54 comments/ 53590 views/ 40 favorites Valentine's Day Eve By: Slirpuff February 13th...Valentine's Day Eve "Shit," was the first word that came to mind. "She didn't even have the guts to tell me to my face," I murmured, leaning back and pushing my chair away from my laptop after reading the e-mail from what was now my ex-girlfriend, Toni. "Dear Steve," is how she started, and it went downhill fast from that point. Reasons and all the other excuses were eloquently written out in black and white, but in the end, she was dumping me on February thirteenth, the day before Valentine's Day—of all things. Incompatibility, not meeting her needs, and my working most weekends, were the three big reasons she listed. "I hope we still can be friends," is how she ended it. That was a nice way of saying she didn't want me to go off on her the next time we saw one another. If this was the first time I'd been dumped it wouldn't have been so bad, but it wasn't. It was becoming the norm rather than the exception, and I had no one but myself to blame. You see, I could only do my second job between Friday night and Sunday afternoon. I am what you would call a budding photographer, who for the last two years had done more than four-dozen social events. It seemed like every Friday, Saturday, or Sunday I was doing a wedding, Bar Mitzvah, anniversary, or some other function that people wanted a remembrance of. Without an established company name I wasn't raking in the big bucks, so I ended up doing as many events as I could cram into my tight work schedule and declining social life. But how else do you build up a new business? It takes a lot of hard work and more than a few sacrifices. But at this particular moment I wasn't sure if it was all worth it. Toni had lasted the longest of my last four relationships. I would tell them upfront what I did most weekends, and every one of them said it wouldn't be a problem. And at first it wasn't until they wanted to go here or there and I couldn't make it because I already had a booking. With Toni things came to a head when I couldn't accompany her to a good friend's wedding. "Steve, I told you to keep that date open," she yelled at me. "You promised!" "Toni, it's a huge wedding, and I was recommended by someone who can throw a lot of business my way. Look, why don't I meet you there after I'm done?" "Don't bother!" I heard the dial tone. I thought maybe she'd come around. I had even picked out a special Valentine card and present for her. I hope I kept the receipt. "You graduated college with a hobby," my father liked to say. "Son, an Art Photography major with a Graphic Design minor isn't going to take you far in the business world." When I couldn't find a job of any kind, he pulled a few strings and got me one. You see, my dad works for a large insurance company. He wasn't in top management, but had enough friends there so when something did open up, he was the first one to know about it. "Steve, it's nothing special, but it gets your foot in the door. Work your ass off and I can guarantee you'll move up in the company." So began my exciting job in the Accounts Receivable department. If you didn't make your monthly premium payment you got a letter from me or someone in our department. If the letter didn't work you received a personal phone call. "Steve, you've got to be a hard ass and develop a thick skin," is how my dad explained it to me. "Remember, it's just business, nothing personal. Hell, you'll never see any of those people you'll be calling anyway." I got good results without having to be an ass or threatening anyone. "Mrs. Connors, you're two months behind on your policy," I explained to her over the phone. "I really don't want to cancel you because they'll never rewrite your policy at these low rates in the future. But in order to do anything, I need some type of good faith gesture on your part showing you're at least trying to catch up. If you can see yourself clear to make, say, half a month's payment, then I won't have to cancel you." Most people sent in something each month after I worked out the details with them. Some of the clients I had to talk to had been laid off, or had lost their jobs entirely, but were relieved to have someone work with them until they could get back on their feet. It pissed off accounting, since they had to do more record keeping, but I made points with upper management because I'd thought outside the box. "You've got a real future with this company," I was told by my boss, when he was given part of the credit for what I had accomplished. "We need more people friendly individuals like you around here to keep the existing business we have in these tough times." But truth be known, I just didn't have it in me to cancel anyone. Everyone was struggling to make ends meets, and I didn't want to be the one to add more stress to their lives. However, photography was my true love. Outside of work I always had a camera in my hand no matter where I went. It first started when I was just a kid and my mom gave me a Kodak instamatic camera for my tenth birthday. At first I thought the crummy, second hand camera was a stupid gift, until I started taking pictures. Soon after, that's all I did. People, places, and things are what I shot. My mom encouraged me at every turn, but my dad thought it was a complete waste of time, especially since it was costing him money every week for film and developing. "Steve, a boy your age should be playing ball or something. All you do is play with that stupid camera of yours." It was nice that he was taking an interest in what I was doing—NOT... But my mom encouraged me. Becky lived next door to our house. She was two years younger than I, and a royal pain in the ass. Whenever I had my camera in my hands, she was there wanting her picture taken. "Steve, I'm going to be a model some day and then you'll make a lot of money taking pictures of me." She'd smile, strike a pose, and I'd take another picture of her. It went on for years. When I got my first 35-millimeter camera with interchangeable lenses, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. If I took a hundred pictures before, I took a million now. Back then everywhere I went, my shadow went too. Sometimes I'd take a couple of pictures of her just so she wouldn't bug me every two minutes. After a couple of years I had a couple hundred pictures of Becky. She would take the copies I gave to her and plaster them all over her bedroom walls. Somehow we became close, and when she wasn't around I kind of missed her being there, especially when she got sick. It started off as just a chest cold that never went away and got progressively worse. She seemed to be hacking all the time and me being a guy told her to keep her distance, I didn't want her damn germs. She gave me this look, walked up to me, and kissed me on the cheek. "There, whatever I've got, you've got it too." I wiped off my cheek as she struck another pose, and like always I took her picture. Her cough got worse. When she didn't come around for a couple of days I went next door to check on her. "Mrs. Thomas, is Becky around?" "Steve, honey, she's sick in bed with a bad cold, but I'll tell her you stopped by." She got better, but it wasn't long before that hacking cough came back again. "How do you expect to be a model when you're always sick?" I said, harassing her as always. "Don't worry, I will be a model, and I'm going to be famous too. Maybe I'll let you be my boyfriend, then you'll be able to get into all the cool places models go." I told her she was dreaming again. And as far as being her boyfriend, that was the last thing I needed or wanted. By the end of January Becky was in bed again. As loud as she sometimes coughed, I was surprised I couldn't hear her from my bedroom window. I saw her a couple of times but now her mom thought it would be better for her not to come in contact with anyone else. Hell, I didn't have any germs. When they put her back in the hospital I got worried. Being a kid and not being allowed visitors, she was beside herself and bored as hell. "Bring me some of my pictures so I can work on my scrapbook, I'm in room three twenty-five and going crazy," she begged me, calling from her bedside phone when I got home from school one day. I tried to sneak into her room, but got caught. "Becky's not allowed any visitors," her mother admonished me. "We can't take the chance of her picking up anything else, Steve." I knew she was right, but I was a kid, and kids never listen. However, in spite of all they did to try to get her better, she got worse. When they put her in an oxygen tent to help her breath easier, her father snuck me into her room one night, so I could see her. "Hey Becky, how you doing?" She didn't look good and I could hear her labored breathing even from outside the tent. "I was going to bring my camera, but I figure a high price model like yourself wouldn't want a picture taken of her in an oxygen tent." She smiled, but it wasn't the one I'd come to expect. "Can you be my boyfriend?" she asked out of the blue. Her voice was strained and raspy. "All the nurses keep asking me if I've got a boyfriend, and I want to be able to tell them I do." "Sure, no problem. You're the only girl I hang with anyway. But I don't have a ring or anything, so just tell them we're going steady." Her smile was a lot broader this time around. "Becky, you need to get better, I don't like coming to the hospital to see you. Besides, I'm saving for a new portrait lens and I can't very well try it out on my favorite model with her being in here." Five minutes later her dad told me it was time to leave. We touched hands, or did with me out here and her in there. Just before leaving I told her again to get better, she smiled and waved. There were a lot of cars next door when I came home from school the following day. I had stopped off at the park and was trying to take pictures of the ducks but they weren't co-operating. After about a half an hour I left and worked my way back home. My mom was in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee when I bounded in through the front door. I said hi and raced up to my room to put my books and camera away. A snack is what I needed. I flew down the stairs into the kitchen. She just watched me saying nothing. I grabbed an apple from the refrigerator and sat down at the kitchen table across from her. "Honey, there is something I have to tell you," her eyes were red and she was hanging on to a crumbled piece of a tissue. "God took Becky home to heaven last night. She was so sick and there wasn't anything the doctors could do." Tears started flowing from my mom's eyes. I ran. I didn't know where I was going, I just ran out the front door, through Becky's yard, and down the street. My heart was pounding against the wall of my chest, and I was soaked with sweat before I finally had to stop. I'm not ashamed to say I cried. She was more than just a friend, she was someone special, and I was hurting. It was dark by the time I finally went home. My mom was frantic with worry wondering where I run off to, and my dad—well, let's just say he wasn't too sympathetic. If I heard him say, "Suck it up and be a man," once more, I don't know what I would have done. Mom and I went to the funeral. I was glad when my dad said he had to work. The previous night I'd put together a collage of pictures I had taken of Becky over the years and brought it with me to the funeral home. Her teacher and a lot of kids from our school were there. After we walked in and signed the book in the back, we saw Becky's mom waving at us, motioning for us to sit up front with them. I was bound and determined not to cry. My eyes got wet but I fought it hard, my dad would have been proud of me. That was until her father, during his little speech, mentioned me by name. He called me her 'special' friend, or as Becky had started to call me, her 'boyfriend.' It was at that point I couldn't contain myself any longer and the tears flowed freely down my face. We were almost the last people to leave the funeral home. We went straight home after the service because I wasn't about to go to the cemetery to see her lowered into the ground. I don't think I could have handled it and still kept myself in one piece. I spent that night in my room looking at all the pictures I'd taken of Becky over the last couple of years. I gathered them all up and put them away in a box with the exception of one. It was a picture my mom had taken last summer of the two of us in my backyard. It wasn't particularly good, but it was the only picture of us together. It was the thirteenth of February when I sealed up that box. Dad said it was closure, but in reality, I was locking away my memories. I didn't want any of them to escape. I learned at that young age even when you're sad, life goes on. Three years later Becky's dad took a transfer and her parents moved away. It helped a lot with me not having to look at them everyday and think about Becky. Over the next couple of years my memories of Becky started to fade. What didn't fade was my love of photography. I honed my skills in high school and against my father's wishes I majored in photography in college. It was in college I first learned the old school methods, working in a wet darkroom on black and white prints. I can still remember the first time I saw a picture appear in my developing tray as I agitated the paper in the developer liquid. Magical, is what it felt like. After that first day I was hooked. My friends could always tell it was me just by the smell of fixer exuding from me. I was spending every available hour in the photo lab. As I said, the lab was old school and most professionals no longer worked in a darkroom. It was great to learn the basics, but the new technology had already taken hold. Digital was now where it was at. No more developing roll after roll of film and doing contact sheets. You just popped the memory card out of your camera, plugged it into a reader, and there on your computer appeared your pictures. If I thought it was magical in the darkroom, can you imagine what it felt like to enhance photographs through Photo Shop software? I could equate it to something like a wet dream. Four years went by in the blink of an eye. Everyone I dated was like me, a photography nut. We talked shop, swapped ideas, and when I had sexual fantasies, they also had photography undertones about screwing in a darkroom, or having a photo shoot turn into an orgy. However, most of my relations were nothing more than serious dating at best. There was nothing long-term about them. When I got out of school I planned to take the world by storm, but that didn't quite happen. Even though my work was good, so were the hundred or two hundred others who applied for the same job. I picked up a few bucks here and there doing side jobs or building websites, but that wasn't what I had gone to school for. "When are you going to give up that damn hobby of yours and get a real job?" my dad asked over dinner about eight months after I had graduated. "I'm looking, but jobs are tight right now." "There are a hundred jobs out there, and if you weren't living at home and eating our food you'd have one by now." He wasn't wrong about that. "Let's make a deal. If you don't have a full-time job, in say ninety days, you will take any job I find for you." "Dad, I'm not going to wash dishes or be a damn fry cook," I immediately replied, annoyed that he thought I'd been sitting on my ass all this time. "I didn't say anything of the kind. It may not be exactly what you're looking for, but it'll be good enough that you'll be able to support yourself." We shook on it, and I was confident I'd be rubbing his nose in my new job any day now. All right, I was wrong. I found jack shit. My dad found me a pretty decent job in the insurance agency he worked for, and I had no choice but to take it. Like I even had a choice? We'd made a deal. I did though, start my own photography business. I was going to call it S.M. Photography but after looking at that title in print I reconsidered. It sounded too much like S&M, and I figured I'd be getting too many calls for that type of group gatherings. I ended up calling my company Moore Photography. A website is great, but a ton of work for my kind of business comes from word of mouth. "Who did your wedding, and was he any good?" Were the typical questions a bride or mother of the bride wanted to know. Every time I did a wedding I would make sure I had a million business cards with me. Hell, it took me almost a month to come up with the right business card. It had to be unique, professional, and one that people would keep, not throw away. They cost me almost a dollar apiece, but they were plastic, colorful, and well worth the cost to say the least. They brought me in more than a few jobs. Over the next two years my business grew and although my love life started off hot, it cooled off rapidly the busier I got. Sue was a bit of a nut and loved to dance. We found ourselves at one of six different dance clubs whenever I had a night off. After about three and a half months I found her dance card a lot busier than mine. When I had a cancellation and went looking for her one Saturday, I found out I was one of three guys she was juggling. When I confronted Sue at one of the clubs the guy she was with thought they were exclusive like I had. I was angry, he felt like he'd been played, and Sue? Well, she left with some other guy. I thought Kathy was the one. We'd dated for almost six months and I had even brought her home to meet my parents. So we could be together more often sometimes I even took her to a wedding I was working. She didn't like the phrase 'assistant,' but took everything with a grain of salt. Free food and most of the time free booze, which ended up being her downfall. Drunk is what she got at one particular wedding. Some guy had taken a fancy to her and gave her drink after drink. I was getting pissed, but I also had a job to do and couldn't baby-sit her all night. When she got sick on the dance floor and made a huge mess, everyone started asking who in the hell was this girl. Can you say, embarrassed? Her 'new' buddy told me not to worry he would drive her home. I wasn't happy but what choice did I have? He ended up not only driving her home, but also spending the night with her. She told me it was my fault things got out of hand, admitting truthfully she couldn't recall if she'd actually slept with the guy that night. "Maybe we should just wait until we see if you end up pregnant." In retrospect that probably wasn't the smartest comeback line in the world. A week later she returned my pre-engagement ring with a note saying that she did sleep with the guy and figured I'd never forgive her, but it was still my fault. Connie and I started slowly, very, very, slowly. She also liked taking pictures so we had something in common. Against my better judgment I started taking her with me on a few jobs. Sometimes she took her camera and sometimes she didn't. If the bride wanted an intimate style photograph, Connie came in handy being a female. A couple of times after this wedding or that one, she would tell me about the hot and naughty photographs she had taken for the bride's husband. We'd both get so turned on we'd spend the rest of Saturday night and Sunday morning in bed. We were compatible, or so I thought. When I'd lost two jobs in a row I knew something was up. I was told a certain 'Lady' undercut my bid. When I showed up at one of the weddings at which I had been underbid, low and behold, you'll never guess who I saw—Connie. What really pissed me off was that she wasn't even sorry about it. "Nothing personal, it's just business," she told me. She'd gotten the bug taking those naughty photographs and was going behind my back underbidding me whenever she could. What a bitch. And believe it or not, she had the gall to call me after I caught her and ask if I still wanted to go out. After my reply she never called me again. Valentine's Day Eve Which brings me to lovely Toni. I met Toni at one of the weddings I was working. She was the bride's maid of honor and had been flirting with me most of the night. "How about taking a couple of shots of me for my Facebook page," she asked, in a sexy kind of way. I took more than a couple, what guy wouldn't. I adjusted them in one of my glamour shot software programs and by the time I was done she looked good—hell, she looked perfect! "Steve, these pictures are fabulous, I never knew I looked this good." I was going to say, 'you really don't,' but momma didn't raise a fool. We started off with drinks after work, which led to dinner and a movie. She was still in college and with classes at night, along with homework on the weekends, she too, was busy many nights. We didn't become exclusive for almost four months. We were just two individuals who got together and had fun. When she wanted more pictures taken I was happy to oblige. And when she pulled me into her bedroom and stripped naked I finally found out just what type of pictures she wanted. It wasn't porn but they were risqué, to say the least. Almost everything was covered, and what wasn't looked great. We went through a whole bottle of wine taking those pictures. After I assured her that I would clean them up, taking away any flaws I could find, she decided to thank me properly. Wow! Is all I can say. Maybe because we were a tad bit drunk, or just maybe in reality she was that kinky; whatever it was, that night set a new standard for excellence. By morning I was the one begging for her to stop. She had drained me of every ounce of bodily fluid. "Just once more," she begged, it was four thirty in the morning. I knew there wasn't a chance in hell I could get it up again, and we were almost out of the flavored KY lotion we had opened up shortly after midnight. We'd finished off the chocolate but there was a little bit left of the strawberry. I let what was left drip on her puffy clit and slit. I'm not sure if I was eating KY, her bodily fluids, or some of my own semen. Whatever was coating my tongue, I didn't care. I just wanted to get her off and go back to sleep. After that night we were a couple in every sense of the word. I still kept it slow, but did try to cut back on my bookings. I wasn't going to screw it up again. June and July I was swamped with summer weddings, thankfully by the fall they'd tapered down. Toni had started to get a little annoyed with my schedule. The holidays did not go that well for us. It seems I did a few too many Christmas parties for her liking. I probably shouldn't have, but was talked into them by people I'd done previous work for. I was getting a lot of word of mouth business, and for once I could see myself clear to upgrade my equipment. "No, No, No!" she yelled when I gave her my schedule for January and February. "You've booked almost every weekend with something, how about me?" "Hon, we've got Friday nights and often times Sunday," I tried to explain to her, but she wasn't hearing it. "Saturday is when all my friends get together not Sunday. Sunday is a recovery day and the day I spend on homework, and don't even think about scheduling anything for the weekend of February twelfth. Nothing! Do you understand?" She wasn't a happy camper at this point. "Don't worry, we'll be at Sherry's wedding together, I promise." All I can say is so much for promises. Bill Hipple owned a large manufacturing and distribution company that employed over three hundred people. I had done his daughter's wedding a year ago and he had been impressed with my work. It all went to shit when he called to say he had a good friend getting married, and he wanted me to take the pictures, I really did try to say no. I guess a man like Bill doesn't like to be told no, especially when telling him no can have financial repercussions. "Bill, I've already got a commitment for that date." I tried to explain to him. "Break it and I'll pay the cancellation fee if there is any. Steve, there are a million photographers out there, they'll have no problem finding a replacement," I didn't tell him it wasn't a job. And when I started to say no again, he played his power card. "Look, Steve, I know a lot of people in this town, and I'd hate to tell everyone that you're unreliable. Wouldn't you rather me saying you're the best wedding photographer around? And with me recommending you to my employees, can you imagine the potential business? I know you and I will be able to work something out, I'm sure of it." And once again all I could think, like I had a choice? "But Toni, I'll meet you there after I'm done." I pleaded with her. It was too late. I'd broken my word, which I had, and for Toni that was the straw that broke the camel's back. I had put my second job in front of her again, and she wasn't going to stand for it anymore. So I read her e-mail for the fourth time and tried to call her—she wouldn't take my calls. She didn't tell me to fuck-off, but her words had the same effect. Almost everything she'd written was true, and if it weren't for the fact that I wanted to do photography full time I probably would have sucked it up and begged her to take me back at any cost, but I didn't. I just stopped dating completely and put my work first. I questioned myself every time I saw the bride and groom kiss at a wedding, or when I watched couples smile at one another while on the dance floor. Was I lonely? Yes, but I was building a business and had to make sacrifices, right? For the first time in my life, photography became a job. The weirdness started a month after Toni and I broke up. I was reviewing the pictures and noticed a girl who didn't look like she belonged there. She was dressed nicely but somehow she just didn't fit in. I couldn't put my finger on it, exactly, but there was there something about her that perplexed me. I never got a good picture of her and the ones she was in I had to crop her out. But hell, I didn't know her from Adam and probably would never see her again. How wrong I was. At the next couple of wedding I was sure I saw her again, but she looked different each time. Blonde hair went to red and finally brown. The outfits were always similar but different, fancy but never ostentatious. If I hadn't taken the time to go back and restudy the other wedding proofs, I would have totally overlooked her. She wasn't tall and hot looking, but not bad looking either. She was non-descript, somewhat ordinary, but at the same time not ordinary. Strangely, something about her looked familiar but I just couldn't place the face. On top of all that, I had yet to get a good clear picture of her. Every one of them were partial pictures of her talking to another girl, sitting at a table, or walking away. I didn't notice her at any of the next couple of weddings. I just figured she, and maybe a couple of her friends, were crashing the weddings for free drinks, food, and a good time. "Are you Steve?" A tall, good-looking brunette asked me while I was taking a shot of the bride and groom dancing. "Yes, I'm Steve," I answered, a little hesitantly not knowing what was coming next. "My name is Judy, and this may sound a little crazy, but your ex-girlfriend thinks that you and I would be a perfect match." I was more than a little taken back by that statement. "Excuse me, who said you and I would be a perfect match?" "Your old girlfriend. She said that you and she were no longer together, but you were the greatest guy in the world and would be a perfect match for me." I looked around at the crowd around us. "All right, who put you up to this? Was it Tom?" He was a friend of mine who was a big practical joker. "Steve, she just said that she was an old girlfriend of yours. Look, she was the one that came up to me. I never met her before but somehow she knew I had broken up with my boyfriend a couple of months ago, and said you'd be the perfect guy for me." The girl was now smiling at me. "Judy, isn't it?" she nodded. "Right now I'm working but maybe later we can talk." "Look, my ride is leaving but here is my phone number." She handed me a cocktail napkin. "Call me if you're interested, if not, it'll be your loss." She smiled once more and was gone. I had no idea who told her we would be a great fit and needless to say I was somewhat freaked out. But then it started happening over and over again. I was now hit on at every event I photographed. It usually happened towards the end of the night, and it was always the same. The girl had just broken up with her boyfriend, been recently divorced, or some similar story. A girl would approach her out the blue and say she knew the perfect man for her. They would talk and she would always introduce herself as my ex-girlfriend. More than one would tell me that the girl said she would take me back in a heartbeat if she could. The only thing that didn't add up was the description of the girl. She was always about the same height, around five feet four inches, but that was the only similarity. Her hair color and length were always different, and her outfits were a different color, length, and style, but always on the slightly conservative side. It was starting to freak me out more and more. The varied descriptions would fit most of the girls I had dated in the last couple of years, but none of them had been unhappy about dumping me, of that I was sure. From that day forth I started watching the guests. I kept one eye on the bride and groom and the other on everyone else. I took a lot more crowd pictures hoping to see one of my old girlfriends, but never did. Girls were still coming up and introducing themselves but it tapered off a bit over the next month or so. I did, however, take a couple of them up on their invitation but nothing came of those dates. Then I got a break. I was reviewing pictures I had recently taken at a wedding and saw her again, or what looked like her. It wasn't the greatest picture in the world, but it showed that same girl talking to another girl at one of the tables. I blew up the picture as big as I could before it got too grainy. She was slim, had medium length strawberry blonde hair, and wore glasses. I couldn't tell her height since they were both sitting down, but I felt like I finally had my first lead. "I'm almost done with your pictures," I told the bride, showing her some of my better proofs. "There is a girl in one of the pictures that I think I went to high school with. Would you be able to tell me her name?" She looked at the picture for a minute and with no sign of recognition on her face, she passed it over to her new husband. He shook his head; they didn't have a clue to who she was either. "Steve, we can't help you. Whoever she is, she wasn't on the guest list. Maybe she works at the hotel where we had the reception. Sorry, we couldn't help you, but we don't know her." They did, however, say the photographs looked beautiful and couldn't wait to get the final set. Most of the weddings I did were held at one of four hotels. Photograph in hand, I hit each one trying to get a match. I struck out at each place. Okay, so the photograph wasn't the best quality, and I was informed at each place that anyone working for the hotel was required to be in uniform at all times, I was not going to let this drop. Someone was now stalking me and I needed to know who it was. Do you know what it is like calling your last four girlfriends and asking each if they are stalking you? Well, I didn't come right out and ask them that exactly, I more or less wanted to know how they were doing. They were all a little skeptical at first, but when I sounded genuinely interested in them, they finally opened up. All, and I repeat, all had new boyfriends. They may not have been totally happy in their new situation, but not a single one wanted to go out with me again when I asked. They gave the same reason they had when they dumped me when I told them I was still taking pictures. They all wished me well, but I didn't feel any of them really meant it. I was stumped. So began my quest to find out who the mystery girl was, and what she was after. If I kept one eye on the rest of the bridal crowd fifty percent of the time before, now every bit of my down time was spent scanning the crowd. It was quiet for about a month and a half and then it started again with earnest. I had begun to let my guard down, thinking she had left or given up—how wrong I was. "Are you Steve?" the girl asked me while I was grabbing a bite to eat. "Let me guess, my ex-girlfriend said I would be a good catch for you, am I right?" Her beautiful smile went first to a frown, quickly followed by a flash of anger. "Are the two of you playing some kind game with me? You are really sick, you know that?" She was visibly upset and wasn't shy about telling me what she thought about the two of us. "Ms?" I inquired, trying to defuse the situation. More than a few people started looking our way and I did not want to cause a scene. "Debbie, Debbie Hall. But that's right, you and your ex know all about me," she said sarcastically. "Debbie, please sit. I'll try to explain what's going on, if I can." She didn't believe me at first. I think she thought she was being made the brunt of a sick joke, as she put it. I assured her that I didn't have a clue as to who the girl who set her up was. I told her I'd give anything to find out who was behind it. "What did she look like?" "She was about five foot three or four, medium length blonde hair, and I guess she was cute if you like blondes." She smiled shyly while slightly tossing her mane of beautiful chestnut brown hair. "Did she wear glasses?" "No, but maybe she had on contacts?" I asked what she was wearing and if there was anything memorable about her that might help me. "Nothing, other than she is head over heels in love with you." "You're kidding, right?" was my quick reply. "Look, I'm a girl, and I can tell when someone is into a guy and believe me when I tell you, this girl has some real feelings for you. Just the way she said your name, it was like something out of one of those damn romance novels. I am completely baffled as to why she'd want to fix me up with you, but you really should get back with her. I don't know what she did or what happened to make the two of you break up, but if it was something she did, and if I were you, I'd forgive in a heartbeat. I think that girl would walk on fire to get you back." "Debbie, I don't have a clue who this girl is. I called my past girlfriends and none of them want anything do with me." "Did you ever think it might be someone from where you work?" That thought had never crossed my mind. "Maybe in her warped mind the two of you aren't meant to be together, and she's out there trying to play matchmaker?" She could be right. Feeling a bit flustered I looked at Debbie. "I'm very sorry that you got drawn into my ongoing nightmare. If you don't mind, please don't say anything to the bride or groom. I need these gigs and not many people would hire me knowing that their photographer was being stalked." "Don't worry, I won't say a word." She smiled at me again. "Don't look now, but I think the bride is looking for you." I had spent too much time talking to Debbie and not enough taking pictures. It was time to go back to work. I was happy when the night ended. For the next month I watched every female I worked with. It had been pretty quiet lately at the events I was photographing, but this time I wasn't going to let my guard down, not even for a minute. "Well, did you find your elusive ex-girlfriend?" Debbie asked when she snuck up on me at the Hartley wedding. "Hi Debbie," I said, taking a quick look around the crowd. "Please don't tell me she sent you back over to see me again?" "No such luck. I'm here working, and no, I haven't seen her since that night." "Working, here?" I looked a little confused. "I'm a wedding planner. I do upwards of thirty wedding a year." "But I've never seen you at any wedding I've ever worked." Debbie elaborated on her job. "I like to stay in the background and most times I'm walking around making sure everything is going right. Up until last year I had my husband do the floor work, but now I do all the planning and follow-up, making sure everyone is doing what I'm paying them to do. It gets a little crazy at times." "Where's your husband tonight?" Her eyes got wide. "He was killed in a car accident at the beginning of last year. He was running late to a wedding and let's just say he didn't make it. That's why I was a little upset with you last time. I thought the two of you were playing some sick joke on me." "Debbie, I'd never do something so low." "I know that now, but at the time it brought back a lot of hurt and memories." I could tell that sharing this with me left Debbie feeling a little emotionally bereft. I tried to get her back on even ground. "Well, I haven't been approached by any young ladies since that night either. Maybe your outburst scared her off." "Steve, the way that girl felt about you, there is no way in hell she was going to give up. Maybe she's watching us both at this very minute." That statement made me do a quick three-sixty. Hastily she added, "See what I mean, she'd got you spooked too." We both made a pact to watch out for my phantom girlfriend. Then it got way too crazy for even me. We saw each other at a few more functions. She finally told me that she had seen me at some of the weddings she'd worked in the past but that she was busy and not looking to meet anyone new. A month later we were both working the same wedding at the Hilton. We'd become somewhat friendly, but during the actual reception neither one of us really had much time to talk. "She's quite a woman you know that, don't you?" I heard the guy standing next to me say while I scanned the crowd looking through my camera. He was tall, pretty good looking, and wearing a tux. Thinking he was one of the groom's men I made sure to be nice. "Which one is quite a woman?" I asked. "That girl you were talking to, you know, the wedding planner. I know for a fact that she likes you a lot." I thought this was another setup and looked around for my elusive ex-girlfriend. "Did she tell you that?" "Didn't have to, her body language says it all. Haven't you ever noticed that she plays with her hair or shifts her weight from one foot to the other when she talks to you? It's a dead give away." "Well, we're just friend, that's all." "Too bad, she's one special lady. I'm going to be keeping my eye on her." With that he walked away. Thinking back I should have taken his picture. Instead, deep in thought, I slowly walked over to the bartender and got a beer. This was getting way too crazy. Debbie must have snuck out early because I never saw her after that. I had thought about mentioning this little interaction to her, but reconsidered. No use having her think someone was stalking her now, too We both worked a wedding the week before Memorial Day. It was festive and I was having a great time. I was done taking pictures and with two glasses of wine in hand I went looking for Debbie. I found her on the far side of the dance floor. "A little beverage for my lady," I said, with a bow. She laughed taking the glass from me. "Nice wedding, isn't it?" "It really is," she said, sipping on her glass of wine. At that point the band announced it was their last song of the night. I looked at her. "Would you like to dance?" "I'd love to." With that, I put our glasses down and pulled her onto the dance floor. Okay, I'm not too nimble on my feet, but I didn't step on her toes once through the entire song. We moved in time with one another. I wasn't happy when the song ended because I was still holding on to her and enjoying it. Valentine's Day Eve "Steve, the song is over." "Maybe they'll play another one for us if we ask?" Then it happened. "Steve, there she is, just walking out the door!" I jerked my head around looking for her. "Steve! The girl, she walking out the door." I ran through the crowd. By the time I got to the exit about ten cars were pulling out of the parking lot and with it being pitch dark, I couldn't see who was in any of the cars. "Did you see her?" "Nope. She must have seen me chasing her and ran to her car before I could catch her. Damn, I wish I could have at least gotten a glimpse of her." "Well, at least we know she's still has the hots for you and hasn't given up yet. Maybe I should be a little scared?" "I thought you said she was trying to fix you up with me?" Debbie looked thoughtful and seemed a little uneasy when she said, "Well, maybe she's changed her mind. That is one woman I wouldn't want to cross." I thought about telling her about the guy in the tux but all that would do, would just make her even more nervous. "How about if I take you out for a drink, just so we can unwind?" "You know, I think I'd like that," Debbie said, with a smile. That night, after our drink, I kissed her for the first time when I walked her to her car. I also made a date with her for Sunday brunch for the following week since we both had weddings on Saturday. After that, if we didn't work the same weddings we got together during the week or on one of our off days. After being burned more than a few times I was a bit leery about letting my guard down. I didn't want to totally let go for fear of being hurt again but she was getting to me. I was still trying to slow it down and could tell she was not happy about that. It was the second week of October, and we both had worked the same wedding. We were sipping on wine, when after our new ritual 'last' dance we just fell into one another's arms. We kissed and looked more like the bride and groom had hours earlier. A quick visit to the reception desk, a swipe of my credit card, and we were opening up the door to our room at the Hilton. I picked her up and carried her over the threshold. She smiled and I never stopped kissing her after that. I woke up spooning her back and could feel her warmth. We were both still naked, and like every other guy who hadn't been laid in forever, I started to get hard. When I felt her push back against me, I realized she was also awake. "Do you think we should take a shower before or after?" she asked, flipping over on her back smiling back up at me. "My breath could probably kill a dragon at twenty paces, but I know for a fact that this hotel supplies mouthwash in the bathroom. I have to use the bathroom anyway, so I'll start the shower. I expect to see you shortly." She leaped out of the bed and ran for the bathroom. "Nice butt," is the first thing that crossed my mind before calling the desk to ask for a late checkout. We started in the shower, but when we slipped and tore down the shower curtain, we decided the bed would be a far safer place to continue. And continue we did. The maid was reading a magazine outside our door when we emerged shortly before one o'clock. "Sorry," I told her. We laughed, running down the hall. It cost me an extra fifty dollars but it was worth every penny. After that night, when we worked the same wedding we ended up either at her place or taking a room at the hotel where the reception was taking place. Mentioning that we were with the wedding party always seemed to get us a discount. Other times, depending on where and who was working or not working we ended up at her place—I was still living at home—so my place wasn't an option. I saw her face every time I closed my eyes at night. I was falling in love with a woman I'd only met six and a half months ago, but it felt so right when we were together. Was I scared? Hell, yes. My heart had been broken so many times before I thought about carrying around a roll of duct tape just in case Debbie decided to rip it out of my chest and shatter it on the floor. I didn't think she'd do that but I'd thought the same thing about Toni. We spent the holidays together and if I had any doubts before, I didn't after our kiss on New Year's Eve. I was in love and I think she finally realized it. I was still a little scared but unless I moved on I'd always have doubts. It was the middle of January and I was photographing a very small intimate wedding, there were at the most fifty guests. I had just finished taking a slew of pictures of the bride and groom leaving in their overly decorated car when it happened again. "I knew she would fall for a guy like you," I heard him say from behind me. Turning around I saw him for the second time. He was dressed again in a tux and sipping on a bottle of beer. "But if you hurt her in any way whatsoever, you'll have to answer to me." "Why, are you her brother or something? And, why are you stalking us?" "I'm not stalking you because if I was, I wouldn't be so damn obvious now, would I?" He had a point. "Who is Debbie to you, anyway?" "Steve, let's just say that she's a very special lady who means a lot to me, and let it go at that." I wasn't going to let him off that easy, but it was apparent I wasn't being given a choice. He looked me straight in the eye. "Look, I'd love to chat but I've got a previous engagement elsewhere and I must be leaving. Just remember what I told you and we won't have any problems." With that he turned and walked out of the hall. "Shit," I said; grabbing my camera and heading for the door he just exited. I walked out into a full lobby filled with more than a few men dressed in black tuxedos. "Damn, I have to get my head out of my ass and grab a picture next time," I thought, still scouring the crowd hoping to get lucky and see him. For some unknown reason it was quiet for the next three weeks. No ex-girlfriend, no guy in a tux threatening me, and Debbie and I had the world to ourselves. We talked, we planned, but most of all we spent every available minute in each other's arms. Heaven on Earth is what I had. When my mom came into my room one night after I'd gotten home, she was in an overly inquisitive mood. How was my night? Did I have fun? Was Debbie working the same wedding? The questions came one after another. Finally she snuck in the one she really had wanted to ask all this time. "Are you planning on moving out soon, or are you going to wait until after the wedding?" Somehow the cat was out of the bag. She got up, closed my bedroom door, and sat back down on the bed. "How?" I started to say, but she stopped me. "I was putting your clothes away and please, don't get angry, I wasn't snooping but, I saw the red velvet box. I know I shouldn't have opened it, but I just had to know. Does Debbie have any idea?" I probably should have been mad, her invading my privacy and all, but at this point I was glad someone other than myself knew; I was ready to bust a gut. "We're both doing the same wedding two weeks from Saturday. It is supposed to be a real blowout, and when it's all over I'm going to ask her." "Do you think she's going to say yes?" "If she doesn't, I've been reading her totally wrong all these months. Mom, we were made for one another. Please don't tell Dad until after Saturday. When she says yes, we'll be doing all the rounds with both families. Then the hard part will begin, planning our own wedding." The thought of our wedding brought a huge smile to my face. "I'm so happy for you," she said, hugging me and starting to cry. "Easy Mom, no jinxing it. Wait until next Saturday." It was the longest two weeks of my life. We saw each other about every other day and I just wanted to grab her and ask her to marry me more than a dozen times, but I didn't. How I held out I'm not sure, especially when she kept telling me how much she loved me. By Thursday night I was a basket case. We didn't see one another Friday; we both had a million things to do to get ready for the next day's wedding. I cleaned my equipment, checked to make sure all of my batteries were fully charged, and by the time I'd packed up my stuff it was time for bed. Sugarplums didn't dance in my head but Debbie sure as hell did. I don't think I got more than three hours of sleep as I kept going over and over how I was going to ask her. I thought of all the cute little ways to do it, but finally decided to just show her the ring and ask her after our customary last dance. I might change my mind tomorrow but tonight that was the plan I was going with. There had to be at least three hundred people, most likely the bride's father was going to take one hell of a hit to his back pocket for this affair. It was a sit down dinner, an open bar, and a live band. There were fifteen people in the bridal party and each one wanted more than a few pictures for themselves. When I filled one memory card I was thankful I'd brought two extras. I took a million pictures of the happy couple just to make sure they would have one with both of them smiling with their eyes wide open. Believe it or not, it's hard to get a great picture that both of them will like, and the group pictures were even more of a challenge. That's why I took a million pictures. I was switching lenses when I felt a set of arms encircle my waist. "Quite a wedding, isn't it?" Debbie asked, kissing the back of my neck. "I hope a lot of guests doesn't want seconds, because we're running a little short of chicken and steak. I usually figure ten percent more but tonight everyone seems to be asking if there is any food left." "The food must be pretty good if everyone is asking. How's everything else going?" Everything I need to do is about done. The bar is stocked to the gills and the band is going to play until midnight, so I'm about done except for the cleanup. How about you?" "Things are moving along nicely—the usual wedding flow. I probably have at least another hundred pictures to take of the bride and groom, the families, the guests, and all the festivities that go on at a wedding reception." "Maybe we'll get out of here before midnight," she said, giving me a peck on the lips. You want to go back to my place tonight? Or, are you going to be too tired." "Not a chance in hell, but I've already booked us a room here." I didn't tell her about the bottle of champagne on ice, or the chocolate covered strawberries waiting in our room." "Planning ahead, are we?" she said, holding me a bit tighter. "Mr. Moore, do you think you're going to get lucky tonight?" she coyly inquired, giving that sweet little laugh of hers. "I'm already lucky just having you in my life." I kissed her again, thinking about the red box inside my inner coat pocket. "But sweetheart, I've got to get back to work because I see the bride's mother heading this way." Looking at my watch it was just after eight—four hours to go. It was a nice twist of fate when the bride and groom announced at ten o'clock they were leaving. They thanked everyone for coming and within ten minutes they were gone. An hour later most everyone else was gone, and the others? Well, they were taking advantage of the open bar, but by eleven thirty that also shut down. I'd already packed up my camera and was sipping on a Corona watching Debbie give last minute instructions to the staff that were in the final stages of their cleanup. I snuck over to the bar, got her a glass of white wine, and waited for her to finish. "Done," she said, almost falling into the chair next to me. I handed her the glass of wine. "Thanks, I need this more than you can imagine," she said, taking a big swallow. "That hit the spot." She took another long drink. "Well, Mr. Moore, what exciting things have you planned for us for the rest of the night?" "I was thinking about a little sleep, but not before I have you in my arms." I took her by the hand and pulled her onto the dance floor. Together we swayed to the rhythm of our hearts. She was everything I was looking for in a woman. Smart, good looking, and as ambitious as I was, I pulled her in a little tighter. "Debbie, you know I love you, do you?" I whispered into her ear, kissing it when I'd finished. "I think I've known for a while, but it's still nice to hear you say it." "Now or never," I thought, digging the ring out of my coat pocket. We stopped and I took both her hands in mine. "Debbie, I want you in my life forever. I want you to be the first thing I see every morning and the last thing I kiss every night, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" The question was asked, but I don't think she heard me; she was staring at another couple on the dance floor. "Debbie, did you hear what I said?" She didn't respond. "Are you all right?" Still nothing. I turned around to see what she was staring at and my heart skipped a beat. It was him, the same guy in the tux who I'd talked to twice before, he was standing next to a short brunette and they were staring at us. How did he know we'd be at this wedding? I looked back at Debbie. "Debbie, is that the girl you were telling me about?" she just nodded her head, still not saying a word. "That guy with her, he's the one who threatened me, twice." I must have been talking to myself. She made no acknowledgement of me, just continued to stare wide-eyed. That's when things got crazier if that was possible. There, right before my eyes, the girl started getting younger. For a minute I thought I was either drunk, or hallucinating, or maybe both. It took about twenty seconds before her transformation was finished. Becky? It couldn't be, but it was. "Becky, but you're dead!" I said out loud. "Debbie, I know that girl, she was my next-door neighbor growing up, for Christ's sakes. And who in the hell is the guy in the tux?" For the first time since this craziness started she spoke. "His name is Dan, and he was my husband." I started walking towards them but felt Debbie grab me. "Don't, I don't want to lose you to this sick nightmare." Tears were rolling down her cheeks; however, she couldn't take her eyes off them. "This isn't real, it can't be." I pulled away from Debbie and ran towards them. The last thing I heard was Becky telling me to be happy. I ran right through them or where they were a second earlier. I did a full about-face hoping against hope that they'd just sidestepped my charge but they hadn't, they just weren't there anymore. This didn't just happen, it couldn't have, but it did. Confused, I made my way back to Debbie. She was still standing there like a damn zombie and I had to shake her to bring her back to me. "It was him, it was Dan," she kept saying over and over again. "Think about what you're saying, they're dead, both of them." "But they were here, I saw them." "Look, I'm not saying we didn't see something, but I'm not about to believe we've been stalked by two ghosts." "But Steve..." "No buts, Deb, it wasn't real. There are no such things as ghosts!" At least I didn't think there were up until right then. "Debbie, I love you and want to make you my wife and no damn ghost is going to stop me from doing just that." I grabbed her by the arm. "Come on, we're out of this place." The first thing we did when we got to our room was open the bottle of champagne and order another. She was still distraught, and I'm not sure where my brain was at. After a few minutes of consoling each other, there was laughter, tears, and a lot of talking. Sometime later that night I asked Debbie, for the third time, and she finally said yes. There wasn't any sex that night. Debbie kept looking over her shoulder expecting, I guess, Dan to materialize out of nothingness. We both needed sleep but that didn't happen either. I was taking a cool shower trying to wake up and make some sense out of the last ten hours. I jumped a foot when Debbie walked in behind me. "Easy, it's just me," she said, looking at me. You may like cold showers but I can't stand them." She turned the hot water on higher. We hugged, kissed, and did our best to wash each other without going too far. "Steve, no matter what you say, last night happened. It was Dan in the same tux he was wearing when he died in that car accident. And that girl, Becky, she was the one who told me about you. She looked a little different, but it was her, I'm sure of it." "Do you have any idea what your saying? That we saw two dead people, watching us at last night's wedding, and together no less. I'm sorry, I'm not ready for the loony bin just yet." "All right, then what happened last night?" she asked. I didn't have an answer at that moment, but I was working on it. We got dressed, checked out of the hotel, and I took her to breakfast. "My mom is expecting me to bring you around this morning. What do I tell her? Mom, she said yes, oh, and by the way, I also saw Becky's ghost there last night. Not going to happen." Then it hit me like a ton of bricks, today was Valentine's Day and yesterday was the thirteenth. I started thinking back over the last two plus years, remembering all the girls that had approached me. It had all started on the thirteenth of February, the day Toni broke up with me, and coincidently it was the same day on which Becky had died years earlier. "Steve, you look like you're a million miles away. What are you thinking about?" "Deb, it may sound a little crazy but I think I may have an idea about the how and why this all happened. I don't know if I'm ready for the padded room yet, but it's the only explanation I can come up with." For the next hour I took Debbie back to when I got my first camera. I told her about Becky, growing up together, and everything up to the night before she died. "She said she wanted to be my girlfriend but passed away the following night. Debbie, it was February the thirteenth when she died, the day before Valentine's Day. That's also the date when this whole nightmare began." "I beg your pardon, I don't think I fall into the nightmare category and besides, why didn't you tell me about meeting Dan?" "I didn't want you to get any more spooked then you already were. If I told you that some guy was stalking you because of me, how would you have reacted?" "Without knowing who it was, it probably would have freaked me out. But hell, after last night, nothing would surprise me anymore." She was right about that one. "So, I guess this whole thing was about Becky finding you the right girl, whether you wanted one or not. No wonder you acted that way the first time I met you. If it were me, I probably would have told you to hit the road and not bother me. I'm just glad it didn't happen that way," she said, taking my hand. "Looking back, Dan wasn't out to scare me off, more so just making sure my intentions were honorable. Debbie, at first I though he was a jilted lover, but now it makes perfect sense—he was there to protect you. God, I wonder what the two of them are planning next?" "I don't think they are." "Say again?" "Steve, think about it. Their aim was to get us together and they've succeeding in doing just that," she said, flashing the engagement ring on her finger. "When I saw them standing there they were smiling like I am now. I don't think we'll have to be worrying about them any longer." I hoped she was right. "Just so we don't come across like total nut cases, I think we shouldn't say anything about last night to anyone." She agreed with me. Mom acted surprised and winked at me when no one was looking. I think my dad was happier about the prospect of me finally moving out of the house then he was about our upcoming wedding. Something was mentioned about a media room. Debbie's parents were overjoyed and her dad told me I was lucky to be getting such a wonderful girl. I totally agreed with him. So began the wedding plans. Valentine's Day Eve With Debbie being a full-time wedding planner, I thought our wedding would be a breeze and all I would have to do is just agree with everything she suggested. I really didn't care that much about the wedding itself, more so my upcoming life with her. After attending a hundred wedding, they'd become old hat. It was just the first day of our life together. It was something I heard years ago and it stuck with me—a beautiful wedding doesn't a marriage make. A hall, a caterer, a D.J. a church, flowers, invitations, limo service, and a photographer all had to be nailed down among other things. I wanted to go with her to pick out her dress since she had already picked out the guys' tuxes. "You can see it when I walk down the aisle, not before," I was informed. My Mom told me later it was exquisite, adding that I will love it. I moved into Debbie's apartment a month before the wedding. I was spending most nights there anyway. Even with everything going on, we both tried to fit in as many weddings for her, and special events for me, as we could because two weeks before and the two weeks after were, as Debbie put it, off limits. For our honeymoon, Debbie booked a cruise. "Steve, the travel agency gave me a great deal because of all the business I've thrown their way over the years. We've got a stateroom with a balcony, one deck down from the pool deck. I hope you don't get seasick." I had never been on a cruise ship so I didn't have a clue, but I hoped not either. I had big plans for this honeymoon and they didn't include puking off the balcony. A week before the wedding it was all done. Debbie personally knew everyone she had hired for our wedding, and they were going the extra mile to make sure we'd be satisfied, taking no chances of screwing up future business. Two days before our nuptials, over dinner, she wanted to talk to me about something. "Steve, I love you and I'm looking forward to being your wife forever, but I want to do something at our wedding you may not be comfortable with." She was starting to fidget. "Two people, and one in particular, got us together. Without her, we might have met but probably not, and I think we owe them something, don't you?" "Hon, they're dead. Even if we wanted to, there isn't anything more we can do for them." "Steve, not just for them, for us too." "Okay, I'm all ears, what do you have in mind?" And she told me. Our wedding went off without a hitch, it was like everything was scripted—probably was. When the priest asked if anyone objected, I was almost afraid I'd hear Dan yell something from the back of the church, but everyone was quiet. I told the photographer what we wanted for pictures, and when I started instructing him on his lens selection and the lighting, my new bride told me to back off and let him do his job. I did, but it was hard. The reception was in the same hotel where we first met. The food was fantastic and the D.J. played whatever anyone wanted. The best man and our dads had just finished making their customary toasts when Debbie announced that we had one of our own. At the head table there was an empty chair and place setting to her right and one to my left. Everyone thought it was a little strange, but hell, the bride had specifically requested the seating done in that way, and no one was going to argue with the bride on her special day. We stood up and holding hands, I said that we'd like to propose a toast. Everyone stood up. Debbie began by saying, "We'd like to thank all of you for joining us on our special day, but there are two people who played a big part in us getting together." Everyone looked at everyone else. "To Becky and Dan," I continued where she left off. We raised our glasses. She turned to toast the empty place setting next to her while I did the same next to mine. "May you enjoy your just rewards in heaven." We downed our glass of champagne and came together and kissed as everyone yelled, "Here, Here." Our cruise was something out of a romance novel. We were the typical honeymooning couple. We walked everywhere hand in hand. It seemed to us we were the only ones aboard that entire ship. We'll be celebrating our first anniversary this Sunday. We never saw Dan or Becky again. I think they are up there somewhere smiling, looking down on us thinking what a great job they did with the two of us. There is only one thing; at every wedding I work I keep one eye on the bride and groom, but every once in a while I scan the crowd hoping to see my little model again. I just want to thank her personally for giving me the best Valentine's present a guy could ever hope to receive—the love of his life. Valentine's Day Extra Credit It's a frustrating afternoon of increasingly explicit emails at work. The campus has mostly emptied, the chair is at a meeting, and you and I can only think about one thing. That's the curse of being employed by the same institution as a professor and graduate student, respectively. Fucking circumspection. No fraternizing or else. And on Valentine's Day, too. There's only one thing either of us can think of on Valentine's Day. You've already visited me in my office. I've visited you. You've visited me again. You were almost caught with your hand on my breast (and how nice that felt) as someone passed the door. Clearly we couldn't be trusted in public today. Clearly visits were out. That's when you mention room 433. No windows, you remind me. So you sign the room out via the head office, toting your camera and tripod ostentatiously, announcing your intention to film student interviews for possible later use in your sociology project. No one is in line to use the room, but better safe than sorry. I, meanwhile, am fiddling with the lock, setting it up to be locked on the outside, covering the rectangular window with a piece of newspaper and posting a DO NOT DISTURB: FILMING IN PROGRESS sign. With a little heart, to celebrate the holiday. When you try the door on the outside (making sure no one sees you going in with your tripod) we find the door indeed has locked. Good. I let you in. The lock clicks. No one has seen us go into the room. We're giggling like idiots. I walk into your arms and kiss you. Oh, that feels wonderful after a day of frustration. Your hands are under my shirt, my hands are on your fly. Nothing has ever, ever felt so good. But then you begin to set up the tripod. "What is it -- verisimilitude in case someone unlocks the door?" I ask, puzzled. "It won't matter at all if they've seen us." You raise your eyebrow. "Now, professor. I've said we're going to make a movie, and so we will. An important documentary about student-teacher relations. Close relations." Your hand is down the front of my pants now, convincing me of your wisdom. Is the camera on? Jesus. Wait a minute. "Remember that classroom scenario?" you ask, gently pushing me back against the wall. "The one we wrote together?" "This isn't a good idea," I stammer. I'm suddenly very nervous. But you're in character now. "Just a minute of you time professor. I'd like to explore some of the finer points of the argument with you." You hand is in my underpants. It's driving me crazy. Damn. Maybe I could surreptitiously kick over the tripod. But now you have both my wrists pinned against the wall with one hand, while the other is undoing the buttons on my 501's as I writhe helplessly. "I have some penetrating arguments," you continue, pushing me down on the floor, down on all fours, still in front of the damned camera. "I'm sure you'll agree they go deeper than most." I'm not certain why the camera seems to be a turn on. What's really a turn on is probably you getting so in character for it. I'm so hot and wet I'm ready to scream. You pull my jeans and then my underpants down around my knees. "I'm not sure about how I feel about exposing myself to this level of counterargument," I parry weakly, since my breathing is a tad disordered, "is it really --- oh my god what a hugely significant point!" I'm so wet that you penetrate me almost completely from behind in one slick, rockhard thrust. You thrust again. "I hope that my performance in this class has fulfilled expectations," you continue urbanely. I couldn't be urbane on a bet. I'm just trying not to squeal with pleasure, stopped more by the presence of the damned camera than the fear of being overheard. "Do let me know how many assignments you'd like to see filled in the course of this class." What the hell is THAT? Jesus, have you brought a vibrator to work? Oh, now, not with the camera, damn it. But, like the determined student you are, you persevere. The vibrator is up my ass, your enormous cock is in my cunt, and it's all I can do not to yowl with pleasure, as you ram into me from all possible points of entry, fucking the teacher in every way it's possible to fuck her. I come first. I come and come and come, with my fist stuffed in my mouth. I'm also in possession of the vibrator. Thank god I've had the forsight to steal an entire roll of paper towels from the women's restroom where the janitor left it. You're still inside me, behind me, smiling. I'm still on all fours. I glance over my shoulder, and then scoot around to face you. God what a nice cock. Hard and glistening and with a life of its own. I put my hand on it and stroke it. "But you see, Mr. Sylvester, it isn't clear that any critical evaluation is complete without the kind of thrust and parry that involves a reversal of the original argument." Your eyes widen just a little. Good. You've been getting far too smug. I kick my sneakers and jeans the rest of the way off and kneel before you. We're pressed chest to chest, your cock like a living thing trapped between our bodies. I snake the hand with the vibrator behind your back, not sure how you'll react, but feeling an overwhelming temptation to do you that way. Just an inch. Just a little. Mmmm. It felt nice to me, why shouldn't it feel good to you? Well, you don't mind horribly if the erection is anything to go by. "In addition to penetrating all possible intellectual terrain, Mr. Sylvester," I say, lowering my mouth to your cock and taking it briefly as far down my throat as such an enormous thing will go, "you must in turn be receptive--" Here I have some more fun with the vibrator as I go down on you in earnest. There's a muffled exclamation and then you place both hands on the side of my face and begin to thrust harder and faster. It seems to me that you've grown impossibly large and hard as iron, beautiful and scary. You don't disIodge my hand. The harder you thrust into my mouth, the deeper I push the vibrator, feeling the muscles in your ass tense. As I'm wondering if I can handle it much longer, you give that Vesuvian growl, and explode in my mouth, faster and harder than I can possibly swallow. Sticky with come, I lean back against your chest and close my eyes. "Turn off the fucking camera," I say, "before you tell me what you're willing to do for extra credit. It's Valentine's Day after all."