14 comments/  30189 views/  6 favorites

Pretender

By: dr_mabeuse



It didn't look like a Valentine. It looked like a plain piece of pink cardboard until Lacy picked it up in her hands and turned it over looking for an address or some sort of flap to open. Then the thing started to vibrate in her hands like an electric current was going through it. Lacy threw it down and watched in stunned disbelief as the piece of cardboard flopped around on the carpet like a headless chicken and then sprouted two red wings and little red chicken feet. It took a few awkward steps then launched itself into the air and began to flap around her living room.

"Oh my God!" she said.

The flying cardboard stopped in front of her, right at eye level, and began to unfold in a way she didn't understand. She saw the interior of restaurant or nightclub, the size of a dollhouse but complete down to the tiny crystal water goblets on the tables and the minuscule red M's on the burgundy menus, and then the thing folded in on itself again, began to shoot clouds of glitter and steam, and in one startling puff of smoke, a man was standing there, fully human-sized, looking quite pleased with himself and a little amused.

"Oh my God!" Lacy said again. "Who are you?"

"I'm your cupid," he said. "I'm here to bring you your magic Valentine's Day gift!"

"You look like watchamacallit. That chicken guy."

"Colonel Harland Sanders," he said, patting his stomach complacently. "Yes I do. We've found that women are less upset when presented with a non-threatening image, and this one's always worked for me. Besides, I have a thing for chickens. I'm pretty lovable, though, wouldn't you say? You don't feel threatened in the least, do you?"

"No. No, I don't. But what are you doing here?"

The Colonel hooked his cane over his arm and adjusted his pince nez.

"It's magic, sweetie, pure and simple. Valentine's day is one our more magical holidays, you know, and I'm here to give you a very special Valentine's Day gift. Well, more or less." 

He reached into his pink coat and brought out a little spiral pad. He leafed through the pages.

"Here we are. Lacy Ferraro. 29 years old. Dental hygienist. No boyfriend, lives alone. Poor self-image." He looked at her over the rims of his glasses. "That's you, right? A little bit of a chicken yourself, wouldn't you say?"

"Well, yes, that's me, but..." She tried to peek over the pad. "I don't know about that chicken part. Who told you that?"

He smiled smugly and put the pad away in his breast pocket.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute!" Lacy tried to assert herself. She didn't want to alarm him though. "What is this? Who are you and how'd you get in here?"

The Colonel cleared his throat and adjusted his pince nez again. He lowered his eyes and very carefully focused his gaze on her, and Lacy had the extraordinary sensation of something passing between them, some kind of information or knowledge, flowing out of him and into her. It was as if he'd suddenly given her an injection of knowledge, and without him so much as saying a word, she suddenly knew this was for real and that she was being given something great and magical.

It was an extraordinary feeling, but it only lasted a moment. And in the next moment she realized with that same kind of certainty that she was standing there wasting time.

She stood there dumbstruck, her mouth agape.

"See?" he asked.

"Oh my!" She looked around in confusion. "Well what should I do? I mean, how does it work? What do I have to do?"

"Well, in your case my dear, it's your self-image, as I've said. Let's talk about what you see when you look in the mirror: a short little girl, insignificant and not very attractive, plain and underdeveloped. Is that about right, would you say? Why don't we start with that? Go look in your mirror."

Lacy opened the door to the hall closet where she had a full-length mirror. There she was, just as she saw herself every day. She was much as he'd described, although he hadn't even mentioned her frumpy clothes.

"Now, why don't you imagine how you'd like to look and see what happens?"

Lacy turned to look at him and was about to ask him what he meant when her eyes caught a flicker of motion in the mirror, and she was suddenly aware of a dizzy sensation in her body. She looked at her reflection and saw that she was suddenly a good six inches taller than she should be.

"Oh my God!"

She looked back at herself in stunned silence. She was aware of all of her shortcomings, but it was her height that always bothered her most of all. She'd always been conscious of having to look up to people and of feeling their eyes on the top of her head. She always seemed to passing beneath their gaze. Now as she stood there, she felt her body stretch again.

"Well now don't overdo it, dear," the Colonel said. "At that height you won't be able to wear heels."

Immediately she shrank down a few inches, but she was still eight inches taller than she'd ever been. She looked around her with new perspective. It was wonderful. She felt queenly and regal, even statuesque.

"That's good," the Colonel said. "That looks just about right."

"I don't believe this!" Lacy stared at herself in the mirror. A stretched and astonished Lacy stared back.

"Now what about your face?"

"My face?" Her hands went to her cheeks in alarm. "But I like my face! It's a good face!"

The colonel smiled indulgently. "Yes, it is, Lacy. It's a very nice face, so let's not worry about that now. You can always change it later if you like. Now, your hair. How about this?"

The Colonel pointed his cane at the mirror, and at once her lank, mousy hair was replaced by an absurdly rich cataract of golden blonde curls, tumbling around her face and spilling over her shoulders.

"Oh no! No!" she moaned. "No, that's too much! I look like a country and western singer!"

The Colonel made a sour face. He evidently wasn't used to being second-guessed.

"Well the, how about this?" 

The blonde curls were replaced with a cascade of flaming red hair, so healthy and vibrant that it seemed to have a life of its own, like it might leap from her scalp and start climbing the drapes.

"No, I don't think so. I mean, it's very nice, but it's just not me."

"Then you try it."

Lacy turned to the mirror. She was almost afraid to look, but she forced herself to be calm.

Her eyes were her best feature: deep and almost startling blue. She'd always wanted raven black hair to set them off, but the dyes she'd tried made her look like she'd put shoe polish on her head. 

Now, however, as she watched in the mirror the red disappeared to be replaced by glossy black tresses that curled around and caressed her face like a crown of willful and sensual ivy. It was just what she'd always prayed for.

She realized, though, that it made her bottled tan look a bit sickly and orange, but before she could stop to think about it her complexion lightened then darkened, as if someone were twirling the color controls on a TV. Finally it stopped and settled into a just pale enough fresh-scrubbed transparency, glowing with health. It made her eyes glow like sapphires.

"Oh. Oh my!"

She bent forward and looked in the mirror. Even that little scaly patch under her nose that she always got in the winter was gone. Her complexion was flawless.

Lacy grew suddenly dizzy. She put a hand to her head but it wasn't her hand. Instead of the old familiar stubby fingers with the nails bitten down to the quick, she possessed the long, graceful hands of a ballerina, the nails of a hand model, smooth and elegant.

"I don't believe it!" she gasped. "I think I'm going to be ill!"

"Oh tut, tut," he said. "You feel perfectly wonderful and you know it. Now come on, the fun's just about to begin. Mind if I have a seat? It's time we worked on the body. I always enjoy this part."

The colonel dragged a chair over and sat down on the edge, his hands draped over the head of his cane. 

"Clothes off," he said, and Lacy shrieked as her clothes just disappeared. Her shoes, socks, underwear, everything was just gone, and at the same time she saw them reappear in a neatly folded pile on the sofa across the way. She stood there naked.

She quickly covered herself and her new skin blushed a furious red. She couldn't help but notice though that her pubic hair matched her head. The colonel seemed to notice too.

"Yes, they're connected," he said. "We don't do things half-way. Now let's drop this modesty business and get going. You've got to arrange your body: boobies and so forth and so on."

Despite her alarm, she couldn't wait to try this out. She looked in the mirror and imagined herself with the legs she'd always wanted: long, slim, lightly muscled and wicked as scissor blades, and there they were, attached to her body. She could feel them proudly lifting her bottom like Atlas hoisting the world, and she could feel the wonderful strength they contained in their smooth, sinuous muscle.

She pirouetted in the mirror and regarded her backside, and as she watched she saw her buttocks grow rounder, tighter, and higher. She felt the subtle nudge as her spine moved forward to keep her balanced as her buttocks grew like two cantaloupe melons ripening under time-lapse photography. 

She put her hands on her ass and squeezed.

"Oh dear Lord in heaven! I've got a beautiful ass! I do! It's the sexiest ass I've ever seen!"

She couldn't repress the surge of pride she felt now. She was a beautiful woman, and she blinked back the tears of joy and considered herself critically in the mirror.

Now, about her boobs... 

The colonel twirled his cane between his hands and his eyes twinkled. This was his favorite part. You could tell a lot about a woman by the kind of tits she chose.

Lacy threw her shoulders back and stared at her chest as it ballooned forth, her breasts filling with the inexorable slowness of a helium balloon. They went from pert to proud, then from imposing to huge, and then back down again. Lacy realized that it wasn't just the size, but the way they were carried on her frame too, and for a while she experimented with moving them higher and lower, together and apart. Her breasts moved on her chest like an automatic seat in an automobile: higher, then towards one another, then lower. The nipples rose and fell. Lacy watched with the impassive face of a gourmet, of someone who didn't quite know what she wanted, but was sure she'd know it when she saw it.

She finally found a size and a location she liked, and turned to check her profile. Yes: nice, oblique tops, full and heavy on the bottoms, no discernible sag, and just the right amount of natural cleavage. 

She wasn't done yet, though, and her nipples began to expand and contract on her breasts like eyes dilating in the light before she found a size that pleased her, and then they wandered around on her breasts until she had them just so. A tweak to make them a bit longer, a bit darker, and then she reached out her long, elegant fingers and touched them.

She turned and looked at the colonel, her eyes brimming with happiness.

"Lovely," he said. "But you're sure you're satisfied? You have things just the way you want them? I want you to be as perfect as you can possibly be in your eyes."

Lacy turned back to the mirror and regarded herself. Maybe her neck was a tad too long? Her hips a bit underdeveloped? She pulled her waist in a bit, gave herself some subtle rolls of muscle under her stomach and firmed up her upper arms. Should she show a little more collarbone? Maybe not. She looked down at her knees and worked on them for a while, making them smooth but not too smooth. 

She put her hand between her legs and wondered whether she should even fool with that, but decided not to mess. As far as she knew, that worked perfectly. She did trim her pubes into a tidy little strip though, and fooled with her toes and toenails for a while as the colonel waited patiently. She got her belly button placed just how she wanted it: a mysterious little dent in the smooth feminine abdomen. With her neatly trimmed pubic hair, it made a little upside-down exclamation point.

Finally she stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. Now that she was beautiful there seemed to be all these little imperfections she noticed, but she realized that she could stand here and fool with herself all night long and never get everything right, so she gave her teeth a final whitening and darkened her eye lashes, brought her cheekbones up just a little bit, and gave herself a wonderfully kissable lower lip. Then she turned to him and spread her arms, inviting his inspection.

He nodded his approval.

"Can I try it out?" she asked.

"By all means."

Lacy turned and walked from the mirror. Her long legs ate up the floor and her height gave her a new perspective on everything. She felt her hips sway naturally as she walked with the smooth liquid glide of German-made ball bearings. Her breasts swung lightly with each step, like fruit ripe enough to fall from a tree, and their unaccustomed weight made her throw her shoulders back so that her nipples stood our high and proud. She felt a slight film of lubrication between her legs, and she realized with a start that she was so now so sexy that she even aroused herself. She was perfect.

"Very nice," he said. "You're satisfied?"

"I am, I am!" She lost her pose and clasped her hands together between her breasts as if the very air in the room were precious. "I'm beautiful! I'm beautiful! I'm overjoyed!"

She turned back to the mirror and looked at herself again. 

"Once you step away from the mirror now, that's it. You're stuck with it."

"Stuck with it?" 

She turned back and looked at herself in the mirror. For a moment she wondered: was this a mistake? Would she regret losing her old body, her old mousy and invisible self?

She looked at her mane of sinfully rich, shiny black hair, her high erect breasts and long, devastating legs: real mantraps. She turned around and looked at the saucy thrust of that world-class ass. Would she miss being talked down to and ignored? Would she grow to hate men staring at her with their mouths open? Conversation stopping when she walked into a room? 

"I love it!" she said. "I just love it!"

She laughed, but seeing no response from him she grew suddenly cautious.

"How long will I stay like this?" she asked. "Is there a catch? There's some catch, isn't there?"

The Colonel stood up and looked at his pocket watch. "Well, I wouldn't call it a catch, really. More like an operating condition." He closed his watch and put it in his pocket. "Out there in the city, there's a man waiting for you, a man who's also been given a magical valentine, not identical to yours, but something similar. You have to find him and make him fall in love with you."

"Find him? How do I find him? Will you help me?"

"Oh, the finding probably won't be very hard. Our clients have a way of finding each other all right. But if you don't find him, or if you two don't fall in love, I can't guarantee what will happen to this new you. You may lose her overnight, or you may stay like this the rest of your life. There's just no telling."

"Well is there something I can do? I mean, does it depend on the purity of my heart or something?"

The colonel smiled. "Purity of your heart? Oh my, that's a good one! You humans! Gracious no! But don't even worry about it. Right now we've got to get you dressed to go out. Let's go, sister. Time's a wastin'"

Lacy showered as quickly as she could, though the temptation to play with herself was very strong. There were all sorts of new things she had to learn, and things she had to watch out for, such as the feel of the washcloth on her super-sensitive nipples, or what to do with all the tons of lather her new, thick hair produced.

The Colonel hustled her along, though, and as she sat at her makeup table doing her face, he walked into her closet and started pulling out clothes, anything she could think of, as fast as she could think of it, all geared to her new body and complete all the way down to the designer labels where applicable.

Lacey was at a loss. She had all this makeup she'd collected over the years, and suddenly all of it looked fabulous on her and she didn't know what to do. Even her perfume smelled better on her than it had before.

She finished her face and turned around to inspect the pile of clothes on the bed as she brushed out her thick black hair.

She was tempted to wear slacks to show off her ass and her long legs, and the pants she tried on fit her like second skin. But it was Valentine's Day, and she knew she needed something more romantic. She found a black crepe dress with tiny red flowers that brought out the blue in her eyes. The Colonel fetched her underwear to her specifications, underwear that she'd always dreamed of wearing, mere whispery things: rumors of underwear. She fastened a garter belt around her slim waist and then sat down and for the first time in her life indulged in the terribly erotic pleasure of unrolling nylon stockings over her hard and curvy legs, pointing her toes and admiring her lean musculature.

She was terrible when it came to her shoes, and the poor pink Colonel kept on carrying out boxes of Jimmy Choo and Manalo Blahnik till her bedroom looked like the back room at Footlocker. She finally chose a wicked pair of slingbacks with three-inch heels. Of course, they matched her dress perfectly.

The Colonel looked at his watch ostentatiously, reminding her to hurry, and it was a good thing he did too, because Lacy had a strong urge to engage in a prolonged session of self-love. Her new body intoxicated her. It was full of surprises and exquisitely sensitive, and she excited herself shamefully just from the mere act of dressing. At last she understood all those jokes about women taking forever to get ready.

It was only when the Colonel said, "He's waiting," that she could tear herself away from herself enough to think of a man's touch on her skin, and when she did, it inflamed her. It had been months since she'd had a lover, if you could even call him that, and the thought a man's hands on her ass, his mouth on her breasts, his fingers reaching between her legs hit her with an almost physical force, so that she gave a little whimper just from imagining it.

She wanted all that, but more than the sensation itself she wanted to see the look in his eyes when he gazed at her, the expression on his face when she stretched herself out naked on his bed, his look of helpless surrender when he entered her. She'd heard about those looks. She knew they existed. She wanted to see them for herself.

She quickly threw on a coat the Colonel held for her and took the bag he held out for her (it matched her shoes too, of course), and then she stopped.

"Wait a minute! Where am I going? I don't know where he is!"

"Remember the scene you saw when the card opened? He's there."

"But where's that? I've never been in any restaurants! I don't know one from another." 

Then she remembered the little red M's she'd seen on the menus.

"The Mercedes Room!" she exclaimed. "That's where he is, isn't it?"

The colonel smiled and bowed.

"But you're coming with, aren't you? I can't go in there alone!"

"Never fear, sweetie. Just take your magic Valentine with you."

So saying, the colonel took a step back and Lacy watched dumbfounded as he suddenly became flat, then folded in half, and in half again, and so on until he accordioned up on himself into a little square of paper no bigger than a business card. She stooped and picked him up and dropped him into her bag.

"Are you in there? Are you all right?"

"Perfectly fine. Now let's get going!"

There were advantages to being beautiful, Lacy realized. Whereas before she would have to stand in front of a cab and wave her arms to get the driver's attention, now she only had to raise one elegant hand and two cabs screeched to a stop in front of her, the cabbies even jumping out and opening their doors for her, vying for her attention. She chose the one who seemed more of a gentleman, and he was graciousness itself, speeding her effortlessly through the city, showing off for her, and all Lacy had to do was smile at his jokes. It was terribly gratifying. When she got out at the Board of Trade building and tipped him, he thanked her for being such a wonderful fare, positively embarrassing her.


Pretender



"You should have given me a new personality to go with this," Lacy whispered into her purse. "I feel like a fish out of water! What am I supposed to do? I don't know anything about meeting men!"

"Just go with the flow," came the muffled voice. "You're gorgeous, sweetie. No one can resist you. Just remember that."

Maybe he was right. Maybe physical beauty was enough, because there wasn't a door that wasn't opened for her, not a man who didn't smile, and all this worked to give her an unfamiliar but wildly exciting sense of power. Lacy felt that she'd been charged with a kind of sexual static electricity. When she reached the top floor she was feeling bold enough to even strike a pose in the doorway of the Mercedes Room. The maitre d' hurried over, and Lacy felt positively devastating. She almost felt sorry for the men she saw inside.

Almost, but then she realized with something akin to panic that she had no idea of what to do or where to go in the restaurant. It was a place of old-style elegance and sophistication, with deep carpets and wood-paneled walls, white linen and potted palms. There were red and white hearts and cupids hanging from the cornices and trailing down, and a piano trio provided tasteful dinner music.

"Where should I go?" Lacy asked into her purse as the maitre d' awaited her pleasure.

"The bar! The bar!" the little voice answered, and that's what Lacy told the maitre d'.

She ordered a martini, a drink she always associated with elegance, and she perched her lovely bottom on a leather barstool and turned and inspected the room.

Her man was out there somewhere, somewhere amidst the tables set with red and white flowers and the tasteful sprays of ribbons and balloons that comprised the Valentine's Day decorations. No doubt the colonel was right: whomever she was looking for would be most likely alone, which meant he would probably visit the bar. No doubt, too, that he would be terribly handsome and built like a movie star, as perfect in his male way as she was in her female way, so she only had to find the most impossibly hunky man in the crowd and strike up a conversation.

It was harder than it looked. The men came in pairs, and Lacy couldn't understand why they didn't return her smiles until she saw one man shake his head ruefully and heard him mutter something to his companion about "too rich for my blood."

So that was it. They were intimidated. 

Lacy sipped her drink. She hadn't counted on this. The idea that she might be entirely too much woman had never occurred to her, and she was wondering what to do when a man came up and leaned on the bar beside her. 

Lacy looked up at him. He was pleasant-looking enough, though nowhere near movie-star good looks, with a funny twist to his smile. When he asked her if she would let him buy her a drink, she jumped at the chance, grateful for the cover of his company till her man should show up.

His name was Arthur – Artie – and he was a bond trader. He worked in the building, and maybe he wasn't as handsome as she'd expected, but there was something in the way he looked at her. By now Lacy was used to men's eyes -- the open leer, the surreptitious glance, the X-ray stare of the younger ones, the resigned admiration of the older and/or married men – but Artie looked at her differently, as if in looking at her his eyes had simply found the most comfortable spot in the room, and Lacy wore his gaze like it was a piece of jewelry made especially for her. 

They talked, and talk came easy, as did a kind of understanding she'd never experienced with a man before. It made her drunk, being understood like this, and she thought it must be because of her beauty now that such openness came easy. He asked her to dance, and it was the first time since he'd sat down that she even noticed there was music.

She didn't know how to dance. She'd never danced in her life, not with a man, not for real, but she somehow knew that wouldn't matter. Artie would take care of her, and that's just what happened. He held her lightly in his arms, like something precious, and they just swayed to the soft music. Her body went just where it was supposed to go, and she quickly forgot all about her feet and concentrated on the more interesting sensations that were occurring elsewhere.

But then her body began to betray her. It was as if she were too ripe, too sensitive, too much the sexual animal, and the pressure of his chest against her breasts; the feel of his thigh moving against hers as they danced; the way his hand rested first on the flare of her hip so that she could feel it as she moved, and then in the small of the back just above the thrust of her ass, where it seemed to exert a pressure that was far out of proportion to its size, was almost more than she could stand. She wasn't used to this kind of touch from a man. Lacy's experience of love and sex had always been dark, hurried and somehow shameful, and always third rate.

When he danced her into a dark corner of the floor and kissed her, there was nothing third rate about it, and Lacy almost swooned.

"I'm sorry," he said, his face almost touching hers. "I didn't mean—"

"No, that's all right. Really." 

She tried to smile at him, but it was as if he had magnetized her lips, and all they could do was reach up for his

Ah, poor Lacy! This time he pushed her gently against the wall and she fell against it as if it were a bed. He leaned his body against her, making her his prisoner. Artie knew how to kiss and Lacy had never felt anything like it. There was nothing obscene or even suggestive about it, just a desire to feel her lips against his, a gentle curiosity to find out who she was, and an offer of much more to come. When he lifted his hands to her face and gently caressed her cheeks, she almost melted on the spot.

"You're the one I've been looking for, aren't you?" he whispered to her. "I can feel it. You got a very special valentine's present today too, didn't you?"

Lacy's eyes went wide. Her heart hammered in her chest. "Then you are him, aren't you? The man I was supposed to meet! Oh my God, I can't believe it!"

"Hurry," Artie said, and he took her hand. "It's almost midnight, and I don't want to take any chances!"

She barely had time to grab her purse and coat as Artie dragged her out of the restaurant and over to the elevators. He lived right in the building, and they kissed all the way down to his apartment, her lust glowing like a coal within her.

Inside the curtains were open, showing the whole city beneath them, spread out like a web of diamonds, and Artie took her in his arms and kissed her again. Lacy felt her body respond like a thoroughbred on a clean track. She could almost feel the valves clicking open and the hydraulics snap too life, the hormones release from her finely tuned glands. Her breasts felt full and deliciously sore, aching for his touch. She felt like she was flowering between her legs, like a gorgeous blossom was opening and spreading its petals to the sun, and Lacy could barely contain her excitement.

She'd never been a very demonstrative girl, but now every touch made her shiver, every kiss brought a hungry moan from her throat, and her hands were all over him, caressing his face, stealing inside his shirt, even reaching down to feel his hardness, a hardness that thrilled her so much, knowing that she was the cause, that he was like this because of her. Her desire made her bold, and for once she followed her desires. She bit his lip and went so far as to unzip his pants, her hands burning with the need to feel what she'd done to him.

"Oh my God!" she moaned when she had his cock in her hands. It was hard and thrillingly heavy, like it meant business, and Artie's sob of desire sent a spear of pure longing down her spine.

Lacy had never held a man like that, with such wanton boldness, and now, to her own shock and disbelief, she did even worse. She kissed her way down his body and got on her knees in front of him. She held his magnificent cock in her hands and looked up at his face and she saw that look: the look she'd been wanting to see in a man's face all her life: desire so intense it looked like fury.

She opened her red lips and took him in.

She'd had men's pricks in her mouth before. It had been the one thing they seemed to like for her to do, but never had she felt this overwhelming surge of power and control. Artie moaned. He threw his head back and growled with pleasure. When she wrapped her sinuous tongue along the veiny length, he jerked in her mouth like a puppet.

Lacy couldn't stand it: a real, live cock and a lovely man to go with it. She boldly pushed him back, crawling after him on her knees until the backs of his legs hit the sofa and he sat down heavily. Lacy put her hands on his knees, dug her nails into his hard muscles and began doing pushups over his loins, his tool making slobbering sounds in her mouth. He dug his fingers into her rich mane of hair and began lifting his hips in time to her bobbing head, gasping and moaning with abandon.

"Oh Christ, Lacy! You're fantastic! I've never felt anything like it! I'm close, baby! I'm already close!"

That was all she needed to hear. Her need for power was satisfied, and now that she knew she could give as well as get, she decided it was time to get some more. She pulled her mouth off him and stood up, leaving his cock standing up and glistening in the light from the window.

She stood where he could see her up and stripped off her dress over her head. The very act of undressing for him was maddeningly erotic in itself, feeling her dress caress her breasts and her belly as she slid it over her head. She unhooked her bra and let it slide down her arms, then stood there for him, posing without posing, luxuriating in his gaze and enjoying the slack-jawed look of wonder on his face. That was what she wanted to see, and the look of desire on his face thrilled her almost more than all the touching and kissing that had gone before. She kept her eyes on his face as she slowly peeled her sodden panties down her thighs and stepped out of them.

She stood before him in all her glorious perfection: her rich, luxurious tits, the tiny waist and the generous, promising hips; her absolutely perfect ass. She felt a thrill of sheer power come over her, and she growled in her throat as she boldly walked right over to the sofa, straddled his hips, took his massive cock in her hand and guided the head into the hot clutch of her feverish pussy.

"Oh yes! Yes! YES!"

Lacy threw her head back and laughed with a pleasure that was just too intense to keep inside. For the first time she understood what sex was all about: the sense of power and fulfillment, the indescribable feeling of closeness and sheer physical pleasure that seemed to radiate from his stiff cock inside her. She felt vibrant and alive, and even more beautiful than she had before. She felt complete, and more than complete, like she was part of something bigger than herself and even bigger than the both of them.

"Oh God, Lacy! You're too much! Fuck me, baby! Fuck me!"

Yes she would: she would fuck this beautiful man. That's exactly what she would do.

She put her knees on the couch and began to move, squeezing her cunt around him and pulling up, trying to draw his prick up into her body. Artie lay beneath her, his head lolling against the back of the sofa as Lacy began to ride his cock for all she was worth, driving down on top of him and then pulling up, bouncing so hard that her big tits started flopping on her chest, and she had to lift Artie's hands to them to hold them still. He started pinching her nipples and rolling them between his fingers, and Lacy leaned forward so that the top of his cock bumped over her distended clit every time his thick, hard meat filled her emptiness with potent male urgency. 

Artie raised his head and howled. His hips thrust up from the sofa as he pummeled into her cunt and Lacy realized that he was coming. She felt the jets of liquid heat splash inside her and that was the final straw. Lacy screamed, dug her nails into the hardness of his shoulders and came, waves of painful pleasure followed by a deep and throbbing satisfaction that laid all rational thoughts to rest.

So that was it! That's what poets wrote about and singers sang about and lovers killed themselves over. That's why men are built one way and women another. That's why men buy flowers and climb mountains and carve their girl's initials into their arms, and women weep and spend a fortune on clothes and marry the most unlikely mates. She understood it now. She understood every bit of it.

But Artie wasn't done with her and that one was only the first of many. They'd no sooner caught their breath than Artie flipped her over on the sofa and fucked her that way, with Lacy free to so nothing but hold onto the armrest and tilt her bottom up at him and grunt and wallow in her own selfish sensual gratification. And the more she moaned and yelled, the harder he fucked her. She was in heaven. 

"I've never known anyone like you," he snarled as he stirred his thick cock in the simmering broth of her pussy. "You're wild, as crazy for it as I am. I'm never letting you go, you hear that? Never!"

From the sofa to the floor in front of the sofa, to the floor by the window, and from there to the bedroom where they did everything, knocking the pillows to the floor and stirring up so much heat from the friction of their bodies against each other that Lacy felt as if they'd melted together into one wonderful, moaning puddle of love, and they lay there exhausted, not knowing or caring who was who.

Midnight came and went and they didn't even notice it until Lacy, glancing sleepily at the bedside clock, saw that it was one-thirty.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed. "It's after midnight! Valentine's day is over."

She glanced down at him. He looked the same. 

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Are you going to turn into a pumpkin or something? You still look the same to me."

Lacy looked down at her tits. Still there. She picked up her hair and looked at it. It was still that lush, raven black mane. She jumped down and stood in front of the mirror. It was still the new body. But for how long?

Artie was up on one elbow, looking at her curiously.

Lacy looked at him with fear in her eyes. "I was afraid I'd change back to the way I looked before. He said it could happen."

Artie looked confused. "The way you looked before? I don't get it."

"The magical valentine you got. Didn't you get to pick the way you wanted to look?"

He laughed. "No. Why should I want to change the way I look? Is it that bad? No, the little grandmother from my valentine told me I had a problem. I only looked at the surface of things. I was superficial. I only liked people for the way they looked, so she changed that."

He smiled at her. "My valentine's gift was that I wouldn't see people the way they appeared; I'd see them for the way they were inside. I took one look around that restaurant and you were the most gorgeous woman in there."

Lacy looked at him to see if he were joking, but there was no mistaking the look in his eyes. He was still looking at the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

She wiped the tears from her eyes, streaking what makeup there was left. She came over and pressed herself against him, feeling her wondrous new body react in so many new and wondrous ways, and she kissed him.



Pretending: A Short Story



I miss him. I long for him. Two months is a very long time to be without your husband, when you're both young and horny, and have only been a couple for two years. I miss the everyday talks; in bed, at the kitchen table, in front of the TV... I miss his smile, his voice, the naughty glimpse in his eyes right before he makes his move. I miss his warm skin against mine when I fall asleep. I miss his long, thick cock, sliding in between my moist folds, reaching in through my pussy and further into my sleep, causing me to wake up, with him inside me.

God! that cock is amazing!

Long and thick and hard as wood, under that smooth, warm skin. The throbbing veins running up the shaft, like vines on a pillar. How I love to hold it, to kiss it, to feel it grow hard from my touch. To taste it. To let it slide between my lips, to feel the combination of smooth and hard getting all wet and slick. 

I want him here right now. I want to suck on his giant lollipop. I want to straddle him like a pony, and ride him all the way home. To feel his meat fill me up, stretch me out. To rub my clit against his crotch, with each movement back and forth. To lie under him, with his strong arms around me, feeling safe and loved and excited at the same time. To feel him spread my legs and lift them up, so he can go even deeper inside my wetness. To get down on all four, and have him pound me from behind, oh! to feel his balls bounce against my lips, to feel his hands squeezing my buttocks, to get fucked raw! 

Thinking about it makes me damp and warm between my legs. My body aches. My arms want to hold him, my lips want to taste him, my legs want to wrap themselves around his back. My pussy wants to be filled with his big hard cock, and my clit is aching to be touched! At least I can fulfill that last wish. My fingers travel down inside my pants, glide through the soft, curly hair, and reach the sensitive little button. I move my fingers round and round, close my eyes, and I pretend that he's here with me. It's his hand, not mine, that pinches my nipple gently, rolls it between his thumb and finger. His other hand is between my legs, alternating between carefully massaging my clit and going into my wet pussy. But this penetration doesn't feel as good as his cock does. His fingers aren't as big as his cock, and my fingers are even smaller... No! Concentrate. I'm not alone in my bed. He's with me. He's doing this. Not me. Him.

I drift back into my fantasies. His hand moves back to my clit, his middle finger and his ring finger, together, are rubbing my button, harder, and in wider circles, as my breathing grows heavier. His fingers are working my body like a fine instrument. His left hand is twisting my nipple, causing tiny electric signals rush down to my clit, making it so much more tender to be touched, driving my lust up to an unbearable height. A whining sound escapes my lips, it surprises me, and I smile briefly. 

The tension is building up. I let go of my breast, pull my hair out of my face. I breathe fast. A wild growl is forming in my throat. Oh, this is so good...

I'm getting closer now. My fingers – his fingers! – are rubbing the sensitive spot furiously. I'm coming. My free hand grabs the bedcover, hold on to it so tight, that my knuckles go white. My back is arching up from the bed, my whole body is moving on its own. I moan out loud, when sweet, sweet pleasure rolls like high waves through my blood, moving from my head down to my fingers and toes. There's a burning sensation in my feet, my blood is on fire. My pussy cramps up, again and again, and I gasp for air, never stopping the circular movements of my hand, prolonging the lovely torture...

I slowly calm down, sinking back against the pillows, back into his arms. I hug the pillow, pretending that it's his body I'm holding. The fire in my pussy slowly fades out, and I drift off to sleep.



Pretending Ch. 01



(c) 2009 All rights reserved

"Simon, would you get that?" Connie called from her bedroom. Her date was probably here and she wasn't quite ready. She turned back to the mirror. Her black hair was swept back into a braid, and she wore dangly silver earrings. She stood back to evaluate, and nodded, as pleased as it was possible for her to be. Her skirt was ankle-length, loose and flowing, and she wore a flowered print blouse with it. She wished she could wear something a little shorter, but the scar on her leg always stopped her. Maybe she should have worn dress slacks. She sighed; too late now to change.

"No problem," came the reply. Simon shook his head with a rueful smile as he went to the door. Connie Davetsky was his roommate and his best friend. If only he had the nerve to tell her he'd like to be more. But no, he chickened out every time, and instead, here he was going to let in her latest beau. Simon hoped he was nicer than the last guy. It wasn't that Connie had bad taste in men, he thought, it was just that she somehow seemed to find the ones who offered a bait-and-switch.

"Hi, I'm here for Connie," said the man at the door. He held out his hand. "Ron Cutter."

Simon shook his hand. "Simon Banks," he said. "Come on in." Simon sized Ron up as he walked into the apartment and wasn't impressed. Everything about him put Simon off, from the possible start of a beer gut to the thin brown hair that needed a trim. Simon would admit that he was not in peak physical shape -- it was too easy to avoid the gym in the cold weather -- but Ron looked soft. He has a weak chin, too, Simon thought. And beady little eyes.

Simon managed, with an effort, to control his annoyance when Ron walked in and threw himself down on the couch as though he'd been coming there for ages. Actually, he'd only been there a couple of times, though not when Simon was around. He could at least wait for an invitation, thought Simon.

"Got a beer?" Ron asked.

"Sorry, we're out," said Simon, trying not to sound curt. Now he knew the gut was probably for real and would just get bigger. He was not about to give Connie's date a drink before they'd even set off. He was liking Ron less and less. Then he caught himself. It was his own fault that Connie was going out with this -- this guy. He'd had plenty of chances to tell Connie how he felt, but he kept backing down. He should give Ron a chance, if only for Connie's sake. Maybe he'd asked for a beer just for something to say, or he'd had a rough day at work.

"Connie will just be a minute," Simon said, taking back his seat on the sofa, where he'd been watching the news. He turned it off to be polite.

"You've been friends with Connie for a while, right?" Ron asked, slouching on the sofa and putting one foot on the coffee table. "She's mentioned you a lot."

"Since high school," Simon answered with a nod, trying to ignore the foot.

"I've gotta ask you something, then," said Ron. Simon nodded. "Have you ever seen the scar on her leg?"

Simon felt himself tense up but tried not to show it. "Caught a glimpse once by accident. Connie tries very hard not to let anyone see it, she's self-conscious about it." 

Ron gave him a conspiratorial grin. "I gotta say, I hope I don't see all of it. I accidentally saw her leg the other night, and my God, it looked like alligator skin or something." Simon tried to keep his teeth from grinding together in anger as Ron continued. "Don't get me wrong, Connie's decent looking. I'm not against things happening, if you get my drift. But I think I'll have to keep the lights out and watch where my hands go, if you know what I mean." Ron was laughing to himself, oblivious to Simon's reddening face.

"Get out." Neither man knew Connie was in the living room until she spoke. Her face was pale, and she crossed her arms to hide her trembling hands. Ron looked up, realized she'd heard everything he'd said, and started to sputter.

"Oh, Connie, I didn't... I mean, I ..." 

"Just get out!" she said again, biting her lip to keep the tears at bay. She had never been so embarrassed. She could feel the blush rising in her face. It was bad enough to hear Ron say those things, but that he'd said them to Simon was just humiliating.

"Connie--" he tried one more time.

"She said leave," said Simon, standing up. He was about six foot two, and could look pretty intimidating when he wanted to, and right now, he wanted to. "Get out of here, and don't ever talk to her again."

"Fine," Ron said with a snarl. "I was only doing you a favor, anyway. Not too many guys want a fat chick, let alone one with a deformed leg." He turned and stalked out, slamming the door behind him. 

Good riddance, Simon thought. He looked like a ferret. Not to insult ferrets.

For a few moments, Connie could only hear her own heart beating in the silence. She couldn't move, couldn't even think. She kept her arms crossed in front of her as though they were holding her body together.

"Connie," Simon said quietly, starting to go over to her. That snapped her back. She shook her head vehemently, backed quickly into her room and closed the door. Once on the other side, she locked it, leaned back against the wall, slid down to the floor, and started crying.

How could that have happened? How could she have mistaken a jerk like Ron for a nice guy? Again? It seemed like every guy she went out with lately did something like that, although none had been so hurtful as this. And it was so much worse that Simon was involved.

If Ron had said something to her while they were out, or at least alone, she would have been just as angry and still told him to go, but it wouldn't have been quite this bad. But for him to have said that in front of Simon made her want to die of embarrassment. She didn't want Simon to know what lousy choices she made with guys. 

What she really wanted was Simon. It had been that way for ages, but for all the usual reasons, she hadn't made any moves. They were best friends, and she didn't want to ruin that. Plus, Simon deserved better than her. He deserved someone who didn't have a twisted scar running nearly the whole length of her leg, who didn't walk with a permanent limp, who wasn't constantly fighting to keep her self-confidence up.

She'd always thought Simon was gorgeous, very nearly her idea of a perfect-looking man. She loved his broad shoulders and the fact that he was just tall enough so that when he put his arm around her, her head rested on his shoulder. He never remembered to get his auburn hair cut on a regular basis so that sometimes, like now, it hung into his eyes and Connie constantly fought the urge to brush it back. He had dark brown eyes that looked black in the right light. When they focused on her, Connie's heart skipped a beat.

And now, she thought bitterly, wiping at the tears with the back of her hand, when he looks at me he'll think about what an idiot I am. It was only nine o'clock, but Connie couldn't take it any more and decided to go to bed. Simon's voice on the other side of the door startled her.

"Connie," he called. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said, unconvincingly.

"Come on, Connie," Simon said. He was a little worried; she'd never acted like this before when a relationship broke up. He tried the knob. "Let me in, please? You can talk to me about it, you know that."

"I'm going to bed, Simon," she said, her voice steadier but still a bit hoarse. "I'm sorry. I just... I just want to sleep."

"All right," he said, still not sure she really was okay. "Come get me if you need anything, or want to talk. Any time, you know that."

"Thanks," she said, leaning her head against the door. What would he think if she told him what she really wanted was to have him hold her all night, so that she could rest her head on his shoulder while she slept? So she could feel safe and cared for? Probably laugh and tousle her hair and head off to his own room to play video games.

x-x-x-x

Simon was frustrated at first with the next few days. Connie went to some lengths to avoid him, although since they lived together, she couldn't avoid him completely. After three days, frustration turned to a strange form of admiration. It was impressive how she managed to see him for the barest minimum of time every day. She left early, came home late, then went straight to her room. 

He wondered when she ate, for she declined any invitations to eat with him, whether it was in the apartment or out at a restaurant. She was never rude -- she didn't ignore him or not speak to him -- but she acted like she was afraid of him. Connie had never done that before, and he began to think perhaps he'd said something to offend her without knowing it.

When Friday rolled around, Simon took advantage of having worked extra hours the previous couple of weeks and went home before lunch. Today, he decided, Connie was going to talk to him beyond "Hi, see you later." He would plant himself in front of the door if he had to, and make her say something. This was ridiculous. He missed her and wanted his friend back.

He sighed as he thought back to high school days, and how they had become fast friends their first year. He had just moved into the area, and they were in the same homeroom. She had sat in the row next to him, and when she saw him reading a copy of Dune one day, she started talking to him about it. It was one of her favorites, and they became so involved in their conversation they almost missed the first period bell.

She had introduced Simon to her group of friends, and they'd all gotten along well. It was great for Simon. There was always someone to talk to, go to a football game with, and things like that. The circle remained pretty intact for all four years, with only a couple of people leaving because their families moved. 

Simon, Connie and the others had attended their senior prom in a large, friendly group, with no defined couples. It was all he could do not to gape at her that night, she looked so lovely. She wore a sleeveless red gown with a straight skirt, and a shawl that her mother had made, from yarn that had some kind of sparkles in it. Her eyes had twinkled as they all talked and laughed, her long black hair tossing from side to side. For the first time, but not the last, Simon had wished he was her boyfriend. 

The group had decided they would go to the beach afterwards.

It wasn't fair, he thought now, as he had then. None of them had been drinking, hadn't even brought anything with them. Not that each of them hadn't had a beer or some wine at one point, but they'd seen enough schoolmates die in alcohol-related accidents after proms and graduations that they'd all pledged not to do it for their own prom. They piled into three cars, with changes of clothes and picnic baskets, and headed off to the beach.

He and Connie were in separate cars; she had gone with her friend, Rachel, who was driving her brand new Corolla. How Rachel loved that car. He should have made Connie ride with him. Rachel had panicked when an SUV full of drunk college students came tearing around a bend. She turned the wheel the wrong way and the SUV hit the little Corolla, flipping it up and over through the air. Simon's heart had caught in his throat as he pulled over when the car came back to the ground, and he thought he'd be sick as it flipped over two or three times before finally stopping.

His friend, Lance, had called 911, for all Simon could think of was getting to Connie and the other girls. Everything was a blur until they got to the hospital, and even then all he remembered was sitting in the waiting room until he was allowed to go sit by Connie's bed. Rachel, Connie and a third girl had all survived, but had sustained serious injuries. Rachel had a broken arm, and a concussion. The other girl, in the back seat, had fared better, but still had a broken collarbone and several broken ribs. Connie, on the passenger side where the SUV had hit, had taken the worst of it. The airbag had deployed, but it hadn't helped.

She, like Rachel, had a broken arm and a concussion, and she shared some broken ribs with their other passenger. But her leg had been the worst. It was broken, the bone had poked through the skin, and some skin had been sheared off by the force of the landing. Simon had sat countless nights, it seemed, by her bedside, sharing the duty with her parents and older sister. Connie had borne up well, and gone through months of rehab and physical therapy. Now, years later, she had only the scar and a slight limp to show what she'd been through.

Simon sighed as he surfed the internet, killing time until he could go pick Connie up at her office. He knew that the limp didn't bother her as much as the scar. Since the accident, he'd only seen her in jeans, slacks, or long skirts and dresses. Not that she'd been one for micro minis or anything, but he knew she wasn't comfortable in anything that displayed any of her leg. He didn't care, though. To him, the scar was just proof that she was alive. If he had the guts, he would tell her that, and how much he loved her.

Right, he thought. If I had the guts... and apparently, I don't.

x-x-x-x

Connie stretched and yawned at her desk. She couldn't put it off any longer; it was time to go home. So far she'd been successful in her attempts to avoid spending time with Simon. She knew she was being silly, juvenile even, but she couldn't help it. The episode with Ron had embarrassed her to no end, and she could barely look Simon in the eye. 

The worst part, she knew, was that Simon would say nothing if she did talk to him about it. He would hold her hand, or put an arm around her shoulder, let her talk, and then find something to say that would make her feel better. So, really, she was doing this for nothing, and denying herself just about the only comfort she could get.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. She'd told her sister about it, and Emily had sympathized and even understood why she was avoiding Simon. Emily had, however, told her in no uncertain terms how ridiculous she was being, and that she should get herself together. She derived some consolation from talking to her sister, but it wasn't quite the same. 

Connie sighed as she shrugged on her coat and left the office. The weather was turning colder and it bothered her leg some. Maybe I can moonlight for the weather service, she thought as she stepped outside. Lost in her thoughts, she nearly jumped a foot when a voice next to her said, "Hi, there."

She gasped and looked up to find -- Simon. He was smiling, albeit a bit sheepishly. She guessed he hadn't meant to startle her. "Hi," she said weakly.

"I'm sorry," he said, taking her arm. "I didn't mean to sneak up like that. I thought you'd see me when you stepped outside."

"What... what are you doing here?" she finally managed to say.

"Well, I missed you," he said, stopping by his car. Connie had taken the bus into the office, as her car was in the shop. "You've been avoiding me, and I wanted to talk to you, so I came to pick you up. Surely you'd rather be in my nice warm car than on the freezing bus." He held her door open and looked at her expectantly.

Connie stared for a few moments and then said, "Thanks." She sat down in the comfy seat, enjoying the warmth.

Simon came around and got behind the wheel. "So," he said, "I was thinking we could hit the steakhouse, then go to a movie or maybe watch one at home. But," he added, "you're going to talk to me and tell me why you've made yourself so scarce the last few days."

"All right," Connie sighed. He was right, and so was Emily. This had to stop. She had to collect herself and act like the adult she told herself she was.

Simon drove to a local restaurant called The Steak Place, which was exactly what it said. There was no chicken here, nor fish, unless you got it to go with steak. They went in, were seated and placed their orders. Even though it was Friday, it wasn't too crowded, as they managed to hit the slow period between the dinner and late-night rushes.

"Okay," said Simon, tipping his glass towards her, "talk."

Connie stared at her fingers for a minute, then said, "There isn't much to say. I'm sorry for how I've been acting. I was just embarrassed."

"Why?" asked Simon.

"Because of what happened with Ron," she said, slumping back in her chair, unable to look at him. "I know you must think I'm a complete idiot when it comes to guys. And I guess I am. Doesn't matter anyway, I'm getting out of the dating scene for a while. I don't care who my sister tries to fix me up with."

"I don't think that," Simon told her. "I do think you've had some bad luck, but that's not your fault. Some people --" he gestured aimlessly with his hand "-- they act one way at first, then you get to see the real them later. I know it's lame, but at least you found out about him early."

"I guess," said Connie. "It's just... you know, when he said that... about my leg..." She stopped, feeling tears well up.

"Hey," said Simon, leaning over to catch her hand. "He was a jerk. Some day, you will find someone who doesn't care about that scar. Or who loves it because it's part of you." Like me! A voice inside him cried out. He ignored it. "The scar is just a mark. It doesn't define you. Anyone who can't see past that doesn't deserve you, anyway."

"Thanks," Connie said with a small sniff, but also a small smile. "How is it you always know what to say to make me feel better?"

"Ancient Chinese secret," he said with a wink. "Now, what movie shall we watch?"

"Let's watch something at home," she said. "I'm too tired to go to a theater. At least if I fall asleep at home, I won't be wasting money."

x-x-x-x

Dinner and a movie did wonders for both Connie and Simon. Connie felt much better that she'd told him, and Simon was relieved to find he hadn't done anything to offend or scare her. The weekend was too cold to do much, although they did get out for groceries. Simon teased her and said she should cook for the next week to make up for him having to live on ramen noodles while she was avoiding him. Connie's mood was improving all the time until she spoke to her mother on Sunday.

"So, you'll be coming home for Thanksgiving, then?" said her mom.

"I guess so," she answered. "I hadn't really thought that far ahead."

"Connie, it's in three weeks!" her mother exclaimed.

"I know, Mom," she said, stifling an exasperated sigh. "It's just been very busy at work. I'm not sure I can get the day afterwards off, and I haven't had a chance to ask about it."

"Well, find out and let me know, I need to plan the food." Connie knew that was ridiculous; her mother made enough food at any holiday to feed the proverbial army.

"All right, Mom, I'll ask tomorrow."

"Good. Now, will you be bringing anyone?"

"What?"

"Well, you said you were seeing that boy, what's his name... Roger?" Now her mom would probe for details. Connie steeled herself for the conversation and resolved to say as little as possible.

"His name was Ron, and I'm not seeing him anymore."

"Why not?" her mother wanted to know.

"Because he said some nasty things to me and I told him to get out." Connie prayed her mother wouldn't pry for any details.

"Are you sure you're not overreacting?" asked her mother. "I mean, maybe you misinterpreted something."

"I didn't," Connie said shortly. She groaned, knowing she was going to have to go into some detail. "He said something rude about my leg, and having to turn the lights out." There, that should be enough.

"Well, you know, Connie, some people will have a hard time with your scar." Ah ha, thought Connie. I knew it. Her mother never seemed to miss a chance to bring up the scar and how difficult it would make her love life. As though Connie had gotten the scar voluntarily, like a tattoo. Connie waited for the other shoe to drop. "And you know your weight has been up."




Pretending Ch. 01



"It hasn't, Mom," Connie said calmly. "It's the same as it's been for the past couple of years." She checked off the "weight" block on her mental scorecard.

"Really?" said her mother. "I thought you looked a little heavy the last time I saw you, but it was probably just the outfit you had on." Zing! Thought Connie. Two for one -- insulting my weight and clothes at the same time. Her mother was amazing that way. Connie couldn't take it any more.

"Mom, I have to go," she said. "I'll let you know about Thanksgiving." Then she hung up. She hated to be rude, but the alternative was worse, so she didn't feel guilty.

She wandered out into the living room and dropped onto the couch with a sigh.

"What's up?" Simon asked, coming in from the kitchen and handing her a soda.

"Mom," she answered.

"Ah," he said. He liked Connie's mom, Lydia, well enough. She was sweet and had always been nice to him. However, she did have a tendency to push the buttons on both of her daughters. Connie usually just listened, nodded, said okay and let it go. Emily, her older sister, wasn't quite so laid back about it and he knew that Emily and Lydia had had more than a few fights. "So, what did she do this time?"

"Well, first she said perhaps I'd misjudged Ron," Connie began. Simon scoffed and she smiled slightly. "Then she reminded me how difficult my life will be because of this." She gestured at her leg, and Simon felt a pang of hurt on her behalf. "And then, since I guess she just wanted to make sure she hit all the bases, she told me I'm overweight and don't dress well." She was silent for a minute, then continued, "I always assume she doesn't quite realize how this stuff sounds, and how hurtful it is. Maybe she does, though." Connie shook her head. "I can't think like that. It's too disturbing."

Simon sipped at his soda, considering a response. Connie didn't seem too upset, so he didn't think she needed or wanted a lot of sympathy. He decided to probe a little more. "What brought all this on, anyway?"

"She wanted to know what I was doing for Thanksgiving, and whether I'd be bringing anybody with me. I think she's afraid if I'm not married by the time I'm thirty, I'll start collecting cats or something." Connie rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"What are you going to do?" Simon asked. A plan was forming in his mind, but he wasn't sure if he could really do it.

"Look into getting hypoallergenic cats," she said wryly. He grinned. "I guess I'll go home," she said more seriously. "I hadn't really thought too much about it, and I usually go home for Thanksgiving. How about you?"

"My parents are going out to visit my brother in California," he told her. "He and I are fighting about something, and with plane tickets so expensive, I decided not to go. But I hadn't thought much past that."

"That's too bad," she said sympathetically. "About you and your brother, I mean. I hope you guys can work it out. Jason was always such a nice guy."

"Oh, he is," said Simon. He drained the rest of his soda, giving himself more time to formulate his plan. Now, if only Connie would agree. "I'm not even sure what we're arguing about, this time. I'm just going to give him time to cool down about it. I'll check in with the 'rents when they get back, and see if they think it's okay for me to call him."

"I'm sure it will work out," said Connie. Simon smiled inwardly. She was always so optimistic, at least for other people.

"And it will with your mom, too," he said. 

"Maybe it will," Connie said. Then she gave a short laugh. "I know, you can come with me, pretend to be my boyfriend, and then she'll be happy, at least for the weekend." 

Simon couldn't believe it. This was precisely what he was about to propose, and Connie had suggested it herself. He recognized the sarcasm, but decided to jump at his chance. He couldn't let this go on much longer; he was sure he would regret it if he didn't try for more with her. "All right," he said.

"All right what?" she asked, puzzled. She'd already forgotten what she'd said.

"I'll do it," he said. "I'll go with you for Thanksgiving and pretend to be your boyfriend." To start with, he thought. He aimed to be her real boyfriend by the time they came back.

"Simon," she said, startled, "I was... I was just kidding." I don't think I can do that, she thought, panicking a little. I don't know if I could just pretend... or stop pretending when it's over.

"I know," he said, unruffled, "but why not? Your mom knows me, so you won't have to deal with the third degree. It will get her off your back for a while, you won't have to listen to her bewail your old maid status, and hey, you get to hang out with me." He gave her a breezy smile, then puppy dog eyes. "You wouldn't leave me here all by my lonesome over a holiday like Thanksgiving, would you?" 

"I already hang out with you," she said with a giggle, trying to settle her thoughts. Maybe she should say okay. Maybe she should just indulge the fantasy. She was so tired of dating jerks, and she knew Simon wouldn't hurt her. 

"Probably a bunch of people think we're dating already," he said. That much was true. Many times when they were out to dinner, or to a movie, servers or ushers would make a comment indicating they thought the two were a couple. Occasionally they would set the record straight, other times they just let it slide. "Come on, Con," he teased, "you know you want to." His tone masked his anxiety.

"Sure, why not?" she said. Her heart was racing, and she wondered if he could hear it pounding. It really would be better than spending several days with her mom going on about her leg, her weight, and her impending spinsterhood.

"Good, then that's settled," he said, "and I know what to do next." He couldn't believe he sounded so calm. 

"What?" she asked warily.

"We should go on a couple of dates before we go to your parents'," he said.

"Dates?" she repeated.

He nodded. "Yep. We want to look convincing, right? We should go out for dinner, or to a show or something."

"I don't get it," she said. "We go out to dinner and stuff all the time. What's different?"

"Ah," he said with a sly smile, "we haven't been on a date before. That's what's different. People in a romantic relationship act differently than people who are just friends. We need to get some practice in, or she'll know we're faking." He hoped she was buying this.

"Okay," Connie said slowly. It sounded logical, but it also sounded... weird. Then again, the whole thing was preposterous, so she supposed she shouldn't go looking for everything to fit into nice, neat spaces.

"So, what are you doing tonight?" Simon asked.

Connie couldn't help laughing. "Sorry," she teased, "I have to wash my hair." She laughed harder as Simon launched a throw pillow at her, deflecting it with her arm. "Then I have to paint my nails," she continued, still giggling. She saw Simon's grin and realized he was going to try and catch her, presumably to tickle her; he knew all the spots. Jumping up, she made it a few steps towards her room before Simon's arm snuck out and caught her around her waist.

She squeaked as he tossed her on the couch and tickled her sides. When she could finally get enough air in her lungs, she gasped out, "Okay, you win. Uncle. I'm free tonight." He stopped tickling but didn't let her up. Connie closed her eyes and tried to even out her breathing, still giving an occasional giggle.

Simon stared down at her as she caught her breath. With her hair tousled and her face a little red from the exertion, she was gorgeous. If he could freeze the moment, she would look like she was just waking up. His heart jumped at the idea of waking up next to her in bed. Before he could stop himself, he lowered his head and kissed her.

Connie's eyes popped open as she felt Simon's lips on hers, and she stiffened in surprise but didn't pull away. I never thought it would feel this good, she thought, letting her eyes drift closed again. Her hands came up to rest on his arms.

Simon felt Connie tense and then relax, and relief washed over him when she didn't push him away. He increased the pressure just a little and touched the tip of his tongue to her lips. He felt a small thrill of victory when Connie responded, opening her mouth enough for her tongue to peek through. At that light touch, he felt a little control slipping away. He slid his arms under her shoulders so he could lift her closer, and kissed her more urgently, hoping she would respond in kind.

I shouldn't... we shouldn't... just pretend... Connie thought incoherently as Simon's arms wrapped around her. But she didn't want to stop, and just let her body respond as it wanted to. Her hands slid further up and she buried her fingers in his hair, drawing a contented sigh. She loved the feel of his lips on hers, of his arms around her, of their bodies close together. 

Simon didn't want to pull away, but finally, gently, he broke the kiss. They were quiet as he continued to hold her, stroking her hair as she rested her head against his shoulder. God, that had been amazing. More than he'd dared to hope, or dream -- and he had dreamed about kissing her countless times. He didn't know how long he could just pretend, but he didn't want to scare her away, and he couldn't let her change her mind about the Thanksgiving plans.

x-x-x-x

Neither of them mentioned the kiss after that. They did agree to Simon's idea of going on dates and acting like a "real" couple. Connie found she simply couldn't keep her guard up all the time. More than once she realized she had forgotten the "pretend" part of the whole thing, and she gave up on trying to keep a mental buffer. She rationalized that it would make things look more convincing when they did go home for Thanksgiving.

Simon was in similar straits. He absolutely loved taking Connie out. He even insisted, most times, that he pay, even though they usually went dutch. "We have to make sure we get all the details," he had half-joked. "Wouldn't want something like that to give the game away." Connie had nodded and gone along with it. 

There were more kisses, though they were different. After the first one that had surprised them both, they retreated back to light, cautious kisses, such as Simon kissing her hello or Connie kissing him good night. 

They continued to have their movie nights -- more of them as the weather grew colder -- but now Connie snuggled up against him while they watched like a girlfriend would. She knew it would be terribly difficult to stop pretending when the time came. Until then, she couldn't help herself.

The Friday before Thanksgiving, Simon had stumbled home late, exhausted from work, at nearly nine o'clock. Connie offered to him fix him some dinner, but he just smiled and shook his head.

"I don't think I could stay awake long enough to eat it," he told her ruefully. "I need to brush my teeth and hit the sack. Good night, sweetie." He pulled her to him for a quick hug and kiss, then went to his room.

Connie sat on the couch, disappointed. She'd been hoping to cuddle up again while they watched something, because tonight she needed his company. Ever since the accident, she would occasionally have nightmares about it. They were frequently brought on by stress, and right now she had plenty of that from both work and her parents. She had hoped to postpone the dreams by sitting with Simon.

She sighed. She could still watch the movie, then another one. Maybe if she watched enough of them and just let her brain roam, she would forget. 

x-x-x-x

Simon's eyes popped open a little after one in the morning and he was completely awake, but slightly disoriented. He lay there for a few minutes, trying to remember why he was lying in bed fully clothed. Then it came back to him and he looked at the clock. Surprised at the time, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was hungry despite the hour. 

He stripped off his work clothes and found some sweat shorts and a t-shirt, wondering if he was hearing noises in the other room. He opened the door and stood for a minute. Is that the television? He was still a little fuzzy. Connie could still be up, he supposed, but that wouldn't be like her, even on a Friday. She didn't generally fall asleep in front of the TV, nor did she forget to turn it off.

Curious, he walked into the living room. Connie was on the couch, in her pajamas, and staring rather vacantly at the screen. Even at times like this, he noticed, with no one around, she wore pajama pants that completely covered her legs. "Hey," he said, hoping not to startle her.

She looked up. "Hi." Not knowing what else to say, she picked up the remote and began flipping channels.

Simon came and sat down next to her, running a hand over his face and then through his hair. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked, leaning back on the couch.

Connie shrugged. "I haven't tried."

"Why not?" he asked, curious. She shrugged again. Simon sat up now, concerned. Connie rarely refused to discuss anything outright, but he knew the signs. When she shrugged, when she avoided eye contact -- that meant something was weighing on her and she was trying to keep it inside. "Come on," he said gently, "tell me. You know I won't laugh."

"It's nothing," she said quietly. I should just tell him, she thought, but it seems so childish and silly.

"It must be something," he countered. "You never do this. I've known you for how many years now? And we've split this place for almost three years. I've never seen you up all night." She looked exhausted.

"It's all right," she said. "I just haven't wanted to go to bed yet."

"I'm your boyfriend, remember?" he said, trying to joke a little. "You have to tell me. That's what couples do."

Connie felt a lump form in her throat. He wasn't really her boyfriend; they were just "rehearsing," as Simon had once called it. Sometimes she forgot, but other times, like now, she was hyper conscious of it. She shook her head. "No, you aren't, not really. But thanks for offering." She turned off the TV. "I'll try going to bed now. There's some leftover pasta in the fridge if you want it. I know it's a strange hour to eat but you didn't have dinner when you got home so late." Berating herself for babbling, Connie made to go into her room.

Simon winced when he realized he'd said the wrong thing, but he couldn't let her go like this. She was obviously upset and he wanted to know why. He caught her hand and pulled her back to the couch. "I'm your friend, Connie, and I've never seen you like this. Come on, what is it?" He put an arm around her.

He nudged her head to rest on his shoulder and began to stroke her hair. It was wavy from being in a braid all day, but felt like silk and smelled faintly of strawberries. He took one of her hands in his and rubbed his thumb over the back, noticing for the first time how soft her skin was. "Talk to me, Connie," he said quietly.

With the comfort of him next to her, Connie knew she would tell him. As with any other situation, she knew he wouldn't laugh at her, or make her feel bad. She just felt embarrassed telling him, although she didn't know quite why. 

"Sometimes I have bad dreams," she said after a while. "About the accident." Simon tightened his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. He leaned back on the couch and pulled her with him so that they lay next to each other. "I get them when I'm stressed," she continued, "and between work and Thanksgiving, I can just feel myself getting worked up."

"It's all right," he said. "I know they must be scary, but they're just dreams." She snuggled closer to him, seeking comfort in warmth and physical contact.

"They're horrible," she said, looking up at him. He saw the unshed tears in her eyes and put both arms around her. "It's all in slow motion," she said, her voice catching a little. Simon rubbed her back. "I see the SUV coming, I try to warn Rachel but I can't talk, then the cars hit and it feels like we're flying and flipping for hours." She couldn't stop the tears. "I feel like I lay there for days, and it hurts so much. It's like no one will find us, and we're all bleeding and Rachel's crying and..." She buried her face in Simon's shoulder and sobbed.

Blinking back a few tears of his own, Simon murmured soothing words and continued to comb his fingers through her hair. He'd never seen her this upset and it made his heart ache. After a few minutes, Connie had herself back under control. 

"I'm sorry," she said. She gave him a shy smile. "I didn't mean to fall apart like that." Her green eyes were bright from the tears.

"It's all right," he told her. "That's not an ordinary nightmare." He didn't tell her that he had occasional dreams about that night as well. They were torture for him because nearly every time, in his dreams, Connie died. Sometimes she'd been thrown from the car; in others, she had a punctured lung after the airbag exploded and broke her ribs; there were more instances, and he awoke from every one in a cold sweat.

"Anyway," she sighed, "that's why I'm still up. I know I'll be exhausted tomorrow, but I can't help it. I don't want to go in there and go to sleep." She unconsciously pressed closer to him. "I've tried sleeping with the light on, and with music, and anything else I can think of, but the dreams just come."

"Here's an idea," said Simon, relishing the feel of her body next to his. Her curves fit against his perfectly. "Why don't you stay in my room?" He held his breath waiting for her response.

"There's no need for that," Connie said. "Besides, you're still exhausted. You need to sleep, too."

Simon realized she'd missed the point of his offer. He tried to phrase it delicately. "What I meant was, why don't you stay in my room -- with me?"

Connie raised up on one elbow and stared at him. "Simon, I --"

He gently interrupted. "I'm not proposing anything untoward, you brazen hussy," he teased. She blushed. "I'm just saying we both need sleep, and you've already told me a dozen reasons why you can't sleep in your own room. So why not stay with me? You won't be alone, and you'll have different surroundings. Maybe that will help. If you do have the nightmare, then I'll be there, okay?" Please, say yes, he begged mentally.

As soon as she'd begun telling him about it, all he could think about was cuddling up with her in his bed and keeping her safe from the demons. Since the night he'd tickled her and imagined that she'd appear that way waking up next to him, he'd been dying to have her do just that. 

Connie looked at him, her brow furrowed. This is not a good idea, she thought. Sleeping with Simon was one of the pipe dreams she kept stashed away in a corner of her mind, along with winning the Olympic gold medal for gymnastics and finding a way to beat her father at chess. These were interesting things that were safe because they were extremely unlikely to happen. 

Every step she took like this, in the name of pretending, would make it that much harder when it ended. Connie knew that. So far, she had rationalized her decisions mostly on the basis of how much easier it would make being home at Thanksgiving. This was different.

Simon broke into her thoughts. "You know, this just popped into my head, but -- what will the sleeping arrangements be when we visit your parents?" He was curious to know if they'd have separate rooms or not. That might affect his plans.

"Oh, I guess... I guess we'll be in the same room," Connie said slowly. "Emily and her husband are coming, and there are only three rooms. She wouldn't want anyone sleeping on the couch, you know how she is." Simon chuckled a little at that. Lydia wasn't exactly obsessive about neatness, but he could just imagine her trying to clean up or cook while Simon was sprawled on the sofa. She'd probably dust him; better yet, cover him with a drop cloth.




Pretending Ch. 01



"Then I guess we'd better get used to sharing a bed," he pointed out. He was pleased he managed to keep his voice even instead of triumphant.

The hell with it, she decided. She was tired of doing this on her own, tired of being scared, and now she had the chance of some comfort. The rest of it, she could deal with later, and at least "later" was a week away. "All right," Connie agreed.

"Come on, then," Simon said, moving to stand up. He held out a hand. "I'm too tired to eat, and I'm sleepy again." Connie nodded and turned off the TV and the living room lights. Enough light came in from the streetlights outside that they could see dimly to go down the hall.

"Your room is still pretty messy," Connie noted as she stood in the doorway. Simon had never been the most organized person. 

"I can find anything I need," he said confidently. He cut a path through the debris on the floor. 

"How about the bed?" she asked dryly.

"Careful, or you'll be sleeping on the floor," he admonished, moving a heap of clothes onto the floor.

"That's okay, I could use the clothes to build a nest," she responded, pointing at the laundry on the floor. Then she wrinkled her nose. "Although it probably wouldn't smell very good." She yelped as Simon grabbed her around the waist and tumbled onto the bed with her.

"That's enough out of you, smartass," he said. He tickled her ribs and she squirmed while laughing. Then he stopped, reached back to turn out the light, and pulled her close. "Good night, sweetheart," he said, and kissed her cheek.

"Good night," Connie said quietly. Her cheek burned where he kissed her and her heart was running a mile a minute. This was most definitely not a good idea, she thought as she tried to calm down to sleep.

x-x-x-x

"Rachel! Rachel, look out!" Connie was shouting and pointing, but nothing was coming out. The SUV loomed larger and larger as it approached from behind. Connie had seen it in the side mirror and watched in horror as it grew and grew, until the grille filled the little glass. Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear, she thought with dread.

Suddenly the little Corolla was in the air. Connie felt her stomach flop as the center of gravity shifted. The horizon swirled as she looked out the windshield, making her dizzy. For ages, the car was almost floating. It would have been pleasant except for the fact that she knew what would happen next. She always knew.

She tried to brace herself, to shift position, but she was frozen. Her legs wouldn't move, nor her arms. With no warning, the car was on the ground. She never felt the change in direction; there was just a loud smack! and the car stopped moving. Pain suffused her and she began to cry. Simon, please, find me, please, hurry. The thought ran through her mind in a loop but she couldn't move again, this time trapped by her seatbelt and the weight of the vehicle. How long would she lay here until someone found her?

Simon woke up blearily. He thought he had heard someone call his name and remembered Connie was next to him. Had she been dreaming about him? He wondered with a mix of hope and guilt. Raising up on one arm, he saw her shaking on the bed, tears running down her face. She was saying his name quietly, pleading, like she was calling for him. She sounded terrified. Oh, God, she's having that dream, he realized.

Sitting up, he tried to gently shake her awake. "Connie, babe, wake up," he said, a hand on her shoulder. When she didn't wake immediately, he began to worry, even though he knew she was only dreaming. "Come on, sweetie, wake up," he said, shaking her a little harder. "It's only a dream, I'm here."

Connie's eyes popped open and she looked around wildly, her breath coming in short gasps. It took a moment for Simon's voice to penetrate her thoughts. "I'm here, sweetie. It's all right," she heard him say. She realized he was running his hand along her arm, and it felt nice. Calming.

"Simon?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper. She focused on him and felt a huge wave a relief wash over her. 

He nodded. "It's over, you were just dreaming." He moved his hand to push some hair back from her eyes, then stroked her cheek gently. "Okay now?" he asked. She nodded, then impulsively threw her arms around his neck, hiding her few remaining tears. He pulled her closer and soothed her.

With Simon's arms around her, and the warmth of his body next to hers, Connie quickly calmed down. She did not, however, let go. This is what it would be like, she thought. If we really were together, we could do this all the time. He'd be here whenever I woke up. I should just tell him... But she knew she wouldn't. Simon was just doing this to help her out. She didn't want to scare him away; if she lost Simon, she didn't know what she would do. She couldn't imagine he'd want to continue splitting an apartment if he knew she had a crush on him. Pretending would have to do.

As Connie calmed down, Simon made no move to release her. He stopped reassuring her, but continued to stroke her back. She fits me, he thought. I could just hold her like this for hours. He wanted to tell her, but wasn't sure. He had sensed that she might return his feelings over the last couple of weeks. At certain times he would catch an expression on her face, or notice her body language, and was fairly sure that she wasn't really pretending at all. Then he would wonder if he was just hoping too much.

At last, Connie's grip on him lessened a bit and he let her fall away just slightly, still keeping his arms around her. She looked up at him, her eyes a bit puffy from crying. Although he couldn't see how green they were in the dark like this, he could imagine.

"Had the dream?" he asked, unnecessarily. She nodded. "I'm sorry," he said, kissing her forehead. "I was hoping you wouldn't." He moved a little and kissed her temple, then her cheek. He knew he should probably stop, but it was too easy, too natural, to keep kissing her.

"It's not your fault," she said. "And it was better, to wake up with you here." She wasn't sure what happened next was intentional, but suddenly they were kissing, like the night he'd tickled her on the couch. Simon had been giving her such sweet, soft kisses, and then she turned her head a little and their lips met. They both stilled for a moment, but then the kiss resumed, with matching passion on both sides.

Bad idea, bad idea, Connie kept thinking, but the thought was swept away by the intensity of Simon's kiss and her reaction to it. She buried her fingers in his hair, making sure he couldn't go too far away. His body felt warm and solid and for the first time in ages she felt safe. Safe and excited at the same time, she realized. Her body was warm, and not because there were too many blankets.

Simon found he could not hold on to a coherent thought, especially when Connie ran her fingers through his hair. He'd never imagined it would feel so good -- so right -- to hold her, to kiss her, to feel her body pressed against his. His hands moved as though under their own control, running through her hair, stroking her back, sliding down over her hip, then back up, under the t-shirt she wore to sleep in.

She gasped and he moaned softly when his hand encountered her bare skin. "Connie," he murmured, "you feel... so amazing." Her reply was lost as his hand slid further up and he kissed her again, urgent and tender at the same time.

Somewhere Connie knew she should stop, but she didn't want to. Simon was making her feel too good. One arm was holding her close as his mouth covered hers, the other was free and stroking her skin, moving a little higher each time until he reached her breast. She couldn't help but freeze for just a moment, and so did he. She didn't stop him and so he gently continued, lightly running his thumb over her nipple.

Dimly, she realized how much her body was responding to his touches, and how she wanted him to feel the same. Her hand started to move down his body until she reached the hem of his shirt. Then she tentatively slid her hand under so that she could feel his skin. He hissed out a breath and moved his lips to her neck. She smiled to herself at his reaction. Fair's fair, she thought.

Simon wanted her very badly. He wanted to kiss her, touch her, feel her shake while he made her come. Her hand on his body was driving him crazy, her touch so soft and a little uncertain. He broke away for just a moment, removing his shirt and hers before she could react, and then carefully pressed her back down on the bed, kissing her all the while. 

"Simon..." she whispered. He kissed her neck, her shoulder and finally took a nipple in his mouth. She arched her back and he couldn't hold back a groan of satisfaction. Her body was beautiful; he loved the way she moved. He imagined how it would feel when they moved together, when he was inside her. He couldn't wait to find out.

Connie could think of nothing but how he was making her feel. When she cleared a little, she moved her hand down until she found him, hard under his shorts. When she rubbed her hand along the material, Simon rested his head on her chest, breathing heavily.

"Stop..." he said hoarsely. He didn't want it to end so soon. Moving his lips back up to meet hers, he reached down to the waistband of her pajama pants and began to push them down. They were barely over her hips when suddenly Connie went still and started shaking her head.

"No, no, no," she said anxiously. He immediately stopped but didn't move. Confused, he wondered what he'd done. His hesitation made it easy for Connie to slip out from under him, but he recovered before she could leave the bed.

Connie tried to free herself, holding back tears. She'd gotten carried away and forgotten about her leg. My alligator skin leg, she thought bitterly. Everything else had fled her mind -- concerns about her weight, about the pretending, about the nightmare -- until Simon had almost bared her leg. Better that she should stop him now, even though she didn't want to, than to have him turn away in surprise and disgust. However, she discovered, Simon wasn't letting her get away.

"Connie, please, calm down," he said. "Please. Tell me what's wrong." He had an idea, but wanted her to tell him. If it was something other than what he thought, he didn't want to say the wrong thing. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to scare you. I just... I mean..." He wasn't sure what to say.

Connie moved a little, attempting half-heartedly to leave again. He held her firmly in place. "It's... my leg," she whispered. "I didn't want you to have to touch it."

"Oh, sweetheart," he said, rolling back so he was on his side and bringing her with him. "I don't care about that. I never have." He let his fingers move through her hair, hoping to calm her and keep her next to him.

"I should go," she said after a few minutes, but she made no move to leave.

"Stay, please," he said softly. "We'll just sleep, I promise." He kissed her forehead. "I like having you here." Connie nodded against his chest. She wanted to stay. Simon found her shirt for her and turned away while she put it on. Then he put his arms around her again.

When he thought she'd fallen asleep, she spoke up again. "Maybe... maybe we should cancel this whole Thanksgiving thing."

His heart caught and he tried to think before answering. After what had just happened, he couldn't let her change her mind. Should I just tell her? He wondered, then decided no. She was still too skittish and might think he was saying it just to make her feel better. "If we do that, your mom will never let you hear the end of it," he said. He hated taking that track, even though he knew it was true.

Connie sighed. He was right. "Okay. I just didn't want... didn't want you to feel obligated or anything."

He squeezed her tightly for a moment. "I don't, I really don't." Connie relaxed, and after a while they both fell asleep again.



Pretending Ch. 02



(c) 2009 All Rights Reserved

Connie woke up slowly, gently urged along by the sunlight peeking through the blinds. She took a moment to orient herself. I don't have piles of books on top of my computer, she thought. Then she remembered where she was and tentatively turned her head. Simon lay behind her, his hand on her waist, sleeping like a log.

Her first instinct was to jump out of the bed, but she quieted herself. That would wake Simon up, and she wasn't sure she was ready for that yet. Instead, she carefully moved his arm and slid out of the bed. He turned over but only to burrow back into the pillow and blanket. She smiled as she left the room, making sure the door didn't slam shut.

Now what? She wondered. Nothing like this had ever happened between them before. There'd been no awkward moments that she could recall, no hugs that went on too long, no almost-kisses, nothing like that. She'd managed to keep her feelings under wraps. But after last night, she wasn't sure she'd be able to much longer. Not when they were planning this charade for the holiday, and not when she'd be sharing a bed with him again.

As she got ready for her shower, she could feel her insecurities rising up again. I do not want to deal with this, she thought despairingly. I can't. My boss wants three projects due when I don't have time for one. Mom has been all over me about Simon. Now this... Stepping under the hot water, she decided she just would have to sort it out in her head and talk later. She just needed to get through Thanksgiving, which mercifully was only five days away, and three of those would be occupied with work.

It was difficult, though, to ignore what had happened. She'd dreamed about it, hoped for it, and then... she'd almost had it. 

x-x-x-x

Simon woke up and out of habit reached out to smack the snooze button on his clock. Gradually, it dawned on him that it had been quiet before he hit it, and was still quiet. Ah, he thought, it's Saturday. Thank heavens for that. He recalled how Friday had worn him out with meetings and deadlines. He was so tired that he'd almost been afraid to drive home. When he did get home, he felt badly that he could barely keep his eyes open before saying good night to Connie.

He had to admit, he was really enjoying being her boyfriend. Pretending, he corrected himself, and sighed when he recalled Connie's words the night before. That led to thoughts of what followed and... wow, what had followed had been great. The feel of her next to him, under him, touching him -- it had driven him crazy. He wanted it again.

That was when he realized Connie wasn't in the bed. Oh, no, he thought, did I just screw it all up? No, he reassured himself after a minute's reflection, he didn't think so. Connie was a fairly early riser, even on weekends, and probably hadn't wanted to wake him after he'd been so exhausted. Would she talk about what happened? He was willing to bet not, at least not right away. 

After analyzing the situation, and what he knew about Connie, he decided it was best to wait before talking, and certainly before confessing his feelings. If he told her now, he was sure that she wouldn't believe him. She would think he was doing it out of obligation, which wasn't true, but it would be hard to convince her. One thing he'd learned during this rehearsal period was that Connie put on a good front of self-confidence, but it wasn't always true. He didn't want to pressure her. 

I'll find the right time, he promised himself. It will have to wait, but I'll find the right time.

x-x-x-x

Thanksgiving seemed to arrive suddenly. They both worked hard Monday through Wednesday as their offices moved to make up for lost time that the days flew by. It seemed to Connie that before she knew it they were in Simon's car, which was larger than hers and more comfortable, and starting on the four-hour drive that would take them to her parents.

The night they'd almost made love never came up again, even though Connie had spent two more nights in Simon's bed. When they came home from work on Tuesday, it was to discover that the ceiling in Connie's room was leaking badly and had soaked the bed. There was a problem with the apartment above theirs and although the superintendent was working on fixing it, her room was unusable. There was an unspoken agreement that nothing besides sleep would happen, and they stuck to it. 

Connie loved sleeping next to him. He made her feel safe, just as she had imagined. She had decided the next day that she would tell him how she felt, but the time had never seemed right. As more time passed, she became less certain about it. She'd been in his bed, letting him hold her. They had been stressed, both of them, and it was only natural -- wasn't it? -- that in those circumstances, they would turn to each other for physical comfort. Comfort, she decided, was probably exactly what Simon had been offering, and she left it at that.

Simon wondered what Connie was thinking, but didn't ask her, as he was pondering a few things himself. Although they had both avoided discussing the previous Friday night, there had -- amazingly -- been no tension between them. Mostly there was no time for tension; neither of them had gotten home before seven for the past three nights. 

Mostly, Simon had sensed that Connie needed to think about it before she could talk about it. So he didn't press her. We have a few days with no work ahead of us, he told himself. I'll take her for a walk, or something, just the two of us, and then we'll be able to discuss it. Simon hoped that if they were doing something like that, just walking, then she'd see that he was quite serious about loving her. He was afraid that if he said it while he was hugging her -- or more, should more happen again -- she wouldn't believe him.

I'll be so glad when this game is over, he thought to himself. Pretending had mostly been his idea, he knew, even though Connie had actually made the suggestion. He, however, had pressed the issue and convinced her, so he felt like the fact that they were at this impasse was his fault. Not for much longer, he promised himself. 

x-x-x-x

"Connie!" Emily shouted at her sister happily while sitting on the front porch. Connie grinned as she stretched. She hadn't seen Emily in months. She got a shock, though, when Emily stood up -- Emily was pregnant!

"Em!" she called, running over to hug her sister. They embraced, then Connie stepped back, looking at Emily's slightly rounded figure. "When did this happen? How far along are you? Why didn't you tell me?"

Emily laughed. "Slow down, sis. I'm about five months along."

"So why didn't you say anything?" They linked arms as they walked into the house and sat on a couch. "Is everything all right?" Connie asked concernedly.

"Actually, it is now," said Emily. "I'm sorry, Connie. It wasn't that I didn't want you to know. There were just some complications at the beginning, and then I had to have an amnio and we were worried about the results. We didn't tell anyone except Mom and Dad and John's parents before that. But the results came back fine and now we're getting all excited." Emily fairly beamed.

"Oh, I'm so glad everything's all right," Connie said with relief. "Congratulations! Boy or girl?"

"We don't know yet," said Emily. "We can't decide whether to find out. I'll show you the ultrasound pictures later. I just had a checkup a couple of days ago."

"This is so great," Connie said happily. "I can't believe I'll be an aunt!"

"Will Simon be an uncle?" Emily teased. Connie looked at her, puzzled.

"Well, honorary, I guess," Connie said slowly. "What do you mean?"

"Sweetie, I'm the one who's supposed to be a little slow these days," said Emily. She winked at her sister. "Mom told me about you and Simon -- and it's about time, I say. You guys have danced around it for years. I'm glad you finally got together."

"Ah," said Connie. She hadn't told Emily anything about the arrangement. At the moment, they were alone, but she could hear Simon and her parents outside. Emily's husband must have run an errand for their mom, as Connie hadn't seen him or their car. "The thing is --" Connie started, but before she could continue, her parents and Simon came in the house.

"Where's my mouse?" their father's voice boomed. Edward Davetsky was a large man who put one in mind of Santa Claus, despite looking nothing like the traditional images. He was tall and lean but it was his spirit, Connie thought, that brought Father Christmas to mind. He called Connie his mouse because she'd been so small when she was born. 

"In here, Grampa," she teased. She stood up and ran back into the foyer, Emily following more slowly. Her parents stood there, with Simon behind them.

"Well, come on, hug your old man," he instructed with a grin. Connie did, tightly. She missed her parents, and it seemed especially acute around holidays. 

"It's good to see you, hon," said her mother. The girls looked like an exact cross between their parents. Black hair from their father, green eyes from their mother, and height fixed firmly in the middle.

"You, too, Mom," Connie said. Her mother smiled happily and held her arms open. Connie hugged her and stepped back next to Simon.

"Wow, Emily," Simon exclaimed. "Look at you. How did you get that basketball to stay put under that shirt?" He grinned at her.

Emily came over and hit him playfully on the arm, then gave him a quick hug. "Double-sided adhesive tape, nosy. How else?"

Simon laughed. "Seriously, congratulations!" He put an arm around Connie's waist, almost unconsciously. 

"Thanks," said Emily. She glanced quickly at Connie, who looked slightly uncomfortable. Well, perhaps she wasn't comfortable with affection in public. What was she going to say before they were interrupted, Emily wondered. She smiled inwardly. Simon would be good for Connie. You can tell by the way he stands near her, Emily thought. A little protective, but not overbearing. He's there for her if she needs him, but he won't get in the way.

"Now, let's get these bags up to your room and then you can help me with dinner," said Lydia briskly. 

"How was the trip?" her father asked, grabbing one suitcase. Simon grabbed another one and a smaller travel bag. They started up the stairs in a line, Emily remaining behind when her cell phone rang.

"Good, thanks," said Simon. Connie nodded in agreement.

"We left early and there was hardly any traffic," she said. "I guess everyone did all their driving yesterday." Connie and Simon had decided to leave early Thanksgiving morning, as they were so tired from work and didn't want to fight the onslaught of holiday travelers. It had worked out well. They'd managed to leave before eight, stopped once for restrooms and food, and had arrived before one o'clock.

"You made good time," said her mother. "Dinner will be around four. I've invited Sophia, from down the street."

"Oh, that's nice," said Connie, dropping her bag on a chair in the bedroom. "I haven't seen her for ages. How's her son, Ben?"

"Ben will be here, too," her father said, his voice oddly flat. Connie studied him curiously for a moment, but his face was unreadable. She shrugged to herself, figuring she had simply misread his response.

"I thought Ben was overseas," Connie said. "The last I heard his unit had deployed to Iraq."

"He was injured," said Lydia. Connie gasped. 

"What happened?" she asked. "Is he all right?"

"He is," her mother assured her. "But he had to be discharged. His unit was ambushed." Connie glanced from her mother and then to her father, looking for more details.

"He lost an arm, Connie," her father said gently. "It was an IED. Otherwise he's fine, and he's bearing it very well. Insists on being called 'Lefty,' actually." Connie giggled. That sounded like something Ben would do.

"You'll like Ben," she said to Simon, who had laid his suitcase on a small table by the bed. "He's a lot of fun."

"I'm looking forward to meeting him," Simon said. This is nice, he thought. So far it was all going well. Lydia hadn't said anything to hurt Connie's feelings, the ride had gone well, and he was glad to have a change of scenery. With an early dinner, perhaps he'd be able to steal Connie away before it grew too late. He supposed he could wait until tomorrow, but wanted to talk to her sooner.

x-x-x-x

Connie had been right, Ben was a lot of fun and so was his mother, Sophia. Dinner was a lot more comfortable than it would have been with his family, Simon thought. Especially with whatever disagreement he was having with his brother. He honestly wasn't sure what had started it. Politics, probably, he decided. He and Jason were frequently opposite on issues, and although Simon tried not to talk about it too much, sometimes he couldn't help it. 

Jason tended to take a difference of opinion as a personal offence. Presumably Simon had questioned Jason's position on something, and Jason had responded by ceasing communication. He generally got over it, but Simon had learned the best thing to do was apologize quickly -- which he had -- and then wait for Jason. Ah, family, he thought, all dysfunctional in their own way, like Tolstoy said.

After the eating was done and most of the dishes cleared away, Sophia and Ben said their good-byes. Simon felt his heart rate speed up slightly as he began to figure out how to pry Connie away for a talk. His hopes were somewhat dashed when Lydia asked Connie and Emily to go with her for a short visit to another neighbor down the street.

"The poor Fishburns," Lydia said. They were an elderly couple, with typical health issues. "He fell and hurt himself, although thank heavens he didn't break a hip. But he needs a walker for the moment, and when her arthritis acts up, she can barely hold a cup of water. Come with me, girls, and help me take them some leftovers, will you?"

"Sure, Mom," said Connie. She grabbed the opportunity to postpone talking to Simon. It was silly, she knew, but her nerves were getting the better of her. The women packed some turkey and side dishes into some plastic containers and put them in a cooler to take down. 

"I'll carry it," said Connie. She teased Emily, "You shouldn't carry anything heavy in your condition."

"Oh, don't you start," groaned Emily, rolling her eyes. "If John had his way, I'd be on bed rest."

"Don't knock it," said her husband. "I'd stay with you." He came over and put his arms around her, nuzzling her neck. Connie quashed a pang of jealousy.

"I'll be back soon," she said to Simon, and gave him a shy kiss. She'd never kissed him in front of anyone else. 

"I'll be here," he said. "I'm going to clean up the table with John and your dad when we play poker." He gave her a quick squeeze, wishing he had time for more.

"Ha," said Emily. "Where were you when we really had to clean the table?" Her husband laughed.

The women set off and were quickly at the Fishburns'. Connie and Emily were very fond of them. They had been surrogate grandparents to every kid on the block while the girls were growing up. After a bit, Emily proposed that she and Connie return while Lydia visited for a while longer. Connie suspected Emily was using the pregnancy as an excuse to get her alone. She was right.

Emily grabbed her sister's arm as they started walking. "Okay, Connie, what's going on?"

"What do you mean?" Connie wasn't trying to play ignorant, but she wasn't sure what Emily was getting at.

"You started to say something earlier, when I remarked about you and Simon," Emily reminded her. "What was it?"

Connie sighed. "It's going to sound silly." Emily shrugged. "Well, you see, we're just... pretending."

Emily stopped and stared at her. "What are you talking about?"

"I talked to Mom about three weeks ago," said Connie, resuming their walk. "She was pushing me about the last guy I saw, his name was Ron." She told Emily what Ron had said, and Emily's eyes narrowed.

"Jerk," said Emily.

"Yep," said Connie. "Too bad I never see it soon enough." She continued before her sister could interrupt. "Anyway, Simon and I were talking about the holiday, and I said he should pretend to be my boyfriend, to get Mom off my back for a while. I was kidding, I swear!" She held her hands up to ward off protests. "Honestly, Em, I didn't mean it. But then Simon said he'd do it and then... well, here we are." She shrugged and looked away.

"It sounds nuts," Emily said, "but there's more, right? You sound like there's more." Like Simon, she knew the signs when Connie was trying to avoid a subject. "Come on, tell me."

Connie sighed and kicked a rock on the sidewalk. "It was going fine. We were 'practicing.' Simon called it 'rehearsing.' We went on dates and acted like a real couple. Then a few nights ago, I was afraid I was going to have a nightmare." She described Simon's offer to sleep together, and what had almost happened, in broad strokes. 

"You're adults, you know," said Emily. She kept Connie walking past their house. This was obviously a conversation in need of more distance. "There's nothing wrong with what you did."

"I know," said Connie. "It's just... well, I guess it's two things. First, I freaked out about my leg."

"You really have to let that go," Emily interrupted gently. "Simon is not the type of guy to care about that."

"Yeah, I know," Connie agreed. "He even said so. That's totally on me. But the other thing is..." she swallowed. "I love him, Em. This whole time, it's been fun and killing me at the same time. I know I need to tell him, but I'm so afraid he doesn't feel the same, and then everything will change. He's been my best friend for ages. What do I do?"

"You tell him," said her older sister. Emily was never one for hemming and hawing over an issue. She looked at, saw a course of action, and took it. "You have to take the chance, Connie. It's stupid not to." They stopped and she studied her sister, seeing the full extent of Connie's apprehension for the first time. "Besides," Emily continued, "I really don't think you have anything to worry about."

"What?" said Connie.

Emily laughed. "I may be pregnant, but I'm not blind, Connie. Simon's got it bad for you, he has for a while. I saw the way he looked at you. That's not someone pretending."

"You really think so?" Of course she does, Connie thought. Emily didn't say things she didn't mean. She wasn't tactless, but she wouldn't offer false hope in this situation.

"I know it's hard," said Emily gently. "I know you're afraid. But you have to try. I really, really think it will work out for you. You just have to take the chance. Talk to him. Soon, tonight if you can."

"I want to," said Connie. "I'm just not sure we'll be able to tear him away from his poker game." She gave her sister a tentative grin. Emily had made her feel better. She was still nervous, but not as much.

"Are you kidding?" Emily asked, turning back around so they could walk to the house. "John will mop up with him. Simon won't know what happened."

x-x-x-x

Emily proved prophetic. Despite Simon's grandiose claims, John had wiped out both him and Edward in a few short hands. He was more than happy to see Emily and Connie return. Lydia came in a few moments later, and headed into the kitchen to make coffee and tea to go with their pumpkin pie. Overstuffed from dinner, there had been unanimous agreement to save the pie until it could be properly enjoyed.

John pulled Emily to the sofa and refused to let her go, so Connie went to help her mother.

"Things going well between you and Simon?" asked Lydia.

Connie nodded, her guard up. She wasn't sure how to handle these questions, so she needed to answer carefully. "Yes, actually. It's been very nice." That much was true.




Pretending Ch. 02



"It seemed rather sudden, though," said Lydia. "I mean, you've shared the apartment for so long but nothing's happened before." She stopped and looked at her daughter, brushed blonde hair back from her face. "Has it?"

"What?" asked Connie, startled. "No, nothing before. We were just... I don't know. Just talking one night and we decided to take a chance on it." Okay, that's a half-truth, Connie comforted herself. We were talking. And I will take a chance on something.

"Ben's nice, don't you think?" Her mother changed the subject abruptly. "He's handled his injury so well."

"He seemed in good spirits about it," said Connie warily. Where was this going?

"I always thought you and Ben would make a good couple," her mother said. "Especially now."

"Why now?" asked Connie. She and Ben hadn't been close, but they'd been friends. She'd never had any interest in dating him, but he wasn't a bad guy.

"Well, you know," said Lydia, reaching for a tray. "His injury, your injury. You both must know what it's like to go through something difficult like that. That's not an experience everyone shares."

"Um, yeah," said Connie, unsure what to say to that. She had an ugly suspicion where the conversation was heading, and hoped she was wrong. She took some spoons out of the drawer, slowly, trying to concentrate.

"Simon is very handsome," her mother commented. What is it with the non sequiturs? Connie wondered in frustration. 

Out loud she said, "Yes, he is. I've always thought so."

"Do you really think you'll have some pie?" her mom asked. "I mean, you must be watching your weight more than ever now."

"What do you mean?" Connie asked. 

"Well, Simon, of course," said her mother, taking down dessert plates and laying them on the tray. "You want to look your best for him, don't you?" 

"He likes me the way I am," Connie managed to sputter out. 

"Of course, he does, dear," said Lydia. "But it never hurts to be in shape. Women do a lot to keep men happy, you know. I go to the gym every day to keep fit for your father. Clothes, too. We should go shopping while you're here." She poured cream from a carton into a pitcher and set it on the tray.

"Right," said Connie. The implications were making her feel ill. You're not pretty enough for Simon, her mother was saying. Better dress the part if you don't want to lose him.

"I think long dresses are back in style," Lydia went on. "And I've seen some lovely slacks and outfits in the stores. I know you don't go in for short styles, and I understand." Connie, near tears, said nothing.

She doesn't know, Connie thought desperately. She doesn't know how hurtful this sounds. It's twisted, but she's just saying these things because she thinks they'll help me. She clung to those thoughts while getting out dessert forks for the pie.

"Ben doesn't strike me as the type who cares about those things," said Lydia. "He seems very laid-back, very accepting of things. Of course, I'm sure being in a war zone gives you a perspective on things that the average person doesn't get."

"Knock it off, Mom, for God's sake!" Emily's voice startled both of them and they spun around.

"Emily!" said her mother in shock.

"Can't you see how much you're hurting Connie's feelings?" Emily demanded, walking into the kitchen. She tried to keep her voice level. "What is it with you, Mom? Simon cares about her, and she cares about him. There's no need for Connie to change or hide anything about herself." Emily had heard the better part of the conversation and gotten progressively angrier. As always, Connie had tried to roll with the punches, but for Emily, it had become too much.

"Emily," said her mother calmly, "I've been around longer. You two were always looking through rose-colored glasses. I've seen how things work. People with figures like Connie -- and me -- have a harder time than more slender people. People with visible disfigurements also have difficulties, let's not pretend they don't."

"Connie has a scar on her leg from an accident, Mom," snapped Emily. Her eyes, green like Connie's but lighter, were nearly sparking in anger. "She's hardly the elephant man. And while she may not be a size two, she's very pretty and Simon loves her for it. It's also insulting to Ben," Emily continued. "He may have lost an arm but he's got no less right to happiness than anyone else. Whether they have scars or not."

"I never said otherwise," Lydia pointed out, her voice level but heated. Her eyes were narrowed, but she was keeping calm. Still, it was obvious she and her older daughter were ready to keep going at it.

"Just let it go, Em," Connie finally spoke up. "It's all right. Let's just go eat. Please, the guys are waiting." The other two women stared at each other for a moment longer, then nodded wordlessly. Emily went to round up the men, and Connie and her mother arranged the food and dishes on trays to carry in.

"Connie," said Lydia, "you know --"

"Don't, Mom," said Connie softly. She sighed and then turned to look at her mother. "I know you probably don't realize it, Mom, but when you say things like that, it really hurts my feelings."

"I'm only --" Lydia tried to say, but Connie shook her head.

"I know," said Connie. "You're only trying to help. You're only saying these things because you care. I understand. The problem is, they don't help, and I don't know if you understand." Lydia stood silently. 

"How do you think I felt," Connie asked, "knowing that you were trying to get Ben and me together, when Simon was sitting right there?" Her temper was rising but she held it in check. Angry words wouldn't help anything. "Knowing that you think I'm not good enough for Simon? That he'll drop me for a prettier girl?" Connie shook her head sadly. "How do you think it feels, Mom, to know that you think I'm just not good enough?"

"That's not what I think, sweetie," Lydia said quietly. "I'm just trying to protect you. Simon is a wonderful man, we've always liked him. But sometimes, things just don't work out."

Connie sighed again. This was useless. She loved her mother, but this was the last time she would have this discussion. "Please, I don't want to talk about it any more," she said. Lydia nodded and they took the food out.

x-x-x-x

Simon could tell something was up. Emily came out to announce dessert, and although she was friendly enough about it, she seemed disturbed by something. Connie and Lydia brought out the pie, coffee, tea and plates and laid them on the table. Neither said anything. Something's been slightly off all evening, he reflected. 

Dinner had been delicious, and they'd all chatted and had a good time. Ben was a nice guy, and they had a mock serious argument on the merits of the Mets versus the Yankees, and then about the National and American Leagues in general. Simon had noticed, though, how Lydia had taken any opportunity to get Ben and Connie talking together. That had made him not a little jealous, although he didn't say anything. Still, he thought it was rude, to be encouraging someone's girlfriend to pay attention to another man when her boyfriend was right there.

Connie and Ben had noticed it, too. They rolled their eyes and chatted when directed, but would soon fall back to previous conversations, usually Ben with Connie's father, and Connie with Emily. Did Lydia not think he should be with Connie? he wondered. Had Ben and Connie ever been an item? He didn't think so; Connie never mentioned it, and he was sure she would have.

At one point, as they were relaxing and waiting for dessert, Emily extracted herself from John and went to the kitchen for some water. He'd heard some raised voices after that but couldn't make out words. Then Emily had gathered them up for dessert. As they sat at the table, there was a definite undercurrent of tension.

Connie sipped at her tea and picked at her piece of pie. Normally she loved pumpkin pie -- well, most any pie, really. But the conversation with her mother had killed her appetite. It seemed like every insecurity she ever had, and some she didn't know of, were eating her alive. Funny, she thought, how we grow up, but in some ways, we're still the little kid looking for approval.

She looked over at Simon, who gave her a smile and squeezed her hand. The little gesture made her feel better, and gave her a bit more courage. She was torn between believing Emily and believing her mother. She wanted to believe her sister. Out of habit, it seemed she was falling for what her mother said. Not fair, she thought. Not fair at all.

Then she forced herself out of her thoughts. It was a holiday, she was with family for the first time in a while, and Simon was there. Even if it was just pretending, it was good to be with him. 

Edward made a remark about babies, and the talk turned to baby names, room colors and baby necessities. The tension seemed to dissipate a bit, if not entirely, and soon they were all yawning.

"Well, this baby is wearing me out already," said Emily. "I'm going to bed." She stood and John rose to join her. They said their good nights and went upstairs.

Connie saw that her parents looked beat. Her mom had been cooking a lot of the day, and her father had been running errands. "Why don't you two go up?" Connie said. "I'll take care of these dishes. I'm not quite tired yet."

Simon raised an eyebrow at that, not sure he believed her. 

"Are you sure, hon?" asked her mother. "You could leave them until the morning. They aren't going anywhere, after all." Connie recognized the peace offering.

"No, it's okay, Mom, really," she said. "It'll be nicer for you to wake up to a clean kitchen. Besides, you did all the cooking. I can at least clean up."

"Well, thanks, sweetie," said Lydia. "I won't look a gift horse in the mouth." She came over and hugged her daughter. "I love you, Connie. I'm so glad you came home."

"Me, too," Connie said. Her dad kissed her on the cheek and they went to their room.

"So, looks like it's just you and me," Simon said.

"Great," said Connie, "you can help with the dishes." She smiled and started piling plates on the trays. Simon helped and they took them into the kitchen. Connie loaded what she could into the dishwasher, but washed the china plates by hand.

"You know, we really need to talk," said Simon when they were finished. He caught her hand in his. "I've been wanting to talk all day, but we've been busy."

"I know," said Connie. "I've wanted to talk to you, too. Let's go upstairs, okay? I want a quick shower first."

"Okay," said Simon. He stared at her for a moment, and Connie was sure he would kiss her. Then he stepped back and said, "Go on, I'll come up when you're done." Connie nodded, then started up the steps. She put her fingers over her mouth, imagining the kiss she hadn't received.

x-x-x-x

Connie let the water run down on her from the shower head after she'd finished. The hot water felt wonderful after such a long day. She turned off the water, then wrapped her hair in one towel and grabbed another for her body. While she'd been in there, she'd gone back over what Emily had said. Her sister was right. She needed to tell him, and tell him now. She tucked in the corner of the towel and stepped quietly into the hallway, then tiptoed down the hall to her room.

Connie nearly shrieked when she found Simon in the room. She hadn't thrown on a robe because she assumed he'd still be downstairs, listening for the shower and then giving her time to dry and dress. For a moment, she couldn't say anything. She watched him watching her, then saw his eyes move downward. Suddenly she was mortified; although the towel covered her completely, her scar was visible. And Simon was looking at it.

Simon studied the scar she'd unintentionally revealed. It wasn't so bad, he thought. It ran from just above her ankle all the way up her leg, the top part on her thigh hidden under her towel. It reminded him slightly of a rope, but otherwise it just looked like a thick line. It had faded some, he figured, because it was almost a shiny pink as opposed to a red or dark pink. He remembered getting his appendix out and the way the scar had first looked. Years later, it was smaller and had turned to the same light shade as hers.

Connie made a strangled sound in her throat and Simon yanked his eyes back up to her face. He felt terrible when he saw her blush with embarrassment. There was no reason for it.

"Connie," he said, taking a step towards her. She shook her head and tried to press herself into the wall.

"Please," she said, her voice tight. "I need... I need to get dressed."

"Connie," he said, "you -- we -- can't keep running away like this. We have to talk." He kept his voice even and comforting as he stood before her.

"What's to talk about?" she asked, her shoulders slumping. Now that he'd seen it, he'd never be interested in her again, she was sure. It's good we're only pretending, she thought. If it had been for real and he told me he didn't want me, I don't know if I could take it. 

"What happened last Friday, for one thing," he said. 

"That was... an accident," she said, staring at the floor. "A nice accident, but we both know it didn't mean anything... more than that. You were trying to comfort me, and I appreciated it. I still do."

Simon was silent, watching her. She didn't really think that, he was sure. She was... well, he didn't know what she was doing. Staving off embarrassment? Letting him down easy? Avoiding her feelings? 

"How do we know that?" he asked quietly, taking another step closer. "You haven't asked me. I haven't asked you. So how do we know?"

Connie stood silently. She had no idea what to say. She was battling two competing impulses. One urged her to be honest with Simon, the other called for more caution. But was there anything left to be cautious about? Was there any going back to their former friendship after what had happened? Suddenly she realized that Simon had not agreed with her "accident" statement. Instead, he had questioned it. The glimmer of hope she'd had in the shower resurfaced.

As she stood there, Simon remained quiet, wanting to put his arms around her but fearing it was the wrong thing to do. An accident? Did she really think that? If it was an accident, he thought dryly, it was a mutual accident.

"What happened in the kitchen?" he asked, trying to break the tension. "What did your mom say?"

"Oh." Connie was startled at the change in subject. "She, um..." She took a deep breath and gave him a shaky smile. "She pointed out some of my flaws, and I think was trying to prepare me for the idea that I'm not good enough for you." She tried to joke, but her smile was gone when she finished speaking.

"What?!" Simon gripped her shoulders. His voice was quiet but inwardly he was seething. How could Lydia think that, let alone say it?

"She invited Ben here because she thought since I had my scar and he'd lost his arm, we'd have something in common," Connie said. She couldn't keep the anger out of her voice entirely. "Imperfect people, perfect for each other, I guess."

Simon was quiet again, pacing the floor a little. Connie clutched at her towel but didn't move. When he stopped and faced her again, she was struck by the intensity in his eyes.

"Connie, I don't want to pretend any more," he said. "It's not working."

Connie nodded. Of course. Emily had been wrong. "All right," she said, surprised she could speak. "I'll just throw some clothes on and go downstairs. I can sleep on the couch and get up before Mom does. She'll never know."

"Why would you do that?" Simon asked, nonplussed.

"It's easier," she said. She glanced at him but looked away quickly. "But, um, I think maybe we should keep things up for the next couple of days, at least during the day, okay? I just couldn't take explaining things."

"No, Connie," he said, placing his hands on her shoulders. "You misunderstood me."

"You said you didn't want to keep pretending," she said, puzzled. His hands felt warm and slightly rough on her bare shoulders. She tried to focus on the words instead.

"That's right," he confirmed. She still looked confused. He smiled gently. "I want to do this for real, Connie. I want to be your boyfriend for real."

"You do?" she asked in a whisper.

He nodded. "I should have said it a long, long time ago. I especially should have said something after last weekend. I was afraid you would think I was only saying it out of obligation, so I held off. I'm sorry." He raised his hand to her face, and gently stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I love you, Connie. Very much."

"I love you, too," she said. "I wanted to say it, but I was afraid of messing up what we had."

"I had the same feeling," Simon said, laughing softly. "God, we're a couple of idiots, aren't we?"

Connie nodded, "I guess so." Then she got nervous again. "You're not... bothered?" she asked, gesturing at her leg. "By this?"

"Lord, no," he said. He leaned in and kissed her. He meant it to be gentle and reassuring, but suddenly he was holding her tightly, kissing her deeply. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead on hers. "I was so scared that night. I thought you would die. I had nightmares about it for years. The only thing that says to me is that you're alive and I should never take you for granted."

Connie was silent as she stood with her arms around him. She was trembling with relief and happiness. Simon loved her, just as she'd always hoped.

"I think we should finish what we started, don't you?" Simon asked. His eyes were nearly black with desire, and Connie loved how he looked at her. She nodded.

"I'll lock the door and get the light," she said. Simon heard the click of the lock, and watched her turn out the overhead light. One small reading lamp on a nightstand provided soft lighting.

"Come here," Simon said before she could turn that one off. She did, and he could tell she was nervous. He took her hands and turned her so that she faced him with her back against the wall. "I love you, Connie," he said, and found her lips with his.

Connie felt herself melting into his arms. She was emotionally exhausted and was content to let him hold her up. It felt good to be held, to be wanted. She parted her lips and sighed as his tongue dove past them. She moved one hand to his face, gently tracing his jaw and feeling the slight stubble that meant he needed to shave.

She hadn't realized at first that he was no longer standing in front of her. He had left her lips to kiss her neck, her shoulder, and then her chest above the towel. Now he was kneeling in front of her. She felt his hand on her leg and instinctively jerked away, but he put his hands on her hips and held her in place.

"Hush," he soothed. "It's all right." He stared into her green eyes, which were wide with surprise, and slowly ran his hand up her leg, over the scar. She watched him, mesmerized. She could only feel it in certain spots; there were a lot of dead nerves. Still, she couldn't believe he was touching her there.

When he lowered his head and kissed her leg, starting at the knee and slowly moving up her thigh, tracing the outline of the scar, she gasped and closed her eyes. 

"I told you," he said, raising his hands so he could remove the towel. She opened her eyes and met his, unnerved by the desire she saw. "It doesn't bother me." The towel fell and he kissed her stomach, moving down until he could slip his tongue between her legs. He moaned softly as he tasted her. So sweet, he thought. He pulled back and looked up at her. "You're so lovely." Then he went back to using his tongue to tease her, feeling her body heat up the more he did.

Connie closed her eyes and lowered a trembling hand to his head. No one had ever done this for her, certainly not so well. When he brought his hand up to touch her as well, she couldn't help but gasp. She lost track of everything, caught up in the sensations he was wringing from her body. His tongue and fingers worked in perfect concert and she whispered his name as she came. He held her up as her legs trembled.




Pretending Ch. 02



Holding her steady, he stood up, trailing kisses back up her body. When he was standing, he wrapped his arms around her. She rested against him, trying to steady her breathing.

"I think you should take these off," she said when she recovered, moving to unbutton his shirt. Simon complied as quickly as he could, then pulled her to the bed with him. He bit back a cry as her hand traveled over his chest, her fingers tracing gentle circles.

"I have been dying for you to touch me," he said when he trusted his voice again. Even then, it was rough.

"Last time, you said stop," she teased, moving her hand down lower and wrapping around him. He jerked involuntarily, then rose up on one arm and kissed her hard. He wanted to feel every inch of her warm, soft body pressed against him.

"Last time, I wasn't sure there would be a next time," he said. Her hand moved slowly up and down. Simon bit back a groan as she kissed his neck, every so often letting her tongue peek through to find a sensitive spot on his skin. As she moved to his chest, he hissed out a breath and held her sides as he lay back on the bed.

Connie kissed and nipped her way down his body, loving how strong he felt to her touch. She traced her fingernails lightly over his sides and felt goosebumps rise on his skin. She smiled to herself when he gave a wordless cry as she took him in her mouth. 

Torture, Simon thought. She's torturing me. It was all he could think as Connie's mouth covered him, as her tongue slid up and down. He gripped the sheets to keep from grabbing her. After what seemed like hours, he had to make her stop. As she moved back up to look at him, he managed to focus and took her face in his hands. "I meant it, Connie. I love you. I should have told you and avoided this whole ridiculous pretending thing."

"Well, let's pretend it was real the whole time," she suggested. She slid her hand back down, found him still hard, and smiled as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back. Then she was serious. "I wasn't always pretending."

Simon opened his eyes. "Neither was I." He let Connie touch him for a few more minutes, then stopped her hand.

"This is what I really wanted to do last week," he said. He rolled so that she was under him and slid inside. They both stilled, savoring the feeling of their first time. Simon kissed her cheek and nuzzled her ear as he began moving his hips gently. Connie matched his movements.

"I love the way you move," he said. He kept his pace as steady as he could, and was unable to stop dropping kisses on her face and neck. 

Connie couldn't talk, too overwhelmed by the emotional and physical sensations washing over her. Simon whispered something and almost before she realized it, he had carefully rolled to his back, keeping her with him.

"You're absolutely beautiful," he said. He ran his hands up her sides and cupped her breasts. She gasped his name as his fingers played over her nipples, biting her lip once more. He didn't think he had ever seen anything as lovely as Connie as she looked down at him. Finally he could take no more and he muffled his cries of release against her shoulder.

They curled up in the bed, awake but companionably quiet. Connie occasionally stroked his arm, if only to confirm to herself that he was really there. More importantly, that he was going to stay there.

"We'll have to rearrange things when we get home," Simon said sleepily, stroking her hair.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"We have to decide whose room we'll sleep in," he said. "I'm sure not sleeping without you again."

"My room," she said with no hesitation. Then she giggled. "You can drop some clothes on the floor if it makes you feel more comfortable." She stifled a squeal as he tickled her ribs.

"So, what shall we do tomorrow?" Simon asked around a yawn.

"I don't know," she said, teasing. "I have to wash my hair." She expected to be tickled again, but he surprised her with a deep kiss.

"That's fine," he said, settling back and pulling up the covers. "As long as I get to help."

x-x-x-x

Once again, Connie tried to warn Rachel about the speeding car. 

Once again, Rachel panicked and the car went flying. 

Once again, the car splatted onto the pavement, upside down, pinning Connie under metal and plastic. Pain started in her back and rapidly radiated through her body. She couldn't stop the tears.

Simon, she tried to call out but her voice wasn't even a whimper. Simon, please, find me. Help me. Please.

She lay there, crying silently, but something was different. She heard voices approaching and felt her fear abating, just slightly. Then someone took her hand. She opened her eyes and turned her head carefully.

"It's all right," said Simon, squeezing her hand gently. "I'm here."

Connie smiled and snuggled closer to him.



Pretending it's You



Hi ~

How are you?  I hope you are great!  I have been sick since Valentine's Day so I am so, so, so sorry I haven't written back to you.  I am working on it, and I swear I'm not ignoring you!  And if you think I missed your message or just loved my adorable audio I'd love to hear from you!  

You are the best listeners ever!!  Thank you for being so awesome!

XXOO
Angel

* * * * *

Click Here to listen. (16.5 min/mp3)

* * * * *



Pretending to be Gay for Nude Day



This is a Nude Day contest story. Please vote.

Homeless man pretends he's gay to live in a gay community because he has nowhere else to go.

*

Stephen and Hal entered the Nude Day party naked. With more than 400 naked men in attendance and pricks and asses everywhere, everyone was naked. It was the gated condo communities yearly Nude Day celebration.

The last place he wanted to be or be seen, Hal agreed to make an appearance at the Nude Day party to appease his best friend, Stephen. A gay man only community, the other residences suspected that he wasn't one of them, a gay man. To prove once and for all to all the other residence of the gay community that he was gay and not a straight man hiding out, until he got his life together, which he was, of course, he pretended to be gay for Nude Day.

As expected Hal went to the bar and ordered two beers and Stephen went to the buffet to fill his plate and a plate for Hal with food. Hal handed Stephen a beer and Stephen handed Hal his food. An obvious difference between the two men, Hal surveyed the crowd of naked men from the waist up and Stephen surveyed the crowd of naked men from the waist down.

"I bet he's not even gay," said Anthony loud enough to be overhead. Always at the ready to start trouble, he approached the two men looking from Hal to Stephen and back to Hal again.

"Trust me, he's gay," said Stephen overhearing what the troublemaking Anthony had said, but still paying more attention to his cocktail sausage than he was to Anthony.

Stephen didn't much like Anthony. No one like Anthony. He was an asshole. He was one of those angry gay men always looking to pick a fight and scurrying away after his mean words stoked a fire that was too hot for him to handle. 

Stephen knew that Anthony was determined to get a reaction from him and from Hal, no doubt, and he wasn't going to so much as give him the consideration of a comment. If it was up to Hal, after Stephen told him how much he hated Anthony, he'd just as soon as punch him out rather than talk to him. Afraid his friend was going to punch Anthony in the face, Stephen watched Hal cringe when Anthony fondled, caressed, and squeezed Hal's ass, before reaching around and taking a hold of his cock and slowly stroking it, while fondling the head of his penis with his fingers.

"Your behavior is inappropriate Anthony. You're being so rude," said Stephen without looking up from his plate of food. "You'd better get your claws off my boyfriend, before I scratch out your eyes, bitch."

"If he was gay, he'd have an erection right now. Every gay man gets hard, when I touch them in the way I'm touching Hal now," said Anthony leaning in to stick his tongue in Hal's ear, while looking from Stephen to Hal and back to Stephen.

"That just proves to me, Anthony, that Hal is faithful to me and not interested in a sleazebag like you. Not every man wants to be with a whore," said Stephen taking the last bite of his sausage and slowly chewing, while making eye contact with him before speaking.

"I'm not a whore," said Anthony. "I'm just a discriminating gay man that needs to try a selection of meat, before settling on the one I want," he said still holding onto Hal's cock.

Taking the time to brush the crumbs from his bulbous, naked stomach, Stephen put his empty plate down, but held the cocktail fork in his hand, as if it was a knife, while giving Anthony a look that would make any man reach for a gun.

"If you don't unhand my boyfriend, I'm going to kick you in the balls so hard that your cock will come up through your mouth and your mother will feel the pain in her grave. Then, when you fall to the floor in pain, I'm going to take this cocktail fork, pick out your right eyeball and eat it.

"Bitch," said Anthony letting go of Hal's cock and walking away.

"We heard what Anthony said about Hal not being gay," said Jim with Tom and Martin flanking him and talking to Stephen, as if Hal wasn't even there. "We want proof that Hal is gay, otherwise he needs to leave," he said putting a hand to his hip, before finally looking from Stephen to Hal. "You know the bylaws, Stephen. This is strictly a gay community."

"Proof? You want proof that Hal is gay? You mean, like a gay license?" Stephen replied loud enough to make a scene and for pockets of men to look over at him. "I'll give you proof said Stephen," falling to his knees and taking Hal's cock in his mouth. 

Something Stephen had wanted to do all his life, suck his best friend, he was sucking Hal's cock, really sucking him, and giving him the best blowjob of his life.

"Christ, Stephen," said Hal. "Fuck," he said running his fingers through Stephen's black, curly hair and pushing him back but not hard enough for Stephen to let go of the grip he had of Hal's cock with his mouth and hand. "Oh, my God," said Hal growing stiffly hard in Stephen's mouth.

"Yeah, that's all well and good, Stephen, but you blowing Hal isn't proof enough that he's gay. It just confirms what we know already, that you're gay," said Tom.

"To be honest, as proof that he's gay, we'd more believe Hal was gay if he sucked your cock, instead," said Martin looking from Hal to Stephen and back.

Stephen looked at his lifelong friend in silence. The deep friendship between the two men that spanned twenty years, since they were young adults, began when Stephen told Hal that he was gay. Gay or straight, Hal accepted him for who he was, not just a gay man but his best friend. They had been through a lot over the years and now their friendship was being tested again.

* * * * *

Hal had been married and divorced twice. This last expensive and hostile divorce made him hate marriage, women, and relationships. Tired of being used, abused, and then rejected, he didn't think that he could go through another relationship with a woman. With twice being enough, never is when he wanted to get married again. Deciding to live out the rest of his life alone only, after his two wives took his houses and he spent his savings on a divorce attorneys, he had no place left to go, that is, until he rebounded back and started his life over, yet, again. After going through his life savings, even having to cash in his 401K, he couldn't even afford a one bedroom studio apartment. If it wasn't for his friend Stephen taking him in and welcoming him in his condo, he'd be homeless and out on the street.

"Stephen. I don't know what else to do and where else to go. Please. Can I stay with you, until I can get back on my feet and save up some money to get my own place, after this last divorce?"

"Hal, it took you five years to rebound from your first marriage. You can't stay here for that long. Paradise Found is a gay community and you're as straight as an arrow. They'd kick me out, if I took in a straight man. Besides, with a concentration of artists, interior designers, graphic designers, fashion designers, and party planners in such a small community, we're all in a frenzy of activity planning our Nude Day party."

"I'll go."

"What do you mean, you'll go? Go where?"

"I'll attend your Nude Day party. I'll pretend I'm gay."

"Pretend you're gay?" Stephen laughed. "You can't pretend you're a gay man. You can't fool these men, Hal. Just as they can sniff out a gay man, they can smell a straight man a mile away," said Stephen. "There's no way you can pretend you're gay, especially living in a gay community. These men aren't stupid and they won't like it one bit, if you play them for fools."

Going way back, the two men had a history that cemented their friendship. When Stephen was gay bashed and beaten to a bloody pulp, it was Hal who came to his rescue and beat the crap out of the three men with a baseball bat. It was the rage that Hal had that Stephen couldn't summon to protect himself, the same rage that made Stephen wonder, if Hal wasn't hiding a gay secret in his closet. 

If Hal was a closeted gay man, that would explain his failed marriages. Hal being gay would explain their very close friendship. A gay man in a straight body, was Hal in denial?

Of course, Hal was angry that the three men attacked his Stephen, but it was more than that. Nearly killing the three men, as if trying to decimate the gayness within him, with every swing of the baseball bat, Stephen no doubt suspected that Hal was swinging against and trying to thwart off the feelings of love and desire that he refused to allow to surface and that he had for him. A sexual fantasy hoping to come true, one day, Stephen couldn't help but wonder, if Hal wasn't gay. Living together as a best friends, while hoping for more, was the reason why Stephen couldn't turn away his friend and why he agreed to have him live with him. Hoping for a miracle, maybe with him living with Hal, a relationship would develop and blossom. 

* * * * *

"He's not gay," said Anthony returning to stoke the fire and start more trouble.

Stephen couldn't believe it when Hal fell to his knees and took his cock in his mouth. Hal was blowing him, really blowing him. Unable to control the lust he harbored for his best friend, the love that Stephen always had for Hal was evident in the hardness of his cock.

Stephen put a hand to the back of Hal's head and slowly humped his mouth, before he really started fucking his face. With a hand tightly around Stephen's cock, Hal stroked his friend, before really pumping his friend, while sucking and sucking him.

"Jesus, Hal. Oh, my God. You're going to make me cum, baby. Oh, fuck that feels so frigging good. I swear, I'll cum, if you continue that. I swear I will."

"It's okay, Stephen," said Hal removing Stephen's cock from his mouth long enough to speak. "Cum, Stephen. Cum in my mouth."

"Oh, my God, Hal," whispered Stephen. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Cum, Stephen. Cum for me. Cum in my mouth."

"Gees, Hal. Blow me. Suck my cock. Suck it, baby," he said pushing forward on the back of Hal's head. Then, he grabbed his friend's head with two hands and really started humping his mouth and fucking his face. "Blow me, Hal. Suck my cock, baby. Suck it. Suck it. Suck it."

Stephen held the back of Hal's head and humped his best friend's mouth, as if he was living his sexual fantasy of fucking Hal's ass. It didn't take Stephen long before he felt the tightness in his testicles that felt as if it welled up from his feet.

"Cum, Stephen, cum," said Hal removing Stephen's cock from his mouth again just long enough to speak.

In a explosion, Stephen shot everything he had in Hal's mouth and Hal swallowed, while continuing to suck his friend dry. Then, when finished, finally, Hal stood, put his two arms around his friend, and kissed him hard. With all the passion that had been secretly growing and silently been denied for years, Hal kissed his friend, as if they were long lost lovers that had been separated during the war or were man and wife on their Honeymoon.

Then, in an inspired fluid motion, Hal spun Steven around, grabbed a dollop of butter from Stephen's plate and smeared it the length of his ass, before bending Stephen over and sticking his cock up Stephen's ass.

"Gees, I'm convinced," said Jim.

"I wish someone would blow me like that," said Tom.

"I wish someone would fuck me like that," said Martin.

"Forget about the blowjob and the ass fucking. I wish someone would kiss me like that," said Jim.

"Obviously they're in love," said Tom.

"Obviously," said Marin.

The tree men watched Hal fucking Stephen up the ass. Finally, after Hal exploded his lust for his best friend, the two men embraced and kissed again. Stephen excused himself to use the men's room to clean himself up. Then, when Stephen returned, Jim, Tom, and Martin approached Hal and Stephen.

"Welcome to Paradise Found," said Jim shaking Hal's hand with Tom and Martin welcoming him to their tight and exclusive gay community.

Stephen watched Anthony storm away.

"Don't go away mad, Anthony. Just go away," said Hal calling after him.

*

Please don't forget to vote, make a comment, and/or add me and this story to your favorite lists. Thank you for reading my story. 



Pretending to Be Gay to Trick Girls



My name is Paul and I know that it is hard to believe but I came up with a great way to get women to fuck me. I trick them!

I first had the idea when I was in high school and some of the hot girls from my school were talking about how they were looking for other girls to be roommates for college because they would never trust a guy and their parents wouldn't either. Then one girl laughed and said that her parents would only let her live with another girl or a gay guy.

I started thinking and spent 2 months perfecting my plan.

I started looking at the paper for people looking for roommates and I started responding to the ads that said female only.

I was stunned to find out that 15 of the first 20 numbers that I called actually responded positively to my gay story. I had no idea that that many girls would agree to live with a guy if they thought that he was gay.

So, I started visiting the apartments and houses on my list and I started narrowing down my list.

Right off the bat I could tell that I would be able to have my pick of places so I decided to try and live with as many girls as possible.

After a week I had visited all 15 places on my list and I had added another 20 to it. It took me 10 days to see all 35 places. I immediately excluded 10 of them because they were only two bedroom apartments and I would only be sharing the apartment with one other girl.

I excluded another 8 places because the girls were either fat or really ugly.  That left me with 17 choices.

I had several real good options and I finally ended up choosing a house that had 4 bedrooms and 7 girls living in it and I would be the 8th person.

I figured that living with 7 girls gave me the best odds at fucking one instead of just living with one or two girls.

When I went to the house of 8, I met with three girls and saw pictures of most of the others. I was in heaven. All of the girls were extremely hot. Two were in sororities and the others all could have been models if they wanted to be.

When I moved in, I met my roommate, Kelly. Kelly was a petite blonde who looked like she was 16, but she told me that she was 20. Anyway, she was excited about me sharing a room with her and she was interested in getting to know me because she has never met a gay guy before.

Kelly actually helped me unload my U-haul and all of my stuff was moved in within a few hours. In order to save space, all of the rooms had bunk beds and Kelly had the top bunk, so I got the bottom bunk, which was fine with me.

I met all of the other 6 girls and I couldn't believe how hot they were. 

I immediately decided to take the offensive and I started getting touchy feely with all of them and I had touched all 7 of my female roommates on their arms or legs within a few minutes.

Some of the girls started talking among themselves, and they announced that they decided that I was the new addition to the house so we needed to have a party to celebrate. They said that they try to have a party once a week for just the members of the house and nobody else is allowed. That means no significant others and no friends.

So, since half of us were underage anyway, we loved knowing that we would be able to drink that night.

Since there were only two bathrooms, the girls always shared them at the same time. So, when a girl was in the shower another would be doing her hair or make-up at the same time.

Kelly told me that I better jump in if I wanted a shower, and when I opened the door, I saw Jessica, a very leggy brunette, standing at the sink, dressed only in a towel that barely covered her ass.

She smiled and said, "hey Paul. You startled me at first, but then I remembered that you are gay. Hop in the shower."

I stripped and saw Jessica sneaking a peek at my crotch. I was pleased with the look that she gave and I knew that she was impressed with my 9-inch dick, which was almost 6 inches long when limp. 

I got in the shower and when I was done, Jessica was gone and Amanda, a cute red-head was standing at the sink.

I purposely got out of the shower without grabbing my towel and Amanda turned and said, "Jessica wasn't kidding."

I said, "what are you talking about?"

Amanda pointed to my dick and said, "Jessica said that you are really hung. Damn, she was right. Too bad you are gay."

I smiled and said, "you look like you have a nice body too. Maybe if you get me drunk enough, I might do something that I'll regret."

We both laughed and I slowly dried myself off.

I went back to my room closed the door as I entered. I saw Kelly dressed only in panties and a bra and she asked me if I liked her panties.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Just because these girls thought that I was gay, they let me see their bodies just as if I was another girl.

It was all that I could do to not get hard. I decided to be honest with Kelly and I said, "those panties are nice and silky, but if you are hoping to get lucky, I'd suggest a thong or some see-through panties instead."

Kelly held up a pair of see-through panties and said that those were the only ones that she had but she didn't really like the way that she looked in them.

I said, "put them on and let me see."

Kelly peeled off her silk panties and for a second I saw her pussy before she put on her other panties.

I was starting to get hard, so I sat on the edge of my bed. This made Kelly's crotch at my eye-level.

Kelly walked right in front of me and said, "see, it just looks like a mound of hair."

I held my breath and reached out and ran my fingers along Kelly's panties where her thighs met her crotch.

I said, "this is the sexy area. There should be no hair here."

I then hooked my thumbs under the top part of her panties and pulled up so that they were tighter against her pussy. This also made the material pull inward, exposing more of her pussy hair.

I said, "you should shave more of your pussy hair. I bet that you are nervous wearing a bathing suit too, right?"

Kelly agreed and asked me how I knew.

I said, "why don't you shave your pussy tonight in the shower and then get dressed. I promise that you will feel much better."

Kelly said, "My boyfriend tried to get me to shave before but I thought it was stupid. Now I see that maybe I should. He would just die if he knew that you gave me advice about shaving my pussy."

Kelly scampered off into the bathroom and I rushed to get dressed.

When I went into the kitchen all 6 of the other girls were freely talking about how hung I was.

I grabbed a beer and started drinking with them and I said, "I bet that Amanda also told you that if you got me drunk enough I might do something that I'd regret."

The girls laughed and Nichol said, "Listen Paul, only 2 of us girls have boyfriends at the moment, so you have 5 girls who are gonna try and take advantage of your cute body."

I knew that I could never tell the girls that I wasn't gay, but I also didn't want to disgust them when they eventually visualized anal sex.

So when they started asking about gay sex, I constructed a great story.

I explained that I never came out of the closet with my parents and all through high school I dated girls to fit in. I figured that I better say that in case any of my old friends or family visited me.

Tracy asked me when was the first time that I had anal sex and I said that it was with my last girlfriend.

"She got around a lot so her pussy was never really tight, so I liked her ass better."

Tracy said, "I am hearing all about you and girls, what about you and guys."

I said, "I have to confess, I have never had sex with a guy, but I have kissed a couple guys, so I know that I am gay."

Amanda and Tracy started laughing and said, "you aren't gay. You are just confused. Hell, I have kissed a bunch of girls and I am not a lesbian."

I said, "maybe, but I enjoyed kissing the guys when I did it."

Amanda said, "Paul, I have kissed Kelly a few times when we drink and we both enjoy it but it doesn't make either of us gay. We both like dicks. Just because you enjoy a sensual kiss doesn't mean anything." 

Tracy agreed, saying, "kissing is very intimate. I bet that everyone would get horny doing a French kiss regardless of whether it was a man or a woman."

Nichol agreed and said, "I bet that I can suck your dick just as good as any guy could. Have you ever had a guy do that?"

I said, "no, I just kissed a few guys. I have had my dick sucked but it was from a girl in high school."

The quiet Gina said, "Paul, you are just confused. It won't take you long to appreciate that you are not gay. I am sure that the 7 of us will help you discover that you are very straight."

I said, "so out of all of you 7 girls, only Kelly and Lisa have boyfriends? Maybe you are really lesbians and you don't know it."

Kelly joined us and the 8 of us drank steadily for an hour and Kelly suggested that we go dancing. 

We drove in 2 cars and at the club I was treated like the last guy on Earth. All of my housemates were dancing with me and since the club was packed with guys grinding on girls, they expected the same out of me.

I had my dick pressed against each of their crotches and asses during that night, but Heather was by far the most out-going.

Heather placed her hand over mine and slid it up her thigh under her skirt until it rested on her ass. 

I looked around but the club was so crowded that I knew that nobody could see what we were doing so I decided to play along.

I said, "what are you doing?"

Heather said, "I felt your dick was hard before when we were dancing, so I know that you like my body. I want you to feel me."

I said, "Of course I was hard. I would be hard if a guy was rubbing his ass on my dick too."

I let my hand explore her ass and I could tell that she was wearing a thong. Heather lifted her leg and wrapped it around my ass and I slid my hand between her legs and under her panties.

Heather's eyes got really big and I don't think that she was expecting me to do that, but I knew that I was in control and I slid a finger right into her pussy.

Heather tried to unwrap her leg from me, but I kept her pulled tight and I pumped my fingers in and out of her wet pussy in that corner and she looked around. When she knew that nobody could see what was going on, Heather leaned into me and told me to keep fingering her.

I fingered her through two songs until her knees gave out and I knew that she was having an orgasm.

I felt my hand become really wet and I realized that she had cum.

Heather thanked me and promised that she would return the favor and we made back to the others.

I got to dance some more with most of the other girls and some of the girls got tired to we decided to go home.

On the ride back home, I ended up in the backseat of a car with Heather next to me. My roommate, Kelly, was driving and Tracy was in the passenger seat but soon fell asleep.

Kelly and I started talking when I felt Heather reach between my legs and begin to rub my dick. She unbuttoned my pants and quietly unzipped me. I scooted forward in the seat so I could talk to Kelly and I felt Amanda's lips wrap around my dick and she began to suck me.

Amanda sucked my dick the entire ride back home and I finally blew my load as we pulled in the drive way. I quickly zipped up and when Kelly opened the door, I saw Amanda had some cum on her cheek and Kelly saw at the same time and said, "I had no clue. Good job Amanda, but remember that I room with him."

Tracy woke up and managed to walk inside just as the other carload of girls pulled up.

We all said goodnight and three of the girls kissed me, on the lips.

Kelly and I went into our room and I noticed that Kelly locked the door and said, "so Amanda sucked you off tonight on the car ride back huh? Do you still think that you are gay?"

I said, "I guess that I have to keep an open mind."

With that Kelly pulled her dress off over hear head and stood in front of me with only her see-through panties and a see-through bra.

She said, "Okay Paul, if you still are gay then I can let you look at my body and stuff. I took your advice and I shaved my pussy tonight."

I laid on my bed and said, "let me see."

Kelly walked right up to my face and put her crotch so close to me that her panties actually touched my nose.

I knew that she was fair game once I saw that she locked the door so I placed moth of my hands on her panties so that my thumbs were on the outside of her panties, but right where her pussy was. Then I slid my other fingers under her panties and right up her skin and felt her smooth skin.

I pressed my thumbs upward at the same time and they actually pressed her panties inside her pussy and took my thumbs inside an inch or so.

I said, "don't you feel much better not that you shaved it?"

Kelly jumped back a step and I thought that I must have freaked her out, but she unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor and she peeled off her panties and stood before me naked.

I was amazed. This was the perfect body standing in front of me.

Kelly said, "since I am blonde, my nipples are pink instead of brown, but my pussy lips are darker. Doesn't that look weird?"

I said, "Kelly you are perfect. You look good enough to eat."

Kelly said, "Paul I want to share my bed with you tonight. I want to show you that you are too good to be gay."

I said, "what about your boyfriend?"

Kelly laughed and said, "he went home for the weekend. I always get lonely when he is gone."

I took Kelly by the hand and pulled her into bed. We made out for a while and the lights were on the whole time.

I moved her around into the 69 position and she gasped at the size of my dick and had trouble fitting it into her mouth.

I lowered Kelly's pussy to my face and began to lick it.

Twice she stopped sucking me, saying that she couldn't fit my dick inside her mouth.

I told her that Amanda seemed to have no trouble.

Feeling some need to outdo Amanda, Kelly took my dick all the way and I felt it slide down her throat. 

I had never had a girl deep throat me before and it felt amazing. Kelly milked me with her throat muscles and before long I pumped a load of cum down her throat.

I kept licking and sucking Kelly's pussy and it wasn't long before she came on my face.

When she came down from her orgasm she said that I could fuck her.

I had no intention of fucking her yet so I kept licking her pussy.

To me, eating a girl's pussy was much more intimate than fucking her, so I decided to give Kelly a great experience. I counted 4 more orgasms from Kelly and by then she was begging me to fuck her.

I reached over and got a condom and put it on and lifted Kelly's legs over her head. She was very flexible and she wrapped her legs around the top of the bunk bed while I slid my dick into her.

Although I easily slid inside her, I knew that she had a very tight pussy and it was not accustomed to having suck a big dick inside her.

Kelly let out a gasp and said, "Oh my God you feel so great."

I slowly fucked her while we passionately kissed. After I felt Kelly cum again, I made her switch positions and I fucked her in 8 different positions, half of which resulted in her saying that she had never had sex in that position before.

When I finally came, it was at the same time as Kelly and we both collapsed in exhaustion.

We embraced and passionately kissed while my dick wilted inside her.

Kelly said that she wanted to suck my cum out of the condom, so I pulled out of her and she removed my condom and lifted it to her mouth and drained it.

I said, "how do I compare to your boyfriend?"

Kelly laughed and said, "you were 1000 times better. He is nice and buys me things, but fucking you really opened my eyes."

I said, "Kelly I am glad that we are roommates, because that was the best sex that I have ever had."

Kelly said, "you lied about being gay, didn't you?"

I said, "yes, I did. I hope that you don't hate me."

Kelly laughed and said, "I don't hate you. I think that I might be feeling the opposite of hate for you. The other girls might hate you, but I think that you had a great idea to move into a house of girls like this."

I smiled and said, "It looks like we both have something to hold over the other's head. I promise to not tell anyone that we had sex if you promise to not tell anyone that I lied about being gay."

Kelly laughed and said, "for now I am gonna keep dating Charles, so you can fool around with the other girls in the house. But at some point I am gonna dump Charles and I am gonna want you all to myself."

I laughed and said, "Let's take it day by day. We are roommates so we can fuck every day and nobody will know."

Kelly said, "there is no question about me fucking you, but it is the other 6 girls that I am concerned about. I know that they all want to fuck you too. Please promise me that you use a condom if you fuck them, okay."

I said, "It's a deal."

Over the next 3 weeks 4 of the girls got boyfriends and they stopped flirting with me. However, Amanda continued to pursue me and we frequently did a 69, but I avoided fucking her. She ended up finding a boyfriend and ended things between us on the same day that Kelly broke up with her boyfriend. 

I told Kelly about Amanda and I and she said "this is perfect. Somehow you and Amanda kept your fling a secret and nobody in the house ever knew about you and Amanda or you and me."

I said, "We can be exclusive now. I won't fool around with any other girls if you won't fool around with any guys."

Kelly agreed and then said, "Paul, We both have always used protection in the past and neither of us have any diseases."

I said, "that's right."

Kelly smiled and said, "I am on the pill so I can't get pregnant, so we can stop using condoms if you like."

I said, "you mean you want me to cum inside your pussy?"

Kelly nodded and said that she really loves me and wants me to drip out of her during the day so she is always thinking of me.