Storiesonline.net
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                             Harry and Silva
                            by Lazlo Zalezac

Copyright© 2004 by Lazlo Zalezac


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Description: Silva is a thirty-something whore making a hard living on rough streets. Discovering that a bad life can get even worse, hope appears in the form of an odd man wearing a green robe and carrying a shepard's staff.

Codes: MF slow rom cons rape
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Copyright© Lazlo Zalezac, 2004

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Chapter 1


Standing under the streetlight, Silva looked at her colleagues positioned at different spots along the road. Colleagues, she thought contemptuously when a more accurate statement was that they were competitors. Each claimed a spot on the street and was willing to defend it with physical violence if need be. Sometimes when they got off the street, they would talk about their experiences, but it would be hard to say they were friends or even friendly with each other.

Traffic along the street was light that night and she'd be lucky to get enough money for the rent that was due the next day. She looked over at Crystal, who had claimed the other side of the streetlight. She knew that Crystal would make less money than she would over the course of the night. Most of the women on the street had no class and wore the same kind of skimpy clothes as the other girls along the street. The only reason that Crystal had any business was her young age. The under-eighteen crowd always had customers no matter how trashy they looked since men loved screwing young pussy. The young whores had no self-respect, thinking and referring to themselves as Ho's.

It was hard for a woman in her early thirties to compete against a seventeen-year-old girl, but Silva managed. Silva knew presentation was everything as she straightened her skirt to show off her full ass and adjusted her tight top to better present her breasts. She took a moment to take stock of her assets. She was a tall woman with a nice body shown off in tight-fitting silver clothes that contrasted nicely with her dark black skin. To complete the look, she wore a silver wig, silver makeup, and silver boots that made her look even more exotic - like one of those 60's Go-Go dancers. It must be working, since she was still making good money.

After Crack had become too expensive to use because of the destruction of the cocaine supply by the Druids, she had managed to kick her addiction. Since then, she had gained some of her weight back and looked better than she had in a decade. She had to wear dentures because she had lost her teeth as a result of her addition. The dentures were good and bad. A lot of men enjoyed a blowjob that included a good gumming without the pain of teeth, but a woman in her thirties shouldn't be wearing dentures.

Her musings were interrupted when Crystal taunted, "So silver- bitch, getting much business tonight?"

"More than you," replied Silva tired of the taunts directed at her by the younger woman. One of these days, she would put the little girl in her place.

"Bitch."

The discussion was cut short when a white sedan pulled up in front of Silva. The window on the passenger side of the car rolled down and she stuck her head through it to chat with the man inside. It was a white guy, pudgy and harmless looking with a balding head in his late twenties. He was exactly the kind that needed the most flattery to part with a little of his money. She figured he was a fifty-dollar blowjob. Smiling at the man, she made sure that he got a full glimpse of her breasts and asked, "Hey handsome, you want to party?"

For the next few minutes, they went through the dance of agreeing to the services to be provided and the price he would pay for them. She had been right in her assessment that he was a fifty-dollar blowjob. She climbed into the car and said, "Go on up the street and turn into the back of the grocery store. Lots of privacy there."

The john followed her instructions, looking a little nervous about what he was doing. Silva was already hard at work, knowing that the faster she got him off, the sooner she could return to her spot. Hoping to build up his excitement, she said, "Hmm, I bet you got a monster white cock in your pants. I just love white cock."

The john smiled and nodded as he turned into the alley that ran behind the grocery store. He parked the car, his cock already getting hard from her words and the fact that her hand was slowly working its way up his thigh. Once he had turned off the car, her hand stroked his cock through his pants. She cooed, "Oh, I like what I'm feeling. Can't wait to get started sucking on that monster cock."

"Go ahead."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" asked Silva hinting about the money. In not such a subtle hint, she held out her hand and rubbed her fingers together.

The john understood the gesture and fished out his wallet. Pulling out two twenties and a ten, he handed her the money before returning his wallet to his back pocket. Silva put the money in her little silver purse and removed a strawberry-flavored rubber. She quickly undid his belt, unzipped his pants, and pulled down his underwear to get access to his average size cock. She cooed, "Oh, what a monster."

The john pulled his pants down a little more and reached over to fondle her breasts. She reached up and undid her tight shirt freeing her breasts. He grabbed her breasts much too hard, but she didn't complain. Complaining would only make her time there last longer. She slipped the rubber over his cock and started to suck on it.

She thought to herself that it was time to get the loser off as fast as possible so that she could get out of there. Making moans as though she enjoyed it and artificially slurping her lips, she worked his cock with her mouth and hand. The louder the blowjob, the shorter it lasted. She made a mental bet with herself that she could get him off in less than a minute. She won the bet.

When she lifted her head off his cock, the world turned upside down in an explosion of pain as a fist connected with her mouth. Shocked at the totally unexpected violence, she sat up wondering what was going on. A second blow across the side of her face snapped her head around and the world spun. It seemed like the world had exploded in a flash of bright light before fading to gray. For a moment she thought she was dying.

As she flayed her arms around trying to protect herself, the john was pushing her around in the car and hitting her. All she could hear was his shouting. "Fucking bitch. A fucking one minute blowjob! I'm tired of getting ripped off by you fucking whores."

Silva found herself choking on her dentures as the john ripped off her panties. She wanted to scream when his cock battered at her ass, but her mouth wasn't working right. Her vision was funny, a double vision of the world slowly turning in front of her eyes. The pain of his entry in her ass was excruciating, but that paled to his continued hammering on her body. She felt one of her ribs give and a flare of pain from a blow to her kidney. In an explosion of incredible pain, the world disappeared.

Silva was only partially aware of the world as she lay on the ground. The world spun around her, but the only thing that she could make out clearly was a tapping noise in the background. The tapping noise increased in volume as it came closer. She tried to move her head to see the source, but her stomach threatened to heave. A calm deep voice from about five feet away said, "Stay still until medical care arrives. You've been seriously hurt, young lady."

She wanted to ask what happened, but her jaw hurt and wouldn't work. The man came closer and said, "You're jaw is broken. Don't try to talk."

She felt inside her mouth with her tongue feeling that something was weird. She couldn't place what was the matter with it. The voice came back, "I had to remove your dentures. You were choking on them."

Silva lay on the ground unable to move, feeling the light touch of some sort of blanket covering her. There wasn't much good about her situation, but at least she wasn't exposed naked for everyone to look at. If she hadn't felt so horrible, she'd have been angry but the pain sapped the strength from her. The man sat down beside her and started to sing, "Hush, little baby don't you cry..."

His singing struck her as the ultimate irony to her horrible experience. At first, she listened to him thinking he was crazy. However, as time went by she found the gentle deep voice singing the nonsense song somehow comforting. Here she was, a thirty something whore lying beaten in an alleyway after being raped finding herself comforted by a children's song. She couldn't even see the face of the man helping her.

The sound of the song was soon drowned out by the sound of a siren approaching the alley. Bright white flashes alternating with blue flashes lit up the darkened alley, hurting the eyes with their intensity. She closed her eyes, finding that she couldn't take one more discomfort.

With the arrival of the police, the man stopped singing. She listened to the discussion of the people around her. Someone, she assumed was a cop, said, "Hey, Harry. What have we got here?"

"A woman that has been viciously beaten. She has a broken jaw, signs of rape, and bruises on most of her body," answered Harry in a matter of fact voice. Listening, she now had a name to go with the voice that had been singing. His name was Harry, but she didn't know anyone named Harry.

She could hear the cop kneel down next to her. She recognized his voice when he replied, "That's Silva, she's a hooker."

"She's a victim, not a hooker," replied Harry with iron in his voice.

Lying on the ground, Silva was surprised to hear her rescuer make the distinction and mentally cursed Officer Calhoon for his attitude towards the women in her profession. He felt that they were all losers that brought down society by their mere existence. He didn't understand that they had hard lives and worked to make money just like everyone else.

The cop, having had this discussion more than once with Harry, sighed as he said, "You're right, I guess. Of course, she could have tried to rip off the john."

Harry shook his head as he said, "You really should get to understand the people you are trying to protect. You might be surprised to learn that most of them are nice people that live and work in a hard environment."

Another vehicle pulled up adding flashing red lights to the cacophony of colors. The ambulance had arrived. Silva tried to pay attention to what was going on around her, but she had used the last of her physical resources on listening to the discussion. The world faded to a dull black.

A beeping noise was the first thing that Silva noticed when she woke in the hospital bed. The light overhead was harsh and she had to blink before her eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room. There was an IV stand with a saline bag hanging off it, a heart monitor, and other hospital devices around her. She didn't recognize half the stuff in the room.

She felt as if she were floating in space, her body disconnected from her mind. She knew that whatever painkiller they had given her must have been very strong. Years of drug abuse made achieving that level of numbness almost impossible. She wanted to say something, but her mouth wouldn't move.

A woman in white clothes came over to the bed and looked at her, checking the tubes running to her arms. She's a nurse, thought Silva as her mind slowly regained a nominal level of function. The nurse said, "You're awake. That's good. I'll send Harry in here in a minute."

Silva wanted to ask about this Harry guy, but she couldn't move her mouth. She wondered if they had inserted some kind of ball- gag in it. It made her wonder if she had woken in some sort of bondage fetish dungeon. It was so frustrating to lay there unable to communicate. She croaked, "Who's Harry?"

The noise she made was barely intelligible as speech. The nurse, with years of experience in dealing with patients, knew what the likely questions were and replied, "You're in the hospital. You suffered some pretty serious injuries, but you were lucky to be found by Harry. He's waiting outside to see if you are alright."

Silva repeated, "Who's Harry?"

The nurse paused and thought about the sounds trying to figure out what the woman was asking. It took her a moment to realize that she wanted to know who Harry was. Smiling as she considered the effect that her words would have on the woman, she answered, "Happy Harry found you. He's a Druid."

Silva couldn't believe her ears. Everyone that lived or worked on the streets knew about Happy Harry. The guy was a living legend even though she had never met anyone that had seen him. She murmured, "Happy Harry."

"Yes, Happy Harry found you," replied the nurse understanding the statement. The nurse finished her business and left the room walking in a very brisk efficient manner.

Silva lay in the bed wondering how it was that Happy Harry had found her and why he bothered. She was just an aging hooker trying to get by on the last of her looks. Of course, as a result of her beating, her days as a whore were over. A whore that couldn't use her mouth couldn't give blowjobs.

The reality of the situation crashed down on her when she realized that she was really screwed now. No job and no skills for finding one meant that she wouldn't be able to earn money. Without money, she wouldn't have a place to live or food to eat. It was even worse than that. Until her mouth healed, she wouldn't even be able to eat solid food. What does a homeless person do when they can't even eat? The tears started to well up in her eyes.

"Tsk, tsk," said the voice she recognized as the one from the alley. It had to be Harry. He approached the bed as he said, "Don't cry. Things aren't that bad."

'Things aren't that bad?' she wanted to scream. How could he be so cheerful while she was so miserable? She decided that it would be easy; he wasn't the one in the bed facing a bleak future.

Humming to himself, Harry sat down in the visitor's chair and looked at the patient. She was in pretty bad shape. The doctors had said that her jaw had been broken, her cheek had been fractured, a rib busted, suffered a concussion, and her kidney had been damaged. He estimated that she would be in the hospital for a week, maybe more. If she, like many prostitutes, had a child at home, then he'd have to make sure that the kid was helped. Settling into the chair, he asked, "Do you have anyone waiting for you at home?"

The question cut Silva like a knife. She had a daughter, but the girl lived with her father in another town and hadn't seen her in more than ten years. The girl was the same age as Crystal and it was her hope that the kid hadn't followed her into the business. Other than that, she was alone in this world. Shaking her head no was the only way to answer.

Nodding to indicate that he understood, he said, "That's one problem taken care of for the moment. I imagine that you live somewhere near where I found you."

Wondering what he was getting at, she nodded that he was correct. Her one room apartment, if it could even be called that, was two blocks away from the streetlight where she worked. She took a moment to study the man sitting beside her. He was wearing a green robe with a gold medallion around his neck. His clean-shave face, perfect teeth, and build gave him a trustworthy appearance that was only marred by a scar across his forehead. In a funny way, she thought of a father figure. The idea that she, a black whore, was looking at a white guy as a father figure rather than a sugar daddy made her want to laugh.

"So I imagine that you are wondering what is going to happen to you now," said Harry as he watched her reaction. It was clear from how she looked at him that she was thinking about something different than that. However, he knew that she would very worried about her future. He continued, "First, you are getting excellent medical treatment and will stay here until the doctors think you have recovered enough to leave. I'll make sure that everything at your house gets packed up for storage while you are here. I'd hate to think that you could lose everything."

Silva stared at Harry finding it hard to believe that he was doing this for her. It touched her far more than she would ever be able to express. Harry said, "Once you get out of here, I've got a job that won't require you to talk for a while and it will provide a place for you to stay. It's a job within the Emergency Response Team of the Fusion Foundation, but you won't be required to sign up for a long- term service. Just enough for you recover, get some training, and locate a job."

The disbelief that he was going to do that was obvious on her face. Noticing, Harry laughed as he explained, "Hey, I'm on the Board of Directors and have a little leeway in what I do."

She sagged onto the bed starting to feel tired. Harry said, "Until you are recovered, I would like you to work with a police artist to get a picture of the guy that did this to you."

Puzzled, she looked at him wondering why he would bother to track down some guy that beat up a whore. He answered her unasked question. "Others need to know what he looks like so that they can protect themselves from him. He's a criminal and you're not. I'll pass out pictures of the guy on the street and we'll catch him."

That assessment surprised Silva. She wondered who forgot to tell Harry that prostitution was against the law. She thought about responding, but she drifted off to sleep even as she fought to stay awake. The last thing she remembered was Harry singing an old lullaby, but she couldn't place the song.

For the next few days, Silva woke and slept on some internal clock that had nothing to do with the time of day. When she was awake, she worked with the police artist to get a reasonable likeness of the guy that had assaulted her. It was difficult and she had to write all of her comments out longhand. The interaction took much longer than she had expected. The only good part was that the police artist had treated her nicely.

She was worried about the fact that Harry hadn't shown up at the hospital since that first day. The nurses assured her that nothing was wrong and that he hadn't forgotten about her. They explained that Harry was busy doing the kinds of things that Harry did. She wanted to trust them, but trust was not easy for her to give. She lived in a dog eat dog world where everyone looked out for themselves.

It was with near panic that she greeted the day when she was to be released from the hospital. Harry had never returned and she had no idea what she was going to do. She wondered if they were going to throw her out of the hospital leaving her to fend for herself. After dressing in a horrible sack dress that the nurse had brought, she looked at herself in the mirror. Where was the exotically dressed whore? She looked like Aunt Jemima and wondered if the person that picked out the dress had done it intentionally.

A male nurse brought in a wheelchair and, as he helped Silva into it, said, "Hospital regulations. You have to ride out of here in a wheelchair."

Silva having come to grips with her wired jaw had achieved some semblance of an ability to talk. A mental image of getting pushed to the curb in a wheelchair and then getting dumped out flashed through her thoughts. Worried, she asked, "Where's Harry?"

"He's waiting outside to take you home," answered the man surprised by the question. If Harry said that he was going to do something, then it was going to get done. He could see that Silva had relaxed at the news.

At the door, Silva looked around for Harry. The only thing that she could see from the door of the hospital was a lunch truck parked in the pick up zone. She turned to the nurse and asked, "Where's Harry?"

"He's in the truck," answered the nurse pointing to the lunch truck.

Puzzled, Silva looked at the truck and strained to see inside the cab. She couldn't exactly see him, but she knew it was him when he called out, "Come on and get it!"

The nurse opened the door for her and then helped her stand. Moving slowly, she got into the truck. Once seated, the nurse slammed the door shut and waved goodbye with a smile. Harry leaned over with a friendly grin and said, "Sorry about that, but I'm running a little late. We're going to have to make a little detour before I take you to your new home. I hope you don't mind."

Relieved that he had actually been there to pick her up, she didn't care what happened now. She said, "No problem."

"Good. Hold on, this beast sways like a camel in a horse race," said Harry as he pulled away from the curb. The truck rocked back and forth as he navigated the truck through the twists and turns of the hospital road. Once he reached the main road, he said, "I'm glad to see you are up and about. I was worried about you there for a while."

"You didn't come see me," charged Silva knowing that it was unfair to have expected him to visit her. He was an important Druid and she was just a lowly whore.

"Oh, I stopped by on a couple of occasions to check up on you. I've got a half dozen people in the hospital getting treatments of one kind or another," answered Harry in a cheerful voice. The first few weeks in a new town were usually spent rounding up some of the more extreme cases of physically and mentally ill people that were living on the street. Some of the more common medical problems included hepatitis, pneumonia, and tuberculosis. They weren't as bad as the physiological problems. Living on the streets was even tougher with problems like paranoia, schizophrenia, and bi-polar disorders.

"Oh, I didn't know," replied Silva. She looked over at Harry to see him waving to some homeless person walking down the street. The dirty man on the sidewalk waved back and continued on his way.

"Yeah, lots of people with physical problems living on the street. Takes a lot of time to put them back together again. Still, I did talk to your doctor and nurses every day."

She had no idea that Harry was so busy and had taken so much interest in her. Once she thought about it, she realized that he had done a lot more for her than anyone would have expected. Harry was a Druid and Druids were important people that did important things. Knowing that, she was surprised when Harry pulled into an empty lot in which a large number of homeless people were gathered.

She watched as Harry opened the side of the truck and then climbed into the back. As people shuffled up to the window, he handed out paper bags of various colors. She listened as he shouted, "Red is roast beef. Yellow is turkey. Brown is tuna fish. Each bag has a sandwich, an apple, a cookie, and some vegetable sticks. Come on up and help yourself."

The idea that he was supporting himself by selling food immediately evaporated in Silva's mind when she realized that he was giving the food away. Shocked, she listened as he announced, "A homeless hotel is going to be built here, folks. You'll have a bed, a shower, and toilets. Even better, you'll have an address. All of that for the remarkable amount of no dollars."

Harry spent a half an hour handing out sandwiches and talking to people. Even after working the streets for years, Silva had never really bothered to see the homeless that occupied the same streets. She had walked past them without thought or consideration. They didn't have money and, hence, they weren't of use to her. Some of the more desperate whores would give them ten-dollar blowjobs, but those were the really old whores that couldn't make much more than that anyway.

She turned to watch Harry interact with the people. One of the men came to the window of the food truck and slowly reached for one of the sandwich bags. His movements suggested that it hurt for him to move. Harry looked at him for a moment and said, "You might want to stop by one of those Fusion Foundation Clinics and get that black spot on your face checked out."

The man, not making eye contact, mumbled, "It's too late. I'm gonna die."

Even Silva knew that the man was talking about Melanoma and that it was too late for him to get treated. The guy knew he had a problem and was going to die of it. She waited to hear Harry tell the man that he was sorry to hear that he was dying. Instead, Harry asked, "Anything you want to do before you check out?"

The guy looked up a Harry with a puzzled look. That was the last thing that he had expected to hear. Everyone else acted ashamed or embarrassed when he said that he was going to die. The topic hurt and he didn't like to talk about it. Using the raw truth had prevented lots of questions, all of which had horrible answers. Silva thought it was a rather heartless way for the Druid to respond. The man mumbled, "Doesn't matter."

"Sure it does, my friend. It all matters. Knowing the grim reaper is near is excuse enough to be a little selfish as long as it causes no harm to others. So I ask you again, is there anything you want to do before you check out?" The cheerful voice in which Harry replied was a sharp contrast to the topic under discussion.

The man swallowed and looked away for a minute. In a barely audible voice, he said, "I'd like to see my kids."

Harry reached under the counter and pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil. Putting it on the shelf, he said, "Write down whatever information you may have about them and I'll see what I can do."

Hands trembling, the man picked up the pencil and started writing on the pad. Harry turned away and helped another person while the man filled out a couple of pages. When he finished, he picked up the pad and handed it over to Harry. His voice shook as he said, "I doubt you'll do anything, but I appreciate the thought."

"I'll do what I can. Life is funny sometimes. Things that seem simple are impossible and the impossible is simple. No promises, but I'll do what I can," answered Harry as he stowed the pad of paper back where he had gotten it.

The man paused and looked at Harry unable to believe what he had heard. It was a totally honest answer. In a whisper, he replied, "That's more than I could have dreamed."

Silva sat in the front of the truck with her jaw wired shut, her chest bandaged tight, and her life changed forever. No matter how bad her circumstances were, she knew that she had a future that would last longer than that poor man had. He was a dead man walking around while waiting to be buried. She watched as he sat by himself and ate the sandwich with little nibbles, his stomach unable to accept food at a normal rate.

Lost in thought, she didn't notice when Harry closed up the truck and returned to the driver's seat. He was able to get her attention when he said, "Hold on tight. It's time for the Roach Coach to roll."

"Where are we going?" she asked. She cursed having her jaw wired shut. It was frustrating when everything she said came out sounding like a bug trapped in a box. The image of the bug in a box reminded her of times as a kid when they would catch a Cicada and put it in a cigarette hard box. It made a sound like an electric razor and they would pretend to shave like their mothers and fathers. She wondered what happened to the little girl she had been.

"I assume that buzz was a question about our destination. I can take you directly to the Fusion Foundation office now or we can make a detour to the aquarium. Which would you like to do?" asked Harry as he turned a corner. The traffic was light this particular afternoon and he had some time to kill.

'Aquarium?' though Silva. The guy was talking about going to an aquarium? She turned and looked at Harry. Incredulous, she asked, "Aquarium?"

"Good choice," replied Harry pretending to take her question as an answer. He knew it had been a question, but he wanted to go to the aquarium. He drove off, navigating the streets as the truck rocked from side to side. He hummed to himself as he drove.

After a minute, he said, "Have you ever thought about the healing power of music? I mean, think about it - even with your jaw wired shut, you can still hum. I always feel better when I hum. Why don't you try it?"

She stared at him wondering if he was crazy. He acted like he didn't have a care in the world, but he had just talked with a dying man, was delivering food to the homeless that lived in the most miserable circumstances, and was driving around with a whore in his truck. The whole time, he was talking about music and aquariums.

She glanced away and then back as she realized that he was looking at her like he expecting her to hum. The only song that she could think of was the one sung by the dwarves on their way to the mine in that Disney movie. She started humming it, not remembering the words.

When she finished humming as much of the song as she could remember, she realized that Harry had parked the truck in front of the city aquarium. Surprisingly, the act of humming had improved her spirits considerably. Harry said, "We're here."

He got out of the truck and held open the door for her. She climbed out with his help. Still feeling weak, she wondered how she was going to make it through the aquarium. As though reading her mind, he said, "I'm sure that they have a wheelchair that you can ride in while we are there."

He steered her into the aquarium. After paying an entrance fee, a wheelchair was brought for her to use. Situated comfortably in the chair, Harry pushed her down the dark path and past tanks filled with colorful fish taking his time to examine each tank. At a tank containing a clown fish, he said, "Look at the little orange and white fish. It's called a clown fish, but it doesn't really look like a clown to me. Always wondered why they call them that. One of these days I'll have to ask someone that knows."

Silva looked at Harry wondering what he was talking about. Who cared why a fish was named one thing or another? Rather than ask, she just looked at the fish swimming around in the tank. Other people walked past, checking out the fish and ignoring them.

Harry pushed the chair on through the aquarium until he came across a bench that was right across from a puffer fish. He locked the wheelchair in place and sat down on the bench staring at the tank watching the fish swim around in it. After a minute, he said, "Years ago, I was down around New Orleans. It was about the time of Marti Gras and everyone was partying. I had run across a couple of sailors that had just come back from the Caribbean."

Knowing that he had her attention, he said, "Well, sailors being sailors and me being me, we started talking and telling stories. Of course, at that time it wasn't nearly as much fun to tell a story without a little drink to go with it. Anyway, we decided that it was time to go get a drink and crashed this really ritzy party. It didn't take 'em long to discover that we didn't really belong, but we had been there long enough to liberate a couple bottles of booze."

A woman and her two young kids stopped behind them to look at the fishes. Noticing that a Druid was telling a story, she hung back to listen. Harry said, "Well, we leave after being politely escorted to the door by the host. Settling in at a local park, the sailors start telling their stories. Now one of them sailors said that Voodoo witchdoctors used a part of the puffer fish to make zombies."

He looked over at Silva and saw the disbelief on her face. The woman grabbed her kids and held them back to hear the story knowing they would be interested as well. Nodding at Silva, he said, "Well, I didn't believe it at first, but he swore that it was true. Being mannerly and all, I didn't outright call him a liar. After all, he had just helped me get a bottle of halfway decent drink."

He chuckled and then continued his tale. "He told me that they made some sort of potion or something out of the puffer fish that they would give to the intended victim. This wouldn't kill the victim, but would make it look like they were dead. All the victim could do was lie there. Couldn't move, couldn't talk, and just couldn't do anything. They'd see and hear everything going on around them, but just couldn't communicate in any way. After a day his family would bury him in a real funeral believing that the victim was really dead, but the witchdoctor would come back at night and dig up the victim."

One of the kids behind them said, "Cool."

Harry smiled at the comments of the kids and continued his story, "So the poor victim would be convinced that the Voodoo witchdoctor had his soul and because of that the zombie had to do anything the witchdoctor wanted. The zombie would live like that until the witchdoctor gave him back his soul or the witchdoctor died. The person would live a life of emotional emptiness, neither happy nor sad, until the day they died or were set free."

Silva was saved from having to comment by one of the kids saying, "That's kind of sad."

Harry nodded his head in agreement. Taking Silva by her hand, he said, "Now I figure that for something like zombification, there has to be an opposite kind of thing. There are some folks that move through life in a zombie-like state. They don't hear the music, see the colors, or enjoy the flavor of life. Then one day, they get hit with some kind of counter-potion. Like the time during zombification, they can't talk or communicate for a while. However, when they come out of it, they are alive for the first time in their lives. They start to hear the music, see the colors, and enjoy the flavor of life."

Silva looked at Harry with tears in her eyes wondering if he was telling her that it was her turn to live again. He patted her hand and said, "You never know when something nice happens to you. Sometimes it comes disguised as a disaster."

The lady with her two kids slipped away feeling like she was now intruding on a private moment. One of the kids turned back and said, "Nice story."

"Thank you, young man," answered Harry with a grin.



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Chapter 2


Silva sat at the computer entering data from the forms that had been filled in by hand by emergency workers in the field. She wasn't exactly a fast typist, but she was productive enough and getting faster. Sitting back after clearing the last of the pile of forms that had been handed to her, she relaxed and took a sip of her lunch through a straw. A grimace crossed her face at the act. She hated drinking all of her meals and couldn't wait until she could eat normally again.

Later that day, she was supposed to go to the hospital for them to work some more on her jaw. Although she wanted to get over her medical problems, it would be a couple of days before she would return to her job and that bothered her. She actually looked forward to coming to work in the morning. For the first time in her life she felt like she was part of something that was bigger and more important than she was.

Her officemate smiled at her and said, "Today's the day, isn't it?"

Silva nodded and looked over at the woman at the desk next to hers. Her name was Carla and, like Silva, she had an ugly brutal past. The woman had been shot in the spine during a drive-by shooting when she was a teenager. Now her body was dead from the waist down and confined to a wheel chair. Silva buzzed, "Yes, today is the day."

"I'm happy for you," replied Carla. The young woman sighed in envy as she added, "Maybe you can find a nice man."

Her words stung Silva like little darts thrown at her soul. Carla had just started dating when she had been injured. The problem was that she had never experienced a sexual relationship, but had great expectations that it would be the most wonderful thing a woman could experience. Once she had become paralyzed and sex had become impossible for her, she had become obsessed about it.

Silva had never enjoyed sex and didn't ever want to experience it again. To her, it was an ugly business that had become even uglier once she had gotten into the trade. In a way, she would have traded places with Carla to let the poor young woman enjoy sex while she was never tempted again. With bitterness in her voice, she answered, "I hope not."

Carla nodded and turned back to her work with tears welling up in her eyes. She didn't understand why the other woman was against sex. All she wanted was to experience sex just once, but that was denied her. Sniffling, she looked between her legs at what she considered to be wasted space. She had no feelings below her waist. Rubbing all day on her clit would do nothing but raise a sore. She knew that, since she had tried to bring herself to orgasm in that manner - not once, but many times.

Dissatisfied with the exchange, Silva turned back to her desk feeling bad that she had upset her officemate and knowing that there was nothing she could say that the other would understand. At that moment, a riot broke out behind her. She turned in time to see Harry burst through the door while dropping his staff to the floor. Lowering down to one knee, he said, "Tah Dah! Today is the day."

"Harry!" buzzed Silva happy to see the Druid. In her excitement, she had tried to open her mouth in a shout, which was immediately cut off by a sharp pain. It astounded her that he showed up this day and that he even knew she was going back into the hospital.

Harry looked around the room and spotted Carla sitting at her terminal with eyes reddened by tears. With far more energy than one might expect from a sixty-year-old man, he jumped to his feet, grabbing his staff in the process, and went over to her desk. Looking down at Carla as she sat in her wheelchair, he asked, "And who might you be?"

After grabbing a tissue, Carla dabbed at her nose as she answered, "Carla."

"So why is Queen Carla so sad?" asked Harry with a concerned smile. His head was cocked to one side, reminding Carla of an Irish Setter looking at something in puzzlement.

The question puzzled Carla and she asked, "Queen Carla?"

"Oh course, my lady. You are ensconced in your silver throne. Who else but a Queen could live so?" Harry bowed and acted as though he was a member of a royal court dealing with a member of royalty.

"Ah, it's not a throne. It's a wheelchair," answered Carla trying to decide if this guy was crazy or if he was making fun of her.

"So modest, too. To pass off her royal throne of silver as little more than a wheelchair," retorted Harry like a Shakespearean actor. Unable to help herself, Silva laughed at his comment.

"Are you okay?" asked Carla concerned about the sanity of the odd man standing in front of her. This was the first time that anyone had ever addressed her wheelchair in such an offhand fashion. Others tried to pretend that it didn't exist, usually without success. Never had anyone made jokes about it.

"I am fine, but it was you that was in tears when I entered the room," answered Harry moving his hand in a swirl that ended with him pointing a finger at her. Making an expansive gesture with his hands, Harry added, "So I ask my question again. Why is Queen Carla so sad?"

"None of your business," answered Carla with far more harshness than she had intended. There was no way that she was going to discuss her personal problems with the crazy man standing in front of her.

Having been around Harry, Silva believed that he would know what to say to the paralyzed woman. In a soft voice, she answered, "Carla is upset that she is never going to make love because she is paralyzed from the waist down."

Harry spun around to look at Silva as the statement staggered him. Turning back to face Carla, he asked, "What has the two things to do with each other?"

His question angered Carla as she decided that he was making fun of her. Livid, she searched around for something to throw at him. All she could find was a tape dispenser, which she tossed in his direction, but she missed him by more than four feet. Frustrated beyond belief, Carla stared at him and, in an angry voice, answered, "I can't feel anything down there, you idiot!"

"So?" asked Harry in a very disarming voice.

Silva was staring at Harry trying to figure out what he was trying to tell the other woman. She couldn't believe that he was arguing with Carla about her ability, or rather her inability, to make love. If anyone should understand her limitations, it should be Carla and not Harry.

"How can I make love without feeling anything down there?" asked Carla as her voiced edged above a scream.

"You really think that you have to feel something down there to make love?" asked Harry, his voice expressing his disbelief that anyone should believe such a thing. He shook his head with a very sad expression on his face. Looking up at her stunned face, he said, "I find it so sad that you believe something so wrong."

That statement hit her like a slap across her face. She turned a bright red in reaction and, in righteous indignation, asked, "What do you know?"

"I know very little," answered Harry standing in front of her in a posture that gave the impression of total honesty and vulnerability. "I do know that you have a strong life force beating within your body. Where there is life, there is the potential for love. With love comes making love. The body has very little to do with it, it is a spiritual thing."

Silva looked at Harry and then at Carla, seeing them both frozen in a tableau in which she was the outsider observer. In this little exchange, she was learning as much about love as Carla. More cocks than she could count had been stuffed in every orifice of her body and it astounded her that she knew nothing of love or making love. Her throat tightened preventing her from asking her questions.

In a near whimper, Carla asked, "How can you make love if you can't feel it?"

Harry stepped forward and knelt in front of Carla while staring into her eyes. With an exaggerated slowness of motion, he reached out with his right hand and felt the side of her face. His fingers brushed against her skin with a gentle teasing touch. His fingers sought out and found every nerve on the left side of her face. Unconscious of her actions, she leaned her head against his hand enjoying the warmth of his touch. Her breathing became jagged as sensations that she had never felt shot through the top half of her body. Her nipples became erect, demanding to be touched.

Watching the pair, Silva found her eyes getting moist. Never had any man spent so much time touching any part of her body with such tenderness. It was obvious to her that Carla was feeling sensations that neither women had ever felt before that day. Silva had been groped and grabbed by all manners of men, but never touched with a loving hand. Her body reacted with a sudden onset of wetness between her legs. She tried to imagine that his hand was touching her and felt frustrated that she failed. Suddenly, it was Carla that was the lucky one.

"Oh my God," moaned Carla as a shudder went through her body. It wasn't an orgasm, but it was the most intense feeling that she had experienced since becoming paralyzed. If he could do that just by touching half of her face, what could he do with the rest of her body?

Harry pulled his hand back and, still looking her in the eye, said, "I think your body has enough feeling in it for the right man to make glorious love to it."

Touching the side of her face with her hand as if she had discovered it for the first time, she replied, "I think you are right."

"Of course, I'm right. I'm Happy Harry," replied the old man with a twinkle in his eye as he stood up while holding his hands as if he were tugging on suspenders. His pose and tone of voice conveyed that he didn't take himself too seriously.

Carla burst out laughing at the comment and the ease with which the tension in the room had been dissipated. She glanced over at Silva and said, "Take her out of her and get her fixed up. I think we have some gossiping to do when she gets back."

"You order is my command, Queen Carla. Come my dark beauty, it is off to the hospital with you," said Harry as he bowed towards the door in an invitation to leave. He picked up his staff in the midst of the bow.

Silva passed by him disturbed by how he had addressed her as a dark beauty. It wasn't a racist remark, but one of praise. The problem was that she didn't feel like a dark beauty. She was still wearing sack dresses like she had been given in the hospital and was wearing her hair up in a scarf. They had hidden her figure and her sexuality, both of which she had become ashamed of since her beating. It was as though hiding her body was hiding that she was a black whore. Instead, she looked like Aunt Jemima, the pancake queen. Aunt Jemima didn't make her living sucking cocks in strange cars parked in dark alleys.

Harry led her to the truck that was parked in front of the Fusion Foundation Center. She noticed that the silver sides of the truck had been painted. Someone had painted picture of a Hobo carrying a bindle on a stick with the name, Happy Harry, beside it. She rather liked the picture and wondered who had done it. After holding the door and making sure that she was comfortable in her seat, Harry went around to the driver's side. Climbing in, he said, "Hold on, cause this thing rocks worse than a dingy in a hurricane!"

It wasn't long before they were headed out to the hospital. Silva said, "That was a nice thing you did for Carla."

"'Twas a little thing. It was all that I could do under the circumstances," remarked Harry with a shrug.

Silva was silent for a moment as she thought about what he considered to be a little thing. He had just given a woman her sexuality back to her with a single touch. It reminded her of something that had happened the first time that she had been in the truck. She said, "That day when you picked me up from the hospital, there was a guy with cancer who told you that he was going to die. Do you remember that?"

"Of course. That was Jim Henderson," replied Harry as he looked over at her. He was curious find out what she wanted to know since she hadn't really talked to the man.

"When you asked him what he wanted to do before he died, he said that he wanted to see his kids." Trying to talk so much was frustrating, but at least he understood her.

"Yes, that's right."

"What happened to him?"

Harry maneuvered the truck into the left turn lane before answering, "I helped him get into a nice Hospice Care Center in Kansas City. It took a little time, but I tracked down his children. He had two sons and a daughter. One of his sons and his daughter came to see him there. He died a couple of days after their visit. He went real gentle in his sleep."

"You were there?"

Making the left turn, the truck leaned to the point where it almost tipped over and then rocked back. Once through the turn, he answered, "No. I was in Los Angeles around the time he died. The staff told me all about it when I stopped by Kansas City on the way here."

The truck was swaying so much that she felt as if she was going to get carsick. She declared, "This thing is dangerous."

"Nah. I like it. It reminds of the old days when trains were really trains. Those boxcars used to sway from side to side as the train rolled down the tracks. It was comforting for a young boy on the rails," replied Harry with a melancholy grin.

"Boxcars?" asked Silva wondering what he was talking about.

"Yeah, boxcars. I grew up riding in boxcars with my mommy and daddy. That was back in the late forties and the world was a lot different then. There weren't that many Hobos left even then. When W-W-Two broke out, lots of them joined the army or were able to get jobs in factories. Most of the Hobos were just regular Joe's that had lost everything in the great depression. Of course, losing everything will make most men bitter. Lots of them did some pretty awful things to get by, but there were a bunch of good folks too."

Silva asked, "Wasn't that dangerous?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Getting on and off the trains was tricky. If you fell while getting on, it was likely that you would end up under the wheels. Not a good place to be and tended to leave red spots on the countryside. Getting off meant jumping from the moving train before it pulled into the station. Land wrong and you'd break an ankle if you were lucky and your neck if you weren't."

Harry paused as he pulled into the hospital parking lot. As he drove around looking for a space that was large enough for the lunch truck, he continued, "Of course, the biggest danger was getting caught by the men that worked for the railroad. They would beat a man to an inch of his life when they caught someone. This scar across my forehead was the result of an axe handle."

She had listened in shock at the stories of the dangers that he had faced during childhood. It was a miracle that he was still alive, much less a happy man that missed those times. She buzzed, "Sounds horrible."

"Not at all." Finding a spot, Harry pulled into it and turned off the motor. Turning to look at her, he said, "We're here."

Silva followed Harry into the hospital. The closer she came to the reception desk, the more nervous she got. She was approaching the moment of truth and would learn soon if her jaw had healed. Despite assurances to the contrary, she feared that she would live the rest of her life with her jaw locked shut.

Seeing her tension, he asked, "So do you ever hum?"

A throaty chuckle burst loose as she nodded her head. Ever since that day in the aquarium she would hum whenever she was feeling down. At first it had bothered her officemate, but now they both had a tendency to hum while working.

He said, "That's good. You got to find songs for all occasions. Songs for expressing when you're happy. Songs for cheering you up when you're down. Most important of all, you have to find a song for when you're afraid."

"Hmm?" asked Silva.

"Oh yes. Those are the songs you'll sing for yourself. Then you have to learn songs for others. Songs to put a baby to sleep, to challenge men to great deeds, and to woo the opposite sex." He threw his head back in an easy laugh and repeated, "Definitely, you have to learn the songs to woo the opposite sex."

Even though she wasn't sure that she wanted to woo a man, Silva laughed to hear him talk. It was a surprise when she turned and found that she was at the reception desk with a stack of forms already filled out. Her nervousness was gone as she continued to chuckle about his use of the word woo. She listened as Harry said, "You're checked in. They'll take care of you now."

"Thanks, Harry," replied Silva wondering how she could ever thank him properly.

"Don't mention it," said Harry as he held up his hands in protest. She nodded her head in understanding. Reaching out and holding her hand, he said, "You'll be okay. I've got to head out and see who else might need a little smile."

"Okay," she said as she pulled him into a hug. He returned the hug with energy. His strong arms around her body felt good and comforting. She wondered if she would ever find a good man that would love her and her alone. The though made her wonder what she was thinking. Whores didn't end up that way.

Stepping away, he said, "Give my regards to Queen Carla."

She laughed and nodded her head. The nurse led her away as Harry walked out of the hospital. On his way, he paused and talked to another person making their way to the front desk. She turned back to look at him, shook her head in amazement, and wondered what kind of magic could create a man like him.

The hospital bed had been uncomfortable the first day in the hospital, but by the third day it was torture to stay in it. Silva wanted to get out, but the doctors still hadn't cleared her. Not working had given her far too much time to think and her thoughts tended to be depressing. Her jaw, still a little stiff, was working although talking was surprisingly tiresome. She didn't have dentures yet and it gave her face the look of an old woman. Her lips kept flopping over her gums since they didn't have the support of teeth to keep them normal. The effect was to render her speech almost unintelligible.

One of the doctors entered the room carrying a small box. Handing it to her with a smile, he said, "Try these and see what you think."

Puzzled, she opened the little box and found a pair of dentures in it. She took them out of the box and slipped them in her mouth surprised that they fit perfectly. Working her mouth from side to side testing her dentures, she found that they didn't slide or anything. Of course, she would need to use some denture cream to fix them in place for things like eating. In the past, she seldom had bothered with that since she would often slip them off when giving a john a blowjob. She smiled and said, "They're perfect."

"Good," replied the doctor as he checked her jaw. He made the normal hums and hahs that all doctors make when examining patient. Her speech sounded normal and that was a good sign. Standing back, he said, "After you eat a meal using your new dentures, we'll release you."

"Thank you!" Silva was nearly on the verge of tears when she caught sight of herself in a mirror. This day was too long in coming. She could talk and sound like a real person again. Her face looked normal with lips that smiled and moved naturally. She still had a few bandages, but they were minor.

"It's nice to see you smiling," answered the doctor. As he removed the last few bandages, he said, "I'm going to prescribe some calcium for you. I'd like to see you take it regularly. It might be possible that we can go to dental implants."

"Implants?"

"Sure," replied the doctor. He added, "A young woman like yourself shouldn't have to live with dentures."

Stunned by the suggestion of dental implants, she sat in the bed not caring that it was hard and uncomfortable. The idea that she could have a natural looking smile without having to put in dentures was beyond her wildest dreams. Whores didn't have dental implants, only rich folks had them. She didn't even notice when the doctor left the room.

Lunch came and she consumed it, eating with far greater relish than she ever remembered approaching a meal. The foods were soft since it would be a while before she could eat harder foods. Her gums were tender and the muscles in her jaw weak. Still, if felt good to have something a little more solid than pureed food in her mouth. Even hospital Jell-O was a treat in the sense that it had a real texture to it.

After finishing the meal, she realized that she wanted to announce her happiness to the world, but screaming and shouting was not the right way to do it. The best way was through song. As she wondered what kind of song would be appropriate for sharing the happiness she felt, it dawned on her that Harry was right about her needing to find music for different occasions.

After an attendant came and removed the food tray, she was ready to leave and get back to work. There were so many things that she wanted to discuss with Carla. The first step to leaving was to get dressed and towards that end she went to the closet to get her clothes. The closet was completely empty. Staring at it in confusion, she wondered what kind of jerk would steal a person's cloths in a hospital.

A sound behind her startled her and she spun around to hide her panty-covered ass. Her reaction surprised her since she had worn much more revealing clothes on the street. The days in the hospital had exposed her more than that. It was a shock when she realized that the person standing behind her was Ms. Clements, her supervisor. "Oh, hello. I didn't expect anyone to come."

Smiling at the idea that they would forget about her being here, Ms. Clements held out a box and said, "This was delivered for you."

Surprised, Silva reached out and took the box. Opening it, she looked inside to find a complete outfit. It was a black and white business suit with all of the appropriate accompaniments. This included sexy panties, bra, and hose designed to make her feel sexy but look prim. Her lower lip trembled as she looked at the pair of simple heels at the bottom of the box. She looked up and asked, "Who?"

"Harry."

Numb, she stared at the dress as tears started to flow. Silva backed to the bed unable to see her way and sat down when she felt the edge of it against her buttocks. It was the most beautiful outfit that she had ever held in her hands. It was conservative, but suggestive at the same time. Her hands trembled as she looked up at her supervisor. Throat swollen with emotions that she didn't know she had, she was barely able to speak when she said, "Help me."

"Pardon?"

"Help me put it on," cried Silva as tears flowed down her cheeks.

The elderly woman closed the door to the room and helped Silva dress. It was a strange experience for Ms. Clements to dress an adult woman who seemed as helpless as a toddler. Standing behind the black woman, Ms. Clements frowned as she looked at the ribbons of thin scars that ran across Silva's back. It took her a minute to recognize that they were the result of being whipped with coat hangers sometime in the distant past. It was hard to keep from commenting on them, but she had learned from years of working with people in the Fusion Foundation not to ask questions about the past. There were a lot of hurt people that worked for her that were slowly healing.

Once she was dressed and had composed herself, Silva tried to find a mirror that would let her see what she looked like in the outfit. Unfortunately there wasn't a full-length mirror in the room. Anxious to get an honest opinion of how she looked, she turned to Ms. Clements and asked, "How do I look?"

"Silva, you look like a million dollars," replied the woman in a tone of voice that bordered on awe. The transformation achieved as a result of putting on the dress had been remarkable. The Aunt Jemima who used to work for her was gone having been replaced by a strong capable-looking businesswoman. Silva even stood up straighter and moved with more grace.

The black woman stood in the center of the room for a minute as she considered what she was about to do. The time had come to undo some of the damage of the past. It took time for her to make the decision and even longer before she was ready to announce it. Taking a deep breath, she said, "My real name is Silvia. I think I would like to go by that now."

"Okay, Silvia."

"Do you know when I can go?"

The elderly woman gave her a soft smile and said, "You're already checked out and can leave anytime you want. I suggest that we stop and buy some makeup before we return to work."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I think it would be fun, don't you?"

Silvia smiled and took the other woman by the arm as she headed towards the door. There was so much for her to learn now. She realized that she didn't know how to buy makeup that wasn't whorish and said, "Yes, I do. You might have to help me. I don't have much experience with makeup."

"That's okay, dear. Lots of women think they know about makeup, but most of them use all the wrong colors," replied Ms. Clements as they stepped out of the hospital room.

Silvia stepped into her office and looked at her officemate. The young woman in the wheel chair looked different to her somehow. It was as though someone had drained years of tension from her and she sat there relaxed for the first time in ages. She didn't know if it was because of the little session with Harry or if something else had happened, but the girl positively glowed. Carla looked up and, in a very proper manner, asked, "Could I help you ma'am?"

Silvia couldn't help laughing at the fact that Carla didn't recognize her, but understood the reason why. When she had seen herself in the mirror, she hadn't recognized herself. She answered, "Ma'am? Since when did your officemate become a ma'am?"

Carla's mouth dropped open as she squealed, "Is that you, Silva?"

"Yes it is, but could you maybe call me Silvia from now on?"

"Wow, talk about a major change! You're beautiful," remarked Carla as she looked over her officemate. There weren't words that could express her shock at the difference that three days had made. This beauty had replaced the sullen quiet woman that had hunched over her computer for hours at a time.

Brushing off the compliment, Silvia replied, "I notice that you're looking a little different now. There's a kind of glow about you. What's up?"

Carla blushed and looked down at her lap. She stammered, "Well. After Harry, uh, I kinda. Well, you know."

"You didn't?" asked Silvia as she realized what had happened. Carla had found herself a lover.

"Yes, I did. Is it so obvious?"

"You are glowing girl!" said Silvia with a grin. Feeling giddy as a schoolgirl learning about some adult secret, she went over to her chair and sat down. Turning to face Carla, she said, "Details. I want details."

"After you left, I was really very excited."

"Excited?" asked Silvia wondering if that was the correct word.

"Okay, I was horny. This body of mine was feeling things I didn't know it could," answered Carla, her blush glowing brighter. She lowered her voice as she said, "I found Tim. You know, he's the guy upstairs who sits on a throne like me."

"Tim?" asked Silvia knowing exactly whom it was that she was talking about. He had lost both legs in an accident. It never dawned on her to think of him in a sexual way.

"Yes, King Tim," giggled Carla sounding a lot younger than her twenty-five years of age. "We start to talk and I tell him about what Harry did. Next thing you know, his clothes and my clothes are gone."

"You didn't? Right here in the office building?" asked Silvia shocked at the behavior of her officemate. It was outlandish, but a perfect beginning for Carla's explorations for her newly discovered sexuality.

"We did. His thing works and quite well if I'm any judge." That afternoon had been her first time to see a cock in real life. It had fascinated her and after touching it, she had been surprised when he came. After that, she didn't want to leave it alone.

Silvia smiled at Carla. She was happy that the young woman had finally had the experience that she had been wanting for so long. From the glow, she guessed that Carla had enjoyed the experience. She leaned forward and asked, "So how was it for you?"

"It was glorious. I don't know if what I experienced is an orgasm, but I was sure that I had died and gone to heaven. When he started licking my breasts, fireworks exploded," answered Carla. She blushed again recalling the scream that she had released at the time. They'd had to act fast when others knocked on Tim's office door concerned about the noises that had emerged from the room.

"I'm so happy for you," replied Silvia. She had said it in total honesty without any jealousy or envy. The young woman had found the happiness that she had been seeking. It gave her hope that there was a chance for her.

"Thanks," answered Carla. She smiled and asked, "So how's Harry?"

Silvia laughed and said, "He's traveling somewhere. The last thing he said to me was to give Queen Carla his regards."

"He's an odd man, but I like him."

Sighing as she remembered listening to him telling his stories and singing his songs, Silvia said, "He's a great wise man. I'm lucky to have met him."



-------

Chapter 3


The office was crowded with happy people celebrating Thanksgiving, even though it was the day before the national holiday. The tables were filled with turkey-shaped carrot cakes, pumpkin pies, and soft drinks. There was no alcohol for this crowd, too many of them had problems with it.

Silvia moved comfortably through the crowd of people, smiling and talking to people as they ate. This was a little party that Silvia had thrown for the people that worked under her. After three years at the Fusion Foundation while taking management courses four nights a week, she had been promoted to a supervisor. That she had been promoted had amazed her, but the work came naturally. She guessed that years of dealing with troublesome johns had hardened her to excuses, but her livelihood as a whore kept her from being judgmental.

She stopped by the table with food and dipped a celery stick in a bowl of dip before munching on it. Her former officemate rolled in the room followed by her grinning husband. Based on his grin, there was no doubt that they had been having a little fun in the elevator. Shaking her head at their antics, Silvia waved and walked over to her friends greeting them, "I'm so glad that you could make it."

Carla smiled as she looked around at all the people in the room, recognizing most of them. Since she had transferred out of the office, she didn't get a chance to see these people that often. She replied, "I wouldn't miss your first party for the world."

Winking at her, Jim teased, "This sex-crazed hussy figured it would be easier to leave early from here for a quickie than to go from our office."

Silvia laughed at the joke, knowing that was probably true. They were the most sexually active couple that she had ever encountered. Putting a hand on his shoulder, she said, "I'd borrow you some day, but I know that she keeps you worn out."

The giggle that arose from Carla was contagious. It pleased her to know that Silvia understood her drives and didn't think less of her. There were times when she wanted to sit back and roar, "I'm a sexually active lady!" Of course, that wasn't something that one could do at a party.

As Silvia laughed with her young friend, Tim spun around his wheelchair looking at the people gathered in the room. There were a few new faces in the crowd and some old ones were gone. That was normal in the Fusion Foundation. Most people joined the organization to recover from a failure and then would move on to bigger and better things. A very few people, like Silvia, Carla, and himself, found the Fusion Foundation to be home.

Silvia's assistant came over looking rather uneasy. Licking his lips, he said, "Ms. Black, I'm sorry to interrupt, but you have a visitor in your office."

The serious look on his face conveyed a sense of concern, as if something was wrong. She frowned, knowing that he had a tendency to exaggerate situations, and replied, "Okay. I'll be right there."

He nodded as he backed away. Pausing, to see if she was leaving and finding that she wasn't, he prompted, "I think he's a pretty important person."

Silvia wondered about his characterization of the visitor as an important person. The only important person that came to this area was her supervisor. She said, "I guess I had better check it out. I'll be right back."

Jim, looking over at Carla, joked, "I'll see how long I can keep her here before she is overwhelmed by her urges."

Silvia left the room as Carla answered, "Now. I need you now."

She hoped that it wouldn't take long to deal with whatever problem had come up. Carla and Tim were in rare form today. With brisk steps, she walked down the hall towards her office while wondering about the identity of the unexpected visitor. She didn't need to enter her office to know who it was. The simple song coming down the hallway told her everything that she needed to know. Excited, she ran down the hall as she screamed, "Harry!"

Harry turned and, with a large smile, said, "Ah, it's my dark beauty. You're looking better than ever."

Unable to resist the urge, Silvia rushed over to him and hugged him as though her life depended on it. His return hug was warm and friendly bringing tears of happiness to her eyes. It was hard to believe that the last time she had seen him was when he had taken her to the hospital three years ago.

It was so good to see him, particularly on this day. She said, "I'm having my first party as a supervisor today. You have to come in and enjoy the food."

"I will, but first a little business," replied Happy Harry with an apologetic gesture. "I need a favor."

"Anything you want. What do you need, Harry?" It amazed and pleased her that she was in a position to help him. She would give her life to help him if that was necessary. The past few years had been the best of her life and she owed it all to him.

"I have a young woman that was hurt and needs a place to heal for a while. I was wondering if she could work here with you," said Harry.

"You got it," replied Silvia ready to drop everything to help him. "Is she here?"

"She's in the hospital up in St. Louis for another week. She is in pretty bad shape, but she's getting better. I'll send her here to Atlanta when they release her," he answered. It was clear to her that the woman was not in good shape from the way he spoke about it. With a worried look on his face, he explained the situation. "She was thrown out of a car and run over. She had major damage to her hips and legs."

She felt terrible. The mention of her hometown brought back memories of her former occupation and its aftermath. Those memories had not haunted her in ages and had no power over her now. The horrible thing that had happened to the woman bothered her. She asked, "What's her name?"

"Crystal," answered Harry. Like a lot of women that worked on the street, she didn't use a last name.

Silvia wondered if it was the Crystal that she knew, but didn't pursue the question. There were a lot of girls that went by the name of Crystal and only a few of them were whores. Even if she knew this particular girl, it didn't matter. After all, who was she to look down on anyone? She had never allowed herself such pretensions.

She wrote a note on her desk to remind her to set up a room, make arrangements for a nurses aides, and an interview to see what kind of job would be good for her. She'd have to check her budgets to make sure that she didn't go overboard. She said, "I'll have a room set aside for her and start her training when she's ready."

"I knew I could count on you," replied Harry sounding very relieved. Clapping his hands, he said, "You mentioned something about a party."

She grinned and answered, "Yes I did. Come on, Harry."

Wrapping her arm through his, she led him out of her office and towards the room where the party was being held. A huge smile of pleasure was plastered on her face as she walked beside the Druid. He patted her hand and, with a sly voice, said, "You make an old man very happy."

"Why?" Silvia asked surprised by his statement and reference to himself as an old man. She knew a lot of men half his age that were twice as old.

"How many homeless Hobos my age can get such a beautiful woman to walk around on his arm?" He tried to look lecherous without much success.

He was just too cute to consider a lecher and the idea caused her to laugh at him. She started to sing, "We're off to see the Wizard..."

By the time they reached the door to the party, they were dancing as they both sang the song. It was a hard act to maintain since she kept breaking up in laughter. Harry asked, "So which one am I? The tin man, the cowardly lion, or the scarecrow?"

"None of them. You're heart is huge, you are brave, and you're the wisest man alive. That's just my traveling song," she answered remembering the day long ago when she picked it out for that purpose. She had sung that song through the entire movie and for days afterwards, amazed that she had never heard it before.

"It's a good one. Adds a little bounce to the step," he replied with a smile.

"We're here," she said hardly able to wait for them to enter the room. She wanted to see Carla's reaction to his presence.

"Give me a minute to get dignified. After all, I am a Druid," said Harry as he pretended to straighten a tie. She laughed as he lifted a foot and rubbed the top of the shoe against the back of his robe to polish it.

When he started brushing his teeth with his finger, she couldn't help herself and cried, "You're killing me."

Harry entered the room walking beside Silvia in a manner slightly reminiscent of Laurel of Laurel and Hardy fame. Looking around, he noticed Carla and Tim over by the food. A huge grin crossed his face as he recognized the woman in the wheelchair and saw how she was feeding Tim a bite of pie. That was love if he had ever seen it.

Holding his staff up in the air, he approached them. Before Carla had a chance to see him, he stepped forward and bowed. Tim looked puzzled at the odd man in front of him. The unexpected action attracted the attention of everyone in the room except for Carla. In a voice that carried across the room, he said, "Lords and Ladies. I, Happy Harry, have come far to present myself to the King and Queen of the Ball! Long live the King. Long live the Queen."

Carla, with practiced ease, spun her wheelchair around in place and stared at Harry for a half a second. Everyone else in the room, with the exception of Silvia, tensed up expecting a scene. A huge smile crossed her face and her arms flew out to reach for him, as she screamed, "Harry!"

Straightening up, Harry stepped over to her and swept her into a hug. The wheelchair made it awkward, but neither one seemed to mind. Seeing the happy reaction of Carla, everyone realized that it was an old friend greeting an old friend. The tension in the room dissipated as she grabbed his hands and kissed them in her excitement.

Tim was staring at Harry with a funny look on his face, as though he didn't know how to react. When Carla finally let go of his hand, Tim rolled forward and grabbed Harry's hand with both of his. In a tone of admiration, he said, "Thank God I finally got a chance to thank you for everything you've done for me."

Surprised by the reception, Harry replied, "I did nothing."

"Nothing? You did everything," asserted Tim. The day that Harry had visited Carla had awakened the woman within her. He was the lucky beneficiary of that awakening. She had come to him right after talking to Harry and declared that it was possible for people in wheelchairs to make love. After years of being ignored as something not quite a man, her declaration had awakened his urges. He looked down and said, "You gave us both life."

"I think that you discovered that yourselves, I was just an excuse," replied Harry looking down at the man in the wheelchair with a modest smile. Preferring not to look down on people, he dropped down and sat tailor fashion on the floor. Laying his staff on the ground beside him, he noticed their ring fingers and said, "I take it you are married."

"Yes, we are," cooed Carla as she grabbed her husband's hand. She asked, "How about you?"

Harry held his arms out to his sides in a gesture of surrender as he said, "Happy Harry is a rolling stone. He dillies here and dallies there, then goes merrily on his way leaving behind a happy woman."

Silvia listened to the exchange wishing that he would want to dilly or even dally with her. The past few years of being around Carla and Tim had re-awaked desires within her that she thought were non-existent. It was amazing how much pleasure those two got from each other.

Carla frowned and said, "That sounds lonely."

"Lonely? Nay! I love all women too much to select one and all women are too smart to roam the world with me."

As much as Silvia loved him, she knew that what he had said was true. Loving Harry was like watching a rainbow. You had to enjoy it while it lasted and cherish the memory for the rest of your life. She could accept that and knew that a lot of women would accept it as well.

"What about making love?" asked Carla thinking that his lifestyle prevented him from doing that.

"If that is an offer, I'll have to talk to Tim before I say yes," answered Harry with a grin at her and a wink at Tim. He rubbed his hands together as if excited about the possibility.

Carla blushed as she realized how what she had asked could be interpreted. Her embarrassment was made worse when Tim quipped, "Please! I need the rest. She's relentless. She's an animal. She's insatiable."

She hit Tim on the shoulder as she said, "Speaking of which, you should be well rested by now."

Tim gave forth a fake groan as Harry laughed at her comment. Leaning over to Tim, the Druid whispered, "The Gods and Goddesses love randy women. You're a lucky man to have found one so blessed."

"I know," replied Tim with a grin. He looked over at Carla and saw that she was making eyes at him. Expecting her to want to visit with Harry, he asked, "You ready to go?"

"You know it Studley," she answered with a smile. Looking over at Harry, she said, "It's so good to see you again, Harry. You really have no idea what you did for me. I'd really like to thank you properly, but here and now is not the time. Since tomorrow is Thanksgiving, could you come over for dinner?"

"I'm sorry, but I have twenty turkeys to cook tonight and deliver tomorrow," replied Harry as he stood to let them leave. He held his staff and leaned against it as he added, "I hope you understand."

"Of course," answered Carla, not knowing much more about Harry than her single experience with him.

"Where are you delivering the turkeys?" Silvia was curious to know. If he had just come down from St. Louis, then it was possible he expected to go back there that night.

"Here in Atlanta," replied Harry.

"Can I help cook them?" asked Silvia not wanting her time with Harry to end. Perhaps while the turkeys were cooking, she could talk with him a little and try to thank him in a more intimate manner.

The hungry look in her eyes told Harry everything he needed to know about her motives. Harry smiled as a perfectly devious idea came to him. The smile, looking much more lecherous than the pitiful attempt earlier, sent a little twinge of hope through her spirit. With a half-bow, he said, "Sure. Come over to the Mess Hall around nine tonight."

Silvia entered the Mess Hall at nine sharp, not wanting to look too willing by showing up early or, just as bad, appear uninterested by being late. The room was large enough to hold five hundred people. Displacing the darkness was a small area of light showing through the doors from the kitchen. The light reflected off the clean floors, tabletops, and the metal parts of the chairs. The reflections allowed one to walk through the room without running into chairs or tables, but left plenty of dark corners. Although noises filtered from the kitchen, the emptiness of the room gave it an echo that fed her nervousness.

Taking a breath, she walked across the room towards the door with slow measured steps. Her nervousness was not entirely imposed by the room, but by her fears for the evening as a whole. It had taken her almost an hour to pick out an outfit that she thought Harry might like. She wanted something that looked nice, but wasn't overdressed for cooking. She had settled on a simple dress that was tight in the right places, but not binding, and a pair of flat shoes.

The scrape of a chair leg against the floor startled her. Her eyes sought out the source of the noise in the dark corners of the room. For a moment, she thought a ghost had floated out of a dark spot and her heart raced as a result. A weird elongated white figure appeared to rise from the floor to float in the air. She almost screamed until she realized that it was a black man dressed in a white Chef's outfit. Recovering her senses, she called out, "Where's Harry?"

"The bum's not here." The reply had two effects on her. It bothered her that the man referred to Harry as a bum. The deep voice, reminiscent of a Barry White, took her breath away.

Sounding more aggressive and threatening than intended, she answered, "Don't call Harry a bum."

"Hmm, you must be Silvia. He said you would come to help cook," replied the voice.

She couldn't see his features because of the dark and the distance, but she could see that he was about four inches taller than she was. His tailored uniform showed off his broad shoulders and narrow stomach. All of that paled beside his incredible voice. She walked towards him to see better his features as she answered, "Yes, I'm Silvia. Who are you?"

"Cook," answered the man. He looked her over in the dim light of the room as she approached. She walked with a stride that indicated real self-confidence.

"I see you're a cook. What's your name?"

"Cook. I am what I do," replied the man. His deep resonant voice had taken on a harder edge to it.

"Oh," replied Silvia wondering what was the story behind this guy. She was close enough to make out his features. He had a broad open face with an immaculately trimmed Goatee. The tall Chef's hat covered his hair. All in all, he was too perfect. She knew there had to be something wrong with him.

"You don't look like you came to cook," commented Cook as he looked over her. In his opinion, she was the most attractive woman that had come to the kitchen in ages. Her upright posture spoke of a positive self-image. She looked too good to be true. There had to be something wrong with her to be there.

Although his statement was close to the truth, she denied it by saying, "I came here to cook."

"Looks to me like you came trolling for a man," commented the Chef. More than one woman had come through the kitchen with that idea in mind. Usually he was the target of their affections. As he turned towards the kitchen, he said, "I'm not interested."

Silvia laughed at his hubris. Sure he was handsome enough to kill for and had a voice that was sexy enough to die for, but she wasn't interested. She replied, "Don't flatter yourself."

He paused and looked over his shoulder, wondering who she was chasing. Raising an eyebrow, it dawned on him that she was interested in bedding Harry. For a fleeting moment, he was almost jealous. Turning back to the kitchen, he asked, "Are you coming?"

Deciding that Harry would show up sometime and she didn't want to miss him, she answered, "Yes."

Following the big man through the doors, she was initially overwhelmed by the appearance of the kitchen. Silver surfaces gleamed, the white floors were spotless, and everything was organized. He clapped his hands, producing a sharp sound that ripped through the room like the report of a pistol. Everyone else in the room stood up and turned to face him. Rubbing his hands together in anticipation, he said, "Listen up, everyone. We have twenty turkeys and all of the fixin's to prepare tonight. They have to be done by six in morning. That means we have a lot of work to do."

"Our food may be meant for the homeless, but that doesn't mean that we are going to skimp on quality. You will wash your hands every time you move from one task to another. I will be watching!"

Seeing that everyone was listening, he said, "I have the turkeys thawed over there. I want you, you, and you to clean them. Wash them thoroughly inside and out. Remove all traces of feathers and internal organs. I want the giblets set over to the side for making gravy. When you are done with each one, raise your hand and I will inspect it."

The three people that he had pointed at nodded their heads and immediately turned to perform their assigned tasks. Silvia was impressed with the authority that he brought to his work. He continued, "You, you, and you will start cleaning the celery and onions that are in those bins over there. All of them, not just some of them. Once you are done, you will take them over to the grinder and grind them on setting four."

The individuals that he had identified turned to their tasks. Continuing his orders, he said, "Over in that oven is a lot of bread. I need it shredded into pieces no bigger than my thumbnail. You and you will pick apart the bread and put it into those four plastic tubs over there. Fill each tub half full. No more and no less."

One of the people that he had pointed out was Silvia. She shrugged and followed the other woman. The other woman stopped by a stand and grabbed an apron and a towel. After washing her hands, she tucked the towel into a loop on the apron. Silvia, feeling a little lost in the kitchen, followed the example set by the other woman. The woman said, "Cook is a stickler for cleanliness. Most of the people here will go through three aprons and twenty towels by morning."

Silvia followed the other woman to a massive oven to get the bread. The temperature inside was warm and a gentle moist heat billowed out when the door was opened. Silvia enjoyed the smell. The heat had dried the bread to a stale consistency. The quantity of bread in the oven was staggering. Staring at the other woman with a shocked look on her face, Silvia said, "This is going to take an hour or more."

"Most likely," answered the woman as she pulled out a tray full of stale bread. The temperature in the oven didn't require mitts to keep from getting burned. Silvia followed the actions of the other woman and carried the tray over to a worktable.

After dropping off the tray, Silvia headed over to pick up two of the plastic tubs. She hadn't gone more than three steps when the other woman said, "Wash your hands."

Silvia was about to object that she was going to just be carrying a plastic tub, but the look on the other woman's face convinced her that arguing wouldn't do any good. As she went to the sink, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that Cook had positioned himself in the center of the room. Legs spread shoulder wide and arms crossed, he was watching everything that was going on in the room like a road gang guard. As she dried her hands, she thought, 'He's good at running a work crew.'

Seated at the worktable, Silvia finally started picking the bread apart. It was the kind of mindless repetitive task that called for a song to ease the boredom and make the time go by. Not knowing a proper song for such a job, she started singing while making up the words as she worked. She didn't notice that her co-worker had started humming along.

It was a little less than forty minutes later that the two women finished with the bread that was in the oven. The four plastic tubs were each filled as he had directed, half-full - no more and no less. When she turned from the sink, she found Cook standing beside her with an odd expression on his face. He said, "You've got a twenty minute break. Get some coffee, go to the bathroom, stretch, or do whatever you want. When you leave the kitchen, remove your apron and get a new one when you come back."

"I'm ready for the next task," replied Silvia thinking that taking a break after less than an hour of work was a waste. She began to think that maybe he wasn't that competent.

"The others are not," said Cook as he turned and walked away. He paused by the bins of bread wondering how she had managed to set a pace that led them to finish fifteen minutes early. It must have been the singing and his opinion of her went up a little. To himself, he thought, 'She must really have a big problem if she's here.'

Her co-worker commented, "We must have really finished early. He's never given a break this early."

"Right," scoffed Silvia, "he's trying to take it easy on me."

"By the way, I'm Cathy."

Silvia looked over at her co-worker. The woman was rail-thin and had a slightly haunted looked in her eyes. It was hard to tell if she was a former drug addict, had an eating disorder, or had been ill. She replied, "I'm sorry. I should have introduced myself. I'm Silvia."

Cathy, unsure what to say, grabbed a Styrofoam cup and pretended to be busy fixing a cup of coffee. Having seen the same kind of behavior among other people in the Fusion Foundation, Silvia pretended not to notice the unease of the other woman. She took a cup of coffee and followed her out of the kitchen. They sat at a table in the Mess Hall sipping their coffee, each thinking their own thoughts. Silvia wondered when Harry would show up and if she would actually get a chance to spend some time with him. She had not realized that cooking twenty turkeys was such a mammoth task that required so many people.

When the break was over, she returned to the kitchen to receive her orders. Her heart sank when she found out that she was going to be peeling potatoes. Rather than complain, she dressed, washed her hands, and took her seat waiting for the first tub of washed potatoes to appear in front of her. It was a production line, with two people washing potatoes, four people peeling, and one chopping them into the appropriate size for cooking. Once a tub of clean potatoes were delivered in front of her, she started peeling.

After the third potato, she knew this task required a song. Even as she had that thought, she recalled how Harry had told she needed to find a song for every situation. For the next few potatoes, she mentally sorted through the songs that she knew trying to find one that would fit the task. Finally, she selected a tune that had a nice rhythm and started singing.

The time passed as she worked and sang. In a way, this was much more relaxing than she would have predicted. It was nice to work without the responsibility of managing people or worrying about getting the job done on time. Her mind went on autopilot. It came as a surprise to her when she reached for another potato and found that there wasn't one. She looked around the table and noticed that everyone else was finished.

Looking down at her hands, she saw that they were wrinkled from being wet. Looking up from her hands, she noticed that everyone else at the table was looking at someone behind her. She started when Cook said, "After cleaning off the table, you have a forty- five minute break. I suggest that you go outside and move around. Play on the swings or something to let your muscles relax."

Outside, Silvia settled on a bench near the playground watching as some of the other people were playing on the swings. She smiled as the adults played, allowing some of the problems of the past drop away for a little time. Cathy came over and sat down on the bench next to her. After about fifteen minutes, she said, "He's never given us this long of a break before."

Silvia took a sip of her coffee and thought about it. Either he was incompetent in scheduling his activities or he was trying to impress her. She replied, "I think he knows that I'm a friend of Harry and wants to make a good impression by treating me well."

Cathy frowned at the assessment of the elegant black woman sitting next to her. She didn't know who Harry was and didn't care to know. She had worked with Cook for almost six months and knew that he didn't care about impressing anyone. He was a hard boss, but if you did your job the way that he told you to do it, then he treated you well. She asked, "Did you see the look on his face when he gave us the break?"

"No. He was standing behind me," answered Silvia.

"Oh," replied Cathy. She looked down at her cup, took a sip, and then said, "Excuse me. I have to potty."

Silvia watched the woman walk away wondering about her past. Shrugging her shoulder, she glanced at her watch discovering that it was a quarter to one. She had another fifteen minutes to her break and looked at her warm coffee. She finished it off and threw the cup into the trashcan by the bench. Thinking about Cathy, she headed to the bathroom deciding that relieving her bladder before going back to work was a good idea.

It was about three in the morning when she finished peeling the last sweet potato. Unused to that kind of work, her hands looked horrible. She was going to have to work on her nails before going over to Carla and Tim's house for Thanksgiving Dinner. She looked around and saw that Harry had not shown up yet. The thought depressed her since she knew that she would look horrible by the time he showed. Even her voice was a little cracked from singing so much. Next break, she would try to fix her face up a little in the woman's room.

The others around the table stood up and looked around for Cook. Normally, he would be right there as soon as they finished a task. The other group was taking a break while the turkeys roasted in the oven. Nervous, Cathy said, "Something is wrong."

As the rest of the group at the table nodded in agreement, Silvia asked, "Why?"

Normally, the other group would be coming back from their break after making the additional stuffing about the time they finished peeling the sweet potatoes. While her group would go on break, the cooks would start boiling the sweet potatoes. "The others should have finished putting the stuffing in the oven before taking their break. They haven't even started it yet. Then they have to boil the sweet potatoes for the other side dish."

"So?"

"Cook should be all over them for being behind schedule. They still have to make the pies. It's going to take them at least two hours to finish up," answered Cathy.

"Where is Cook?"

"That's what's wrong. He's not here," replied one of the other people.

Silvia realized that she was the most senior person in the room and that it was necessary for her to take control. Frowning at the idea that another supervisor was shirking his duty, she stood up to take charge. Turning to Cathy, she said, "Cathy, why don't you lead the others in cleaning off the table while I find Cook?"

Cathy, embarrassed at being singled out, nodded with a timid look. It was the most responsibility that she had been given since starting work here. In a soft voice, she said, "Okay."

Giving a reassuring smile to the frightened woman, Silvia said, "I know you can handle it."

She watched the woman sit up a little straighter. Turning, she went into the dining room thinking that Cook was probably drinking a cup of coffee. Instead, of finding him drinking coffee, he was sitting in a chair with his head resting on his crossed arms on the table taking a nap. Supervisors were not supposed to be taking naps on the job, as many of the people working for them were emotionally weak. In a commanding voice, she said, "Wake up!"

Cook sat up straight and spun around in surprise. He knew his alarm had not gone off and wondered what might be the problem. This was the slow time and when he had scheduled his hour-long power nap. The turkeys were cooking and the sweet potatoes were getting peeled. Nothing would need his attention for an hour and it was his one chance to get some rest until noon. He asked, "What's the matter?"

"I was told that everything is behind schedule. Now I don't know how you run this show, but you are supposed to be supervising these people. Get to work." The scorn in her voice was obvious.

Shocked at the dressing down he was receiving from the woman, Cook stood up and faced her. It was only then that he realized that she was a supervisor. He looked at his watch and saw that he still had thirty minutes before his nap was supposed to end. Confused, he asked, "What are you talking about? We don't start the dressing for another thirty minutes."

"Well, we finished peeling the sweet potatoes."

"No you didn't. You couldn't have done that. It will take you at least another half an hour," replied Cook turning and striding into the kitchen. He stopped and looked around at the group sitting at the table. The table was spotless and all of the sweet potatoes were peeled. The other tasks that he had assigned them had been completed. He was careful not to react to what he had seen.

Silvia stood at the door and watched his reaction. At least he didn't act as if he had lost control of the situation in front of the people that worked for him. He glanced back at her and then said, "Sorry about that, I had a call of nature. Please take a thirty minute break and return here."

After everyone else left to take their break, Cook turned to Silvia deciding that it was time to set her straight and put her in her place. He said, "I'm very impressed, but you should have told me you were a supervisor."

"I'm not impressed," replied Silvia feeling a twinge of guilt at the fact that his charge that she should have told him that she was a supervisor was true. He could have put her in charge for a few minutes without any problems. Raising her voice to make her point, "You were absent from duty."

Shaking his head in disagreement of her assessment, Cook defended himself with a little more energy than intended. "I've been doing this for five years and my schedule has been correct that entire time. One night with you here, you manage to get my people to work at a much faster pace than ever before. You really should have told me you were a supervisor."

"You still haven't answered my charges of absent from duty. You're job is to supervise the people," replied Silvia wanting to deflect his charges. It irritated her that he was shirking his responsibilities.

Cook picked up a Styrofoam cup and filled it with coffee. Taking a sip, he answered, "I'm sure that you are aware that during long term duties that last over twelve hours, that a supervisor may take one hour naps during scheduled slow times. I have been on duty since six in the morning, yesterday. That was the second of my two scheduled naps."

His statement made the fact that she hadn't announced her position even worse. She could have relieved him for a while without any problems. Of course, she wasn't here to work for him. She had come for Harry. She challenged, "When do you get off duty?"

"At noon," replied Cook. The thought flashed through his mind that he'd like to connect with this attractive, confident, and capable woman. He shook his head trying to get the thought out of his mind.

Frowning as she decided that she had been unfair in her assessment of him, she realized that he was probably much more competent than she had given him credit. His control after so many hours was rather remarkable. She said, "Get back to your nap."

"Thanks to you, I've got to rework the schedule," replied Cook. He hated to do that, but she had made it necessary. Of course, he should have known when her group had finished everyone of their tasks in record time. He should have taken that into account and reworked the schedule. With her working there, it made predicting the time required to do some tasks much more difficult.

She put her arms on her hips and looked at him in irritation. It was true that she should have told him that she was a supervisor. He was handsome, capable, competent, controlled, and had a voice to die for. As a result, she found herself attracted to him despite herself, but she wasn't ready for a real relationship. Sharper than intended, she said, "Don't blame me for your problems."

She was attractive, capable, competent, controlled, and intelligent. As a result, he found himself attracted to her despite himself, but he wasn't ready for a real relationship. Anger flaring, he replied, "Don't blame me that you aren't working to support a supervisor as you are required."

The sound of hands clapping rang through the room, startling them both. They turned to find the source of the noise. Both were embarrassed that they had lost control over themselves. Happy Harry, with a huge smile on his face, said, "You already argue like a married couple. So when are you going out on your first date?"



-------

Chapter 4


Silvia screamed as her second orgasm ripped through her body. The big man licking her pussy was driving her to a level of sexual pleasure that she had never imagined possible. For the past hour, he had done things to her that shook her to her very foundations. She'd never made out with a man before. Who knew that a half an hour of kissing could be so nice? She hadn't. Who knew that having your breast stroked could induce an orgasm? She hadn't. His talented tongue suddenly flicked up and teased her clit for a half a second. She screamed, "I'm boiling over!"

Cook was busy lapping up her steamy hot juices, amazed at how much she was able to produce. Sweet as sugar, he was in heaven. His cock, hard as a rock, was screaming to be sheathed in her hot tunnel. He ignored the demands of his cock, enjoying the feel of the woman writhing under the assault of his tongue.

"Fuck me! Fuck me now!" screamed Silvia shocking herself with her desires and her language. She hadn't ever talked like that even when she was selling her body on the street. Her body needed filling and it needed it right that moment.

Relenting, Cook moved up and positioned his cock at her entrance. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him into her. The cock slipped into her drenched passage easier than she imagined possible. Her voice rung through the room as she screamed, "Oh, yeah."

The wild woman writhing underneath him was driving him crazy. He lost control and allowed the needs of his body to take over. His pace picked up as he thrust into her body. Wrapping his arms around her, he wanted to completely possess her. She wrapped her arms around his back and directed his thrusts to an even faster pace with her legs. She wanted to wrap herself around him, enveloping him with her entire body, not just her hot pussy. Her screams stopped being of words, just animal sounds as waves of orgasmic pleasure washed over her. His noises had turned just as animalistic.

It felt like his balls had pulled up into his body when he finally came. It wasn't a groan that announced his orgasm. It was primal scream that tore loose from his soul announcing that he had given himself to her heart and soul. It was too much for Silvia. She lost consciousness after her final orgasm that his roar had triggered.

A ringing of the telephone woke Silvia. Groggy, she reached over and answered it. Her voice, hoarse from her cries of passion, broke as she said, "Hello."

"Hey, Silvia. What are you doing there?" Carla's cheerful voice over the phone helped her wake.

She looked over at the strong body of the black man in bed beside her for a second before answering. His soft snores struck her as endearing. Confused, she asked, "What time is it?"

"Four. You were supposed to be over here a half an hour ago for Thanksgiving Dinner," replied the young woman with a sudden trace of concern in her voice.

"Oh," answered Silvia as her mind tried to establish a plan. She asked, "I had an unexpected guest and lost track of the time. Do you mind if I bring someone over with me?"

"No problem. We have a nice little turkey that will feed a dozen people." Carla wondered about the identity of the unexpected visitor. She grinned as she realized that it might be Harry. The thought that Silvia might have gotten laid by the old Druid made her smile.

"Okay, we'll be over there in half an hour. I'm so sorry about this."

"No problem. That's just enough time for Tim and me to get in a quickie. We'll see you then," replied Carla.

Silva hung up and looked over at Cook marveling at the physique of the man. Her entire body was still tingling from the earlier activities and looking at him intensified the feelings. Leaning over, she kissed his neck and ran a hand over his strong back wishing he would turn over so that she could see the cock that had finally given her sexual pleasure. Her touch woke him. Blushing at having fallen asleep after sex, Cook said, "Sorry. I try not to do that."

"Do what?" asked Silvia with concern that he was going to dump her now.

"Fall asleep afterwards," answered Cook. His eyes wandered over her body as his desire for her returned.

"After being awake for more than twenty four hours? You've got to be kidding," retorted Silvia with a chuckle. She was amazed that she had been able to wake him after so little sleep.

"I guess," replied Cook in his deep voice as his hand reached out to stroke her body. All he wanted was to continue touching her.

"A couple invited me over for Thanksgiving Dinner. They are expecting us in about twenty minutes," said Silvia as a shudder of excitement raced through her body. His hands really knew how to touch her. She didn't want to leave.

A deep frown crossed Cook's face at the news. He didn't eat food cooked by other people. Although the situation had not arisen in years, he didn't like people he cared about to eat food cooked by anyone other than him. His stomach clenched at the thought of watching Silvia eat food cooked by someone else. He felt as if he were going to get ill. Suppressing the desire to throw up, he said, "I don't think that is a good idea."

His refusal surprised her and she said, "I'm sure that you'll get along with them. They are my best friends."

"It's not that," replied Cook. He struggled to come to some sort of compromise. After a minute of tension filled silence he said, "I'll go, but I have to leave during the meal and come back when you are finished."

Silvia had enough experience to realize that there was something else going on here, but that he wasn't ready to talk about it. If she wanted him to go with her, she would have to accept his terms. She would find some way to explain his absence during the meal. Nodding, she said, "That would be okay. I don't think they'll mind."

Having established that he was going to go with her, it was time to get dressed. Silvia, lying in the bed, realized that she was embarrassed to get out of the bed. Cook looked just as uncertain about standing up naked. A minute of awkward silence passed and then she started to giggle as the irony of the situation dawned on her. He started chuckling and then they both broke out in sidesplitting laughter.

It took them a few minutes to collect themselves enough to start getting dressed. They would slip a piece of clothing on and then laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. For Silvia, getting dressed after sex was usually done without any concerns or care about her john, but Cook was no john. She didn't know if she was supposed to look sexy or as if it was just an everyday kind of thing.

It amazed her how little she understood about relations between men and women, despite the fact that most of her life had been spent as a prostitute. Prostitute? Since when did she start considering her past in such high sounding terms? The thoughts running through her mind were just as confusing to her as the sex had been.

Once he was dressed, Cook apologized, "I'm sorry that I don't have other clothes to wear to visit your friends."

Silvia looked him over. He looked handsome in his Chef's outfit. The most amazing thing was that after working in a kitchen for so many hours, it was still spotless. Smiling at him, she said, "They'll understand."

"I guess we had better go," he said wondering how far the people lived from her dorm room. He asked, "How long will it take us to get there?"

"About five minutes. They live in the couples dormitory across the mall," answered Silvia as she opened the door of her room. Cook took her hand as he stepped out of the dorm room with her. The action took her by surprise and she almost forgot to close the door behind them. Together, hand in hand, they walked down the hallway. Silvia was blushing lightly, unused to such attention. Who knew that holding hands was so nice?

Tim opened the door and rolled back to let Sylvia and her date into the dorm room. As Silvia stepped in the room, Carla examined her friend from across the room. One look was enough to know that her friend had just gotten out of bed. She screamed, "My God, girl. You look like you just had the best sex of your life."

Covering her mouth with her hand, Silvia froze in place blushing. Cook had entered the room just in time to hear Carla's pronouncement and looked around as if caught with his hand in a cookie jar. Tim was beaming up at the large black man standing behind Silvia and extended his hand as he said, "Congratulations. She's needed that for a long time."

Cook didn't know what to say or do. Finally, he shook hands with Tim as he introduced himself. "I'm Cook."

Tim swiveled around in his wheelchair to move behind Silvia. He grinned and said, "I'm Tim. Pleased to meet you. Come on in and make yourself comfortable."

Silvia had not told him that the people they were going to visit were handicapped. That didn't bother him, but it was a surprise. He hoped that it didn't show on his face. Recovering his composure, Cook replied, "I'm pleased to meet you. Silvia said that you were her best friends."

Shifting from foot to foot, Cook felt trapped. Silvia had frozen in place, the wheelchair was blocking entrance into the dorm room, and Carla was barreling down on Silvia in her wheelchair. The woman in the wheelchair had paused when she heard Cook speak. In her typical embarrassing manner, she cooed, "Oh my. That voice is so sexy. I hope you'll read poetry to me while Tim is jumping my bones."

The joke woke Silvia from the paralysis that had resulted from Carla's first comment. She rushed over to Carla and, in a voice much louder than intended, said, "I know. I get wet every time he talks to me."

Laughing at his wife's behavior, Tim turned his chair to face Cook and joked, "I guess that Silvia didn't tell you to bring your own chair."

For a brief moment, Cook had believed the joke before realizing that Tim was kidding about the fact that he was confined to a wheelchair. He replied, "Nah. I just figured I'd sit in her chair and let her sit on my lap."

"Don't say things like that in front of my sex-crazed wife. She'll be offering all kinds of seating advice to you." Winking at Cook, Tim pushed the wheels of his chair and maneuvered with practiced ease around the pair of women occupying the center of the room.

Laughing, Cook followed him while looking around the dorm room. He'd never been in a couple's dorm and was surprised to see a small kitchen, a bedroom, and a nice living room. The small room was immaculate. He realized that it would have to be neat and tidy if you were locked in a wheelchair. Clutter on the floor would make it impossible to move around the small area.

The odor of food cooking assaulted Cook's nose making him feel a little ill. The double amputee led him to the kitchen. With great trepidation, Cook followed him into the room wondering if he would be able to keep control over his stomach. He dreaded what he would find in there.

Tim went over to the sink and washed his hands. Grabbing a pair of pads, he turned the wheel chair using the pads and went over to the oven. Noticing the intense stare Cook was giving the pads, he explained, "I find that cooking is one of the hardest things to do when you are trapped in a wheelchair. I have to use these pads to move around because I don't want to get my hands dirty. Still, I end up spending as much time washing my hands as I do cooking."

Cook watched as the man went about checking on the progress of the food. He was amazed that the man was as clean conscious as him. He volunteered, "I insist on a clean kitchen."

"Same here. When I was first on my own after loosing the legs, I was cooking one day and realized that I had gotten something disgusting on my hands. I spent the next hour in the toilet being sick at the though of eating that food. Since then, this kitchen is the cleanest room in the house." Tim wasn't going to explain what he had found on his hands out of consideration for the guest. The way he often explained it was that moving the wheelchair was like touching the bottom of your shoe. Most people found the idea of touching the soles of their shoes after every step a disgusting image when it came to preparing a meal.

Tim had touched upon something that was important to Cook without realizing it. Cook relaxed a little as he watched the man work in the oven. It pleased him to see the care the guy took with the food. When Tim rolled over to the refrigerator to get food, he examined every item with the same due diligence that Cook put into it. The large black man smiled as he realized that Tim cooked with the same care as he. He felt that he might be able to eat here.

"Let me check on Silvia," said Cook as he glanced into the living room. The two women were huddled over and talking with the kind of intimacy with which women were so comfortable. The young woman in the wheelchair smiled, giggled, and touched Silvia with natural ease.

He wandered over to the pair of women, getting noticed by Silvia. The black woman smiled and greeted him, "Hello. I'm sorry that I didn't introduce you when we came in. This is my best friend, Carla. Carla, this hunk is Cook."

Carla, with a definite expression of sexual interest, looked him over. As she made a fanning motion as if she was cooling herself off, she said, "Silvia definitely picked the right one."

"Nice to meet you, Carla."

Carla moved her mouth without saying anything, but the movements suggested she was complementing his voice and the effect it had on her. She rolled her eyes and placed her hand between her breasts. Laughing at the antics of her friend, Silvia said, "Don't mind her. She's a sex fiend."

"Oh." Confused, Cook looked over at Carla wondering how a paralyzed woman could be a sex fiend. He could understand how Tim would still want an active sex life. Even though the man had lost his legs, he hadn't lost feeling below the waist and still had a cock and balls. He decided that her interest was primarily intellectual.

"If you call having to get my hands on Tim's cock four times a day being a sex fiend, then I'm guilty as charged. I just think it's natural." Carla replied with a shrug.

"Four times a day? No wonder Tim can't walk," replied Silvia with a grin.

As Carla laughed at the joke, she said, "I'm going to have to tell Tim that."

Cook stood watching the exchange between the two women. He was very puzzled by Carla and couldn't tell if she was joking or not. He didn't know if Silvia had told their hosts that he wouldn't be eating with them, but he realized that he could probably manage it now that he knew Tim took proper care to make sure that everything was clean. Bending down, he whispered in the ear of Silvia, "I'll stay for dinner."

Surprised by his statement, Silvia looked at him with concern. She didn't know what had happened to change his mind about eating there, but she could tell that it was a significant step for him. Smiling, she said, "Why don't you talk with Carla for a bit while I chat with Tim?"

"Sure."

Silvia stood and started to walk away. After a few steps, she stopped and turned to Carla. With a grin, she said, "He can talk dirty to you, but you can't touch him."

Carla laughed and made a gesture as if she were going to spend the time touching herself. She watched as Silvia went into the kitchen. Turning to Cook, she suddenly got very serious and said, "It's nice to see her this happy."

"She hasn't been happy?" asked Cook not really knowing that much about the woman he had made love with earlier.

"No. I've known her ever since she came here and this is the first time that I've seen that swing in her walk."

Five years of serving in the Fusion Foundation had given Cook a lot of experience in watching people put their lives back together. It had taken him a year to get his life back together enough to function after Harry had brought him there. It was rude to pry into the past, but one listened and put the pieces together to fill in the background. He had a few facts already. She was a supervisor and that meant that the psych-staff had decided that she was emotionally sound enough to lead people that were often very weak. He said, "It couldn't have been too bad. She's a supervisor."

"I know that our friendship has been hard on her. Tim and I really have had a great sex life ever since Harry showed me that making love and experiencing orgasms were possible despite the fact that I'm paralyzed from the waist down. Sometimes we get a little carried away and it hurts her tremendously."

The simple statement that Harry had taught her that she could have sex convinced Cook that she really was having sex. The idea was a great revelation for him. He could imagine how important it was to know that one could experience one of the greatest joys of life. As sounds of laughter came of the kitchen, he asked, "Harry?"

"Yes, Happy Harry."

The old bum, as Cook liked to think of him, was everywhere. Harry had found him passed out in a puddle of his own piss and, with great difficulty, had sobered him up for the first time in two years. After traveling with Harry for another month, they had come here. Harry had gone on, but he had stayed. Shaking his head, he said, "Harry sure does get around."

"Silvia was brought in by Harry. Her mouth was wired shut for the first year here, but she never talks about how she ended up coming here. All I know for a fact is that until today she has never expressed an interest in sex. In fact, she acted like she hated the idea. I was hoping that Harry would sleep with her last night and wake her desires." She smiled at Cook and then said, "I guess that wasn't necessary."

The entire time she had talked to Cook, Carla had watched the kitchen to make sure that her friend was staying there. The laughter coming from the room was a good sign and suggested that Silvia would stay in the kitchen until the food was ready. There were some visits when Silvia was much quieter, acting more like an imposition than an intimate friend.

"Harry threw the two of us together without warning either one of us," Cook chuckled as he thought about the sly old man. No wonder the guy had made sure that he wasn't around the previous night.

"So when are you two getting married?"

Cook nearly choked at the question. "Why?"

"I want to know when we can start swinging," replied Carla with a mischievous grin and a wink.

There was no doubt the woman was obsessed with sex like no one he had ever met before. He was laughing too hard to reply and it took him a minute to regain control. He turned towards the kitchen and shouted, "Silvia, help! She's talking dirty to me."

"That just means she's talking. The time to worry is when she stops talking and starts acting." The male voice of Tim echoed back from the kitchen.

With a grin on her face, Silvia looked out the door and saw that he was laughing at the comment. It pleased her that Cook was getting along with her friends and was comfortable with their risque banter enough to join in. He winked at her with a smile.

Carla laughed and called back, "Honey, I'm getting horny. Oops, I meant hungry. How much longer before the food is ready?"

"It's ready. Just wanting for the sitting-impaired person to set the food on the table."

Chuckling as he stood up, Cook went over to Silvia and helped her carry the food to the table. They worked together with the kind of comfortable movements that suggested a much longer relationship than existed in reality. There were times when one or the other took a moment to examine the other. When one of them caught the other looking, the one caught would try to act innocent.

Finally, the table was set with a simple turkey dinner. It was a fine little bird with all of the appropriate side dishes - stuffing, mashed potatoes, corn, hot rolls, cranberries, and a platter of sliced vegetables. Cook was impressed once all of the food was set out on the table. Tim and Carla rolled over in their chairs and took two spots at the table where no chairs were located.

As Cook pulled out the chair for Silvia to sit down on, Carla commented, "Tim. How come you don't ever pull my chair out for me?"

"Because I'm an ill-mannered brute," answered Tim without hesitation. Jokes about being confined to a wheelchair had become common in this household. Both of them had appreciated Harry calling it a silver throne.

Pouting, Carla replied, "If you were really a brute, you'd be ravishing me all the time."

Chuckling at the exchange, Cook sat down at the last seat at the table amazed at the continued focus of the paralyzed woman on sex. Silvia said, "Now Carla, even brutes require some rest."

Once everyone was seated, Tim looked around at the people gathered at the table. It was time for a word of thanks for all the good things that happened to them over the past year. Tim said, "On this Thanksgiving Day we would like to thank the Gods and Goddesses for the blessing they have provided us in the form of Happy Harry."

The food flowed from serving dishes to individual plates and then to empty stomachs. Fun conversation made of lighthearted teasing, insights, exchanges of philosophy, and personal information improved the process of eating. Time passed easily, with Silvia and Cook learning more about each other.

They were almost done with the meal when Silvia asked, "What changed your mind about eating here?"

A sudden silence descended upon the group. Carla and Tim had not been aware the Cook had not intended to eat the meal with them. The large black man looked around the table and realized that he would have to answer. Not for their sake, but for his. Taking a sip of water, he said, "I was married at one time to a beautiful woman who I loved with all of my heart. Things in our marriage had progressed to the point where we were expecting a child. The whole future was looking glorious as we were preparing a nursery for the child. Things fell apart the night we had dinner at my sister-in-law's house."

Silvia had not expected an answer that exposed so much of his past. She had thought that he would say that the food looked good or something. Tension, born of the expectation of tragedy, filled the air. Her hand moved across the table and covered his in support.

Staring at an empty spot on the table, Cook said, "The meal looked good, but it tasted horrible. My wife and I had eaten it, thinking that it was just a strange choice of spices that made it taste so bad. We didn't want to upset her sister by commenting on the taste of the meal."

"The home-canned tomato sauce had been spoiled. It was a few days later that I woke in a hospital and learned that my wife and unborn child had died of food poisoning. Over the course of one meal, I had lost everything that I cared about." More than one pair of eyes were misty when Cook stopped explaining, not wanting to cover how he had left the hospital and never returned to his house. The following years had been spent wandering the streets, drinking to the point of passing out and eating the worst food that he could find in the hope that he would join his wife.

Silvia, feeling his pain, moaned, "Oh, that's horrible."

Carla looked at Tim wondering how she would survive if she were to lose him like that. Tim nodded, understanding what had changed Cook's intention not to eat with them. He had seen the care that he took with the food to make sure that everything was clean, the ingredients fresh, and all had been cooked to the proper levels of doneness.

Cook was lost in his memories recalling the day when his life had turned around. He had been passed out on the streets when this weird bum wearing a green robe had taken care of him. Once he had regained consciousness, the guy had handed him a gun and put it into his mouth. Without pity, Harry had told him to pull the trigger if he was really all that interested in dying without having accomplished a single good thing in his life.

Unable to believe that anyone had such a hard-heart, Cook was on the verge of pulling the trigger when Harry had told him there was an alternative. He had listened as Harry told how many people on the street died of bad food and no one cared enough about them to make sure that they always had a choice for a good meal. He became Harry's cook that afternoon.

Cook said, "I started cooking for others to prevent them from ever getting sick from bad food since then. I don't trust anyone in the kitchen except me. I don't really know why he does, but I saw Tim take exactly the same care with food that I do."

As a man who for years thought that he wouldn't be able to protect those that he loved because he was locked in a wheelchair, Tim understood far more than the black man had explained. Carla turned to Silvia and, with an emotional tremor in her voice, said, "This guy is a real keeper."

"Yeah, he is, isn't he?" replied Silvia as she looked at the man seated to her right. His insistence on cleanliness within the kitchen made sense. It wasn't the actions of a man with an obsessive- compulsive disorder, but the diligence of a man protecting others from a most insidious threat.

The conversation slowly returned to lighter topics, but it was soon clear that Cook was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion. The short nap after the mad passionate episode with Silvia wasn't enough to recharge his batteries. Amidst teasing by Carla about how Silvia would let him get to bed but wouldn't let him sleep, the newly formed couple returned to Silvia's dorm room.

It was a small gathering of a few close friends. The bride wore white despite feeling that it took an active imagination to justify it and that it if anyone challenged it then the hell with them. She was happier than she had ever expected in her hard life. The groom wore a simple dark blue suit, feeling uncomfortable in the usual clothes. Like many grooms, everything around him seemed to be passing in a haze.

Carla, wearing an attractive green dress, sat beside Silvia in the age-old position of Maid of Honor. Tim, dressed in a dark suit with the trouser legs folded neatly underneath him, sat beside Cook fulfilling his role as Best Man. The broad open grins on the faces of the Maid of Honor and Best Man suggested that they were enjoying this ceremony immensely. The ever-talkative Carla was having difficulties keeping from making jokes throughout the ceremony.

The witnesses of the ceremony were the mangers for whom Silvia and Cook worked. The managers were enjoying this, as it was one of the few times when everyone involved could relax. This was a joyful occasion and one made better by the improvements that the couple had shown in their professional lives. Both managers were sure that Silvia and Cook would soon be promoted.

The individual leading the service was a local judge who donated his time for this purpose. Few people knew that he had gone through the rank and file of a Fusion Foundation Emergency Relief Team before getting his life together enough to earn a law degree. Nothing in his life gave him more pleasure than watching others get their lives together enough to make personal commitments to others around him. More often than not, he would retire alone after the ceremony for a moment of reflection about how lucky he had been.

It wasn't until the exchange of vows that the ultimate irony of the marriage became clear to Silvia. The moment came when the judge had said, "Do you, John Cook,..."

The topic of his first name had come up between them on several occasions, but he had insisted on just being known as Cook. In fact, the closer they came to getting married, the more protective he had come of that one little piece of information. She blushed at the thought that she, a former whore, was marrying a John. It was all she could do to keep from laughing. Even the judge noticed her reaction, but chose not to react. Cook was smiling at her, knowing about her past and what had prompted her reaction.

Once the ceremony had finished with the Bride and Groom kissing each other, Carla was no longer able to control her mouth. Grinning wildly, she asked, "So when do we start wife-swapping?"

The quip broke any pretension of seriousness and caused everyone to burst out laughing. It was a right and proper response since weddings were supposed to be joyous occasions. It was hard to tell who was laughing the hardest. Cook was tempted to answer, "After the honeymoon." However, he was afraid that she would keep him to it.

From the back of the room, a clapping sound caught everyone's attention. As one everyone turned to see Harry standing there with a large smile on his face. Spreading his arms as though to embrace everyone in the room, he said, "The Gods and Goddesses love a randy woman."

As one, everyone shouted, "Harry!"

Silvia was on the verge of drying of happiness. His arrival was an unexpected pleasure and made her feel as if she was the princess in a fairy tale wedding. The strong arm of Cook wrapping around her and embracing her helped keep her emotions under control.

"I couldn't miss this occasion," replied the Druid with a large smile. He walked forward and embraced everyone in the room. With a wink at Carla, he said, "A perfect wedding complete with beautiful Bride, a handsome Groom, a horny Maid of Honor, and a willing Best Man. One can't ask for more than that."


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The End
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Posted:  2004-10-25
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