4 comments/ 5204 views/ 12 favorites Valentine's Tears By: elfin_odalisque She wrapped her huge, bright-green puffer coat even more tightly round her slight frame, pulled the red, woolly bobble hat further down over her ears knowing, but not caring, how ridiculous it made her look, with her long, dark hair sticking out underneath like a scarecrow. Then she stamped her moon boots on the ice-covered path to try to restore some circulation in her feet. Boston Common, normally so animated and full of life in the summer, was more like a lunar landscape today and, from her vantage point on the bench, the young woman looked out on rimy-white barrenness. The air was still, as if frozen itself. There was not the slightest breath of wind and the uniform, dismal pallor of the sky was like a cold, gray blanket suffocating the planet. The weekend's icing sugar covering of snow had gelled into mud-flecked ice in the sub-arctic temperatures. It was more like the polar tundra than the oldest city park in the country, she thought. The surface of the frog pond was solid inky-black ice. In the Arctic air, it was so bitterly cold, even the ice skaters hadn't ventured out yet today. It was just the weather Miranda would have chosen for Valentine's Day, if she could. February fourteenth was her nadir; the blackest, most depressing day of the year. Cupid and Eros danced round like demented children, laughing sneeringly at her. The hearts and candy, the red and pink decorated shop windows, the giggles and sugary smiles on silly girls' faces all seemed to point accusing fingers at her. They seemed to be telling her that everyone in the world was allowed to be happy; everyone except her. Just eight years ago it had all been so different, so blissful. There had been tears then, but emotional tears of great happiness and joy. Miranda, the Valentine's Day bride, had married her college sweetheart in front of all her delighted family and friends. He had just graduated from Harvard Business School and she was settled in Boston College teaching English Literature. She had carried red and white roses; red for passion, white for purity and eternity. Although certainly no virgin, her husband had been the only man she had ever given herself to: the only man who had ever made love to her. The only man who ever would, she had promised herself so naïvely that wonderful day. Like fossils, the dried roses from the wedding were imprisoned for life between vellum sheets in a leather-bound book. The wedding photographs seemed more and more dated each time she looked at the album and the song, the song he had sung to her then, unaccompanied, in front of all the wedding guests, just seemed schmaltzy and shallow nowadays. Some lines of the old Jim Croce song drifted through her mind like a dark cloud: "But there never seems enough time To do the things you want to do Once you find them I've looked around enough to know That you're the one I want to go Through time with." Every year, that was what he had written in the anniversary card. Well, it was really a Valentine's Card; always the picture of the patched, tatty, gray teddy bear with a diffident, downcast look and sad loving eyes. Somewhere, deep in her souvenir box, were the little gray, cuddly toys he had given her each year with patched-up boy bear hugging or kissing patched-up girl bear. "No, no," he had said, "She's not just a girl bear: she's got a name. Look here on the box, it says Miranda -- that's you." Sitting in the park, Miranda couldn't help it. She could feel her eyes watering. Her mascara and make-up ran and she could feel her face freeze as the black-stained tears started falling uncontrollably down her cheeks. In the deserted frozen wilderness of the park, where no-one could hear, she screamed like a wounded animal. It was all so unfair; life shouldn't have come to this. It was all her fault, no, it was his fault. What the hell! Did it matter now whose fault it had been? They had well and truly screwed things up between themselves hadn't they? The outside world had just shrugged its shoulders, moved on and barely noticed. It was just another fairy-tale romance that had failed. Even her friends, though very sympathetic, hadn't really understood. Why should they? There hadn't been a dramatic Romeo and Juliet moment, a poignant deathbed parting or a tragic fatal accident. Nothing that would make the lovers of romance novels wipe their eyes as they avidly turned the page Miranda's divorce would just be another negligible, forgotten statistic recorded in dusty, official state archives. But not for her! The tragedy had been real enough and had torn her happy life asunder like a tornado. Perhaps it had been fated by the gods of Mount Olympus that she should be cast into darkness: the wound from Cupid's arrow bleeding her heart dry. There had certainly been blood. Perhaps in the intensity of their feelings, the incredible closeness and explosive passion, they had just flown too close to the sun and their wings of love had melted. In the three years he had been gone she had tried to fully understand why they had separated. Why the love had been too intense to let them cope. She knew now she had to move on, make a new life for herself. With the passage of time, she understood his problems had been completely different from hers. Of course, it was certainly no use crying over spilt milk. But just where was she going to find the knight in shining armor that could lead this wounded princess to salvation? It had all been so unfair. It had all been such a complete accident. Less than four years married, they hadn't been planning a family at the time, they had no savings to speak of and the mortgage was real high. They needed to wait awhile until she got tenure and he had made it onto the company's executive program. But, just like the guy said, "Stuff happens." She had known in early November really. She was sure women had a sixth sense about these things but, she had gone through the ritual of the kit from the drugstore, and wasn't expecting surprises as she sat in the doctor's office. "Congratulations, Mrs. Arnold. I can confirm you are definitely pregnant." Miranda hadn't known whether to laugh or cry. "But, it's not possible. You know I'm on the pill." The doctor laughed. "I must admit it's pretty rare but, unfortunately, your case isn't going to get national recognition in the medical journals for either of us. The pill isn't completely foolproof you know; especially if the male has a very high sperm count." Hours later, waiting nervously for her husband to come home to hear the news, Miranda shook her head and smiled. It was just so typical of her macho man, she thought. A silly picture went through her mind of a cartoon sperm on horseback, wielding a sword as he fought his way into the heavily pill-guarded castle to mate with the beautiful egg princess. The sound of his key in the door made her bristle like a cat that suddenly senses danger. After the momentary catatonic shock when his face seemed to say he had looked into the abyss of hell, everything was fine. She was amazed how happy he seemed to be, considering everything. She was still scared and had to ask. "You're not putting on an act for me, honey? D'you promise to be honest with me?" "Darling, you got me square between the eyes, I have to confess, but that was just surprise. To know you are going to have my, our baby, is the most incredible thing that ever happened to me. I, I love you." Miranda smiled sadly as she remembered the passionate kisses that had led to clothes flying everywhere and a fevered, animal coupling on the hearth rug in front of the open fire. It was like Christmas and birthday all rolled into one with her husband aiming random, noisy kisses at whatever part of her bare tummy he guessed the microscopic embryo might be. She had finally surfaced for air and had a fit of the giggles seeing her bra draped over the front of the TV. "Hey, Mister, hold your horses. Haven't you already proved your virility? Give an expectant girl a break." "Why, love? I know we planned something different, I know we are sure as hell not organized for all this but, just the thought of an Arnold Junior knocks my socks off. You're really the cleverest thing alive." "Don't get too carried away, darling. In any case, I think the trick is quite common from the lowest female bug to the Queen of England. Anyway, I couldn't have done it all on my own. Isn't it something about Tab A and Slot B? I think we covered that in Junior High." "Sure, sure, when can we tell everybody, Miranda?" "Please, can we wait a few weeks, honey? Early days can be difficult. Can we keep it our secret for a couple of months?" The silly grin and sloppy kisses told Miranda that she had got management approval. The next few weeks had been wonderful. Not just because he really had treated her like a cross between the Queen of England and Lady Gaga. Sure, the breakfasts in bed, the sudden enthusiasm to help with the household chores and the besotted puppy-dog adoration weren't to be dismissed lightly, but there was so much more. Perhaps it would change when the baby was born, she had thought. Probably the goddess-like treatment would evaporate in the harsh reality of sleepless nights, four-hourly feeding and the very unromantic diapers Nevertheless, she finally understood why she had married this slayer of dragons. Apart from being pretty damn good in the sack, he was her soul mate. As the song said, 'The person she wanted to go through time with.' Everything was perfect; except it wasn't. The storm clouds were gathering inexorably. The pains started just before Christmas. She panicked on Christmas Eve when she found traces of blood, but he was there for her and so supportive. Like charming the birds from the trees, he had persuaded the doctor to turn out in the pitch dark, with large snowflakes falling, to come and see her. Stress and too much activity had been given as the problem. Total bed rest had been ordered. Miranda knew she had failed to be the perfect patient. She knew she had tried and was sorry but, hell, weren't expectant mothers allowed to be a teeny bit off the wall: even if they're not fighting hard to keep an embryonic life alive? She had to admit, despite everything that had happened, her husband had been a saint. He went to work late and came home early to look after her. She had never asked how he squared things with his superiors: perhaps she was scared to ask. She knew he often worked at home, late into the night, after she had fallen asleep. Sex had disappeared off the radar. Between her fears and his tiredness, the passion and desire they had known had faded into the background, if not completely. She just prayed that once the baby was born they could regain the passion of the young lovers they once were. Despite all the best efforts, on Valentine's Day she lost the baby in a painful process that had cauterized her and shredded her emotions. Then she had to endure the humiliating procedures of the ER. How can you be 'cleansed' of a life that was growing inside you and your body has rejected? Yet again, she was amazed how her husband not only coped with her wild and irrational grief, her childish tantrums and anger, but also really tried to help her through the traumas. Once home though, she understood that something had changed fundamentally in their relationship. For her, the major objective was to get over the physical and emotional hurt and sorrow; to put things behind her and -- get pregnant again! For him, there seemed to be a resistance. Miranda didn't understand if he thought baby-making was more clinical than raunchy sex, or whatever. She did know their love life had become non-existent. For Miranda, the prospect that a wild tumble under the sheets might result in getting pregnant again just made her hotter and more excited. Her husband was just horrified. "Miranda, if you won't go back on the pill, I'm going to use condoms." "But, darling, I want to get pregnant; I want to have our baby." "Miranda, when I saw you in that ER bed, blood staining the sheets, I could have killed myself. You are the most wonderful person who has ever come into my life and I put you through all that pain and distress. It was like I'd abused you, beaten you up, and I'm scared of doing it to you again." "No, no, love, listen to me. Firstly, it was actually an accident and secondly, however much you love me, you can't blame yourself in any way for what happened. If my body rejected the pregnancy, it's my problem, not yours." Somewhat spitefully, she added, "I've gotten over the horrible, awful shock and moved on. Why can't you? You didn't have to go through it." Always, when they went down this same road, they both ended up shouting and crying at the same time; both lost in a mental prison that stopped minds reaching out to understand. Miranda knew she was being unfair. She loved him and, more than life itself, didn't want to hurt this sweet man, her husband. Why couldn't she make him see? Why couldn't she stop him going off to sleep in the guest bedroom every night? She hated herself but couldn't see how to change things. The following Valentine's Day he had left. At the time neither of the two tormented souls had paid much attention to the calendar. The anniversary of their marriage and their loss had affected them in different ways but had, inevitably, ended in a typical catfight. The magic, the romantic love, the erotic pleasure in each other's body had completely gone; destroyed by their totally different reactions to the unexpected life that wasn't to be. As he left, he had told her that he was scared he might really hurt her if he stayed. Now the concatenation of good and bad times drove Miranda into the depths of despair on this most romantic of days. He had gone: changed city, changed state and left everything to be handled by an impervious, anonymous lawyer. That's what had hurt so much. Not the divorce settlement -- he had been so much more than generous. To this day, she couldn't bring herself to utter his name. She had come to hate him intensely as she couldn't understand the way he had let go of the life raft to leave her holding on alone. Even now, she thought, he was probably buying flowers and champagne for his latest conquest. Perhaps she wasn't being fair. No, no, she told herself, three years mourning is more than enough. Today was a final, cathartic, farewell. It was time to throw away the widow's weeds. She had to move on, join the world again and find someone new to make a life with. She had to close the chapter and start afresh. Just, she didn't know where on earth to begin. * * * * "Err, hi, is it OK if I sit here?" Torn out of her anguished reverie, Miranda looked up in blank amazement, gesturing at the deserted park and the zillions of empty benches standing up like stalagmites in the frozen wasteland. The handsome, blond haired man shrugged his shoulders as his lips and blue eyes beamed an apologetic smile of massive proportions. "I came out for a bit of a personal timeout; to think about things. In this appalling weather, I never expected anyone else to be crazy enough to be on the Common. "Now, well, actually, I think I would prefer a bit of human company and distraction, if that's OK with you." Miranda was dumbstruck. The dark-blue Burberry overcoat and scarf couldn't fully hide the immaculate white dress shirt and gray silk tie. The creases on the dark dress pants were sharp enough to cut ice and rested neatly on the gleaming, black, Oxford leather shoes. It must be incipient hypothermia, she thought. She was having delusions. Surely no-one would be out in this abandoned, Siberian tundra dressed as if he should be striding into one of those plush steel and dark-glass skyscrapers in the business district? Another random thought suddenly crossed her mind from somewhere. Perhaps Valentine's Day was really special and her yearning to meet someone new had been heard by the Cupid Express Park Delivery Service. Nah, life had never been that easy. "Err, no, hi, please sit down. I'm just about going if you don't mind." "Please don't go on my account." The well-dressed man smiled beguilingly as he took his place beside her. "If you can spare the time, I really would like some company. Hotel existence is such a bummer." "Oh, yeah?" The sudden sarcasm in Miranda's voice was more chilling than the frozen air. "It's really tough having a myriad of underpaid flunkeys on call to meet your every need. I suppose you're staying at the Ritz-Carlton across the road?" "Yes, err, yes, you're right," the man seemed suddenly discomfited, "But I wasn't talking about luxury -- even bought luxury -- just the soulless impersonality of living out of a suitcase. Today, when everyone's mind is on love and relationships, being alone seems so much worse. "D'you know, I've just about reached the point where I'd like to come back at night and find an unmade bed or an unwashed coffee cup." Miranda smiled, not cynically, but with genuine understanding. "Sorry, I do understand, really. I'm just having a bad hair day. "I think it's a case of the grass is always greener. If I could live for a while knowing my apartment was always going to be clean and tidy when I got home from work, I don't think I'd call it 'a bummer'." "But you come back to nobody but yourself. Without a girlfriend, there is no-one even to call." "Same for me," said Miranda. "Not, not a girlfriend, I mean, but I still have to clear up alone. As they both laughed, the tension was broken and barriers could almost be heard falling. There is nothing as effective as kindly ridicule to be the catalyst for friendship. They began to talk and were soon opening windows on their souls that both had kept protectively hidden for years. Despite the chill, Miranda could almost feel her heart warming as she spoke honestly, for the first time, of her fears and her deep-felt pain and loss. It was much more than getting acquainted. Miranda was talking about things that had been lying frozen in her soul for years. She wanted time to stand still forever. It had been so long since she had felt so free to open her soul and suddenly she felt scared as she saw her companion look at his watch. No, she screamed silently, it can't end like this. "Miranda, look, I'm so sorry -- all that's in me wants to stay in this godforsaken place and talk all day with you, but I can't. I've got to give a strategy presentation to the executive vice-presidents in an hour and my laptop and notes are in the 'bummer' hotel. Is there... can I ... err -- I mean. . ." Miranda's female survival instincts were on red alert. "No, look, if hotel life is such a bummer, would you like to come round to my place for dinner tonight?" "Miranda, I'd love to." "Don't get any crazy ideas. I've really enjoyed our chat today and I'd like to talk more and get to know you better. Just buddies, OK? If not, then you needn't accept." "Miranda, my word is my bond. I would love to have some friendly company and some home-cooked food, and I promise to behave myself. I'm almost house-trained you know". The woman scribbled her address and cell number on the back of a card and handed it to him saying, "Is around seven OK for you?" As he took the card, he raised her hand to his lips and lightly kissed her gloved fingers and said, "Your wish is my command, Princess." Miranda watched the retreating man and began to wonder if she had made a stupid mistake. No man had been in her small apartment on his own. She had not been alone at home with a man since the divorce. She wondered if she was ready to take this major step, then told herself that she had known she had to move on -- wasn't this moving on? Valentine's Tears After she had watched his departing back disappear across the road to his hotel, Miranda rose from her bench and walked across the Common in a daze, mulling over what had just happened. A highly successful, handsome businessman had seen beyond the scarecrow clothes and tear-stained, Goth-like face and -- and seen a human being. She cried aloud again; a torment of want, expectation and paranoiac fear coursing within her. Her mind in a total whirl, she found her car, carelessly stuffed the parking ticket in her puffer-coat pocket and drove home. Nothing was going to rain -- or more likely, snow -- on her parade today, she told herself. She didn't know wrong she could be. * * * * By the time the entry phone buzzed that evening, Miranda had run the full gamut of emotions, from A to Z and back, a thousand times over. The disembodied voice was a bit hesitant. "Hi, it's Tom. Err, if you've been having second thoughts about tonight, just say. I'll understand and won't be offended if you don't want to go through with all this." The guy being so darned understanding made Miranda cross with herself for being such a klutz. "Huh. If you think you're getting out of trying my cooking that easily, you've got another think coming," she said, pressing the open door button. "Just get your butt up here, pronto." The grin was still on Tom's face as he rang the bell of Miranda's apartment but it disappeared instantly as the door opened. Miranda suddenly realized what the expression 'a deer caught in headlights' really meant as she smiled at the wide-eyed handsome man standing in front of her with his lower jaw trying to touch the ground. She knew she had scrubbed herself up well. Over an hour in the bathroom with potions and lotions and serious body grooming had had the effect and she stood in front of her guest in a figure-hugging sleeveless black dress with silver piping across the very low neckline. After seeing him on the common, she had wanted to make an effort to look more than a bookish English Literature college lecturer or a black stained Goth on Boston Common. She smiled as Tom dragged his eyes away from the expansive cleavage displayed in front of him and thrust his arm out. "These are, err, these are for you." As he uttered the words, he realized what a fool he was making of himself. If you turn up at a single woman's apartment for a quiet dinner, who else is the bunch of flowers for; her cat? "Why, Tom, what a lovely gesture, you didn't have to," said Miranda taking the bouquet. "Yellow roses, too; that means friendship." "Yeah, I didn't think red was appropriate, even if it is Valentine's, just in case you thought I'd got the wrong idea about tonight." The tension was broken and, as Tom clumsily stuck out his arm to shake hands. Miranda ignored it, leaned into him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Thank you so much, lovely man." As she spoke the words, Tom felt her warm breath tickle his ear. He told himself to watch his step as Miranda stood aside and ushered him into the apartment. The paper sack clinked as he put it down on the kitchen table. "I got some wine, red and white as I didn't know what you were making. The white's been in the trunk of the cab a while so it's pretty cold already. That is, I mean, we don't need to drink if you're worried..." Tom finished lamely thinking that he was busy digging another pit for himself. Why was he reverting back to self-conscious adolescence with this woman? She'd asked him round for a meal, simple as that. Two lonely people together so he shouldn't be getting the wrong ideas. Hadn't she told him that clearly? Why was she looking at him with that big-sister-like expression that said 'boys will be boys'? In the park at lunchtime, she had been the wounded bird, the poor creature in need of a helping hand. What had changed so dramatically? Now the roles seemed to have reversed completely. Miranda was suavely and elegantly in control, the perfect hostess, whilst he was fumbling, tripping over his words and feeling embarrassed. What was happening to him? "Here, Tom, take this." Miranda had busied herself in the fridge and thrust a large glass of chilled Chablis in his hand. "Go and inspect my humble abode, and above all, calm down and stop cluttering up my kitchen. I've got a last few bits of magic to throw in my cauldron then I'm all yours. Err, no!" Tom laughed, suddenly relieved. "I know, I know, Miranda. Don't read anything into what you just said." The scarlet blush that suffused the pretty woman's face and neck settled Tom. They were both struggling being in the presence of the other on a one-to-one basis. He suddenly understood that it wasn't just him. She was as out of practice as he was. They were both acting like retarded high school students. It was ridiculous, sure, but somehow it had got his hormones bubbling. He had time for a close inspection of the beautiful apartment before she called him to the table. It had put him in a reflective frame of mind. The place oozed style but also had the unmistakable imprimatur of the owner. The colors, the fabrics, the elegant throws over the lounge sofas, all spoke volumes for the delicate sophistication of his hostess. He loved it all but just wished he had time to do the same in his impossibly cluttered and busy lifestyle. Hell, he wished he stayed in one place long enough to have his own apartment. "Oh, Tom, I shouldn't have let you loose before I had time to tidy the place up." Tom looked amazed and Miranda smiled to herself. The sweaty few hours spent frantically cleaning her normally untidy living-space had clearly made the right impression. Even the books that usually cluttered every available surface were neatly regimented like soldiers in the bookcases. "I hope you didn't find an unwashed coffee cup or an unmade bed." "Look, Miranda, I was feeling sorry for myself when I bumped into you on the Common. I was out of order so there's no need to be sarcastic." "I'm sorry Tom. I know you mean well but I guess I'm also out of practice with relationships. I haven't cooked for a man for years and I guess I'm a tad edgy." She saw Tom smile before he gave her a brotherly hug and she felt the tension evaporating. They sat down at the table and, like the highest rated magician, Miranda weaved her spell effortlessly. Salmon and asparagus mousse segued seamlessly into bœuf en croûte with dauphinoise potatoes. Miranda smiled as she watched Tom devour the caramelized roasted red onions. She was just glad her guest had not seen the frantic battle in the kitchen as she panicked frantically trying to get the meal together. "Miranda, this is unbelievable. Where did you learn to cook like this? I've learnt a bit these last few years, in hotels and suchlike, but I'm more of a subscriber to my new boss's view of cooking." "And what is that, Tom." "Well, it's a bit rude, really. It was all about steak. Wipe its ass, grill it 'til it stops mooing -- then slap it on the plate." Miranda giggled and poured more wine. "The Martha Stewart homemaking classes didn't ever cover that." "Martha Stewart?" Tom looked puzzled. "Oh, y'know, since my divorce I've had time to learn some skills. Not only can I make curtains now, I'm a dab hand at car mechanics and my French is getting pretty good." She laughed as she saw his astonished expression. "Well, at least I can change a tire now." The candles flickered, the two smiling faces glistened and Matilda was lost in soul-searching conversation that was, inch-by-inch, bringing her back from the living dead. The conversation mellowed with the flow of the wine, and Miranda was entranced by the way the guttering candles were reflected in Tom's sapphire eyes. The music softened to some slow, smoky jazz. Miranda suddenly realized Tom was staring intently into her eyes and had his hand over hers on the table and she pulled away instinctively. Shaking his head as if coming back to reality, the man picked up his cell phone. "It's getting late. I could sit and chew the fat with you all night -- it's been a fantastic evening -- but I've got an early start tomorrow. I'd better call a cab. Just as long as you promise I can repay the favor. Even if I can't cook for you, I can at least take you out for a meal at the weekend. I'd really like to have the privilege of your company again." Miranda, a bit disconcerted, began clearing the table as Tom phoned. Wisps of ridiculous and conflicting thoughts were swirling round in her head like colored smoke. It was all too sudden, all too much of a shock. After years of pain and loneliness, she had been bowled over, swept off her feet -- practically seduced -- in the space of a few hours. It just wasn't right. Slowly, the words Tom was speaking into his cell began permeating her brain. "What do you mean; you aren't sending any cabs out tonight and just look outside. "Look, I've got to get back to the Ritz-Carlton. It's impossible that I stay here." "It's not good enough to say, 'Sorry, all our cabs are grounded for tonight'." While Tom was spluttering protests down the phone, Miranda walked across to the window and pulled the curtains open. All she could see was a wall of white in the darkness and she waved to get Tom's attention. He finally noticed her and gasped. When he put the phone down, Tom turned to Miranda with a sheepish expression. "Seems a real deep depression has swept in and hit the anticyclone. The weather guys are saying it's going to last all night and dump a whole mountain of snow on the city. Logan's already closed and nothing's moving on the streets. An ice storm is coming in and a lot of power lines will be down tomorrow with real outage problems even in the city." "The travel advisory says only try to travel if it's extremely urgent and you're well prepared. I don't think I fit either requirement. "I, err, know you've only got one bedroom but, err, would it be all right if I crashed on your couch?" Miranda's smile was almost ephemeral. St Val's Day, for better or worse, always seemed to have a surprise for her. What was it she had thought earlier about not wanting it to snow on her parade? Silly girl! As the slow, steamy jazz sax snaked out of the speakers, she knew she had to grab fickle fate by the tail. "Tom, since it seems you're not going anyplace for quite a while, can I freshen your drink and would you care to dance with a girl?" The drinks were forgotten as Tom took hold of the pretty woman's trim waist and she slid her arms round his neck. Gently swaying to the music, their bodies came closer and closer as the smoky jazz worked its hypnotizing, romantic effect. Tom let his hands slide down the upper swells of Miranda's pert bottom as he pulled her closer to him and inhaled her magical cologne. Miranda could have cried with happiness; in fact, she felt her eyes moisten. After all the tears and all the years, by a bizarre set of coincidences, she was held fast in the strong arms of an attractive man she instinctively trusted, for some unknown reason, dancing -- or was it smooching -- through a major New England snowstorm. She knew he might be gone tomorrow; sent off like a migrating bird to wherever in the world his bosses wanted to send him but she was determined. There was only one thing that could make it better. As her slightly flared hips swayed with the man hugging her, she pulled his face down towards her until his mouth was mashed against hers. She kissed and licked; pushed her tongue forward to prise his willing lips apart. She let her tongue dart deep in his mouth until the two of them were engaged in a tongue tango that mixed mouths and saliva in the most sex-laden kiss Miranda had ever experienced. He nibbled her lips and let his tongue explore her mouth with a passion she had never known before. They finally broke for air and Miranda felt herself being squeezed tighter against Tom's body until her breasts were crushed against his strong chest. An unmistakable hardness pressed into her lower belly and a shiver of pleasure ran through Miranda at the confirmation that she could still raise desire in a man. Good sense and thoughts about the past disappeared as she dissolved into the warm, male, tight body holding her intimately. "Tom, I've only got one bed, but it is a King and I'm sure it's much more comfortable than the couch. Would you like to share? I know you've got no PJ's but I'm broadminded" "I've got my boxers M, and I'm pretty well house trained. If I promise not to ravage you, I would love to share your king bed." "Miranda, I'm a bit confused. After what you told me on the Common, I understood you had been hurt badly and just wanted a friendly relationship. Now I don't understand anymore." "Oh, Tom, you silly man. I was sitting on the Common this morning telling myself I had to get my act together. Now you've arrived like a Brooks Brothers Adonis on Valentine's night and I've gone all gooey and sentimental. "Just be gentle with me. I'm seriously out of practice." Before she disappeared into her bedroom, Miranda unzipped her little black dress and let it pool on the floor as she went. She was very scared she might have frightened her Sir Galahad off, but a quick peek in the mirror convinced her that 'deer in headlights' sort of covered that reaction. She wasn't sure whether taking more clothes off would frighten her new man away. As she turned round in just her underwear, she giggled to see Tom peeping round the door, wide-eyed and mouth gaping open. He recovered the power of speech. "Miranda, we agreed tonight was just buddies but you seem to be taking everything a lot further. "I don't want to upset you, so please tell me where we stand" "Oh, Tom, I'm like a kid with Christmas. I sat on the Common hating Valentine's Day and wishing the world would go away and forget me. "Then you appeared from nowhere like a romantic hero sent by Eros and chased the misery away." "But. . . but you told me, 'just friends'." "That was before you put your hand on mine; before I knew you were staying the night; before I kissed you; before I realized what I really meant by offering to share my bed with you. Yes, I guess I've been trying to seduce you. "Tom, please, would you take me to bed, make slow and passionate love to me and chase the last of my dark shadows away. "I always sleep in the nude so I hope you're not going to be prudish about your boxers." Miranda moved across the bedroom, flicked her bra straps down and placed Tom's hands on her breasts. She smiled as she watched his mouth open and close like a fish. It was clear she had finally made the transition back to human. She just desperately hoped Tom would now complete her passage to being a sensual woman again. There was a moment frozen in time. Miranda just stood still whilst Tom's hands seemed glued to her breasts. This was hardly seduction, she thought. Surely he wasn't going to abandon her now and hide on the couch? Then, like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, Tom seemed to come awake. Miranda shivered as she felt his teeth nibbling her nipples. When he lightly pinched them, she felt a tingle right down to her core. "Tom, please can we shed the threads and just get horizontal?" Miranda didn't know where her unaccustomed feelings were coming from but was excited as Tom unclipped her bra. She lost her panties as he stripped. In bed he was a great lover, thought Miranda. The attention to her pleasure was so much more than her girlfriends complained about their partners. The gentle stroking, the wicked use of his tongue and, finally, his skill in making the two of them climax together seemed incredible. **** As she woke up, Miranda stretched a sleepy arm out until she touched warm flesh and was suddenly wide awake. Then the events of the night before came flooding back to her and she sighed contentedly. She offered silent thanks to Cupid. Probably, this lovely man beside her would disappear into the Boston snow and ice and she would never see him again but, even so, their time together had been so special, so wonderful. This gorgeous, sexy man had given her the Valentine's gift she had so desperately craved; the ability to close a sadness in her life and finally move on. She leant across and started planting little kisses down his bare chest. "That's another drawback with hotels." "Wha'd'ya mean?" said Miranda, startled he was awake. "All you ever get on your pillow is a little chocolate, never a naked, satiated woman." "Well," said Miranda, "you haven't even got that here. I may be naked, but I'm certainly not satiated, so I hope you're planning to put that right before you go." Before Tom could reply, Miranda had taken his soft penis in her hand and started stroking it. She moved the covers back and, sliding around, brought her mouth to his stiffening shaft. As her tongue licked slowly across the underside of his shaft, Miranda felt a hand between her legs, fingers wickedly tracing her slick labia. When the fingers grew bolder and started pushing inside her opening, she moved down, taking his now rigid cock deep in her mouth until her nose was pressed in his pubic hair. She slid up and down the shaft reveling in the groans of pleasure she heard when his cock slid against the back of her throat. The fingers exploring her pussy were sending shockwaves through her lower belly that rippled as far as her tingling, hard nipples. It was so good, but mutual masturbation was not what she wanted now. The groans stopped as she lifted her head off his cock and threw a leg across his thighs, straddling him. The look of surprise on his face made her smile as she guided his stiff cock deep into her body. "Never heard of the New England cowgirls, eh? Well, just lie back and enjoy the ride." Where this raunchy exhibitionism came from was a mystery to Miranda. She just knew that the arrival of Tom had electrified all her emotions. She knew he was going to vanish but wanted to really enjoy a moment out of reality. As she climaxed, she felt his soft, hot semen explode inside her. "Well Miranda, you've convinced me. Room service here is streets better than what's offered at the Ritz-Carlton. Does it include breakfast?" "I'll go and make some coffee but you'll have to wait 'til I'm back to find out what's on the breakfast menu." She slipped out from under the comforter, glad Tom couldn't see the idiotic smile of happiness on her face. Miranda had completely forgotten how much she enjoyed walking naked across the bedroom, knowing that a pair of admiring male eyes was glued to her swaying, bare bottom. It had been so long. She paused at the door; feeling wicked, and flipped her ass cheeks. The hiss of indrawn breath made her smile. As she padded naked around the kitchen preparing the coffee, she wondered what had come over her. Only yesterday she had been in the depths of despair, actually considering jumping off the faculty building roof. Now, she felt completely transformed into a sexual person with a new life to lead. When she got back to the bedroom and put the coffee mugs on the nightstands, she was worried by the pensive look on Tom's face. Had she taken him beyond his comfort zone? She tried to lighten the mood. "It's still snowing heavily and, with the ice, nothing is going to move for a while yet. Perhaps you could have another try at satiating me." "Miranda," he completely ignored what she had said. "I don't quite know how to put this." Miranda's heart sank. He was going to say sleeping together had been a mistake; they had let friendliness go too far into intimacy. When he could finally escape, he wouldn't be coming back. "What's the matter, Tom?" Valentine's Tears "Last night... and this morning... I was so excited I didn't stop to think. It's been so long for me. I didn't have any condoms. I mean, you do have protection, don't you?" "How romantic you are," laughed Miranda, "Worrying that I'm on the pill. Do you mean you wouldn't have made love to me if you'd known I wasn't taking the pill?" "No, I was thinking of you. You're living on your own. You've got a great teaching career. I just didn't want us to have an accident and you hate me if I made you pregnant." "Did I hate you the last time you made me pregnant, Tom Arnold?" Miranda tried to pretend she was offended. "I seem to remember that you leaving me had something to do with your fear of me getting pregnant again, not mine." "Miranda, no, I mean --" "Well, for your information, I'm not on the pill and I haven't been since you left. There hasn't been any need. There's always the 'morning-after' pill but I don't want that either. "If, by some great gift of Cupid, I'm now carrying your baby, then it just proves your silly song is right and the box of unfulfilled wishes is nearly empty. No, don't worry. If I am pregnant, we won't make any demands on you." She stopped her diatribe as she noticed the tears streaming down Tom's face. Since she first met him, she couldn't remember ever seeing him cry. Old, painful wounds had opened up for both of them and she just wished she could bite back her hurtful words. For a long time, he was incapable of speech and just held her naked body tightly against his. Finally, he regained his voice. "Miranda, I love you. I've always loved you." Now it was her turn to break down and burst into tears. "Oh, Tom, it's been so awful without you. I could have killed myself. I couldn't believe it when I saw you on the Common yesterday morning. "I'm so glad you're still around." "Miranda, will you marry me?" "That's the second time you've asked me that." "So?" "The answer's the same second time around. Tom Arnold, you're the only man I can go through time with."