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Subject: {ASSM} Deferred Pleasure (MF FMF MFM Oral Anal) {Kellis} [3/7]
Date: Mon, 3 Jul 2000 19:10:30 -0400
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Deferred Pleasure
a Novelette by Kellis
June, 2000
Chapter 3: Scraping it Off
"Warden's Office, Horrypine Prison."
"Hello. Ah, this is Holly Moore. Could I speak to someone about
a prisoner named Gerald Ballard?"
"I'm sorry, ma'am. We cannot put calls through to prisoners."
"No, no! I don't want to speak to the prisoner, just to someone
who can tell me something about him."
"What do you want to know?"
"Well, I was the wife of the man he ... killed. I heard that he
was to be let out on parole this week."
"How did you hear that?"
"I have my sources. I'm very interested in this man because I'm
afraid of him."
"I see. What was it you wanted to know?"
"Exactly when and where he'll be released. I want to make sure
I'm not anywhere near there."
"Hold the phone, please ...
"Are you still there, Miss?"
"Yes, I'm here."
"Ms. Holly Moore, did you say?"
"Yes."
"I see your name here as the wife of the victim. All right.
Prisoner Ballard is scheduled for release on parole this
Thursday, August 26, 2004. He has a job lined up in Haley Park.
The prison bus will let him out in front of the police station
there at 3:30 P.M."
"The Haley Park police station at 3:30 P.M.?"
"You got it."
"Thank you very much, sir."
* * * *
"Bring it with you if you want to keep it."
Gerry looked from the guard standing in the open cell door to the
shelf he had mounted in his cell during the second year. It
contained a notebook, two ball-point pens and a dictionary.
Suspended below it was a homemade calendar with today's date
circled.
Gerry grinned and turned his back on all of it, including the
notebook, which contained a few chapters on the start of his
novel. "Let's go," he told the guard.
The man shrugged and led him down halls and through barred doors
until again he came to the office of Samuel V. Adams / Penal
Administrator. So far as he could tell, it and the man behind
the desk remained unchanged since he had last seen them, six
years earlier.
Adams looked up from his computer screen. "Your name, please."
"Gerald Ballard."
"Check." Adams turned a paper around on his desk top and shoved
it toward Gerry, along with a ball-point pen. "Sign this."
Gerry took it up. It was the document of parole, listing the
actions required of him, such as weekly reporting to his parole
supervisor, as well as those denied to him, such as consorting
with known criminals or leaving his county of residency until six
months had passed. It was a printed document, obviously
standardized. By signing it, Gerry promised to abide by its
terms. Willful failure to conform would result in parole
revocation and possible additions to the term of his sentence.
Gerry signed it and passed it back to Adams. By that time the
man had another paper ready.
Prisoner's Statement of Account
Prisoner 737-80-1311, Horrypine Correctional Facility
Balance on Account, August 26, 2004, $1,641.12
Disbursement 8-26-04, $100
Remainder retained 8-26-04, $1,541.12
Acknowledgment Signature _______________
"Sign that, too," said Adams, "and you'll get the hundred."
"Retained for what?" asked Gerry.
"Six months. We'll mail a check to your address of record in six
months if you haven't violated parole."
"And if I don't sign it?"
The man's eyes narrowed. "Don't get smart now, Ballard. One
word from me and it's back to your cell."
Gerry took up the pen. "Do I get a copy?"
"You're welcome to memorize it."
Gerry signed. Adams retrieved the paper, shuffled it into the
open folder and sat back in his chair. "One last thing, Ballard.
We've had a call from your victim's wife. She's afraid of you.
Your parole supervisor has been notified. If he gets just one
complaint, if he even hears that she has *laid eyes on you*
again, you'll be back here so fast it'll make your head swim.
You hear me, Ballard?"
"I hear you. Where's the hundred?"
"You'll get it. Take him to Acclim."
Gerry was led down a short hall to a green room similar to the
first one he had seen in this place, including the long raised
platform before the rail, except for a sign on the wall above it:
*Acclimatization*, and a long table containing a miscellany of
clothing, personal items and blue flight bags. Another prisoner
was already present, nakedly watching with his hands crossed over
his pubes.
"Strip," said Gerry's guard. "Keep your shoes and socks, but
everything else goes in that laundry bag."
While he was disrobing a third prisoner was marched in and given
the same instructions. The three were lined up on the raised
platform, once again leaning forward to the rail. A guard donned
a latex glove and went down the line, thrusting painfully into
each rectum. "Assholes clear!"
Gerry asked incredulously, "Who would want to smuggle something
*out* of here?"
"Shut up, you!" the guard retorted. "In front of your names on
the table is what you owned when you came here. Hurry up and get
dressed and sign the acknowledgment. The rest goes in your flight
bag, which is a gift to you from the state."
Gerry found to his astonishment that the clothing he had thrown
so blithely away in Holly Moore's den lay laundered and folded on
the table before his name. His wallet was present, missing the
driver's license and university ID but including the pretty
girl's photo that had afforded him bragging rights and the $19 he
recalled possessing on that fateful day. So were several coins
and a can opener but not his pocket knife.
"Take the flight bag," said the guard when Gerry turned away
without it.
"I don't need it. It was summer when I got here, too."
"You don't appreciate the state's generosity? Take it anyway,"
the guard directed coldly. "You can throw it away when you get
off the bus."
When the table was clear, the guard laid a clipboard on it and
opened an attache case. "Sign here," he said to the closest man.
Gerry was next. He found that he was acknowledging receipt of
his personal effects while absolving the state of any
responsibility for articles missing or damaged. When he returned
the pen, the guard handed him a bank-wrapped packet of money:
ten crisp new ten-dollar bills.
The same guards herded the three men with flight bags through the
gate and watched morosely as they boarded the barred bus. "Don't
come back," one advised.
* * * *
He stepped down from the bus. The guard standing beside the door
said, "Gerald Ballard," and checked something on his clipboard.
He tilted his head up the street. "You can get a room in Hotel
78, one block up."
"I know this town," Gerry responded, walking around the guard and
proceeding in the opposite direction, though in fact he had
selected no destination as yet. Walking without walls around
him, with no practical limit on how far he could walk, was
enticement enough. The weightless flight bag dangled, banging
the side of his knee. He looked around for a garbage can. It
wouldn't do to get arrested for littering 100 yards from the
prison bus!
He had reached the bus lane near the corner. As he searched, a
blue Buick glided in close to the curb, passenger window
descending. A woman was alone in the car. She released her seat
belt, leaned across the seat and called to him, "Let me give you
a lift."
He stopped in a shock of recognition. This was Holly Moore! --
pretty face, light brown hair, snapping brown eyes and all. She
smiled invitingly and declared, her voice pitched to be audible
only to him, "I mean it. I'll take you anywhere you want to go."
He looked around. No one of the several strollers seemed to be
interested. The prison guard had disappeared, either into the
gaping entrance of the police station or back into the bus.
Gerry sidled next to the car, purposefully dropped the flight bag
and dawdled as he bent to pick it up.
"Why don't you just get away from me?" he asked reasonably.
Her face didn't change. "Please get in. I'll explain why if
you'll just get in with me."
"Haven't you done enough to me, Ms. Moore?"
"No, I haven't," she admitted to his surprise, adding, "Will it
help if I admit I killed my husband?"
He raised up and looked around again. A black man sweeping the
sidewalk in front of a restaurant had paused and was watching
them.
While fixing his eyes up the street, Gerry said out of the side
of his mouth, "All right. If you want me so bad, drive around
the block. I'll take a right at the corner. You can pick me up
when you come around again."
Without waiting for her answer, he walked quickly away. The car
pulled back into the traffic lane. Behind him the black sweeper
called, "Better luck next time!" and laughed uproariously.
After turning right at the corner, Gerry strolled onward at an
easier pace, glancing over his shoulder to see if the woman had
followed his directions. He shook his head and muttered under
his breath, "Crazy broad!" But he found himself curious. To
*whom* would she admit killing her husband?
Lying awake in his cell, night after night, he had constructed a
version of the events in the Moore residence that day. Either
she had killed the man or had helped someone else do it. To
think that the body must have been behind the shower curtain the
whole time he was straining under the sink, the whole time she
was sucking him so expertly in den and bathroom!
Gerry's arrival had been fortuitous for her. Framing the
loveless and pussy-struck young man had been trivially easy. She
had exacted an extremely high price for her favors, but he had to
admit that he had enjoyed them immensely. The memory of her
actions had sustained his interest in life for six boring years.
Now that he was free, finding himself a decent but willing woman,
though an understandably difficult proposition for an ex-con, was
very high on his list of initial pursuits.
He looked over his shoulder as the blue Buick came to a stop in
the lane just beyond the parked cars. "You stupid fool," he
muttered to himself, "you'll let her do it to you again, won't
you?"
Clearly the answer was, "Yes." He turned abruptly and threaded
his way between the cars. He heard solenoids clunk as she
unlocked. A moment later he snatched the passenger door open,
threw his flight bag into the floor and fell into the seat above
it. Slamming the door, he cried, "Let's get out of here!" As
she accelerated away, he stared back at the street scene but saw
no one take an inordinate interest.
"Fasten your seat belt," she ordered. "The cops are on a crusade
again."
A traffic light caught them at the next intersection. As the car
idled, she regarded him narrowly. "Who's after you?"
He studied her in return. "You probably have a better answer for
that than I do." She was wearing a short-sleeved blouse and a
skirt. Her dark brown hair, longer than he remembered, was
neatly brushed. She was buxom and moderately plump. The bare
arm whose hand rested atop the steering wheel was shiny with
smooth, dark hair.
"You mean you think this is some kind of trap? Gerry, I swear
it's not." Her eyes were steady on his. "Nobody knows I'm
here."
He snorted. "Then what are you up to? I was told, just before
they let me out, that you called to say you're afraid of me.
They said if I let you so much as lay eyes on me, my parole was
violated." He sniffed. "Yet here you are, soon as I get off the
bus. And here I am, sitting in your parlor again."
She smiled at his irony as the light turned green and she eased
the heavy car ahead. "I called to find out when and where you'd
be released. I had to say I was afraid or they wouldn't tell
me."
He shook his head. "What do you care? Obviously you're not
afraid of me."
"Oh, but I am!" Her expression was wary as the car picked up
speed. "It's going to be hard to explain this, Gerry. The
hardest part, I think, is to show you I'm not your enemy."
"Oh, no, not my enemy. Just the woman that put me away for six
years. My good friend!"
She took a deep breath. "It's true that I framed you for killing
my husband. I feel bad about that, Gerry. I am truly sorry for
it, except for one thing. But I want to make it up to you."
"Do you!"
She nodded. "Yes, I really do. I'm going to show you that I'm
serious about this. I understand you have a right to be very
angry at me, to hate me, in fact. So I offer myself, just as you
see me, to do with as you will, even to kill me, if that's what
it takes to satisfy you, though if you can at least refrain from
that, and stay with me, I promise it will prove to your
advantage."
He rode in silence for a block. She cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Did you understand what I said?"
"To do with you as I will, you said. Even to kill you."
"I mean it."
"Holly -- you don't mind if I call you that, do you, considering
we've never been introduced? Holly, that's stupid. I don't want
to kill you."
She smiled tremulously. "I was hoping you'd feel that way."
"I just want to fuck your brains out!"
She compressed her lips and said nothing.
"You trapped me with your womanhood. I want to spring the trap.
But I'll tell you, one fuck is not enough for six years."
She glanced at him briefly and asserted, "I'll stay with you as
long as you wish."
"Will you!"
"And I'll take you anywhere you want to go."
He laughed grimly. "That may be a mistake, Holly. I knocked
around this area pretty good while I was going to school."
"So?"
"So turn left at the next light."
Several blocks further along he told her to turn into the parking
lot of a drugstore. "Wait here," he commanded, leaving his empty
flight bag in her car. When he returned, he bore a small paper
sack imprinted with the name of the store. "Go on the way you
were headed."
She obeyed in silence until her curiosity overcame her. "Why do
you carry an empty flight bag?"
"Because you didn't give me the chance to throw it away."
"'The chance to --' Oh. I think I see... You're going to need
clothing, then, and personal things like a toothbrush. Is that
what you bought just now?"
"As a matter of fact, I bought something for you."
"For me?" She looked at him curiously.
"You'll see. Bear right at that fork."
"Where are we going, Gerry?"
"Into the country, a place I used to go with friends to plink."
"Did you say 'plink?'"
"Yeah. To shoot a .22 at tin cans and bottles."
"Isolated, is it?"
"Maybe, if it hasn't been *developed* in the last six years!"
The houses were thinning as the road narrowed and its shoulders
deepened. "Do you mean to hurt me there, Gerry?"
"I've already told you what I intend to do. Hurt you? I don't
think so. Hurt a woman who would kill her husband? Did you
actually do it with that wrench?"
"Yes, I did -- and he was no more surprised than I was!" She
glanced at him. "Surely you figured it out."
"Either you killed him or helped someone else."
"Someone else? There was no one else."
"Why did you do it, Holly?"
She shook her head. "You won't believe me if I tell you."
"Try me."
The words poured out of her, as if a dam had been released. "We
were in debt over our head and a payment behind on both the house
and the car, because of his stupid gambling. Then he got fired
for, of all things, *stealing* from his employer! When he told
me why he was in no hurry to go to work that morning, something
snapped in me. I really raised hell. I think I slapped him. He
punched me in the eye, knocked me down on my back. I saw stars
but got back up and tried to fight. To tell you the truth, I
meant to claw his eyes out. But he grabbed me and threw me
against the bathroom door, which popped open, and I fell in on
the floor. He came after me. As I got up I saw the monkey
wrench, lying where I had tried to fix the sink. Just as he
grabbed me, I hit him in the temple with it as hard as I could.
His class ring scratched my arm as he fell on me. I pushed him
off to the floor. He laid there and twitched a couple of times.
I saw his chest quit heaving and knew he was dead.
"He bled a lot at first but then I guess his heart stopped. I
understand now that I should have left him and called the cops.
I had killed him in self-defense. But I was a wife who had
killed her husband. How I could I face the world after such
shameful betrayal? I hid his body in the bathtub. I got a
bedsheet and some spray and cleaned up the blood. I wiped all
the blood and hair off the wrench and threw the soiled cloth in
the clothes hamper. Then the doorbell rang."
Her eyes dwelt on his for the second she dared in the speeding
car. "It was you."
He thought about it. "You could've told me what happened and
asked for my help."
She sighed. "Oh, god, don't you think I've gone over all the
other things I might have done? I don't know what made me see
you as my scapegoat. Except one thing. You'll never understand
it, but ... Gerry, killing him turned me on *so bad*!"
He chuckled grimly. "Oh, I'll admit you were hot. Slow down.
Take that little dirt road to the left up there in the bushes."
"I don't see it!"
"You will when you get there. Well, look at that! The man who
owned these woods was a devout Sierra Club conservationist. I'm
glad to see he stayed prosperous. Here it is. Take it easy,
now. It's a little rough."
The car bounced drunkenly as it rode over the entrance dips but
smoothed out as the partly overgrown track plunged into the
woods. "Will I get stuck?" she asked.
"I don't think so. It's been pretty dry here, hasn't it?"
"Lately it has. This land is posted."
"I know it. We won't harm the land."
"Just me, eh?"
He grinned. "Holly, if you believe that, why did you come in
here? I didn't twist your arm."
Her lips firmed. "I meant what I said, Gerry."
"We'll see."
"How much further?"
"Oh, a couple hundred yards, I think. It's been a while, you
know."
The track opened up into a grassy clearing. "Stop here," he told
her. When she had complied, he said, "Put it in Park." He got
out of the car, came around the front to the driver's side and
opened her door. "Get out."
Her face turned pale. She sighed but obeyed him. He replaced
her behind the wheel and closed the door. "What are you doing?"
she demanded fearfully when he lowered the window.
"I don't intend to leave you, Holly," he answered dryly. He
proceeded to drive forward to a grassless spot and turn the car
around so that it faced back toward her. He turned off the
engine, got out and strolled the 50 yards back to stand before
her.
"Take your clothes off, one at the time, and pass them to me."
She looked around: trees, bushes and the seldom-used track
leading away in two directions. She could hear birdsong, insect
buzz and rustling leaves overhead. The afternoon sun was bright
where they stood. The odor of pine rosin was thick in the air.
She sighed, took a deep breath and unzipped her skirt.
He took it from her and felt of it thoroughly. She had already
removed her blouse before he ceased compressing bits of it in his
fingers. She asked curiously as he laid the skirt in the grass,
"What are you looking for?"
"Transmitters, but they've got so small I probably can't feel
them."
Nevertheless he took her blouse and felt it as carefully,
followed by her panties and brassiere. He held up the panty hose
to the light but crushed the panty part. All was thrown into the
grass.
"I'm tender-footed, Gerry!" the woman complained, standing naked
and barefoot before him, toes curling under her feet in the dust
of the track. He picked up her slippers and felt them inside and
out. He kneeled, raised one of her feet then the other and with
his bare hand slapped the dust off the bottom of each before
inserting it into the appropriate shoe.
She grunted. "I've seen that done to horses on TV."
He grinned as he rose. "Don't worry. I won't drive a nail into
your foot. Turn around."
She obeyed, hunching her shoulders protectively. "Please don't
hit me."
But his hands went to her hair, feeling all over her head and
behind her ears. She tolerated all of it, even when he took out
her bobby pins and barrettes and let the hair fall unrestrained
below her shoulders.
"Transmitters!" she repeated sarcastically, turning to regard him
when he stepped back. Her sneer faded when she saw that he was
removing his own clothing. She asked, "How do you know someone
won't come?"
"Look at the track. It's been a long time since anyone came
here."
She watched him. Her eyebrows arched sardonically. "Do you
think you might have transmitters, too?"
"No, but you have a few spots left to check."
Her eyes widened slightly.
In a moment he stood naked as she. He stared coldly into her
eyes. "As I recall, you were interrupted."
"I was ..."
"By your husband, you said, but actually by the cops. Finish
what you started, Holly."
"Oh," she said with understanding. Her face lost its
apprehension. She dropped to her knees, leaned forward and
completely mouthed his flaccid organ.
"I never thought I would get tired of jerking off," he mused as
her head bobbed at his groin, "but I did. And then the dreams
began. You were only my third woman, Holly, yet you starred in
all my dreams. I can never fuck you in reality as I did in my
dreams, but I intend to try. My last dream was about two weeks
ago. You're going to get a real mouthful in just a minute. And
don't take it out until it quits."
She ceased sucking at the first spurt and held him loosely in her
mouth. When at last she raised her head, seminal fluid dripped
from her chin. He told her in the tight voice of passion, "You
can spit."
She opened her mouth wide to exhibit its milky content, then
closed it and ostentatiously swallowed.
"Why did you do that?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"I told you: I'm not your enemy."
"Swallowing a man's come means more than that. How do you know I
didn't catch AIDS in prison?"
"I don't, except you're obviously healthy." She got to her feet.
"Can we go now?"
"Oh, no. You have two other spots that need checking."
She sniffed. "Is that a joke, Gerry?"
"I mean to check them." He took her hand. "Come on."
She let him lead her to the edge of the clearing. A knee-high
log reclined there, dead leaves still adorning the branches at
its other end, suggesting that it had not fallen long ago. He
turned her around, back to the log in front of an adjacent
standing tree trunk. "Sit down." When she complied, he dropped
to his knees, elbowed her legs apart and sank within them.
"You're licking *me*?" she breathed incredulously.
It was a question that required no answer. She leaned back
against the standing trunk, turning her pubes up for better
access. Her eyes drifted shut. She moaned slightly and her hips
began to roll gently.
When she screamed and lifted his head by the hair, he wiped a
dripping mouth on the back of his hand and grinned at her red
face. "I dreamed of that, too."
He caught her hand and pulled her, panting, to her feet. He took
her place on the log and bade her squat facing him. She settled
readily onto his upthrust erection and began rolling her hips in
earnest. Smiling, he leaned back against the vertical trunk and
kneaded her full breasts in both hands. She screamed as her
orgasms resumed.
His hands in her armpits lifted her off him. "And now the
jailer's favorite. I believe it's wet enough without the
Vaseline I bought."
"You ... you mean --" she gasped.
His hand reached well under her. "Settle back down. They tell
me you should push out as if you mean to shit."
"Gerry, please ..."
"I mean it, Holly. I never had a dick in mine, despite all the
offers, but the goddam guards loved to stick in their fingers.
This is my revenge on the whole damn world, Holly. Especially on
*you*, the cause of it. And I'll tie you to a tree and *rape*
your ass if you don't submit!"
She stared into his eyes. A tear appeared in hers. "All right,
Gerry. I expected this. I brought some cold cream, too."
His hands spread her nether cheeks. He had already lodged his
glans in the indentation. "Then come on, Holly."
She heaved a sigh and with trembling legs let herself slowly
down. She winced at the entry. He grabbed her hips, helping to
support her, wide eyes showing his surprise. "Christ!" he cried.
"I always thought this must be easy! Sometime you could hear
them fucking each other half the night!"
"It hurts, Gerry."
"Me, too, but it's going in, by god!"
"Yes ... Oh!" Her voice eased. "That's not so bad!"
"Holly, is this your first time?" he asked suspiciously.
She took a breath without answering. Her hips began to rise and
fall as he worked deeper within her. Her hand went between them.
He felt it moving.
After awhile she asked, "Can you come this way?"
"I don't know. I never did before."
Her hand raised a nipple to his face. "Suck me."
He obeyed, pulling most of it into his mouth. She moved faster,
causing the free breast to wobble and bounce against his cheek.
Her hand jiggled. "Oh, my god!" she proclaimed. "How hot you
are in me!"
He felt her sphincters close on him, an incomparable sensation.
She screamed, arching her back, when his semen spurted into her
bowels.
As their breathing quieted, her face sagged onto his shoulder and
her hair tickled his nose.
He took a deep breath. "Some revenge!"
She raised up and studied him. A drop of sweat fell from her
nose. "Don't you want a lot more of it?"
He chuckled. "I guess you didn't find it so hateful, then."
"I loved it, Gerry."
"All of it?"
"All of it."
"What do you feel right now, with my dick still up your ass?"
"What do you think? Like I need to go. I brought some wet
wipes, too."
"How did you know I'd do this to you?"
"Everybody knows what happens in prisons. I've been interested ...
in what you had to endure. Didn't you play the queer games,
Gerry?"
"No, I didn't. I don't care for men. Especially after living
ass to elbow with them so long." He sighed. "I guess I'm just
Holly Moore's natural born sucker. What were we together for,
maybe thirty minutes? It was enough. *You* are all I've wanted
for the last six years."
She said with evident pleasure, "It's kind of you to tell me
that, Gerry, after what I did to you. Can I get up?"
"Yeah. This log is not the softest seat in the world."
She laughed when she saw his buttocks cheeks. The tree bark had
marked them with angry ridges. She rubbed him briskly until they
faded.
He stood away from her, frankly studying her body, admitting with
a sigh, "I hate to let you go."
"Do you?"
"You'll go back to -- What do you do these days, Holly?"
"I have a secretarial job. But I have the rest of this week off.
We don't have to part, Gerry."
He grimaced. "I have to find a place to stay. And check in at
that job the prison found for me."
"Not the prison, Gerry. *I* got you that job."
"You what?"
"I know the man who knows the man who wants to hire you."
He stared at her. She continued, "And I've rented you an
apartment. It's in your name to show the parole officer. Can I
get dressed, Gerry?"
"Leave the bra off."
"Why? Did you find a transmitter in it?"
"So I can feel your tits."
She smiled slightly. They gathered up their clothing and
strolled, arm in arm, back to car. The woman carried her
brassiere in her free hand.
He had left the keys in the ignition. She started up and drove
slowly out of the woods, emerging at last onto the highway. The
sun was very low in the western sky. The car picked up speed.
He took a breath. "You got me a job and a place to stay. What's
going on, Holly?"
"I told you: I'm going as far as I can to show you I'm not your
enemy."
He grinned. "I'll admit this afternoon took you a long way. But
*why* is that? What do you care? Our little roll in your den
six years ago was nice, but I can't believe it was the greatest
lay you ever had."
She smiled. "No, but it wasn't bad. I was really turned on."
"Then what made you meet me today? Why have you done all this?"
"I have a good reason." She hesitated. "I'd rather not tell you
here. Will you wait until I can give you my full attention?"
"When is that?"
"Were going to your new apartment -- unless you object."
He said nothing. They rode on for a few minutes until he
suddenly laughed sarcastically. "I can't believe this!"
"What's the matter?"
"This afternoon is what! You're the woman who sent me to prison
for something I didn't do. Then you get me a job and an
apartment, pick me up when I get off the prison bus and fuck me
silly. What does all that suggest?"
"What?" she asked, regarding him with quick interest.
"That you want to do it to me again. And here I've let you. All
you have to do is stop by a police car, tell them my name and
it's back to jail I go. And I *knew* it when I stopped to talk
to you. But when I recognized you, my dick jumped. What I can't
believe is *myself*!"
"Gerry, you should believe this: I'll do *anything* to prevent
you going back to jail."
"Anything? Huh! Then you'll confess to killing your husband."
"Is that what you want? Do you want *me* to go to jail?"
He chuckled wryly. "No. At least, not yet."
They were approaching a set of yellow arches. He asked, "How
about stopping at MacDonald's?"
"MacDonald's!"
"I've been dreaming about a big deluxe."
"A man of simple tastes, eh? Gerry, your refrigerator is
stocked. How about letting *me* cook you a cheeseburger?"
He studied her. "You think you can beat a deluxe?"
"I've been told I can."
"And you want to cook one for *me*!"
"Yes, I do."
"Damn it, Holly, what the hell is going on?"
"Gerry, please. When I tell you, I'm likely to bawl. Will you
hang on? It's only another five minutes or so."
[Next: Chapter 4: A New Home]
--
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