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The Last True Fan

By: Nigel Debonnaire



Dan Harris looked out of his window on a clear Thursday summer morning. May is always a fickle month in Missouri, so he took a look at his thermometer: it was 70 degrees at 8:00AM, so the day promised to be on the warm side after the previous night's storms. Glancing across the little trailer park, he saw his buddy Alan's fan swirling inside the screen window of his tiny trailer, and there were signs someone had moved into the third trailer across the way. There was no car in the parking space, and a couple of new flower pots rested by the front steps. Dan took this has a hopeful sign: maybe the new tenants weren't going to be cooking Meth like the last ones did. 

He put on his little coffee pot and turned on Good Morning America. There wasn't anything he was particularly interested in watching, other than the weather, so he sat and watched the hummingbirds at his feeder while Diane Sawyer and Robin Roberts kept him company. Picking up his wallet, he counted the bills and made sure he could afford his weekly indulgence: the big breakfast at Josie's Diner in town. Between his service pension and driving the OATS bus 6 days a week, he was able to pay his bills with a little to spare; even though he was 68, he still put money aside for his retirement, or rather, for the day he'd be completely unable to work.

Glancing out the window, he saw his little garden was in good shape, so there was no need to weed that day. Three tomatoes presented themselves ripe for picking, so he made a mental note to get them before a furry poacher could. A farm boy, he never liked the taste of canned or frozen vegetables unless he could can them himself, and when something was in season he was always ready to stock up and preserve.

Good Morning America transmuted into Rachel Ray, so he went down the little hallway to his bathroom to shower and shave. His trailer wasn't large, but neither was he: shorter than average with a grey crew cut, his eyes were bright blue and bright, his face weathered by time and the elements, his body lean. His metabolism burned calories at a pace that his service buddies marveled at, but he rarely ate much even though he mostly ate fresh food and drank occasionally.

Dan put on a plaid shirt and overalls, with his sole fashion statement being a pair of well shined cowboy boots. As he moved toward the door, he flipped off the TV and grabbed a Massey Ferguson cap from his little hatrack, letting the door swing mostly shut behind him. His little trailer park was 10 miles from town, far off the main road, so he never locked his door. Anyone who found there way there would find little of value to steal, and its seclusion made locks irrelevant anyway.

His 12 year old truck, lovingly maintained, roared to life and he started his winding way toward town. The sun made the freshly greened trees shine in the light as the track wound between them. A deer was grazing by the side of the road; Dan honked his horn to encourage it to move aside for him to pass. Occasionally, a fluting bird call floated in through his open driver's window. Life was bright and beautiful.

Josie's Diner was a local institution, and when Dan arrived around 9:30, the morning crowd was finishing up their food and coffee. A group of local men waved as Dan came in and greeted him. He nodded at them and took his normal booth in the back corner of the restaurant. Josie peeked out from the kitchen and smiled hello before ducking back.

A new waitress bustled from the kitchen. She was average height and build for a woman in her late 40's. Leaning over, she greeted him with a friendly smile and beaming eyes: "Hi, honey. You want coffee this mornin?" Dan startled at the familiar voice before he nodded and she returned to fill a cup for him.

He was astounded; she looked like one of his favorite actresses from the '70s. Brenda Keans was a second lead on his favorite sitcom: a sharp shapely brunette who both made him laugh and stirred his manhood. This woman could have been her twin, although the hair was now grey and around 15 pounds had accrued to her already wide frame. Her voice was a fourth lower than he knew it, but it was still the same rich voice he remembered from 30 years earlier.

She returned with the coffee and set it down in front of him. "Cream and sugar's right here on your table. You need a menu?"

"Naw," he said, shaking his head. "Want th' Farmer's breakfast, eggs over easy, biscuits 'n gravy, hash browns an' tomato juice." She nodded and turned to go before he touched her arm. "Hey, miss. What happened to Sandy?"

"Oh, her dad's sick and she had to go back to St. Louis to take care of him. Won't be back for a long time." The waitress was a perfect match for Brenda Keans: the same little smile, the same glint in her eye, the same grace moved her body across the room. Dan sat looking at her intently until she got uncomfortable. She broke his gaze and asked; "You a regular around here?"

"Yeah, since I came down here 12 years ago." His eyes were fixed on her, trying to decide if she was related to the forgotten actress.

She looked at him quizzically. "I'll put your order right in, honey. You let me know if you want some more coffee." 

The rest of the meal was a daze to him. He watched her every moment she was in the dining room: as she poured coffee for the men's group, as she wound paper napkins around sets of silverware and refilled catsup bottles. She ignored him except for furtive glances until his food was ready, then served it with a bright smile.

As he ate his breakfast, he looked at his neighbors across the way. They took no notice of the new waitress other than needed. His thoughts went back and forth, and he whispered to himself under this breath: "No, it can't be her, they'd recognize her. But it's got to be her, she's got that mole next to her eye and those dimples are like no other. Can't believe those guys don't know who this is. Guess it's not her. But it has to be."

Finishing his meal, he paid her at the register, pausing to leave a huge tip before he left the place. As he continued his day off routine of stopping at the hardware and the garden store, her face stuck in his mind all morning and all the way back home. Her smile peeked at him as he went down the trail from his trailer to the little lake behind his house he called Peachtree Lake.

He skipped stones on the placid water, and he tried to let his mind wander from his preoccupation. "There's no guarantee you'll see her again," he said out loud, "Josie takes girls on for a day or two as they're working their way cross country. Maybe this gal's just here for a day or two. It was nice to see her, but that's gotta be it." Hope melted in the early spring afternoon, to the acquiescence of the status quo he had learned to live with.

As he was returning to his trailer, an old van puttered down the track and parked. He stopped before emerging from the treeline to see what his new neighbor looked like, and was astounded to see the waitress from Josie's emerge with a bag of groceries in her arms. Frozen in place, he watched her unlock her trailer and go inside, coming out immediately to unload several dirty filled pots from the back. Inside his mind, he was kicking himself for not helping her, but he was afraid to move let he trip over himself like a moonstruck teenager.

After she was obviously finished with her task, he gathered up the courage to dart inside his trailer. He sat in his chair and watched her trailer out his window for several minutes before his body got restless. Looking out the window, he remembered the three tomatoes on his vine ready for picking: he hurried out his door to pluck them and back lest she catch him outside.

The temperature was around 80, and Dan was sweating in his little living room. His heart was racing, and decided to lay down to settle himself. Taking off his overalls and shirt, he lay on his bed in his underwear, his shorts tenting with thoughts of the waitress. He was too stirred up to sleep, so he started stroking himself to relieve the tension, but a fulfilled fantasy the night before kept him from getting fully aroused. After a few moments, he gave up and sweated on the bed.

A few moments later as he lay frustrated, there was a knock at his door. He bolted from the bed and put his clothes back on, shouting: "Be right there." He got to the door to find his new neighbor, the waitress from Josie's, standing there in a silver and black halter top, black shorts and barefoot.

"Hi, I'm you new neighbor--oh, we've met already, haven't we?"

"Yeah. M'name's Dan. Come in, please ma'am."

"Okay, thanks. My name's Brenda."

He stepped back into the room to let her enter. She followed him cautiously, looking around, and noticed he was trembling. "Nice little place you have here, Dan. Very neat, you take care of it well. Oh, please don't be nervous, I won't bite. Let's just get acquainted now we're neighbors."

She took a seat at the end of a small table next to his little kitchen, which occupied the area next to the door. He sat at the other end of the table. "Can I get you somethin', Brenda?" he said at last, "Coffee, water, iced tea?"

"Iced tea would be nice if you have it."

"I make sun tea all th' time. Sugar? Sweetner?"

"No, I'm as sweet as I need to be and more. Diabetes"

He chuckled as he went to the counter in the kitchen: he got out 2 glasses, loaded them with ice, and poured them full. Taking her glass, she rubbed it across her head and closed her eyes. "I forgot how hot and sticky this part of the country gets. Guess I'll have to get used to it again."

"Where you from?"

"Fort Smith, Arkansas. Went to school in Fayetteville, then to the West Coast for a while."

"L. A.?"

"Yes," she said, with an inquisitive look on her face. "But I've spent a little more than 25 years in New Mexico most recently. How about you, Dan? Where are you from?"

He ran his hand over the grey stubble on his head. "I'm from Glidden, Wisconsin."

"Wow, northern Wisconsin, right? I heard it gets extremely cold up there. You're a long way from home."

"Yeah, we got 2 seasons up there: Winter and July."

She smiled and giggled. "What brought you here?" she continued.

"I was in the Air Force, master sergeant, mechanic. Last posting was Whiteman up at Knob Noster, so when I retired, I figured I was too old for the cold an' started looking south of the base as far as I could 'til I found a place I could afford."

"Married?"

"A little while a long time ago. Wasn't for me."

"I can relate to that. Children?"

"One boy."

"Where does he live?"

Dan's voice grew very quiet. "Lost 'im 5 years ago. Roadside bomb in Iraq."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, reaching out to touch his hand. 

He gave a small, dismissive shake of his head and continued: "It's all right; he died servin' his country. Got a grandson in Virginia, but I can't afford ta go see him and he can't afford to come see me. His mom sends me pictures at Christmas." He pointed at a school picture of a seven year old boy on his refrigerator. "His name's Vernon. Sharp kid, his mom says."

"Nice looking boy." She took a nervous sip of her tea and looked around. "What can you tell me about living here? It's been a while since I've lived in a small town and I need all the help I can get. Who's our other neighbor?"

"Oh, his name's Alan Drake, served with him in the Air Force. Not a bad guy, pretty quiet. He don't get around much anymore, just to the Doctor's and the store. Got a drinkin' problem, starts first thing in the mornin' every day but he's a quiet drunk, so he won't bother ya. Don't go into his trailer: stinks like seventeen diff'rent kinds o' shit."

Brenda wrinkled her nose and made a face. "Point made."

"He may look out at you when you're putterin' around outside, but don't worry, he's harmless. Pay him no mind if he's watchin' you, just smile and wave and you'll be all right." Taking a sip of tea, he thought for a moment before continuing. "Almost nobody comes down here, so ya don't have to worry about lockin' your door. We keep an eye out here, so if anybody tries any funny business, we'll call the sheriff; one of his deputies, Jeff Schmitz lives a couple miles away, an' he's pretty good at comin' over quick when we need 'im."

"That's good to know. How about the lake? Any good for a swim?"

"Well, Frankie the owner calls it a lake, but it's really a pond. Good sized pond, good fishin', guess you can swim in it. Nice bass and crappie, and if you like somethin' different, a few good frogs."

"Frogs?"

"Yeah, frog's legs. Got a great recipe for 'em." She shuddered delicately, her nipples erecting in her halter top. Dan's eyes went up, and revolved to look out the window. "The ground's pretty fertile 'round here," he continued nervously, "Your flowers oughta do pretty good. I got a nice garden out back. Little bit of everythin', even stuff like basil an' tarragon. Ya like fresh tomatoes?"

"Oh sure, who doesn't?"

"I got a couple nice ones today, take one or two as you go out. Will have those things runnin' out of my ears in a coupla days."

"Where do you go shopping?"

"Sewell's the only grocery store around. They're all right, but I don't go there much. Just for flour 'n tea 'n a few other things. There's a farmer's market most Saturdays on the square, that's where I get my produce. Most of my meat comes from the pond or the woods; there's lots of squirrels."

"Great," she said cautiously. "You got cable? Satellite?"

"Nope. Cost too much. Alan had it a while, but he didn't pay his bills so they cut 'im off. If you can get a deal go ahead, but it'll take'em forever ta come out and install it. TV reception's all right here, got my converter box and plenty of channels, but I don't watch too much. Course a DVD player helps."

She shuddered again. "Guess I can get used to that. Anyplace good to eat besides Josie's?"

"The golf club is the only other place worth anythin', pretty fancy, but I can't afford it. When I want somethin' special, I just go to th' store and pick somethin' out, bring it home, an' cook it." Brenda nodded, pondering. She looked at him, trying to probe his forehead for more data: "How often do you come into Josie's?"

"Once a week, on my day off."

"A treat?"

"Yeah. Josie's a saint."

"What's your job?"

"I drive th' OATS bus."

"OATS?"

"Older Adults Transport Service. I drive old folks 'round to different towns who don't have cars or can't drive."

"That sounds wonderful, Dan. I bet they really appreciate your help."

They took another sip of tea and he nodded. "I guess. They're usually pretty nice to me," A couple nervous moments passed before he continued the conversation. "You got a good boss in Josie: she won't give you no trouble."

"I've figured that out already. A friend of mine recommended I move here just to be around her, and set up the job."

"So you had some trouble, Brenda? Sorry to hear that. You're such a wonderful actress. Don't know why anybody'd be ugly or mean to you."

Brenda nodded and looked down. "Yeah. My life fell apart three months ago. Had it all: nice house in the mountains, the love of my life I'd been with for 30 years, three kids to take care of, then it was all gone and I had no place to turn."

"What? All alone? No family?"

"My mother's in a nursing home in Arizona: Altzheimer's. I'm an only child."

"Sorry to hear that. But didn't ya have anybody else? Famous girl like you?"

She looked around the room and Dan followed her look. Her eyes rested on his small DVD collection and her mouth opened wide: "I didn't know they had DVD's of _Grape Stompers_."

"Yeah, that's my favorite show. Watched every episode 10 times."

Brenda shook her head in disbelief. "_Grape Stompers_, what a crazy show! The stories I could tell you. Nobody remembers it any more."

"I don't understand that. It was great in every way. Almost cried when they cancelled it."

"You and me both. Well, I really did cry. It was so wrong, they should've kept us on."

He looked at her closely. "You were on that show, weren't you? You played Betsy Simmons, that smart brunette girl. You're Brenda Keans."

Brenda smiled and nodded. "I don't get recognized anymore." Taking a sip of her tea, she looked out the window and back at him again. "I hated that when the show was on: I couldn't go anywhere, and now I kinda miss it. I really loved acting."

"You were so good at it," Dan gushed, "Betsy was my favorite character on the show. Carrie got the most attention, blond dimwit, but my eyes was always on you. If there'd been a fan club, I'da paid a hundred bucks to join."

She smiled at him. "You're so kind. Acting is such a hit or miss thing. One day you're famous and the next you're history."

"Yeah."

She looked around some more. "Hey, wait a minute. These movies up here, from the 70's, these were the ones I did after my show was cancelled."

"Yeah. You were good in them, too."

"But I wasn't a star in those movies; I was on screen a total 5 minutes in these 3 movies." Her eyes searched his, and he grew uncomfortable under her gaze. Her voice caught, and she smiled broadly at him. "You really were a fan of mine. A big one, maybe the biggest one. How sweet!"

Dan shifted in his chair, looking down. "You were great," he mumbled. "Don't know how you endid out here in Podunk."

Sighing, she touched his hand again. "What kind of luck is this? For three months I'm a vagrant, hopping from one house to another, looking for a place to stay, strangers all around me. I end up moving to the middle of nowhere to find the only fan I've got left. I'd call that good luck, very good luck indeed."

Sitting up, Dan asked: "How come you stopped acting? I don't understand, you were cute and funny and sexy and I don't know why you didn't do anythin' since."

"The last thing was a 'Where Are They Now' show 10 years ago. No calls after that. Oh, I had trouble with the system; got tired of the casting couch. Here I'd been a star player on a moderately successful series for three years, and casting directors still wanted sex to put me in anything. I know, a lot of actresses have enough clout to avoid that, but I didn't, I was all by myself. My agent was no help: he loved sticking me with the creeps just because of what I was, just to get even for not sleeping with him. So I got into dinner theater, had a lot of fun and saw the country, but got tired of the road. Then I met Becky in Santa Fe, and my life was different from then on."

"Becky? She a friend o' yours?"

"A friend would be putting it mildly. We were committed to each other, we were life partners."

"What about your ex-husband, Pete Keans? You said in an interview back in the '70s you'd like to find another boy like him. Didn't ya want ta get married agin'?"

"Oh, that's right. You'd have no way of knowing. It's a long story Dan."

Dan sat up straight in his chair, his eyes wide open. "A long story? Well, I've got time, Brenda, tell me."

Brenda looked down and bit her lip. "Tough to talk about, and most folks still don't understand. I was in Hollywood at a time you couldn't talk about it." She paused for another moment to sip her tea, and passed it across her sweaty forehead.

Dan leaned forward, interested. "Talk 'bout what, Brenda? 

"I'm a lesbian, Dan, a lesbian. I'm attracted to women." Dan slumped back and sat dumbfounded, his face growing pale. "I put an ex-husband, Pete Keans, on my resume and changed my last name as cover, talked about him enough to fool the general public, but everybody knew. He never existed, he was fake. Of course, you had to hide it publicly if you were gay, and sometimes people took advantage of you if you were weak." Another nervous sip of her tea and she went on: "Becky was the love of my life, she's an architect and we had a wonderful time for a while." An hysterical laugh, then a deep, sarcastic voice: "For a while, shit it was 25 years." She passed the icy glass around the curve of her jaw and settled down; Dan sat rapt as she talked. "Adopted 3 children, nice house in a nice neighborhood and I was a happy Susie Homemaker. God, I miss those little buggers. Probably got too preoccupied with the routine and forgot about my relationship. Never thought I'd get dumped like so many wives when my hair turned grey and my boobs sagged and my butt inflated. But that's what happened." Tears started flowing down her face, and Dan sprinted down the hallway to fetch a box of Kleenexes. "Thanks, Dan."


The Last True Fan Ch. 02



Dan Harris looked down the tree filled bank carefully, working hard to see without being seen. The mid afternoon sun shone hard on the vegetation, making the late spring greenery glisten with vitality, and the water of the little pond at the bottom of the hill he called Peachtree Lake shoot flecks of accusation his direction. It seemed nature itself knew what he was doing was wrong.

Swimming in the water below was Brenda Kearns, a once famous actress whose life had led her to Dan's little world. Her grey hair spread out in a fan as she swam just below the surface, and plastered itself to her head as she surfaced to breathe. Her skin was a little darker than when she arrived, and her body slightly thinner. Dan had a direct view of most of the lake, and watched as she swam nude back and forth, ducking down from time to time and rising up again.

She got out of the water and walked to a small bit of grass on the bank next to the water. Laying on her front, she offered her body entirely to the sun to dry it. She was average height and weight for a woman in her early 50's, her breasts sagging and her skin beginning to wrinkle. He watched her, leaning around a tree trunk, his eyes glued and almost unblinking. Her body made sensuous flesh colored curves that augmented the gently sloping lawn, and he dreamed as his eyes traveled every slope of her backside. It was almost an Eastern meditation to watch the sun gradually dry her hair.

When Brenda arrived in Dan's trailer park three weeks earlier, he was shocked to find that her career had taken a nosedive since her series was cancelled in the '70s, and more shocked to find the woman he adored would have no interest in him sexually. His direct experience with lesbians was minimal during his career in the Air Force, but he knew enough to know she was running a Mac program and he was a PC.

Yet, the night they met, she was overwhelmed by his devotion to her career, and gave him a topless late night show outside his window. He tossed and turned that night, not knowing what to think, his libido confused and his heart beating a love call unknown to him for 20 years. She was a fantasy that sustained him through many lonely times, when his quest for feminine companionship failed time after time. Her face stimulated him when no other stimulation was near, and helped him discharge his pent up energy when his batteries were full.

They fell into a routine: they left for work and returned at different times, so it was easy to leave things for the other without direct contact. Dan left a couple of tomatoes and other spare vegetables from his little garden on her kitchen counter every morning before he went to make his rounds driving the OATS bus. He would return from work to find a fresh flower in a vase and two chocolate kisses on his counter. She went swimming in the pond every day just after he returned from work, and after she was safely in the water, he would take his hidden spot behind the foliage to watch her play in the water and sun herself, taking care to return to his trailer when she put on her clothes to come back up the hill. If they were outside at the same time, she working on her flowers, he in his Victory garden, they would chat about local happenings and the weather, and he would fill in the gaps of her knowledge of small town America.

A prick in his armpit woke Dan from his reverie. Feeling the skin, he found the tick that fastened into his flesh. This was part of the price for his voyeurism: ticks grew very well in the trees near his trailer, but not close to the water for some odd reason. He pulled it out expertly, and crushed its head between his fingernails. When he would fish the pond for crappie, catfish and bass every morning, he never had to protect himself; when he began watching Brenda's daily sunbathing he would have to pull two or three off each day he forgot to use his repellant.

This day was different. It was a Wednesday, almost three weeks to the day after their first encounter, and Brenda had just returned from a mysterious trip. She had disappeared the previous Sunday evening and returned late Tuesday night. That morning, in addition to the flower and chocolates, he found a framed, autographed picture of her from her youth, inscribed: "To Dan, my most faithful fan, with all my love, Bren."

She turned over, brushing herself off. Her tummy had gained a little more definition in the past weeks, her legs thinned, and her face more lean. "This place is agreeing with you, Brenda my dear," he whispered to himself as a breeze tossed the branches for a moment. Her breasts rolled outward, her nipples settling almost in the crook of her arms, making her sternum seem abandoned. His pants began to tent, and his breathing grew a little more heavy.

Glancing at his watch, Dan withdrew from his hiding place and ducked inside for a quick sip of water before starting his truck for a second trip into town that day. He'd taken a temporary job driving a bus: every dollar he could make was important, every dollar he could save a necessity. As his truck wound its way down the track that led to the rest of the world, her figure lurked in his mind, bewitching him more than she bewitched his imagination in her prime.

When he returned after midnight, the other two trailers in his little park were dark. Turning on the light as he entered his trailer, he found a note on his counter: "I need your help. BK" For a moment he was worried, then concerned what she might need. He almost went across the lot to knock on her door, but remembered she had to work early in the morning, and if she needed immediate help, she wouldn't have turned out the lights and gone to bed. 

Dan entered Josie's the next morning around 9:00AM and waved hello to her. She smiled and came over to give him a big hug, which she had never done before. "How're ya doin', Dan?" 

"I'm fine, Josie. How're you?"

"Doing just fine, Danny boy, just fine. Ya want coffee?"

"Thanks."

"Have a seat in th' usual place and Bren'll set ya up." Dan looked around the diner, and found only two other customers, a couple on vacation sitting at the far side of the restaurant, completely involved with one another. 

Brenda came out in her clean uniform, a big smile on her face and a cup of coffee in her hand. "You want a menu, Dan?"

"Nope."

"The usual?"

"Yep."

"I'll put that in, then I want to talk to you."

Dan started sweating: "she's found out I'm snooping on her and wants me to quit," he thought to himself. "I'm just a sawn off little runt who's 68 years old and been lonely too long. How many women want a grey haired man who's life's mostly over. Either she'll gonna call th' sheriff, or move 'less I straighten up." He looked around nervously, but the couple across the way still ignored him, and Josie smiled at him as she folded silverware into napkins.

Brenda came back out and sat down across from him, looking at him with concerned eyes. "Haven't seen much of you this week, Dan. Where have you been the past three nights?" 

He shifted nervously in his chair. "Been takin' a church group to a revival 70 miles away. Lotsa singin' 'n prayin' 'n preachin' and people waving their arms in the air, babblin' like babies, shoutin', hollerin' 'n fallin' over. Damn near wore me out. Din't get home 'til late."

"Did they cause you any trouble?"

"Hell yes, that damn preacher tried to stiff me. Asked: 'Haven't you felt uplifted by this experience? Hasn't it be a joy and a privilege to be part of this awesome, Spirit filled movement. Don't you want to donate your fee to our church for the privilege of being part of this inspiring experience?' I said 'shit no, I got bills to pay. Gimme my money.' Took the bastard forever to stick a crowbar in his wallet, but I waited him out last night. He finally peeled off th' greenbacks and thanked me for my service."

She sighed and patted him on the hand. "Do you have to go again tonight?"

"Hell no, I'm done with them."

Looking aside and taking a deep breath, she said: "I have to ask a favor of you."

Here it comes, he thought. "Yeah?"

"My washing machine broke down last night, and I don't know what to do about it. This is my last clean uniform, and I had to wash it out by hand last night. Have you got a washing machine?"

"Yeah," he said, trying to hide the inward relief he felt. "But I kin take a look at yours later today."

Shaking her head, she patted the table top to punctuate her words. "Oh no, no, no, that's not what I was asking."

"Don't worry 'bout it," he replied with a shrug. "Worked on it for Miz Gladish a coupla years ago 'fore she died. Always had good luck tinkerin' with appliances and engines, that's why I was a Master Mechanic in th' Air Force."

A look disbelieving look was his reply, and she paused several moments before answering. "I'd appreciate that, Dan," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "That would be more than I could ask for."

"Don't worry 'bout it. You gettin' home same time as usual tonight?"

"No, I've got to do some business at the courthouse after work. Driver's license, car registration, that kind of stuff. I can give you a little more space."

"Don't matter, I'll be done 'for ya git home."

Shaking her head and smiling, she touched his hand again. "You're so sweet."

He waved her off dismissively. "Don't worry 'bout it."

"Be right back with your breakfast," she said, getting up to bustle back to the kitchen. Several more customers entered, the daily coffee crowd, and they waved at him in greeting. Brenda didn't have another chance to chat with him before he finished his breakfast and left.

After returning home, he got his toolbox out of his truck. Her little part of the 3 trailer park had changed since she arrived. Neat rows of various flowers flanked her trailer, with two small shrubs in pots by the door. Long buried stepping stones from the front stairs to the car park were disinterred and shone in the sunlight. The grass all around the trailer park was neatly trimmed with no trash visible, even over by Alan Drake's trailer, which still looked like an abandoned landfill.

Dan entered Brenda's trailer, pulling the screen door shut and leaving the inside door open. Her trailer was immaculate, neat and orderly, no dirty dishes in the sink, and even spots that inhabited the walls and floors for a decade had been banished by her domestic art. Finding the washer, he noticed it needed the same repair he did two years earlier. A slow murmur told him the toilet was leaking, and a quick glance told him the flapper was shot; a steady drip plinked in the kitchen sink, and no tweaking the taps stopped it. "This time we gotta git things right," he said to himself, almost running headlong into a mountain of a man as he exited the trailer.

Alan Drake was 6'5", 425 pounds and resembled an aging grizzly bear freshly awakened in the Spring. He wore a plaid shirt and dingy white shorts over brown socks and sandals, and held a can of cheap beer. "Howdy, Dan," he growled sloppily.

"Hello, Alan," Dan said calmly. "How's it goin'?"

Alan swayed slightly; his eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks red. "Okay, a'guess. You workin' on thet lil girl's trailer?"

"Yeah. Washin' machine gave out. Gonna git a part from town."

"She's purty. Ah lahk it when she mows th' yard wearin' her boob toob."

"Yeah. Kinda like the PX girl we knew in Germany."

"Shit yeah," he nodded, his face modulating to rare reflection. "Fucked her a long time 'fore we got transferred."

Dan shook his head. " No, can't b'lieve that. You dated Greta?"

"Nope. Jus' fucked her. She'wuz a great lay."

Taking a moment to clear his head, Dan focused himself and turned to go. "Okay. Alan, I gotta git to town agin."

As Dan tried to pass, Alan put out his free hand and stopped him. "Betcha wanna fuck thet lil' girl. I wood."

Dan shook his head. "She's not int'rested Likes women."

Alan shook his head and took a long pull from his beer. "She a carpet muncher? Lesbo?"

"Yeah, Alan. We got no chance, not even with your donkey dick."

He let out a huge, juicy burp and finished his beer. "You been lookin' at her nekkid when she's swimmin'. I seed you in th' afternoon, then I seed her walking up in thet robe with her butt stickin' out. Mebbe she let us watch her an' her girlfren' make out sumtime." He bent over and stepped aside, with his eyes closed and a few gargled chuckles shaking his big frame.

"Yeah. I gotta go." Dan finally maneuvered around Alan's bulk as he was lost in his mirth, and made his way across the yard to his vehicle. "Go have 'nother beer, Alan."

"Yeah. Bubye, Dan." He shambled back to his trailer as Dan started his truck. 

It took a little over an hour for Dan to find the past he needed, and when he returned he got straight to work. The washing machine was done in half an hour, the toilet took 5 minutes, and the kitchen faucet was a quick job as well. He noticed a whole near the floorboard in the living room with a piece of cardboard taped over it; finding a scrap of metal in his closet, he screwed it over the hole. Finally, he got his ladder and reoriented her TV antenna to get better reception. All this was done and the tools put away before her old van lumbered down the track to its roost.

He took off his shirt and settled down with a glass of iced tea in front of the fan to cool off. His ribs showed, his skin was wrinkled and splotched, his chest hair scraggly grey. The front of his pants quivered anticipating Brenda's return and his daily voyeur session; a half hour after he settled down her van rattled home and she got out with a few items in her arms. It took a few moments longer than usual for her to emerge; Alan often sat at his window to glimpse her going by and he was there that day. Usually, she changed into a short blue robe that came up to the curve of her ass to go swimming: the sight alone made Dan excited. But that day she had changed into a white tube top and pink shorts and came directly to Dan's front door.

Dan sprinted to put on a t-shirt, panicked that her intention was to visit him. He just got back as she reached his door. She knocked and entered to sit on a chair at his kitchen table. Sitting down, her hands trembled and she looked at him amazed. "I think you're a saint, Dan," she started quietly.

He shook his head. "Just tryin' to help. We all help each other out here."

"You sure do. What you did, I, I, I can't believe it, so much more than I expected. You didn't just fix my washer, you fixed the sink and the toilet, too."

"Don't have much water 't waste here. Easy stuff, no problem."

"I'm not used to this, not used to somebody working this hard without being asked. Guess we come from different places in the world: if this were California, or New Mexico, or any large city, I'd have to wait a week for the man to show up, three days for parts to come in, and even then there'd be no guarantee the work would be right. But you, you, you wonderful man. Well, you're a saint." He shook his head no. "Anyway, would you like it if I cooked you supper tomorrow night?"

Shrugging his shoulders, he put his palms up. "Okay."

"You like burgers?'

"Sure."

"Anything you really don't like?"

"Cooked carrots. I kin eat'm raw all day, but hate it when they're cooked."

"It's a date." She got up to go, and turned to talk to him standing by the door. "Oh Dan, I'm just overflowing right now and I need to get something off my chest. Can I talk to you about something?"

"I guess." Now it comes, he thought.

"It's about the trip I just took into the city. Being gone the first part of this week. Made me think a bit."

His eyes looked around, seeking an escape; he was an ordinary guy who had few deep sober conversations, and this looked like one. The last time a woman said "Can I talk to you?" to him, she wanted a divorce. He shook his head and looked back at her. "Ya sure you don't wanna talk to Josie? She's way better at girl stuff."

"No, no, she doesn't know about, about, about the real me. Don't want to burden her with all this, and you know about me already. Besides, you're such a good listener, and I don't need you to say much." She walked over and touched his cheek. "Would you listen to me?"

He nodded his head slowly, and sat up straight to focus his attention. Looking up at her, he was puzzled, but ready to do what she asked of him.

She stood up and started to pace as far as the small room would let her, wringing her hands. "I went to find kindred spirits this week.. Josie gave me a couple days off and a full tank of gas, so I went to see what the. . .scene was like there."

"Scene? What'cha talkin' 'bout, Brenda?"

"Oh, I did the culture thing: went to museums and libraries, walked around the local university and read the bulletin boards. Wanted to get a feel for the town, get a feel for where I could fit in. You know how it can be living out here: needing to go into the City to find what you can't here. Found a couple of bars."

"Bars? Nothin' wrong with bars."

"Gay bars, lesbian bars. I was looking for love, or at least some new friends to keep me company. It's tough to be alone after you've been in a relationship for 25 years. There was a whole community out in New Mexico, a group I was part of. Sometimes I miss them more than I miss Becky, especially when I'm pissed at the self-centered bitch." She looked away, and her voice dropped to a near whisper. "Can't face them anymore, not by myself, not even if they wanted me. Not after I was dumped like that."

Her head drooped for a minute, and he still looked at her bleakly, silently. She got a glass out of his cabinet and filled it with water. "Do you mind?" He shook his head. "Haven't been in a bar for decades, used to love them when I was young. So much fun cruising for chicks with a gang of friends, getting drunk and high, doing outrageous things in public, it's a miracle the gossip magazines never heard about what I did, but most of the crazy stuff happened before I got _Grape Stompers_. Funny, every time I wanted to get laid so badly I could scream, I wouldn't get anywhere close."

"Kinda like bein' in th' Service," Dan murmured. "Out with th' boys, dodgin' the MPs in off limits dives, God some o' them was real shitholes. Bringin' Alan was like bringin' yer own floor show: he could tell ya wild stories if he could 'member 'em. Din't have much luck, not like Alan over there, I was too shy. Ifa went with friend ta have a good time, that was OK; if I was lonely and wanted to find somebody, I was still lonely when they closed."

"Guess it's the same both sides of the street. It's so different now, trying to get into circulation. Oh, it's nice to be more open about being lesbian, finding people like you so easily without trying to be discreet. But I'm not young anymore, and these kids haven't had to worry about much in their lives. I found some nice kids, funny, beautiful, but they were so different. Kids, I'm talking about anybody under 45! The past few months have changed me too much, I can't be part of the bar scene anymore. I can't float around looking for somebody. It's like I'm from another planet now, I don't fit anymore."

Dan nodded, and looked down. "Too many years, too much water under th' bridge. Not th' same as when we was kids, when we had fun and was lookin' for the first time.. I used ta be somebody else, 'specially when my little Danny was a boy. Tried ta find 'nother woman, wanted more kids, but it's like I din't know how. Miracle I got married once: Mary left after'a coupla years. Danny was everythin' till he left home, then he got married an' moved away, then he was gone. . ."

She smiled and chuckled in spite of tears running down her cheeks. She went out the door without a word and crossed the yard quickly to her trailer, her body bouncing with every step, indifferent to Alan's blood shot leering eyes.




The Last True Fan Ch. 02



It was a sticky night, a couple of days before June. Dan checked himself for ticks in his bedroom, then returned to watch TV in just his overalls. The hockey playoffs were on, and as a child of Northern Wisconsin it called him to watch his favorite team, the Chicago Blackhawks. The day faded gradually, the night was full of tree frogs calling rain. It was a tough night for the Blackhawks, and his curses at the television did nothing to improve their play. After the second period, he shut it off and sat back sipping a beer, thinking of Brenda. 

Going back to his little closet, he found an old picture album. Bringing it back into the living room, he opened it and looked through the pictures. There were shots of a wedding in the '70s: a shorter, younger version of himself in a dress uniform stood with his buddies, including a much thinner Alan Drake, clowning for the camera. There were pictures of the bride: a thin woman with a big nose, dirty blond hair and glasses smiled back from the happiest day of her life. Shots of the ceremony, shots of the receptions and leaving passed before him quickly and dispassionately.

Then a younger version of him held a newborn with the broadest smile ever to crease his face. Many pictures of the baby with either parent: on the floor, in bed, bathing in the sink, playing with the dog. The boy grew older and passed through a Norman Rockwell childhood, through the stages of his life until the last picture showed him, tall and proud in a Marine uniform, next to his Dad in an Air Force uniform, and holding baby boy in his arms. A tear crept down Dan's cheek. The album ended with copies of citations for the Purple Heart and the Navy Cross.

Dan put the album down and walked outside into the humid Missouri murk, where he spent several minutes looking up at the sky at stars playing hid and seek with the coulds, the sheen of the moon lightening the background. The lights of both his neighbor's trailers were still on, although Brenda's went out as he stood there. Before he left, he thought he could see her silhouetted in her dark bedroom window watching him. He went back to his trailer, turned out the nights, and lay in bed for three hours before sleep finally came to him.

The next morning, Dan found a postcard on his table. It was a painting: a dark haired nude woman reclined on the grass beside a verdant pond, with lush green trees near and far; a red dress, basket and shoes resting on the grass beside her. In the background was a typical farm scene, with hay stacks on a broad field stretching to the horizon. Beside her was a grey haired man in a blue shirt and vest peeking around the trunk at her, fascinated. She lay oblivious to his attention, notknowing a horse and wagon were waiting just above the peeping Tom, perhaps to take her away. He turned it over to read the back. At the bottom of the card it read: 

Thomas Hart Benton (1889-1975)
Persephone 1938
Egg tempera/oil on canvas
72 1/8 x 56 1/16 inches 

Above the writing was a hand printed text: 

"You make me feel like a goddess, Dan.

See me,
Touch me,
Feel me,
Heal me."



The Last True Fan Ch. 03



Dan Harris couldn't sleep well, and the reason wasn't the June Missouri heat and humidity. He'd just survived a day when he thought the woman of his dreams was going to cut off their friendship. For weeks, he had snuck off to a hidden spot in the woods to watch his idol, '70 sitcom star Brenda Keans, go skinny dipping in Peachtree Lake, the pond below his trailer park, admiring her middle aged body from afar and sneaking back just before she came up to catch him. When she asked to speak with him that morning, he thought he was busted, and she would tell him to quit ogling her or face the consequences.

But she surprised him. She needed help with a decrepit washing machine, and his handyman skills had worked wonders on her appliance and several other problems around the trailer that needed attention. Her appreciation was expressed by a personal visit, and an invitation to join her for dinner the next night.

After dozing fitfully off and on, he got up around daybreak to find a postcard of a famous painting on his counter: a nude woman lying beside a lake while a man watched her. It said he made her feel like a goddess, and a few words indicated she might be interested in more. His head was spinning as he left the house.

As he drove the OATS bus on its rounds that day, he fought to keep his attention on the road and on his riders. His route was fixed, and he'd driven it hundreds of times in the past couple of years, but he got confused more easily that day, taking a couple of wrong turns and having to turn around after a journey down a dead end. A running debate coursed through his head: she was a lesbian, and not interested in men; she was a star looking down on a simple fan who adored her; she was a lonely woman looking for company; she was a desperate woman looking for love and looking to him in spite of everything. It would be dinner, nice conversation, warm feelings and nothing more; it would end with an invitation to physical contact. "See me/feel me/touch me/heal me," was the quote on the back of the card she left that morning. His hands quivered at the thought of making contact with her sweet skin, but his mind dismissed it.

He usually finished around three, and his first thought was to get home to his observation spot looking at the nude body of his idol as she swam and sunned herself. It still brought him shame: after all, she was the star of a mid-'70s series called _Grape Stompers_, a wholesome girl-next-door who longed for a boy but never got one. In those days, you could still see a beautiful young girl as innocent and untouched. He felt ashamed to see her naked body, and several days he debated going out before giving in to baser motivations, unable to resist the opportunity to gaze at her form, despite the fact she was no longer young and undoubtedly lost her virginal appeal. But that day after work, he stopped for coffee on a blazing Missouri afternoon, to kill time before his date, both to avoid working himself into a blind frenzy ahead of his encounter, and to avoid spending anxious moments alone in his trailer home.

Josie greeted him as he entered and waved him to a seat. "Hi, Dan. How's it goin'? You feelin' well? You're not usually here this time o' day."

"Yeah, guess t'day's diff'rent. Coffee, please."

"D'ya want a piece o' pie? Got a slice of nice strawberry 'n rhubarb, no sugar."  

"No, thanks, Josie,'m not hungry. Kin hardly think o' eatin'."

"Well, you'd better git an appetite for tonight. Bren's fixin' ya somethin' special."

He shook his head. This was part of the price of living in a small town: everybody knew what was going on, and what everybody else was doing. There was never serious judgement, just the simple friendly harassment that flavored everyday life. Crossing boundaries of propriety was punished by ostracism, and though many minorities got a share of unthinking prejudice left over from the 1950's, individuals who were willing to live quietly and be good neighbors were accepted regardless of where they came from or who they were. If a mosque were founded in that town but showed a willingness to set up a good booth at the fall festival and taking their turn hosting a summer ice cream social, they would be exempt from common speculations on the beliefs and motivations about people of Middle Eastern origins.

Dan shrugged as he got his cup of coffee. "I dunno what she's got in mind. She a good cook?"

Josie snorted. "In a few years, I'm gonna sell this dump and let somebody else have all th' fun. Brenda kin cook me under the table right now, an' if I got sick, she's who I want in th' kitchen of all my girls. An' she could buy me out on credit, cause I know she'd keep folks comin' in."

"You don't say."

"I do say. I hope I kin keep her; she's the best, jest the best."

She went to fetch his coffee, and he toyed with his cup, glancing at the time every two minutes, willing the hands closer to the 6:00 time he was to be at Brenda's place. The place was almost empty, and a quick summer squall drenched the open doorway, cleansing the air of humidity for a few treasured moments. Josie left it open in spite of the air conditioning, since no rain was crossing her threshhold.

"Mor' coffee puhlease, Josie," a familiar voice growled from the far back corner. Turning, Dan saw his service buddy and neighbor Alan Drake sitting in as far away from the door as possible, drinking from a huge mug. Alan's presence was in Josie's was as normal as Paris Hilton guesting on a Pat Robertson program. He was a mountain of a man, 6'5", 425 pounds and resembled an aging grizzly bear, but that day he wore a clean plaid shirt, jeans, sneakers, his hair was slicked back and his beard relatively neat. He glanced at Dan and nodded, inviting him over. "'ullo, Dan. How's it goan?"

"Not bad, Dan, not bad," he said, wandering over to sit across from his neighbor. "What brings ya here?"

"Meetin' ma son."

"Your son? Din't know ya had one."

"Yeah. 'e's comin' by ta pick me up; he kin't find ma trailer."

Josie came by to refill their cups, Dan's taking half the pot. "Ya want a piece o' pie, Dan?"

"Yup. Take thet strawbury 'n rhuberb."

"Comin' up." Josie retreated to the kitchen, returning with the pie moments later. "Don't eat it too fast."

Dan chuckled once and contemplated the food. For a moment, he seemed to forget how to use his fork, but recovered in time to cut his pie. He savored eat bite in a manner that seemed alien to him.

"Where's yer son from, Dan? Who's his ma?"

"You 'member when we was stationed down at Moody Air Force Base in Georja?"

"Yeah. Awful place."

"Yup. Well, I found this lil' gal named Edna over in Valdosta jus' after you got transferred to Ramstein. Short, not much ta look at, but big, tasty, tasty hooters and real hot to trot. Sucked my dick better'n a vacuum cleaner." Alan took a quick look over Dan's shoulder to see where Josie was, and ducked down to talk more conspiratorially. "Dumped her after a'coupla months: bitch started talkin' 'bout gittin married.. Few months ago, boy called me up and asked if I was his Paw. Said I din't know, so he asks for a, a, a DNA test. No problem, jus' swabbed my cheek out a lil', 'n he called back last week to say he's ma boy an' he's comin' with his wife and fambly."

Dan shook his head. "I din't know ya had kids, Alan. How many kids didja have? You saw a lota action 'round th' Air Bases."

"Four I know. Used ta see me when they was little, but they all hate me now. Ain't been by fer years, and they's drunks like me. Junior here makes five. Boy done all right, said he's a Baptis' preacher wit five kids 'n three grankids. They's comin' by on vacation anyways, 'n wanna git ta know me."

"A Baptist preacher?" Dan reflected how finding a father who was a confirmed alcoholic would sit with a man of the cloth. His friend must be eager to make a good impression, and was probably meeting his son and family in town to avoid having them see his hopelessly disheveled trailer.  "Who'da thunk it?"

"Yeah. Mebbe they's some good genes in me yet."

Dan gave his old friend a dubious look. "You gonna behave?' Alan shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, maht try wunst. They's comin' with 2 little kids, roun' 4 and 5, so I gotta behave 'round theyum."

"Yeah. To think ya got respectable relatives."

Alan snorted into his coffee cup and took another bite of pie. Dan looked at him amazed, since his comment would have gotten a rise out of his old acquaintance before. "Yup, Dan. I dunno.  "Anyways, ma Doctor says I gotta cut back, so I'm gonna try wunst."

"Good fer you, Dan." He sipped his coffee quietly as Alan finished his pie, and took a long, dangerous pull from his own tankard. The rain faded and passed; the sun struggled to reclaim dominance of the sky.

Putting his mug down, Alan leaned close to Dan, coffee almost defeating the last of his beer fumes. "Yeah, you should be so lucky with that lil' girl cookin' fer ya tonight," his eyes started to dance and his lips puckered, "Mebbe it's time yer teeny weenie got sum action. Gonna try ta fucker?"

Dan looked away, blushing, and the door opened. The newcomer could have been Alan's brother, as tall as Alan, much thinner, in his mid 40's, clean shaven with close cropped dark hair. He wore a short sleeved white shirt, with a huge cross around his neck, rings on his fingers, a huge Rolex, and dark slacks and shoes. Looking around, he found his target and made his way over. "Good afternoon, sir. Are you Mr. Alan Drake?" Alan looked up suspiciously and nodded. "I'm Al Miller, I called you a few months ago."

"Yup. So you're ma boy?"

"Yes, sir. I'm your son and you're my Father."

Alan stood up slowly, and the younger man grasped his hand so hard Alan winced. "Good ta meet ya, Son."

"Meredith's waiting outside in the van, and the little ones are anxious to meet their great grandfather. Sweet Jesus, it's like I'm looking at my twin, but. . ."

"Ah know, son, ah know, I'm a bit overweight. Din't watch what I eat, ya gotta be careful 'bout thet. Runs in th' fambly."

"And you've had a hard time making a go of it on your service pension?"

"Yup," he cast a sidelong glance at Dan, who hid his face in his coffee cup. "Life's tough out here. Always bin thet way."

"Well, ah, ah, Dad, we'll see what we can do to straighten that out. You're not going to die in poverty if I can help it: you're going to be glad we found you. Life is going to change for you starting today, I promise you that, Dad. Everything will be all right. Come on, we're going out to the cabin: Meredith's going to fix a wonderful supper and we'll play with the kids until the sun goes down."

Dan gave Alan a skeptical look, to which his friend rolled his eyes. Uncertainly, he wallowed after his long lost son as if he were leaving for prison.

It was thirty minutes before his date when Dan returned to his trailer. He darted back to take a quick shower, then put on a clean Western shirt and jeans, but put on sneakers rather than his boots. He debated which footwear to wear all the way home, going back and forth between his usual cowboy boots and sneakers. When he was sure it would be a platonic date, he was going to wear his overalls and boots, but when he had hope of more, he leaned toward jeans and shoes he could take off easily. At the end, he decided he could keep his options open without raising his hopes too much. Shaking hands made tying his laces a five minute adventure he hadn't endured since he was in kindergarten.

Alan's dark trailer gave him a bit of needed calm as he crossed the small trailer park. There were always three trailers there as long as Dan remembered, Alan helped him get in fifteen years earlier. The third trailer, which Brenda now occupied, had seen a parade of inhabitants over the years, most harmless except the last one who almost blew it apart making Crystal Meth. He couldn't believe the transformation she worked on a lodging that seemed about to fall apart. Alan's presence was usually benign, but given how much he's watched Brenda's movements since she moved in, Dan was glad he was gone that night.

The other great debate he had with himself was what to bring to dinner. He couldn't arrive empty handed, although she left him a note saying to just bring himself. Flowers were a bit much, especially since she grew better flowers than any he'd seen at the stores in town. Wine was a possibility, but having lived in California, he was afraid her superior knowledge of wines would make any choice of his foolish. He was already giving her produce from his garden every day. A brown paper bag held his final choice: a six pack of Michelob, the classiest beer he could afford.

He knocked on the door, and an angel answered. "Hi Dan, right on time. Please come in." She ushered him into the immaculately kept trailer, and sat him at his little kitchen table across from the galley. "I'll put this in the refrigerator, oh, Michelob. I don't how long it's been since I've had a Mick."

Brenda Keans, comedy actress from the '70s was average height and build for a woman in her 50's. Her once dark hair was now completely grey, and her frame held 15 more pounds than it did in its prime. She was not chubby, but voluptuous. Her legs were smooth, and her nails painted a light shade of pink. Her skin was sunkissed; she wore a blue halter top and black shorts, her feet bare. It seemed she had visited the beauty parlor that day, her face wore a tasteful amount of makeup and gold flecks adorned her perfectly shaped ears.

"How was your day, Brenda?" he started, desperate to find a topic.

Brenda bustled around her little kitchen, making final preparations: burgers sizzled, knives disassembled fresh vegetables, and salad bowls grew laden with a cornucopia of earthy delights. "Oh, not bad. I could get used to this life, it's very peaceful at its core, even more than the mountains of New Mexico. I miss civilization, so to speak, but with the Internet access at the library I can keep up with everything I need to. Heck, with Facebook, I've gotten back in touch with people I knew all the way back to Fort Smith, Arkansas. People are so nice here, nicer than anyplace I've been. Josie's just a saint; I think I'd lay down my life for her."

"Lots of folks think th' same way."

"I talked to Alan, and gave him a ride into town when I got back from work."

"You what?"

"It was so sweet, he was sitting on his stoop, all cleaned up and sober. Like a lost puppy looking for a home. His long lost son's coming to town, and he really wanted to make a good impression."

Dan laughed. "Alan's feeling old. He never used to want to make a good impression on people, unless he wanted to get them into bed."

Brenda chuckled. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind that now, but I set him straight and he understood. He told me about how he grew up in an orphanage, and he ended up here after getting a small inheritance from his long lost uncle."

"Well, Alan's kindofa lost puppy looking for a new home. I don't know how long he'll put up living with a Baptist minister 'fore he goes crazy. Hasn't draw a sober breath in years. He reformed a couple of times in the service, and didn't least more than a month either time. I have a feeling he'll be back before long, working through a case every other day, before the 4th of July."

"You may be wrong," she said, turning to shrug her shoulders. "I know how tough that addiction can be. But he may make it this time."

"Oh, I don't doubt he'll give it a good try. He's 70 now, and really doesn't want to die alone.  But he's damned independent, and if he gits tired of making nice, he'll be back."

She looked at him, concerned. "Do you worry about that too, Dan? Dying alone?"

Dan looked down at the table. Brenda pulled a beer from the refrigerator, opened it, and put it down in front of him. He stared at it. "I don't think anybody wants to die alone, Brenda," he said in a low voice. "Not likely these days, probably end up in a nursing home."

"But still alone, even with all those people around."

"Yes." He took a sip from his beer, and sat there. "Yes." After a moment, she collected the salad bowls and put them on the table. "Dinner's served. What kind of dressing do you want on your salad?"

"Ranch."

The conversation moved to harmless things as they ate. After picking at a couple of bites, he began eating with gusto, because the food was the best he'd had in recent memory. She ate a little less than he did, but with enjoyment savoring his food. From time to time, she looked deep into his eyes, searching for something, but when he caught her she would break away. 

There was cherry pie for dessert, but he was full and expressed an interest in having the pie at the end of the evening, like his family did when he was small. There was only one place to sit in the small living room: a couch on the far wall. She beckoned him to take his place, and after finishing the dishes, she put her hands on her hips.

"I've got a treat for you, Dan."

He started and blinked. "What, Brenda?"

"At the end of our series, we had four episodes in the can when we were canceled. They were never shown on network television, or anywhere else as far as I could tell."

"Wow, I din't know that."

"A friend of mine sent me a DVD earlier this week. I thought you might like to watch them."

"Oh Brenda, that's wonderful. Sure, put it on, I'd love to see it." 

After loading the DVD player, she took a seat next to him and activated the playback. A whiff of her perfume reached his ears, sweet and slightly tangy, and her skin glowed slightly from the heat. A window fan struggled to combat the humid air. He put his arm on the back of the couch behind him, to make himself more comfortable, although part of him returned to his teenage years at the movies, when he played the common game of snuggling up to his date by degrees.

She didn't play the game at all, settling into his side immediately with her head pillowed in his armpit, her body relaxing into him. He laid his hand on her bare shoulder and she wiggled to welcome it.

The shows began, and seeing the familiar cast in new situations had him laughing quickly. Brenda was a brunette in her 20's: the show usually dressed her in sweaters and skirts that highlighted her then thin waist and perky breasts. The lead actress, a character named Carrie, was a blonde who wore more revealing costumes that highlighted her perfect body, and the actors were all pleasant looking young men. One had gone on to a major motion picture career that was still at its peak, and the other men worked on several movies and TV shows over the years.

Brenda used Dan's amusement to make more and more frequent contact: a slap on his knee, a stroke of his chest, a touch of his hand. His arm descended rather quickly around her shoulders and squeezed her from time to time.

After the show was over, they sat still against one another. "Brenda, where's all those folks you worked with now?"

"Well, the men have had pretty good careers, as you probably know. The actress who played Carrie did a few more series, and married one of the sound editors. The rest pretty much stayed in the business."

"Were they easy ta work with?"

"The boys were a blast, we used to play poker all hours of the day and night. Carrie was a royal bitch who had a problem with anything that looked bigger than her ego. I think they dressed me and the other girls down to help make her look better, and the writers put her in more situations where she got the attention. I think that's the reason we went off the air: Carrie was leading the Network around by their collective balls, and didn't care what was best for the show."

"Did she sleep with the bosses?"

"Oh, yes, she was on call you could say. Anytime an exec wanted a blow job or a hand job, she was on her knees under their desk. On the weekends, she would go out to the mansions for parties, or on cruises out to Catalina. One Monday she came in sunburned from head to toe, front and back, and it was a joy to see how much she suffered when they put on her makeup and wardrobe." 




The Last True Fan Ch. 03



"I 'member all the fuss 'bout her when th' show was on. She was everywhere I thought: game shows, parties, Tonight Show, Merv Griffin, all kindsa stuff.."

"She was a poser. Had two boob jobs while she was on the show, and a third just after."

"Huh? Wasn't one enough?"

"Nope, she wanted bigger and better and never got enough."

"Did, did you ever do that?"

"Hell, no. I wanted to known for my brains; I wanted to be a serious actress. I wanted to go to England and play Shakespeare and British TV, I wanted the Miniseries when they came out, I would have died to be on _The Thorn Birds_. I wanted to be the female Richard Chamberlain."

His mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide. After a moment, he recovered: "Gosh, that's wonderful, Brenda. Maybe you could do that."

She laughed out loud. "Women my age don't get good roles, not in movies or on stage. I'm not in the California loop anymore, and I've been out of the theater since I found Becky. No comeback for me, not after all these years and all this time"

Dan looked sad. "I wish ya din't have ta be here. You deserve better. You shoulda had your own show: it woulda been great."

Brenda took his face in her hands and gave him a hard kiss directly on his lips that lasted several seconds.. "You know, I don't know how I would have survived out here if not for you. You are a throwback, a knight in shining armor, a regular guy. I know so little about you; I want to know everything. Can you stay a while and tell me?"

He looked at her face and his heart melted more than he could have imagined after decades of solitude. "Okay. I guess we kin wait a bit longer on that cherry pie."

To be continued. . .



The Last True Fan Ch. 04



Dan Harris sat on the couch of his idol as she fetched him a beer from the refrigerator. He shudder and trembled: this kind of conversation wasn't going to be the kind he usually had. It was going to be open and personal and all the things men usually don't talk about. Brenda Keans opened it and brought it over, sitting down next to him, her body snuggling up against his and her head on his shoulder. "What kin Ah tell ya?" he began.

"Where did you come from?"

"Holden, Missouri. Dad was a farmer, Mom was a housewife. Just th' three of us, Mom had problems so I was th' only. They's in their 40's when I was born."

"So you grew up on a farm?"

"Yeah. Lotsa work, day ta day, but we was happy. Always had good food ta eat."

"How was school?"

"I was pretty shy, since I din't know anybody 'sides Mom 'n Dad. One room school till I went ta High School in town. Rode th' bus."

"Did you have any interests in High School?"

"Mechanics. Dad always fixed stuff on the farm, and taught me the basics. Took shop in High School. Worked in town ata garage till they died, then signed up for th' Air Force."

"Anything like drama, music, sports?"

"Nope. No time. Had to git right home after school for chores. The animals din't take a day off."

"You're trembling, Dan. You're so sweet. Please relax, honey. I'm not going to bite, you're safe with me. And if you're wondering, the answer's yes, so don't worry about where this is leading." She kissed his neck and stroked his chest. "Did you have any girlfriends in High School?" He shook his head. "How about when you were in the Air Force?"

"I went out a few times, usually with Alan and his buddies. Din't do much, jest made out, nothin' much. Jest one girlfren', an' I married her."

"What about your wife?  What was her name?"

"Martha. Met her in California. Dated a little, figured we's gettin' too old ta wait, got hitched."

"How old were you?"

"40. She's 38."

"Gosh, that's about average now."

"Oh, really?"

"How soon did the baby come along?"

"About 9 months after we got hitched."

"Did you like being a Father?" He tried to speak, failed, tried again, then sat speechless, a tear creeping out of his eye. She laid her hand on his cheek, and they spent several moments in silence. "I guess I don't have to go farther there," she whispered. "What about your divorce?"

"Happened when I got transferred, coupla years later. Martha said she din't wanna move. Made me take little Danny, said she wanted ta git a fresh start wit somebody else, said a lil' boy would git in her way."

"What happened to her?"

"Car crash two years later. She always drove like a bat out of hell. Like she never happened now, don't feel nothin'. 'Specially since lil' Danny's gone."

Brenda sat quietly for a few moments and let him drink some beer, taking a small sip from her own bottle. "Any other women?"

"Naw, not really. Alan tried ta throw me a leftover sometimes, but I wasn't innersted."

"Do you still find women attractive?"

"Oh yeah." His hand grasped her shoulder gently, and he looked down her halter top. She smiled up at him, savoring his lust peeking out from behind his fear, wanting to encourage more. Her hand touched his, and she settled into him for a moment.

Brenda leaned forward to give him a hard kiss on the lips. She moved and sat on his lap, embracing him and stroking his back. Wiggling her butt, she encouraged a bulge in his jeans to grow and grow.

Breaking the kiss, Dan looked at her with a puzzled expression. "I thought you weren't intrested in, in, in men."

She kissed him again for several seconds, and said: "You got that wrong."

"Huh? You mean you dated guys?"

"Dan darling, one thing you need to learn is a lot of people don't vote a straight party ticket, and some of us think variety is the spice of life." He initiated a kiss, and she responded eagerly. They necked like teenagers on the couch, their arms around each other. Their mouths opened, and soon their tongues were darting back and forth before entwining. 

After 20 minutes, they came up for air and looked at each other. Dan took a deep breath, and looked away, out the window at the foliage. "I, I, I never dreamed this. . ."

"Me neither," Brenda whispered, stroking his chest. "I thought part of me was dead, never to rise again."

"Yeah, what you said."

"What would you like to do next, Dan?"

"Huh?"

"Do you want to make out some more? Go a little farther? Take off our clothes?"

He looked down, and she tried to follow his eyes. "I, I, I don't know what comes next," he whispered. 

Shaking her head, she lifted his up to meet her eyes. "What do you mean, Dan? You've made love to a woman before."

"Well, Brenda, I grew up in a diff'rent time. There was back seats, an' we'd kiss and snuggle, but that was a far as most of us got. Only felt up titties through clothes. When I was married, we'd go right to the, the, the main event if I was ready. Never saw my wife nekkid, never saw anybody I ever dated nekkid."

"You've seen women naked, you've seen me naked at the pond."

Blushing, he turned away. "I watched movies, saw what folks's doin', watched a few stag films when I was in the Air Force. Alan's got a bunch. He took me to a coupla strip clubs, but that's not real. But I never knew what a lady. . .liked. An' I though. . .what you like might be diff'rent."

She threw her arms around him and squeezed hard. "You want to learn how to please me? What a wonderful man. Of course I'll teach you what I like." Letting him go, she gave him another deep kiss. "And you can teach me what you like."

His eyes were blazing with lust, but he was still trembling in her arms like an abandoned sparrow. "I don't know what I like," he muttered. "Never tried some stuff."

Another kiss and squeeze. "I've got a few ideas, honey. I've got a lot of experience."

"You do?"

"Yes, silly boy. Oh my, you grew up in a time when good girls were supposed to have less experience than their men. Bad girls could be slutty, but girls you went out with and married were virgins, right?" He nodded his head. "And you see me as a good girl."

"Th' best, Brenda, th' best." He sighed deeply. "I could only worship you from afar. Oh, I imagined we were, were, were, havin' sex, but I never thought I'd be close, not this close." 

She put her finger over his lips, and shushed him. "I'm not as good as you think I was. Lots of women didn't talk about everything they wanted, everything they did, in those days. California is a free place, where lots of different people can explore themselves and find out who they are. I was a loose girl, Dan, I tried a lot of different things, different relationships. When I was a very young girl, I made a stag film."

His eyes bulged wide open and his mouth came open. "You what?"

"That's all right, Dan, it was a long time ago. Yes, I made a movie where I took off my clothes and had real sex with real people. I'd just come to Hollywood and a guy I met when I was bussing tables told me about a film company that needed actresses. Thought it was a dream come true. Got to a private golf club in the hills, and found out what they wanted to do. . ."

"I'm sorry, Brenda. It musta been rough, humiliatin'."

"Oh, it wasn't too bad. It was about 8 minutes long, and we spent two nights filming it. Did it not long after Deep Throat, so the makers through they'd have another hit on their hands, talked about making it rich. Of course, they were completely full of shit: the movie was hardly seen, and they all disappeared."

"What happened to it?"

"Oh, it was put out in reel to reel, that long ago. Guess it got seen at a few bachelor parties and frat houses, adult movie houses. Now one of note noticed it. I got a copy, and had it moved to DVD. Becky thought it was funny."

"Musta been awful."

She looked at him square in the face. "I loved every minute of it. Two guys and another girl and I did everything to all three of them. It didn't all get on tape, but it was an orgy and I loved it. My body felt so alive, my head was spinning for weeks afterward. Kinda hoped they'd want to make another one so I'd feel that way again. But then I got hired for some guest spots on TV, and I had to hide the past. When I was in the series, I had a personal conduct clause that pretty much killed my night life, and I got paranoid about the press."

"Wow, wow, wow. I never thought."

"No, I guess not. Don't be surprised. When I settled down, my life got pretty vanilla, including my love life. When I choose somebody, I'm absolutely faithful to them, I'm not tempted to look for greener pastures, or even a quick fling. Guess that's why I got bitch-slapped out the door. Imagine: a porn star getting evicted 'cause she got boring in bed."

"You aren't a porn star, Brenda. They're ugly an', an', an' you're beautiful."

She kissed him hard on the lips for several moments and tried to push her tongue into his mouth, but he resisted the intrusion. When they broke, she looked at him with big eyes: "You're my Don Quixote, that's who you are."

"Don Quixote?"

"Did you ever see Man of La Mancha?"

"Oh, yea, I saw that once."

"Same story, Don Quixote's the lead."

"I see. Oh."

"Well, I'm your Dulcinea, that's for certain. So that you know: I love any kind of sex, any way, anyhow, anytime. I like to experiment, try new things out. The worst part about the stag film was keeping it secret."

"How didya do that?"

"Well, I was a blonde then, with long hair, and I shaved my eyebrows since they didn't match and I didn't want to bleach them. I was really skinny then, too, thin as a rail, and I put on a few pounds before the series. "

"Oh. I'm glad it din't mess you up too bad."

"It did in several ways. Word got around the inner circles I was a slut, so every producer and director wanted a couch performance to get a role; it got old real fast. And they kept wanting me to get surgery to improve my figure: nose job, teeth, boobs, you name it."

He pulled her closer and she snuggled into his embrace. A shy quivering hand inched down every so carefully until it enclosed on her warm wet breast. She kissed his arm, and wiggled approvingly. A finger found a bump and began to tease it. "I think your tits'r just fine. I'm glad you din't mess with 'em."

She looked at him and kissed him again. "You know, I really want to sleep with you."

"Ah, yeah. Me too."

"Are you nervous? You must be the way you're trembling, and your heart just sped up three times when I said that."

"Oh, Brenda, it's been so long ago, and I never, ever dreamed."

She put her finger over his lips. "That's all right, Dan. We can go slow. I don't want you to be nervous; I want you to relax and enjoy this as much as you can." She kissed him again. "I've got an idea that may help loosen you up. Feel up to a little game?"

He looked at her quizzically. "I guess. Whatcha got in mind?"

Her eyes danced and a broad smiled creased her face. "Something playful, something fun. Something to get turned on, relax you and get you really, really hard."

"Don't know, never done nothin' like that before. Okay, I guess."

"Trust me, this'll let you get started at an easy pace, and we can pick it up later if you want. Go over to your trailer and open your living room window, where you got your spice plants growing. Take the pots off the ledge. I'll be over in a minute and we'll have some fun."

"Okay. Guess I'd like some fun." She nodded at him, and he got up to leave. Stopping at the door he looked around as she beamed at him.

"Don't worry about the pie, take it over with you. We'll get to it later."

She handed it to him, and he held the warm disk in his hands, uncertain at first. He crossed the yard awkwardly, his tenting pants making his walk uncomfortable. Looking back, he saw her in her doorway waving. The sun had just set and the sky was turning deep purple, while the frogs below began their nightly serenade.  

He settled in his favorite chair and waiting anxiously. The door across the way shut and his ears strained to hear her progress, wondering what would appear at his door. Would she be topless, naked; would she slip up shyly and quietly or enter with a fanfare? His shirt became too soggy, and he took it off, revealing his bare chest with scraggly grey hair and ribs. It took longer than he thought for her to arrive, and he rubbed his hands together nervously waiting for her.

A knock at his window, and a pair of hands lifted the pane and screen from the outside. Brenda stood outside, still wearing her halter top and smiling brilliantly with him. "Hi, Dan. You look cool."

"You do too, Brenda."

"I have a gift for you tonight."

"Oh?"

"Yes." With a broad smile, she untied the string and revealed her breasts to him; Dan's eyes fixed on the glistening mounds. "Special delivery. Just for you." Brenda lifted her boobs up and laid them on a shelf just inside the window The window was barely open enough for her to offer him her jugs.

The fan made the nipples harden, and he looked at them as if there were a pair of eyes staring back at him. She licked her lips and nodded at him, but he was uncertain what to do. Drops of sweat fell from her honey brown flesh to the floor.

A huge mosquito landed on her left breast. "Please Dan, brush it off. I can't reach it from here."

He reached over to shoo it away, and his fingers grazed her skin: she flinched as he made contact. It hovered in place, trying to land again, and he kept at it to chase it from her. Finally it flew away and his hand landed on her flesh.

As a small boy, Dan had a pet cat; they were inseparable before he went to school. In the summertime, he would spend hours on the front porch, stroking the patient animal, smoothing its fur and tickling its chin. It would purr and purr until he thought it would never stop. His hand remembered that time, and began stroking firm, moist flesh instead of fur, tickling the hard bud that pointed up at him. She purred at his touch, her hands moving across the sill, her head rolling back with her eyes closed to savor the soft attention.

"Oh Dan, this is unreal. Suck them, Dan, suck my nipples. Please, it's been so long." He looked at her, still stroking her breast, reluctant to fulfill her request. "It something wrong, sugar? Don't you want to?" He gave her a look, then looked down at her eager brown flesh, then back at her face again. "You've done this before; you can do it again. You won't hurt me." 

He took a step back and hung his head. "Brenda, I never would have imagined. . .never would have thought. . .you'd let me do this. . .but,but,but. . .I could hurt you."

"That's all right, Dan. You'll like it. Did you ever milk cows or any animal on the farm growing up?"

"Yeah, I milked cows and sheep and pigs."

"Pigs?" 

"For the bottle babies."

"That sounds good. I'll talk you through it, it'll be all right, you can't hurt me. Just bring a chair over or kneel down if you can. It's not rocket science. Only. . ."

"Only what?"

"Don't get too busy with the teeth." 

Reluctantly, he pulled a kitchen chair over to face her right breast, and looked up at her for instructions, his eyes wide and his lip trembling. "All right, Dan, don't be afraid. Grasp it gently and lick around the edge of the brown part. Ohh, do that again. Take your finger and make circles on the other side. Yes, yes, yes. That's wonderful, Dan. Now suck the bud into your mouth, like a baby, see you remember.  Gently, gently, oh yes. I like what you're doing with your tongue, keep that up. Milk my other nipple like you used to on the farm. Oh yes, oh yes, keep that up while I lose my mind for a while."

There were flashes in the distance that grew closer and closer, the distant boom of thunder rolled and the wind was picking up. Brenda was oblivious to the changing weather; she slipped her hand down to massage the seam of her pink shorts and her body trembled slightly. Dan alternated circular licks with sucking, making her quiver more and her feet move up and down with the sensations. The front of Dan's jeans were tenting, and he shifted his feet to give himself more room to operate.

"Switch, Dan, suck the other nipple, YES! Oh my, you're a quick study. Nibble a little bit, yes, yes, I can take a little more than that. Mmmmm, what you do to me. How many years have you dreamed about something like this, Dan, making love to your Betsy from _Grape Stompers_? Ohhohohhh! Hah, hah, you're relentless, hah, I LOVE THAT.  I love the way you stroke my tit, so soft, so gentle. You're making me so wet, so wet. Ah, ah, ah, ah."

A few flecks of rain hit the roof, and the wind shook the trees. Dan went over to shut his front door; Brenda followed him with her eyes, breathing heavily, eager for his return as her breasts quivered on the shelf waiting for him. He returned and knelt before her, as in prayer, to worship her breasts with his mouth and hands. The rain picked up, coming down harder; Brenda was protected from the worst of the Western gales, but her hair was quickly soaked and her skin shone in reflected water. "More, more, more, Dan, keep giving it to me. I don't want this to end, ah, ah, ah. . ." Her hand slipped inside her shorts, working furiously, until her body started shaking and her voice went to a long, sustained high pitch like a warning siren rose and fell against the storm. "Stop, stop, stop!" she said, pulling back her breasts and shaking as she rode her orgasm down from its high point, her body drenched in the rain and her legs still doing their dance of joy.

Brenda caught her breath, and saw Dan still kneeling inside, a quiet smile on his face. She stroked his cheek, and tweaked his ear. "Stand up," she said in soft command. He obeyed her, and she reached through the window to unzip his fly, his manhood springing out. She grasped it, stroking it gently, and after four pulls it unloaded, sending globs of hot white snow to spatter her brown skin. 

Dan wobbled a little, putting his hand on the wall to steady himself. "Ah'm sorry, Brenda," he gasped quietly. "Never done anythin' like that before. Oh my God that was good."

"You'll do it again, Dan, don't worry about that." She massaged the fluid into her skin before reaching forward to lick him clean, tracing every crevasse with her tongue and making him groan loudly. "In fact, I may have something that may help you."

When she finished, she pulled out of the window, closed it, and came around through the front door. She was still topless, her breasts swaying as she walked, her nipples still erect. "I have a little movie to show you."

The movie was the stag film she made in her youth. There were no credits and no sound; it opened with them playing cards in the living room, strip poker. Clothes came off to different degrees of embarrassment and pride, and soon all four young people were naked. The girls paired off, with blond Brenda stroking her partner to full arousal. Some fellatio followed, then penetration in different positions and scenarios. Brenda did both men at once, first front and rear, then as a sandwich between them. The men left and Brenda french kissed her female partner, making love to her body up and down before they settled into mutual pleasure.

While the movie was playing, Brenda played with Dan's still exposed penis, coaxing it back to full power as he watched her onscreen. As the movie ended, she had him in her mouth again, and Dan's eyes rolled back as he felt the sensations.

"Brenda honey, nobody's ever done this to me before." He reached down and cupped her cheek.

She released him with a pop. "Really?"

"Nope. Alan bragged about how he got ladies to suck his dick, but I could never ask."

She chuckled. "You didn't ask me, either, just like I never asked you to fix everything in my house yesterday. It's the least I could do for you."




The Last True Fan Ch. 04



"If that's th' least, th' most'll kill me."

It took a while before he fed a load of semen down her willing throat, where it disappeared forever. Getting up, she nuzzled into him and they held each other for several moments silently, sweat oozing from a majority of pores.

Out of the blue, he said: "It might be time for pie."

She kissed him. "I've got an idea. You up for another game?"

He nodded. "I'd bet any game you suggested be fun."

Going over to the galley, she cut a small piece of cherry pie. It had a velvet filling, the fruit like pile of rubies and the crust was light, tender and succulent. Bringing a piece in her bare hands, she stopped directly in front of him and smashed the pastry into her chest, rubbing it all over her breasts. "Enjoy your pie, Dan."

Hungrily, he started devouring the dessert, holding her tits up to get at every bit, and paying special attention to her rubbery nipples as he savored his dessert. She moaned, caressed his head, and guided him back and forth as she took her pleasure from his lips. After he finished every speck, she went a cut another smaller piece. "I believe you get seconds on your dessert today."

Sitting on his kitchen table, she spread her legs and applied the dessert to her crotch, massaging it in luxuriantly. His eyes were glued to her hands, and he put his hand on her knee as he pondered.

"Don't be afraid, Dan. You won't hurt me; I'll tell you if you're on the right track, sweetheart. Do as I say and you'll make me the happiest woman in the world right now. Tomorrow, I'm going to teach you so many different ways to fuck me your cock won't remember how many years it was lonely."

He put his hands on her knees, squeezing them slightly, and moved forward. She put her hands on his head to guide him to his target. Tentatively, carefully, afraid to cause any harm whatsoever, he began to lick the sweet dessert from its special vessel, and it wasn't long before her cries of pleasure filled the countryside all the way down the shores of Peachtree Lake.



The Last True Fan



Dan sat back, stunned. He looked out the window, then back at her, then out again. His mouth moved trying to speak, but words would not come out.

"I didn't know where to turn," Brenda continued. "I was locked out and had to stay on a few couches looking for work and a place to live, until one of my old friends told me about her sister Josie. After three months alone and desperate, it was a godsend. Josie gave me a job sight unseen and got her brother Frankie to let me have the trailer over there without a deposit." She blew her nose and continued crying.

"Josie's a great lady, a saint," Dan said, "and I'd do anything to help her." He sat and looked at Brenda curiously, a tear stealing down his cheek. A couple of times he stirred to move closer to her, but he stopped and sat back, watching her tears.

Mopping her red eyes, she handed the Kleenex box back to him. "I've told you too much already. We'll be good neighbors and we'll live together in peace here." Her voice came up at the end, desperate to change the topic. "It's such a lovely place. Any snakes in the pond?" 

Blinking, Dan tried to look through his wall down the pond and back. His head went back and forth, and it took a few moments before he could whisper: "Nope. I'm down there almost every day, and if I see any signs of a snake, I hunt it down and kill it."

"Oh, goodie. Maybe I can take a dip in there."

Dan nodded his head, lubricated his throat, and took a minute to speak again in a slightly less warbly voice. "Don't like snakes 'round when I'm fishin'."

"You fish every day?"

"Yeah, almost. Freezer's full of crappie and bass. If you want any, let me know. Good eatin'."

"All right." Standing up, she took a step toward the door, then went back to cup Dan's face. The look was still of amazement; his eyes followed hers, but the rest of his visage told of shock at her revelation. "This is all too much for you isn't it?" He looked down sheepishly. "You loved the characters I played and you probably even fantasized about me, didn't you?" Another tear trickled from the corner of his eye. "Oh, how sweet, you did, you did," She said in a high, saccharine voice, patting his face and tracing his hairline. Looking deep into his face, she found his history in every line of worry and loneliness etched there. "You've never had much luck with girls, did you? Short and skinny and shy. Serving in the Air Force when people didn't respect the military. All these years you loved me from afar, maybe a bit too much, and now you've having trouble digesting what I told you." 

He looked up at her hopelessly, his mouth slightly open and his face turning red. "I'm sorry, Dan, I should have waited to tell you until we got to know each other better. It's been too long since I've met someone like you, and I forgot you're from a different time and place than I am." Her eyes were brimming again as she smiled at him. "Maybe your dream disappeared too quick. Maybe you feel a bit more lost in life than you did this morning." She leaned forward and kissed his brow. "Don't worry, Dan, you're very sweet and I think the world of you. Gotta love my last true fan, don't I?"

Getting up, she glided to the door and turned. "I gotta do some more unpacking. Which tomato did you say I could have?"

"Take them all, please," he whispered, gesturing with his hands. "I'll have more tomorrow."

She picked them up and returned to give his brow another kiss, cupping his head. "See you," she murmured before turning and exiting, the door banging behind her.

After sitting still for a half hour, Dan got up and took a bottle of bourbon down from the cabinet above his refrigerator. He drank three shots without pause before going to the pond to sit at its bank for the rest of the afternoon, watching the dragonflies and the bass snapping at water bugs and listening to the frog's chorus as daylight faded.

Coming back to his trailer, he put together a peanut butter sandwich and started watching the first season of _Grape Stompers_, smiling and laughing whenever Brenda's character appeared on screen. Night settled in and the lights of the trailers across the way went out. The series Dan loved took away some of his bewilderment and sadness.

Suddenly, there was a knock at his window, and Brenda stood outside in the outfit she was wearing earlier in the day. Dan paused the playback and turned to look at her. She placed her palms on his window, leaning forward. Her smile was genuine admiration, her eyes were bright, and her body illuminated by the light of the window. Dan was almost motionless, looking at her, blinking in disbelief. They held the tableau, in awe of each other, her breath slightly fogging the glass. A bulge formed in his overalls and grew when her gaze descended to look at it.

She looked at him shyly and started playing with the strap of her halter top. Biting her lip, she glanced down and up again, running her fingers higher to the tie. With a pull, she undid the knot and held one side up as she allow the other to slide down, tenderly revealing her breast. His gaze still fixed on her, she brought the other side down, gently offering her beauty to him, allowing her naked breasts to glow in the reflected light of his living room. Her form was past its prime, sagging and bumpy, but Dan licked his lips and trembled as if Venus herself was standing before him in full glory.

Dan's body tensed, and his eyes grew large, drinking in the sight before him. Brenda smiled and started tracing the curves of her body, massaging her boobs and pinching the nipples. Lifting her right breast up, she closed her eyes and began running her tongue around the aureola, teasing the erect nipple before sucking it into her mouth. Her face was ecstatic as she savored her own brown flesh, and after a few moments let it down to lift the left breast up for a sensuous tongue tracing and a firm suck. Dan leaned forward, his gaze locked, his mouth slightly open, his pants suddenly tight.

When she finished, she lifted both tits up, offering them to him, and pressed them against his window. They flattened into circles within circles, brown inside white. A smile creased his mouth, and she smiled broadly in return. She welcomed his adoring gaze, bathed in the light of his admiration and worship, fed his hungry gaze with her body. Reaching forward, she put a long, lingering kiss on the glass, leaving a circle of bright red behind, before slowly moving back and out of the circle of light. 

Awakening the next morning at daybreak, he thought the previous night was a dream until he saw the red circle on his window as he drank his coffee. Looking across the park, her van was gone; she must have gone in before Josie's Diner opened at 5:00AM. He went through his morning routine and left for work, leaving the red circle and wispy prints of flesh untouched. They stayed until a Sunday night spring squall washed the window clean.