by The Captain.

Copyright ©2000 by The Captain.  All rights reserved.

A dream is a wish your heart makes. - Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother

Be careful what you wish for. - Anon.

Paul cursed the arrival screen as if it had chosen to betray him. Flight 616 from Chicago would be thirty minutes late.

Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes taken from a weekend he had looked forward to with a singular obsession for two months. Thirty minutes of precious time robbed from him by the airline. He thought of demanding that they delay the departure of the return flight by an equal time to repay him. He realized that he was being ridiculous and went to sit back down on a seat at the gate.

Thirty minutes to think about what he was doing was the hard part. He had gotten himself to this point by immersing himself in his work, the plans for the weekend, his hobbies, anything to keep from thinking about what is going to happen when that plane lands. Now, he had nothing to keep him from those terrifying thoughts.

He thought he was crazy to be doing this outrageous thing. What if it’s bad? What if it’s good? What if she is not even on the plane?

He thought of walking right out of the airport and going home. Home. He could get out of this whole thing by just going home.

No, that would not work; she could be on that plane. He had to be there if she was on the plane. He thought about getting a drink to pass the time. No, he could not dull his senses; he had to be able to deal with the situation and manage it. Manage it? He felt that his life was completely out of control.

He looked at the clock again. Two minutes! He thought the thing must have been unplugged, until his eyes confirmed that the second hand was indeed moving, agonizingly slowly, around.

He got up to check the board again. Delayed forty minutes! His body shook with anger. Anger laced with the fear that it would never happen. She would never be here. He should never be here…..

It all started with Joe, good old Joe. They had a lunch date and Joe came into his office, as agreed, to pick him up. Paul was absorbed with what was on his computer screen.

"What the hell is that?" asked Joe, trying to get Paul’s attention in the lunch direction.

"It’s Cosmology. This scientist has postulated that the Hubble Constant is far less than previously thought."

"And that is important because?….."

"In a few billion years, the universe will cease to expand and collapse back on itself – The Big Crunch."

"So we still have time for lunch? You had me worried for a minute there. I can’t believe that is all you find entertaining on the Internet."

"Not all. I like history. And news, especially news."

"Mister, you have to get out more. For example, I know from our heart-to-hearts over cocktails that you like things erotic."

"Pictures? Boring. If you’ve seen one picture of a teen nymph posing for a gynecological exam, you’ve seen them all."

"No, my friend, not pictures, fiction. It all takes place in your mind. Here, let me show you."

Joe typed in a web address and a huge listing of pen names of erotic fiction authors scrolled down the screen. "I’ll just add this to your favorites "

"Hey, don’t mess. Let’s just go to lunch."

"Okay, but you’ll see; it is positively addictive. As a matter of fact, you could write stories like this; you’re quite a poet."

Paul took the computer off the net and they went to lunch. On his return, Paul spent the afternoon on business calls and letters. He finished long after his had staff left for the day. Just as he was about to shut down the computer, he thought he should delete the "favorite" Joe had planted on his computer. Before he did, he decided to take just one look.

He clicked on ‘authors’ and skimmed some of their works. He was disappointed in how many were degrading stories that could appeal only to teenage boys, reading with only one hand on the keyboard.

But Joe was right: it was indeed addictive. As the evening became night, he was still going down the list of authors, skimming their work. He had yet to read a story in its entirety. Every one had a flaw that took him out of the illusion, or ruined the characters’ credibility.

The hour was late, and he was near the bottom of the list when he saw a name he could not ignore – Rose. It had been the name of his beloved grandmother. He was so afraid to be disappointed, but he clicked. He closed his eyes as he clicked on the first story on Rose’s list.

He read the whole thing, twice. Both times a tear rolled down his cheek. It was a beautiful, romantic story about a love between two people that transcended time. In his appreciation of the work, Paul did a very foolish thing.

He emailed Rose. He used his real email address, linked to his business. It was just a simple fan letter, he thought. What harm could that possibly do?

He told her how much and why he liked the story. He was so curious about how she came up with the plot, that he asked if her basis was personal experience or imagination. He realized that he was way out of bounds, but it was late, he was tired, and he took a chance. He sent it anyway, adding the disclaimer that he did not expect her to answer the questions if she chose not to. Her reply started with three words that set forth the chain of events that caused him to be in the airport that evening: "But I will"….

He cursed the arrival screen one more time and returned to the seat and picked up a magazine. He could read the words but he could not come up with enough concentration to understand the sentences. He put it down, tried a newspaper, and threw that down in frustration.

"You must be waiting for someone very special."

Through his tunnel vision, the voice came from nowhere. He turned to see a girl sitting next to him. She had long blond hair. She wore black stirrup pants, high heels and a blazer. Her sheer blouse revealed the lace beneath. She was in her mid-twenties and very pretty. She was every man’s wet dream, and Paul wanted nothing to do with her.

He considered his options. He could ignore her, dismiss her with a curt reply, or ask her to leave him alone. As he stared into her face, he finally noticed the genuine smile and kind eyes. She was beautiful, but she had such an unspoiled way about her.

"She is lucky to have someone care as much as you do," the blond said, trying again to reach out.

"How do you know it is a she?" Paul asked, not able to think of anything intelligent to say.

The blond laughed. "You have been pacing to and from the arrival board, staring at the clock, fidgeting, and trying to read magazines upside-down. It has to be a she."

Paul felt better than he had since he arrived at the airport. He laughed out loud. He thanked God for sending this angel beside him.

"I am so sorry, I was somewhere else when you first spoke to me," Paul said with sincerity as he looked into those kind eyes, which were all he could focus on. "I am waiting for someone very dear to me, and whom I am about to meet in person for the first time."

"That is so special. I’m Ashley, and this is David. We are going to be married this weekend."

Paul took the slender hand she had extended to him and his field of vision widened as if she had pulled him out of a haze. He saw the young man next to her for the first time. David was a clean cut and well, but casually, dressed young man with red hair and freckles. He leaned forward in his seat and nodded to Paul.

"So, that is what a very lucky guy looks like," Paul said to them both, his speaking ability returning. He was so grateful that these two kids were there with him. He had felt so alone. The only other person in the world who knew that he was there was on that arriving plane.

"We are waiting for my Maid of Honor, my best friend from college."

Paul wondered how her parents picked the name. She looked just like someone who should be named Ashley.

"How did you meet this very special lady?" she asked.

"We met on the internet. We were both fiction writers. I read a work of hers and sent her an Email complementing her style. We became friends."

"That is so wild. I have heard of people meeting on the net and falling in love, but this is the first time I have met someone who did."

"We are not in love." Paul protested. Ashley raised an eyebrow. "All right," Paul conceded "We do love each other in a very special way. When you meet people on the net, you learn about them from the inside out. You can share your innermost feelings in the cocoon of ambiguity. Appearances never come into play. Unfortunately, you also do not get those human inflections, like the tone of voice, curl of a lip,…or the raising of an eyebrow."

Ashley smiled. "So you’re from New York?"

"No," Paul slowly replied, trying to think of a way to explain the bizarre situation, "This is neutral ground. She is from Nowhereville, actually a place called Shannon, Illinois, and I am from just outside of Boston. I wanted to show her the big city."

"I think it is so romantic," said Ashley "I hope you hit it off with your lady friend and have many wonderful years together."

Paul turned to look at the clock but did not see it. He was hiding the pain on his face. There would be no years together. Their time together was limited to this one weekend of their lives. Paul was married; she was in a committed relationship. They were both happy with their respective situations and both promised not to do harm to the others.

They both knew that in spite of all they loved about each other, their different lives and lifestyles, and the fifteen hundred miles between those lives, meant that they could never have a life together. He was fifty-one, with a very successful business career that he had spent his life building. She was thirty-three, with her own business, two children, and a large family she could not bear being away from.

By mutual agreement, this would be the only time they would ever be together in the flesh.

Paul turned back from the clock "I hope you two have a happy marriage and many wonderful years together."

The newlyweds to be held each other’s hands and looked at one another. Paul watched without expression. Ashley turned back to Paul "How are you going to recognize this woman you have never seen?"

"She emailed me a picture some time ago. Here she is." Paul took the paper from his pocket and handed it to them. He did not need to bring it; the image was burned into his mind, into his soul."

"She is so adorable," Ashley gushed.

Paul thought adorable was inadequate to describe the face he thought was absolutely beautiful. The genuine smile. Those eyes. Yes, those eyes. Paul loved those eyes. He thought they were the eyes of an angel, with just the right sparkle of mischief.

"Who is that? Is that her child?" Ashley asked.

"No, that’s her niece."

"What is her name?"

"I don’t know what her niece’s name is."

"No, silly, HER name."

"Rachel." He said it and his face went blank, his eyes wide.

"What’s the matter?"

"That was the first time I have ever said her name out loud. Our relationship has been entirely emails."

"This is like the ultimate blind date," David chimed in. "You’ve got some balls. Ooof"

That comment had earned David an elbow strike to the ribs from Ashley. Paul smiled approval: David would have his hands full with his new bride, and good for him. Paul liked strong willed, independent women; they challenge their men to grow.

"I don’t know about that, but it is one foolhardy thing to do," Paul said, trying to rescue David a bit.

Foolhardy indeed. Rachel and Paul had toyed with the idea and teased each other until Paul issued the challenge. She could pick anywhere in the continental United States and he would take care of the transportation, entertainment and lodging. The lodging would be one room, two beds - opportunity without expectation or obligation. He told her he did not want separate rooms because he wanted them to be able to talk into the night – he called it a pajama party. They were both chronic insomniacs, many times chatting on the net almost all night. Both knew that they would get no sleep in separate rooms.

Rachel turned the challenge back to him and told him to surprise her with the location of their first meeting. He chose New York. He had been there many times and knew he could show her a wonderful time. That was all he wanted, to give her a great weekend, to give her something in return for the closeness and friendship she gave him.

They had exchanged flirtations, teases and explicit passages in the fiction they wrote. In their stories, they had not so subtly revealed exactly how they like to give, and receive sexual pleasure.

The miles between them made them bold, but, as the meeting approached, their exchanges became more guarded. The flirts were accompanied with parenthetical caveats like "just kidding!"

They exchanged disclaimers. He told her that his chest hair was entirely white and that he carries an extra twenty pounds on his six foot four frame. She told him that she thought that her breasts were too small and her thighs too big. It did not matter; they were each already in love with the other person inside.

In all of the subtle ways they could tell each other, they released each other from the obligation of physical closeness. The words they used, over and over, were "when it is right".

Rachel had asked him if he felt any guilt about meeting and he emailed back:

I cannot feel guilt about something, which I have to do. There is no choice for me here. If I do not do it, I will spend the rest of my life regretting that. If I do it and, even if it is a disaster, at least I’ll know.

Paul’s musings were interrupted by a sudden burst of activity. The plane had arrived at the gate! He sprang to his feet. Ashley rose and took his hand.

"Calm down; it is going to be fine."

He held her hand and only released it when the three were standing by the others waiting with anticipation at the gate. As the passengers came down the gateway, Paul was overcome with the dread that he may not recognize her. One black-and-white picture was all he had. He thought that he should be holding one of those stupid signs with her name on it, just to be sure.

"Calm down," scolded Ashley, "keep breathing."

He carefully scrutinized every woman remotely resembling her. One young woman looked in his direction, waived and started coming over. Was she Rachel? Paul tried to reconcile the face with his picture and could not make a certain judgment. The girl walked by Paul and hugged Ashley. She was the Maid of Honor.

The two girls hugged and laughed, then Ashley whispered in the other girl’s ear. The now threesome wedding party stepped back into a line and watched Paul - an audience he did not resent at all, he needed the moral support.

He looked up and swallowed hard. There she was, looking right at him. She looked exactly as she did in the picture. She smiled. It was the smile. It was those eyes. It was she!

He took a step; she took three. They embraced in a gentle hug. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. They looked into each other’s eyes for the first time.

"Hello."

"Hello."

Tears of joy welled up in his eyes. He had heard her voice for the first time. It was as beautiful to him as were the eyes, the face, and the person inside that he had fallen in love with. He held her close again, so she would not see him cry. She already had, and had tears on her cheeks as well.

"Awww," Said three young voices in unison, and three pairs of hands started clapping.

Rachel looked up, confused, surprised. Ashley walked up and offered her hand to Rachel.

"Welcome to New York, Rachel." Rachel hesitatingly took Ashley’s hand and gave Paul an astonished look.

"Are these..….your friends?"

"Yes, good friends, for all of forty-five minutes. We met while waiting for the flight. Ashley and David, here, are going to be married this weekend and they were waiting for their Maid of Honor."

"Betsy," said the Maid of Honor to be.

"Welcome to New York, Betsy." Said Paul, shaking her hand. He turned to David and shook his. "Congratulations again, David, best of luck." Finally, he turned to Ashley and took he hand in both of his. "You too, and thanks."

"Do you want to be the first to kiss the bride?" Ashley asked, flirtatiously.

There was only one woman in the universe that Paul wanted to kiss at that moment, and she was beside him. "That honor belongs to the groom," Paul said as he ceremoniously bent down and kissed Ashley’s hand.

"Shall we get our bags?" interrupted Betsy, obviously not appreciating the drama, and anxious to end her arduous journey.

The wedding kids lead the way and Paul walked beside Rachel in what became uncomfortable silence.

"So, how was your flight?" He hated himself as soon as the words left his mouth: The woman had traveled halfway across a continent to be with him, and he wanted to know how the winged bus treated her.

"It was agony. I thought my watch stopped. And don’t worry, that was as good an icebreaker as any."

"Sorry, it gets better."

She knew him well. He had momentarily forgotten how clever and sassy she was. He wondered about her watch comment; if she had been as anxious as he was, if she felt the longing as he had.

They arrived at the baggage carousel. The kids in the wedding party were chattering and laughing. Paul and Rachel stood beside one another watching the monotonous bag parade.

"So, what are you going to do with me, now that you got me here?" She asked with a mischievous grin.

"Show you a great time in a great city,", he said with all sincerity. He had done everything he could to see to it. He had pulled in favors and begged for reservations. He had purchased tickets to two Broadway shows, but if she wanted to go horseback riding in Central Park, he would throw the tickets away to take her. Anything she wanted. To him, it was about giving her pleasure, unconditionally.

"That’s it?" She teased.

"Nothing more, nothing less."

Her bag appeared, finally giving them release from the airport. Paul waived goodbye to the wedding party, caught up in their own reverie. David gave back a leer and thumbs-up, earning him another elbow strike from Ashley.

They took the shuttle to his car, and then drove into the city. They talked about familiar things: her children, his work, and the works of fiction, which had brought them together - familiar ground to ease a very unfamiliar situation.

Driving into the city, he deliberately took the scenic route, negotiating Brooklyn side streets so that the great city would loom in view all at once as they approached the bridge. He turned the corner to the bridge ramp and the country girl saw the skyline and lights of the Big Apple for the first time.

"Wow! That is so magnificent. It’s so big! It’s so beautiful!"

"It gets better." A tear rolled down his cheek. She had come to mean so much to him. Her thrill was his ecstasy.

They drove through Times Square and he delighted in watching her out of the corner of his eye. Her head pivoted back and forth as she took in the lights, the skyscrapers, and the crowds of people.

He drove into the portico under the Marriott Marquis Hotel on the Square. Four uniformed attendants swarmed onto the car and opened the doors, took the bags and drove the car down a narrow spiral concrete driveway, to store it in the bowels of the massive building.

They took the escalators through seven levels of shops, theaters, restaurants, and cocktail lounges to the lobby. The lobby was at the base of a forty-five-story atrium of rooms, surrounding a central open space. Hanging gardens drape from every floor. Glass teardrop elevators serve the floors from a pillar on one side of the atrium. Every room faced out to the City.

She stood in the middle of the lobby as he checked in, looking up at the monumental scope of the building. He approached her from the front desk and put his hand gently on her arm.

"It gets better."

They rode the elevator, the view improving as they approached their floor – 36. They walked around the inner balcony to their room. She looked alternately, up and down.

"Paul. This is just amazing."

"It gets better."

They entered the room and he turned on the lights. It was as agreed: two beds. They put their bags on the beds and unpacked, helping sort out their weekend space. He would have the top drawer because he was taller; she would have the rest because she should.

The clothes were put away, more meticulously than in either of their homes, because an awkwardness that neither anticipated was upon them. Paul folded his socks in the drawer for the second time and finally broke the silence.

"I allowed some free time between your arrival and our dinner reservations. I hoped we would have a chance to relax together and get over the first meeting anxiety. The airline took that from us. I will call and cancel the reservation, if you wish."

"How much of this weekend have you planned for us?"

"Dinner tonight – which will be your welcome party. After that, anything you want to do. It gets better." He had committed the sin of omission, but he was prepared to throw away the theatre tickets.

"Then lets do it."

"We have to….dress. It is a very fancy place."

He was concerned that they would have to change their clothes in the same room and he did not want her to feel uncomfortable with him there. Before he could offer to go out to the inner balcony to give her privacy, she went to the dresser and retrieved a handful of fluffy things, then went to the closet and grabbed a garment in a hanging bag.

"Not a problem", she said as she went into the bathroom.

He was relieved that she was at ease. He was disappointed that she did not disrobe in front of him. He was encouraged that she did not close the bathroom door.

"I left it open so we could talk," Her voice echoed from the bathroom. She knew what he was thinking again.

"Great. Did I ask you how your flight was?" he joked as he started to take his clothes off.

"You are such a clown."

"I forgot to show you the view. This room overlooks Times Square. We can have our breakfast at the window and watch the movement of the city." The thought of breakfast lead to the thought of sleeping in the same room with her. He wished he hadn’t said that.

"That sounds great, that cozy table for two with a view. We can sit there in our jammies and sip our morning coffee."

He once told her that he could always tell if she was teasing. He never could.

"If you are too short to see over the window ledge, you can sit in my lap." He loved to tease her about her height. At five foot three she was a foot shorter than him, but to him, the perfect height. He had always been attracted to women that size. He thought their bodies had the best proportions.

"Won’t have to; I’m sure I will be able to see just fine. I’ll sit on your lap because I want to."

He tied his tie and turned. There she was, in the big mirror over the desk. They could see each other the whole time and he didn’t know it. Too late, she was dressed. He wondered what she had seen. She gave him a playful little wave. He waved back.

She walked out of the bathroom and his breathing stopped briefly at the sight. She had on that fashion statement that makes any woman smashing – the little black dress. It was cut just above her knee and high on her neckline. It revealed nothing and enhanced everything on her voluptuous frame. He could not believe he was so lucky, to be standing in the presence of such a beautiful woman, such exquisite form. Yes, 5’3" was the perfect height for him.

She walked up to him, a subtle smile on her lips. She turned around. "Mind zipping me up?"

She had to be teasing, he thought. She could do that by herself. Or was she?

He resisted the temptation to reach into the dress and touch the smooth skin of her back for the first time. He raised the zipper and covered her instead. She turned back around. "Thanks."

He resisted the even stronger temptation to kiss her, then and there. He could not allow himself to believe that she wanted him to. Even after all of those months of free and intimate exchange, he could not accept that his ultimate fantasy could become real.

"I’ll grab my jacket and we’re off."

The doorman flagged them a cab and they got in.

"Two World Trade Center," said Paul, his voice slightly breaking. He knew that she did not know what that meant. It meant what he was promising was about to happen: It was going to get better – a lot better.

The ride was passed with more conversation on simple, familiar matters. The cab finally reached the destination. Paul got out first on the curbside and offered Rachel his hand. As she stood, she looked up and froze.

Before here were two towering obelisks piercing into the night sky. At 104 stories each, they are the tallest buildings in the city.

"Wow!"

Her thrill was his ecstasy. "It gets better."

The ride up the express elevator is a thrill in itself - 102 stories in forty seconds, then a sudden stop. Just when you think you will never get your stomach out of your socks, it pops back up.

In the center of the elevator lobby is a five foot round geode of amethyst, on a granite base. Paul had seen it many times, and always had the same reaction. This would be the first time he shared it with anyone. "This always strikes me: the juxtaposition of something from so deep in the earth having its resting place so high above it." It was the first unguarded thing either had said since she arrived.

He took her hand and led her to the end of the lobby. In the massive windows before her was the entirety of New York Harbor. The Statue of Liberty just below, the water, the boats, all surrounded by a necklace of diamonds – the lights of the surrounding cities and the bridges between them.

She stood and stared with her mouth agape.

"It gets better."

"I am beginning to believe you."

They walked to the desk to see about their reservations. It was a reservation he had begged and bribed for, that he had confirmed a dozen times in the days leading up to this moment. He had included special instructions. The hostess led the couple all the way around the perimeter of the restaurant on the way to the seats no more than twenty feet from her desk. Rachel got to see the whole thing: the rivers to the east and west, the towering city to the north.

They were seated at a secluded table next to a window, with the view of the harbor below. They were the best seats in the house.

"Paul, you are not going to top this."

"It gets better."

"Stop saying that. You are going to raise the bar too high for yourself. You do not have to do another thing to impress the pants off me."

The meaning of that went right over his head.

There was no menu; everything had been arranged. First a glass of champagne, then a tasting dinner – small portions of a half dozen of the finest creations the place had to offer. Paul and the chef had consulted on the choices. There were things he knew she would love, things he wanted her to try. If there was something she did not like, they were ready with two additional dishes, prepared but not served.

The dinner paled in their minds to the conversation. They both dropped their guard over the champagne and they spoke with the openness that brought them together. They talked of their lives, hopes, dreams, and goals. They took the final step to completely falling in love with each other.

During the cab ride back, they held hands for the first time.

He had the driver drop them on the opposite side of the square, so he could show her the Broadway theatres. Not telling her he already had tickets, he asked her at two of the theatres if she would like to see the show. In both cases, the answer was an enthusiastic yes. He knew that she liked theatre, but he wanted all of the weekend’s activities to be by her choice.

They entered the room. Seeing the two beds, Paul felt his fear return. He knew he loved her, he thought she loved him, but he could not allow himself to believe he would make love to her. The months of longing had become an ingrained habit.

Housekeeping had turned down both the beds and placed a chocolate mint on the center pillow of each. Rachel walked past Paul and picked up the mint from one of the beds. She turned and placed it beside the mint on the other. Then she picked up both and placed them on the nightstand.

"I don’t want chocolate in my hair. Would you unzip me?"

Even the gesture she had just done did not pierce his doubt. She did not turn; she faced him. Close. He reached around and pulled the zipper down, their eyes on each other’s the whole time. He could not resist the temptation this time.

He ran his hand inside the dress, over her skin, down to massage the small of her back, never going below the curve. He raised the other hand and ran it down her hair and around the outside of her ear.

She placed her hands behind his shoulders and pulled him, just slightly. He slowly bent down. Their lips met in their first kiss. It was a soft kiss. It was like a butterfly wing brushing the lips. It was a kiss that said, "I love you."

He gently encircled her with his arms and pulled her closer. Two mouths opened and two tongues hungry for each other touched for the first time. They licked and swirled, accompanied by the sound of two muffled moans.

Their arms gripped tightly and her shoulders dropped as her body relaxed in surrender. He finally accepted it. He finally believed it. He would make love with her.

They broke the kiss and stepped back from each other, their breath heaving their chests. They kept eye contact as they took off their own clothes.

They were in only their underwear when he stepped forward to hold her. She ran her hands over the white hair on his chest.

"I warned you."

"I think it is beautiful, I can’t wait to feel it against me."

He reached around her and unclipped her bra and slid it down her cooperating arms.

"I warned you."

"They are beautiful. I can’t wait to feel them against me."

She sat on the bed and pulled his underwear out over the very hard testament to his desire for her, then down. She encircled the shaft with her hand and he let out a gasp. She started to lean forward, only to be stopped by his hands on her shoulders. She looked up surprised and disappointed.

"Not this time. I want to love you. I want to be close to you. I want to be inside you."

She slid back on the bed and raised her hips so he could slide her panties off, then he lay down beside her. They explored each other’s bodies with their hands as they kissed. He took her breast in his mouth and her hands pressed against the back of his head, inviting him to devour her.

He reached down and slid his hand over her smooth cheeks, then around between her legs to gently stroke the outside of the soft lips. Her hips rose, begging for more contact. His finger slid between the lips to find her very wet. He slid it across her clitoris, causing her to shiver.

"I want you inside me."

Their eyes locked on each other’s, as he climbed over her as she spread her legs. She pushed her heels against his thighs, pulling him in. He guided his shaft with his hand, not into her, just so the head rubbed across her clit. She shook. He did it again.

"Please."

He guided himself to her opening and slowly brought his hips forward. They both slowly inhaled as he entered her. By the time he was fully inside her, they were both gasping for breath.

She whipped her arms around him and he began to rock inside her. His strokes became more pronounced and she closed her eyes. Her mouth opened and her head turned right and left in time with their movement. Her breaths heaved her chest as her body reached higher and higher levels of pleasure. She could not believe how high it was building before climaxing in that rapturous fall, when he panted the words that pushed her over the peak.

"I…LOVE…YOU."

It started as an explosion in her center, and then waves of pleasure fanned out, crashing into the limits of her body. She threw her head back and a scream caught in her throat. He body stiffened to brace itself against the waves. They came again and again, until she was exhausted from the onslaught. They stopped, and she collapsed, every part of her body in complete relaxation.

She opened her eyes and saw her lover above her, smiling.

"Shhh. Just relax. That was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," he told her softly.

They looked into each other’s eyes. He lightly kissed her face. He gently rocked inside her. Her voice finally returned.

"That was so wonderful. Now I want to do the same for you. Anything you want, this body is yours. You wanna cum in my mouth?"

It was not the offer he found so very exciting, it was what she gave him with it.

"No, I’m going to cum inside you…right now!"

He started hard, long strokes as his climax built. She became caught up in his excitement. He could tell she was close, but he could not hold himself back. His eyes, locked on hers, widened to announce his release. She saw it. They said the word at the same time: "Now!"

The word turned into two screams of pleasure. When it passed, he rolled off of her so he would not crush her. They held and caressed each other, exchanging soft kisses for several minutes, and then a grin crossed his face.

"What?" she asked.

He took her hand and drew it down his body, then touched it to him.

"Wow, you recover fast. You are something else."

"Not me. You. I find you so exciting."

He drew her hand back to his chest. "You don’t have to do anything with it. I just wanted to show you how attractive I find you."

She released her hand from his grip and reached down to gently stroke him. "You think I am going to let this go to waste?"

She got up to a kneeling position, threw one leg over him and guided him into her as she sat down on him.

"That feels wonderful," He said in approval of her initiative.

"Oh yes," She replied, concentrating on the feeling with her eyes closed.

He looked at the pleasure on her face. "Rachel, take control. I want you to move for your pleasure only."

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "I don’t think I can. I want to give you pleasure too."

"If you want to give, then give me what I asked. Teach me how you like it - the contact, the movement. I want you to cum from that alone. I want to watch you cum taking pleasure from me. Give me that, please."

She closed her eyes and started a slow rocking motion. On each backward movement, she would graze her clit over his pubic bone. Her movements were deliberate and steady. The pace did not change until a grimace of pleasure spread across her face, she moaned softly, and her body relaxed and fell to his chest.

"That was beautiful. Thank you," he said, stroking her hair.

Encouraged by his gently pressure on her shoulders, she sat back up and started again. This time her self-consciousness was gone and she climaxed very quickly, again falling to his chest.

"Now, I want you to join me for the next one. Okay?"

He nodded and she sat up. This time she raised herself up and down, massaging his shaft with the softness inside her. They were climbing together when he saw it on her face: just a slight wince.

He grabbed her hips and held her down and still. She opened her eyes and looked at him quizzically. "Why did you stop me?"

"I can tell it is hurting you."

"Just slightly sore. I’m not used to this much of this."

"Let’s not push it. There is going to be a lot more time for making love. I do not want to put you out of commission on our first night together."

She pouted as he lifted her off of him and hugged her to his chest. She pushed away and gave him a mischievous grin. She turned around and pushed her ass against him.

"Take me from behind. You won’t contact my sore spot."

He slid down the bed. She raised her leg and guided him back into her. He started long slow strokes and reached his hand around to massage her clit, hoping to get her to climax with him.

She grabbed his hand. "I know what you are up to, Buster, and no thanks. Now I want to feel you get off in me. Fair is fair. Take me for your pleasure. Besides, you were going for my sore spot."

He allowed himself to simply enjoy the feeling of being inside her, moving inside her. He savored the warmth and texture of her gift.

He came, releasing a long low moan as he held her tight to him. That, and the throbbing she felt inside was the reward she had wanted. As he pulled back, she turned towards him.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms.

* * *

He awoke and opened his eyes. That lost feeling of waking in an unfamiliar place overcame him. Then he remembered. The hotel. Rachel. He turned his head and her face was in front of him. He thought that she looked so beautiful in that relaxed state.

Her eyes opened and she smiled at him. "Good morning."

"That is the biggest understatement I have ever heard. Are you ready for our coffee at the window table?"

"I think I need a shower first. I’ll bet I smell like a goat."

"Baaaa. You smell fine. You want to shower first or last?"

She smiled, "Both."

They showered together, exploring each other’s body with soapy hands.

"I think you have it cleaned quite enough," he said to her as she stroked him with her slippery hand.

"Yes. You’re right, I think. Clean enough to eat."

If her words did not register, her grin made her intentions clear. "Not here. I want to enjoy that without having to worry about falling in the tub," he told her, with a broad grin on his face.

"Rinse."

They hardly dried themselves with their towels, and then went back to the rumpled bed. She gently guided him onto his back and kneeled beside him.

"I have wanted to do this to you for a very long time. I have been thinking about it ever since that story you sent to me called Kissing Him, and you wouldn’t let me do it last night, bad boy." She playfully slapped him on the chest.

"I wouldn’t trade last night for anything."

"Me neither, just teasing."

He never knew.

She gently ran her hand over his balls and up the shaft. It jumped at her touch. She smiled in satisfaction at her work and leaned down to take him in her mouth.

Stroking him slowly with her hand, she alternately took him deep into her mouth and licked the sensitive underside, just below the head of his shaft. She built him up with firm contact and then teased him with gentle strokes and licks. His body was shaking, begging for release.

Then she changed her rhythm and did not let up. He felt the warmth gather in his loins. He knew her characters swallowed, he was not sure if he could expect her to. He gave her warning. "God, that feels so good. I’m going to cum."

She looked up with smiling blue eyes and plunged her mouth down over him, bobbing her head and firmly jacking him with her hand.

He gasped in a breath, "This is so big! I’m CUMING! AHHHHHH!!….."

He had never experienced so many spasms of pleasure. When he finally came down from them, and his body dropped back, she drew her mouth off him and swallowed for the third and final time.

He looked at her and held up his arms. She laid over him. He did not have to say the words she already knew. He ran his hands through her wet hair and over her back.

A few moments later, he rolled her off of him and eased her onto her back. He kissed her on the mouth, and then planted slow kisses on her neck and shoulders.

He drew himself up and kneeled between her legs, kissing her breasts, stroking her between her legs with his hands. He kissed down her stomach and around the outside of the lips below it.

She rocked her hips up and down. He had given heed to the many instructions she interlaced in her fiction.

He slid his body down hers and gently licked between the lips, parting them. She hummed approval. The words he wrote to her about orally pleasuring a woman ran through his mind.

Why do I enjoy it? Think about what a baby does with something new. He puts it in his mouth. Why? To experience it: taste, smell, and touch, all at once. That is what orally pleasuring a woman is to me, completely experiencing her. I have her in my mouth. Add sight, because I can look up and see pleasure on her face. Add sound, because I can hear her moans - all five senses. To me, it is the closest I can get to a woman.

He was indeed experiencing her and he could tell that she loved it. He ran his tongue around and between her inner lips, avoiding contact with her hot button. As much as she steered her hips, he stayed away, teasing her to frustration.

Finally sensing that she was about to cry for his touch on her clit, he assaulted it with his tongue. He drove his finger into her entrance and gently massaged her g-spot.

Surprised by the sudden onslaught, she lifted her head and their eyes met.

"That is sooo good."

Her head went down and tilted back, her mouth open, panting. Her hips bucked slightly as he continued to drive her over the top.

She screamed, then stiffened; she grabbed his head and held him to the spot she needed him on, allowing him to taste her pleasure. She fell limp and released him; he crawled up her body and kissed her neck.

Once her trembling stopped and her breathing returned to normal, he reached down and guided himself into her.

"Oh my! You are going to make a dead woman out of me."

"Funny, there is a French colloquialism for orgasm that translates into ‘The little death’."

"What a way to go!"

He started long strokes to build his own arousal. She didn’t know it, but she was being set up for the pounce.

She had relaxed into her climb when he abruptly stopped. "I’m still hungry." He playfully announced.

"I can not believe you," she said incredulously, as he slid down her body, into a kneeling position.

He started again the delicious stimulation of her clit and g-spot. She surrendered to his control. There was a difference she did not know about. His hand was stroking himself just enough to maintain his on-the-edge arousal.

She threw her head back and stiffened, sending him familiar signals. Before she could grab his head, he sprang up and drove his cock into her to the hilt and came.

The sudden stop interrupted her fall. The sudden fullness where she had been empty, the sudden full body contact, the sudden feeling of him throbbing inside her drove her far higher that she had been, and pushed her off.

She screamed out loud, holding him in a death grip matching his. It lasted for what seemed like a forever. When she finished the fall, the receding pleasure tickled and she laughed. He rolled off of her.

"Little death indeed. Mister, you have a corpse on your hands."

"Me too, but I think you gave me an STD."

Her face got very serious. "No way. What?"

"Sexually Transmitted Deafness. You screamed in my ear."

"Sorry." She said putting he hand over her mouth.

He laughed. "I’ll be fine. I was too busy in the throws of my own death to move my head. That was wonderful."

"Wonderful beyond words. I think we need another shower."

"Yes, we have much to do. It gets better."

"Better than that? No, I believe you. I don’t know how it can be, but, from now on, I will never doubt when you say that."

They showered, dressed and went down to the lobby bar for a cocktail and light snack. Following that, they went to a matinee of Phantom of the Opera.

She loved the staging and the magnificent music. Every time she squeezed his hand, he shivered. Her thrill was his ecstasy.

The play ended at five and when they reached the street, he asker her, "Well, we have three hours to kill in the big city. You can do anything here. What’s it going to be, little girl?"

"Lets go back to the room and make love."

He looked, and was, astonished.

"Paul, this city is going to be here for a long time and I only have two days with you. Do you think you can do it again?"

"Do it again? My pants are already very confining just from what you just said."

They took their time making love, fulfilling her request, and then went to the evening performance of Les Miserable, his very favorite, now hers too.

As they left the theatre, she made a simple request. "I’m starved. Can we feed me?"

"Of course. That is what you get for having nothing but sex for breakfast and dinner."

"I could use a steady diet of that, but my stomach is not in agreement."

"I have a special place to go for after theatre supper."

"Now, how did I know that?"

He took her to Sardi’s, a Broadway institution for a century. As they entered, she was impressed with the walls, completely covered with autographed pictures of movie and theatre stars, both today’s, and those of long ago. She loved the pink draped tables, with bouquets of flowers, the dark oak paneling, and the waiters in tuxedos.

He took her hand and steered her by the front desk. "Follow my lead and look like you know what you are doing."

"Aren’t we going to eat here?"

"Not special enough. Come on."

"Not special enough? I have never seen anything like this in my life!"

He ignored her protest and led her to a stairway with a velvet rope across it at the bottom, with a tuxedo clad waiter, standing guard by it. Paul maintained eye contact with the waiter and the waiter opened the rope for them as they passed.

Once they got out of the waiter’s hearing distance, he whispered to her "This is a private party that occurs almost every night. The Broadway stars come here to have their supper. Nobody else is allowed. I thought you would like to dine with them."

"How did we get in?’

"We acted like we belonged. We acted like we had every right to go up those stairs and the waiter bought the act. How does it feel to be a Broadway actress?"

"If I had known the plan, I’d have blown it."

They reached the top of the stairs. The room was very plain, compared to the one below. No autographed pictures, no tablecloths, waiters wearing black slacks and uniform white shirts. It was seat yourself, and the place was nearly full, but Paul found an empty table on one side of the long room.

"So where are these actors?"

"Without stage make-up, they look like people. There’s John Lithgow over there and Peter O’Toole is in that corner."

Her eyes got wide. "Oh my God!"

"Don’t stare, you’ll blow our cover. Remember, you are an upcoming Broadway actress. If anyone asks you what play you are in, just say that you had an audition this week. They will understand, and wish you luck. Most of these people worked as waiters and waitresses most of the time before they made it big."

He ordered a bottle of wine and the specialty of the house, cannelloni, for both of them. He told the waiter not to pour the wine until dinner came because he knew they would be drunk and acting silly if they had any wine on very empty stomachs. He did not want to blow the cover.

After dinner, he insisted on them having dessert, because all of the desserts are specialties of the house. Many people go there after theatre only for dessert.

"Paul Stevens. Is that really you?" came a female voice from the side of them.

Rachel looked up with the instinctive reaction of a woman ready to fight the intruder for her man. The reaction was clear and quite surprising to Paul. He took her hand and the look left her face.

A beautiful brunette approached and Paul said, "Sally Murphy. How are you? Meet my friend Rachel."

"Rachel, Sally and I met at a reception at the Boston Performing Arts Center. She had just done a great job in Man of LaMancha. And I humbly gave her words of encouragement."

"Words," the beautiful actress said with sarcasm. "This man got me the movie part that got me to Broadway."

Paul only called in a favor from a casting director friend. After Sally’s audition, the casting director owed him two favors. Sally was perfect for the part.

"You earned that part. I only gave you the guy’s card."

"What movie was that?" asked Rachel.

"Scent of a Woman," said Paul and Sally together. A surprised look of recognition crossed Rachel’s face.

"So, you are on Broadway?" Paul asked.

"Yes, I’m playing the lead in the revival of Carousel at the Lincoln Center. Would you two like tickets?"

"Thanks, but we have plans for the weekend. I would love to see it another time."

"I’ll bet you two have plans. You have that unmistakable look."

"Are you familiar with Carousel?" Paul asked Rachel to divert from Sally’s previous statement.

"I don’t think so."

"I’ll bet you will remember the music, once you hear it," Said Sally to Rachel. Sally winked at Paul, and then, in her full, lyric operatic voice, started to sing If I Loved You, from her show. The place went dead quiet, except for Sally’s voice.

Sally’s singing set forth a Sardi’s phenomenon that did not always occur. Broadway stars rose in turn to sing their favorite songs from their shows. One would think that they would not like to perform for fun what they have to do, day after day, but they are the best in the business and proud of what they can do. Two waiters now manned the bottom of the stairs to keep the curious from investigating the beautiful voices in song above.

Paul had hoped and prayed that it would happen tonight. Sally made it happen. As she took her seat on the other side of the room, Paul raised his glass to her. She did the same. Favor repaid - in spades.

The party did not break up until almost three in the morning. When they arrived at the room, they discovered that housekeeping had only turned down one of the beds. Two chocolate mints were together on the single pillow. They both smiled to themselves at the sight. The exhausted couple fell fast asleep in each other’s arms.

* * *

He awoke and opened his eyes. That lost feeling of waking in an unfamiliar place was only fleeting. He remembered the hotel. He remembered Rachel. He turned his head, but her face was not there. He reached out his arm and she was not there. He sprung to a sitting position and quickly scanned the room. Nothing! He called her name loudly.

"I’m in here." Came a voice from the other side of the bathroom door.

His relief was immediate, but not complete. The illusion was pierced and the reality hit him: She would leave today. He would never see her again. He could not say ‘It gets better’ today, because, no matter what they did, the day would end with her leaving.

They finally had their breakfast at the little table at the window, overlooking the bustle below.

"It’s your last day here, little girl. We can do anything. What’s your pleasure?"

"When do we have to get out of the room?"

"Check out is at eleven, but they told me that, if I called the front desk, they could extend it to one."

She rose and kissed him on the cheek. "Make the call."

He watched in absolute rapture as she walked over and turned down the covers on the unused bed.

They made love all morning, reenacting the intimate events of the weekend in slow motion. When neither could possibly achieve another climax, they held each other in silence, as the hour hand of the clock made a complete slow pass.

They packed the car and went down to the trendy neighborhood known as SoHo. Paul found a French bistro for lunch and the couple had an animated discussion of the great city that they had so enjoyed.

Then a final entertaining diversion: a Circle Line Tour – a boat trip around the island of Manhattan, the island that is New York City. They sipped champagne under clear October skies and talked about everything – except anything that had a reference to the homes they would be at by the end of the day, half a continent apart.

They rode to the airport in silence, holding hands. They waited at the gate in silence, holding each other. The first boarding call came and Rachel looked up to Paul’s eyes.

"We had to do this," she said.

"We did."

"Any regrets?"

"None. I would not trade a moment of it for anything. For the rest of my life, I will be grateful for this."

"Me too. I’ll email you when I get home safe."

Her well-intentioned words pierced two hearts: They were back to that. That was all they would have.

"I’ll wait up until I get it."

The final boarding call was announced and they sadly rose to their feet and they exchanged their final kiss. It was not a kiss of passion; neither could handle that. It was as soft as their first. It was a kiss that said "I love you". It was a kiss that said "Goodbye".

She reached down for her bag, turned, and walked down the gateway without looking back. He was disappointed that he did not see her face again.

He did not know that her face was flooded with tears she did not want him to see. He did not know that she broke down and sobbed in the arms of a caring flight attendant. He did not know that, if she had looked back, she would have run back, tearing both their lives apart.

He walked to the big window and looked at the plane. The gateway retracted, thwarting the plan he was holding himself back from - to run into that plane and get her.

He watched the Towmotor push the plane from the gate. He waved. He could not make out the faces in the small windows, but he waived. He waved in case she had a window seat. He waived in case it was on the right side of the plane. He waved because it would be the last time she would ever see him.

The plane started forward motion and shortly disappeared around the end of the row of gates. It would reappear as part of an indistinguishable group of planes awaiting takeoff instructions.

She was gone.

He put his hands on the glass and sobbed uncontrollably, the tears covering his face. He looked up to see his own reflection in the glass. Then a huge smile crossed his face and his tears became tears of joy.

Of course he would see her again.

He had to.

THE END