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Message-ID: <40956asstr$1045739402@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Meme Mispelt <meem17@mwmw.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} Gift of the Maya (MF rom nosex birthday chocolate)
Date: Thu, 20 Feb 2003 06:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Gift of the Maya
by Meme Misspelt 

"Yo, Earth to Kevin!"  

Kevin blinked as he was recalled from his reverie. There was a half-full 
pint of beer in front of him. He took a long pull from it. The mug made 
a satisfying thump as he set it down again. 

"This is a stupid ritual," he complained. "I'd rather dwell on my 
regrets tomorrow, when I'm hung over." 

Sam's chuckle was a deep rumble. He didn't look much like an amateur 
philosopher, he looked more like a flannel-clad brick wall. "The passing 
of another year is an opportune time for self-reflection," he said. 

Kevin snorted. "I'd rather just have a good time than get all moony." 

 "So, anyway, what happened?" Nick wanted to know. He was the youngest 
of the four men seated around the table. "It didn't sound like you had 
much to regret so far." 

"Yeah, well, that comes next. So the waiter comes and clears the plates 
away, and we look up and our eyes meet and I just have this incredible 
sense of connection." 

Nick snickered. "Like your dick was going to connect with her pussy 
later that night." 

Todd punched him in the shoulder absently. Nick scowled but didn't say 
anything. 

"No," Kevin protested. "It wasn't a sex thing." He paused a moment to 
think. "Or anyway, not just a sex thing. It was like I felt I'd known 
her a lot longer than a few hours, you know? Like we were -- " he broke 
off. 

"Soulmates?" Sam suggested with a raised eyebrow. 

"Old friends," Kevin corrected. "But still with a real physical 
chemistry." 

Sam nodded encouragingly and took a swig from his own glass. 

"So eventually the waiter comes back and asks if we want dessert. I'm 
not really hungry, y'know, but I kind of want to draw it out more. So I 
ask if she wants to split something." 

Kevin took another gulp of ale.  

"She says sure," he went on, "and the guy comes back with the menu, and 
we lean over it to look at it together. And I say, 'How about the black 
forest cake?' and she says 'What about the key lime pie?' That really 
doesn't sound good to me, but I figure maybe she wants something 
lighter. So I suggest chocolate torte, and she says, 'Maybe the flan?'" 

Nick wrinkled his nose. "Ew." 

"for once I agree with you, Nick. So we're about halfway through the 
menu now. I say 'teramisu?' and she says 'vanilla ice cream?' kinda 
desperately, and that's when it hits me." 

Kevin stopped to wet his throat again. No one said anything. 

"'You don't like chocolate, do you?' I ask her. She says, no, she 
doesn't. And I'm like, oh, the migraine thing. But she had the red wine, 
and there were crusted nuts on her fish. But I ask her, 'Is it an 
allergy?' She says no, no allergy. 'I just don't like chocolate.'" 

Kevin finished off his pint. 

Nick broke the silence. "So, what you regret is you ate some flan to bag 
some pussy?" he ventured. Todd punched him again. "Ow, quit!" 

"Quit being an ass," Todd said affably. 

Kevin shrugged. "No flan. After that, I dunno, everything was awkward 
all of a sudden. Just the opposite of how it was before. We just got the 
check and left. Separately. Hardly said anything else." He sighed. "I 
thought about calling her, trying to explain, but I never did. It wasn't 
really til a month later I started to wish I had, and by then I figured 
she'd probably decided I was the biggest jerk on the planet. 

Nick pushed his chair back on two legs. "So let me get this straight," 
he said. "This hot chick runs into you on her bike and knocks you down, 
and you wind up going off to dinner together, and it's all great and 
you're hitting it off and feeling sure to score -- then you blow her off 
'cause she doesn't like chocolate? Dude, that's fucked up." 

"I gotta go with our young friend here," Todd admitted. "Sounds like a 
fuck-up to me." 

Kevin grimaced. "Well, I said it was my biggest regret of the year," he 
pointed out. 

Sam tossed back the rest of his scotch and laced his fingers together, 
and a pontificating look settled onto his features. "I know about this," 
he claimed. "It's called transference. See, your frontal lobe thinks 
things are great, but your lizard brain is afraid it might be too great, 
like you'll wind up married or something. The lizard brain is primitive, 
it fears commitment, so it finds a way to sabotage the situation. If it 
hadn't been the chocolate, you would have found something else about her 
that offended the lizard brain." 

"Where do you get this shit, Sam?" Nick asked. "Rikki Lake? or Oprah?" 

"The wise mind cares not what trough of knowledge it feeds at," Sam told 
him. 

Kevin shook his head. "That's not it," he said. "I don't know, it sounds 
dumb. But it made me question the whole evening. Like, if we had this 
huge difference of opinion, maybe the things we did agree about were 
just, I dunno, coincidences. Or trivial. What kind of person doesn't 
like chocolate? Somebody bitter, somebody mean?" 

Nick chuckled. "What we should do is set you up with Helen. She sure 
looks like she -- goddamnit!" Nick jerked as if someone had just kicked 
him under the table. 

Helen appeared over Nick's head. "How are you boys doing?" 

Sam flung an arm out in a wide and somewhat dangerous arc. Nick rescued 
his glass from harm's way and drained it. 

"Another round all 'round, Barkeep," Sam boomed. 

Helen's eyes narrowed slightly. "Which of you boys is Designated 
tonight?" 

"None of us, my good woman!" Sam laughed. "We are all three sheets to 
windward and hiring -- hic, 'scuse me -- hiring hansoms, the better to 
fete Kevin's natal day. 

They'd been drinking at the Fat Partridge far too long for Helen to 
raise an eyebrow at this outburst. "Three rocks and one scotch," she 
tallied. She looked at Kevin. "Hon, did he say it's your birthday?" 

Kevin nodded, still feeling a little deflated. "Sunday, actually," he 
said. "But yeah." 

"I'll get your special birthday shot then." 

"Hey," Nick exclaimed. "I didn't get a birthday shot last month!" 

"Well," Helen said, dead-panned. "Maybe it's a new thing we're doing, or 
maybe I just didn't think you deserved it." 

Todd waited until she'd moved away before he chuckled. "Well, friend," 
he said to Nick, "I think you sure deserved _that_." 

Kevin found his attention wandering again. He didn't really listen to 
Nick's retort. 

He found himself thinking of his improbable meeting with Susan, 
three-hundred and sixty-three days ago. He remembered the bright flash 
of irritation as she rounded the curve toward him, too wide, too fast, 
and he realized she was going to hit him. He was already riding barely a 
handspan from the railing, he had nowhere to go. How contrite she'd 
looked when she saw him dangling awkwardly over the low rail of the 
raised bike path, his leg tangled in his bicycle chain and his head 
almost in the swampy muck below. How stern she'd looked when she 
insisted on dressing his bleeding leg, and how amazingly, unexpectedly, 
pretty she'd been when she removed her helmet. 

Helen came back with three pints of beer, one tumbler of scotch on the 
rocks, and a funny-looking shot. It was a cloudy brownish color with 
bright flakes swimming around in it. 

Kevin tried to look more grateful than dubious. "That looks different," 
he said tactfully. "Thanks, Helen. What's in it?" 

Helen shrugged. "This and that," she said. "Trade secret. I can tell you 
that's Goldschlagger to make it sparkle, and it's got some Godiva 
liqueur  
for our resident chocolate hound." 

She deposited the rest of the drinks and twirled away. 

Nick nudged Todd. "You know what that looks like?" 

"Don't say it," Todd said warningly. 

"But with those gold flakes, man," Nick persisted. "Like a miner 
forty-niner with a bad case of -- " 

"Shut up, Nick." 

Sam picked up his scotch and sniffed it vigorously, waggling his 
eyebrows up and down. "Ah," he said with satisfaction. "The aqua de 
vitae." 

You should call her up," Todd said seriously. "You said it was her 
birthday too, right? So wish her a happy birthday." 

"Yeah," Nick sniggered. "Send her a box of chocolates." Todd punched him 
again half-heartedly. "Well, maybe flowers," he amended. 

Kevin looked glumly at the shot glass. Even without Nick's insinuations 
it didn't look very appetizing. 

"I'm sure a woman like that doesn't stay unattached for very long," he 
said heavily. "Hell, maybe she was never really interested in me that 
way in the first place. Maybe it was just some pity thing 'cause she 
felt guilty about the accident." 

Sam grunted skeptically. He looked hopefully under the napkin in the 
basket in front of him, as if he might more cheese fries hidden there. 
"That's your lizard talking," he said. "next you'll claim you didn't 
even enjoy the dinner. Wasn't that meat tough, now that you think about 
it?" 

"I don't know from Lizard," Nick chuckled. "But Kev's trouser snake sure 
seems to be asleep on the job." 

Kevin suddenly felt like the air in the bar had gotten too thick to 
breathe. He felt like another minute of his friends' banter might send 
him into a screaming fit. He felt much too drunk or much too sober, but 
he wasn't sure which. 

"Christ," he said, pointing at the TV above the bar. "Would you look at 
that!" 

The other three men turned to look, and Kevin slipped two twenties under 
the plate with the remnants of his slab of chocolate cake. 

"What are we s'posed to be seeing here, Kev?" Todd asked, his eyes still 
on the screen. 

"Uh, nothing," Kevin said sheepishly. "It's gone. Never mind." He pushed 
his chair back from the table. "I gotta go water the flowers, guys."  

The TV had still claimed the men's attention; they didn't glance at 
Kevin as he stood. Kevin thought about grabbing the windbreaker draped 
over the back of his chair, but decided against it. That would be 
obvious. Maybe just a walk around the block would be enough to clear his 
head, shake the mood that was settling over him. Maybe he'd be back 
before they even noticed he was gone. And hell, he told himself, it 
wasn't _that_ cold out, even if he kept walking for hours. 

Outside it was quieter, despite the traffic, and the air was easier to 
breathe. It was colder than Kevin had thought after all, and he walked 
briskly to keep warm. He didn't circle the block. He didn't pay much 
attention where his walking took him. 

*	*	* 

Tanya curled her lip disapprovingly. "I don't see why you're still 
mooning over this guy." 

"He sounds like a loser," Nadine chorused. 

"I am not mooning," Susan said, a touch more forcefully than she meant 
to. 

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Karen said with a chuckle. 

"What was his deal?" Nadine wondered. 

Susan shrugged. "I don't know. I felt . . . judged somehow, and found 
wanting." She swirled the wine in her glass around thoughtfully. "It 
wouldn't bug me -- wouldn't have bugged me, I mean -- if it hadn't been 
so great up to that point. I really thought -- " 

She let her sentence trail off unfinished and set her glass down. "Why 
are we talking about this anyway? It's not exactly a mood lifter." 

Tanya chuckled. "Because Nadine accused you of being a sexless hermit." 

"I did not! Not in so many words." 

" -- and you dredged up Kevin as proof to the contrary. Although I'm not 
sure he counts. Not even a kiss goodnight?" 

"He didn't exactly look like he was dying to kiss me," Susan said drily. 
"Your point, Nad." She raised her glass again. "To life as a sexless 
hermit." 

Karen smirked. "Get thee to a nunnery." 

Susan shook her head. "I don't think that means what you think it does." 

"I know what it means. I'm prescribing a cure for your malaise. You must 
have _some_ prospects." 

Susan finished off her wine. "I only meet guys in two categories. The 
interesting ones are all gay, and the rest drool and talk only to my 
chest." 

"It can't be that bad," Tanya retorted. 

Susan considered. "You're right," she said finally. "Some are already 
taken. And a few are just psychotic." 

"Well, why don't you call up this Ken guy?" Tanya suggested. "Maybe he's 
come to his senses. And Karen's right, I think a good lay would improve 
your mood." 

"It's Kevin," Susan corrected automatically. "And the last time I saw 
him, he looked at me like I was something he'd scrape off the bottom of 
his shoe. I don't really feel like throwing myself at him." 

"But you haven't forgotten him a year later," Karen said. "Must have 
been some dinner." 

"Um." 

"I still don't see why you couldn't just eat the damn chocolate cake," 
Nadine said. "You weirdo. What, it tastes like chalk to you? Give me a 
break." 

Susan sighed. "That's not the point. It's not just about how it tastes, 
it's about -- it's like a surrender, you know? Not compromise. Not how I 
want something to start. I didn't want to have to pretend to be someone 
who likes chocolate." 

"You could have each gotten your own desert," Tanya remarked. 

"Yeah. But by the time I realized that, it seemed too late. He just 
closed up on me." 

"Well, good riddance," Nadine said. "Freak. Although you're a freak too, 
so I guess you were made for each other after all. Who do I have to kill 
to get a drink freshened around here?" She slurped at the dregs of her 
sea breeze. 

"You could try running into other guys on the bike trail," Tanya joked. 

"Whatever. I already have a nice bicycle; it's not like I really need a 
fish." 

Karen laughed outright, Tanya and Nadine just giggled. 

"No, really," Susan went on. "Don't you think sex is kind of 
over-rated?" 

"Um, no," Karen said. 

"Not when it's good," Tanya added. 

"How's your boy-thing, anyway?" Susan asked her. 

Tanya grimaced. "I think we're moving him to the psycho category. Not so 
good. Maybe you're right. Maybe there is something to be said for the 
hermit life style." 

"I still say a girl's best friend is her Hitachi," Nadine said. 

Tanya rolled her eyes. Karen covered her left hand with her right. 

Tanya laughed. "We know what's under there, girl. Neal's all right. You 
got the exception that proves the rule." 

The waiter finally came by with reinforcements. Nadine stared at his 
retreating form. "He's all right, too. Or at least his butt is." 

"Jesus, Nadine!" It was a little hard to tell if Tanya was faking her 
irritation, or if it was genuine.  "Get your head out of the gutter. You 
make me feel like I'm in _Sex in the City_."

"Come on, what's wrong with a little harmless aesthetic appreciation?  
You don't think it's nice?"

"He's hardly punctual," Karen pointed out. 

Nadine shrugged. "Busy night, understaffed. I can make allowances." 

Karen sipped at her martini. "A minute ago you were threatening 
homicide." 

"Well, but _now_ I have a fresh drink. I'm feeling much more, what's the 
word?" 

"Generous?" Susan suggested. 

"Equable." 

"Increase your word power," Tanya muttered. 

"And _anyway_, I didn't say 'Oh dear, I shall have to kill the nice 
young waiter with the cute butt to get a fresh drink.' Even in extremis, 
I was casting about for other victims." 

"That's one problem with Hitachis," Tanya said. "No cute butts." 

Nadine nodded sadly. "I'll drink to that." 

"You'll drink to anything." Karen claimed. 

Nadine sniffed. "Not so." She raised her glass. "To Susan's 
unhappiness!" She set it down without drinking, with a decisive thunk. 
Tanya had her wine glass almost to her lips, but returned it to the 
table without sipping. 

They sat in silence for a few moments. 

"Well, that was certainly entertaining," Tanya remarked. "Here's to 
Nadine coming up with a better toast next time." 

The four clinked, Karen careful of her martini glass, and toasted. 

"Sorry, Suze," Nadine said. "That was kind of out of line. I just meant 
that there were a lot of things I wouldn't drink to." 

"Yeah," Susan said a little distractedly. "I got that." 

"It wouldn't kill you to be a little less sarcastic, Nad," Tanya 
suggested. "That really was a bit much." 

"Yeah, I know. I said I was sorry. But sarcasm is my schtick -- what 
personality would I have without it?" 

"See," Tanya said. "This is one of the failures of modern marketing. 
This whole idea that a schtick can effectively substitute for a 
personality." 

"Phooey. At least I've got a schtick." 

Susan found herself tuning out. She couldn't shake her blue mood. Silly, 
so silly, to be moping about a guy she barely knew, and worse, a guy 
who'd been so horribly, capriciously rude. But of the five or six hours 
she'd spent in his company, there were a handful of awkward cold 
minutes, and so much to counteract them. How he smiled with his eyes, 
not just his lips. How he listened, really listened to her, attentive 
and involved. And okay, how nice he'd looked in bike shorts, and how 
well he'd cleaned up for dinner.  

There'd been some unpromisingly macho behavior at the very first, to be 
sure. Her lip twitched as she recalled how wobbily he'd stood up and 
asserted that he was fine despite the blood streaming from the gash 
below his knee and the scrape on his chin. 

"You're going to make a mess all over your chain," she'd pointed out, 
and finally he relented and let her dig her first aid kit out of her 
pack. 

He'd flinched at the first touch of her hands on his leg, and so had 
she. It wasn't pain that made them start -- her hand wasn't on the wound 
itself -- it was more like an electric shock, or some chemical reaction. 
After that, it suddenly had seemed perfectly sensible to cancel her 
riding plans and follow Kevin's slow, weaving progress -- his wheel had 
been knocked out of true --  to a King Street coffee shop. The 
ostensible reason was to make sure he showed no ill effects from the 
blow to his head, but that was a thin fiction at best. Somewhere in the 
middle of Susan's second drawn-out mug of java, and his second hot 
chocolate, they realized that they shared a birthday, and that this was 
it. The collision suddenly seemed providential, as if fate had steered 
their bikes toward each other, not just the small coincidences of damp 
wood and rubber. That fact that he hated coffee certainly wasn't a plus, 
but it didn't bother her for long. By the time he offered to buy her 
dinner in return for shepherding him through the afternoon, they'd 
abandoned any pretense that spending more time together had anything to 
do with the accident. 

"Hey, Susan?" 

Karen's voice jerked Susan back to the present, not entirely willingly. 

"Um, sorry," she said. "Woolgathering." 

"On this planet?" Nadine wanted to know, "or some other one?" 

Susan smiled wanly. "This one. Wandering the hills futilely, wondering 
where all the sheep had gone." 

"I thought you were having an OBE," Nadine said. "Please tell me you 
weren't day-dreaming about whazzisname." 

"I think maybe I'm not feeling so great," Susan said, avoiding that 
issue. "Too much wine, too fast, maybe." She looked around the table at 
her friends. "I'm sorry, gang, I think maybe I need to turn in early." 

Karen looked concerned. "I'll go grab the waiter so we can get our 
check." 

Susan shook her head emphatically. "No, no, I don't want you all to 
leave on my account. Stay. Have fun." 

"But you're the guest of honor tonight," Tanya protested. 

"Karen's got a lot of martini to get through," Susan returned. "I 
wouldn't want to rush her." 

"You should stay," Karen said. "Have a glass of water." 

"No, really, I think I'd rather go." Susan started to pull her wallet 
out of her purse. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Nadine demanded. "You know the rules. 
You're not allowed to pay tonight." 

"There's not a waiver clause for my being lame?" 

"Maybe," Nadine allowed. "If you were being lame. You're not being lame, 
you just don't feel so hot. Lame would be, 'It's been fun ladies, but I 
really need to go darn socks.' Or something." 

"Thanks, Nad. But your sarcasm is slipping." 

"Fortunately, I have the emergency secondary back-up schtick of 
over-indulgence to fall back on." 

"Get some rest," Susan said. "Feel better." 

"Quit working so damn hard," Tanya chimed in. "Take tomorrow off." 

"Uh," Nadine said, "Tomorrow's Saturday." 

"All the more reason to take the day off. Our girl's been racking up the 
overtime lately, if you hadn't noticed." 

"Thanks," Susan said. She stood up, and leaned over to hug Tanya and 
Nadine. "Don't let me put a damper on things. You have to have extra 
drunken revelries for me." 

Karen stood up to hug Susan, and slipped something into her hand. 

"What's this?" 

"For cab fare. Don't worry, I'll make Tanya and Nadine cough up too." 

"You shouldn't." 

"Pfft. I don't even hear that. Birthday rules apply." 

"Well, thanks. You just watch out come May 8th." 

 Susan didn't hail a cab as soon as she got outside. The night was crisp 
and clear. Her mood was strange -- she'd found the company of friends a 
little straining, but she didn't really want to be by herself yet 
either. She decided to go for a short walk instead. 

She hadn't had any particular destination in mind, but the parts of Old 
Town that were comfortable to walk around in were laid along two 
perpendicular streets -- if you far from either, you were quickly in 
poorly lit residential areas. Besides that, her feet were trained to 
follow some paths without conscious volition. So it wasn't too much of a 
coincidence that she found herself in front of Elmer's Coffee house 
again. And given her temperament, it was no surprise that a cup of 
coffee sounded like just the thing to take the edge off both the evening 
chill and her sulky mood. 

Considering the direction her thoughts had been taking, it wasn't any 
great surprise that one of the men seated at the bar in Elmer's reminded 
her, from behind, of Kevin. Really, without seeing a face, anyone with 
the same general build could have a resemblance. Still, the guy just to 
the right of the cash register was remarkably close to her memory of 
Kevin, and she almost turned away and walked out. Then she saw that the 
man was drinking coffee, and she relaxed. She wasn't sure if she was 
disappointed or relieved, or some strange mixture. 

Two giggling high-school aged girls deliberated for entirely too long 
before ordering a pair of cappuccinos. Susan suspected their dawdling 
was inspired by the guy behind the counter. He was much too young to 
interest Susan, but she supposed he was attractive enough in a slightly 
pre-fab WB teen drama sort of way. She kept her eyes fixed straight 
ahead, somehow not trusting herself to look at not-Kevin. 

Finally she got to the register. The animation seemed to drain from the 
youth's face; clearly he thought she was too old for him. "Can I take 
your order?" he intoned mechanically. 

Susan was hit suddenly by something like a wave of dizziness. She saw 
herself as if reflected in a series of mirrors, over and over in the 
same position, standing in front of a succession of uninspired-looking 
young men and women, ordering an endless series of tall french roasts. 
It wasn't deja vu, it was the opposite, pas encore vu, perhaps. A vision 
of the future, which suddenly seemed claustrophobic and constricting. 
She felt absurdly as if this decision had a significance far beyond what 
she would spend the next fifteen minutes sipping, as if she were 
considering the path of her entire life. 

Her eyes felt pulled, as if magnetically, to the right, where not-Kevin 
was sitting with his coffee. She resisted the pull. All of the Susans in 
her head, standing at counters ordering coffee were standing there 
alone, unaccompanied, she realized suddenly. 

"Miss?" the boy behind the counter said, without evincing real concern. 

Susan swallowed.  She couldn't tell if it was a flicker in her 
peripheral vision or some sixth sense, but she knew the man at her side 
had turned to look at her.

"A large hot chocolate, please," she said. 



-- Meme Misspelt
-- http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/meme_misspelt/www/

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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