them. 

Security merely waved them through at that point, and then Will administered the coupe de grace by kissing Chris fully on the lips and groping his ass. This spectacle alone would have probably gotten them through security faster, but frankly, Will was of the mind that these yo-yo's couldn't wipe their own ass with both hands. If they couldn't deal with something as simple as a penis piercing, how in the hell could they deal with plastic explosives and guns?

The flight was only a few hours long, and Will had spent the time used on the tarmac and loading to lay out the tasks that needed to be done, down to getting a rental car and a hotel. While his mother would insist that they stay with her, on this matter, Chris had been firm. Privacy for both men was a prized item, one that they both cherished. Once in the air, he began swilling scotch.

He looked over at Chris, seeing his sleeping form, and wanted nothing more to be in a warm, dark room, covered with blankets and being held by Chris. He wanted to cry, to vent, to rage, he wanted to yell, to scream and to blame, but there was no one to blame. The drunk driver that had put his father in that nursing home was long since dead.

As far as Will was concerned, his father had died a long time ago. When you hack off three out of four limbs, and a hunk of your skull and brain, he reasoned, then you really don't have much of a chance of any kind of life. 

He had last seen his father, in that sterile hospital bed, about three years ago around Christmas time. He had pushed himself to visit his mother, when in reality they merely danced around each other, playing scrabble in the afternoons and walking amongst the shopping crowds in the morning. She had even bought him presents that were, 'from dad'. 

Will always wondered how she could do it. Was it merely that she came from a prior generation, whose ethics were unimpeachable? He had no idea. He found it amusing when she started to write, and found it fascinating when she started to focus on erotica. He wondered if she found it embarrassing to show him her work, and yet, he felt, by reading it, he got to know her a little better.

He drained the last sip of scotch in his cup and then held it up in the air, rather than tap the light on. He could see they were preparing some sort of breakfast like item, something that undoubtedly he would scarf down until he could get something a bit more solid into his system.

The flight attendant came forward and he looked at her with his bloodshot eyes, a man-mountain, looking even more ragged than normal.

"Scotch, make it a double."

"Sir," she said tactfully, "you've had four."

She looked at him with his deep, cool hazel eyes and said, "My father just died."

She merely nodded at him after a quiet, "oh, I'm sorry," she refilled it.

When the food came around, Will softly woke Chris, having ordered for him.

"Breakfast in bed, gee, when's the last time I got that?" Chris said to him with a grin.

"Yesterday, as I recall," Will said.

"Tube sausage doesn't count, dear." Chris said.

"Picky little bitch aren't you?" Will said.

Chris looked at him, slightly hurt. He looked at the scotch in Will's hand and decided to let it go, but then Will followed up.

"I'm sorry, Chris. I guess that this is hitting me a little harder than I thought."

"Lover, this is your father we're talking about." Chris said, putting his hand on Will's thigh.

"He was a fucking vegetable," Will growled, but softly put his hand on Chris's fingers, he knew what Chris was trying to do, and knew Chris was right. His dad was finally dead. A single, solitary tear rolled down Will's cheek and Chris leaned over to hold his husband's face.

Will let go as much as he would allow himself in the plane. His sobs were brief, prefunctionary things, and Chris watched those around him, glaring at any who would cast aspersions upon his grief. He waved the flight attendants around them when they served food, and only when he kissed the tears away from Will's face and sat upright did they then bring the meal.

Chris picked at a piece of microwaved French toast, and asked for some vodka to go into the orange juice. Will ate his meal quickly, inhaling the food at an incredible pace, and then Chris offered him the remnants of his. He knew better to get in the way of the big man when he was in one of these manic compulsive eating phases, and knew that it did not happen nearly as much as it did when they were in college and Will was still stuffing his feelings about being gay down.

Will settled into scotch number six, and pulled out his laptop, his fingers typing at a furious rate on some work project. He was trying to bury himself but the only image he could see was that of the side of his father's face, scarred beyond sanity, that section of bare skull open to the air. What kind of life was that, anyway? He stole a glance at Chris who was scrutinizing fashion designs in a copy of cosmopolitan. 

In that flash of a moment, he saw Chris, in that bed, arms askew, face half-gone, staring into the sky. He shook his head and then remembered a piece of advice that his mom had given him at a certain point in his life, that he could say, 'stop'. He tried, and eventually the image faded from his view. Chris was alive, and there was no reason to do this. This was something Will fought every day, not just with his father, but also with many of the memories he had from childhood, things only Chris knew for he would be damned before he would tell his mother how he had been used as a child.

Chris watched him and this thought process, he always could feel Will when he looked at him. Chris loved Will for all his faults, and from Chris's point of view there were few. He knew that Will had his own daemons, that only in the darkest of nights under the covers did he speak about them. Chris loved how Will watched after him, took care of him, and yet he was aware of the thickheaded nature of the big man. Will would be blind to obvious solutions, not just because they were simple, but also because they were beneath him.

Chris opened up the window shade, looked at the clouds and wondered briefly about his father. His dad died in the Vietnam War and he had never had a father figure in his life. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't necessary. He knew he'd be a frightened mess when his mother died, but he didn't quite understand what it was like to have a father, or even a father figure. His mother had dated, but nothing ever clicked, and of the myriad of men who she saw, none of them ever took a great deal of time with him, especially being as foppish as he was. He stole a glance at Will looking at him, and they both smiled. Tightly their hands met, and fingers interlaced.

* * *

Penny sat in a cheap metal armless chair next to Marilyn in her hospital bed. She was on Marilyn's right, the same side as the door, in the emergency room. Marilyn was awake; she had a bit of color in her face, having just finished eating a little breakfast. Penny had taken the tray table away and Marilyn was looking into her eyes.

"I'm all right, really, Penny I am. This is such a fuss. There's a lot to do." Marilyn said.

"Yes, I know. Will and Chris are on their way." Penny replied.

Marilyn shook her head and then sighed, "You know I don't like looking like this, I was wondering if you might run by the house and get me some proper clothing, and perhaps bring the caddy about. I know you like your little Honda, but for the four of us to tool around in, we'll need something hefty."

"You amaze me, Marilyn." She said.

"It's a shock, and I still have a lot of crying to do," as if by cue, soft rivers of tears streamed from her eyes. They followed the wrinkles of his face down beside her nose and into her lips. Penny ripped Kleenex from a box and daubed at her face, blotting it. Marilyn took the younger woman's hand in hers and kissed it softly.

"I can't thank you enough, Penny. Every time I have to trust you, I am never sorry. You know, it's funny, I'm not sure how I would have dealt with this if you weren't here," Marilyn said. Her lower lip was trembling, and quaking.

"Well you don't need to worry about that, Marilyn. I'm here," Penny said. She softly kissed Marilyn's hand.

Penny felt as Marilyn's hand softly stroked her face, and felt a couple of tears out of Penny's eyes as well. The two women felt this moment as a time of union, of loss shared. They did not snap at each other, they did not growl. Penny moved slowly, alongside Marilyn on the bed, and they giggled at each other, avoiding the tubes and lines until they were able to hold each other.

This touch, this supreme intimacy caused them both to forget their surroundings, and even the circumstances of their meeting. They were two human beings, just trying to comfort one another in the time of need. They kissed briefly, and Penny's eyes drowsed a bit. Neither woman rested well, due to the circumstances and Marilyn saw Penny was getting comfortable.

Softly she asked, "When does Will's flight get in?"

Penny raised an eye and then mumbled, "He left at five, his time, it's a four hour flight, and then add two time zones. They told me they were going to get a car."

Marilyn grunted, "You'll have to move your stuff out of the guest room."

Penny cocked an eyebrow.

"Just stick it in my room. We'll let the sleeping arrangements happen. I mean, if push comes to shove you still have your apartment," Marilyn said.

"I... guess," Penny said. "I just thought, well, I'd be with you."

Marilyn nodded and then said, "I can't imagine you not being there, but also, I don't know what Will would say. He stuffs his feelings down so much. I mean, I hope he doesn't think I betrayed Thomas, I blame myself about that enough"

"Why?" Penny asked quietly.

"We were married," Marilyn replied.

"But from what you've told me, well, there..." Penny said cautiously.

"Wasn't a lot left? No. Thomas was dead, that is how Will viewed him. I am not so sure that I shouldn't have pulled the plug a very long time ago. A part of me Penny, always held out hope. When you came along," her voice started to crack, "I knew that that hope was gone. There's a part of me, Penny that believes that he went because I was being taken care of."

Penny's eyes were wide as saucers, and tears dropped slowly down her face. She sniffled as her nose filled with mucus. Marilyn's soft cry turned into a wail. She and Penny cried together for another hour or so, until a Nurse slipped into the room.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the Nurse said.

"It's okay. Did you find out when I can leave?" Marilyn asked as Penny slipped off the bed and started to straighten herself out.

"You can check out about eleven, Mrs. Marshall. I'm sorry for your loss. I need to check on your vital signs."

"I'll get back to the house, and get it ready," Penny said. "Then I'll bring the caddy around for you."

"Thank you, dear," Marilyn said in her pleasant little-old-lady tone. "I'll be here. I've no where else to go."

Penny peeled out, of the parking lot, driving at breakneck speed, bending and even breaking every traffic light she could. She found that Will had not yet reached the house, and quickly she zoomed into the guest room. Her laptop had finished charging from last night, and she opened up the closet to find that she had filled well over half of it with her own clothing. 

She bit at her lip critically and then went into Marilyn's tidy room. There was virtually no space in her closets and Penny found herself a quandary. From room to room she went, trying to figure out where things should go. A loud, booming knock came from the front door, harried, clothing still draped over one hand, a slight sweat on her brow, out of breath, she answered it.

Will stood there. He was at his full six foot four height, and looked as if every inch of his three hundred and seventy pounds were pure muscle. He looked her in the eye, a look that made her shiver.

"Penny, I presume," he said.

"Um, yeah. You must be Will." She replied, shaking his massive paw.

He gave her a semi-friendly smile and then Chris's perfectly manicured hand reached out, "and I'm Chris. It's a pleasure to meet you, Penny. You look like you could use a hand."

"Um, well, I'm just clearing out a space for you two to stay, really."

"Don't bother," Will said. "We've got a hotel room down the street. Where's mom?"

"She's still in the hospital. She wanted me to tidy up before you guys got here," she said, and let them in.

"How's she doing?" Will asked.

"Okay, crying a lot, but that's to be expected," She said. Will grunted.

"Well yes, I would think so," Chris said, "I just don't know what I'm going to do when I loose the big guy here."

"What makes you so sure I'm going to go first?" Will said, looking down at him.

"With what you eat? Pull-ease. Don't mind Mister McDonald here, dear. Heck, if I were you I'd start buying stock in Starbucks as it's our second home in the Hamptons."

Will frowned and opened his mouth to speak and then Penny interrupted him, "well if you give me a couple of minutes to put this stuff away, we'll go get Marilyn."

"Let me give you a hand," Chris said, and before she could object scooped up the bundle of clothing she was carrying. "Lead on McDuff."

Penny blinked at him, and then led him into the guest room.

"So this is where you stay? Cozy girl. I imagine Marilyn looks on you like her right hand, huh?" Chris said.

"Uh, well, uh, I like to think so," She said, just short of a blush.

Chris grinned at her, and said, "Does Marilyn have any clothing at the hospital? Those gowns are just so un-chic."

Penny smiled at him, and realized that Chris really did want to help, that even if he was a bit of a prissy queen, he was still a good person, and that maybe he could be the person that she could crutch onto.

"Um, Marilyn's room is right over here," she said. "I'm thinking something comfortable, I just think we're going to come back here."

"Oh well knowing Marilyn that's just a seven piece suit," Chris said with a laugh.

Penny grinned and giggled, and was happy to laugh, despite the tragedy that brought them together. She opened up Marilyn's closet and started to thumb through the outfits, all of which were chromatically arranged. Finally, she selected a tan suit. She knew Marilyn's routine well enough and fished out fresh stockings, garters and undergarments while Chris poked around and found a thin clean camisole. They hustled the lot of them into a garment bag, and as an after thought, Penny put in a chocolate brown scarf.

"Very good, dear, sometimes the little details do make the outfit." Chris said, mimicking Marilyn almost perfectly.

Penny's eyes went wide, "whoa, that's pretty cool." 

"Well it has its uses, darling. Some days a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do," Chris replied in the breathy voice of Lauren Bacall.

"Damn, you should be on stage," Penny said.

"Well I am an actor. Actress. Something like that," Chris said, pleased that his bit of self-depreciating humor was providing someone some relief. He hadn't been able to get Will to smile the entire time from the airport, car rental, or hotel. 

"I'm glad you're here, Chris. I think Marilyn would kill me if she knew you were rooting around her lingerie drawer though."

"She's just jealous. I'm thinner and have a better walk," Chris said without missing a beat. "Besides, my cleavage is much more flexible."

Penny doubled over laughing, having to sit on the bed.

"Easy girl, breathe, breathe. Marilyn would never forgive me if you croaked because of my bad humor," Chris said. He zipped up the clothing carrier as Penny caught her breath and then led them out of the room and down the hall.

They found Will sitting at the breakfast bar. He had located one of Marilyn's stashes of scotch and had poured himself a double, consumed it, and when they arrived was working on his second.

"Think fast," Will said, and threw the keys at them.

Penny squeaked slightly, and Chris snagged them out of the air, obviously used to Will's sense of humor.

"I'm not fit to drive," he said.

"When has you driving ever been fit anyway? Hm?" Chris said. He turned to Penny, "you should see what he does on the expressway, it's shameful."

Will took it in stride, his mood started to lighten and then lashed out, "well I'm funny, I like to get to where I'm going without having a scenic tour of every parking lot I meet."

"Picky picky picky mister, 'oh there's a closer one'. A little walking never killed anyone."

"We have feet so that we can work gas pedals, don't you know anything?" Will said, and then shot the remainder of the scotch down. 

"Um, Will, how much have you had to drink?" Penny asked.

"About twelve, fifteen shots." he said, soberly. "With my body mass, I could drink a whole lot more. Just can't drive."

Chris smiled, leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, "always my gallant knight." 

Penny looked at the two of them, and her heart reached out. She saw how they loved each other, and wondered what her own family would think when they finally met Marilyn.

Will looked to Penny, "lets get it on."

Penny grabbed the keys to the caddy, knowing that Marilyn wouldn't want to be crammed into the Honda, and felt that she would be happy that Will and Chris weren't staying with them.

Chris followed dutifully in the rented town car as Will became quiet. They waited in the adjoining guest room while Penny brought Marilyn her clothing, and Marilyn took some time to look presentable, much to Will's annoyance.




In the Stacks Ch. 08



***

She left her hospital room, barely balancing on her cane, and when she saw Will there was a visible expression of relief on her face. 

"God, it's good to see you boy." She said, and uncharacteristically wrapped her arms around him. Her tears were fewer now, having gotten a good deal of her purging finished when Penny was away.

"It's okay ma. He's in a better place." He said softly, letting her cry into his shoulder.

Penny bit at her lips, wanting to be the one to hold Marilyn, and yet, knew that they had so little time together, she realized that none of it was like this. She imagined there were probably very few times in Marilyn's life when they had been so close. 

"Are you going to be okay, Ma? Are you sure you can leave?"

"Bah, I'm leaving before they serve dinner, and before you drink all my scotch." 

Will threw his head back and roared with laughter, a huge peeling emotion. Despite the redness of his eyes, the sorrows, the pain, just the thought that she was concerned about her single malt stash made him feel much better.

She smiled at him, a winning smile, one she borrowed from Penny, and was happy to have made him laugh as well. Even with the dark specter of his father's death, Will needed to laugh, and it was only Marilyn that could do it in this instance. They were directly affected. While Chris and Penny were family, they did not have the bond, the union of mother and child. The loss of Thomas Marshall was now, finally coming to bear.

"I bet you know the best Chinese delivery in town." He countered.

"I'll bet you can still eat a double order of MuShu pork." She retorted.

"I'll even bet I can do that and drink you under the table."

"You're on, boy. Penny, my dear, oh. Um, I take it we've all ready met?" Marilyn said, her mask of composure coming on strong.

Penny smiled, "they came by the house."

"You remembered where it was? You have a terrible sense of direction, boy." Marilyn admonished.

"Fortunatly, I do not," Chris said.

"Ah yes, my bad. I remember you touring us around Chicago's nightspots. Never could figure out how you could get around that city. Huge thing." 

The quartet walked past the nurse's station, and only at Will's insistence did she even bother checking out. She signed forms stating that she was leaving against medical advice, something that she enjoyed immensely and Penny held the door open.

Penny took the lead in the early afternoon traffic and drove slowly and carefully under Marilyn's careful tutelage. 

"They are quite the pair, aren't they?" She asked.

Marilyn nodded, "I'm very lucky. Don't you dare tell Christopher that. He's a good man, standing by my son all these years. I wish I hadn't been so blind, Penny. My life might have been easier. Will might have trusted me a little more. I don't know, it seems like I'm an old fool."

"Marilyn!" Penny gasped.

"Oh you hush. I'm entitled to a little self-loathing now and then. I feel like a great weight has lifted, and yet, I feel guilt. I feel so many things. Most of all, I'm feeling lost. It's surreal, Penny. Like a Salvador Dali painting in my living room of Rembrants.

They pulled in ahead of Will and Chris, and Penny opened the door for her not unlike a proper chauffer. Chris arched an eyebrow at this, and as Will and Marilyn talked their way to the front door, Penny got it open, lights on, and was cleaning up when Marilyn eased herself into the front chair. 

"So ma, what's the name of this Chinese place you got going?" Will inquired.

Chris bit his lip. While waiting for the big man in the waiting room, Chris watched him consume six sodas three candy bars and two bags of chips. Only when Will ran out of single one dollar bills for the machine did he finish eating. He imagined that Will's eating binge tonight would be incredible. He was not disappointed.

Four hours later, Will finished the second order of Mushu-Pork and he and his mother had relocated to the living room, leaving Chris and Penny to socially fend for themselves. Penny had busied herself by washing up plates and Chris helped. His self-depreciating humor was entertaining for her, and they had both had a couple of drinks. They both were both blown away, not just by the capacity of alcohol flowing, but by all of this history of the Marshall family. It was as if they were on the outside, looking in, almost like a servitor class or a bad television sitcom.

"So how long do you think they can keep this up? She just finished her sixth double scotch?" Chris asked Penny.

"I have no idea. I've never seen her drink this much. Then again, if my dad died, or my husband that I'd stayed with died, I'm not sure I could keep sober, either."

"Good point," Chris said, "but Scotch? Give me a Shirley Temple any day." He swished his hips and finger gestured. Penny could not help but give a grin.

"Penny, my dear? Could you give me a hand?" Marilyn called out.

"You'll excuse me, Chris, the Madame calls." She said with a smirk, causing Chris to laugh and nearly drop a dish.

"What's up, Marilyn?" Penny said, smiling.

"I'm afraid we've exhausted the larder. If you could nick into the garage, in that metal storage cabinet under the paint you'll find another case of scotch. I'm hoping you'll favor the Glenlivit, old enough to vote."

"Um, which metal storage shed? There's a lot in there."

"Good question. It's in one of them. I think. Better let me give you a hand." Marilyn said jovially, trying to stand.

"Ma, you're loaded. Let her get it, hell, we'd fall on our asses at this point," Will said.

"He's right, and the last thing you want to do is end up back in the hospital, now would you?" Penny said, nearly mocking her.

Marilyn managed a drunken, slightly icy stare at the thought, which Penny brushed aside. While she wouldn't get a spanking tonight for it, she was sure that it was going to buy her one later, and the thought of that made her feel a little less jealous.

Chris giggled hysterically and then perfectly imitated Marilyn, "remind me to dock your pay, young lady."

Will started to peel with laughter and even Marilyn, the butt of the joke, could not resist and too started to laugh. While Penny had actually hoped for a little genuine discipline later on, it was good enough, for now.

She went to the garage door only to find that it was locked and as she'd had a drink or too lingered at it a second just too long for Chris to find her.

"Need a hand?" He offered.

"Um, sure. I really don't know which cabinet it's in, Chris. It could be in any one of these."

"I'm surprised she doesn't have them labeled with inventory control tags." He replied.

She giggled and they stepped into the garage. With Marilyn's car to one side, the cabinets had plenty of berth to open. She immediately went to the farthest one and wrenched it open, looking at its' contents critically.

"She said it was with the Paint," Chris said.

"Paint...paint... Okay, this is paint here." Penny said, kneeling down. Her shorter skirt flared up, revealing the thong underwear, and perfect ass, which Chris was terribly jealous over. To have a butt that firm, he mused to himself. She must make some boy very happy. He also took into account an odd, squareish mark that went from the edge of her panty line down, a remnant to the spatula incident of a few days before.

Penny pulled out the box still squatting when the alcohol rushed to her head. She lost her balance, and with a squeak and a giggle, fell back upon her rump. Chris emitted a similar squeak, of surprise, and then he knelt down to look at her.

"Are you all right?" He said.

"Just lost my balance. She's got so much scotch in that box there's no way they could run out, except if they drank themselves to death." She was lying flat now, and glanced up, past Chris to the suspension system. Her eyes got wide and she gasped.

To Chris, master of observation, it wasn't lost, and he looked up. His eyes got wide. Softly he muttered, "so all those novels, it's all true."

"Huh?" Penny said.

Chris eyed her, not knowing how much she knew.

"Your boss, I'm sure you know is a writer."

"Oh yeah, she um, writes about stuff, I guess like that up there," Penny said. She was putting on her best acting face.

"Have you read any of her works," Chris asked.

"Some, mostly the shorter stories," Penny said, standing up, and gripping the dusty bottle.

"Have you met any of her...playmates?" Chris asked.

"Playmates?" Penny asked. She looked at him with her big innocent eyes.

Chris smiled a half a smile, and put the box of scotch in. Two plus two still added four, and the squarish mark on her ass clicked in his mind.

"Or are you her playmate? Marilyn's little girl toy?" Chris said. He stared directly into her face, his eyes focused not on hers, but on the middle of her brow.

Penny whimpered.

"I thought so. How long have you been licking that old lady snatch, hm?" Chris asked.

"I, um, I don't know what you're talking about." Penny said, stammering.

Chris stood and looked at the rope that would lower the suspension system. "Perhaps I should just tie you up, and wait for my answer? Or would you enjoy that too much?"

Penny swallowed. Large crocodile tears poured from her eyes.

"Shush you. I won't tell anyone." Chris said. He reached out and held her for a few minutes. "I'm just glad she's found someone that could make her happy. Now if you can just get her convinced to come to our wedding, I'll be really pleased."

"We're coming," Penny blubbered.

"Good girl." Chris said and stroked her hair. "You know, Penny, I really am envious of you."

"What do you mean?" Penny asked.

"You're a girl. I have to take my makeup and nails off at a certain point." Chris replied.

Penny blinked, "they have operations and stuff."

"Not quite the same. I want to feel the child growing in my belly." Chris admitted.

Penny nodded as they heard Marilyn bellow from the hallway.

"Mistress calls," Chris said, again mimicking Marilyn down perfectly.

Penny broke from him, utterly confused what had transpired, and headed back into the kitchen to open the scotch, leaving an eternally confused Chris to tidy up behind her.



In the Stacks Ch. 09



Chris watched the big man's sleep apnea come and go, as he often did. He never spoke of it, but wondered what it would be like, one day, to wake up and find Will dead. With Thomas' demise, Chris wondered more and more about his own mortality, about his calling in life. 

Being a thespian, Chris reflected, he could take on any role needed, from little brother, to lover, to mate. Yet, in his own drunken stupor, just a few days before, while watching Penny's ass, he bared a small part of his soul that he never spoke of, and always kept hidden. He sat up out of bed, letting the sleeping man lay and went into the bathroom. He sat on the toilet and began to urinate, for he only stood to pee outside and when the toilet was so filthy he could not bear to sit on it.

Voicing his only concern in life, his jealousy for the genetic female, he sighed deeply, and did as he often did, wept. He had never told Will about this part of his life. Will had always assumed that whatever cross-dressing he did was merely a part of his routine, or, as Will later admitted, that the clothing was that much more comfortable. Chris shivered and wondered what Will would say, if he told him about these feelings. He swallowed the wad of saliva in his mouth and shook his penis between his legs, letting every drip hit the water. His lower intestine rumbled and he passed gas, knowing what would happen next. While sitting there, thinking, he did not hear the rustle of sheets as the big man arose. 

Will Marshall rubbed at his nose and licked at his teeth. He had woken the moment Chris had left the bed, and could sense him brooding. He took several deep, long breaths, and reached a trembling left hand out toward the nightstand. The edema in his feet and ankles had yet to form, but it would in only a short amount of time of standing. Will knew this, paced himself. He had to be careful, because the bilateral chrondomalacia that kept him in near constant pain would set in very shortly.

He reached into the drawer beside the bed, unscrewed the vial of Vicodins and took two extra strength, a total of 1500mg of the drug. Enough that it would have kept Chris unconscious for several hours, enough to take away the big man's pain. This he washed down with scotch, single malt. He was thankful that Chris never nagged him about his drinking. Carefully, after watching where he put his feet, Will stood, a leviathan amongst the flood of strew clothes on his side of the bed. He heard the emptying of Chris's bowels and pondered asking his love if he would like a good sound fucking. Will's stubby, thick cock became slightly aroused at the thought of this, and he tromped toward the bathroom.

Chris heard the tromping a mile away and cleaned himself. When Will came through the bathroom door, he smiled at him, a winning smile that he borrowed from Penny, for he felt so low.

"Hey big guy," Chris said.

"Hey love," Will replied. He loomed over Chris now fully hard. Despite the protestations of his back in serious pain he leaned over and kissed Chris softly on the lips. Chris's thin, baby smooth cock popped up in response. Will was always tender, always kind. 

"How my big grizzly bear this morning?" Chris asked.

"The usual aches and pains. Shower?" Will asked.

Chris nodded. He always showered after he had a bowel movement. While the thought of remaining in the bathroom with the smell was a turn off, the size and power of the big man was a turn on. Will was his Rock of Gibraltar in both stature and emotions. While Chris could fall apart, Will would pick him up, dust him off and help with whatever needed to occur.

Will leaned over, his enormous tummy leaning out, the pouch of fat having grown a bit larger especially this last year. Chris watched it, fascinated. He never cared about Will's tummy until the last six months or so ago when it was getting so big to prevent parts of their sex life. Will did some research; they experimented with some positions and made love in different ways. The steam from the ultra hot shower poured up, and Will, on a lark, tossed some shampoo in the water basin, making some frothy bubbles. He smiled like a little kid.

Chris shook his head and rolled his eyes in a manner.

"Crazy man," he said.

"Only for you," Will replied.

Chris flushed red, then the toilet before he stood, and stepped into the hot water. Will had held the curtain open for him, and let Chris take the first wash. Will watched as the spray hit the base of his neck, saw the momentary sorrow in Chris's face, and then the hot water take what he was thinking about away. Softly he stroked his face under the base of his eyes with both his hands and smiled his big gentle smile with it's crooked teeth. 

"What's on your mind, love?" Will asked.

Chris shrugged.

"The funeral?" Will offered. "Should be a quick one. I know the nursing home offered to have a service, but we declined it as dad never knew anyone there. The RAF is flying in to take the body to be buried on British soil. I expect mom will want to be buried there too."

Chris tilted his head.

"Neither ever got their citizenship. I'm a dual, as you know."

Chris nodded and then turned and muttered, "And you?"

"Cook me. Fry me in my own lard, you'll have plenty of ashes to feed the roses," He said.

Chris nodded again.

"What's on your mind, Chris?" Will asked, looking him square in the eyes.

"Do you find Penny attractive?" Chris asked him, brazenly.

"She's all right. I'd be afraid of breaking her, honestly. You're about as thin as I can take them. Besides, I've got you, I don't need more."

"You never think about fucking girls?" Chris said, prodding him.

"Not particularly. Not when your ass is so fuckable, no." Will said.

Chris gave him a half smile.

"What's on your mind, Chris?" Will repeated. "You can tell me."

"I just, sometimes think that I wish I could be as pretty as she is."

"You just met her," Will said.

"It's not just her, it's any girl, any real girl." Chris said.

"You're not a girl, you're a very effeminate man." Will shrugged, "I've said this before, that you've kind of backed yourself into a corner with your own behavior."

"I know, I know," Chris said. "Sometimes, though I just think about other things, other paths my life might have taken, had I not known you."

They exchanged places, the big man still facing him, letting the just-shy-of-scorching hot water hit his lower back. Chris watched him, his body with it's large, fat-laden breasts and wondered what it would be like to have breasts. Will turned to one side, and urinated in the shower, peeing a strong stream of foul-smelling piss. Chris overlooked this faux paus as usual and swallowed.

"Would it bother you if I dressed more like a girl?" He asked.

"Not in the least. I don't care how you dress, Chris. I love you for you. Please, don't ever doubt my concern for you, my love for you." He took Chris's hand in his and looked into his eyes. "From you I learned that love isn't about gender, it's about feelings and emotions and allowing them to happen. That's a gift that I will be forever in your debt. It's one of the reasons when you proposed why I started bawling like a three year old. It is my fondest memory of our love."

Chris smiled, "do you get the significance of the day that I proposed to you on?"

Will blinked and was taken aback. "Let me think. About the second week in November, right?"

Chris smiled back on him. "The Thirteenth of November. Ring any bells?"

Will shook his head sadly, afraid that he'd missed something horribly important.

"The Thirteenth is Sadie Hawkins day. If a girl catches a guy, he's got to marry her."

Will laughed.

"You caught me a long time ago," he paused, smiled and added, "girl." 

Will watched Chris's eyes get big, and wide. He'd always thought of Chris as male, but, especially in the last few months, ever since the proposal and the wedding plans, Chris has been acting more and more femmy. Not effeminate, not the act, but more girl like. He shaved his legs and body as a matter of habit, and taken to wearing a lot more female clothes than male. Will wondered what it was about, and was as accepting as he could be.

"You like that, don't you?" Will said.

Chris nodded slowly.

"You're my girl, you understand that?" Will said. It was as if these words created an enormous difference in height, as if Will were now seven feet tall and Chris was barely five. The towering, shadow of the big man, blotting out the hot spray of water and the overhead light as his words began the dance.

Chris licked his lips. He wanted to say how he wanted to wear a wedding dress to his wedding, but it didn't come out. He squeaked, he did what no stage person ever wants to do, he flubbed his line.

Will swooped in with his lips, and licked Chris's mouth.

Chris smiled widely as the tenderness.

"Now then, girl, I think you have some work to do. I think you need to take care of your man, don't you?" Will whispered.

Chris nodded in his quick soft manner. He felt Will's hands on his shoulders, pushing down, felt the growl from Will's lungs and throat long before it came out of his mouth.

"On your knees, girl."

Chris knelt. Will's thick phallus jutted out. Chris's lips trembled and then took the head into his mouth.

"Oh yeah, that's my girl." Will said.

Chris sucked on the thick cock, pressing his face into the big man's tummy. He felt the glans go into his mouth, felt the head of the cock rub against the back of the throat, filling it. 

Will grunted and began to skull fuck Chris, pounding his face with the thick sausage. Chris's tight lips were pure pleasure to him, and he already felt the urge to ejaculate.

"Well girl, I think you're going to get breakfast early, you swallow it all down like a good girl, and your I'll take care of you."

Chris nodded, not really caring about a reciprocal blow job, and not really caring whether or not he got to fuck Will. He wanted that thick load of creamy semen in his mouth. For these few moments, on his knees, he felt female, felt submissive, felt lesser. It stimulated him on a deep, soulful level. His mind flashed to a thought of Penny up on that hanging harness, being spanked and beaten. He whimpered audibly at the thought, his mouth moving in just that proper way, and was rewarded with a huge load of semen in his mouth. The thick, rich, salty fluid threatened to blow his head off his shoulders, unless he swallowed, and so he did, making a lout, obnoxious gulping noise.

"Such a fine cocksucker I have. Lick it dry."

Chris licked it dry, and then bodily lifted Chris up. His muscles, used to maneuvering the bulk of his weight were augmented by the weights he lifted at home. This increased the feminine element that Chris was feeling. Will tilted his head toward the curtain, and Chris slid it back. 

Dripping wet, the big man didn't bother with a towel, didn't bother with a bathmat. Slowly he eased his load toward the bed, and gently set Chris on the edge. With a big paw, he shoved Chris's shoulder back so his upper torso slammed back, causing the bed to shake. Chris was as hard as a rock and Will smirked at the thin, long, clean shaven penis. 

Will's tongue lipped at Chris's smooch scrotum and Chris moaned. Will wondered if Chris imagined the hot breath on a non-existent pussy, the tongue dipping into the folds. Will decided to take it to the next level, and went lower, grabbing at Chris's upper thighs, pulling them apart rudely. His tongue made it's way down to the perianal area, and softly dabbed at the tip of Chris's rosebud.

Chris's response was to gasp, and a soft trickle of preseminal fluid came from the tip of his penis, which neither man touched at the moment. 

Will took his time, taking small, gentle nibbles at the ultra-clean spincher. He knew, from long experience, the amount of pain Chris needed to feel the sensation was minimal, it was a matter of pure pleasure when the tongue went into the tight hole.

"Does my girl like her pussy being eaten?" Will asked.

"Y-yes." Chris gasped.

"Yes what?" Will chided.

Chris spoke instinctively, the word of the male figure he most wanted yet never had in his life.

"Daddy." Chris said.

Will was surprised this was the word, expecting master, expecting sir or anything of that nature. Daddy was new, and he wasn't entirely sure he liked the idea of it, but nonetheless went with the flow.

"That's right, Chrissy. You're daddy's little girl. You're daddy's toy, just for Daddy's pleasure." He said, and returned to lapping at Chris's ass like a hungry lion eating it's kill. He was thankful for Chris's cleanliness and at a certain point he rose up, and pulled Chris on the floor.

Chris's eyes got big as he felt his asscheeks pulled apart. With no lubricant other than saliva Will mounted him, fucking him on the floor without a care in the world. Will's right hand grabbed at Chris's shaft, pumping it slowly, teasing it, but never did his eyes leave Chris's. The clench of Chris's tight butt around his thick cock did it's work, and Will could feel the tension in Chris's balls mount.

"My little girl going to come for daddy?" He said, smiling.

"Yes daddy, oh, yes!" Chris cried out.

The spray of semen struck Chris in the face and drenched his upper torso as Will growled loudly, his second load, firing hot into Chris's butt. It was one of the most powerful pieces of intimacy that the two men shared with one another.

Will panted, sweat perspiring from him.

"I think we need to go back into the shower."

Chris nodded, and was quiet for most of the morning, through the funeral, and only became talkative in the later afternoon, once they had all relocated back at the Marshall house.

***

At eleven o'clock the first three chimes of the Hello Kitty bright pink alarm clock intoned and Trinity's large fist tapped it soundly. It replied to her, in it's high-pitched, 'good morning' and she muttered at it. 

Violet's voice was barely audible. "You're really going?"

"Yeah. Mrs. Marshall said I could and I'm gonna. I really liked the old guy," Trinity replied, sitting up in the small twin bed. She rubbed her eyes, then her large pendulous breasts and slapped a handful of Icy-Hot on the back of her neck. Trinity was not a day person by any means, and to get up at what she viewed as an unholy hour took every erg of energy she could muster. Still, for the passing of her old people, she'd do what it took, no matter what.

Violet's son, James was at school so Trinity had no qualms about padding naked to the bathroom and into the shower. While she was only slightly more conservative around James, it was merely because he was sixteen and squeamish about his own sexuality at this point. She soaped her body in the super-hot water, and started to become alive. 

After logging into her email account and reading the final driving details that Marilyn had sent her that morning, she then felt safe about where she was going. Trinity would be the first to admit that she was a reckless driver and that she took far too many chances, but one of them was not getting lost. A pot of coffee and three clove cigarettes later, Trinity was as alive as she was going to get. The Funeral was scheduled for one o'clock, and Trinity did not want to be late.

She pulled on her black jeans, leather chaps, a ragged sport bra and a black t-shirt. Her leather gauntlets and helmet came on next, but only after kissing Violet good bye. She slipped out to the cluttered garage and her Kawasaki Ninja purred to life.

She, Trinity and James all occupied a small home in the side community of Brush Prairie, Washington. It's rolling farmlands were perfect for night motorcycle riding and Violet enjoyed the simplicity of the country life. James, on the other hand, did not have many children his age to mingle with, and spent the majority of his time playing video games, much to the chagrin of both of them. Soon he would be able to drive, and they hoped that he would get out more, and at least express some interest in the opposite gender.

Trinity hit sixty-five as soon as she could, her bike weaving the curves without a care. Eventually she found herself on the arterial to Interstate Two-oh-Five and from there into the major metropolitan city of Portland, Oregon. On the East side of town, was a huge cemetery, and Trinity supposed that Thomas would be interred there.

She saw the signs posted at the cemetery gate and took position next to a tree. Her helmet was in one hand, and she was so far distant that she had hoped to not be noticed. Trinity was a quirky creature and viewed her participation as one of quiet observation. To her, Thomas was a fallen comrade, a person she knew intimately, almost like a lover. That and she always cried at funerals and didn't want to be seen.

The seven gun salute was traditional in British military funerals, and it was rare that the Union Jack was draped over the coffin. It was folded in the proper military manner, placed in a zip case and handed to Marilyn. She accepted it gratefully, and then read from Kipling, from Thomas's own book, that had traveled with him from England, all over the world, and would now return with him to their native soil. She gave the book to one of the officers who in turn put it into the coffin.

They watched the coffin as it was re-loaded into the hearse and it went to the airport on a military flight to England.

Trinity then realized that Thomas would be returning to his native England and she smiled. Good old Tom, finally going home at last. She looked down at the quartet of family members and wondered who the blonde in the pant suit was. Whoever she was, Trinity mused, she was a good catch for Marilyn's son.

When the hearse pulled away, she straddled her ninja and waited to see the procession. It was a small grouping, and she waited until Marilyn was loaded into her caddy. Penny drove and Marilyn rode on the passengers side on the rear, Will in the back next to her. Chris rode next to Penny, and even as they approached, Trinity never thought of him as anything other than Will's girlfriend.

Penny drove slowly and carefully. They passed Trinity, and Marilyn turned toward her as they eased around the bend, the black lace netting of a classic widow framing her face. She looked Trinity squarely in the eye and nodded, mouthing the words, 'thank you' softly. 

Trinity answered the nod.

One gone, Trinity mounted her mechanical beast and followed them toward Vancouver, and only when they came to the SR-14 exit did she pass them, giving a sharp salute to Penny, and kicked it up to eighty in a powerful surge. Down the hill from Mill Plain, she swerved off onto the Vancouver Mall exit, then took a right to bring her to the Tap Tavern.

At two o'clock in the afternoon, the place was dead, just the way Trinity liked it. She walked in through the rear entrance and took the place in.

To her right were recessed bathrooms, with a pair of badly-laid-out dartboards nearby. To her left was a seating area on risers. Along the center of the tavern were two billiard tables, flanked by a shuffleboard table and juke box. Beyond that, on the right hand wall was the actual bar. Ann stood there, frowning over a newspaper article.

"Hey Ann," Trinity called brightly.

"Hey Trin." Ann replied. 

Trin sat her helmet on the bar and looked at Ann's scowl.

"What's up?"

"Dumbshit here is going to plead out." She said.

"Dumbshit?" Trinity inquired.

"Henry. He's just a stupid drunk, they're allocuting him day after tomorrow, on Friday."

"How do you know he's pleading?" Trinity asked as Ann poured out a pitcher.

"I asked him. He said Marilyn came by and chewed his ass out. I wish that bitch would just mind her own damned business."

Trinity cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing.




In the Stacks Ch. 09



"Everyone who's anyone knows that that cunt is so tight her shoes fucking squeak." Ann spat. 

Trinity could smell the beer on her breath.

"I got to say, Marilyn don't treat everyone equal, that's a fact."

Ann snarled, "damn right. No way in hell Henry could do this. He's a good man, Trin."

Trinity knew a drunk when she saw one, and also knew a woman in love when she saw one. She took some deep breaths and said, "when you get a sec, start me up a cheese burger and some fries."

"You got it," Ann said. "You know Heather's out of town, right?"

"No I didn't. Where did she head off to?" Trinity asked. She knew that Heather, Ann's daughter was the only person that could talk sense into Ann when she was on a bender.

"Day before the fire she head off to Seattle. She wants to be a Physical Therapist and is scouting out schools up there. Maybe come home on the weekends, maybe not. I don't know. My baby's growing up, Trinity."

"You're baby is twenty-four and has a year of college left before she's got her degree, Ann. You'll be busy with the bar, you'll have no worries." Trinity offered.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I just wonder about... stuff..." Ann said. She looked around to make sure Trinity was in the bar, alone with her, and then pulled a bottle of whisky out from beneath the bar. She poured a double, one for herself and one for Trinity.

Trinity shot it down without a second thought as did Ann, neither woman wincing at the cheap, hard liquor. Ann refilled both glasses and Trinity nursed her beer for a while. There was silence as the smell of the French fries wafted through the air, the grease clung heavy to the particles of dust creating an odd, clotting smell. Trinity's stomach gurgled and she lit a clove to calm it down.

The back door opened again as the Bud distributor came through the door, his cart stocked with the usual assortment of cans kegs and bottles. He smiled politely at them both, and tipped his hat. 

"Afternoon, ladies."

Trinity grunted, not liking to be called a lady under any circumstances and Ann said nothing, gesturing toward the two pallets of empties that she had tidily set up for him. He smiled at them both, his mood lightening the place as Trinity took deep hits off the clove.

He walked over to them with his clipboard extended, a pen tied to it. 

"Can I have you sign here?" He said.

"Sure, sure, whatever." Ann said.

Trinity idly glimpsed the invoice. Her eyes grew wide as she realized that owner of the bar was not one, but two people, Ann Rampling and Henry Peterson. Trinity swallowed. Something in her mind clicked.

"So Ann, um, it's been pretty quiet since the fire, huh?" Trinity said after the beer man left.

"Actually I get more business. Nobody goes over to the pizza place to drink beer anymore, they all come over here." She shrugged a half shrug and laid the plate in front of Trinity.

"So if Henry didn't do it, who did?" Trinity asked, just before taking a huge mouthful of burger.

"I don't know," Ann said, looking into the distance. 

"They got him with the gas can, Ann. Seriously, he's going down for this. He'll do hard time for it. He's lucky he didn't kill anybody."

Ann shrugged.

"Henry's a stupid drunk. He'd drink up his own stock, and couldn't hit the broad side of a barn half the time. I can't tell you how many times I found him curled up in that field where they found him. It wouldn't take a genius to set him up." Ann said.

Trinity watched her speak and never once did Ann look her in the eye.

"Put this on my tab, huh?" Trinity said.

"Yeah, sure, no problem." Ann mumbled.

Trinity scarfed down the burger and fries in almost record time, washing it down with the cheap whisky and washing that down with the equally cheap beer. 

She had a healthy buzz, and as was her habit smoked a few more cigarettes outside, next to her bike before she took off. She had parked next to the dumpster in the rear left of the parking lot and took in the buzz of the cloves, feeling their high in her system. It was a good high, to her, one that she was careful with. She watched curiously as a Honda with two people went over into the parking lot of the burned buildings.

Penny got out of the driver's side, and the blonde got out of the passengers side.

'Well, well,' Trinity thought, 'little Penny's getting some on the side.'

Trinity hopped up on her Ninja and crossed the street, having some serious questions and wanting nothing more than to get Penny's little butt in trouble.

***

"Wow." Chris mouthed. He gestured toward the mess of cinders and water.

"Yeah, it's a goner all right. I thought that you and Will would have seen it by now."

"No, we've pretty much stuck with you guys. I figured they wanted some mom and son time, so that's why I offered to go with you to your place."

Penny nodded. She had changed out of her dark suit and into a shorter skirt, pleated with a peter pan top. Chris had retained his dark pants, but was wearing a pastel pink shirt. He had a hand on one hip and wasn't trying to be effeminate nor funny, but somehow was both.

"Have they found out who did it?"

"Henry Peterson, the guy that owns the pizza parlor. Caught him in the act, but Marilyn, she's stubborn. She doesn't think he did it."

"Oh really? She's probably plotting some bizarre conspiracy theory, I imagine. We'll see it in her next book," Chris said, an odd bitter tone in his voice.

Penny opened her mouth to speak, to cut him off, to snap at him, but the purr of the motorcycle distracted her.

"Great," she muttered.

"Our visitor at the marker?" Chris asked.

"Trinity, one of Thomas's care providers, I believe." Penny said.

"Penny, play along with me, okay? I want to do something," Chris said.

"Um, okay." Penny replied.

Trinity neatly parked the bike and flipped off her helmet. Her breath stank of booze, grease and cloves and she looked every inch a diesel dyke.

"Hey Pen, how goes?" Trin said, putting a cigarette into her mouth and lighting it.

"Fine, Trinity," she said. Her nostrils took in the sharp clove scent and she looked at Chris.

"Trin, this is Chris," Penny offered.

"Hello Trinity," Chris said. He offered his hand, looked Trinity square in the eye. "I'm Christine Albrecht, Will's fiance'"

Penny turned white as a sheet.

"Ah, I thought so. Will's the man. You to back from Chicago?" Trinity asked.

"Yes, we make our home in the windy city." Chris said. His mannerisms were no longer flaming, but simply feminine. "Penny was being a dear and showing me about the town. I've missed my chance to see the bookstore proper, so I thought I'd at least look at what was left." 

"It's a mess. Hey, Penny, Ann over there," she thumbed to the tavern, "thought Marilyn was having a fling with Henry. That's all bullshit, right?"

"Best of my knowledge," Penny said. There was a look in Trinity's eyes, a look that said she wanted to say something more, but didn't know if it was safe to do so around Chris.

"Marilyn? Sleeping around? You're kidding, right?" Chris said in astonishment.

"Exactly," Trinity said. "Ol' Henry, he'd never be her thing. She's a rock, solid to the core."

Penny nodded emphatically and then spoke. "We should be heading out, I've got to get to my place and then pick up eats for dinner."

"I'll get out of your way, then. Tell Marilyn thanks for letting me come, I'll email her later."

Penny gave Trinity and uncharacteristic smile and nodded.

"Nice to meet you, Christine." Trinity said, tossed the cigarette away and sped out of the parking lot.

Penny tuned to Chris.

"Christine?" She gasped.

Chris shrugged, "sorry for snapping at you, and thanks for playing along. I just wanted to see if I could do it without make up or a padded bra."

"Do what?"

"Be a woman." Chris said.

"Chris, I don't think that's a problem. I think you could be whoever you wanted to be. You're that good." Penny said as they climbed into the Honda.

Chris clicked his seat belt, "that's the problem, Penny. You get lost in so many roles, you wear so many masks, there are times that you forget who you area, and what you want in life. I'm luckier than most, I have a good man, a good career, I've been able to use my talents as an actor. Sometimes I have to remember to be myself."

Penny looked at him, and tilted her head like a dog whose master had made a strange sound.

"I moved to this town so I could be myself," Penny said.

"Really?"

"So I could write Historical Romantic fiction. Then I found Marilyn, she was the first friend I made here."

Chris nodded, "you scored good. How long you been in town?"

"A few months. It's like the last two weeks have been a whirlwind." She said.

"Marilyn paddling your ass, Thomas dying, and of course moi." Chris said, the effeminacy back into his voice.

Penny couldn't help by smile. They chatted like a couple of girls throughout the rest of the journey.

***

SUBJECT:Hey Marilyn READ THIS HEAD's Up!
FROM:funnydyke (Trinity)
REPLY-TO:marilynmarshall (Marilyn)
DATE:July 17
TO:marilynmarshall (Marilyn)

Marilyn,

Just wanted to thank you for letting me come. I don't do crowds well so I hung back. I got something to say to you though.

I was over at the Tap afterwards, and my friend's mom, Ann, she hates you guts. I know you never did nothing with Henry, but she sure thinks you did. Ann can be a bitch, especially when she's drunk.

Watch your back.

Love 'n Leathers,

Trin

PS:
Will's fiancé has a good ass, what? She's a hottie.