The Slow Heat Between Us- Steamy Romance Story by Salty Vixen

“Well, here we are,” said Max, slipping the Jeep into four-wheel drive and leaving the blacktop road. I grabbed the handle above the door and gripped my seat with the other hand as the car bounced down a steep embankment. Max grinned at my fright as he maneuvered down the curvy road. He had negotiated the rough track thousands of times since he had begun taking care of my family’s property, and the danger didn’t matter.

My Aunt Margarite had lived as a recluse on the property nestled into Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains most of her life, writing poetry and short stories, and “talking to the squirrels,” as my mother always joked. Margarite never allowed us to call her “Aunt” because that made her feel old. She was much younger than my mother and very different. I supposed Margarite had a life outside the house and her writing, but I was never sure. The house had stood empty for five years since she died of pneumonia at 48. Max lived rent free in the cottage behind the house in exchange for doing chores around the house and helping Margarite. He stayed on after Margarite died and opened up the house once or twice a year when my family visited.

Max was at least 10 years older than my 26, and I remembered having a crush on him during the summer of my sixteenth year. I admired his bronze, muscular chest and hard stomach as well as the parts that filled his jeans so perfectly. His dark hair, deep-set brown eyes, and chiseled jawbone gave him such a rugged, handsome look. When he caught me looking, I would turn away and blush. I never wanted him to know I liked him. That had been my last visit to the house, and I was afraid he had changed. When he met me at the train station, I was pleasantly surprised to find him as handsome as I remembered.

The dirt path leveled, and I saw the two-story house in the distance, the same as when I was a young girl. So much had happened since that happy, sixteenth summer. First high school, then four years of college. Boyfriends. Work. Dreams. I was no longer the innocent teenager who danced in baby-doll pajamas on the shore of a moonlit lake. I sometimes wanted that innocence to return, but I was afraid that girl was lost forever.

The lake was high from the spring snow melt, and the boat dock sat undisturbed on the glass reflection. Max parked next to the house and pulled my suitcases out of the back. I picked up the groceries we had bought on the way and followed him up the steps to the porch that spanned the front of the house. He managed to carry the bags and hold the screen door for me, smiling awkwardly at my silence.

The Victorian furniture that Margarite had loved so much was still there. The hardwood floors squeaked beneath the Persian rugs as I walked to the kitchen. I set the bags on the counter and looked around the familiar surroundings. I had many memories of sitting at the kitchen table, chatting with Margarite about words and writing. She loved talking about the taste and flavor of words, the art of creating a satisfying image, a perfect sentence. For her, writing was passion, and I never heard her speak so eloquently or so long about anything else. She might ask me about boys and dating, but she was only being polite. If she ever entertained an erotic thought, she never let on.

I remembered her advice when she noticed my attraction to Max. “Sex is a powerful thing, Jamie,” she said. “Very powerful – like a car. Sometimes, you climb behind the wheel, and you know you want to speed, to take the car to its limits, to tempt fate. Better to resist those temptations. Better to drive the legal limit and arrive alive.”

“I took your bags upstairs,” said Max, bringing me back to the moment.

“Thanks,” I said turning back to the groceries. He leaned against the kitchen counter next to me and watched as I opened the refrigerator and started unpacking the food.

“Your dad said you’re going to stay all summer and write a book.” He grabbed an apple out of the bag next to him and took a huge bite as he waited for my response.

“That’s my plan,” I said, bending over to put fresh tomatoes in the vegetable bin. I glanced over my shoulder to see if Max watched my behind. He didn’t, and I was disappointed somehow. Although my mind told me that Max was pretty much off limits, my emotions wanted the attention. I berated myself for being so insecure about my attractiveness. Hadn’t men always found me attractive? They had – up to a point, that telltale point. God, I hated that point.

“Margarite said this was the best place in the world to put mind to paper,” said Max. “I hope the scenery inspires you as much as it did her.”

I folded the bags and shoved them under the cupboard, avoiding his eyes. His presence made me feel like the 16-year-old who once peeked into his cottage window and saw the magazines with nude women on the cover discarded on the floor next to his bed. I had always wanted him to like me and yet there was something about him that frightened me.

“Me too,” I said smiling as I walked toward the living room. The picture of Margarite and me, arm and arm on the boat dock, sat in the small frame on the fireplace mantel. Her long brown hair hung to one side, almost touching the breast covered by a starched shirt. She was the most beautiful woman I knew when I was growing up, and I was flattered when my father insisted that I looked like her.

“Anything else you need?” asked Max from the doorway. He seemed uncomfortable. My silence made him feel awkward, but I didn’t care. I had fled men and demands I couldn’t fulfill. I wanted to purge my feelings onto paper. I didn’t want the distraction of another doomed relationship.

“Do you know where Margarite’s typewriter is?” I asked, coming back to the hallway where he stood.

“Probably in the attic with her unpublished work. I didn’t know what to do with her writing stuff when she died, so I hauled it to the attic. Maybe you should open the boxes and decide what stays and what goes.”

“I’ll see how much time I have,” I said. “My first priority is to write.”

“Sure,” Max said as he meandered toward the screen door. “Feel free to knock on my door if you need something – or if you want to talk. I’m around.”

“Thanks for your help Max. I really appreciate you picking me up.”

“No problem, Jamie. Really.” He grinned crookedly as if embarrassed and slid out the screen door. I watched him stroll across the yard and enter his cottage.

“Forget it, girl,” I said out loud. “Why start that all over again?”

I climbed the stairs to the second floor and found my suitcases in Margarite’s bedroom. The white comforter and matching curtains accented the four-poster antique bed I had always coveted. Her room felt romantic, and I remembered fighting my mother about bunk beds when I was 12. My mother rolled her eyes when I told her I wanted a bed like Margarite’s.

“Why?” my mother asked.

“Because I want to see moonlight dancing over the comforter,” I answered. Mother raised her eyebrows and shook her head, and I lived with bunk beds for two more years.

The afternoon was dedicated to unpacking and getting settled. I changed into a pair of shorts and walked to the dock to gaze at the lake. I dangled my feet in the water for an hour, thinking about how much I owed my parents for this summer reprieve. They paid for four years of college at Penn State and expected me to bring my journalism career to full bloom by now – if not married with children.

But the corporate world hadn’t excited me, and work seemed only a means to a monetary end. I wanted to write – like Margarite. I wanted to live as a wild animal and feel the grass between my toes. The high-rises of New York’s publishing world frightened me, and the noise of the city blared in my ears. People expected things in the city. People wanted things, things I wasn’t able to provide. I yearned for a place without demands. The peacefulness of the lake hugged me like a long lost friend.

As the late afternoon sun set against the forest on the far side of the lake, I ambled toward the house. I hadn’t seen Max since the morning and wondered how he spent his day. I climbed to the second floor and opened the door at the end of the hall that led to the attic. Time to find Margarite’s Smith-Corona.

The stairs creaked as if no one had stepped on them in years. The smell of dust and moth balls filled my nostrils as I climbed to the loft that had been built many years before. The peaked attic ceiling allowed me to stand if I stayed in the middle. Unfortunately, the boxes and abandoned furniture sat to the side, under the sloping roof that made me double over. The windows on the side walls provided enough light as I examined what remained of Margarite’s life.

The dusty smell assaulted my nose, and I walked to the window to open it. I knelt against the faded cushions of a Victorian love seat perched against the wall and grappled with the latch on the window above. From where I knelt, I looked into Max’s bedroom in the cottage below. My heart beat a little faster as I watched for signs of movement, but the room remained empty. I chided myself for even looking. What did I expect to see? And if I did see something, what could I do about it?

Nothing.

I turned back to the task at hand and hunted around for Margarite’s typewriter. Several boxes displayed large black letters that stated the contents: Taxes, Contracts, Reviews. Closer to the stairs were four unlabeled boxes. I opened the first one and peered at three large files neatly stacked inside. Handwritten on the flap of the first was The Mystery of Coopertown.

I picked up the file, perused the first few pages, and found a letter dated March, 1982 from a publisher. Thank you for your recent submission,” the letter began, “but we regret that your manuscript does not meet our current needs. We are encouraged by your effort and hope you will submit future projects for our consideration. I wondered if The Mystery of Coopertown was Margarite’s first novel. Had she ever revised it? Had she tried to sell it again? I vowed to read the novel before the summer ended.

The second file was marked “poetry,” and I quickly flipped through pages that must have taken years to write. Poetry had never been my calling. Every poem I wrote required hours of concentration as I poured a tidal wave of thought and emotion into a few short stanzas. I replaced the poetry file and looked at the third, largest folder titled Erotic Therapy. Therapy? What therapy had Margarite required? My fingers tingled as I pulled out the folder. I walked to the love seat and sat, curling my legs underneath me. I opened the cover, picked up the first page, and began reading.

The stars twinkle like small diamonds on deep velvet. The lake is perfectly calm, a black mirror for those bright stars. No sound invades your quiet; the birds have fallen asleep. You lie on your back on the dock, neither hot nor cold, perfect in your ease. A faint breeze tickles your cheek, almost a human touch lightly tracing the contours of your face. The feeling is exquisite.

You close your eyes and see his face as he leans over you, his fingers moving slowly, erotically over your skin. His hands are close to your skin but do not touch. You feel a charge of electricity building between finger and flesh, a warm, sensual, exciting trail of human fire. Then, he touches your cheek, drawing. The pattern reminds you of something long forgotten, an intricate, enlightening pattern you first glimpsed on a bedroom floor as the moon filtered through a veil of leaves. You remember the pattern because that was the first night he came to you, the first time he touched you, the first night the passion escaped as a small cry torn from deep inside.

You have never forgotten that night or its wild love. He remembers too. His finger sketches that miracle of light and shadow that marked your coming alive. Until that point, you were paralyzed between hot and cold, knowing the heat existed deep inside but unable to summon the volcanic lava to the surface. That night your need bubbled like a steamy spring, letting great clouds of desire escape into the dark. His gentle touch unleashed the genie of passion, granting your wishes.

The pattern on your cheek stays where he has touched. Knowing how the pattern imprints its fervor on your senses, his hand roams downward. You feel his knowing finger slip inside the elastic of your suit and find your soft, scented skin. Vanilla, you smell the sweet scent. You hear him breathe deep of you, relishing your smell. His finger slips along a strap and pulls it off one shoulder. His finger dances along your suit, across breasts already yearning for a touch, and up to the other strap. As it slides down, you feel the wind on your nipples, a zephyr that kisses and tantalizes. You shiver with delight, for the breeze plays and teases.

His hands substitute for the breeze, rubbing and swirling. Across and around, down, up, over, his hand is like some small, soft, furry animal cavorting over your breasts. Your nipples rise in anticipation as that joyous creature flits about, its sole purpose to excite you. A smile widens your face, but you dare not look. The magical animal sends shivers down your spine as it touches blood gorged skin. Even as your body shakes, you feel the creature begin to nibble, to feed on your breasts. Small teeth rub and bite, pull and squeeze. The roughness is just enough to make you gasp once or twice. What kind of sprite knows how to excite you so? What manner of fairy tickles and taunts so? You don’t know, and you don’t care. It is enough for you to grow wet under the feel of the breeze, teeth, and touch.

Your scent draws the creature. It smells the wetness of you, and it slips beneath the nylon of your suit and slithers across your belly. You know what it seeks. You know it wants to slake its thirst at the well of your desire. It creeps forward, a tiny beast intent on your essence. Spanning your navel, it slinks through your hair, a predator easing through the jungle of your love, preying on you, hunting you with a primal instinct you find utterly exhilarating.

Your body waits and wants. You want nothing more than to feel the creature feed, and at the same time you fear the touch. It consumes, draining you of every molecule of energy, tapping your inner soul and leaving you a dried husk devoid of human feeling. Yet you need that touch, that draining. You need to have your wellspring found and exploited. You need to relinquish some fierce energy that glows hot inside. The predator licks at the edges of you, a warm tongue that promises release and growth. Instinctually, the beast laps at you, tasting your special musk. Your body gushes anew, and the creature sips you, intoxicating itself on your precious fluid.

Suddenly, the creature is transformed from some fuzzy thing to a warm, slithering, probing eel. You feel the sinuous thing touch you inside, probing, licking, tasting, wanting to find that spot that makes your hips arch with anticipation. You moan as the magical thing touches that special place. Your hips arch, and the creature touches a second time, then a third. Knowing you, it dances a hot fairy tip of wetness on you, coaxing out your most hidden and delicate treasure. The beast charms your womanhood out of its veil and licks it with lightning strokes. Your hips arch. Your body yearns.

The creature senses your surrender and rings your preciousness with passion. The lake vanishes. Sound ceases. Time stops. You lose yourself in the rising tide of passion. Swept along with the beast and the touch, you press against the creature whose antics become as quick as hummingbird wings. It touches and before you can even react, it touches again, and each touch raises the level of desire. Your hands clench. Your teeth grind. You gasp and thrust as the magical thing wrings more fluid from you, more desire. Just as you think you might explode, your body captures the creature, holding it firmly against your treasure as you rub yourself on it. Spasms ripple along the length of the beast, delicious spasms that echo through the length of your body. Deep tremors like earthquakes rock the foundations of your body. You have caged the creature, and you milk it for your pleasure.

The tide rises to high mark and recedes.

You hear the crickets. You smell the lake. You look and see the stars twinkling. The warm breeze skips across your cheek. He’s not there any longer, but you can still feel him, smell him. You shiver slightly as the wetness of your suit touches your skin.

My breathing was labored as I closed the file. I tried to ignore the wetness between my legs. Was Margarite writing about Max or another lover of long ago? What lover? Margarite had never had a lover as far as anyone knew. Who came to Margarite on the dock? I looked out the window, searching for Max. Had he read this file when he packed Margarite’s belongings? Did he know I would find these writings, this erotic therapy?

The light was fading in the attic. I considered taking the file downstairs, but wondered if I should I even be reading it. These were Margarite’s personal stories, and I suddenly felt guilty as if I were reading her diary; these stories weren’t meant for public consumption. I returned the file to the box before going downstairs.

The sun shone brightly through the white lace curtains as I stretched across the cotton sheets. The night had been too warm for my nightgown, but I couldn’t bring myself to sleep naked. Sleep had come slowly as I thought about Margarite’s story and envisioned her writhing on the boat dock. Max had not stopped by during the evening, and his respect for my space brought both relief and remorse.

The smell of coffee invaded my nose. I sat up in bed and looked towards the open bedroom door. I couldn’t believe the scent drifted all the way from Max’s cottage. I quickly slipped into my terrycloth robe and headed for the kitchen.

Max sat at the table reading the front page of the paper and sipping a cup of hot coffee. He was wearing sweatpants and sneakers, and his T-shirt was damp from what appeared to have been an early-morning run. I stood in disbelief as he smiled innocently and lifted his cup in a mock cheer. I had thought that Max would never come into the house without an invitation.

“Good morning, Jamie. Sleep well?”

“Fine,” I said crossing my arms and leaning against the door frame, certain that he sensed my discomfort.

“I hope you don’t mind me making coffee,” he said nodding to the pot. “Something I always did for Margarite.”

“What else did you do for her?” My tone was tinged with a slightly bitter taste of sarcasm as I walked to the cupboard and grabbed a cup. He had not answered my question by the time I poured coffee and sat across the table from him. His dark brown eyes searched for the meaning of my question. Perhaps there was no meaning; I wasn’t sure myself.

“Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering what other surprises are in store.” I raised my cup of coffee in a salute and sipped as his eyes fixed on my lips.

“I’m sorry,” he said closing the paper. “I’m presumptuous. Would you like me to go?”

I suddenly felt like a jerk. Max hadn’t done anything but brew my morning coffee, and I was treating him as I had treated so many men.

“No,” I said smiling. “It’s OK.”

He relaxed and dropped the paper on the table as he sipped, watching me. I slid the paper in front of me as a distraction and focused on the front page.

“You remind me so much of Margarite,” he said pulling my eyes back to his. “I guess I was hoping we could share the morning like she and I did.”

I felt vulnerable sitting across from him. Barely awake enough to raise my normal shields of protection. Why did he want the intimacy that lovers sometimes shared in the morning?

“What did you two talk about?”

“I don’t know,” he said looking down at his hands. “Nothing…and everything. Margarite always had something on her mind. Sometimes when she wrote late at night, she would read to me what she had written.”

“Well, I’m afraid I didn’t write anything last night. I never found the typewriter.”

“Did you look in the attic?” Were his eyes searching mine?

“Yes,” I said. “I looked briefly. But I didn’t open any of the boxes.” My last statement sounded defensive and was a lie, and I cursed myself for succumbing to fear. What did Max care if I read Margarite’s therapy? What did he care if I laid in bed and whimpered as I touched myself? I hated myself for being weak.

“The typewriter looks like a small suitcase. Want me to show you?” The thought of going to the attic with Max made my hands tremble. I set my cup on the table and slid my hands into the pockets of my robe.

“No, that’s OK. I’ll find it.” Who was I kidding? I couldn’t sit at the breakfast table and talk like an old friend while alarms sounded inside my body. I stood and took my cup to the sink, trying to think of a graceful escape.

“Well, I guess I better go,” said Max, bringing his cup over and setting it down next to mine. I smelled the musk of his body as he stood close. His scent had a strange effect on me, and I imagined licking the salt off his neck. What a silly thought, I told myself. Max didn’t want any girl licking his neck. He walked towards the back door that led from the kitchen to the yard.

“Thanks for making coffee,” I said softly. He turned and smiled from the doorway.

“Sure you don’t mind?”

“No. It was nice.”

He looked at me for a long moment and then quickly closed the door behind him. I found myself smiling as I went upstairs to change.

By noon, I was climbing the rickety attic stairs in search of Margarite’s typewriter. I glanced briefly at the box containing her “therapy” and pressed myself to stay on task. Pushing the boxes aside, I walked to the back of the loft where two cobwebbed lamps stood by an old sewing machine. A medium-sized, gray case next to it raised my hopes.

When I picked up the case to carry it to the light, the weight made me groan. Another good sign, I thought. I sat on the love seat alongside the window and flipped open the latches. Inside was the Smith-Corona and a bonus new ribbon tucked along the side.

“Great!” I snapped the case closed and headed towards the stairs. As I reached the top step, I glanced at the box containing the therapy folder and hesitated. I knew I wanted to read more, but I felt naughty even knowing the stories existed.

“Maybe one more,” I thought to myself. I left the typewriter on the top step and walked to the box containing the file. I lifted the lid and withdrew the folder, carrying it to the love seat. I opened the window and saw movement in Max’s bedroom. I dropped down to the cushion and peered over the top of the couch like some spy as he removed his soiled shirt and tossed it across the room. His backside faced the window as he slid down sweatpants and underwear in one swoop, exposing his naked butt.

“Oh my,” I whispered into the couch. I was torn between watching and turning away – the thing I knew I was supposed to do. I had always turned away in the past; privacy was something to be protected. But I couldn’t turn away. Perhaps Margarite’s story had somehow emboldened me. I stared, hardly believing how much I enjoyed being a peeping tom. When he disappeared from my view, I was both happy and sad. Max had removed the decision from me, and for that I was glad. What would I have done if he had turned around? I wasn’t ready to answer that question. I waited several minutes before I returned to Margarite’s folder and turned to the second entry.

Warm sunlight fills the kitchen, cascading over the butcher block, across the wooden floor. The vegetables are crisp, fresh, and the knife slices through them easily. You pop a slice of raw carrot into your mouth, savoring the texture. Some vegetables will go into your lunch; some will be used for dinner. Your small hands chop and slice automatically, from long practice. You like the work, the cooking, and you smile at the warm sun. Out the window, you see the trees stretching into the distance. Spring is a good time for trees. Green leaves pop out to brighten the day.

The hands slip along your waist, and you’re surprised. Not frightened. These are gentle hands, strong hands that slide around you, embracing you. You know these hands, these arms. The fingers that tiptoe across your tummy and down your hip, slipping down the crease of hip and thigh, walking along the thigh, wonderful fingers. The fingers rub the inside of the thigh. Warm breath bathes your neck. Soft lips brush the back of the neck, relishing the skin. Strong hips meet your bottom, and you feel desire, hard and ready, along your tush. Lips kiss. Hands rub. Hips move back and forth slowly. As fingers work up the thigh, you feel the first moist rush of fervor.

The rubbing on your tush feels so sensuous. Hands dance across you and find your jeans, unclasping, unzipping, snaking inside to caress the soft silk of your panties already wet with unmet desire. Fingers edge the jeans and ease them over hips, and they drop to the floor. The hard, throbbing desire feels close now through the panties. A finger hooks the elastic around your right thigh and slips inside, teasing you, touching and yet not touching. Another finger grooves the panties into you, soaking up your wetness.

You feel the soft silk inside you, pleasing you, the finger encased in silk touching you. Lips kiss your neck. The hard part of him rubs back and forth across your bottom. Your hands stop. You close your eyes. The silk finger finds you.

“There,” you whisper. “Don’t stop.”

The finger touches and rubs and fiery wetness gushes to soak the silk and finger. A hand slips beneath your shirt and finds your raised nipple. Fingers twist and tease. Lips slip along your ear. The finger massages wonderfully. Your body responds with new heat and moisture. Hands grab your panties, and they join your jeans on the floor, and that wonderful finger finds you again, touching and pleasing.

Lips brush your cheek. You feel the hardness of his fire slip between your legs, long and hard and jerking with excitement. You spread your legs as the tip meets the finger, and it is guided inside. You gasp as it enters, but it feels so good, so needed. Deeper it strokes. The finger finds your special spot. Your nipple drinks his touch. Lips nibble your neck. You thrust back on the wonderful hardness, feeling your body respond to its needs. The finger draws on you, circles and squares and letters and passion. The strokes are harder now and faster.

“Yes,” you whisper, “yes.”

You grip the counter as the passion builds. The strokes are powerful, deep. The finger sends shudders through your body. You close your eyes and listen to the passion build inside. Like spring sap, your wetness gushes over everything. Your body tightens. Release is moments away.

“Harder,” you say.

And it is harder and faster, and the finger tap dances on your desire. You can barely breathe as you feel it build inside you. Your mouth open, your eyes closed, you feel it sink deep, and you know it is as ready as you are. The orgasm breaks like a spring storm, sudden and powerful. Your body clamps down as you feel it pulse with hot spurts. Your body milks the spurting thing, drinking in the love. You feel the giddy high of love, the loss of self as two bodies become one living thing. For a moment, you have a sense of perfect harmony. You are complete, the way you were meant to be.

Lips kiss your cheek. Hands roam your body one last time. The withdrawal is slow and sexual, and you don’t want it to go, but it must. You shiver as the hot, wet tip slips between your legs. Your eyes open. Your breathing slows. You smile at the bright sunshine. Your hands shake a little as you prepare to chop. The salad will taste better now. Everything will taste better. The heat in the center of your being will last a long time and keep you safe.

“Oh God!” I moaned closing the file. “That had to be Max.” I looked out the window and into his bedroom as I thought about the story. My panties were wet with the silky excitement of the story, and I closed my eyes as my hands crept beneath my cotton dress. I felt ashamed, and yet my body demanded release. I visualized lovemaking in the kitchen as my fingers slipped inside my panties and soothed my aching need. Faster and faster I stroked myself until I too whispered “harder” as I imagined a hard need sinking deep inside me..

Wetness gushed over my hand as I shook with orgasm. Shame overwhelmed me, and I quickly withdrew my hand. My weakness mocked me. How could I hope to write a novel when I couldn’t deny myself such base pleasure? Despite the craving and the release, I wasn’t satisfied. It wasn’t like Margarite’s story. No man satisfied me, no lover with tender kisses and stimulating hands. No man had ever satisfied me. What kind of freak was I?

Dressed in jeans and T-shirt, Max walked across the yard toward the Jeep. From my hidden view in the attic, I watched him drive away.

“Get to work Jamie,” I said. “If you want to be a writer, save your energy for writing, not schoolgirl fantasies.”

I closed the folder and replaced it in the box, hating the shakiness in my legs. I didn’t need men, not any man, and I didn’t need the feelings Margarite’s revelations stirred inside me. I vowed to leave her stories unread. I lifted the typewriter and headed down the stairs.

The afternoon went by slowly as I sketched an outline for my novel and some sparse details about the main characters. I didn’t intend to write a romance novel; I couldn’t bring myself to attempt something I had never experienced. Romance was as alien to me as a moon walk. My story was a murder mystery about a crazed woman who stalked the man who date-raped her in college, leaving her emotionally scarred and frightened of men. Even Phyllis, my therapist of two years, thought a novel would be a way to heal my own troubled past.

The day had been unusually hot, leaving the house uncomfortably warm by the time the sun set. I took a glass of cold Chardonnay to the porch and sat on the wooden swing facing the lake. My dinner of pasta, mushrooms, and green peppers had left me languid. The tranquil lake shone beautiful and serene, reflecting the solid darkness of the forest. The evening creatures started their orchestral warm-up, and before long I rocked in rhythm with the symphony of crickets, frogs, and birds.

The splash from a bass jumping near the bank sent ripples against the boat dock, and I watched the wooden structure gently bob in the water. My mind flashed to Margarite’s story. I pictured her lying in the dark, carefree and uninhibited, while some man-animal drove her wild with passion. Her eyes closed, her breathing labored, a tiny cry forced from her throat as an orgasm racked her beautiful body. Would I ever experience such freedom and pleasure? I wanted so badly to know the joy I had read about.

“Visualize it, Jamie,” said Phyllis over and over in counseling sessions. “See yourself being loved the way you want to be loved.”

I closed my eyes instinctively as I rocked. I saw myself standing at the lake’s edge in my short, white, cotton nightie, the warm evening breeze caressing my skin and blowing my long hair behind me. I was a wood nymph, a lithe, beautiful, mischievous sprite. His arms encircled my waist as he came from behind and pressed me against his hard body. I relaxed in his embrace as his hands gently slid up my chest and squeezed my breasts, slightly pinching my nipples through the thin cotton. I smiled as I let him stir the coals of passion until his hand crept beneath the hem and ignited the fire.

“Yes,” I whispered as his fingers glided across the center of my fire. His lips burned at the back of my neck, and I felt the hardness of his need pressing against me. But he would wait. He came to stoke my fire, and when the heat consumed me, he would quench my desire. Over and over he stroked until I felt my legs wobble. With one arm wrapped around my waist he lifted and held me as I shook, moans hissing through clenched teeth like steam from water drenched molten rocks.

The sound of the Jeep jerked me back to reality, and I quickly pulled my hands from underneath my jumper and took a deep breath to quiet my breathing. I grabbed my wine glass off the railing and took a hearty swallow as Max climbed out of the Jeep and walked towards the cottage. The squeak of the swing caught his ear, and he turned in my direction.

“Hi Jamie,” he waved from where he had stopped. “How’s it goin’?”

“OK…” My head was buzzing, and I struggled for a light conversation. “The house got kind of warm.”

“Yeah…pretty hot today.”

He came to the porch, stopping on the other side of the railing from me. He studied me for a long time, as if he wanted to say something but searched for precisely the right words. I waited until the long silence began eating at my nerves. I had a sense that he somehow knew what I had been imagining, what I had been thinking. Could he smell me? Could he smell the moistness wetting my panties? If he did, what then? Would that earthy, natural scent excite him? Did a woman’s intimate aroma act like some pheromone to arouse the male? I wanted to ask, but I didn’t dare.

“It’s dark out here.” I looked at a sliver of moon. “I’m not used to no street lights. Do I need to worry about wild animals?”

Max chuckled and looked at his boots before looking back at me. “I don’t think so, Jamie. Of course there are a few mountain lions, but they usually don’t come near the house. Not unless they get real hungry.”

I shivered and unconsciously wrapped my arms around my chest. I had never seen a mountain lion, but I feared them anyway. Hadn’t I read where some jogger was attacked and eaten by a mountain lion? Wasn’t that in daylight?

“Are there places I should avoid?” I asked.

“Not really. Although generally speaking it’s good to make noise when you’re on a trail. If they hear you, they hide.”

“But they won’t come near the house?”

“Not unless you hang a steak from the porch. Look, I can sit with you for a while,” offered Max. “If that will make you more comfortable.”

“Thanks,” I said scooting over and making room on the swing. “I appreciate you humoring a city girl.”

When he sat down, I smelled the beer on his breath, and my body tensed. His feet rocked the swing as we stared towards the lake. The night was so dark that a stranger might not even know the lake was there. Yet, we stared as if the noon sun reflected brightly off the water. I wondered what he had done all afternoon, and how he normally spent his weekend nights. Surely he had a girlfriend or two, perhaps a regular.

“You’re home early for a Saturday night, Max. Nothing exciting going on in town?” I turned to look at him and smiled teasingly.

“Ran some errands and had a few beers with the guys. You know, shoot a little pool, swap some lies.”

“I figured you had a few mountain women standing in line for you.” He heard the tease in my voice and looked down at his hands nervously.

“Yeah…well…I guess I haven’t figured out where the line starts.” He forced a laugh. “You might be surprised at how particular some mountain women are.”

I suddenly realized that the guy who I had always felt giddy and shy around wasn’t the brazen predator I had always imagined. Max was scared of women. I almost fell off the swing. Max was afraid, perhaps as frightened of the opposite sex as I was. I wanted to laugh at both of us, but I couldn’t.

“What about you Jamie? How come no one’s snatched you up?” Max managed to change the subject and research me at the same time.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said with a sigh. “Maybe I’m too independent; or maybe I just haven’t found Mr. Right yet. Lots of Mr. Wrongs, but not a single Mr. Right.”

“Any Mr. Close?”

“A couple.” Did he hear the remnants of pain in my voice? I had wanted to sound flippant and sophisticated, but my voice betrayed my inner conflict.

“Should I ask what happened?” He draped his arm across the back of the swing, and the heat from his skin caressed my neck.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing to reveal.”

We rocked silently as our anxieties gamboled through our minds. I felt like a fake, a pretender to normal behavior. I could no sooner confess my pain than I could fly. What would Max think? Wouldn’t he see my problem as some small blip in an otherwise privileged life? Wouldn’t he merely advise me to get on with my life? Would he compare the episode to falling off a horse – “better climb right back on, sister, before you lose your nerve.” Only, I had already lost my nerve. How could I admit that? How could I admit to an irrational fear that kept me on the sidelines while everyone else played? He wouldn’t understand. No one would. My doom seemed as permanent as my silence.

“Margarite was terrible at love,” he said staring out to the lake.

“Really?” I tried to read his face. Was he kidding… making a joke? Or did Margarite really stink at love? “I always wondered about her…desires.” I waited, but he didn’t volunteer more. “I would like to know more about her… as an adult, I mean.”

“Margarite was unique,” said Max smiling at me. “She was a combination of opposite forces. She was as independent as a Siamese cat,” he said leaning towards me. “But she was also lonely.” He looked out over the lake, as if Margarite’s spirit hovered above the water, waiting for his affirmation. “I guess that’s what we had in common.”

“Do you miss her?” I reached over and laid my hand on his thigh. A spark shot through us, and I instinctively pulled away my hand as Max shuffled in his seat. I was stupid to not check my first instinct. What would he think now? That I was some female on the make?

“Sometimes,” said Max looking at me. He stared a little too long, and I sipped wine as a distraction. I couldn’t face his eyes and find the reflection of my soul. “Margarite and I knew each other well. We were comfortable with each other…like when you can say anything or do anything in front of someone, and they still like you. I mean anything.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been that comfortable with anyone,” I said. “Except my therapist…but I pay her $90 an hour to listen to my every whim.”

Max laughed and then stopped suddenly to look at his hands. “I can’t imagine you paying someone to like you, Jamie.”

“Oh plenty of people like me, Max. But I don’t go around showing my true colors to them.” Why was I telling him my secrets? I had already revealed more about myself than I had ever planned. He neither cared nor needed to know.

Max looked at me a long time. I finished my wine before looking at him. In the dark, I couldn’t read his expression. Was he interested… or just being polite? Could I risk another epiphany or had I said too much already? The dark was both a friend and an enemy.

“What?” I asked, half grinning to break the tension.

“I was trying to figure out what your true color was. I’m guessing blue.”

“Yeah, well…” I stood. “I wasn’t planning on showing it tonight.” I walked to the screen door and opened it. “Thanks for keeping me company, Max.”

“My pleasure, Jamie.” He headed for the porch steps. “See you in the morning.”

“Night,” I said, closing the door behind me.

I closed up the house and headed to bed. I opened the bedroom window to let in the warm breeze and saw the light wink off in the cottage. I stood by the window a moment and thought about Max undressing in the dark. I pictured those tight, slightly hairy buns, the long line of his thigh, the bunched muscles of his shoulders, the rippled snake of his spine. I hadn’t seen much of Max, but I recognized his quality. Did another woman grip that back? Did another woman scar his skin with long, red claw marks, evidence of a consuming passion? Did the dark hide teeth marks, love bites? A sudden jealousy flared inside.

“Go to bed, Jamie” I scolded myself. “You’re going to drive yourself crazy.”

My flannel gown was out of the question on such a close night, so I pulled the covers back and laid on the bed in my panties. I stroked my breasts and listened to the crickets and tried to clear my mind, but my thoughts returned to Max. I was surprised at how comfortable I felt talking to him. He wasn’t sexually aggressive like many men. Perhaps his passive nature allowed me to relax around him. I could fantasize about him without feeling threatened. I wondered what things he and Margarite had shared. Somehow, I was sure they created some secret life no one ever suspected could occur, a life as alien as Venus. Maybe they had a relationship that would have surprised everyone.

A noise outside of my window held me still. It sounded like an animal grunting as I strained to hear over my beating heart. I crept from the bed and peered through the curtains at the dark ground. No movement caught my eye, but when I heard the noise again, I realized it came from Max’s bedroom.

“Oh my,” I whispered as I dropped to my knees near the screen. The grunting got louder, and then quieted again as I imagined what he was doing. Was he rubbing his cock as he pictured me? Or did his mind project Margarite’s lovely face and figure? A low growl made me place my ear closer to the screen, but the violent, jerky groans that followed chased me from the window. I shook as I threw the covers over me. Why had I listened? Visions of semen squirting from his cock made me shiver despite the heat. Another vision squeezed into my brain, a vision of another night, another cock, a laugh so incredibly cruel I wanted to pound my head to drive the cackle from my mind. Why did I listen to Max?

“No,” I whispered, “No, no, no. Not now, not any more. I’m safe now. No one can harm me. I’m safe.” I started to hum as Phyllis had taught me. My mantra rose to my lips. “I’m a good person,” I said without conviction. “I deserve to be loved.” I paused, but the vision had not been vanquished, the laughter had not died. “I’m a good person,” I repeated. “I deserve to be loved.” I repeated the phrases until fitful sleep claimed the remnants of my mind.

The incessant cawing of blue jays woke me the next morning. I pulled the pillow over my ears and buried my head into the mattress to return to the faceless man of my dreams. He was caressing me, and I was responding with moans and moistness. I wanted him to make love to me, to sweep me into a dimension of fervor I had never experienced in real life. I searched for him, but he had fled, and I couldn’t find him in the deepest recesses of my mind. I rolled over and stared at the antique light fixture in the ceiling.

The dream was a new one. This time I wasn’t running away from the faceless man. I wanted him to touch me, to heal my wounded soul. Maybe I was making progress. Maybe I would someday allow a man touch me someplace other than my arm. Someone gentle and understanding, someone who would ease me through the pain of my scarred past.

I sat up when I smelled the first whiff of coffee and stared at the bedroom door. Max was downstairs waiting for me, reading the paper, sipping black coffee. Would he bring me a cup? If I concentrated hard and sent him a telepathic message, would he fill a cup and climb the stairs to my room? Were we connected on that plane? I dropped to the pillow and smiled up at the ceiling while I broadcast my request. It was nice to have him around.

I thought about how I had misread him as a youth. Strong, virile looks equaled a sexually aggressive man, right? Max seemed almost shy with women. Not shy perhaps, but what? What feeling filled Max with trepidation? Something about his actions seemed familiar to me. He seemed almost innocent, but not the innocence of a virgin. It was more the innocence of a monk come late to the calling, after he had tasted the forbidden fruits of hedonism. Max seemed to have sworn off women, but he was very private about his vow.

Was he tormented by sex in some way? That would explain why he didn’t seem to have any real relationships. Maybe he lived a reclusive life in the woods because he couldn’t form a bond with a woman, couldn’t make that leap of love. Like Margarite, independent and totally alone. That was how he described her. Something unique connected the two of them; I sensed that the night before. But their bond was still a mystery. Did the answer lay buried in her stories? Did she explore her feelings for Max and their strange relationship in her therapy? If I continued reading, would I figure out what passed between them? Did I really want to know? Yes, I wanted to know. Somehow I thought I was the only sexual misfit in the world. If someone else proved sexually dysfunctional, was I so crazy after all?

The coffee teased my nose, and I sprang from the bed. The temperature had barely cooled throughout the night. I grabbed a pair of cutoffs and a tank top. The clean panties felt delicious as I changed from the damp ones I had slept in. The scent of my wetness emanated from the soiled underwear and haunted me as I rolled them into a ball and threw them in the hamper.

I ran the brush through my hair before went barefoot to the kitchen. Sitting at the table in jogging shorts and sneakers, Max read the sports section of the paper. The dark hair on his chest caught my eyes, and I looked up quickly as his eyes rose from the print.

“Good morning.” He pushed the paper aside and watched me pour coffee. “How did you sleep?”

“I was too hot to sleep.” I was too hot in more than one way, but Max didn’t need to know that. “And you failed the test.”

“Test? What test?”

“I sent you a telepathic message to bring me a cup of coffee in bed. You didn’t get it. I guess we’re not on the same wavelength.”

He grinned. “Oh, I thought about it, but I wasn’t sure you would welcome me.”

“You never know about me,” I said smiling.

The banter seemed to unnerve Max who blushed.

“It’s supposed to be hot again today,” said Max in self-defense. “Good day to go caving.”

“Caving?”

“Yeah.” He stretched his legs to one of the kitchen chairs. “There are some fascinating caves around here, and it’s always cool inside.”

“Sounds creepy to me,” I said turning up my nose.

“Ever tried it?” asked Max.

“No.”

“Well, then, why not come with me? I’ll show you the ropes…so to speak.”

“Ropes?” I asked raising my eyebrows.

“Well, some caves you have to rappel into,” explained Max.

“I don’t think so,” I said shaking my head.

“OK, how about one you can walk into?” He was trying to lure me into a cave, but the thought of being underground scared me. What if I got claustrophobic?

“I don’t know, Max,” I said trying to chicken out. “I should work on my book.”

“Jamie, you have all summer to work on your book. It’s Sunday!” He pointed out the window to the lake as if the placid water made a statement. “Play a little.”

“No ropes?” I couldn’t believe I was actually considering entering a dark, dank cave.

“No ropes,” echoed Max.

“If I get scared and want to stop, we come right out?”

“Absolutely.” He dropped his feet to the floor and rested his arms on the table.

“And you won’t make fun of me if I’m scared?”

“Of course I’ll make fun of you,” he said with a soft smile. “But not too much. I have a healthy respect for fear. Fear has always taught me something.”

“OK,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll go with you.”

“Great!” said Max rising and taking his cup the sink. “You’ll love it… just wait.”

“So what time are we leaving?”

“I’ve got a few things to do this morning before it gets hot. How about lunch time? We can grab a sandwich in town.”

“Do I need to bring anything?”

“I would suggest pants and a long sleeve shirt…and you might want a hat or a pin to put your hair up. You’ll need some type of covering to keep from getting dirty and to protect your skin from the rocks.”

“I’ll find something,” I said. “Thanks.”

Max headed out the kitchen door and left me with my morning coffee. What had I gotten myself into? Caving. I shook my head in wonder at the things that I would agree to do. After all, curiosity killed the cat.

The clock on the kitchen wall said ten o’clock, and I thought about rereading the novel outline I had sketched the day before. My mind flashed to the box in the attic, and I wondered again about Margarite and Max…what secret they shared. What brought them so close? If I wanted to know, I would have to keep reading her stories.

I poured myself another cup of coffee and climbed to the attic telling myself that I was reading to find out about Margarite…not as a voyeur…not for my own jollies. The stairs had become accustomed to my weight and didn’t creak as I climbed to the loft. I removed the familiar file and took it to my reading spot by the window. I had absently left the window open the day before, and the warm, pine-scented breeze wafted across my face. Tucking my feet under me, I searched the file and picked up the next story.

“The hot water cascades over your long, dark hair. You lean back into the water; the spray bounces across your face, and it feels so warm, so good. Water drips from your hair onto your tush, warm drops that feel like liquid petals. Heat penetrates your skin, sinking deep into the tissues, warming you to your bone marrow. The feeling relaxes and soothes. You turn your face to the shower, closing your eyes and letting the hot water run over your cheeks and lips, down your chest, between your breasts, over your flat tummy, down one thigh, a delicious stream of hot stimulation. You drift a moment, and at first you hardly notice the fingers walking down your sides. Fingers? You start to move, and he whispers in your ear.

“It’s OK, it’s fine, it’s magical.”

You want to ask him how he managed to invade your shower, but the fingers feel so good, like old friends that know your every wish. Instead, you relax and let the hands slither over your water slick skin. You feel one hand cup your breast, testing it, loving the feel of your body. You hear the other hand fumble with something, and you wonder, but you don’t look. To look would spoil the illusion, the sensuality. As you listen, you hear his hands rub together, and then the hands find your body, and you feel smooth lather on your water-warmed skin. You smell the vanilla scent. The hands apply the scented shower gel to breasts and tummy, slathering soap and scent over your skin and nipples that rise to the touch. With deliberate slowness the hands slide down your right leg–thigh, knee, calf, ankle–massaging in smell and heat. The hands come up your left leg–ankle, calf, knee, thigh.

The touch stimulates more than you can believe, and you anticipate the hands and fingers touching you where water doesn’t moisten. The fingers find you, sudsy fingers that slip inside and touch and stroke. You gasp with delight and sudden urge. The hands play and cleanse, and your body responds automatically. The fingers move on. You miss their touch, but they haven’t left. The hands spread vanilla and soap over your shoulders, your neck, kneading heat and anticipation into you body. Finally, delicately, fingertips lather your cheeks and chin and forehead, touching and pleasing, cleaning. The water gushes over you, rinsing away the soap, leaving your body sleek and slick and smelling wonderfully.

The hands direct water all over you, washing off the soap, touching nipples and breasts and tummy all over again. Thighs are stroked. Knees are squeezed. Tush is traced with warm waterful hands. And as you wish, the fingers find you again, slipping inside to renew the wonderful connection. As they circle and trace passion, you feel a body lean against yours. A warm, wet body touches your tush and the back of your thighs. Chest to your back, you feel the welcome hardness of the body, the quivering passionate breath on your neck.

Lips kiss and tongue licks, and the shaft slips along your bottom, between your legs. You move your hips along him, rubbing yourself on him. His fingers slip away. You reach down and take hold of him, guiding me inside you. His hands find your breasts and play as your body leans onto him. He slides inside with ease. The feel of him is exquisite, a feeling of urgency you hardly believe is real. With a sensuousness you find irresistible he begins to stroke.

Water rushes down your body and across the joining of you and down your thigh. The heat builds. He plunges deeper. Your body screams with desire. His breath is hot and fast on your cheek. His hips move faster against yours. His fingers twist your nipples. You feel the explosion coming, the rush of your own body to encompass his, to release upon him. He fills you. A little harder, a little faster, bodies move in sync. With a hot joy, you feel him pulsate inside you. Water splashes down your chest. You reach behind and pull his head forward that you might kiss his cheek.

“Now,” you whisper.

With incredible strength he takes you. Your body locks onto him. The heat and smell come together in a lunge of passion. Your body spasms against him as he explodes inside. You feel your boiling juices mingle inside as your body milks him, urges him, keeps him. For a moment you are lost in the sheer ecstasy of your total release. Your love is complete and unfettered. Then, you breathe and relax. A kiss on your neck. He moves away, slipping away, leaving you weak and warm and fulfilled. You turn. The shower is empty.

Was he ever there? You close your eyes as the hot water runs down your back.

The wetness had gathered between my legs, but I was determined not touch myself. This was research, not pleasure. I wanted to identify this faceless man who made Margarite burn with desire. Why didn’t she use his name? I leafed to the next story and read with both relish and anticipation.

Cold, you feel cold. Hands, feet, legs, your body feels cold from inside out. You strip and crawl into bed and under the covers and wait for warmth to seep into you. You close your eyes and curl up on your side and shiver a little. The cold will soon pass. You wait.

You don’t feel him slip into the bed. The first time you know he’s there is when his hand slips across your shoulder, walking down your chest. You’re a little startled at first, but the touch is so soft, so reassuring, your apprehensions fade. As his fingers find your breast, you feel his body mold itself to yours. You know he’s naked. His warm breath slips across your neck. His heat runs along your back and bottom and legs. You fold your feet against his legs, soft hairy legs that feel so warm. Fingers tweak your nipple. A tongue plays a tune on your neck. You feel the hardness of him on your bottom, and you wiggle a little to show him you know.

He pulls you tighter and his hand slips lower, down your tummy, across your thigh, down the inner knee. His touch is electric and warm. Fingers pirouette on your skin, leaping and dancing and always touching, always heating your body. His hardness slips between your legs, a wonderfully alive thing that provides a source of more heat. The cold begins to melt as his hand finds you, as lips nibble at your shoulder, as the live thing between your legs begins to stroke. He touches you gently, slowly. Your body feels warm and loose, and you crave his touch. The finger moves up and down. Your body wets and heats, and you wait for the finger to penetrate, to find the delicate inner folds of pure fire. You don’t wait long. With a tenderness you can barely describe his finger probes deeper. A moan escapes your lips. Teeth tease your skin with baby bites, bites that stoke a fresh fire.

Fingers twist inside you, and your hips gyrate slowly, deriving pleasure from his touch. As you move so do the fingers, touching and retouching the hot, wet deepness of you. Lips and tongue please your neck and ear, but your body craves the touch. His hardness rubs inside your thighs, and you know his flame burns as brightly as your own. His fingers move quickly, and you gasp with newfound pleasure. Your body clamps tightly and releases, and his fingers move faster. You suck breath around clenched teeth as the need and passion flame. His touch is exquisite, a mix of power and gentleness and speed that makes you soaked with fervor.

“Yes,” you whisper as his fingers fan the fire. “Right there. Don’t stop.”

You feel him panting on you neck. His hardness pulses between your legs.

“Faster,” you say.

His fingers sink fast and deep, and your body jerks with need. His hard chest on your back. His essence rubs the softness of your thighs. But his fingers, those magic fingers bring a cry to your lips. You want him so much. He pleases you so much. You feel a great wind building inside. A tornado whips into shape inside you. Your hips push and wiggle, and you know you’re seconds away from complete release. You can tell he is too.

“Now,” you whisper. “Now.”

Hard and fast, the fingers seem wild inside your hot tightness. You hear him grunt. You grab your nipples and twist. And it happens. Your orgasm rips through you like a huge whirlwind. You feel him explode between your legs, shooting hot, sticky manness across your thighs. For a moment, everything seems perfect. You’re lost in heat and light and love.

As your body sinks into the bed, you feel his fingers leave you. A last kiss on the neck, and his hardness is gone, leaving only its seed behind. You feel his body leave yours. You don’t mind. You’re happy. You’re warm. From feet to fingers, you’re warm and happy and loved. He’ll be back. You know that. He’ll be back. And you’ll always be warm. He’ll keep you warm.

My hands shook as I turned the pages. The words had ignited my own fire, and I ached for relief. My fingers crept up inside my pant leg and slipped beneath the elastic of my panties. As I slid them between my lips, my wetness covered them.

“Oh,” I sighed, closing my eyes and caressing myself. “Just this once.”

The sound of the front door slamming jerked my hand out of my crotch.

“Jamie?” called Max from below. “Ready to go?”

I scrambled to shove the file back into the box and took the attic steps two at a time.

“Almost!” I yelled down the stairs as I hurried into my room I slipped into a pair of jeans and grabbed a plaid, long sleeved shirt. My body quivered as I hurried. I needed a release for my pent up desire, but I was going caving instead. Bad timing seemed to have plagued me all my life.

“Hiking boots or sneakers?” I yelled to Max.

“Boots,” yelled Max.

I snatched my boots out of the closet and pulled my hair in a pony tail, realizing that I didn’t own a hat. Max waited in the living room. I avoided his eyes as I sat to pull on the boots.

“You OK?” he asked.

“Yeah… why?” I asked defensively.

“I don’t know… you look kind of .. flushed.”

“It’s hot upstairs,” I lied. “I don’t have a hat.”

“You can use one of mine,” said Max standing. “Who do you like? Cubs or Orioles?”

I laughed as I laced the boots. “Cubs, I guess.”

“OK… I’ll meet you outside.”

After Max left I took a huge breath and willed my heart to slow. Was Margarite’s writing responsible for my passion or had I gone too long with too little companionship? I couldn’t tell, but I knew caving wouldn’t distract me entirely. I knew the visions of the shower and the bed would lie dormant inside my brain and then pop into full bloom at the strangest moments. I could envision Max helping me across some chasm, and Margarite’s shower scene leaping into my mind, and my body responding with a gush of moistness that would sound like a tidal wave in the spooky silence of the cave. What would Max think when he felt the carnal heat and heard the flood of wetness? No, I wouldn’t think that way. I could control my mind and my body.

After stopping for lunch at a local deli, Max turned the Jeep north. He knew the mountains and the caves, and I didn’t question him. A hot wind whipped my pony tail. I was grateful for Max’s baseball hat. Without the hat I would have spent the afternoon combing knots from my hair. The Jeep screamed down the rural highway. Sixty miles per hour was too fast, but I was in a mood for risk. I hadn’t come here to fold my hands in my lap and rock on the porch. My writing instructors always said my writing lacked adventure, so if I wanted to take risks on the written page, I needed to accept risk in my life.

Wind noise made it impossible to talk. I would have liked a conversation as the tension from the stories remained locked inside. I wasn’t sure I could continue reading Margarite’s stories if they were going to reduce me to a quivering mass of wet, torrid flesh. Yet the desire to know more about her and Max and her erotic therapy drove me to the files, the stories. Learning about them had become a quest, and I knew I wouldn’t stop until I found the answer. A part of me said I already knew the answer, that Max and Margarite were old-fashioned lovers, two attractive people thrown together often and for long periods. Talking led to touching, touching led to kissing, kissing led to more touching, and it all led to sex. A million bosses and secretaries could recite the common progression. Max and Magarite were variations on a musical theme. Somehow, though, I didn’t believe my own analysis. Max and Margarite had something special–or else why write the erotica? I couldn’t believe they were ordinary lovers. But what were they? What role did the stories play in their relationship?

Max looked over and smiled as he turned off the main road and headed down a two-lane, dirt track.

“Almost there,” he yelled. “A couple more miles.”

“Great!” I yelled back.

Max finally parked in a small dirt lot next to two other vehicles. I followed him to the back of the Jeep where he started pulling equipment out of a box.

“Here.” He handed me a flashlight. “I’ve got one on my hat.”

He tapped the small lamp built into the hard hat he wore. My flashlight had a clip on the end, which I latched to the belt loop on my jeans. I tied my flannel shirt around my waist as Max slipped orange coveralls over his cutoffs and T-shirt. A wave of heat swept over us and suddenly I couldn’t wait to enter the cool cave.

“Do these cars mean that other people are inside?” I asked.

“Probably… unless they’re hiking. This cave is a local favorite. Let’s go,” said Max taking the lead.

A gravel path led to the mouth of the cave where a sign posted a warning. “Enter at your own risk. Not responsible for injuries incurred on this property.”

“Are you sure this is safe?” I asked as Max ducked his head and entered the cave.

“Yeah… come on.” He continued inside. “Don’t sweat the disclaimer.”

The ceiling was high enough for me to clear, but I instinctively ducked my head. We were encased in darkness so complete, the light from Max’s helmet couldn’t make a difference and I could hardly see him. The walls of the cave narrowed, and the coolness sent a chill down my arms.

“Oh, this is weird,” I said keeping close behind Max. “All I can see is your butt.”

“Is that a compliment or a complaint ?” Max laughed as he delved into the depths of the cave.

“A comment.” I stopped, unhooked the flashlight, and turned it on. Max had surged ahead, and I hurried to catch up. “Slow down,” I called. He stopped and turned, shining his light into my eyes. The brightness blinded me, and I shielded my eyes with my hands.

“Sorry,” said Max turning off the light. I aimed my flashlight towards the side as I reached him. The beam quivered against the rock, and I realized I was shaking.

“Are you OK?” asked Max putting his arm around me. Suddenly I was shaking more than I could believe. “You’re trembling, Jamie.” He took my flashlight and pulled me tighter against him. My mind reeled as I tried to get a grip on my emotions.

“Give me a sec,” I said trying to calm myself. “I need to get used to this…dark.” The dank, earthy smell was overpowering and pressed in on my chest as I struggled to breathe. I turned my face towards Max’s chest to filter the air and sucked in a diluted mixture of earth and maleness. The scent somehow soothed me, and I didn’t turn away when he pulled me closer.

“Want to go back out?” His asked, obviously concerned, and I felt silly that I had panicked. Would Max think I was behaving like a child?

“No,” I muffled into his chest. “It’s going away. Give me another minute.” I felt myself starting to calm, and I let out a heavy sigh. Max rubbed my back tenderly and rested his chin on the top of my head.

“It’s OK, Jamie,” he whispered. “You’re safe.”

Those last two words suddenly burst the dam, and a reservoir of tears poured out. He never questioned why I cried; he just held me as I sobbed into his chest. No soothing words, no questions, it almost seemed as if he was embarrassed by my outburst, as if he wasn’t accustomed to women in tears. As quickly as it started, the emotional flood ended and I quieted in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” I said pulling myself away. “I have no idea what that was about.”

“It doesn’t matter. Caves affect people differently. Sometimes the dark triggers the memory of a fear.”

“Oh really, Doctor?” I said, trying to make a joke.

“Happens to me sometimes. I don’t think people were designed for the dark,” said Max. “Want to go back? It’s OK if you do.”

“No,” I sighed. “I actually feel better. Let’s go a little further. I’d hate to chicken out after five minutes.”

Max handed the flashlight to me and turned on his helmet lamp. I wiped the tears off my cheeks and took his extended hand reaching back to me.

“How far does this cave go?”

“Oh, you could spend a day walking around in here and never find the end. But I think we’ll go to the crystal room today.”

I wanted to ask how far away the crystal room was, but I decided it was better not to know. The path widened a bit, weakening the claustrophobic feeling. Max stopped and pulled me alongside him.

“You see that narrow passage?” He pointed to a thin space at the back of the cave.

“Yeah,” I said shining my flashlight around the opening.

“Through that opening is a huge room with the most magnificent growth of crystals you’ll ever see. We have to slide through sideways. Wear your shirt so you don’t get scratched.”

He held my flashlight while I put on my shirt. My chest was starting to feel tight, and I labored to control my breathing. The passage was so narrow I had visions of the earth suddenly squeezing the life from me.

“OK, ready?” asked Max.

“No, but let’s go.” I knew if I thought about the passage any longer, fear would turn my back on the opening and propel me out of the cave. Max clasped my hand and turned sideways to edge slowly between the granite walls. As he cleared the passage, I held my breath and pressed myself between the threatening rocks. When I cleared, Max squeezed my hand and smiled.

“You’re going to love this, Jamie,” he said. “Look up.”

I tilted my flashlight to the ceiling and almost choked at the beautiful wonder of nature. Sixty-foot stalagmites that looked like giant bowling pins protruded from thickets of rock icicles and pads of cave pearls.

“Oh my God, Max!” I cried out. “How beautiful.”

“Come over here,” he said taking my hand. “There’s a place to sit.” He led me to a nearby rock that jutted out from the cave wall as if to create a perfect bench from which to view the crystals.

“How did you find this?” I asked, shining my flashlight across the ceiling. Max took off his helmet and played his head lamp across the sparkling crystals.

“Most of the locals know about it. There’s rumor the state wants to turn this cave into a park. But nobody around here wants that to happen. We like keeping it to ourselves.”

“It’s so… magical,” I said as I circled my light around the room.

“Yeah…this is one of my favorite places…especially on a hot day.” I thought the temperature was around 65 degrees in the room – at least 30 degrees cooler than outside.

“Wow,” I said again as I absorbed the beauty. I looked at Max and found him smiling. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “I’m glad that the view is worth the trauma you felt earlier.”

“Oh,” I said looking back to the rocks. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Jamie,” said Max. “Don’t ever apologize for your fears.”

I couldn’t believe how understanding he was, and how truly safe I felt when I cried in his arms.

“You were great, by the way.” I forced my eyes back to his and smiled. “It was nice to be held.”

“Holding is easy, Jamie–sometimes.”

I felt myself wanting to be in his arms again, and I pulled my eyes away.

“Caves are a great place to confront fears,” said Max shining his light on a long stalagmite. “If you can face down a fear here, you can do anything out in the sun.”

“Because you feel like you’re being swallowed by the earth?” I chuckled.

“No, I feel supported by the Earth…sort of that Mother Earth connection, like I’m in her womb. Safe.” His voice seemed far away as he closed his eyes. Was he savoring the connection?

“I haven’t made that connection yet,” I said. “But I have a sense of what you’re describing.” We sat quietly gazing at the display of nature. I wondered what fears Max confronted in the eerie beauty of the cave. What demons danced under the twinkling, refracted light from his lamp? What grinning monsters did Max slay in this eerily beautiful place?

“What are you afraid of Max?” I asked.

He turned his face towards me and smiled quickly before looking away. “Why do you want to know?”

“Well, I showed you my fear, I thought you might show me yours.”

“You showed me your reaction to fear, Jamie,” he said gently. “You didn’t tell me what fueled the fear.”

“That’s true,” I admitted. “Never mind.” I wasn’t going to push him into revealing anything because I didn’t want to open my closeted past. We sat quietly, and I cursed myself for creating the awkward silence.

“Women,” said Max suddenly.

“What?”

“I’m afraid of women.” He looked for a reaction, and I was grateful for the dark that hid my face.

“In what way?” I suddenly felt honored to have his trust. How many men would admit a fear of women?

“Intimacy, I guess. I’ve always been afraid to make the first move…even if I’ve known the woman a long time.”

“Are you afraid they’ll reject you?” God, I sounded like my therapist. I wanted to laugh. Here I was, a bundle of thriving neuroses, and I was playing psychologist to Max’s patient.

“Yeah…maybe… I don’t know.”

“So what usually happens?” I asked.

He took a deep breath and looked to the ceiling. “A damn attractive woman moved to town three years ago. Her name was Tammy, and she was pretty and smart and funny. We would shoot pool on Saturday nights and sip beer and slip off to the Buffalo Bar to listen to Bluegrass tunes. She loved to dance. A couple times a week, we’d meet at the Donut Den for breakfast. Her smile was pure sunshine. She could melt a miser’s heart. Tammy liked me, liked me a lot, and I was damn fond of her. Don’t laugh, but I used to send her little notes. Not love notes exactly, more like comic relief. You know, a note might say, ‘Touch this paper, and you’re having sex with me. I can tell that you like it from the smile on your face.'”

I laughed involuntarily, and Max flashed a lopsided grin.

“See,” Max continued. “They were funny. She loved those little notes. I had fun writing them.”

“So what happened to Tammy?”

“What always happens with me. We reached a point where I either had to take the next step or back out. I was too damn scared to do either, so we kinda drifted. You know, the pool wasn’t so much fun, the music not so intimate. Breakfast became tougher. We weren’t meant to be friends, we were meant to be lovers.”

“Then, one night she showed up late at the Buffalo. She sat at the table, and I knew she wanted to say something. I joked and put her off, and the music started, and some guy came up and took her hand. He pulled her out that chair just as natural as a baby learning to walk. I knew the end had come. You know when those things happen. She leaned close and kissed my cheek, and she whispered, ‘If a girl waits for you, she’ll never get anything.'”

Max exhaled in one long, slow breath. “Tammy left town a month later. Moved to Denver, and word was she stayed married less than a year. That guy wasn’t right for her. I guess I wasn’t either.” He chuckled sardonically. “Hell, I never even tried. Some people are too stupid to be happy.”

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I sat quietly and thought about his story. I felt I owed him something…some piece of my fear in exchange for his. How much should I share?

“I’m afraid of intimacy myself, Max,” I said finally.

“Why?” he asked turning to me. His eyes were lost in the scant light, but I was still drawn into them.

“I had a bad experience in college…kind of messed me up.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“Pain is a funny thing, Max. The physical pain wore off quickly. I was young and healthy. The other pain…well, I’m not sure that wound will ever heal. Every time I think the scar is thick and tough, I discover I’m bleeding again.”

Why was I so willing to open up to him? Did his wounds make it easy for me to bare mine?

“Before I came out here,” I continued. “I was engaged. Tim was everything a girl could want. Handsome, but not pretty – strong, successful, stable, sober. His family liked me; his mother was as fine a woman as I have ever known. He adored me, he really did. I loved him–at least I thought I did. We clicked in so many ways I was certain we were destined for each other. Everything worked perfectly until we reached the bedroom.

“In another time, a man might postpone sex until the wedding night, but today not many couples wait till the knot is tied before they test sexual compatibility. Makes sense if you think about it. Why pledge fidelity to someone who might not set your heart beating? Tim and I talked about sex, agreed that we ought to taste the fruit before we bought the orchard. He booked a hotel suite, ordered champagne, fed me chocolate covered strawberries, massaged me with hot oil, did everything humanly possible–except make love to me.”

I paused as emotion choked back the words. I possessed no expression to describe Tim’s face that night when I told him I couldn’t make love to him. The incredible pain in his face stabbed my heart. I had mortally wounded that which I loved best. How could I explain that agony to Max? I couldn’t. I wouldn’t even try.

“He laughed it off,” I continued. “Beeg joke, no? He would have gone through with the marriage, but I couldn’t allow that. Our shared misery would have killed our love. I gave him back his ring. We cried in each others’ arms. I ran out here–to write and forget.”

We sat quietly and looked at the shining reflections of the crystals against the light. The cave had no balm for my cut, just as the crystals couldn’t imbue Max with courage.

“Want to experience the womb?” asked Max.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “I thought we were in the womb.”

“Turn off your light, and you’ll get the full effect.”

I clicked off the flashlight. Max flicked off the lamp on his helmet. Total darkness engulfed me like a blanket. No light, no noise, only the smell of the earth and the pounding of my heart.

“What do you think?” whispered Max.

“I’m not sure…it’s a mixture of fear and familiar.”

“Exactly,” confirmed Max. “Try to visualize the fear.”

I followed the fear inside of me and felt a pressure on my chest again. Someone overpowered and crushed me, forcing me…

“Oh god…” I gasped trying to gulp air.

“Do you want to stop?” asked Max. “I’m here if you want to keep going. You’re safe, Jamie, utterly safe.”

Those two words gave me permission to let go. This time the path to my wound was quickly traversed, and I buried my head in my hands and wept. Imagining myself in the womb, I rocked myself back and forth. As my tears slowed, Max reached over and pulled me into his arms. I wrapped my arms around his waist and buried my face in his neck as more tears flowed. He stroked my hair as I emptied myself in his arms.

My emotions were shifting, and beneath the fear and pain was an unexpected passion. My hands started to respond by stroking Max’s back and pulling him closer. My mouth opened on his neck and hinted at a kiss. His mouth turned toward me. I turned my mouth towards his. When our lips met, the emotional explosion shook both of us.

I was lost between enjoying the sensation and analyzing the fact that I wasn’t pulling back. Max’s lips were delicious, mixed with the salty taste of my tears. His hands did not press further and I felt safe to explore my feelings. I buried myself in his neck as he held me tight.

“Oh, Jamie…” he sighed.

From the entrance of the cave came the sound of explorers. Max and I slowly pulled ourselves apart.

“Sounds like company,” said Max turning on his helmet lamp. The crystals lit up again, and I felt I was in a dream. Max gently wiped the tears from my cheeks as he stared into my eyes. I wanted him to kiss me, and the thought of it made me smile.

“I like your smile,” said Max

“Thanks for making me smile.”

A new light shined through the crevice to the room, and we watched two young men slide through.

“Hi!” said the first guy, shining his light near us. “Enjoying the view?”

“Yeah,” said Max, rising and taking my hand. “It’s spectacular, but we’ve seen enough…enjoy yourselves.”

We slid through the crevice, and I held Max’s hand as we wove back out to the hot sunshine.

The evening air was thick with humidity, warning of a summer storm heading our way. A heavy ominous feeling settled on my shoulders. I poured a glass of wine and sat on the porch swing, praying for a breeze, but the air was motionless, stifling. Neither Max nor I had spoken on the drive from the cave, and it seemed the longer we put off talking about what happened, the more awkward we felt. I hadn’t seen him since our return and the cottage appeared empty.

I guessed this was Max being true to form. His style was unassertive and I was glad to know that his inattentive attitude wasn’t caused by me. Maybe that’s what made him safe. The more I got to know him, the more I realized that he wasn’t going to press for more–even if I wanted more from him. Max would answer my call if I wanted, and I found that prospect somehow exciting. Perhaps I would be in control for once.

My emotional release in the cave left me quiet and reflective. I felt empty, as if a space had been created by the feelings I released. I wanted to fill the void with something new…something loving. My mind flashed on the moment when Max and I kissed in the cave, and how wonderful it felt to not pull away, to want more. For the first time since…the incident, I wanted more of a man, not less. The feeling was unique and delicious. I wanted to fill the emptiness with that feeling.

The sound of rustling caught my ear. I sat up quickly and turned toward the lake. As the sound neared, I stood to run into the house. Who or what was coming toward me? I wasn’t going to wait to find out.

“It’s me, Jamie,” Max called.

I couldn’t see him through the darkness, and I walked to the porch railing. Within moments he appeared carrying a fishing pole and tackle box in one hand and two striped bass hanging from a stringer in the other.

“Sorry if I scared you,” he said, setting his pole down on the steps.

“I thought sure it was a mountain lion,” I said, trying to act confident. “Looks like the fish are biting.”

“Two of them were,” He smiled. “Have you eaten already?”

“Yes. I made myself a salad. It’s too hot to cook.”

“I’m going to grill these,” he said looking at the fish. Was that an invitation? I couldn’t tell.

“I bet they’ll taste great.” I was opening the door for him to invite me over, but he didn’t walk through. He picked up his pole and tackle box and grinned. Another awkward moment. God, this man was driving me crazy. No wonder Tammy gave up on him.

“Well, I guess I better clean these,” said Max, turning towards the cottage.

I didn’t say anything as he walked away. I wondered how Margarite handled him…if they were lovers. Did she follow him around and throw herself on him when she was in need? Maybe she cried a lot. That was the only way I had slipped into his arms so far. I chuckled inwardly at the thought of crying to get a man to hold me after years of crying when he did.

Perhaps the answer lay in the file of therapeutic stories. I went into the house and climbed the stairs to the attic. The temperature in the loft was unbearable, and for the first time, I took the file downstairs. I refilled my glass of wine and stretched out on the couch for another read.

The cold woke you. You reached out for him, but his space in the bed was empty. Coming awake, you sat up in bed, and the sheet fell to expose your full breasts. Across the room, he struck a match. An eerie white glow suffused his smiling face. He grinned for a moment before lighting the candle.

“Get dressed,” he said.

“What time is it?” you asked.

“It’s going to storm. Get dressed.”

You turned and glanced at clock–3:00 AM–the nether reaches of the night, the time when only mad men and stray dogs roamed. You pulled the covers over your naked skin.

“Time to sleep.”

He stood, and you saw he was already in his jeans. His smoothly muscled, hard chest flashed orange in the light. You remembered his chest, his small nipples, how you made love after swimming.

“Get dressed,” he repeated.

Although he still smiled his voice left no room for debate. Despite any misgivings, you slipped out of bed and began to gather your clothes from where he had tossed them.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“Outside.”

You were tying your Nikes when he blew out the candle. You felt more than saw him as he handed you a sweatshirt and led you out of the cottage.

Outside, the night air seemed leaden and still. He smiled and led you across the drive toward the woods. He seemed to know what he was doing, and you walked by his side. In the distance, you heard the faint rumbling of…thunder.

The woods were dark and close and the path narrow. You could barely make out his broad shoulders as you followed. Weeds and limbs brushed at your sides, forest fingers that impeded your passage. You didn’t dare fall behind. Lost in the woods at night? No, you didn’t like that thought at all. Thunder growled closer. The faint after-image of lightning filtered through the trees. Limbs stirred in whispers, heralding the oncoming storm. A trickle of autumn leaves fell around you.

The path wound down, and he grabbed your hand to help you across a slippery log that spanned a small creek. The wind rose as you wound up the other bank. Lightning began to light up the sky. Thunder broke over you in building waves. The wildness of the night began to affect you. Nature’s fearsome energy electrified the forest, the woods. Your body absorbed some of the dynamo, the whirling, swirling storm that rushed toward you.

At the top of the ravine he stopped beneath a huge oak, a tree that hand in hand you couldn’t reach around. Lightning arced across the sky. Thunder exploded. The wind freshened. He took you in his arms, pulled you tight, and kissed you. The power of the storm infused his kiss as his tongue wormed greedily into your mouth. You felt his hard cock against your belly, and your nipples rose in anticipation. His hands slipped under your sweatshirt and roamed your skin to cup your breasts. Fingers twirled full nipples through your bra, and you rubbed yourself against him. He broke the kiss to pull off your sweatshirt, and while he kissed your throat, he unhooked your bra. His lips and tongue slipped down your chest to your right nipple, and small teeth teased you. You grabbed the back of his sweatshirt and pulled it over his head, raking your long nails along his back.

The storm closed with you. Lightning flashed closer and more often. Thunder roared over you. A rain of oak leaves showered on you as he unbuttoned and unzipped your jeans and your hair whipped past your face. As your hands slipped inside his jeans, you grabbed his cock, hard and tight under his Levis. You squeezed as you knew he liked, and his teeth nipped the side of your breast. Panting, he dropped to his knees in front of you and wiggled down your jeans, burying his face in your panties. A chill breeze zipped past, and you shivered against him. His fingers hooked your panties, and as he pulled them down, he kissed you, letting his warm tongue slip through your silken thatch.

You felt a raw excitement overwhelm you. The storm fueled his desire as you felt yourself grow moist, as his tongue probed deeper. You moaned, and placing your hands on his shoulders, you pushed him to the ground.

Lightning lit the hill, and thunder clapped around you, and in the strobe-like atmosphere, you unzipped his jeans and removed them and ripped down his briefs to free his hard, hot cock. You bent over and took him in your mouth, savoring the pulsating energy in him, the musky smell. You felt him tense as you licked the long shaft, your tongue as delicate as a firefly. As you pulled back, you stopped. In the maelstrom around you, you studied his body, his hard chest, his hairy thighs, his cock like a tower straining to grow. His eyes studied your body, your face, and he smiled, and you smiled.

Naked desire throbbed inside of you as you mounted him. Feeling the hard cock slide deep inside, you gasped with exquisite pain and grabbed his shoulders. A burst of icy wind washed over you, and you shivered as he reached up to squeeze your breasts. Lightning blasted around you; thunder deafened you. The summit was alive with untamed power. You began to move atop him, stroking him, stroking yourself, pleasuring both with your moves. As the first large, cold rain drops pummeled, you she felt him thrust deeper inside, his desire surfacing.

The wind shrieked. Lightning turned night into day. Torrential rain washed over you, soaking you, running down your bare skin, but you hardly felt it. You locked onto him, thrusting and roiling and building the need suffusing your body. You felt him grunt with every thrust, and you understood how Adam and Eve must have felt on their first night away from Eden. The danger heightened the thrill of your joining. The storm echoed your raging desire. Ignoring the stinging rain, you felt the explosion welling up inside you. His fingers twisted your engorged nipples, and your cry was drowned by thunder. You clawed his chest and could only sense his bellow. Like primeval creatures, you let lust overwhelm everything as you bounced five, ten, a dozen times.

Your orgasm was as powerful as the tempest. Every fiber of your body, every muscle, every nerve locked onto his own eruption. You felt him shudder inside, his body condensed into the shaft locked within your own being. Everything seemed to pause, the lightning, the thunder, the wind. They were shaft and pocket, milking and being milked, the bare essential of human sexuality. You had never lost your soul quite so totally, as if your mind had shut down to allow your sex to dominate everything.

Then, as his shudders decreased in intensity and heat, the storm returned. Rain lashed as you collapsed on top of his hard chest. He kissed you tenderly, and rolled you over that he might protect you with his bulk. Rain dripped from his nose onto your cheek. You shivered together under the dripping Oak. Already, the worst of the storm had passed, and you knew you wouldn’t stay long in the cold rain. Yet, you wanted to hold onto him a bit longer, to savor the utter release you had achieved. You wanted to thank him for recognizing the storm and its role in your lovemaking. You bit his shoulder softly. He kissed your neck.

In a little while you would return to the cottage, in a little while.

I grabbed for my wine to quench the thirst that had risen in my throat. These stories couldn’t be about Max. Now that I knew him, it was obvious Max would never be aggressive enough to take Margarite into a storm. He would never demand that she get dressed so he could roam the woods at night and make love in a tempest. No, that wasn’t Max’s style. Were the stories merely Margarite’s fantasies? Were they about another lover, someone nobody ever knew, some late night visitor? No matter who they were for, they were intoxicating. My body relished the images bouncing about my brain. Lust and passion and gentleness all wrapped into a picture perfect love. I picked up the next story.

The car moves swiftly through the night, twin headlamps carving cones of light in the dark. The faint light from the dash washes over your pretty face, highlighting the beauty. The highway is practically deserted. You are alone in the night, driving, pushing. No, not alone. He’s with you; he’s always with you. You can see his handsome face, his dark eyes, his strong arms and shoulders. He’s never far from your thoughts. If you closed your eyes, you would see him clearly, his smiling face, his happy face. But you don’t dare close your eyes. You have miles to go before you meet him–or do you?

You glance right and you can see his outline, how he sits and watches you as you drive. You like the way he watches. You can see the love in his eyes, the desire. You know this man will never ignore you, never turn away, never grow tired of you. Even on this dark, deserted highway you can see him, feel him. It’s as if his spirit has been transported to your car to help you home. You can see him asleep on the couch, a slight smile on his face, but his essence, his spirit rides shotgun with you. Yes, he’s there. You smell him, the scent of him that you like so well. God, what a smell! Goose bumps ripple up your arms. You love that smell.

He doesn’t speak, but you feel him edge closer to you. He leans across the console and lays a hand on your leg. His hand is warm, his fingers firm on your thigh. You know your skin excites him; it always does. You feel his fingers massage your thigh, wringing pleasure from touching you. You have felt him a hundred times before, and every time is as potent as the first, those fingers touching, kneading. Your lower lip quivers slightly. You regrip the steering wheel. His touch is tantalizing and stimulating, and you sink a little deeper into the seat. With practiced ease, you engage the cruise control. The car powers through the night on its own, a tamed beast.

To your right, you see him smile. You feel his hand crawl up your thigh and under your skirt. The fingers know your skin, your muscles. The hand sends a rush of heat through you, and you know you’ve begun to respond. You feel yourself grow moist. You pray his fingers will soon find you and love you. You don’t wait long. His hand finds your panties and grooves them into you, soaking up your own hot juices. You shudder with barely restrained emotion. You want him so much. As his fingers move up and own across you, you spread your legs. You want him to take you quickly, but he knows how to make you last and love. You sip breath through pursed lips. His fingers pull aside your panties and slip along your wetness. Your body thrusts spasmodically against his touch. Your body wants to drink his fingers, absorb those wonderful feelings.

His fingers do find you and sink into you, touching the places that he knows so well. You move against him, wanting his touch to fill you. Your body grips and regrips his fingers, pulling them inside, loving them. Your breath comes in gasps. His fingers begin to move with speed and strength. You thrust against him, but his fingers do the work. Rubbing, touching, stroking. You grab his biceps and squeeze, and his fingers rush inside you, faster and harder. “Faster,” you whisper, and his fingers oblige. Your body soaks his hand, running over him. You feel your orgasm rushing forward like some huge truck roaring unchecked down a steep mountain. His fingers work at fever pitch, and you know the leviathan is unstoppable. It gathers speed and power.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper. He doesn’t. His hand doubles its pace, and the truck is close now, rumbling through the night, tearing through the air, a mammoth thing that crushes everything in its path. Your body clamps and gushes. The truck horn blares. You have arrived as your body spasms against his fingers. For some part of a mile your body locks on him and pleases itself.

Then, the rush stops. Your body relaxes. You unclamp, and his fingers withdraw. But your body is soaked, and the skirt beneath you is soaked. But you don’t care. He came to you, and he loved you, and the remaining miles will be short. When you reach him, he will know he’s pleased you. Yet, he’ll be ready to please you again, and that is what you wish. Another chance at happiness.

The car slices through the night. You sigh. He knew you needed him, and he came to you. You’re happy.

I closed the file and left it on the table next to the couch. No, these stories didn’t sound like the Max who allowed a pretty, desirable woman leave town. He wouldn’t reach over in the car and stroke a woman. He couldn’t even buy her a beer in a bar.

The wetness between my legs tickled, and I rubbed my crotch against the stem of my empty wine glass. Maybe Max was the perfect guy for me right now. He certainly wasn’t going to press any further than I wanted to go. Maybe I could let him relieve the aching…this need ignited by Margarite’s stories. If I were brave enough and strong enough, then maybe, just maybe Max would be the tool to fulfill my desire. Warm flesh would be good, wouldn’t it?

I went into the kitchen and poured the last of the wine into my glass. Smoke from the grill drifted through the kitchen window, and I walked out the back door towards the cottage. Max was leaning against a tree with a long-neck beer in his hand, watching the grill, the red coals that he didn’t want to become flames. He had taken off his shirt, and I stared at his naked chest — such a masculine chest. He turned to me as I approached.

“That smells great,” I said, coming up next to him.

“Does that mean you want some?” He certainly had a lot to learn about catching a hint.

“Actually, I would like to try some…if you don’t mind?”

“No…” Max suddenly realized his rudeness. “I would love your company, and I could never eat both of these.”

My head was spinning from the wine. I leaned against the side of the tree next to him. He looked at my glass, and then my face and grinned.

“What?” I asked as he chuckled out loud.

“You look a little toasted, Jamie.”

“Really?” I said, giggling more than I wanted to. “I think it’s the heat. I’m not used to it.”

“It’s easy to drink too much when it’s hot.” He walked to the grill and turned the fish before looking back at me.

“Wine tastes like ambrosia, Max, the food of the gods.” I winked as he came back and leaned against the tree. I rubbed the lip of the glass seductively over my lips as he watched. God, I wanted him to take me into his arms and kiss me like he had in the cave. Couldn’t he discern desire when he looked into my face. He had to know that I was flirting. I didn’t think I could be any more obvious. What kind of man was he? Was he so scared he couldn’t even try?

He made no move towards me, and I was determined to feel his lips on mine. His eyes never left my lips as I caressed them with the lip of the glass. When I was certain that I had him entranced, I lowered the glass and stepped closer. I reached out and traced my finger along the curve of the muscles on his chest.

“Do I have to cry to get a hug, Max?”

He pulled me into his arms. “No, Jamie.”

I melted as he engulfed me and pulled my face into his furry chest. His maleness intoxicated my desire, and I knew I wanted more than a hug. I looked into his face and stared at lips inches away from mine. How I needed a kiss.

“Oh shit,” yelled Max letting go of me. The grill was blazing out of control and threatening his fish. He grabbed a squirt bottle and expertly put out the flame before checking the fish. “I think they’re done,” he said, smiling at me. He grabbed a potholder and carried the rack holding the fish into the cottage. I followed, trying to extinguish my own flames shooting out of control.

The cottage was neater than I expected. The kitchen and living room were separated by a long bar and four stools. An overstuffed couch dominated the living room along with a rocking chair, coffee table, and one side table. An oak wall unit held a television, stereo, and an array of books.

“Not as fancy as your living quarters,” he said as if trying to read my mind.

“I like it,” I smiled at him. “Feels very comfortable…like you.” He busied himself with shifting the fish onto plates and setting them on the counter. I moved deeper into the cottage. Something about this unassuming man intrigued me. How did he manage so well without a woman? How did he meet his needs? Did he have needs? Were there men without those base, animalistic urges?

The door to his bedroom was slightly ajar, and I peeked in to see his unmade bed. I flashed on watching him take off his pants too near the open window, that tight, thin butt. Now it seemed I was closer to that voyeuristic moment. Trailing that thought was the sound of him coming to climax in the middle of the night, those pants and groans of release. I turned quickly and walked back to the kitchen.

“I didn’t have anything elaborate planned to go with the fish,” said Max, reaching into his refrigerator. “Some left over slaw and a loaf of bread.”

“That’s fine,” I said, taking the slaw from his hands. “I’m here for a taste test. I’m not that hungry.” Not for food anyway, I thought.

We sat on stools. I cut a piece of French bread and handed it to him. He held my eyes for a moment before turning to his plate.

“Can I ask you some questions about Margarite?” I cut myself a slice of bread and picked up my fork.

“Sure,” said Max chewing on the bread. “Watch out for bones by the way.”

“Thanks,” I pulled the fillet apart slowly with my fork. “Did Margarite have lovers?” If that question didn’t hit a nerve…nothing would. Max stopped chewing and raised an eyebrow at me.

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know…I’m just curious. Seems she might get lonely out here all by herself.”

“There were a couple of guys that she went out with from time to time. But nothing serious that I ever knew about.” That answer didn’t support my theory about her stories.

“What about before you got here? Did she ever talk about anyone from the past?” Max stared at his plate and thought a moment before shaking his head.

“Not that she told me about. You’re mom might know more about her past than me.”

“Yeah…but I don’t think Mom would tell me the kind of stuff I want to know.”

“What kind of stuff?” asked Max.

“Oh…nothing,” I said smiling. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence as we both kept to our own thoughts. I was afraid too much quiet would bring back the awkwardness we had experienced earlier in the day, and I pressed myself to resume the conversation.

“This fish is great,” I said.

“Thanks. Grilled bass is as near to heaven as I figure I’ll ever get.”

“Bass and Chardonnay. Almost as good as sex.” I was feeling brave sitting next to him. I swung my stool around until my leg touched his. He turned his seat towards me and finished his beer. I emptied my glass of wine and slid the glass across the bar playfully. Max snatched the glass before it tumbled to the floor. His smile said he liked games sometimes.

“It’s hot in here.” My voice was strong…almost commanding, shocking my own ears.

“I think you’re right,” answered Max staring at me.

“How about the dock? I bet the stars are gorgeous, and it’s probably cooler.”

“I probably shouldn’t let you get close to the water.”

“What do you mean,” I laughed. “Afraid I’ll fall in…or want to swim?” Max raised an eyebrow in disbelief and began to clear the dishes. I grabbed the bread and slaw and carried them to the counter.

“Here,” said Max handing me a can of bug repellent. “The mosquitoes are biting.”

I grinned, squirting my legs and arms with cool, pungent spray. Max walked to a closet, pulled out a blanket, and came back to the kitchen door. “I think we better stay on solid ground tonight,” he said opening the door for me.

We started towards the lake, and Max picked a spot clear of trees and spread the blanket. Bright stars filled the night sky. I sat on the blanket and gaped at the panoramic view.

“Wow,” I sighed taking in the thousands of sparkles. “Thanks. In the city, you see maybe two stars, and one of them is really a planet. This is magnificent.”

Max was silent as he laid down on the blanket and cupped his hands behind his head. He looked handsome. His bare chest begged to be kissed. I pulled away my eyes and looked to the stars. If anything was going to happen, I would have to make the first move. I knew that. But could I actually try a gambit? Could I take what I wanted? Could I restrain him once I stoked that fire? What if I started a conflagration and then tried to extinguish it? Max would understand…at least I thought he would.

“This is romantic, don’t you think?” I said leaning on one elbow and looking at Max.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink, Jamie.”

“I have not!” I protested. “Three glasses hardly constitutes a drunken woman. I’m comfortable, and I just happen to find you attractive at this moment.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Jamie,” said Max.

“I don’t want you to hurt me either, Max. I was hoping you could help me.”

“Help you?”

“Help me overcome my fear of men…of letting a man touch me. I felt safe with you in the cave. I was hoping…” I couldn’t say more. The whole frustrating situation was about to drive me mad. I had already said too much. I pulled away, and he let me. I expected him to want me, but he seemed oblivious to me, to my needs. I turned and stared hard at him.

“Do you want me, Max? Do you find me attractive?”

“Yes.” His voice was soft. “But I don’t want to disappoint you.” He reached for me, and I shied away automatically, my body betraying my willing mind. He lowered his hand.

“Max, I want you too, but if this is going to work, you have to do everything I tell you. Can you do that?”

“I…I think so.”

“Because if you can’t, if you can’t control yourself, then I don’t know what will happen.”

“I’ll do what you say.”

“Watch,” I said. I stood and started to strip, and his eyes feasted on my body. I didn’t try to be provocative or even suggestive. I merely stripped, slowly. The slowness wasn’t intended to arouse; I was fighting the urge to sprint for the house. As I unhooked my bra and let my breasts drink the night air, I saw Max’s mouth drop open. My nipples rose automatically, tickled by the breeze The wind felt so good and I paused a moment to let it dance over my skin. The zephyr felt like tiny skis racing over the mounds of my breasts, up an down, lightly and quickly. The feeling was delicious. Levis wiggled over my hips, and I kicked them away. I considered kicking them at Max, but he would have caught them, and he might have done something then, something to frighten me. Even in the dark, I could see the bulge in his jeans, his growing need.

I had never seen a near-naked woman, moonlight reflecting off pure white, silk panties. Yet, I could see from Max’s gaping mouth that the image was both beautiful and stimulating. He practically salivated before me, rubbing his ass on the blanket like a dog in heat. I smiled at him, and let him wallow in the beauty of the moment. Then, with more bravado than I felt, I pulled down the panties and pushed them away.

Max moaned.

The warm breeze licked at me, and I was surprised to feel cool as the air found my wetness. The feeling was unlike anything I had ever felt before, a hot breath that actually cooled, an exquisite feeling. My heart beat a little faster. My body served up an extra dose of hormones. A need like a flower took root deep inside my body. The sprout poked through the layer of permafrost I had taken for granted and began to grow.

“Take off your pants,” I told Max.

Max was neither fast nor slow. He was methodical in unsnapping and unzipping and pulling down to expose his erection. His stiff cock stood like a flag pole casting a dim shadow in the moonlight. I found the image both stimulating and repelling. I wanted that stiff thing inside me, and at the same time I hated it, the thing that had hurt me before.

I hesitated in front of him, a war raging inside me. Which side would win? A voice told me to grab my clothes, race to the house, and double bolt the doors. Another voice whispered that pleasure and release waited for me, that not every man was the same, that some men could overcome their base urges and please a woman. Was Max such a man or would the beast inside rise like some Mr. Hyde and overwhelm his better feelings? Did I risk an encounter with that stiff thing bobbing with desire in front of me?

“Put your hands by your sides,” I said.

Max obeyed.

I straddled his chest, and I was so wet I thought I might drip on him. I could see his face below my full breasts, my hardening nipples. I glanced over my shoulder at that thing which I both feared and wanted.

“I want you to use your tongue,” I said. “No touching unless I tell you, understood?”

“Yesssss,” his voice was almost a sob.

I lowered myself toward his face. I watched his hands ball into fists by his side as he battled the need to touch my skin. I squatted inches from his lips, the tongue I yearned for. I could feel his hot panting on my most delicate parts. I knew what torture roiled in his blood. I knew my own heat washed over his face, my scent like a siren’s song beckoning him. An animalistic cry escaped his throat as if torn from the depths of his soul. My nipples seemed too large and hard to be real. Yet, I hesitated. The next step committed me to something, and I wasn’t at all convinced I was doing the right thing. Could Max control himself?

“Want me?” I whispered.

“Oh god, yes.”

“No hands,” I reminded him.

Life is defined as a series of moments, instants in time that leave a lasting impression. For me, life consisted of a new pair of ballet slippers, a closed-lip kiss behind a tent at country fair, a front page feature story in a college newspaper, a man’s angry bellow telling me I would do exactly what he said–and now a moment frozen over Max’s hungry mouth, a moment of passion and expectation. I would have other moments but none exactly like Max that night.

When I felt neither of us could wait a moment longer, I lowered myself to him, to his eager tongue. I gushed the moment the slender tip touched me, and I wondered if a man ever drowned under such circumstances. I didn’t wonder long as that zestful, little creature began to probe me, lick me, cavort along me like a kitten chasing a ball of yarn around a room. The tongue darted and stroked and lingered, and when it found my clit, I moaned. As if on cue, the tongue feasted on me, roaming and teasing and always heightening the desire. My chest heaved with emotion. I squeezed my nipples, and god help me, I moaned. I moaned so loudly I drowned out the crickets. That tongue twirled and tantalized until I wanted to scream with unmet fervor.

“Your finger,” I gasped.

Max either didn’t hear or didn’t understand, for he did nothing.

“Your finger,” I repeated.

He pulled away and ran a forefinger along my lips.

“Don’t stop,” I said. “Finger and tongue.”

The tongue pounced on my clit with gusto. Max’s finger stroked and probed, and I found myself hunching that finger, squeezing it with all the pent-up desire of my life. My body felt on fire. My skin burned. I raked my nipples with my nails and began to hunch his tongue and finger like a machine, a powerful engine driving my hips and body. I couldn’t believe how good it felt, how right. My juices sloshed over his hand and face. My breath came in ragged sobs. I knew Max wanted to grab me, turn me, set me on his hardness and pump me till he burst.

But I couldn’t allow that.

Faster I hunched, faster moved his finger. His tongue played my swollen clit like a piano virtuoso. For one insane moment I wondered if I could have an orgasm even in this way. Was I so afraid of men that I couldn’t even enjoy this? That tiny fear was wiped away by the orgasmic surge that crashed through my body. My nerves fired like a million tiny firecrackers. My muscles milked his finger with repeated contractions. A deep grunt escaped Max, and I felt his hot seed on my back. Max had achieved release too, his cum slowly sliding down my skin. A black umbra of release stole my sight, and for those instants I was lost to reality. I drifted in the nether world of total surrender. My mind blanked. I was at peace.

When the world brightened, and the crickets’ song burst upon my brain, I rolled away from him. I panted on the blanket. He reached out, but I stopped him.

“No touching,” I repeated.

He understood. I knew he wanted to hold me, comfort me, kiss me, but I was not ready for that intimacy. Perhaps in time, perhaps in time.

“Thank you,” I said. “You were wonderful.”

“Thank you,” said Max. “So were you.”

The stars twinkled, the breeze cooled my fevered skin. Suddenly I wondered if I had taken a step forward or backward. “That’s more than I’ve been able to do with a man in over six years,” I said finally. “It probably doesn’t seem like much to you, but it was a big step for me.”

“I’m glad I could help,” said Max half smiling, half grinning. I laughed back at him and grabbed my shirt and pulled it over my head.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” I asked pulling on my shorts. “I mean… letting me call the shots?”

“No,” he laughed. “I found it kind of… exciting.”

“So I noticed,” I said looking at his limp cock resting near his thigh. He had made no moves to put on his clothes and I wondered if he was waiting for more.

“I never realized I could come like,” he said looking up to the stars and then back at me. “It was very intense.”

“So, we’re going to keep this as a clinical thing right?” I said wanting to set the ground rules. “No weird relationship kind of stuff…”

“OK,” grinned Max. “I promise not to write you any corny notes.”

“Thanks,” I said kneeling by him on the blanket. “It’s more important to me to have your trust and help with this sex stuff than it is to fall in love.” I bent and kissed him tenderly on the cheek and then a quick peck on his mouth.

“Will you let me know when I can use my hands again?” he asked coyly. He was gripping his thighs and I could see the beginnings of an erection.

“As soon as you hear the screen door close behind me,” I grinned back at him. “Good night, Max.”

“Good night,” groaned Max as I walked toward the house. I knew that he had hoped to bury that big cock of his up inside of me, but I had taken a big step tonight and I wasn’t going to risk it. I needed to let this experience sink in before I went any further.

Between the wine, the intense orgasm, and the cool shower I took, I slept without dreaming or waking. A gentle knock finally pulled me from the deep sleep, and I slowly opened my eyes. A moment passed as I tried to figure out if I had actually heard something or was dreaming. Then the gentle knocking resumed .

“Yes?” I asked, sitting up in bed and pulling the cotton sheet over my naked breasts.

“Your coffee, madam,” called Max from the other side of the door.

A smile spread across my lips and I thought quickly. I was wearing panties under the sheet. Would Max be able to control himself under such a stressful situation? He had last night.

“Come in,” I called, tossing another pillow behind me and tucking the sheet under my arms. Max slowly opened the door and peeked in, smiling.

“Were you still asleep?” he asked.

“Yeah, but that’s OK.”

“I guess I’m not telepathic. I thought for sure I heard you call for coffee.” I smiled as he set the tray down on the dresser and brought me a cup. I patted the mattress for him to sit, watching his eyes rove the sheet covering my breasts. He hesitated before picking up his cup of coffee and sitting next to me.

“How did you sleep?” I asked, sipping coffee.

“Not very well, I’m afraid.”

“Oh? Too hot?”

He laughed. “Yes, too hot. But I don’t think the heat was caused by the weather.”

“Oh,” I looked at my coffee. “Sorry.”

“I’m teasing you, Jamie. I can handle the heat. Trust me.”

“I do trust you, Max,” I said, smiling at him. “More than I’ve trusted any man in a long time.” He was wearing his jogging shorts and sneakers, and I couldn’t believe he had run in the heat and mugginess.

“Have you been out for a run already?” I asked.

“Yeah. I didn’t run far. Too damn humid.” I thought about how his skin must taste with a mixture of sweat and maleness. I felt myself stirring as I looked as his chest and wanted to follow that desire. If I were going to experiment with Max, I was going to have to run with my feelings.

“Would you lean this way?” I asked.

“Why?” asked Max, setting his coffee cup on the bedside table.

“I want to experiment, if you don’t mind.” Max leaned towards me, and I moved into his neck and ran my tongue from his earlobe to his shoulder bone. He tasted delicious.

“Don’t tell me…” groaned Max. “No hands.”

“That’s right,” I said setting my cup on the table next to his. I took his face in my hands and kissed him deeply, feeling his tongue respond to mine. When I pulled away, I licked and kissed his salty neck and chest until his breathing was fast and labored.

“OK,” I said releasing him. “I think I’m ready for the next step. Can you stand up a moment?” Max rose and I could see his erection pressing against his shorts.

“Why don’t you take off your clothes and lay on the bed while I make a quick trip to the bathroom,” I said, rising and letting him ogle my breasts in the morning sun. He watched as I left the room, and I heard sneakers hitting the floor as he obeyed my request. My heart felt like it was stuck in my throat, but I fought down the feeling as I returned to bed. He was naked, face up on the bed, his cock already rigid from the excitement.

“I want to explore your body,” I said, laying down next to him. “We’re not going to have sex… OK?”

“Explore away, Jamie,” he said.

“And no hands!” I said, tucking his hands under his head. He let out a long sigh and relaxed as my hand roamed his chest and his stomach.

“Let me know if this is too difficult,” I said going lower. “I don’t want to make this unbearable for you.” He instinctively spread his legs as my hand wandered over his groin and down his left thigh. I watched his cock twitch and grow as my hand approached. His erection frightened me, and yet I found a certain amount of excitement in making it wave and bob.

“I’m frightened of cocks, Max,” I said, looking into his eyes. “During my youth they were a big mystery, and then my first real exposure was the night…” I stopped short of saying it. I had trouble verbalizing the horror of that night. I didn’t know if I would always have trouble, but right then, I couldn’t uncover that wound. Better to pretend the scar was thick and strong than to test it, right?

I ran my finger gently across the tip of his cock, and it jerked violently towards my hand. I retreated quickly and watched as that thing I both loved and hated fell down next to his stomach. I was so entranced in the power I had over it that I barely heard Max’s moans as I repeated the processes several times.

Gradually I became more and more comfortable touching it. Feeling bold, I moved down to look at his balls. They were small and tight, and I wondered if that was because he was aroused. I had always supposed that they were loose and saggy. I stroked them gently at first, and then more firmly until Max yelped.

“Oh… sorry,” I said, pulling away my hand.

“It’s OK,” he sighed. “I’m just sensitive when I’m hard like this.”

“You certainly are hard,” I said stroking the shaft. I was getting aroused as I touched him and noticed myself squirming against the bed. That was a good sign. Usually I was turned off by erections. I noticed a few wet drops at the tip of his cock and rubbed my finger over it.

“Oh god, Jamie,” sighed Max. “I’m not sure how much more I can take.”

“Do you mean that you might come if I keep doing this?” I asked squeezing his cock harder.

“Yes,” he moaned. I thought about it coming — shooting out — and the idea excited me when I knew I could control his orgasm… actually cause the orgasm to happen.

“I think I would like that, Max,” I said. “Would you?”

“If you keep going, I won’t have the option,” he said dropping his head down on the bed and closing his eyes. I pumped his cock faster and watched as his body tensed. I started becoming frightened that it would start shooting out at any second.

“Tell me when you’re going to come, Max.” I was surprised at how much it sounded like an order.

“Oooh…” he moaned. “I’m close, Jamie.”

“Am I doing it right?” I asked moving my hand over the tip and then back down to the bottom of the shaft.

“Oh, yeah….” he groaned. “Just a little faster now.” I quickened my pace. He grabbed the headboard and started to groan.

“Oh… it’s coming, Jamie… don’t stop.”

I wanted to freeze, to run. I had created this monster and was forced to face it and conquer it once and for all. Forcefully, I grabbed the head and squeezed it until his hot come shot from the tip and sprayed across his stomach.

“Ah…. god…” he moaned as the headboard creaked from his grip. He continued to groan as each spurt flew from the tip as I stroked him. I wasn’t sure when to stop. Finally, he couldn’t take anymore.

“Please, Jamie,” he half panted, half laughed. “No more.” I took my index finger and painted his stomach with the semen, feeling the silkiness. He placed his hands back under his head and let out a deep sigh. “I never realized how much fun it was to be a guinea pig.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying this as much as I am,” I said, grinning at him. “That’s the first time I haven’t been grossed about by the thought of shooting semen. I think I’m making great progress.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you, madam?” he asked, sitting up on the bed. He tempted me. I was turned on from watching him come and thought about how great it would feel to come against his tongue again.

“Will you do what you did last night?” I asked smiling at him.

“I would love to,” said Max. “Why don’t you lay back and relax. No Hands. I promise.” I thought about it for a moment and noticed his cock was flaccid and unthreatening.

“OK,” I said laying down on the bed and bending my knees. “Just go slow.”

Max moved around and knelt below my feet, waiting for me to spread my legs. Slowly, I spread them while I watched his face.

“Just watch,” I whispered spreading my legs further apart. I reached down and moved my fingers between my slit, feeling the pool of wetness. My finger felt good against my clit, but I knew his tongue would feel even better.

“Right here,” I said rubbing my clit. “Lick it right here.” I pulled the lips far apart and watched as he leaned in and licked his tongue slowly from the bottom up to the top. I squirmed and moaned as he continued licking my clit. I grabbed my nipples and pulled on them.

“Yes,” I moaned. “Oh… yes, Max. Now your finger…” Max pressed first one, and then two fingers up inside of me as he licked furiously, until suddenly I was grabbing the headboard and moaning. I knew I would come this time… like I had the night before… gushing him with my juices.

“Don’t stop… oh god….” I moaned and screamed, shaking beneath his mouth… feeling myself contracting against his fingers with each wave of the orgasm. He was so good, so willing to love me this way. Slowly he pulled away from my mound and kissed the inside of my thigh cautiously before moving up on the pillow next to me. I sensed he wanted to hold me, but I was still lost in my own world.

I relaxed my grip on the headboard and dropped my hand down on the bed, landing it on top of Max’s hand. I gripped it tenderly and smiled as he played with my fingers.

“This is a big step,” he said looking down at my hand. “Today you’re letting me touch your fingers.” It was the right amount of teasing, and I grinned back at him.

“Yes,” I said letting out a long sigh and looking up at the ceiling. “I think I’m making great progress.”

“I’m glad, Jamie… really.” His face was so sincere that had we been dressed, I would have kissed and hugged him .

“I’m starving,” I said letting go of his hand and getting up from the bed. “Let’s go make something to eat.” I grabbed my robe as he slipped his shorts on and picked up his shoes. “Will you take me into town later to do some shopping?”

“Sure,” said Max. “Anytime.”

The morning dawned with all the hope of the breakthrough promised by my therapist. I stood under the weak flow of Margarite’s shower and replayed the events over in my mind. I was becoming comfortable with Max and allowing myself to explore my sexual cravings. His willingness to follow my commands was unbelievable. It seemed he liked being told what to do, as if he was relieved of thinking or imagining–or perhaps the fear of mistakes had been lifted off his shoulders.

I rubbed the bar of scented soap over my breasts, making my hardened nipples yearn for more attention. Perhaps next time I would let Max tongue them. I closed my eyes and let the water cascade over my face.

“Lord, you’ve missed so much by being repressed,” I chuckled to myself.

Although Max had never denied it, I found it difficult to believe he and Margarite had had a platonic relationship. The two of them out here alone, and her writing those erotic fantasies, surely she had penned them for him. Had she read to him by candle light, using her “therapy” to fire his limited libido? What other sexual misfit required healing?

“Just you, Jamie,” I laughed out loud.

I turned the water off and grabbed the thick towel awaiting me. Breakfast smells slipped beneath the door, reminding me I was hungry. I pulled on a pair of cutoffs and a sleeveless T-shirt. Without a bra, my nipples protruded through the cotton as I combed my hair. It was a sexier look than I normally wore. It was already over 90 too. The day dictated as few clothes as possible.

Max was reading the newspaper, his empty plate pushed to the side. His eyes drank in the T-shirt, but then he motioned to a plate of food.

“Hope you don’t mind that I ate without you. I was starving.”

“Hope you don’t mind cooking it by yourself.” I sat and sipped the delicious coffee. “You’re spoiling me, you know.”

“I can handle it.” He gave me a quick wink. He looked at his paper and I watched him while I ate. His chest was bare and I found myself wanting to touch it. I wondered if he had any idea how attractive he was. As if realizing that I was staring, he looked over.

“I’m sorry, did you want to talk?”

“No. I was enjoying the view.” I gave him a wink and took another bite of scrambled eggs.

“The view?”

“I like your chest,” I stared at the smooth, black hair around his nipples.

“Really?” He sat back and gave me a pose.

“Does that surprise you?”

“I guess I never thought about it.” He looked at my nipples and grinned. “Guess I was too busy thinking about yours.” A heat flushed my cheeks. I hated the fact that he made me blush.

“Touché,” I crossed my arms over my chest, and he laughed before standing and taking his dishes to the sink.

“I’m sorry.” He rinsed his dishes and smiled at me. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“It’s OK.” I was determined not to recoil from his remark. I carried my dishes to the sink and stood next to him.

“I really like that T-shirt.” He continued washing the plate in the water.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looked at my nipples. They tingled under his stare as I watched his tongue move across his lips. I wanted to feel that tongue on my nipples, but I felt frozen.

“Will you hold me?” I whispered.

“Can I use my hands?” he asked teasingly

“Just this once.” I wrapped my arms around his neck as his lips approached mine. It was a repeat of the kiss in the cave. Deep and full of passion, searching for more and finding that special heat. His hands slid under my T-shirt and I let out a tiny cry. His caress was a constant pull between desire and fear as I wanted him to continue and was afraid that he might.

Sensing my conflict, he turned us so that he leaned against the counter and I leaned against him. He slowed his hands, until I squirmed for more. When his fingers finally found my nipple, we both moaned, which caused a simultaneous giggle.

“God, you turn me on,” he sighed, biting my lip.

“Kiss them.”

He paused and looked into my eyes before pulling my T-shirt up over my head. He ran his palms over my nipples and I watched them harden beneath his touch. I held his head as his hands moved down to my side when he bent to kiss. I closed my eyes and sighed as his tongue flicked one nipple and then the other.

“Oh Max! That feels so good.”

Encouraged, he sucked and bit until I was squirming and rubbing my crotch against his thigh. I could feel his cock harden. I couldn’t believe that this was me. Ms. Prude not being able to get enough of a guy. Where was my self control?

“Wait…” I panted, pulling his head away. “I think we should stop.”

A groan escaped his lips as he raised up and hugged me against his chest. It was electric to feel my naked breast against his chest. He held me tight as if afraid to let me go, or perhaps afraid of what his hands might dare if they weren’t holding me. We took a deep breath and calmed our excitement.

“You might have to tie my hands down next time,” he joked.

“You did fine.” I gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I asked for it, remember?”

“Well, I guess it’s time for my first cold shower of the day.”

I laughed and stepped away as he headed for the back door. “When do you want to go to town?”

“After lunch.” I reached for my T-shirt and slipped it over my head. “I want to do some writing.

“You got it. I’ll see you later.” He gave me a wink and left. I watched him through the kitchen window as he crossed the back yard. He wasn’t the only one needing a cold shower.

“You could have had him, Jamie,” I told myself. “You still could. All you have to do it walk over, take off your clothes, and step into that cold shower. You’ll make love all day.”

The cabin door closed behind him and I let out a long sigh. “Maybe next time.” I was making progress. There was no need to push myself. No need except the wet pool in my panties.

I finished the dishes and headed into the living room to work on my book. As I sorted through the outlines, my eye caught the file of Margarite’s stories sitting by the couch.

“Just one,” I thought. “Maybe it will start my creative juices going.”

Sitting on the couch, I flipped to the next story.

The cold penetrates your coat, your skin, biting deep into the heat of your muscles. You can’t remember being so cold. Your bones shiver inside your body. Every nerve tingles as the wind whips past. The walk from your car to the door is short, but the freezing cold is relentless. Toes ache, fingers burn, you wonder if you will ever be warm again. How long since Fall? How long before Spring? The winter howl steals every bit of warmth. What you wouldn’t give to be warm.

He’s waiting. You know he is, know he’s smiling and happy. If he weren’t there, the winter would be unbearable. You can’t imagine a winter without his warming smile and kneading hands. He is your Spring and Fall in the dark depths of January cold. The sun is pale and cool compared to his heat.

Plodding through the snow, you wonder what he’s made for dinner. He cooks and cleans and cares for you in ways you never dreamed possible. He pampers you, dotes on you, sups at the wellspring of your life force. To him, you are a wonderfully beautiful creature, a treasure. You are more valuable than fire. You couldn’t be more with him, in his thoughts and mind. Your pleasure is his pleasure. Best of all, he’s waiting. He meets you at the door. He smiles and takes your coat, and as you melt into his body, you feel the utter heat of him. He is your personal furnace, a heater that never cools. Kissing your hair, he holds you tight, and you remember how good he smells, how right. You miss his smell in the cold. Smells don’t seem to exist in the cold. You bury your face in his chest and feast on him. You know that if you hold him long enough, you’ll be warm again.

“I have a surprise,” he says.

You don’t want a surprise. You don’t need a surprise. You want to bask in his glow, absorb his heat.

He takes your hand and gently pulls you. You follow, drawn by that wonderful smile, the playfulness you’ve come to love. He’s creative and inventive, and you’re wondering what he’s done, especially when he opens the door to the basement. What’s in the basement beside the washer and dryer? He can see the doubt in your face, and he squeezes your hand. He assures you that this will be better than OK, this will be wondrous.

Black plastic walls off one whole side of the basement, and you wonder when he found time to hang the plastic. He grins, that choir boy grin that breaks over his face when he thinks he’s clever. You want to ask, but he hushes you. He guides you to the plastic and pulls it aside, and the moist, warm air greets you..

What he pulls you into isn’t a basement. This is a jungle. Amazed, you gape at the lush plants, the blooming flowers, the pastel tapestries hiding the black plastic. The green artificial turf hides ugly concrete. Powerful lamps provide a heat you haven’t felt since July. Humidifiers shoot soothing mist into the air, and for the first time in months your face feels moist and supple. Your wide smile causes no pain.

Heat and humidity inundate you, and your pores open. He pulls you close. With a calm and love you hardly believe, he begins to strip away your clothes. Blouse, pants, bra, panties, until you’re naked. And instead of freezing, you feel your body perspire. Like some South Sea island native, you shed all vestiges of civilization and wallow in the sheer wanton wonderfulness of heat. You pull your hair back and watch him strip. You have dreamed of a hot, island adventure, and this sweating, muscular man fulfills your every fantasy.

Half hidden by mist sits a spa, bubbling with heat and soothing massage. You start for it, but he stops you. He pushes you toward a lounge, a summer thing you have never used in winter–until now. He eases you down, spreading you, touching. You allow yourself to be moved, wondering what’s he doing until you smell coconut. You hear him rub the oil in his palms before he applies it to your skin. He spreads and kneads and grabs and pushes. The heat lamps are an tropical inflamed tropical sun. A fan wafts moisture over you. Coconut lingers on the air. His hands roam your back, melting away any traces of cold.

He works your neck and shoulders, then he carefully oils one arm, taking care to coat each finger. You smell his sweat mixed with the coconut. A sheen of moisture coats your face. Those hands oil your other arm, drowning the dry, flaky skin that winter has grown. He works through your underarms and down your back. You hear him chuckle and leave, and you wonder where he’s going. Then, the lazy lilt of an island melody fills the room. Hula girls and large flowers fill your mind. When he returns, he touches your tush, and where the heat was external before, his touch lights an internal fire. Slowly, methodically, he oils your bottom, sneaking between your legs to brush against you. You know he’s testing, touching to see if his ministrations have elicited a response. They have. You’re moist with desire. Yet you lie still and let him work.

First one leg, from thigh to toes. Oiled, relaxed, soft. Then, the other leg, and the soles of your feet. Every inch feels light and stretchy, baby skin. With a gentleness born of love, he turns you. His oily hands begin on your neck, shoulders. Then, those wonderful fingers find your breasts. Slick, slippery, his hands stroke and squeeze and moisten, until you feel limp and slick. Your hard nipples glisten with oil. His hands move down, over your tummy, anointing. You glance at his face, sheened with sweat. The heat is luxurious, the massage divine. One leg, down over the knee. The other leg, oil shimmering. His fingers touch you, seeking that moist heat. As they sink into you, you moan with pleasure. You arch your hips for his touch.

But he stops.

He smiles at you and stands, and you notice your effect on him. He desires you more than you ever dreamed possible. He pulls you out of the lounge, and you move close, feeling his hardness against you. Then, he lifts you with an ease you find exhilarating. Strong, he carries you to the spa, and gently lowers you into the bubbling water. The sex will come later, after the love. You sink into the water, the currents caressing pampered skin. So warm, so nice. You turn, and he hands you a glass of champagne.

You laugh.

He climbs into the spa and kisses you. The heat, the tropical isle. It’s him. It always will be.

I closed the folder and fanned myself. That wasn’t Max. He lacked the imagination and courage to transform the basement into an island of delight. Margarite could imagine such a vision but not Max, never Max.

“Damn,” I said out loud. “Who was she writing about?”

I tossed the folder on the coffee table and stared at the typewriter. Time to begin. I grabbed a sheet of paper and slipped it under the carriage. I typed non-stop for three hours until Max knocked on the front door.

“Hey Jamie!” Max tapped lightly on the door. “About ready?”

I looked at the typed pages piled next to the typewriter and realized I could keep writing. The creative electricity crackled across the fissures in my brain. But my supplies were dwindling, and Max would drive and help, two factors that helped me push away from the table. I hoped I would rediscover that lode of energy when I returned.

“I guess.” I stood up and stretched as Max entered. He leaned against the door frame and watched me, a playful grin on his face. He had changed into jeans and a sleeveless shirt to combat the heat. When I noticed him staring at my nipples, I dropped my arms and started toward the stairs. “Let me get my shoes.”

“Do you mind if we stop and get something to eat?” Max yelled after me. “I’m starving.”

“Sounds good to me! Where do you want to eat?!” When I returned to the living room, Max opened the door for me.

“I’ll introduce you to the Buffalo Bar. It’s the closest thing to fun in these parts.”

“What’s that for?” I pointed at a cooler in the back seat of the Jeep.

“It’s for cold stuff. Anything frozen would thaw by the time we got home.” We didn’t talk on the ride because of the wind noise in the open Jeep. My mind continue to write the book, plotting the scenes for my characters. The story was fiction, and only partially based on my experiences. I didn’t want an autobiography. My past wasn’t a story I wanted to share with the world–not yet.

The Buffalo looked like something out of an old western. The bar, made of beautiful polished oak, ran the length of the room, and the mirrored wall behind reflected everything and everyone. Several round tables sat empty in one corner. Across the dusty dance floor, the pool tables were filled with locals boys in cowboy hats and blue jeans. A buffalo head hung on the wall amidst antique rifles and daguerreotypes of long-since-dead buffalo hunters.

“How quaint,” I joked.

“A little piece of buffalo heaven,” confirmed Max.

We found a table that had been carved into a 90’s version of “Dick ª Mary”

“This is the hot spot, huh?” A framed photo on the wall showed a man standing on a large buffalo he had slain.

“On Saturday nights.” Max handed me a menu listing four items, all of which started with buffalo. “Want to try a buffalo burger?”

“I don’t think so.” I turned the menu over hoping to find more selections, but the last page detailed the story of how the Buffalo Bar began in 1882.

“It’s just ground beef,” assured Max.

“Maybe the buffalo wings.”

The bartender, not busy in the middle of the afternoon, sauntered to the table. With a face as wrinkled as a wadded up cotton shirt, he looked old enough to be the original owner.

“Keeping cool today, Max?” He pulled a pencil from behind his ear and tapped a small tablet.

“As hot as a three dollar pistol,” complained Max. “I can’t wait for that rain they promised. Ed, this is Jamie, Margarite’s niece.”

“Really?” There was a sympathetic tinge to his voice as he shook my hand. “Nice to meet you. Your aunt was one great lady.”

“Thanks. I always thought so.”

“Jamie is spending the summer at the house,” Max added.

“Well, I hope we’ll see a lot of you then.” Ed’s smile was genuine, and I knew why Max ate at a restaurant that carried exactly four items on the menu. “I know what he wants,” laughed Ed. “Buffalo Burger and a draft. What can I get for you?”

I looked over the menu one last time (took maybe a second) and tried to sound excited. “Buffalo Wings and a draft.”

“Is she old enough to drink?” Ed winked at Max.

“Just barely.”

“He’s certainly seems friendly,” I said after Ed had returned to the bar.

“Yeah, he’s kind of like everyone’s father. Makes sure we don’t get into trouble, especially on Saturday night.”

An outburst of laughter washed over us, and we looked at the pool tables. A tall, lean man in a sleeveless denim shirt, snake skin boots, and sweat stained Stetson wandered to the bar and mockingly cursed Ed as he slapped money down. “Goddamnit, Ed, you’re getting as slow as Main Street on Sunday morning.”

“Looks like Riley lost again.” Riley was certainly tall, at least six-three with long ropey muscles.

“A friend of yours?”

“I know him.”

I hoped for more information, but none came. Riley glanced at our table and nodded. Max returned a quick nod. Riley carried two pitchers of beer to the pool table. He returned to the bar, picked up three beers, and ambled toward our table.

“Looks like we have a new waiter,” I said.

Max scooted toward me to make room for the newcomer.

“Hell, I might as well serve the whole place!” He set the beers on the table and pulled up a chair.

“How you doin’, Riley?” Max slid a beer to me and took another for himself.

“I was doing better before I lost that game.” He barely looked at Max before smiling at me. “Who is this pretty young thing?”

Max cleared his throat and seemed to hesitate. I broke Riley’s stare and looked at Max, wondering if he had forgotten my name.

“I’m Jamie.” I offered my hand.

“Riley Collins.” He took my hand, but instead of shaking it, he held it in both of his. I realized why Max was uncomfortable. Riley possessed the bravery around women that Max could never muster. His eyes wandered to my nipples, and without even pretending to be nonchalant, he let out a slow whistle. “Good Lord, you been hiding the best looking thing since strawberry ice cream.”

“Down, rover.” Max’s sarcastic tone surprised me, and I wondered if he was jealous or protective.

I pulled my hand away from Riley and grabbed my beer. He was cute, but he made me nervous for some reason, the way a snake does. You don’t care how thick the glass is or how docile the snake, you keep your hands back anyway. “My family owns the property Max tends. Margarite was my aunt.”

“No kidding? So are you living there?”

“For the summer,” interjected Max.

Riley turned and leaned close, as if he was going to tell Max a secret. “I saw Tammy here the other day. She asked about you.” Max didn’t say a word. A twitch marred the corner of his jaw. “I guess she’s moved back in with her folks.”

Max looked at me and I gave him an encouraging smile.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” said Riley. “Am I chompin’ on size ten roach stompers? Are you two sweet on each other?”

“No, that’s OK,” I assured him. “We’re good friends. Max knows I’ve had a crush on him since I was 16, and he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings.

Max chuckled but turned somber when Riley scooted his chair next to mine. He laid his hand on my bare thigh, which sent a shock through my system.

“Do you suppose you could have a crush on me?” He looked like a happy Doberman, cute if you forgot how long the teeth were.

“You leave that girl alone.” Ed slid our food on the table. “She’s too nice for you, Riley.”

“Let the girl speak for herself,” laughed Riley, scooting away from me.

A moment had arrived, one of those moments I was never prepared for. Always in the male/female ritual palaver there arises a time when the gambit has been offered. One half of the twosome extends the envelope a bit. They’re an adventurer who has climbed to the next plateau. Smiling, they reach down extending a hand. The person below has the option of climbing to that new level or remaining pat and watching the other scramble down to more familiar turf. Jamie recognized the offer. As the three men waited, she debated her options. She could accept Riley’s crude overture and shift the entire environment, or she could decline as she had so often done in the past. The familiar was safe, the higher plateau dangerous. A week earlier, she would have had no choice. Fear would have chained her to her present perch. But after Max, she felt surer, braver. Perhaps the time had come to climb to the next platform and face the terrors there.

“Do you fight over all the women in this town?” I pulled my plate in front of me, keeping the conversation light but enjoining the banter.

“Just the pretty ones.” Riley winked. Ed shook his head and walked away. Max, digging into his Buffalo Burger, ignored the question altogether. At some instinctual level, they all understood perfectly.

“What do you do around here, Riley, besides play pool?”

“My family raises cattle west of town.” He looked proud as he leaned back in the chair and sipped beer. “Five hundred and fourteen head this year.”

“Wow.” I couldn’t imagine raising one cow.

“Jamie doesn’t eat beef.” Riley looked at Max in disbelief and Max shrugged his shoulders.

“Why not?” Riley asked.

“The whole ecological thing. Besides red meat’s not good for your heart.”

“Neither are French fries.” Riley plucked one off my plate and popped it into his mouth. “You’d be surprised at our ecology. We don’t cut down rain forest.”

“All I know is what I read.”

“You need someone to show you first hand.” Riley scooted his chair a little closer. “I’ll pick you up and give you a tour of the ranch, show you how nature friendly we are.”

I had fielded all kinds of pickup lines in my time, but this one beat the others hands down. A rancher wanted to show a vegetarian how he raised cattle? That was like Satan giving the Pope a tour of Hades. I tried to wipe the smirk off my face.

“That’s not necessary, Riley.”

“I insist. Besides, how else are you ever going to develop that big crush on me?” His blond hair gave his blue eyes the innocence of a teddy bear, but I suspected something darker lurked below that sedate surface.

“You have a point.”

“How about tomorrow?” I looked at Max to see how he felt, but he bit into his sandwich and ignored my glance. We had agreed that we were going to be friends…nothing more.

“Maybe for a couple of hours. I’m writing a novel, and I’m kind of on a roll.”

“I’ll pick you up at ten.” Riley seemed pleased. He picked up his beer and leaned toward Max. “I bet Tammy will be here tomorrow night.” Max didn’t respond, and Riley looked at me. “She was crazy about him for some unknown reason.”

“Max tells me this place hops on Saturday night.”

“It’s the only thing that does.”

“Maybe I’ll make him bring me.”

“If he don’t, I will.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Riley returned his chair to the neighboring table, and Max automatically readjusted his chair closer to mine.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Riley casually touched my shoulder.

“I’ll be ready.” Max seemed to be avoiding eye contact. I waited until Riley returned to the pool table before I spoke.

“You OK?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You were awfully quiet.”

“Who could get a word in with him around?”

“Max, be straight with me. Are you the least bit jealous about me going to look at this guy’s cows?”

“Not really…” He fidgeted with his beer mug and avoided my eyes.

“That didn’t sound convincing.”

“Look, can we talk about this later? I need time to think.” Max finished his beer and pushed his plate to the side. Something had upset him. I hoped it was Tammy being back in town and not jealousy about me.

“Sure. Anytime.”

Max paid for lunch while I wandered out to the Jeep. The air felt like an oven. The glare off the buildings and sidewalks almost blinded me. We spoke little in the grocery store or on the drive home. I sensed something building inside Max, the way you sometimes sense a storm over the horizon. Waiting was difficult, but neither nature nor Max could be hurried. He had carried the last bag into the kitchen before he offered an explanation.

“Look… Jamie…” He stared at his hands, and I waited patiently for him to find the right words.

“The news about Tammy kind of floored me. I thought I had put her behind me.”

“I understand.”

“Even though you and I are just friends, I still feel like you’re my friend. I mean, I’ve enjoyed what we’ve been doing, and having you here, and…” He stopped, and his hands tumbled over each other like newborn pups. After a long sigh, he continued.

“It’s hard for me to talk to women. Riley just waltzes up and invites you to look at his cows like he’s taking you to Sunday church. I’m not jealous because I’m in love with you. It’s not like that. I just don’t want to lose what we have. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense.” I stepped closer and hugged him. “I feel the same way about you and Tammy.”

“Really?”

“I want you to find her on Saturday and see if you can rekindle that old flame. But I also don’t want to lose my co-experimenter.”

Max leaned against the counter and laughed. “More like the co-guinea pigs.”

“I think we can help each other.”

“How?”

“You help me get more comfortable with the idea of sex, and I help you learn to be more aggressive with women.”

“You won’t even let me use my hands.”

“In time, Max. For right now, you and I need a safe environment with someone we can trust. You need something extra, confidence.”

“I’m listening,” said Max, encouraging me to continue.

“Women like men who appear confident. I’m betting Riley is as scared of me as you are scared of Tammy. But he handles that fear by acting overconfident, almost to a point of intimidation. That can backfire, but the trick is to act as confident than the woman you’re with.”

“I can’t pretend to be something I’m not.”

“How do you know you’re not confident?”

“I don’t know.” Max shrugged his shoulders as though he hadn’t thought about it.

“You asked me to go caving the other day, and the only reason I went was because you seemed to know everything about it.”

“Really?”

“If you had been the least bit wishy-washy, I never would have gone.”

“Now, think of something you would enjoy doing and ask me to join you. Something that you’re not certain I will agree to.”

Max thought a minute while I shoved the rest of the groceries into the cabinets. As I folded the last bag, I found him grinning.

“You’ve thought of something.”

“Yes!”

“So ask me.”

“Let’s go skinny dipping!”

“What?” I laughed out loud.

“We’ll run down to the lake, strip off our clothes, and jump in the water.”

“Max, that’s not the kind of suggestion I was considering.”

“Jamie.” He took my hand and pulled me toward the back door. “You wanted confidence. Now let’s go.” Before I knew it, I was being pulled out into the back yard. I was laughing so hard, tears streamed down my face.

“Max! Are you crazy?!”

“If I’m listening to your advice, I must be.” At the end of the dock, he let go of my hand. I stared in disbelief as he stripped off his shirt and kicked off his shoes.

“Come on, it’s fun!” He unsnapped his jeans and slid them off with his shorts until he stood naked on the end of the dock. He leaned in and gave me a quick peck on the cheek before turning.

“Last one in is a rotten egg!”

The splash wet my legs as he dove into the deep water. I realized that I had created a monster and would have to swim to reward his aggressiveness. When he bobbed to the surface and treaded water, I smiled and began a mock striptease. I kicked both shoes on the grass and unbuttoned my cutoffs, my butt turned to Max. Wiggling, I pulled the shorts down slowly. He hooted and whistled. When the shorts hit the dock, I stepped out and kicked them away.

Pretending to be modest was not difficult. I kept my back to Max as I slipped off the T-shirt. In one swift movement, I turned and dove into the lake. The water was colder than I had expected and I came up screaming.

“It’s freezing!” I yelled.

“Feels great, doesn’t it?”

I swam to the ladder and hung on while my body adjusted to the temperature. “Actually, it does feel refreshing.”

Max swam over, put an arm around my waist, and grabbed onto the ladder. “Thanks Jamie.” He kissed my cheek.

“For what?”

“I know you dove in for me.”

“Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson!” We both laughed, and then quieted as we heard the car pull into the drive.

“Oh shit!” I whispered. “And we didn’t even bring any towels.” I peeked over the dock. “Who is it?”

“Oh God! It’s Tammy.” Max ducked below the dock and regarded me with horror. I felt like it was my fault that we were in the water naked. Who would ever think we went skinny dipping as a lesson in confidence. If Tammy had any brains, she would never believe the truth.

“Look,” I whispered. “I’ll stay here and hide. You get her into your place. I’ll slip out after you’re in there.”

“I can’t greet her naked!”

“What happened to that confidence? Trust me, she’ll be impressed!”

“Either that or she’ll never speak to me again.”

“Max?” Tammy called from the driveway. It was only a matter of time before she explored the lake.

“If she finds us here, she’ll definitely never speak to you.”

“Damn,” cursed Max. He climbed the ladder and grabbed his clothes.

“Don’t act embarrassed!” I whispered. “Act natural.”

He jogged toward the house but slowed as she came around the corner. She giggled and he laughed, their words indiscernible as she followed him into his cabin. I waited a few minutes before sneaking up the ladder and grabbing my clothes. I ran like a spooked deer to the house and quietly slipped in the back door. I took the stairs two at a time and plunged into the shower.

Wrapping myself in a bath towel, I walked through the bedroom and stood by the window overlooking the cottage. I listened for sounds of conversation or lovemaking, but all was quiet below. I wasn’t sure what I hoped to hear or see. Would I watch them make love? I felt a conflict of emotions. Part of me would enjoy watching, but another part would be jealous. Or maybe envy was the proper word. Would I envy a woman who would do things with Max that I couldn’t do?

The dip in the lake had been refreshing, albeit short. I slipped into a sleeveless sundress and returned to the dining room where my novel watied like a neglected lover. I poured a glass of lemonade, sat at the typewriter, and returned to my story. Grateful for the distraction, I lost myself in the writing for a few hours. Except for refilling the glass, I never moved until I heard Tammy’s car shortly before sunset.

I walked to the front door and watched as Max waved good-bye. I saw nothing more of her than her long, blond hair as she pulled away. Max looked at the house, and I prepared to retreat to the table. I didn’t want him to find me snooping. But he turned toward his cottage and grudged head down until he disappeared.

I was tempted to run over and find out what happened, but that might be considered meddlesome. When Max wanted to talk, he would come to me. Sooner or later, he would have to display the agression I was trying to instill in him.

My concentration was lost when I returned to the typewriter. Frustration prevetned fresh ideas from formingin my head. I went to the kitchen and poured a glass of wine. Glass in hand, I ambled to the dock and dangled my feet in the cool water. The chirps of crickets and hum of insects filled the air, and I closed my eyes to listen. My resistance melted with the sounds. Using the techniques I had learned in therapy, I traced the feelings.

“Why are you so tense, Jamie? What are you feeling?” I waited, eyes closed, until an inner voice answered, “Fear.” I followed the fear deeper, realizing that the novel was racing to when the heroine was date raped. That part should be easy to write as I had personal experience to draw from.

But a part of me didn’t want to revisit that night, didn’t want to dredge up a rotting, cancerous memory that better remained buried beneath an ocean of denial. I didn’t want to experience the anger and hurt of being betrayed by someone I trusted. That powerless feeling of being overtaken by someone bigger and stronger was a wound not to be reopened. Despite popular opinion, some memories should never see the light of day. Some memories were like tombs of the Pharohs, opened only at great personal peril. What could be gained by unearthing monserss long since put to rest?

I wiped away the tears leaking form the corner of my eye. Why couldn’t I embrace the tranquility of the lake? How long would that old wound nag me? Would I ever heal completely?

“You OK?”

I jumped, spilling my wine on the deck. “God! You scared me!”

“Oh, sorry.” Max had come up behind me and stood on the grass at the base of the dock. He moved forward and sat next to me. Wearing shorts and no shirt, he dangled his feet next to mine. Neither of us said anything. We simply stared at the water.

“You looked kinda blue,” he said.

“Just feeling the feelings,” I answered.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I was really surprised Tammy came over.”

“It’s OK. I’m not upset.”

“I thought maybe she…” He didn’t finish.

“My baggage, Max, not yours. The writing has made me revisit some places I’ve kept off-limits for a long time.”

“Oh…” He sighed. “I thought you were upset about Tammy.

“Well, I wasn’t crazy about getting caught in the skinny.” We laughed. He leaned over rubbed his shoulder against mine.

“She sure looked surprised when she saw me,” he laughed.

“A real ice breaker, huh?”

“I’m not sure she was all that impressed. She made me put clothes on.”

“Some women pretend they’re not impressed.” I winked and pushed against his arm. “How did it go?”

“What?” He tried to sound nonchalant. “You mean with Tammy? We sorta sat around and caught up.”

“Well how did it feel seeing her again? Still in love?”

“Man, you don’t beat around the bush do you?” He stared out at the lake. “I don’t know how I feel about her. I mean, she was so familiar, but she also seemed different.”

“Different how?” I asked.

“More worldly, I guess. Not that I ever expected she was a virgin or nothing. But she seemed more relaxed than before. I never thought she would be comfortable with nudity. You know, sort of turn your head and pretend it ain’t there. She looked at me like I was just one more specimen. Like she was a nurse or something.”

“Is that good?”

“I don’t know.” Max kicked the water and made a splash. “It’s sure different.”

As the water settled, a fish jumped in the middle of the lake, sending ripples toward the dock.

“Somebody wants to be my dinner tonight.” Max marked the spot in the water. “You want fish for dinner?”

“Sounds good to me.”

He stood and helped me to my feet. The daylight was fading as we walked through the yard.

“I’ll make a salad,” I offered as he headed toward his cottage.

“No tomatos,” he said. “I’m not big on tomatos.”

“A man who loves ketchup but doesn’t like tomatos?”

“Yeah, go figure.”

I went inside and turned on the radio. The only station with decent reception played oldies. I hummed along with the Doobie Brothers and sipped wine as I made the salad–without tomatos.

I looked out the kitchen window and saw Max by the bank, his fishing pole stretched over the water. I took my wine to the dining room table. I stared at the pile of papers and knew that I wasn’t ready for the novel.

On the corner of the table sat Margarite’s folder. I hesitated and then grabbed it. In the living room, I plopped on the couch and flipped to a new story. Perhaps one more to pass the time.

The moon woke her. She wasn’t exactly sure how the moon did it, but it woke her. Her eyes fluttered open. The big, white disc stared at her with a brightness she hadn’t thought possible. Why did the moon seem closer on spring nights? Why did she feel she could reach out and touch that silver orb? It was so close and so white, and it had a voice, a soft, tinkly voice that chimed and lilted as it rode the moonbeams into her room. It was a child’s voice full of trust and wonder. No, not quite wonder, more like magic. The moon voice promised magic and dazzle, the stuff of conjurers and sorceresses. Not the fake stuff of sideshow carnivals, the moon would show her real magic, the magic of jewels and rings and amulets and talismans. If she would heed that voice, she would know legerdemain beyond her wildest dreams.

She sat up in bed, tilting her head to one side, listening. The moon smiled as it spoke. Slipping out of bed, she grabbed her thin gown and stepped from the bedroom. Moon glow watered the sloping lawn that ran to the lake. A wide, white swath cut through the dark water like a silver streak through a mane of black hair. No breeze ruffled the mirror surface. No wake or ripple marred the perfect reflection. The lake was unnaturally calm. She paused by the railing, listening, but she heard nothing but the moon voice, the beckoning lunar trill. Where were the birds, the crickets, the chirps and buzzes of the insects? Why had they stopped their song? The moon laughed. The world waited. She brushed her long, dark hair, suddenly afraid. What did the world wait for? What was she to do?

A single moon beam, brighter than all the rest, struck her in the chin and ran slowly down her neck, between her breasts, over her tummy, and along her right leg. She watched, fascinated, for she had never seen a ray of moonlight act in such a fashion. Indeed, moon beams couldn’t act like flashlights. One beam couldn’t dance at her feet, jogging ahead a few feet, hesitating, and then returning like some eager puppy. Yet, the beam frolicked, making her laugh. She had always wanted a moon beam as a pet, but she had never supposed she would ever own one.

“You’re a pretty little thing,” she said. “You should have a name.”

The shaft of light jumped in front of her.

“I think I’ll name you Ariel.” She wasn’t sure why she had chosen such a name, but the beam seemed so playful, like a sprite. It danced about her feet as if happy with its name. Then, it darted off a few feet and waited.

“I’m supposed to follow?” she asked. “OK, lead me to happiness, Ariel.”

The beam jigged back and forth before slipping across the deck. She followed, amused at her seriousness, as if the beam could hear or understand or lead. More than likely, she was following some weird reflection from some window of her neighbors. As the earth rotated, the reflection bopped all around, enticing her. Still, she felt a bit of whimsy as she followed the beam down the steps and onto the dewy lawn. In the light, the lawn sparkled, as if laden with diamonds. The dew cooled her feet, wetting her skin. She liked the feeling of sliding across the grass. This was summer ice, a chance to glide and swirl and move effortlessly. She had never dreamed she would ever skate with nothing on but a thin, lacy gown, but here she was, sliding downhill after a mischievous moon beam. She laughed out loud.

Her laugh was absorbed by the night. She felt in the middle of some huge shake-up knickknack. Someone had shaken the dome, and the flakes had twirled and flown for a time only to sift to the bottom and lie quiet, leaving the rest in perfect silence. Her world had precipitated out of existence. What remained was an instant of calm and silence and beauty, a moment frozen in time. She and Ariel existed in that briefest of moments, that infinitesimal instant between seconds. This was the calm between heartbeats, the tranquillity between puffs of wind. This was a wholeness between change. The perfection astounded her.

Ariel, the impish beam, zigged across the glasslike grass. She followed, hoping the moment might last a bit longer. The stillness soothed her as nothing had ever soothed her. Her soul found surcease in this time between time. The beam reached the shore and veered right. She followed without fear. Nothing could harm her in this moment. Ariel cavorted along the water’s edge, dipping into the mirrorlike lake before leaping onto the grass. The beam made a last great leap, directly into a small copse of trees.

She didn’t hesitate. To not trust would spoil the nanosecond of perfection. She pushed into the trees, searching for her fairylike friend. She found Ariel dancing with a second moon beam–both at the feet of him.

She stopped, startled. She had never expected anyone else in her dream. Somehow, she didn’t think anyone else could exist in her instant, as if this universe had been created solely for her. How did he get here? Who was he?

“Hello,” she said.

He turned, a smile on his face. He held a finger to his lips. “Shhhh, the between time is spoiled by talk.”

She wanted to protest, but his smile seemed too genuine. Besides, she agreed with him. Talk would mar the perfection of…what did he call it, “between time?” He turned and looked out over the unmoving water, and she studied him a moment.

He was tall, at least a foot taller than her petite size. Dark hair, long nose, handsome face, he stood naked except for boxers, and while she found that odd, she wasn’t surprised. He should have been swatting mosquitoes from those wide shoulders, slapping his strong chest, rubbing one foot over the other leg, shooing away the night insects, but he wasn’t. The pests of darkness weren’t bothering him or her, as if they too had been frozen in mid-flight, their wings still, their buzzing muted. She noticed the curve of his arms, the muscles of his legs. Little fat, strength, not perfection but handsome, attractive. He smiled over the lake like some deity. This was his domain, his realm in time and space.

He raised his left arm and held it out straight, and she felt the compulsion. With a naturalness she found disquieting, she slipped under his arm and wrapped hers around his waist. His strong arm tucked her against his side, and she seemed to fit, as if molded for him. No awkwardness that often accompanied her dancing or hugging. Why did he feel so right? His fingers tripped along her shoulder and down her chest to draw a tiny circle around her nipple. She let him, aware of what he was doing and not just allowing it but craving it, needing his touch. Her nipple hardened automatically, swelling with desire. How? Why? She wanted to ask the questions, but to ask was to risk the moment.

She let her hand drift down his silk boxers, along a thigh hard beneath the slippery cloth. She had never been so forward, and she told her hand to stop, but it didn’t. As if driven by some outside force, her hand traced the curve of his leg and found the hardening thickness of his penis. Her fingers jumped back in fright like some animal exploring unknown territory. Then, her hand crept forward, touching, moving, lightly fondling the thing growing under her fingers. An irresistible urge raced through her. Her fingers wrapped around him even as his fingers pinched her nipple. Heat blossomed inside her, melting any resistance. In this frozen sliver of time this was meant to be. With perfect naturalness, he turned from the lake and slipped the gown from her shoulders. The moon bathed her skin with luster. She pulled down his boxers.

For a moment, they merely looked into each other’s eyes. His were the kindest, most sensitive eyes she had ever known, eyes that seemed to know every bruise, scrape, cut, and error of her life, eyes that forgave every transgression, eyes that healed every wound. Wrapped around his compassion was desire, a huge, fiery ring of fervor. He wanted her, desired her in a way she had never been desired before. She wasn’t an instrument for sex. Sex would be the servant to their joining, the natural completion of this moment. This moon, this lake, this world would hold its breath while they kissed and held and fondled and licked and loved. For as long as their act took, nothing would change. This was a love that transcended time. Just as she had fit into his side, she was certain they would fit together as perfectly formed shapes. She knew he would touch her in places only she knew about, touch her with a passion reserved for fantasies. She knew her spirit would soar above any plane she had achieved with any other lover. In this time between time, her body and soul would know a bliss not of this world.

He pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. Her nipples rubbed his hard chest. She felt him poke between her legs. The fire inside blazed. She needed him. She pulled him to the carpet of pine needles that neither pricked nor tickled, and she guided him inside her. Oh, the first penetration stole her breath. She grabbed his shoulders and pulled his lips to hers, hungry for his kiss. As the fire burned and their bodies moved as one, she noticed the moon beams, his and hers, intertwined, flitting around them. She almost laughed but checked herself. She would laugh later when the moment ended. For now, she wanted to savor him, his strength, the way he fit, the rightness of this union. She looked up and gasped with pleasure.

The moon.

He pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. Her nipples rubbed his hard chest. She felt him poke between her legs. The fire inside blazed. She needed him. She pulled him to the carpet of pine needles that neither pricked nor tickled, and she guided him inside her. Oh, the first penetration stole her breath. She grabbed his shoulders and pulled his lips to hers, hungry for his kiss. As the fire burned and their bodies moved as one, she noticed the moon beams, his and hers, intertwined, flitting around them. She almost laughed but checked herself. She would laugh later when the moment ended. For now, she wanted to savor him, his strength, the way he fit, the rightness of this union. She looked up and gasped with pleasure.

“Is the salad ready?” Max yelled from the kitchen. I jumped and slammed the folder shut, fidgeting to keep the papers inside.

“Um, yeah…” I headed toward the kitchen. I slipped the folder under some books on the dining room table, a moonbeam dancing inside my mind.

“Are you done writing for the day?” asked Max. He was standing at the counter and filling his plate with salad and fish.

“Probably, why?” I had just poured my second glass of wine. The likelihood of going back to my typewriter was fading quickly.

“There’s a good movie on TV starting soon. I thought maybe you might want to come over and watch it.” I was surprised by the invitation.

“Which movie?”

“Jurassic Park”

“Oh, I don’t know about that… it looks scary?”

“They’ve made children’s cereal after that movie. How scary can it be?” He was already looking disappointed.

“Well, I’ll try. But if I get scared and come home, no teasing me about it. OK?”

“OK,” agreed Max.

“Promise?” I insisted.

“Cross my fingers… I mean my heart,” laughed Max.

I gave him a scornful look and filled my plate while he grabbed a couple of trays.

“Let’s take this stuff over to the cottage then,” he said, stacking the leftover food under his plate. “You bring the wine.”

“No problem.” I smiled and gave him a quick wink as we headed out the door.

We ate off the coffee table in front of the sofa while the movie started. During a commercial break, Max cleared away the dishes and refilled our wine glasses. He sat back down just a little closer than he had been, for which I was grateful since the intensity of the movie was building.

By the time the first dinosaur chase scene ended, I was securely snuggled into Max’s arms and had a big throw pillow in front of me. He didn’t laugh at me, but seemed pleased by the effect the movie was having on me. By the end of the movie, even the third glass of wine hadn’t keep me relaxed.

“I don’t know why I agreed to this,” I muffled with my head buried into the pillow while Max watched.

“Do you want me to turn it off?”

“And never hear the end of it? No way!” I protested, digging into his arms further. “Just tell me when this part is over.” He hugged me a little tighter, making the terror worth the close feeling of being with him. When the screaming stopped and the music died down, Max encouraged me to drop the pillow. The credits were rolling and I sighed in relief. That’s when he finally laughed.

“You promised,” I warned.

“Sorry,” he said, straightening out his face. He clicked off the TV and gave my arm a little squeeze, pulling me into his side a bit more.

“Why do you like movies like that?” I asked, my tone a bit disgusted.

“I don’t know…. survival of the fittest… man against beast.”

“Well, I found it completely traumatizing. I can still see those things creatures in my mind. How am I suppose to go and sleep in that house alone tonight?”

“Want me to sleep with you?” I looked up at Max and he gave me a wink and a little grin.

“Trying to replace one fear with another?” I joked.

“Hmm… interesting theory, Doctor.”

“Maybe I’ll just sleep here on your couch.”

“You can sleep in my bed,” offered Max. “I’ll take the couch.”

“No, I couldn’t do that.”

“OK then,” said Max getting up and going into is bedroom. He came back with a couple of pillows and a blanket. “Then we both sleep on the couch.”

He pulled me up to stand, placed the two pillows at one end, then laid down on his side and pulled me down to spoon up next to him. I laughed and threw a light blanket over the two of us as he tucked it in.

“There, that’s not so bad is it?” he insisted.

“Just wait until your arm goes to sleep,” I warned. “Then you won’t feel so charitable.”

He gave me a slight kiss on the back of my head and brushed my hair away from his face before settling into a quiet rest. When I realized that he was quite serious about sleeping on the couch and not playing around, I relaxed into his arms.

“Max?” I whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“Go to sleep.”

The vision of dinosaurs came and went, as did the thoughts of lying so close to him. When I wasn’t worried about my sexual feelings – or his, I felt safe in his arms. Safe enough that I slept for several hours until one of us tried to roll over and I fell off the couch and onto the floor.

“What happened?” asked Max, half asleep.

“You pushed me!” I pouted teasingly, standing up.

“I did not.” Max sat up and tried to stretch his neck out to the side and winced.

“This is crazy,” I sighed. “We can’t sleep on the couch all night.”

“Come on,” said Max, grabbing the pillows and taking my hand. I followed him into his bedroom and stood while he pulled down the covers and threw the pillows on the bed. “Just pretend it’s a couch.”

I wasn’t sure if it was fatigue or trust, but I climbed in, still clothed in my T-shirt and cutoffs. Max slipped off his T-shirt, but left his shorts on when he climbed in next to me. Although the bed was definitely larger than the couch, it was only a double in size and our arms touched as we both lay on our backs facing the ceiling.

As much as I wanted to sleep, my mind would not let go of the fact that I was lying in a man’s bed. His bed. The bed where he had touched himself the night I had heard his moans through my window. The whole room had a air of sexuality to it.

Max’s breathing indicated that he was drifting back to sleep, and I found myself disappointed that he hadn’t pressed me. The closer I got to him, the more I wanted to let myself experience more of him. If I had been alone, I might have brought myself to an orgasm to relieve the tension I felt. But I rolled over buried my face into one of his pillows and willed myself to sleep.

The sound of blue jays cawing woke me. That and the sound of Max’s heart beat where my ear lay on his chest. We were cuddled up tightly and he was still asleep. I watched his chest rise and fall and thought about how peaceful it was to lay there with him. His face was handsome as he slept and his lips looked soft and kissable.

I ran my finger gently over his chest, touching the soft hair. Max stirred and slowly opened his eyes. When I smiled up at him, he squeezed me tighter and yawned.

“Looks like we escaped those dinosaurs,” he groaned, rolling over on his side and spooning me up to him. “Or did they get you?”

“No, I was safe all night.”

“I see you left your clothes on just in case you had to out run them.”

“Very funny.”

Max ran his hand down my bare leg and I felt his cock press against my backside. I pretended that I didn’t notice, but wiggled against him to feel it again. Sure enough, it pressed against me again.

“Are you experimenting again?” whispered Max into my neck. I giggled, admitting my awareness. “Your guinea pig is rearing to go this morning.”

“So I gathered.” I rolled over and faced him, and stroked my palm against the outside of his shorts. His cock bounced in earnest against the touch. “Are you always so hard in the morning?”

“I’m usually not quite this inspired.” He moaned as I squeezed his cock through the shorts.

“Well, what experiment do you think we should perform today?”

“It’s in good hands,” purred Max. “I’ll let you decide.”

“Will you slip your shorts off?” I asked.

“Sure,” said Max, slipping them off and dropping them on the floor. “Will you?” He grinned and winked at me.

“No,” I laughed.

“Hey, I had to ask.” He clasped his hands behind his head and relaxed.

I stroked it softly and watched it react to my caresses. It looked so adorable that I knelt over and kissed the tip gently. “Oh God,” moaned Max. “You’re going to drive me crazy.”

“Do you like that?” I asked.

“Please Jamie,” he begged. “Don’t stop.”

I kissed it against and ran my tongue cautiously up the side, feeling Max press towards me for more. The precum tasted sweet and I licked and sucked the tip, causing more moans and sighs from Max.

“You have no idea how good that feels,” said Max, smiling down at me.

Getting braver, I kissed his cock again, allowing myself to suck more of it into my mouth. Instinctively, Max started to move his hips up and down. Fearing that I would gag if he got carried away, I placed my hand around the base of his cock and held it as we continued.

“I’m going to come if you keep doing that,” he warned.

“Really?” I asked. “I thought you had to be really good at this to make that happen.”

“Oh trust me,” smiled Max. “You’re doing just fine.”

I sucked his cock again, letting more of it into my mouth and squeezing the base as he pumped his hips. His breathing quickened and his whole body stiffened as he came closer to orgasm. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to happen. I didn’t really want him to come in my mouth, but I did want him to come… and I was using my mouth… and if I stopped he couldn’t come.

The next thing I knew he was letting out a loud growl and the hot sperm was spurting out of his cock. I moved it out of my mouth and rubbed it against my wet lips and face as it continued to spill out. He had grabbed the bed sheets and was straining against the intensity until the orgasm slowly rolled down to a warm feeling.

I sat up and smiled at his euphoric face, so angelic in the morning light. He sighed and pulled me into his arms.

“I love being your guinea pig,” he said, kissing me on the lips.

“You’re kind of a messy guinea pig,” I teased, wiping off my cheek.

“Some things you just can’t train, I’m afraid. Besides, I bet I can make you be just as messy.” He started tickling me and trying to take of my jeans. I laughed and wrestled with him in mild protest. I knew I was hot enough to make a big puddle with the help of his lips and tongue.

Suddenly a car horn honked and we both sat up startled in the bed.

“Who the hell could that be?” I whispered. Max got up and peeked out his bedroom window.

“It’s Riley,” he answered, still looking through the curtain.

“Oh shit!” I searched the room for a clock. “What time is it?”

“It’s 9:30,” said Max, looking at his watch.

“I thought he was coming at 10:00.” I stood from the bed and tried to decide what to do. I knew what assumptions Riley would make if he saw me coming out of Max’s cabin looking like I had just gotten out of bed. They wouldn’t have been too far off.

“Can you go out and stall him while I slip out the back door and into the house?”

“Afraid you’ll ruin my reputation?” teased Max, slipping on his shorts.

“I just don’t want Riley getting the wrong idea.” I started to head towards the back door, but Max grabbed my arm and stopped me.

“Which idea is that, Jamie?”

Did Max think I didn’t want Riley to know that I had slept with him? That I liked him? That I was attracted to him?

“That I sleep around,” I answered.

Max sighed and headed to the front door of the cabin. I sneaked out the back and waited until I heard him talking with Riley before running across the grass to the back door of the house.

“She’s probably still sleeping,” Max was saying on the front porch as the two of the stood knocking on the front door.

“I’m coming!” I yelled, as I ran up the stairs and threw on my robe before coming back to the front door and opening it for them.

“You must be a city girl,” laughed Riley, coming in ahead of Max. “Nobody sleeps this late in these parts.” Riley looked ruggedly handsome in clean jeans and T-shirt that clung tightly to his firm body. Max stood at the door, and when I nodded for him to come in his waved me off.

“I’ve got some stuff to do,” he said, backing out of the screen door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Take ‘er easy, Max,” called Riley, sitting down on the sofa. “It’ll be hot again today.”

I felt awful parting with Max so callously after our cozy evening. I really didn’t want to be with Riley and regretted having agreed to the date. As Max walked off the porch, I turned to Riley and tried to beg my way out.

“I guess I’m just not feeling well today,” I said, running the back of my hand against my forehead. “I feel like I’m coming down with something.”

“Well, the fresh air will clear that up, Missy,” he insisted. “You just run upstairs and put on a pair of jeans and some boots and we’ll have you cured in no time.”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” I said, turning to go up the stairs.

“The sooner the better,” he said. “That’s why I came by a little early. It’s gonna get hot out there today and I was hoping we could take the horses out.”

“Great,” I muttered under my breath. “Just call me Annie Oakley.”

I decided to take my time getting ready. Perhaps if I stalled long enough it would be too hot to take the horses out. I didn’t really primp to look nice for him, but the longer I took, the better it all came together. I put on a white, cotton shirt with the denim jeans and braided my hair back. I carried my boots in hand, deciding to put them on out on the porch as we left. My stocking feet made my accent from the stairs quiet so that I was unnoticed as I turned the corner to the livingroom. Riley was pressing against his crotch slowly with one hand while intently reading something in his other hand. I froze when I realized he had found the folder containing Margarite’s stories.

“Oh…damn,” he sputtered, as he finally noticed me standing there. His hand stopped moving against his lap, but it was obvious that his cock was bulging inside. “Did you write this stuff?”

“No.” My voice was flat and controlled.

“I guess you just like reading it, huh? Sure got me hot.”

“I just found it.” I wanted to explain myself, but then I didn’t really want to incriminate Margarite.

“Found it where?” he asked, flipping through the folder.

“Up in the attic.” I turned and went into the kitchen to make some coffee. I didn’t want to discuss the stories any further. I was fidgeting with the coffee pot when I felt him standing close behind me.

“You trying to tell me you ain’t been reading those stories?” His hands came down on my shoulders and I froze beneath his touch as he continued. “I bet you read that one about them doing it right here in the kitchen.” His hand slid down my arms and then reached around my waist. I could feel his hard cock against my ass. “He did her right here,” he whispered in my ear and pressing me against the sink.

“I didn’t read that one,” I lied, pulling away from him and going to the refrigerator and pretending to look for something.

“I think you did or you wouldn’t be acting so nervous.” I hated his cocky tone. “I think it got you all hot and bothered thinking about some guy doing you in the kitchen while you cook breakfast.”

I took the milk from the refrigerator and carried it over to the counter where he stood. He put his arm around my waist and pulled me up so close to him that I put out my hand against his chest. I hated the fact that he smelled and looked so great.

“Maybe we should change our plans for today.” He raised an eyebrow mischievously and grinned at me. “Maybe I should have you fix us some breakfast. I’m thinking that would be a whole lot more fun that looking at my cattle.”

“I think you have the wrong idea about me, Riley.”

“Oh, I don’t,” he insisted. “I bet you’ve read every one of those stories until your panties were soaking wet.” He tried to slide a hand down toward my crotch, but I caught it and held it to my side.

I felt angry and frightened as he continued to press, and realized there was no way I was going to go anywhere with him.

“I think you better leave, Riley.” I pressed myself away from him and took a few steps back.

“Ah, come on, Jamie,” he said, all innocent like. “I was just having some fun with you. I guess that story just put me in a randy mood.”

“I’m failing to see the humor.”

“Come on. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.” He seemed surprised by my anger and looked like a little boy about to cry. “Let’s just go take a drive and look at my ranch.”

“Look, Riley. I really wasn’t in the mood when I got up this morning and I’m in even less than the mood now. Let’s just try it another day.”

“Are you sure?” he pleaded one last time.

“Yes,” I said, trying to put a pleasant smile on my face. “I’m sure.”

“Will you come to the Buffalo Bar tonight?”

“I might.”

“I’ll come and pick you up,” he offered hopefully.

“That’s OK. I’ll ride in with Max if he’s going.”

“Well…” Riley started walking to the front door and I was relieved that he was actually going to go so easily. I guess he realized that any further bullying at this point would win him no favors.

“I’m real sorry about before.” His hand was on the screen door as he paused to finish. “I guess I shouldn’t tease girls I don’t know too well.”

“Let’s just forget about it.”

“Sounds good to me.” He turned and walked out the porch. “I’ll see you tonight.”

I watched him head out to his truck and drive off, thankful that I wasn’t going to spend the day with him.

I was glad to suddenly have the whole day ahead of me to work on my book. I thought about going over and letting Max know I was home, but I didn’t want to tell him why. After pouring a cup of coffee, I sat down at the table to look over my notes from the prior day of writing. Tucked under the folder was one of Margarite’s stories that I had hidden the night before. I carried it over to the folder on the couch where Riley had read through the some of the others.

“I should have left you up in the attic where I found you,” I murmured to the folder. “You do nothing but get me in trouble.”

I took the file back to the table and flipped through it while I sipped my coffee. Spotting a new one I hadn’t read, I scanned the first few lines and kept reading.

***

She set the bag of groceries on the counter and pause. A bead of perspiration ran down her cheek, and she brushed it away. Grabbing the milk and ice cream out of the bag, she opened the refrigerator and deposited the items before they could melt or warm. She grabbed a cold Coke before she shut the door. Leaning against the counter, she rubbed the cold can across her brow. The heat outside was almost unbearable, and she wondered where he was. No doubt, he was asleep in the air conditioned comfort of the bedroom. Ignoring the rest of the groceries, she wandered through the house to the bedroom.

Empty.

She frowned. Surely, he wasn’t outside working in the heat. Stepping to the window, she looked out. He was there. Stretched out in the hammock in his swimming suit, he looked sound asleep. She studied him a moment, noting his tan skin, his muscles that seemed firm even in sleep. His skin glistened with perspiration, his mouth slightly open. Asleep. She didn’t often see him asleep. He stayed up later, rose earlier, attended to her as she slept. Even now, had he heard her return, he would have been in the kitchen helping with the groceries. But he was asleep, as peaceful as she had ever found him.

Smiling, she stripped naked, grabbed an oversized T-shirt and slipped it on. She felt cooler already. She snatched up a bottle of scented oil and left the room.

He snored softly. Pausing by the hammock, she watched. His chest, a nice, not-too-hairy chest, rose and fell rhythmically. The peace of his sleep mimicked the quiet on the lake beyond the hammock. The mirror-like water reflected the sky and trees, unruffled by breeze or boat. A sheen of perspiration ran across her upper lip, but she didn’t mind. He looked so at peace with his world, so fetching. She was almost reluctant to touch him…almost.

Squeezing oil into her palm, she touched his ankle. He woke immediately as she knew he would.

“Relax,” she told him. “Let me do this.”

“You don’t have to,” he answered.

“I want to,” she replied.

“But–“

“Shhhhh,” she admonished. “Relax. Close her eyes and feel.”

She glanced at his face, and his eyes closed, a smile telling her how pleased he was. She massaged his ankle, slowly, carefully, feeling the bones and skin. She loved his skin, soft and supple. Squeezing oil on his leg, she kneaded his calf and rubbed his shin. Her hands felt slick with oil, and his skin glowed. She moved over his knee and onto this thigh, a muscular thigh. She could feel the separate muscles of his thigh, the results of his running. More oil, more slick skin, her hands and fingers learned his body afresh. Snaking her hands underneath his suit, she massaged up to the crease between leg and hip, her fingertips just brushing his hair. She resisted the urge to grab him and removed her hands.

With patience, she started on the other leg. Ankle, shin, knee, thigh, until his leg shone in the light. She was reminded of a commercial for suntan lotion, perfect men with perfectly tan skin. For a moment, she studied his legs, such strong legs. She loved his strength, his leanness. When he carried her, she felt the power in his legs.

She wiped her brow with her sleeve and dumped oil into her hands. Starting with his right hand, she massaged each finger, palm and wrist. His forearms were oversized, the result of years of golf. She traced her fingers along the veins pushing against his skin, ridges of blood. His upper arms were hard and strong, no loose skin. She kneaded those muscles, those wonderful arms. When he made love to her, she often held onto his arms as he perched above her. Often, she ran her fingers over those muscles, trying to memorize them. Now, she soothed in the oil which seemed to add definition to his strength. First one arm, then other. His shoulders were lean and bony, and she swirled on the oil. Then, she began on his chest.

His chest was unique. Besides the muscles, he had a strange breast bone with a small, shallow indent where she liked to place her finger. Now, she rubbed oil into the indent and over those muscles. The little hair he had sparkled with oil. His nipples shined. She wanted to bite those nipples, but she restrained herself Instead, she spread oil on his stomach, such a flat stomach. He looked like a teenager in some ways. His stomach was flat and firm.

With a speed that surprised her, she jerked down his swim trunks. She thought he might protest, but he didn’t. His trust in her was complete. His desire for her was evident. She squirted oil into her hands and gently stroked him, newly amazed by his body, his passion. He came alive in her hand, swelling, and hardening. She used more oil, letting it run down the length of his shaft, a small river of shiny fluid. She watched it pool for a moment at the base and then spill over his sack, trickling down in several directions at once. The sight fascinated her. With a tenderness she had never felt before she slowly, carefully massaged his sack, spreading the oil all over, turning him slick and bright. She stroked, her oily hand gliding easily over his oily shaft. The feeling was exquisite, a frictionless handling of the man she loved. Using her thumb she rubbed oil over the tip, seeing it gather in the small hole, pushing it out with her thumb, studying the shaft in ways she had never experienced before. It seemed so normal. How did he manage to give her such pleasure? She stroked and rubbed and felt something run down her thigh.

Sweat?

No, not sweat. She was surprised. She hadn’t realized how aroused she had become. She noticed her nipples poking against her shirt. The juice on her thigh heightened her need. Exercising care, she climbed onto the hammock. Lifting her shirt, she mounted his oil slick shaft which slipped inside without the slightest hesitation.

“Oh,” he said.

“Shhhh,” she answered. “Don’t talk.”

The oily shaft wormed deep inside her. Her need grew with every small stroke. She let her inner self explore him in ways she had never thought possible, as if the oil created some kind of bond that fed new sensations to her nerves. Every vein, every ridge, every wrinkle in his skin fed her desire. Her body felt every nuance of him. She had never felt so utterly filled and molded to anything. She didn’t think air could slip past the bond of them.

Perspiration ran down her cheek. She saw sweat on his forehead, his hair wet. The smell of the oil inflamed her passion. Her body squeezed. She wanted him. She wanted him quickly, forcefully, before the oil melted into skin and the bond broke. With a purpose she had never thought possible, she thrust herself on him. Heat and sweat and oil rushed to complete the act. She felt she had no time for anything but the rush of orgasm. She wanted his orgasm. She wanted his shaft to shudder inside her, feeding her. She grabbed his arms and squeezed, her body clamping. Now, she thought to herself. Do me now.

His grunt marked his orgasm. Her body squeezed. That oily, hard thing inside her spasmed, shooting heat into her. She closed her eyes and feasted on the feeling. Oily hands on oily arms. Oily shaft encased inside her. Seconds passed. He panted beneath her. She slowly collapsed on top of him. She kissed him and lay atop him. She wouldn’t release him, not yet. In time.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome,” she said.

His arms wrapped around her. The heat would soon be unbearable, but for the moment, she wanted to lay on him, feel him inside. Soon, they would retire to the air conditioning and a shower and then…

She licked his neck, tasting the salt of his body. Then, he would massage her.

***

I squirmed in the chair to release the tension and flipped to the next story in the folder. My novel could wait a few more minutes.

***

The car moves swiftly through the night, twin headlamps carving cones of light in the dark. The faint light from the dash washes over your pretty face, highlighting the beauty. The highway is practically deserted. You are alone in the night, driving, pushing. No, not alone. He’s with you, he’s always with you. You can see his handsome face, his dark eyes, his strong arms and shoulders. He’s never far from your thoughts. If you closed your eyes, you would see him clearly, his smiling face, his happy face. But you don’t dare close your eyes. You have miles to go before you meet him–or do you?

You glance right and you can see his outline, how he sits and watches you as you drive. You like the way he watches. You can see the love in his eyes, the desire. You know this man will never ignore you, never turn away, never grow tired of you. Even on this dark, deserted highway you can see him, feel him. It’s as if his spirit has been transported to your car to help you home. You can see him asleep on the couch, a slight smile on his face, but his essence, his spirit rides shotgun with you. Yes, he’s there. You smell him, the scent of him that you like so well. God, what a smell! Goose bumps ripple up your arms. You love that smell.

He doesn’t speak, but you can feel him edge closer to you. He leans across the console and lays a hand on your leg. His hand is warm, his fingers firm on your thigh. You know your skin excites him; it always does. You feel his fingers massage your thigh, wringing pleasure from touching you. You have felt him a hundred times before, and every time is as potent as the first, those fingers touching, kneading. Your lower lip quivers slightly. You regrip the steering wheel. His touch is tantalizing and stimulating, and you sink a little deeper into the seat. With practiced ease, you engage the cruise control. The car powers through the night on its own, a tamed beast.

To your right, you see him smile. You feel his hand crawl up your thigh and under your skirt. The fingers know your skin, your muscles. The hand sends a rush of heat through you, and you know you’ve begun to respond. You feel yourself grow moist. You pray his fingers will soon find you and love you. You don’t wait long. His hand finds your panties and grooves them into you, soaking up your own hot juices. You shudder with barely restrained emotion. You want him so much.

As his fingers move up and own across you, you spread your legs. You want him to take you quickly, but he knows how to make you last and love. You sip breath through pursed lips. His fingers pull aside your panties and slip along your wetness. Your body thrusts spasmodically against his touch. Your body wants to drink his fingers, absorb those wonderful feelings.

His fingers do find you and sink into you, touching the places that he knows so well. You move against him, wanting his touch to fill you. Your body grips and regrips his fingers, pulling them inside, loving them. Your breath comes in gasps. His fingers begin to move with speed and strength. You thrust against him, but his fingers do the work. Rubbing, touching, stroking. You grab his biceps and squeeze, and his fingers rush inside you, faster and harder.

“Faster,” you whisper, and his fingers oblige.

Your body soaks his hand, running over him. You feel your orgasm rushing forward like some huge truck roaring unchecked down a steep mountain. His fingers work at fever pitch, and you know the leviathan is unstoppable. It gathers speed and power.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper.

He doesn’t. His hand doubles its pace, and the truck is close now, rumbling through the night, tearing through the air. Your body clamps and gushes. The truck horn blares. You have arrived as your body spasms against his fingers. For some part of a mile your body locks on him and pleases itself.

Then, the rush stops. Your body relaxes. You unclamp, and his fingers withdraw. But your body is soaked, and the skirt beneath you is soaked. But you don’t care. He came to you, and he loved you, and the remaining miles will be short. When you reach him, he will know he’s pleased you. Yet, he’ll be ready to please you again, and that is what you wish. Another chance at happiness.

The car slices through the night. You sigh. He knew you needed him, and he came to you. You’re happy.

***

“OK, that’s it,” I said, closing the folder and standing up from the chair. “You’re going back up to the attic.”

I marched up the wooden stairs with a determination to get those hot stories out of my reach – not to mention Riley’s reach. I could feel the wetness in my panties as I walked. There was no denying the effect the stories had on me. I opened the door to the attic and a wave of heat hit me.

“I guess this is far enough,” I said, laying the folder on one of the steps leading up to the attic. I turned to go back down the stairs and saw Max standing at the bottom.

“What are you doing here? I thought you and Riley went to look for the endangered spotted cow.”

“We got off on the wrong foot this morning.” I hopped down the stairs and stood next to him. “He’s on his own today.”

“What happened?”

“He just got kind of pushy and I wasn’t in the mood for it.”

“Are you sure that was all? Did he know you were over at my place?”

“No, no… nothing like that.”

Max laughed and shook his head.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“I just can’t imagine you telling Riley that he was being pushy and to take a hike.”

“Well, I did.”

“Wish I could’ve been a fly on the wall.”

“He’s too full of himself,” I said, heading toward the kitchen. “You want some coffee?”

“No, I’ve had mine for the morning. Thanks.”

“He asked me to come to the Buffalo Bar tonight. I said I would be there if you went into town. Were you going?”

“Yeah, I guess…”

“Do you mind if I go with you?”

“Heck no. Why would I?”

“Well, Tammy might be there…”

“That’s no big deal. I told her you were staying here.”

“Well, OK, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. So are you going to write today?”

“That’s my plan. I was just trying to clear away all the distractions when you came in.”

“Well, I don’t want to be another one of those distractions you have to clear away,” he said smiling at me. “So I’ll go and get my own work done.”

“You can distract me anytime.” I gave him a coy smile and a wink.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“That’s getting harder and harder to do, but I’ll try.”

He laughed as he headed back out the front door. I sighed and turned back to my writing. I was tense from the morning and wasn’t sure how easily I would be able to focus on the novel, but once I got going, the morning was a distant memory. The feelings from my confrontation with Riley had actually helped in the chapter I was working on where the woman was accosted by someone she knew. Stopping only to make a sandwich, I worked through the afternoon until Max came in the back door to the kitchen and called for me.

“Can I distract you with a glass of ice cold lemonade?” he asked.

“Oh, that sounds great!” I walked into the kitchen to find him grabbing a couple of glasses out of the cupboard. He looked hot and sweaty, but in a rustic, appealing kind of way. I followed him over to the kitchen table where he sat down and poured two glasses.

“I just picked these this morning.”

“Where is the lemon tree at?” I asked.

“Over on the other side of my cabin. Did you know there are six even different types of fruit trees on this property?”

“Really?”

“Yep. Lemons, oranges, plums, peaches, apples, and avocados.”

“An avocado isn’t a fruit,” I argued.

“Says who?”

“I don’t know. I thought it was a vegetable.”

“Well anyway, there’s a lot of fruit around here. Margarite used to love canning some of it.”

“I remember that. She would put brandy in with the peaches and we thought it was such a big deal when we would get to eat some of it as kids. My sister would pretend that she was drunk afterwards.”

Max chuckled and nodded his head.

“I sure miss those days,” I sighed. “We rarely get the whole family together anymore.”

“I think Margarite lived for the two weeks you guys would come and visit. You were about the only company she ever had.”

“I wonder why she never married.”

“Maybe she would have if she hadn’t died so young.” I guess I had never thought about that.

“Do you really think people marry for the first time after 48?”

“I sure hope so,” laughed Max. “I’ve only got 12 years left if not. Not like you with your whole life ahead of you.”

“Yes, you certainly look like you’re about ready for a walker.” His body was in terrific shape and he knew it. “Lucky for you I like older men.”

“Really? What does your therapist say about that?”

“I think my therapist is pleased when I like any man,” I joked. Max nodded as though he understood and then looked as his watch.

“How about we eat dinner in town?”

“At the Buffalo Bar?”

“If you don’t mind… or we can stop at the diner.” I was really hoping we could eat something fancy for a change.

“Don’t you have any Chinese or Mexican restaurants around here?”

“Not really. There’s a pizza place though.”

“I guess the Buffalo Bar will do.”

“Well, I’m going to go get cleaned up here in a bit,” said Max, standing up from the table and taking his glass over to the sink. “How about we leave around seven?” That was only about an hour away.

“OK,” I agreed. “What’s the dress code on a Saturday night?”

“Anything you want. You can wear what you have on if you like.” Max put his arm around my shoulder as he walked toward the back door. “Just don’t wear anything too pretty or I’ll have to be kicken’ butts just to dance with you.”

“I doubt that,” I laughed, as he stepped out the door.

I stacked my writing in a neat pile and headed for a shower. The bedroom was warm from the heat, and I opened the bedroom window. I glanced down into Max’s window and saw him sitting naked on the bed. The sound of the window caused him to look up and spot me. There was nothing I could do but smile.

Max shook his head and laughed but didn’t cover himself. After a moment of watching, I began to unbutton my blouse. He grinned wider. I took my time, exaggerating the slow striptease. I let my blouse hang open as I unsnapped my jeans. Turning my back to the window, I wiggled my ass as they dropped. Unfortunately for Max, my long shirt tail covered my butt.

I dropped my shirt from my shoulders and peeked at him. He laughed, and although he wasn’t touching himself, his cock had become hard. An incredible sense of power surged through me. I could make him rise at a distance. I let the shirt drop but didn’t face him. I reached back, unhooked my bra, and pulled it off. I held it to the side and eyed him seductively as I let the bra drop. I wiggled my butt and then stepped out of view as I stripped off my panties. I held the panties to the window and twirled them in my hand.

Max let out a wolf whistle and shouted for more as I dropped the panties. I laughed as I stuck out a leg, encouraging more catcalls. Holding the curtain over my naked body, I peeked around and waved good-bye before slowly pulling down the shade. Max screamed as I disappeared.

I chuckled through my shower, thinking about how much fun Max was. He let me be sexual without pushing me into someplace I didn’t want to visit, and our bodies responded to each other. I wondered if I could be that way with other men. I was beginning to find a level of comfort. Maybe I could release with Tim if we tried again. Tim? That seemed a life time in the past. How could I go back and say, “Hey, I’m better. Wanna try again?”

As I dried off, I realized I hadn’t thought about Tim since I had arrived at the summer retreat. My energy had been focused on Max and writing, and those stories in the attic. It bothered me that I didn’t know who wrote them. I couldn’t imagine Aunt Margarite bent over her typewriter and panting out steaming sex, but I couldn’t figure out who would have sent them either.

I paused at the attic door on my way from the bathroom. Letting out a sigh of resignation, I opened the door and grabbed the folder. I would search the entire file for an answer.

Taking the folder to my bedroom, I sat on the bed with a towel wrapped around me, my wet hair hanging loosely. I opened the folder and flipped to the next story in the series.

Dawn love? She imagined his hands on her back. These weren’t predator hands. These were explorer hands, hands treating her as new territory, as something never before seen or experienced. Tentative, prayerful, fingers tiptoed across her skin. Was she still a bundle of passion, or were the fires banked for the night, a single ember, a relic of the night fire. His hands would be bird-like in the morning. His fingers would coo and trill and soothe, whistling a question and waiting for an answer.

Those wonderful exploratory hands would slide down her back and across her tush, touching, kneading. A supplicant finger would slide down between her buns and touch her, wondering if her body had begun to respond. This wasn’t some wild animal lapping her juice but a rabbit tasting, sipping. This was a lark hopping about, nibbling at her. She could feel the beak-like finger slipping inside her, ready to retreat if she wasn’t ready.

But she was ready, and the fearful little bird hopped inside her. She felt his warm breath on her back, a shower of his breathing. A tongue licked at her skin, tasting as a chef tastes a sauce. No guzzling, the tongue sips her, savoring the nuances of her body. She knows she can stop him at any time, and nothing would be wrong. This isn’t night fever but dawn breakfast, a light repast to break the night’s fast. The timid bird bathes in her juice. The light tongue traces dawn designs on her back. Squeezing the little beast, she feels the morning warm. That tippling tongue dances up her back over her neck, around her ears. Her body gushes. Her orgasm ripples through her. No big splash, this orgasm is a pebble tossed into the pond of her emotions, small riplets spreading evenly from the epicenter of her body.

His lips find her neck. The small beastie retreats. She floats in the early morning, content for the moment with the ripples. The waves will come later. For now, she listens to the birds and silently thanks him for his attention. Dawn love. Delicious in its delicacy.

I looked at the clock quickly and decided I had time for one more. I slipped a hand between my legs and rubbed against my finger.

Your long, dark hair falls about your face, shielding you from the mess of office and kitchen. You will clean them in time. Now, you wish to read, to savor a few minutes of quiet music and rain-filled breeze. You wonder where he is tonight, what is he doing? Does he sit in a chair somewhere, reading a paper, sipping a bottle of beer, and wondering about you? Does he lower the paper for a moment, gaze into the dark, and picture your face? Does your smile haunt his mind? Do his lips purse to touch your imaginary ones? Does his heart swell with sudden need? Does his breath pause for a moment? Does a heat like molten silver course through his body, centering in his loins? Does he long for you?

You blow breath through pursed lips and shake the image from your mind. He yearns for you. You feel that as surely as you feel the night wind. His body and mind wish to leap the miles and land squarely on the couch, grinning and laughing and searching you with his eyes.

But he isn’t there.

You open the manuscript and begin to read. Your mind shuts down out the input from your senses. You concentrate on the words, those lovely words he wrote for you. He sends the words when he can’t be there, and you love the words that are so much him. The words draw you close to him. His words are advance sentinels, reminding you of how you are with him, how he is with you. The words are reminders of his body, his scent, his lopsided smile that makes you laugh. The words are his eyes and lips and nose and arms, well-shaped arms. Strong legs are like the long words in his manuscript. You notice the line of his thigh, the curve of his calf. Short words remind you of his fingers and toes and the hair on his chest, his nipples. Whole sentences portray the ridges of his abdomen, the little hillocks you love to run your finger over, like a skier negotiating moguls. Dialogue reminds you of his spine, a series of bumps you count every time you see him.

The best part of him arrives with those burning passages where he describes your encounters, where he relives those moments when your face is above his and every nerve and muscle in your body feeds on his energy. When he fashions those paragraphs you feel him again. Your body shifts slightly, finding a perfect fit. You can’t help it. The words are him.

As you read, you notice a word slip off the page. Odd, but you don’t mind. Caress is the word, a fine word, six letters that form a kind of finger that slips beneath your T-shirt and tiptoes across your warm, soft skin. The word zigzags slowly up your chest, pausing to circle like a dog chasing its tail, leaving orbits of heat. A word? No, not a word, part of him, the caterpillar of letters inches between your breasts, and you feel the tips of the letters raking your skin, plowing tiny grooves in your flesh. The word turns and mounts your breast, finding and tasting a nipple raised like a hay stack on your field of flesh. Caress feeds on that nipple, nibbling and biting. A word such as Caress needs nothing more than your firm nipple to be happy, to share its joy. You can feel it beneath your T-shirt, a hungry yet satisfying word.

Lips leaps off the page and without pausing climbs your shirt. Four small letters, they march in unison, bent on higher elevations than the other word. You are amazed as the word-creature strides up your throat, leaving warm impressions where it steps but not pausing, not waiting. The word slips along your cheek and dives onto your lips, spreading itself to cover your mouth, breathing into you, teasing you with its daring. You swear Lips is moist and warm, and yet it’s merely a word. You drink from the word, savoring the taste, so much his taste, his Lips.

You unfold your legs as the night breeze soothes. Stroke slithers off the page, and you watch it worm under your shirt and down inside your jeans. You suck in your stomach a little to allow the word access, and it slides down your silk panties like a sled on ice. Oops, the word slides too far, tumbling down your thigh. You feel the word grab and slow on your inner thigh, on that favored bit of skin. Stroke nestles a moment against your thigh before it climbs up to those silken panties that suddenly seem moist. What kind of beast is this word that seeks your moisture? The word pushes inward on those panties until they absorb some of your wetness, until they are saturated with the essence of you. Then, the word sups at that soaked silk, licking again and again. Insatiable, the word crawls beneath the elastic and squirms toward the well of hot juice. Your legs spread automatically as Stroke quenches its thirst at your font, delving deep inside to sample the nectar. You close your eyes and let the words feed on your body.

Other words jump off the page and join their comrades. Kiss, Lick, Tongue, Pinch, and Knead frolic on your body like children on a playground. The words find spots and places to practice their special magic. Your dictionary body responds to the measured meanings, and you gush with fresh scent and juice. Still more words pour from the page, an army of words that dance and cavort to their pleasure and yours. The weight of them reminds you of him, of his body on yours, of him deep inside you. Your breath quickens. Your hips rise. Spasms ripple through you, and yet the words do not stop. They are tireless in their pursuit of meaning. Your hips pump harder and faster, perhaps trying to buck those words that hang on with renewed intensity. Faster, harder, your body responds to words in ways you never thought possible until you realize an orgasm is but moments away. The words anticipate your release, and in a symphony of concerted effort scramble to fulfill their destiny. Your body convulses with orgasmic power and purpose. The words scream with delight. You drift into that nether world where only feelings count.

As your body relaxes, the words slowly, reluctantly abandon you. One by one, they return to the page until only Caress is left. As the word works its way down your skin, you open your eyes. For a moment, you see his face next to yours, his bright eyes, cool smile. You smile as his face fades. The word appears from beneath your shirt and takes up his spot on the page. Your body shivers in postpartum delight. The orgasm was so much like him…the best of him. Only, he would want to do it again….again.

You smile.

Turning the page, you wonder….

He doesn’t smell like vanilla. No, the hand lotion smells like vanilla, the lotion he smears on your skin after the shower. He carries you to the bed and pours lotion into his hands, warming it before he applies it to your skin. You love the feel of his hands on you, how he massages the lotion all over. Neck, back, legs, tush. You love how he rubs your tush. You can feel his fingers, warm and slick with lotion. He takes his time and rubs deep, and the heat between your legs is suddenly a fire. You smell the vanilla, but your body burns with a need you swear comes from some red hot coals buried deep inside.

When he rolls you over and begins on your arms, you feel the moistness between your legs. He rubs each finger, your palm, forearm, shoulder. When he touches your hardening nipples, you bite your lip to keep from moaning. His hands circle and knead, and the vanilla scent drifts over you. Down your tummy, the hands move, taking care. Across the hips and those bones that lie near the skin, those sensitive bones. More lotion. When his hands leave your skin for the moments it takes to add lotion, you miss them. Wetter, hotter.

Down one thigh, smoothing the lotion deep. Over the knee, down the shin, around the ankle, each piggy toe. You want him to come back, to find that source of wet fire in your body, but he starts on the other foot. Toe, foot, ankle, knee, thigh. You burn and surely he’ll touch you now, won’t he? Vanilla is overpowering now, masking his scent, that musk you love. His hands leave your skin, and you want to look, but you can’t open your eyes. Where are those hands, those fingers?

They find you.

Slick, the fingers slip along your reservoir of fire. They spread you automatically and slide inside. They massage and touch and begin to stroke, and you feel yourself wet them, gush over them. Those vanilla fingers sink deep and roam and probe, searching. He lies down next to you, and you feel his warm breath on your breast. He reminds you of a dragon, hot breath and sharp teeth that find your nipple. His bite is firm but not hard, enough to pull but not to rip. The vanilla hand rubs you anew, and you squirm against it. Nothing feels like this. Dragon teeth nip and nibble.

Your hips rise against those fingers, stroking. You grab his shoulder and arm and begin to push harder, faster. The fingers probe deeper, harder, a piston of vanilla flavored power driving inside you. Lips and teeth plunder your nipples. You squeeze your thighs together as the fingers begin to fly. Faster and faster, harder, your body arches against him, searching for sweet release.

His hands were made for you, his touch designed to please you. You spurt and gush, and the fingers move with new frenzy. Hot breath washes over you. You clamp and squeeze as the orgasm rushes out. It’s as if the orgasm has to escape your body, shooting over his hand and arm, leaving you, draining you. For a moment, it’s as if your life force flies with your orgasm.

The spasms slow. The fingers touch gently. Lips find yours.

Vanilla. He smells of vanilla.

I had just started to get dressed as Max called from downstairs. “Are you ready, or are you still practicing that striptease act?”

“Almost,” I lied. I laughed as I threw on a short, cotton dress with spaghetti straps. I slipped on sandals and brushed through my hair as I stood in front of the mirror. I was getting more comfortable with clothes that showed off my firm breasts. I turned from side to side to see how they looked. Obvious, but not too obvious.

I tied my hair into a French twist and prayed the ride into town wouldn’t blow it to pieces. I started down the stairs and realized I had forgotten panties.

“Oops,” I said, turning around.

“Now what?” Max asked.

“One last thing,” I called. I quickly slipped on a pair of white, cotton bikinis.

“Very nice,” smiled Max, as I walked down the stairs. “I’ll go back and get my shotgun.”

“Stop teasing me.”

“Now there’s the pot calling the kettle black!”

“What?” I asked. He pulled his shirt down over one shoulder and gave me a coy wink. “Oh,” I laughed. “That.” I grabbed my purse.

“Yes, that. At least I was heading for the shower.”

“Was it fun?” I giggled as we climbed into the jeep.

“Not nearly as much fun as you.” Max satarted the engine. I grabbed the handle as he sped up the steep drive and turned toward town.

By the time we entered town, the sun was setting. The red sky reflected off the trees, filling the air with warmth and beauty. Max was cheerful and full of energy as we hopped out of the jeep and strolled toward the Buffalo Bar. The soft evening promised excitement and perhaps something more. Music poured out the door. My heart began to beat faster.

“I guess they start early on Saturday nights, huh?”

“Most of them have cows to milk in the morning,” joked Max.

The place was bustling. The pool tables were surrounded by players, the dance floor featured several couples moving slowly to the juke box, and the dinner tables teemed with hungry patrons. Ed waved from behind the bar. We waved back. I felt welcome despite the strangers, something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Where do you want to sit?” Max asked. “Table or bar?”

“I’m with you. You choose.”

Max headed to the bar and pulled out two stools near the center. A smooth, gleaming varnish showed Ed’s devotion to the old oak bar. I ran my fingers over the surface, relishing the feel.

“How are you doing, Max?” Ed wiped the counter and slid two coasters in front of us. “Evening, Jamie. Good to see you.”

“Hi Max,” I replied. “This is the hot spot tonight, huh?”

He laughed. “I don’t have much competition when it comes to dancing. It’s either here or the kitchen floor. Whaddya have to drink?”

“I’m in the mood for a vanilla coke,” I answered.

Max looked at me. “Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know,” I lied. I couldn’t reveal the story although if I did, I might discover if Margarite wrote the tale about him. “Like vanilla cokes?”

“I’d rather have a beer,” he said. “Draft.”

“One draft and one vanilla coke.” Ed walked away, and I swung my chair toward Max, tapping my knee against his leg. He tapped back gently and winked. He glanced at my breasts and let out a shallow sigh.

“What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“You’re grinning about something.”

“Wondering when I’ll get to be the guinea pig again.”

I smiled and looked away into the mirror. It was flattering knowing that he was attracted to me. I felt empowered. Ed returned with our drinks and dropped a couple of menus.

“You going to eat?” he asked.

“You bet,” answered Max. “I’ll have my usual.”

“What about you, Jamie?”

“I’ll have a salad and some French fries.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.” I sipped vanilla coke as Ed looked at Max and shrugged. Max smiled as Ed left for the kitchen.

“God, this is great!” I had forgotten how delicious a vanilla coke tasted.

Max watched but didn’t comment as he sipped his beer. In the mirror behind the bar, the band set up–a guitar, fiddle, and keyboard. The juke box kept the dancers happy, but I knew the small floor would get more crowded before the evening was over. The music had been country except for one Bruce Springstein song. I wondered if Max danced.

“Do you dance?”

“To this?” He rolled his eyes.

“No, in general. Like to dance.”

“Depends on my partner.” He winked.

“What does that mean?”

“Well, if she steps on my toes, I stay in my seat.”

“Do you line dance?” I had decided I was not going to make a fool of myself by pretending I knew the complicated steps. I couldn’t even follow jazzercize classes.

“No,” he laughed. “I’m too much of a klutz.”

“I bet you’re more graceful than I am.”

“Like a cow is more graceful than a skunk.”

The Springstein song ended, and a slow Clay Walker song started.

“Now that’s music.” Max tapped the bar.

“You can dance to that?” I teased.

“If I didn’t know better, Jamie, I’d think you were trying to get me to dance.”

“I’d love to.” I winked.

He sat his beer on the bar and took my hand, leading me through the couples already dancing. With one smooth movement, he pulled me into his arms. Before I knew it we were dancing. He held me firmly against him and lead me around the floor, which surprised me. I was expecting the same shyness on the dance floor. I relaxed and melted against him, and we flowed with the music. My face barely touched his chin, but our bodies pressed together as we glided. He was a better dancer than I had imagined.

I felt an erotic stirring. His firm grip on my waist, the smell of his neck, and the meeting of our bodies in rhythm with the music swept through me. I wanted to joke, to lighten the mood. I almost hoped he would stumble or step on my toes so we could laugh. Instead, he pulled me closer and brushed my forehead with a kiss. I closed my eyes and let myself be swept in his arms. When the song ended, he held me for a long moment. I pulled away and looked into eyes that were both wondrous and wonderful. It was a moment of truth, a moment when the eyes are clear windows to the soul. No subterfuge, no games, no slyness, an honesty of thought and desire that exhilarated. Max had thoroughly enjoyed the dance. Desire lit his eyes.

“Wow,” I sighed. “I could dance with you all night.”

Max smiled, almost embarrassed, and looked at the bar. “Let’s eat dinner first.”

As we reached our stools, a woman walked up and laid her hand on Max’s shoulder.

“I thought that was you.” She looked at me and smiled cautiously. Max froze for a moment and then stammered an hello.

“Tammy, this is Jamie.”

“Hi.” She smiled and held out her hand. “Max told me you were staying in the house this summer.”

I shook a warm, firm hand and smiled as we three looked at each other. “Max finally hauled me into town to see the bright lights.”

“Would you like to eat with Sheila and me?” She looked at our food on the counter. “We’ve got a table around the corner.”

Max looked helpless, and I wasn’t sure if I should say yes. “Sure.” I shrugged my shoulders at him as she walked toward her table. We grabbed our drinks and plates and followed. Max seemed anxious. I wasn’t sure if Tammy caused his anxiety or me, or both of us.

Tammy was pretty, with long, blond hair over her shoulders. She seemed pleasant as we sat at her table. Sheila, on the other hand, was well on her way to being drunk. She couldn’t hold her tongue.

After introductions, Sheila ran her fingers through her dyed blond hair and leaned back in her chair. “So you’re the hot little number the guys been talkin’ about.”

“The guys?” I asked.

“Riley and his amigos.” She was pleased to know more than the rest of us. “Riley was telling the pool hustlers about the new fox in town.”

I was embarrassed and didn’t know how to reply. Tammy and Max fidgeted awkwardly, but didn’t rescue me.

“I think Riley just likes to tell stories.”

“Yeah.” She sipped her drink. “No one’s that pretty.” She laughed, trying to turn the barb into a joke, but she didn’t fool anyone.

“I’m new,” I assured her. “Once the novelty wears off, the boys will move on to someone else.”

“Lord knows we don’t see much new around here,” slurred Sheila. “Tammy coming home was the most exciting thing all year, wasn’t it Max?”

“Pretty much,” Max mumbled, trying to lose the conversation in his Buffalo Burger. Sheila leaned close as if to whisper, but spoke in her normal tone.

“Max and Tammy were as hot as French fry grease before she left.”

“Sheila!” Tammy slammed her mug on the table. “Shut up and go play some pool.”

“Good idea.” Sheila stood and grabbed her drink and cigarettes. “Nobody’s gonna ask me to dance with her sittin’ close.” She staggered as she headed toward the pool tables.

“Sorry about that,” Tammy said. “She’s only obnoxious when she’s awake.”

“Have you two been friends long?” I asked.

“Forever.” She sighed. “We grew up here. I’ve known her since we were eight. She’s a good heart most nights. Foul mood tonight, though.”

“Why?”

“Her boyfriend decided he needed more ‘space’. She hates everybody right now.”

I nodded and took a bite of salad. We both looked at Max who was quietly finishing his dinner. He smiled but didn’t offer conversation.

“So what do you do here in town?” I asked Tammy.

“I was doing bookkeeping before I left, and I’m trying to pick up my old clients. I’m staying with my folks until I find a steady job and can afford my own place. Probably a month or two.”

“Do you have a lot of family around here?”

“Just about everybody. My brothers and sisters and most of my mother’s family. What about you?”

“No, Margarite was my only relative in the area.”

“Why does your family keep the house?”

“We like to come here for vacations, and it’s hard to sell Margarite’s house.” I looked at Max. “Besides, it would put Max out of a job.”

“Yeah, a real tough job.”

“Hey,” protested Max. “I work hard!”

“Yes, you do,” I agreed. “I can’t imagine how awful it would look if you weren’t around.”

The band started playing, and it became impossible to talk. We turned our chairs toward the band. While Max and I finished our dinner, the crowd poured onto the dance floor and started two-stepping. Some short man with a noticeable paunch tapped me on the shoulder. I politely declined his offer to “sashay with the other fillies.” When the song ended, Max asked me if I wanted another vanilla coke. I said I was ready for a glass of Zinfandel.

“Damn,” he pouted. “I thought you were the designated driver.”

He asked Tammy if she wanted anything. She was doing fine with her beer. By the time the band started again, he was off to the bar. A lanky man in tight jeans and a cowboy hat grabbed Tammy, and soon she was two-steppin’ with the best of them. I studied the dance. It looked easy, but somehow I didn’t think it would be.

Max returned as Tammy waved good-bye to the cowboy. Before he could sit, the band started a slow dance, and Tammy grabbed his arm. “Come dance with me.” She tugged his arm. He looked at me, and I waved him on, wishing it were me who walked to the dance floor on his arm. I tried not to stare, but they danced at the edge of the crowd, easily in view. Did he hold her as tightly as he had held me? Was he kissing her hair? Was she relishing the feel of his arms, the hardness of his body?

“Get a grip, Jamie,” I scolded myself. “You two are just friends.”

“There you are!” Riley yelled from across the room. He shoved his way through the crowd, and I braced for one of his bear hugs. “Why are you hiding in the corner?”

“I’m not hiding. I’m with friends… who happen to be dancing.” Riley sat and pulled his chair next to mine. He draped his arm around me as if we had been dating for months. I casually leaned away from him, but he read body language about as well as he read Arabic.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day, darlin’.” His eyes roamed dress and paused a little too long on my breasts.

“Oh really?”

“I’m sorry about this morning. I was as out of line as rooster in a pig sty.”

“It’s okay. Forget it.”

“Who wrote that stuff anyway?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged tried to change the subject. “So how are the cows?”

“As fat as a your Aunt Tessie after Thanksgiving dinner.” He beamed. “And the beef market has turned the corner and is heading up.”

“Was it down?”

“Honey, that damn cholesterol scare made beef a four letter word–which it is.” He laughed raucously, as if he had said something exceedingly clever.

The dance ended. Max and Jamie returned from the dance floor. Tammy seemed pleased that Riley evened out the boy – girl ratio, leaving her with Max. Max didn’t look so pleased.

“Hey Riley.” Tammy sat. “How’re you doing?”

“Great, just great. Hey Max!”

“Riley.” Max sat in a chair that had been moved by Riley.

“You ready to dance?” Riley asked, as the band kicked up a fast tune.

“I can’t dance to this stuff. Sorry.”

“Hell, anybody can dance to this. Come on.”

“No, really,” I protested. “Maybe Tammy.”

Tammy and Riley seemed surprised by my suggestion but shrugged their shoulders and headed off to the dance floor. Max winked and slid his chair a little closer.

“Nice work.”

“Thanks.”

I sipped wine and watched the crowd, but my gaze invariable returned to Max. I wondered if he watched Tammy and Riley. I wondered how he felt about her. Was he in love with her? She was still interested in him; that was obvious. The next song started. Tammy and Riley stayed out for another round. She looked good dancing. She had that sensuous sway that probably hypnotized men. Riley danced like a strutting bird, his bones and chin sticking out at odd angles. I wondered if he had ever seen himself on video tape. Probably not, or why would he dance that way? When they returned, Riley pulled me from my chair and took my hand.

“You’re dancin’ the next one,” he insisted.

“I told you, I don’t know how!”

“Hell, I’ll carry you around the floor. Now come on.”

The song wasn’t too fast. True to his word, Riley pulled me along until I learned the steps. The difficult part was dancing backwards around the floor.

“That’s not so hard, is it?” He pulled me closer and kissed me beneath my ear.

“No,” I admitted. “Kind of fun.”

Riley laughed. “You need to trust the old Riley, darlin’.”

He twirled me around. I squealed and almost fell. He grabbed me and pulled me closer. “You don’t get away that easy.”

We laughed as we followed the other pairs. I was enjoying myself more than I had believed possible.

“You’re just about the prettiest girl I’ve ever met.” He spoke in my ear and kissed my neck softly. “I can’t believe I’m dancing with you.”

“There are lots of pretty girls. You’ve just seen them all before.”

“None as fetchin’ as you.”

He twirled me around, and I felt I was in the tea cups at the fair, those things that spin faster and faster. At first it was fun, but then I started to feel dizzy.

“Stop,” I pleaded.

“Sorry.” He slowed down. “I love doing that.”

“I need to sit down,” I confessed.

“No, you’ll be okay.”

He pulled me into his arms and danced slowly. I fell against him and was glad to know he was strong enough to carry me to the table if I couldn’t walk. Encouraged when I didn’t resist, he pulled me tighter. My arms instinctively went around his neck.

“God, you feel great,” he whispered. I was confused by being so close, the rush of the same feelings I had enjoyed with Max. The closeness of our bodies moving to the music stirred some emotion deep in my being. Only, I wanted Max to be the one holding and whispering and nuzzling. When the music stopped, I insisted on the table. When I sat down, Max looked puzzled.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I think so. I got a little dizzy out there.”

Riley laughed. “She didn’t like spinning. Ain’t got her sea legs.” He gulped down beer and poured another from a pitcher that had appeared while we were dancing.

“Ooh, I love spinning,” laughed Tammy.

“The wine went to my head,” I said.

The band started another song. We sat quietly and watched. Max seemed edgy and I wanted to pull him aside. I didn’t know if he wanted to be alone with Tammy, or not be with her, or what. I had never learned the fine art of reading minds. When the next dance started, I insisted Riley use Tammy as his victim. I stayed with Max. We watched them twirl. It made me dizzy to even watch. The next song was slow, and I grinned as Riley glanced at me when Tammy wrapped her arms around him.

Max winked at me. “You feeling okay now?”

“Is that your way of asking me to dance?”

He stood, taking my hand and merging into the crowd. I returned to his arms and felt him pull me close. I sighed and melted into his chest. He kissed my cheek and cradled me.

“You doing okay?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know…you just seem a little lost.”

“Well, it’s strange to sit between a woman I used to love and one I’m falling in love with.”

My feet stopped, and I think my heart fluttered. I couldn’t believe he felt that way, let alone told me. I was dumbfounded.

“Oh Max, I…”

“Mind if I cut in?” asked Riley, tapping on Max’s shoulder. Tammy waited to take Max away. He looked torn, but I squeezed his hand

“As long as you promise not to twirl me,” I insisted as Max released me.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Riley pulled me tight and moved slowly across the floor. Once or twice, I caught Max’s eye. We winked at each other. I couldn’t think of anything except his words Riley didn’t exist. All I wanted was get home with Max and talk…or maybe make love. Oh God, was I ready?

When the song ended, Tammy pulled Max toward the pool tables. Riley steered me to our table. He ordered another glass of wine and refilled his mug as the band continued. We couldn’t see Max and Tammy; they were lost in the crush of bodies and haze of smoke. I could only think about Max’s comment. Riley tried to engage me in conversation between songs, but I wasn’t in the mood for trite flattery or bovine growth hormone statistics.

A couple of Riley’s friends sat down, and he introduced me.

“This is Jamie, boys. She’s all mine, so don’t try to ask her to dance.”

“Hell, I don’t feel like getting beat up tonight,” laughed Mike, the taller of the two. “Even though she is pretty enough to take a whoopin’ for.”

“Did we take somebody’s seats?” asked Paul.

“Max and Tammy are shootin’ a game of pool. They won’t mind.”

“Is she chasin’ Max again?”

“I reckon so.” Riley chugged his beer and smiled.

“Somebody ought to tell her that there’s some horses you just can’t ride.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Max is a loner,” explained Paul. “He’s as apt to get married as to grow another head.”

“Tammy wants a husband,” confirmed Riley.

“Bad!” laughed Mike.

“Didn’t she get divorced?” I asked.

“Even a better reason,” explained Riley. “She’s living back home with her folks.”

Riley and his friends had interesting theories about Max… and Tammy. I wondered if Max never married because he was a loner or if he was too sensitive to put his heart on the line. I wondered about Max’s inability to commit and his words on the dance floor. The three amigos chattered endlessly about ranches. I was relieved when I spotted Max and Tammy heading for the table.

“Hey Tammy,” Paul said, vacating her chair. Mike held the chair out for Max.

“That’s okay.” Tammy waved them down. “We’re leaving.”

Riley and Paul grinned at each other, and Mike chuckled.

I looked at Max, who shifted his weight anxiously behind her. “She came with Sheila who’s in no shape to drive,” explained Max. “Are you ready to go, or should I pick you up on my way home?”

“Oh… I’m… ah…” I stuttered. I couldn’t tell if he wanted me to come or not.

“Don’t worry about her,” insisted Riley. “I’ll take her home.”

Max waited for confirmation, and I felt trapped. I didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening with Riley. I wanted to go with Max. But everything was rapidly spinning out of control. Maybe he needed to spend some time alone with Tammy.

“I’ll see you back at the ranch.” I smiled my most reassuring smile.

I watched them slip into the crowd. Riley scooted his chair closer, pleased with the developments. Mike and Paul stayed, but left periodically to ask the available women to dance. When a slow song played, Riley asked very politely if I would honor him with a dance. Resigned to try and enjoy myself, I slipped into the knot of couples on the floor..

He held me closer than I would have preferred, but it was easy to lose myself in the music. I was attracted to him physically. He was good looking, big and strong, with a powerful appearance. But mentally and emotionally our connection was weak, insipid. If I never saw him again, it would be OK.

The second slow song kept us on the dance floor. When I didn’t think it was possible for him to hold me any tighter, he did. I felt a stirring in his cock, and he rubbed against me in a way that left no doubt that he was excited. I didn’t want to encourage him, but it was impossible to move away. And that hardness seemed impossible to ignore. I attributed my heightened sexual sensitivity to Margarite’s stories. Despite my brain telling me to go slow, my body enjoyed being rubbed, making contact with him. I was beginning to understand why some psychologists considered sex to be the most powerful force in the universe. By the time the song ended, we were both breathing heavy.

“I’m getting kind of tired,” I said, wanting to leave.

Riley grinned like used car salesman taking stock of a first time buyer. “I wouldn’t mind leaving myself.”

I didn’t like where his mind was heading, but Max would be home by the time we arrived. Riley seemed capable of driving. We waved good-bye to his friends and left. He drove a big, white pick-up, and opened the door. Like a gentleman, he closed the door after I climbed in. I wondered if he had some redeeming qualities after all.

The streets were empty. Anyone who wasn’t at the Buffalo Bar was asleep. I had forgotten what small towns were like late at night. Big cities never slept. Big cities were insomniacs that remained ungoverned by any natural clock. Small towns were different. Small towns slept and awakened, taking cues from sun and birds. The natural rhythm soothed me. Empty sidewalks weren’t a waste of resources. I settled in the seat. I felt at home. I was surprised when Riley pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store on the edge of town.

“I’ll be right back.” He jumped out of the truck and ran inside. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the door. The wine had added a warm tint to the evening. Mellow, I was ready for sleep. When Riley returned, he handed me a sack. Inside was a six-pack of beer.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

“Well, we ain’t done partying, are we?”

“I’m really tired.”

“It’s only 11:30, Jamie. The night is a pup.”

He pulled out and headed down the road. We were quiet for awhile, and then he started talking about his ranch, his plans for expansion. After a few minutes, I realized I didn’t recognize anything.

“Is this a different way to Margarite’s house?”

“No, I wanted to show you one of my favorite spots.”

“What kind of spot?”

“You’ll see…”

Anxiety awakened me and erased that warm haze. I didn’t feel comfortable being alone with Riley. Maybe it was the experience back at the house, maybe it was the dancing, maybe it was my own sexual bugaboo that flashed red every time I was alone with a sexy man. I didn’t know, but the feeling was real and uncomfortable. What kind of spot?

The truck bounced along the highway as Riley told me about his horse, Bullet, a black stallion that had won awards. Not only did Riley enter the horse in every state contest, he bragged about what a stud Bullet was. He laughed saying that his horse got laid more than he did…and was paid for it to boot. I laughed too. Before long, he turned by a sign that read Castle Rock.

“What’s Castle Rock?”

“Our lover’s lane.” Riley winked. I gave him a cold stare and shook my head.

“Why are we going there, Riley?”

“It’s a pretty spot to look at the stars and relax.”

“We can do that on my front porch.”

“No with this view…just wait.”

The road climbed up and up until it leveled at the entrance to a large parking area. With no other cars were in sight, he cut the lights and crawled to the barrier at the edge of the cliff. The lot overlooked the valley, and with the moon nearly full, miles of ranches and farms stretched before us.

“Wow,” I gasped. “That’s incredible.”

“Pretty neat, huh?” Riley grabbed a beer from the bag and took a long pull. “Want one?”

“No thanks.”

“I’m surprised this place isn’t packed.”

“Is it usually busy?”

“Probably will be in another hour. Sometimes though, there’s just too many people around to have any fun…know what I mean?”

I wasn’t sure Riley’s idea of fun was the same as mine. “What’s fun for some people isn’t fun for others.”

He placed the sack on the floor and scooted next to me. “Some folks make out up here.”

Alarms went off inside me as he wrapped his arms around me. Before I could react, his lips were planted on mine, and his tongue was searching my mouth. I pressed against his chest in hopes of pushing him away, but his kisses were persistent. My emotional reactions confused me as I felt both repulsed and excited at the same time.

His hand slid down my side and down my dress until it discovered my bare leg. He squeezed as he bit my lip and moaned.

“Riley…” I panted.

“Oh God, you kiss great.” He brought his mouth on top of mine. I was protesting, but only mildly as his hand inched up my bare leg. His body pressed against mine as I leaned back against the seat and door. When his hand started groping between my legs, I squealed and pulled away.

“Riley, slow down…”

“I can’t.” He kissed my neck. He lowered his mouth over my chest until he was biting my nipple through the fabric. Shock couldn’t begin to describe my response. He was moving so quickly that I was lost in a revolving door of feelings. My body betrayed me. When his hand slipped higher, it found wet panties.

“Oh yeah…” He pressed against my clit while he bit at my breasts.

“Riley!” I grabbed his head and pushed it away. “Stop…”

“God baby,” he panted, kissing my neck and cheek as I turned away. “You’re so hot.” His hand rubbed my clit as I shoved him back.

“Stop, Riley!” I grabbed his arm but couldn’t move it. “I don’t want to…” It was like a deja vu of my college date rape. I started to panic.

“You’re panties are soaked, Jamie.” He moved the elastic aside and slipped a finger inside my pussy. I gasped as he pressed deeper and massaged the vaginal wall. “You love every minute.”

“Riley, stop!” I swung my free hand and slapped his face. He stopped, stunned at my reaction. His fingers were moving out of my panties as he studied me. I didn’t have much experience with men. I didn’t know what to expect. I was afraid he would get mad, but he grinned instead.

“Check this out.” He unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, and pulled out his cock, which was big and hard with its dark head shinning with pre cum. “Look how hard.” He stroked his cock and grabbed my hand to put it on his cock

“Stop it,” I said, pulling away. “Take me home.”

“I can’t drive like this.” He pulled his beer out of the drink holder and took a few swallows. His cock throbbed all on its own.

“You could at least kiss it for me.” He stroked it and looked at me. “Like to suck cock?”

“No!” I tried not to look, but whenever he took his hand off, it jerked up and down.

“I bet you do…look how bad old Pete wants you….” He squeezed it and groaned. “God I’m so hard it aches….come and suck it for me.”

“Riley, take me home,” I pleaded. “I’m not interested in how hard your cock or your brain is.”

He chugged beer until the can was empty. “I told you, I can’t drive like this.”

“Forget it!” I opened the door. “I’ll walk home.”

I got out and headed down he dark road. Leaving was probably a stupid thing to do. Not only couldn’t I see, I didn’t know where I was or in which direction lay home.

“Goddammit, Jamie!” yelled Riley. “Come back here.”

I started running when I realized he was out of his truck and coming after me. Either the hard on or the beer slowed him. I had run for a couple minutes when I heard his truck. I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want to be abandoned in the woods, but I didn’t want to get back in the truck either. I slipped into the woods and hid behind a tree. My heart was racing as he passed. I waited behind the tree until he was out of sight.

The moon cast enough light to see the road, but I felt creepy in the woods alone. I tried not to think about mountain lions or wild animals and held my arms tightly. Ten minutes later, I heard a vehicle coming up the hill. It was probably Riley looking for me. I found a tree and hid.

As the lights drew closer, the sound of my heart beat in my ears. The engine was different from Riley’s truck. When the vehicle turned the corner, it turned out to be a car, not Riley’s truck. I jumped out and waved. The headlights were so bright that I couldn’t see who drove. Luckily, the car stopped, and the driver emerged–a highway patrol officer.

“What on earth are you doing out here?” he asked.

I started to cry. My whole world crashed in on me, and I couldn’t answer his question.

“It’s okay.” He put his arms on my shoulder as I sobbed into my hands.

“Please take me home…” I sobbed. “Please.”

“Come on.” He leading me to his cruiser. “Get in and you can tell me what this is all about.”

He drove to the top, turned around, and headed back down.

“So what happened?” He glanced at me while maneuvering down the hill.

“I was with this guy,” I explained, wiping the tears away from my cheeks. “He got carried away.”

“Did he rape you?” It was almost a whisper.

“Well… no….”

“Did he hurt you in any way?”

“No…” I realized I didn’t have a case against Riley unless I had actually been raped despite my protests.

“Were you afraid that he might?”

I started to cry again, and he stopped his questions. We drove in silence . As we reached the main highway, Riley’s truck turned into the road. Riley spotted me as he passed.

I wondered if he was scared now. Scared like I was scared when I was alone with him. I knew he would worry all night, waiting for that knock on the door, rehearsing his story over and over. Every sound would spook him, every passing vehicle cause his heart to race a little faster. I hoped he didn’t sleep a minute. As far as I was concerned, he was a prick. I wished he had left some mark on me so I could have him arrested.

The ride seemed to take forever. I had revealed my name but didn’t rat on Riley. I didn’t want to make a small town even smaller. I didn’t know what story I would tell Max. The officer would demand some sort of explanation. When we pulled up into the driveway, the headlights illuminated dark house. Max’s car waited.

“Is anybody home?” the trooper asked.

I pointed to the cottage. “My friend lives there.”

“Do you want me to go inside and make sure everything’s safe?”

I wanted Max to go inside with me, but I wasn’t sure he was alone. What if he had brought Tammy back? Everything was too confusing.

“I guess so…”

We could hear the police radio half way across the lawn. The headlights lit our path. As we reached the porch, Max came running out of the cottage.

“Jamie! Are you okay?”

“Max…” I fell into his arms. Once again I was reduced to tears and couldn’t speak.

“She’s had a rough night,” the officer said. “She didn’t tell me much about it.”

“What happened Jamie?” Max lifted my face. I shook my head and buried my face in his chest.

“Will you be here all night?” the officer asked.

“Yes,” replied Max, holding me tight.

“I don’t think she should be left alone.”

“I’ll be here. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem. Here’s my card. If she wants to talk or press charges, have her call me.”

Max seemed confused but took the card. We went into the house as he drove away.

“What happened?” Max closed the door. “Where’s Riley?”

“I don’t know.” I sat on the couch and closed my eyes. “He probably went home or back to the bar.”

Max sat next to me and put his arm around my shoulder. I leaned into him and rested my head on him.

“He’s like that guy back in college…”

“Wait a minute.” Max looked into my eyes. “Tell me what happened.”

I sniffled and began. “We danced for awhile. We left about an hour after you. Riley picked up a six-pack because he wanted to keep partying. I said I was tired and wanted to go home. I didn’t realize he was driving in the wrong direction. He drove to some look-out lane…”

“Castle Rock?”

“Yes, Castle Rock. He parked and started drinking. The next thing I knew he was kissing me and…trying to…touch me.” I didn’t want to reveal that Riley had pushed his fingers inside me. I didn’t want to admit how wet I had been. I didn’t want to describe that hard cock or how it glistened in the moonlight.

“What did you do?”

“I slapped him and told him to stop, but he wouldn’t. So I jumped out and started walking.”

“In the woods?” Max’s voice showed his disbelief.

“I was scared. When he tried to follow, I hid. He drove away. Fortunately, the highway patrol came by.”

Max leaped to his feet and stormed toward the door.

“Where are you going?” The last thing I wanted was to be alone.

“To beat the living shit out of Riley Collins.” His hand was on the door knob as I jumped from the couch.

“Max wait! Please don’t pick a fight.” I held his arm. “I don’t know that he would have hurt me. Maybe it’s just my hang-ups.”

“Jamie, there’s no excuse. The sonofabtich should have brought you home like you asked.”

“Max please…” I slid my arms around his waist. “Don’t leave me alone.”

He peered into my eyes a moment before he took his hand off the door knob. “Jamie this isn’t over.”

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow, okay?” I smiled to let him know I was all right.

“Okay.”

I moved in for a hug, and he held me. His mind ranged elsewhere, on Riley and revenge.

“Can I stay at your place tonight?” I asked.

“I can stay here if you like.”

“No, I’m afraid Riley might come if he’s drinking. I’d rather stay with you.”

“Let the bastard come.” He half smiled. “No, not tonight. Tomorrow is soon enough.”

We walked arms around waists to his cabin. The moon was high, lighting our way. His television was on, and he turned it off. We stood awkwardly, not exactly sure of how to proceed.

“Mind if I take a shower?” I wanted to scrub the memories of Riley’s hands from my body.

“Of course not. Come on. He didn’t hurt you, right?”

“He didn’t hurt me.”

I followed as he started the water, adjusting the temperature before closing the shower door. “Here’s a clean towel. Need anything else?”

“No, thanks…” I waited for him to leave before I locked the door. Then I stripped off my dress and panties. I stepped into the shower and melted under the heat. The evening had been a combination of highs and lows that had exhausted me. I was happy to be safe. I stood under the water for long minutes and then dried off. Suddenly, I realized I didn’t have any clean clothes. I wrapped a towel around me and opened the door. Max was straightening out the bed.

“Do you have a shirt or something?”

“Sure.” He opened a dresser drawer. “T-shirt?”

“Perfect.” I walked over and picked out a long one. He turned his back so I could slip it over my head. The bottom that barely covered my butt. I hung up my towel in the bathroom as Max stood in the doorway.

“Want me to sleep on the couch?” he asked.

“No.” I walked over to him. I smiled sheepishly. “Do you want me to sleep on the couch?”

He chuckled and touched my cheek. “No.”

“This has been a crazy night, Max…”

“I know.”

“I want you to hold me.”

“Come on” He turned out the light and walked me to his bed. The full moon cast a romantic spell over the room. I crawled under the sheet as he slid off his clothes. He pulled me into his arms and held me close. I felt so safe. He brushed my hair away from my forehead and kissed it gently. I raised my face and met his kiss with my lips.

It started as a sweet kiss, soft and sensuous. Then it lingered and deepened, building energy until it exploded with passion. Neither of us pulled away. Our bodies yearned for more. Max rolled me on top of him while we kissed. He cupped my bare ass with his hands. I rubbed against his cock and relished its hardness. Moans and sighs filled the room as we teased and touched. He chuckled and I looked at him.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“You’re letting me use my hands.”

“I know…” I, slid myself to a sitting position on top of him. “And I’m also going to let you make love to me.”

“Are you sure…after all you’ve been through?”

I laid on top of him and kissed him deep. “Yes.”

He rolled me over and pulled off my T-shirt, leaving me gasping as his lips traveled down my body. He sucked each nipple until it stood rigidly and ached for more. My whimpering continued with him licking and nibbling downward until he was poised between my legs. I died when he reached that magic zone. His tongue elated my clit and pussy lips, as it twirled inside the folds.

“Oh yes…” I moaned. “Right there. Oh God, that feels so good.” I pressed my hips up for more. “Please don’t stop. Yes, right there.” I squirmed beneath his mouth, gradually coming closer and closer to orgasm. Max held my legs tight and buried himself deeper when he sensed my explosion. When I finally came, I screamed and shook beneath him, writhing to wring out the last drop of pleasure.

“Oh Max.” He crawled into my arms. “Make love to me.”

He opened a side drawer and dug around until he found a condom. “Thank God! I wasn’t sure I had one.” I grinned as he rolled it over his cock. He moved between my legs and kissed my breasts as he rubbed himself over my pussy lips.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

I cupped his face in my hands and kissed him softly. “Yes… “

He pushed his cock inside and moaned as it slid through the moist opening. Determined to go slow, he used gentle strokes while kissing my lips and neck. I was surprised at how good he felt. I had slept with exactly two men before I had been raped. Sex hadn’t felt this passionate with either of them.

“Oh God, fuck me, Max…it feels like heaven.”

“Jamie…” Max called my name as he kissed my lips. He was still cautious as he pushed in deeper, lifting my legs and opening me wider.

“Oh yes… oh yes… deeper,” I moaned. I suddenly became wild squirming and pressing for more of his cock. Some part of me hardly believed it was me in that bed, that this wanton, hormone driven woman could possibly be the frigid creature who had broken an engagement rather than have sex. I didn’t let my mind examine what was happening. Under the microscope of reason, I might still freeze like a doe in the headlights. I knew it was better to let go, to let the passion and desire have their course.

Max smiled as he fucked me, pleased by my reaction to the experience.

“Oh!” I squealed, realizing that I was close to orgasm again. “Oh…right there…harder…”

He didn’t hold back. He fucked me hard as I came all over his cock, surprised by my body and the intense feeling. The pulsing of my pussy proved too much for him, and he started to pump.

“Oh God, Jamie…I can’t hold it…”

“Fuck me, Max…” I cried. “Come inside of me.”

He buried his head in my neck and lunged his cock deep, groaning with each thrust as he came. Neither of us wanted to stop the pleasure. Even as we slowed and held each other, the passion welled so intense that I could have made love to him all night. Our kissing resumed, this time mixed with smiles and giggles, moans and sighs.

“That was great…” I cooed.

“It’s kind of hard to believe that you were afraid of sex.”

I laughed and snuggled closer. “You’ve cured me.”

“The guinea pig wins again,” teased Max.

“You’re certainly no guinea pig.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that was not an experiment…at least not for me.”

“What was it?” His voice was timid, as if afraid to know the truth.

“I did it because I feel safe with you, and because I’m attracted to you.”

“Attracted to a pig?” he teased.

“Oh stop!” I tickled him, and it started a wrestling match. By the time we stopped, Max had me pinned. His handsome face smiled down. He looked at me for the longest time and then sighed.

“I’m headed for trouble with you, Jamie.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to fall in love with you, and you’re going to leave for New York.”

I searched his eyes. He told the truth. But it was a two-way street. I was heading in the same direction.

“Let’s not think about that, okay?” He kissed my chin. “This has been a crazy day. I want to end it on an up note.”

“You want to scream again?” teased Max.

“Hmm…have any more condoms in that drawer?”

Max laughed and released me. He turned on his lamp and opened the side drawer. “Looks like we got lucky only once.”

“Just my luck,” I laughed. “Now that I want sex, there are no condoms.”

“I’ll go buy a month’s supply tomorrow.” Max headed toward the bathroom. “Ought to take care of us for a few days.”

I chuckled and rolled onto my tummy. My body felt great. Every nerve ending tingled. I felt loved. When Max returned, he snuggled behind me and kissed my shoulder.

“Good night, Babe…”

“Night, Max….thanks for everything.”

“I’m the one that should be saying thanks.”

I yawned. “Well, we can argue that point in the morning.”

Max chuckled and relaxed. I was suddenly exhausted. Even the reoccurring thought of Max’s deepening love wasn’t enough to keep me awake.

The cawing of Blue Jays outside the window woke me from a peaceful sleep. I stretched and rolled over to find an empty bed. Lifting my head, I listened for sounds of Max, but I heard nothing. I groaned with disappointment and buried my head in the pillow. Where was he? Had he gone for a morning run?

I ran my arms over the sheets where he had slept and remembered the passion and tenderness of the night before. Rolling over and grinning at the ceiling, I relished the fact that for once in my life I felt complete. I could call myself a woman. I wasn’t frigid, or a freak, or a bitch, or any of the names men had used when I froze like three year old entering a dark room. I was a sensual, sexual woman, and a hot one last night.

Perhaps the scars had finally healed. Maybe the process of writing the book and exploring sex had allowed me to trust myself…and him. My therapist was right after all. I would be normal again. I would feel the energy of rebirth. I wanted to sing and dance. I was alive.

I threw off the covers and jumped from the bed. If Max could run, I could make breakfast. I stretched and skipped to the kitchen. Glancing out the window, I noticed Max’s jeep was gone. I stopped.

“That’s odd,” I thought. “Where would go so early in the morning?” Then the truth hit me. He left to even the score with Riley!

“Oh Shit!” Fighting was so male and so typical. Why couldn’t men get over it? Why did they have to always level the scales? Stupid, as if I would respect him less. Stupid! I had to stop him, but what could I do? I didn’t have a car, not that I had any idea where Riley tended those herds of beef.

I left the cabin and walked to the main house. Wanting to get dressed before making coffee, I headed for the bedroom. I had slipped on jeans and a white T-shirt when the phone rang downstairs. I raced down and caught it on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Jamie?”

“Yes…”

“This is Officer Moorehead from the Sheriff’s department. “I was calling to see if you were all right and if you wanted to talk about what happened last night at Castle Rock.”

“Oh, that.” I suddenly realized he was the one who had driven me home.

“Not such a big deal this morning?” His tone of jest made me laugh.

“When you said you were from the Sheriff’s department, I thought it was something else.”

“How are you doing this morning? Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Have you thought about pressing charges?”

“No.” I hesitated. “I really couldn’t charge him with anything more than scaring me.”

“You acted like he did a lot more than that.”

“I really don’t want to talk about. I’d rather just forget the whole thing.”

“What about your friend?” he asked.

“You mean Max?”

“Yes, the one who lives in the cottage. He seemed a little upset last night.”

“Um…I don’t know. He was gone when I got up this morning.”

“Where do you think I might find him?”

“Why?”

“He seemed to know who you were with.”

I knew he was trying to get me to tell him Riley’s name, but I wasn’t sure I wanted him to know.

“Why are you protecting this guy? Do you like him?”

“No!” I shot quickly. “He’s a pig!”

“Then tell me his name.”

Suddenly he made sense. I would die if anything happened to Max.

“Riley Collins.”

“I should have figured that out myself.” He grunted with disgust. “You’re not the first lady he’s “scared.”

“You mean he’s done this to other women?”

“Yep. Specially when he’s been drinkin’.”

Anger boiled inside me. The man had abused women before and continually gotten away with it. He would continue to get away with it unless somebody did something.

“Has anyone ever pressed charges?”

“Nope, most are like you. They want to forget about it.” He paused and then continued. “And I guess some like to be treated that way.”

“Has he ever hurt anyone?”

“Not that I know of. He hasn’t hit anyone or anything. But he has forced himself on a few women. Like I said, when he’s been drinkin’.”

I thought about his kisses and sticking his hand up my dress. I thought about him stroking his cock in the dark and asking me to suck it. The phone was silent until the officer spoke again.

“Want to tell me what happened?”

“Well, he kissed me…”

“Did you want him to kiss you?”

“No, he slid over and put his arm around me and before I knew what had happened, he was kissing me.”

“What did you do?”

“I tried to push him away, but he’s too big…”

“Then what happened?”

“Then he slid his hands up my dress…and starting biting my breasts through my dress.”

“What did you do?”

“I told him to stop. That he was going too fast.”

“Then?”

“He pulled my panties away and…”

“And?”

“And pushed his fingers inside me.”

The office cleared his throat. “I see… and what did you do then?”

“I slapped him and told him to take me home.”

“But he didn’t stop…”

“No, he didn’t” I took a deep breath and continued. “He opened his trousers and pulled out his… thing.”

“Okay…”

“He tried to get me to touch it and…you know…”

“Have oral sex?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?”

“I told him to take me home.”

“And?”

“He said he couldn’t drive in that condition.”

“So what happened then?”

“That’s when I got out and started walking.”

“He left you there?”

“He didn’t have much choice. I hid in the woods until he was gone.”

“I don’t know whether you’re smart or stupid,” he laughed. “But I guess you did the right thing. Weren’t you scared?”

“Terribly, but I really don’t feel I can press charges.”

“There’s certainly nothing right about what he did,” stated the officer. “But you’re right. He wouldn’t get more than a hand slap from the judge.”

“I’m afraid he might get more than that from Max.”

“What?”

“Max, my friend, I think he went to visit Riley this morning.”

“Damn, why didn’t you say so? Want someone to get hurt?”

“I…of course not. I…”

“Never mind. I don’t have time right now. I have to get out to Riley’s before the 911 call comes in.”

“You’ll let me know what happens?”

His answer was a dial tone. I stared at the receiver before I cradled it. What had I done? Had I put Max in harm’s way? Officer Moorehead sounded concerned. Did Riley have a reputation for fighting? I was glad someone was going to check on Max and Riley. Riley was bigger, and although Max was no runt, he was no match for Riley. Why had Max disappeared anyway? Men were so stupid about pride.

I made a pot of coffee and looked for the morning paper. It was amazing how I had grown used to Max’s routines. The paper was nowhere in sight. I walked to the living room and sat on the couch. The folder containing the erotic therapy still rested on the side table. I picked it up. Flipping through the folder, I realized there was only one story left to read. If it didn’t tell me who the author was, I would probably never find out.

She closed her eyes, listened to the birds, and imagined his hands on her. How would they feel at first light? She knew how they felt at night, that fevered tenseness of his fingers as he roamed her body. His hands were predators at night. They treated her body like home territory, touching and rubbing and caressing and massaging, owning her. Night hands found her responding quickly and wetly, her need running close to the surface, her skin thinly stretched over the passion beneath. Night love seemed easy.

Dawn love? She imagined his hands on her back. These weren’t predator hands. These were explorer hands, hands treating her as new territory, as something never before experienced. Tentative, prayerful, the fingers tiptoed across her skin. Was she a bundle of passion, or were the fires banked for the night, a single ember the only relic of the night. Yes, his hands would be bird-like in the morning. His fingers would coo and trill and soothe, sending out a question and waiting for an answer. Those wonderful exploratory hands would slide down her back and across her tush, touching, kneading. A supplicant finger would slide down between her buns and touch her, wondering if her body had begun to respond.

This wasn’t some dog lapping her juice but a rabbit tasting, sipping. This was a lark hopping about, nibbling. She could feel the beak-like finger slipping inside her, ready to retreat if she wasn’t ready. But she was ready, and the fearful little bird wormed inside her. She felt his warm breath on her back. A tongue licked tentatively at her skin, tasting as a chef tastes a sauce. No lapping, the tongue sips her, savoring the nuances of her body. She can stop him at any time, and nothing would be wrong. This isn’t night fever but dawn breakfast, a light repast to break the night’s fast.

The timid bird bathes in her juice. The light tongue draws dappled designs on her back. Squeezing the little beast, she feels the morning warm. That tippling tongue dances up her back over her neck, around her ears. Her body gushes. Her orgasm ripples through her. No big splash, this orgasm is a pebble tossed into the pond of her emotions, small ripplets spreading evenly from the epicenter of her body.

His lips find her neck. The small beastie retreats. She floats in the early morning, content for the moment with the ripples. The waves will come later. For now, she listens to the birds and silently thanks him for attention. Dawn love. Delicious in its delicacy.

So I wasn’t going to discover who wrote the stories. Frustration made me frown. I wanted to know whose mind had concocted those erotic scenes. I guessed Margarite had penned the vignettes. But for who? Max? Margarite had been at least ten years older than Max…but then Max was ten years older than me. Did age make any difference?

I wish I had the nerve to ask, but Max might think I was jealous…or nosy. Perhaps Margarite had taught him to be a tender lover. Perhaps she had taught him how to please a woman with his tongue. God, he was good at that. But had he ever loved her? I wondered.

The day grew longer as I waited for Max to return. I tried to work on my book, but my concentration was lost. I spent most of the day cleaning the house, which was always my therapy when I was upset about something. Perhaps a messy house reflects a messy mind.

At times I paced the floor and stared at the phone waiting for word. I even contemplated calling Officer Moorehead to find out if he had seen Max, but each time I talked myself out of it. If Max wasn’t with Riley, he would be totally embarrassed by me calling around looking for him. At one point I had myself convinced that his disappearance had nothing to do with Riley, but his reaction to how close we became the night before. I thought that maybe this is what Max does when he gets to close. Maybe he runs away. Maybe Riley’s friends were right.

Finally around three in the afternoon, his jeep pulled into the drive. I ran to the screen door and watched him walk from the truck. When he saw me at the door, he turned and came toward the house. He was walking slow, and I searched his body for signs of pain as I walked out to the porch to meet him.

“Hi. I was worried about you.” I searched his eyes for answers, and found a clue in the swollen gash above his left eye.

“Sorry,” he said, trying to smile. “I didn’t realize I’d be gone this long.”

“What happened?”

“Well I ran into Riley…”

As he reached the spot where I was standing on the porch, he put his arms around my waist. I reach up and pushed his hair back, admiring his battle scar.

“Looks like he ran into you too.”

“Yeah a little…”

I kissed him gently on the lips and held him tight. He let out a low groan and I pulled away.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a little sore.”

“Come on,” I said, taking his hand and leading him into the house. “I think you need to sit down.”

We went into the living room and Max sat on the couch. I went to the kitchen and retrieved a towel full of ice to put on his swollen eye.

“So what happened?” I repeated.

“I drove by Riley’s to have a word with him.” He winced as I placed the ice on his eye.

“And?”

“He was still asleep when I got there, and he didn’t like the way I woke him up.”

“How did you wake him up?”

“I pour a bucket of cold water on him while he was in bed.” He grinned, pleased with his ingenuity, and I laughed.

“I bet that was a rude awakening.”

“Yeah, he came flyin’ out of bed, cussin and hollerin’. I told him what a real piece of shit he was for what he tried to do to you last night and that he owed you a big apology.”

“I won’t hold my breath for that.”

“Oh, I think you’ll be surprised.” He laughed, and then grabbed his side. “Damn, it hurts to laugh.”

“I take it your head isn’t the only thing Riley ran into…”

“Um… no,” he said, rubbing his ribs.

“Why do you think I’ll be surprised?” I asked.

“Cause Riley’s in jail and the Sheriff doesn’t plan on letting him out until he gives you a formal apology.”

I laughed and shook my head. “I take it Officer Moorehead ran into Riley too.”

“Yes,” he sighed, “and I’m mighty grateful he did, cause I was in sore need of a friend about the time he showed up.”

“Max why did you go over there? You didn’t have to prove anything to me.”

“I wasn’t proving anything to you, Jamie. I was letting Riley know that he can’t walk all over women the way he does.”

“So what happened? How did Riley end up in jail?”

“He and I were fightin’ like a couple of bulls when Tom Moorehead got there. He tried to pull Riley off of me and Riley turned around and swung at him before he knew what he was doing. Old Tom had his club in his hand and damn near split Riley’s head open with it. Riley went down like a dead mule and Tom cuffed him. He arrested him with the charge of attempting to assault an officer.”

“I can’t believe it…”

“I was a bit surprised myself. Tom acted madder than me.”

“Well, he had called here this morning and wanted to talk about what happened last night. I told him I was worried that you had gone over there. When I told him it was Riley, he said he wasn’t surprised, that Riley had done the same thing with other women. He said he was going to go that way and have a talk with him. I guess I’m really glad he did.”

“Anyway,” groaned Max, shifting his body on the couch, “I had to go down to the Sheriff’s office and fill out a bunch of forms and act as a witness to what happened. That’s where I’ve been the last few hours. Before I left, Tom said he would make sure you got a formal apology from Riley before he would be released.”

“Well, I hope it teaches him a lesson.”

Max closed his eyes and I looked down at his face. He was so handsome. I leaned over and kissed his cheek and he smiled, keeping his eyes closed.

“I hope it taught you a lesson too.”

“What?” he asked defiantly, turning his face toward mine.

“Pick on guys your own size!”

“Pfft, he’s not that big.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Well,” I sighed, carefully snuggling into his arms. “Thank you for trying to defend my honor.”

He smiled at me and kissed the tip of my nose. “You’re worth defending.”

We started to kiss and I felt the passion stirring. His hand caressed my side as our lips stayed pressed together. I wanted nothing more than to go upstairs and make love to him.

“I don’t suppose in all your valor that your happened to stop by the drug store today.”

“Actually,” laughed Max, “I did… on my way home. But I think I my ribs might be too sore to put them to any use right now.”

“Oh Max,” I sighed. “Do you think they’re broken?”

“Just one.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, the Sheriff made me go and have x-rays done.”

“You have a broken rib?” I sat up and looked at him in disbelief. “Why didn’t you say something?” I jumped up from the couch and stood in front of him. “Lay down for Pete’s sake. How on earth did you drive yourself home?”

“I’m okay, Jamie,” he insisted. “I just need to take it easy for a few days.”

“Max please, humor me,” I begged. “Lay down and get comfortable.”

“Okay.. okay….” he groaned, lifting his feet up on the couch and laying down on the pillow. I untied his shoes and pulled them off.

“Can I get you something?” I asked. “Do you need anything for pain?”

“I’d love a beer if you wouldn’t mind running over to my place to get me one.”

“No problem,” I said, turning toward the door. “Anything else?”

“No, I took some Advil at the clinic.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

I walked briskly over to the cabin and grabbed a couple of beers from Max’s refrigerator. The phone rang just as I started to leave. I hesitated, not sure if I should answer it or not. By the third ring I decided to pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Oh… hi… is this Jamie?” It was a woman’s voice.

“Yes.”

“Oh, this is Tammy.”

“Oh hi.”

“Is Max there?”

“Well, he’s over at the house right now. I just came over to get him a beer.”

“Gee wiz, I guess he’s got you waiting on him.”

I really didn’t want to tell her about everything that had happened, so I tried to just gloss over her comment.

“Don’t they all.” I joked. “Can I have him call you back?”

“Oh sure,” she hesitated, “If he wants to.”

“Okay, I’ll tell him.”

“Bye.”

I hung up the phone and walked back to the house. When I entered the living room, Max was still laying on the couch, but propped up into a sitting position and looking at the folder of erotic stories. I froze in my tacks when he looked up at me.

“Where’d you find this?” he asked, looking back down at the stories.

“Up in the attic,” I said, popping a beer and handing it to him. “In was in one of the boxes of Margarite’s writings. Have you ever seen it before?”

“A long time ago…” He had a whimsical smile on his face. “Although I never read the contents, but I had a pretty good idea of what was in it. I guess I just felt kind of weird reading it.”

“Did Margarite write that stuff?”

“Yep,” he said, tossing the folder onto the table.

I had a million questions and yet bit my tongue to ask any of them. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to know the answers.

“Why would you feel weird reading it?”

“Because she wrote it about my father.”

My head buzzed in confusion as his words sank in. “Your father? Margarite knew your father?”

“A long time ago,” he explained. “I was just out of high school. My mother died when I was twelve and my dad raised me the rest of the way. He never seemed much interested in women until I went off to college. Margarite was about your age when she came down here looking for a place to buy. My dad was a broker in town and helped her find the place. So that’s how they met.”

“But I thought you said she never dated anyone…”

“She never did after him. That was along time ago. They were both very discreet about their relationship. My dad was fourteen years older than her and it’s a small town. I didn’t even know about it until after my dad died and Margarite told me.”

“Oh gosh, Max,” I said, realizing I was dredging up a lot of old memories. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, Jamie,” smiled Max. “He died the year I graduated from college. Margarite was devastated by his death, and because very few people knew about it, she had no one to grieve with but me. I think that’s why she hired me to help her take care of the property.”

“Well, that makes a lot of sense…”

“She said I always reminded her of my dad because I look so much like him.”

“He must have been very handsome.”

“Flattery will get you a big, wet kiss if you come over here closer,” teased Max.

I walked over and sat on the edge of the couch next to him. I leaned over met his lips, savoring each kiss. My only regret was that he had a broken rib and it would be a few days before we could resume our lovemaking. I sat back up and held his hand, playing with his fingers as he looked at me.

“You realize if my father had married your aunt, we would be cousins,” he laughed.

“Oh my God!” I cried, “you’re right!”

“Kissing cousins, for sure,” he teased.

“I don’t even want to go there,” I laughed. “That’s just too weird.”

“Don’t worry,” he assured me. “There’s no blood relation between us.”

“Phew!” I sighed. “I have enough hang-ups to deal with.”

Max laughed and stroked my hair. “I want to hold you, but it hurts.”

“Didn’t you know love always hurts?” I winked at him, and leaned down gently against his chest.

“Yeah, I guess somewhere I did know that.”

I spent the rest of the afternoon editing my novel while Max slept on the couch. My mind drifted from the pages of text to the revelations about Margarite and Max’s father. Not only did the affair explain who she wrote the stories about, but why she never gave her heart to anyone else.

What was uncanny was her descriptions of Max’s father. Those delicate, sensitive portrayals sounded so much like Max. I wondered if that sensuality was taught to succeeding generations in non-verbal messages. Genetics couldn’t begin to explain the similarities.

I stared out the window as the sun set over the lake. The tranquillity of the moment belied the tumult of the past twenty-four hours. On the couch, Max stirred and groaned. I knelt on the floor next to him and smoothed his hair from his face. He opened his eyes and smiled. In this half-sleep state he looked like a boy again, innocent and trusting. He reminded me that a little girl still smiled within my soul if I had the courage to acknowledge her. He kissed my hand and winced as he sat up.

“Sore?”

“Yeah…” He looked up at the ceiling and rolled his neck. “Reckon I’m kind of useless for a couple of days.”

I kissed him softly. His response caught me by surprise, as he hand gripped the back of my neck and held me for a longer kiss. When he let go, I rocked back on my heels and let out a long breath.

“Your lips still work.”

“Don’t forget my hands.” He winked.

“Hmm… lips and hands.” I pretended to ponder the possibilities. “We could find a use for those–if you’re creative.”

Max wiggled his toes. “Toes work too!”

“Your toes.” I laughed. “I’m sure the doctor prefers you rest for a couple of days.”

Max yawned and tried to stretch, but cut himself short as breathing hurt his ribs. I shook my head.

“More Advil?” I asked.

“Yes,” groaned Max.

When I returned from the kitchen with tablets and a glass of water, Max was standing.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” I handed him the tablets.

“Thanks.”

“Tammy called awhile ago.”

“She called here?” he asked.

“Your phone rang when I went to get you a beer.”

“Oh…” He looked irritated.

“Sorry, if that was the wrong thing to do.”

“No, that’s okay.”

“She wanted you to call.”

“Okay…”

I took the empty glass and watched as he tried to bend from side to side, testing the ribs. He could barely move.

“How about I cook us some dinner?” I suggested.

“Yeah,” groaned Max. “I am getting hungry.”

“Pasta?”

“Anything is fine.”

“I’ll get started. Maybe a hot shower would help.”

“Hmm…, it might.”

“You can use the one upstairs.”

“That’s okay. I’ll use mine and change into some clean clothes while I’m there.”

“I’ll have dinner ready in about 30 minutes.”

“Sounds good.”

Max gave me a quick kiss and left. I wandered into the kitchen to start dinner. I would sauté frozen prawns to toss in with the pasta. I had them sizzling in garlic when the phone rang. Officer Moorehead sounded tired.

“Jamie, I have a guy in custody who would like to give you a formal apology for his behavior last night. Can you come down to the jail.”

“Oh…,” I stammered. “I don’t have any way of getting into town tonight. I don’t have a car and Max is in no shape to drive.”

“I suppose you’re right. How’s he doing?”

“He’s pretty sore.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

“Well, I guess if Mohammed can’t come to the mountain, I’ll bring the mountain to Mohammed.”

“I’m sure he’s regretting everything about now.”

“I think Riley and I have come to an understanding today,” he continued. “I’m making it clear what won’t fly in my county. We’ll be out later if you’ll be home.”

“Max is feeling pretty banged up.” I didn’t want to see Riley again, and I knew it would upset Max. “He needs to rest quietly.”

“I don’t suppose it will do any harm to let Riley sleep in the jail tonight. Might do him some good. I’ll bring him out tomorrow.”

He wasn’t taking the hint. Smelling the garlic, I agreed to the visit and hung up. I stewed over the situation as I cooked dinner. Riley needed to take responsibility for what he had done, but I felt I was once again a victim. I would have to relive the ordeal for an apology that probably didn’t come from his heart.

I poured a glass of wine to calm my nerves as Max opened the kitchen door. He was wearing a pair of cut-offs. He carried a beer in one hand and a freshly cut rose in the other. I noticed a bruise starting to show along his lower rib cage.

“Boy, that smells good.” He sniffed the air and handed me the rose.

“For me?” I batted my eyelashes.

“Watch out for the thorns,” he warned, sucking on his finger where one had pricked him.

I laid the rose on the counter and took his hand. “Poor baby. Should I kiss it.”

“Don’t waste your lips on my fingers.”

I laughed and kissed his lips. I could tell he wanted more, but I pulled away teasingly. “How’s that?” I released his hand and placed the rose in an empty vase on the window sill.

“A hell of a start.”

“I’ll save the rest for dessert.”

Max sat his beer on the counter and put his arms around my waist. “Can’t we eat dessert first?” He kissed the back of my neck. I melted in his arms.

“That hot shower must have soothed all pains.”

“Beats the hell out of cold ones.”

He pressed me into the counter as his hands caressed my body. I felt his cock through his shorts. He slowly worked that hardness across my backside. My body had already begun to respond. I stared at the bowl of pasta in front of me.

“You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

“Do I feel like I’m suffering?” He boldly slipped his hands under my blouse and caressed my breasts.

“I don’t want you to hurt …” I gasped when he pinched my nipples and nibbled on the back of my ear lobe.

“Pain is a signal that you’re alive,” he whispered, running his hands down my stomach and tucking his fingers inside the waist of my jeans. “A little pain heightens the experience.”

I closed my eyes and dropped my head, savoring the kisses on the back of my neck. I pressed into him and felt his cock stiffen more. I wanted to feel him inside me.

“Oh Max….”

“Let’s go upstairs.” He took my hand and led me. I was surprised and yet delighted by his newfound boldness.

“What about dinner?” I pointed at the pasta.

“We’ll save it for later. You’re going to be hungry.”

I followed him. When we entered the bedroom, he turned to look at me. His boldness seemed to wane, and I wondered if he was reverting to his old habits. Perhaps he realized the condition of his body.

“Are you okay?” I wrapped my arms around his waist and looked into sparkling eyes.

“I was wondering the same thing about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Am I pushing you too fast?”

I suddenly realized how much he cared, how he didn’t want to hurt me.

“You’re not pushing me.”

He kissed me deeply and squeezed me as tightly as he could without causing pain. When he released me, we looked at the empty bed.

“You better get on top,” grinned Max, unsnapping his shorts. He pulled out a condom and grinned sheepishly as he laid it on the bedside table.

“If I didn’t know better,” I said, pulling my top over my head. “I’d say this was premeditated.”

“Men always premeditate sex.” He gingerly lowered himself to the bed and watched me wiggle out of my jeans. His cock stood rigidly.

I picked up the condom and crawled on the bed, straddling his legs.

“How do you put this on?” I opened the packet and held the round latex in my fingers.

“Just slip it over the tip and roll it down.”

“You better do it.”

“Give it a try.”

“Really?”

“Sure.”

I pressed the center of the condom over the tip of his cock. He jerked in response. When I giggled, he jerked on purpose to make it harder.

“Stop it!” I laughed.

“I’m not doing anything.”

I managed to roll the condom down his cock. Feeling accomplished, I crawled further until I was straddling his waist. His rubberized cock rubbed against my pussy as I frowned at him.

“When I was fifteen,” I began. “I watched an X-rated movie.”

His eyes widened, and I felt him working himself along my body, testing my readiness.

“Susie Oliver’s father had these tapes. I guess you would call them stag tapes, the kind of thing you’d show to guys.”

He reached up and began to knead my breasts, his fingers roaming freely.

“Dawn Hollister and I were spending the night, and Susie’s parents went to a party. We sneaked out a tape. I remember it was titled, ‘Fun at Lunch’.”

His lips parted, and I could read excitement in his face. His stiffness seemed to feed at me, sipping. “Go on,” he rasped.

“We were in her basement, the lights off. The tape wasn’t the best in the world, kind of grainy. But you can imagine how big our eyes got when the action started.”

I reached down and gripped his cock, rubbing it against me, coating the latex with my wetness.

“This woman with wonderful, full breasts was fixing a sandwich. She wore an apron, and she practically spilled out the sides. She turned. You could see that she was naked. She put the sandwich on the table and called for the guy.”

He pinched my nipples, and the heat inside deepened. I had forgotten about Susie and the porn flick, and I didn’t really understand why I was telling it to Max. But the story excited him. I could feel the blood throbbing through him.

“Now, you can imagine what three fifteen-year-old girls thought when they saw the guy. He was huge, so big it looked fake. We all sorta gasped. I mean, even today, I can’t believe how big he was. And he was hard, almost as hard as this thing.” I squeezed, and Max sucked air. “It was like a club.”

“Christ,” he said. “That feels so good. Keep going.”

I inched forward and slowly slipped him inside me. The hardness was like the first plunge into a swimming pool, shocking and yet pleasurable.

“Yessssssssssssssssss,” he hissed.

“You can imagine what happened next,” I said. “He took one bite of the sandwich, spit it out, and told her it tasted like dirty socks.”

I began to move on top of him, careful not to move too quickly or too hard. I knew pumping would hurt his ribs, so I rolled and circled.

“He was pissed,” I continued. “He grabbed her and ripped off her apron, telling her she didn’t deserve to be a cook. Then, he saw her breasts, how hard and long her nipples were. He grabbed her breast and sucked her nipple.”

Max groaned but not with pain. I concentrated on squeezing him using nothing but my abdominal muscles, sucking at him.

“Things got a little crazy then,” I gasped. My breath was beginning to become labored as I worked and spoke. “This guy with this huge tool swept the plate off the table, threw her on top, and spread her wide. She started to scream that he was too big, that she couldn’t handle anything that size. He ignored her, worming that gigantic thing into her.”

Max squeezed my breasts hard. While the excitement grew, it wasn’t the frenetic passion of heavy movement. We concentrated on those parts joined together. I could tell he was trying to move inside me while I urged my small muscles to take him.

“She was groaning and moaning,” I continued. “As if he hurt her. Then, when had buried that telephone pole inside her, she went crazy.” My body suddenly came alive, using him, contracting and relaxing without conscious control. “You wouldn’t believe it. She grabbed his ass and wrapped her legs around him and began to bang him like a wild woman. I thought she would impale herself on that spear. She couldn’t get enough.”

Max tried not to breathe deeply, sipping air as his body moved inside me. I nursed him, stroked him, fed on him, not jerking or hard, savoring the feeling.

“She pulled him out, and he shot all over her breasts, coating her. Then, she pulled his face down to her so he could lick her clean.”

“Jamie,” Max whispered. “I’m sooo ready.”

“Easy,” I said. “Enjoy this, concentrate on that one place, make that thing feel.”

“What happened next?”

“I thought it was over,” I continued. “But it wasn’t. She squeezed him a couple times before she turned and leaned over the table so he could take her from behind. He entered her, and she goaded him, telling him a real man would do it again. I couldn’t believe how hard he used her, like he was trying to split her. And all the time she was screaming at him to give her more. I never dreamed any woman could act that way.”

My heart thudded in my chest, and I wanted to cavort atop him, dance and pump. But I couldn’t. As I described the wild video tape, I concentrated on my pleasure, on focusing every ounce of energy on the join between Max and me. In a way, the remembered tape absorbed that energy I would have used on him, the need to scream and yell and gyrate. That woman in the kitchen substituted for me. She was the wanton hussy. I was sensual and subdued, grasping at climax without the ranting and raving. And I was achieving my aim. As my orgasm neared, I felt my body collapse upon that inner me. His hands and finger stopped moving. I sat perfectly still astraddle, and that moment of bliss neared.

Everything stopped.

My words died. My mind blanked. The only things that existed were his hardness and my wetness. In some odd fashion, I knew exactly when he would shoot, when his orgasm would burst. I matched mine with his, mine expanding like a flower. Not the hard burst, this was a slow moving heat, a wave that flooded and soothed. For a moment, I was blind and deaf. The flower within was my only sensation. I luxuriated in some warm, white light. I found a peace I had never dreamed possible.

“Man…” he sighed.

The light disappeared. I could hear. I could see his face below me, a look of wonder. I looked down and smiled.

“I think I’m getting better at this stuff.”

Max laughed and pulled me down for a kiss. “I think you’re ready to give lessons.” “Hmmm, a sex therapist.” I mused the possibility while gently climbing off the bed. “Now that would surprise a lot of people I know.”

Max followed me into the bathroom and washed up as I slipped on a robe. “Perhaps I shouldn’t encourage that occupational change,” he added.

“Why?”

“You might realize that you like to make love to other men.”

“So you like having me all to yourself, huh?” I leaned against the door as his slipped his shorts back on.

“I sure could get used to it.”

“Hmmm…” I hummed.

He came over and nuzzled up close to me and kissed my lips softly. “Who else would make love to me for dinner and serve me pasta for dessert?”

“I am spoiling you, aren’t I?” I turned and headed toward the stairs.

“I guess it’s a two-way street,” laughed Max.

Max was still asleep when I crawled out of bed the next morning. I had slept restlessly after a dream about Riley in which he was chasing me through the woods. The dream seemed so real that I was never able to let it go completely and achieve a deep sleep.

I slipped on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and went down to the kitchen to make some coffee. I stared out the window at the lake while the pot filled with water and reflected on the summer. My sabbatical was almost half over and I was making a lot of progress – not only on the book, but getting my head straightened out. If I continued at the same pace, I would have a completed novel and a healthy sex life by the time I left.

But then what? I was starting to understand the anxiety I was seeing in Max’s eyes. Where were we going? I was no more a country girl then Max was a city guy. Was it just going to be a summer romance? Could I feel the same way about another man? Was Max really in love with me?

I turned the coffee on and went to the dining room table where my novel lay in piles designating done, edited, and to be edited. I sat staring at the piles plotting my approach for the day. I needed a clear head to write and it was feeling muddled from the dream. I heard the distant sound of a car coming down the long drive and looked out the front window. Tammy’s blue sedan was pulling up in front of the cottage.

I looked up the stairs in a panic, wondering if I should wake Max. Maybe she would just realize he wasn’t home and leave. I knew that she was hoping to rekindle things with him, and although I didn’t want to encourage it, I didn’t want to be the one to tell her I was sleeping with him.

It was paralysis through analysis as I watched her disappear around the corner of the house as she headed to Max’s door. I waited by the table until a few moments passed and she appeared on the porch step. It was too late to go upstairs and wake Max. I walked to the door and opened it just as she was about to knock.

“Hi Tammy.”

“Oh Hi,” she said, pulling her hand back from the door. She stood awkwardly for a moment and looked beyond me into the house and then back at me. “I was just looking for Max.”

“Come on in,” I said, standing back and opening the door.

She walked in and looked around, and when she didn’t see him, she looked back at me questioningly. “Is he here?”

“Um… actually, he’s upstairs resting,” I explained.

“Is he alright?” She looked concerned as I motioned her toward the couch. “I heard that he and Riley got into a big fight.”

“Yes, they did,” I said, setting down in the chair facing her. “He’s okay. Just pretty sore.”

“He called yesterday when I was gone and then I couldn’t get a hold of him all night.” She twisted her hands nervously as she continued. “I was so worried about him I had to come out and check. What happened?”

“Well…” I took a deep breath and tried to figure out where to start. “Riley didn’t exactly bring me right home the other night.”

“Oh?”

“He decided to take me on a little joy ride instead.”

“What do you mean?”

I really didn’t want to get into the details with her and searched for an explanation that would suffice.

“Well, he took me to this place where… so he could…”

“He didn’t take her home like she asked him to,” said Max, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Tammy and I both jumped at the sound of his voice. He was dressed only in his shorts and she quickly scanned his body. The swelling over his eye had become more noticeable, but the bruise along his rib blended in with his tan.

“Oh Max,” she said, standing and walking over to him. “I came by to see if you were alright.”

“I’m fine,” he said, matter of fact.

“Well, I just…” She looked at me, then back at Max, uncertain of how to continue. “I tried to return your call last night and when I couldn’t find you, I got kind of worried.”

He nodded his head, but didn’t offer any explanation of his whereabouts. The moment was becoming more and more awkward, and I stood from the couch.

“Would either of you like some coffee?” I offered.

Max looked at me and smiled. “Sure. Thanks.”

It was obvious that Tammy was trying to read Max and was coming up blank. She hesitated and smiled nervously. “Well, maybe just a cup. I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

I went into the kitchen and pour three cups of coffee, placing them on a tray along with the cream and sugar. When I walked back into the living room, Tammy was sitting on the couch next to Max and pushing his hair back above his bruised eyebrow.

“Why on earth would you take on Riley Collins?”

I froze momentarily, feeling angry that she was touching him. Couldn’t she see that he didn’t want her? Before he could answer, I cleared my throat and headed toward them with the tray.

“Here’s the coffee,” I said, forcing a smile.

“Thanks Jamie.” Max’s voice was soft as he reached for a cup. He looked into my eyes and a thousand words came pouring from them. If only I could read them correctly. Did they say, “I’m sorry” or “I love you?” Maybe they saying, “How can I love you both?”

No. They weren’t saying that. God, I hoped not anyway.

“Well, you know it’s all over town that Riley’s in jail because he almost killed you.”

Max looked down at his lap and grinned, shaking his head slowly.

“That’s why I had to come out and see for myself,” she said, looking at me for confirmation.

I tried to get by with a smile and hoped that Max would explain what happened, but he seemed determine to keep it between us.

“I don’t think that is why Riley is in jail,” I added.

“Then why?” she asked, looking at me and then Max.

“He took a swing at Tom Moorehead,” offered Max, taking a break from his coffee. “He showed up and tried to break up the fight.”

“Oh…” Tammy sat quiet for a moment and tried to piece together the facts until she needed a few more pieces. “Why was Tom there… where did this happen?”

Max looked at me somewhat helplessly while he thought of his answer. He was just about to speak when the sheriff’s car pulled up into the driveway and parked next to Tammy’s.

“It’s a regular party today,” I said sarcastically. I stood and walked to the door. If I was going to meet with Riley, it was going to be outside, not in my house. Max stood and quickly followed behind me. It wasn’t until we were down off the porch and standing in front of Officer Moorehead and the disheveled and handcuffed Riley that I realized he was holding my hand.

“Mornin’ Jamie,” said Officer Moorehead, smiling. “Max,” he added.

Max nodded at Tom, but stared angrily at Riley, who was standing awkwardly and shifting his weight from side to side.

“Riley here wanted to apologize to you in person for his behavior the other night.” He turned and looked at Riley. “Go ahead, Riley.”

It was evident that Riley wasn’t used to being wrong, let alone forced into apologizing. He refused to make eye contact with Max, but looked at me and smiled.

“Look Jamie, I guess I misunderstood what you wanted the other night…”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Was he actually pretending that it was merely a misunderstanding?

“Excuse me?” I interrupted.

“I thought when you were kissing me back and stuff that you were wanting more…”

Even as my mind refused to believe what I was hearing, I felt the tears well up in my eyes.

“How dare you, Riley!” I yelled. “Don’t give me that bullshit! What part of ‘Stop it and take me home’ confused you?”

In my anger, I had let go of Max’s hand and taken a step toward Riley. I had a half a mind to slap him across the face. He grinned, knowing that he had gotten my goat, and started to take a step forward.

“Jamie look, you can’t tell me your panties were all wet because you were having a bad time…”

As I raised my hand back to slap him, Max caught it and brought it down slowly to my side as he stepped in between Riley and I. He glared into Riley’s face as he spoke to Officer Moorehead.

“Tom, I think you better either unhandcuff this son of a bitch so I beat the shit out of him fair and square or get him the hell off this property.”

Riley looked cocky as if he hoped for another fight. The officer sighed and pulled his baton out of his belt.

“As much as I would like to that, Max, I’m afraid I can’t. You see Riley here is still under arrest for attempting to assault on an officer, and believe it or not, I have to actually protect his ass.” Riley looked confused as he was backed up toward the car. “Looks like you’re going back to jail.”

“What are you talking about?” yelled Riley, as he was pushed into the back seat of the car. “You said all I had to do was apologize to her!”

Officer Moorhead slammed the door, muffling Riley’s protests from within. Tears were streaming down my face and Max pulled me into his arms and held me as the officer walked back over to us.

“I’m really sorry, Jamie. I thought he was sincere about apologizing.”

“Just don’t bring him back out here again,” I said, wiping the tears from my face. “I really don’t care what happens to him at this point.”

“No problem, Jamie,” he agreed. “If you need anything, or change your mind about pressing charges, just give me a call.”

I hated the fact that I was feeling so emotional, but once the tears started, I couldn’t stop them. I just wanted to run and get away from everyone. I turned and ran back into the house, passing Tammy, who had stood on the porch step and watched the whole thing. At least now she would have all the pieces for her puzzle.

Slamming the door behind me, I ran up to the bedroom and threw myself on the bed that had brought so much pleasure the night before. I sobbed into my pillow in self-pity. How could Riley have said those things? How could he actually stand there in front of all those people and pretend that I wanted him to touch me? What if Max believed him?

The door opened slowly, and Max came in and sat on the bed next to me and gently caressed my back. His tenderness only encouraged my tears.

“Jamie, it’s okay.”

I shook my head and he pulled on my arm for me to sit up. I pulled away and turned my head into the pillow.

“No, it’s not.”

“Honey, please…” he begged. “Don’t let him hurt you like this.”

His endearing term shocked me back into the moment and I smiled into the pillow. Maybe he did still want me. I sat up and wiped my face as he pulled me into his arms.

“He’s just an asshole,” continued Max.

“But everyone will believe him… even you!”

“No they won’t, and I sure as hell don’t.”

“I just feel…” I started to sob harder, and he held me tight. When the emotions subsided, I continued. “I just feel soiled, like before, like I’m spoiled goods.”

“Jamie, stop it,” insisted Max. “What those guys did have nothing to do with you. Only you can decide how you feel inside. You’re as pure as they come.”

“I don’t know,” I said, wiping my face.

“The only thing spoiled about you is expecting me to bring you coffee every morning.” We both laughed at his attempt at humor as he gave me a gentle squeeze.

“You mean you still want me?”

I looked up into his eyes and searched for the truth. He smiled and shook his head as he gently cupped my face.

“I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

“Oh Max, I want you so…”

The rest of the sentence was lost as his lips found mine. Laying me back on the bed, he began a slow demonstration of his desire by kissing every square inch of my body. When he started to take off my clothing, I protested.

“Wait, what about Tammy?”

“What about her?” asked Max, unzipping my shorts.

“Is she still downstairs?”

“No, she left.” He pulled my jeans off as he continued. “I don’t think she’ll be back.”

“Why?”

Taking his clothes off and crawling naked over my body, he looked down into my eyes.

“She said it was evident that I was in love with you.”

“Really?” He kissed my neck and nibbled at my ears. “Why is it that she can see it better than me?”

“I guess I’ll just have to show you again.” He kissed my lips and moved down until he was sucking on my nipple.

“And again…” He moved to the other nipple and bit it teasingly, and then kissed my midriff, and continued moving slowly down my body.

“And again.”

For the next couple of weeks, Max and I fell into a routine of making love in the morning, spending the day working alone on our projects, and then coming together for dinner and a quiet evening of talking or making love. His wounds healed nicely, and although neither of us brought it up, we hadn’t ventured back to the Buffalo Bar. In fact, I had only gone into town once to shop for groceries.

There were no more calls from Tammy or Officer Moorehead, and Riley was wise enough to not show his face. It was as if Max and I existed on a deserted island. Although the silence lent itself well to the completion of my novel and uninterrupted hours of lovemaking, I was beginning to feel restless.

I started thinking more about the job I had put on hold and how things were going at the office. There was a part of me that missed the hustle and bustle of the city and the adrenaline rush to meet a deadline, or running for a train and catching it just as it pulled away. My survival skills were more attuned to Fifth Avenue than the woods of Virginia. As much as I tried to pretend that I could live happily ever after in Margarite’s house with Max, I knew that I needed more. Max knew it too.

“You know Jamie,” he said, sipping the leftover wine from dinner. “I’ve been doing some thinking.”

“Sounds dangerous,” I retorted sarcastically.

We rocked slowly on the porch swing in unison with the crickets, watching the millions of stars in the sky. Max ignored my jest and continued.

“Are you still planning on going back home in a few weeks?”

I held my tongue, not knowing what to say. I felt like he was calling my hand and I hadn’t even looked at my cards.

“I guess so,” I sighed, playing with the hem of my short dress. “I can’t hide out here forever.”

“Well, I figured that. Although, you know you could stay with me forever, but I don’t have any say over this house.”

“Oh thanks,” I said, patting his hand.

“Jamie look,” he said, turning toward me. “That isn’t what I’ve been thinking about.”

“That’s okay, Max,” I said quickly, trying to salvage my ego. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to ask me to stay.”

“Jamie! I wasn’t thinking that either.” He was frustrated and pushed his hair back and let out a deep breath. I decided to remain silent. “What I was thinking was more about me, and us. I’ve been ready for a change. I had thought about moving last year when Tammy left, but your dad asked me to stay until I found a replacement. I guess I’m pretty picky, because I never found anyone that I wanted to recommend.”

“Where were you going to go?” I asked.

He took my hand in his and gently played with my fingers. “Well, that was part of the problem. I didn’t know. But now I do.” There was a hesitant smile on his face as he waited for the words to sink in.

“You want to move to New York?” I asked, in disbelief.

“Well, maybe not in Central Park,” he laughed. “But I’ve been in up-state New York and there are a lot of nice areas within an hour of there. All I want is a couple of acres of land with some big trees and room for a few animals.”

I realized the discussion about where we would live danced right over the fact that he was talking about living together.

“Wait a minute…” As much as I hated to squelch the excitement on his face, I held up my hand to stop him.

“You don’t want to commute?” he asked.

“This is about commuting, Max. This is about us. Are you saying you want to move to New York and live with me?”

“What do you mean by ‘live with you’?”

“You know, your clothes in the same closet as mine.”

“Yes, that’s what I mean.”

He seemed much calmer about the whole idea than I was and for some reason that was bothering me. I had never had roommates, male or female. Having my own space was always too important. And yet Max had never got on my nerves over the summer, especially the past few weeks when were we staying in the same house. In fact, it had seemed natural to have him there. My silence finally took effect.

“Jamie, look… I’m sorry. Maybe I got too far ahead of myself… and us.” He dropped my hand and started to pull away.

“No Max, you didn’t,” I reassured him. I hugged him and held him close. “I’ve been thinking about this too. I just didn’t know you were.”

“God Jamie,” he sighed, kissing the top of my head. “Life has been wonderful since you came here this summer. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You really want to move to New York?” I asked, looking up into his eyes.

“It’s time for me to do something else,” he explained. “I’ve never really worried about what would happen to me. My dad left me a lot of money and I’ve invested it well. It’s not like I don’t have to work, but I can afford to do something I like.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Well, like landscaping. Besides the business degree my dad made me get, I went back and got a landscaping certificate after he died.”

“No wonder you know what to do around here.”

“Well, it’s helped,” he chuckled. “Anyway, I always thought about starting my own landscaping business.”

“Wow…” I sighed.

“Wow?” repeated Max.

“I can’t believe you want the same thing I do.”

“You want to be a landscaper?” he joked.

“No!” I nudged him and then cuddled back into his arms. “I can’t believe that you want to stay together.”

“I couldn’t stay here without you now.”

I knew exactly what he meant. If he weren’t here, I don’t think I could ever return and enjoy myself.

“So what do we do now?” I asked.

Max sat up in the swing as if he were going to go start packing. “When do you have to be back to work?”

“Right after Labor Day… in about three weeks.”

“You kept your apartment, right?”

“Yes, are you crazy? It wasn’t worth trying to save a few bucks to put it all in storage.”

“Well, we could stay there while we look for a place to buy out in the country.”

“Buy?” I asked, dumbfounded. “I don’t have money to buy a house.”

“I have plenty of money for a down payment,” he assured me. “But I might need a little help with the payments until my business is up and running.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “First you blow me away telling me you want to live together, then you tell me you want to buy a house together.”

“You’re right,” he said, standing up from the swing. “I’m doing this all wrong.” He knelt down on one knee and took my hand in his. My mouth dropped as he continued. “Jamie, will you marry me?”

“Oh God, Max!” I cried, “I don’t believe this!” I was half crying, half laughing as he looked into my face with a confused smile.

“Was that a yes or a no?”

“Max… I’m really crazy about you,” I said, wiping a stray tear from my cheeks. “But it’s only been a couple of months.”

“You can have as long of an engagement as you want,” he said. “I just need to know you’re mine.”

“Oh Max,” I sighed, holding his head in my hands. “Of course I’m yours.”

As he pulled me forward, we kissed deeply, confirming our passion and love for each other. Moans of pleasure and happiness blended into the night as he showered me with his kisses. His hands slid up my dress while we kissed and pulled my panties down over my legs until the dropped to the porch. Then, with a devilish grin, he slid my hips toward the edge of the swing and pushed my dress up to my waist.

I rested back into the swing and watched him kiss the insides of my thighs. He gently moved the swing to advance it in the direction he wanted. Fortunately, that was closer and closer to my pussy. I whimpered and squirmed as he neared my clit, but then as if to tease me, he pushed the swing back and his kisses headed toward my knees.

“Oh you tease,” I whined, trying to pull my legs together. He kept his head between them and growled, biting gently into my thighs. His long arms reached around my body and held my ass. I giggled, and then froze as his tongue started snaking its way down my thighs again.

“Don’t tease me,” I whispered, letting my legs fall back to the side.

“Never,” he mumbled. His lips brushed against my pussy and I let out a gasp. I closed my eyes and waited for the next touch, the next moment of pleasure. I was an instrument he was learning to play well. When his tongue slid across my clit, I let out a long moan.

“Oh yes, right there,” I encouraged him.

But by then his tongue had moved away. Quickly, it flicked inside my pussy and then slid across my ass. I squirmed trying to follow it, but Max held me steady.

“Please…” I whimpered.

Then suddenly his tongue was back caressing my clit, and I tightened my legs around his head. Encouraged by my tension, his tongue flickered from pussy to clit until I was writhing on the swing.

“Oh God, I can’t take anymore…” I moaned, but he didn’t stop. He licked across the top of my clit as if he knew it was too sensitive for direct contact. That’s where the orgasm finally started.

“Oh yes!” I cried. “Right there… don’t stop.”

I was grateful that we were miles away from civilization as the built up pressure was released. Max sighed with pleasure as I rocked against his mouth. It wasn’t until the swing stopped rocking that I realized I was pulling his hair.

“Oh… sorry,” I said, smoothing it out.

He looked up and smiled. “Actually, it felt kind of good.”

I dropped my legs to the porch and let out a long sigh as Max leaned in to kiss me. I loved tasting myself on him. His kiss was burning with need and I grinned as he pulled away. “Something tells me we should go upstairs.”

“I’m so hard, I’m not sure I can walk,” he laughed.

“Somehow,” I said, getting up from the swing and reaching for his hand. “I think you’ll make it.”

The outline of his hard cock bulged from his jeans and I rubbed my hand over the fabric. “I love that you get this hard for me.”

“Come on,” he said, pressing me toward the door. “Let’s go.”

We passed the phone at the bottom of the stairs and it reminded me of our earlier conversation. “I take it you don’t want to call my father tonight.”

Max tapped me on the ass and prodded me up the stairs. “Keep marching lady.”

By the time we got to the top of the stairs, Max had already unzipped his jeans. His hard cock stood rigid as he pulled them off. I dropped my dress and sat naked on the bed as he walked over and stood in front of me. When I caressed his cock, he shuddered and stepped closer. I bent my head and ran my tongue over the tip.

“Now who’s teasing who?”

I chuckled and took the head into my mouth. He pumped his hips gently, seeking relief and moaned as I allowed him to go deeper into my throat.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world,” he sighed. I moaned in agreement as I sucked his cock. “Do you think I should resign before I tell your dad we’re getting married or afterwards?”

I released his cock and scooted back onto the bed as he opened a condom and rolled it on. “Well, it’s the old good news, bad news story. Tell him he’s losing a grounds keeper, but gaining a son-in-law.”

Max slid between my legs and kissed my nipples as his cock entered my wet pussy. He felt so good inside of me. I almost couldn’t remember being afraid of sex. I pushed my hips up for more of him.

“Well, at least he knows I take good care of his prize possessions.”

“You sure do…”

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