*TO THOSE WHO WAIT*

by virgosun (c) January 2004

(MF cons)

********************

When her brother-in-law phoned, Pam grabbed her teacup 
and a cushion. They didn't hear from each other much 
these days, both of them being so busy carving out new 
lives. Tom worked hard and didn't spend much time at 
home, and she hated phoning that harridan Linda, his 
wife, in any case. Pam herself was frequently absorbed 
in her studies. Not only had she enrolled in two IT 
courses, she'd also taken up Japanese. Why? Because it 
was exotic and fascinating, and perhaps some day she'd 
travel there and meet the locals.

So when the phone rang and it proved to be Tom she made 
herself comfortable, for invariably their conversations 
turned into two-hour epics. And was disappointed and 
mystified when Tom simply asked could they hook up for 
lunch tomorrow? He was going to be in town, which was 
unusual in itself, and when she asked what he was doing 
he just curtly said he'd explain everything tomorrow. 
Did she know any decent coffee shops in the vicinity of 
the railway station? Their call lasted less than five 
minutes, and the whole time he had sounded short and 
brusque--most definitely not the Tom she had known for 
so long.

When she turned in for the night it was with mixed 
feelings. She was looking forward to seeing Tom 
tomorrow, but he hadn't said whether Linda and Emily, 
his daughter, would be with him or not. Her niece was a 
sweetie, but Linda was only tolerable in small doses. 
Her mouth was far too big, for a start, and she didn't 
know how to keep it shut. Tom seemed to have spent a lot 
of their married life apologising for his wife and 
smoothing ruffled feathers. Which maed his abrupt tones 
to Pam sound even stranger. She was at last convinced 
that something was wrong, terribly wrong.

Tossing in her sheets, she rolled over and tried to 
think of the things she should be pleased about. Hiro, 
the Japanese tutor, had called and suggested dinner, but 
the date he had named clashed with her night-course and 
she simply couldn't afford to miss it. Walt had 
recommended a new-release movie, although everybody in 
the faculty knew Walt liked to be seen with every 
available woman about. For a widow in her mid-forties 
she was doing quite all right, thank you very much! 
There were opportunities, but somehow, she couldn't 
bring herself to take them seriously. Yet. It took three 
years at least, her counsellor had said, before she 
would be able to free herself from the grief.

She no longer missed Mark so acutely. She had filled her 
life with activity, at first to screen out the pain; now 
she had come to enjoy herself again. Mark had swept her 
off her feet in her early university days, and she had 
given away language studies to marry him. For twenty 
years she had been housewife and mother, part-time 
schoolteacher. Then Mark had taken ill so quickly, and 
died, turning her world inside out. Financially, she had 
enough to keep herself and their son Brendan; so she had 
taken the opportunity to return to the world of 
learning, as though her marriage had been an 
interruption, a deferral. Soometimes she felt a little 
silly, very conscious of her age, especially as she 
shared accommodation with undergraduates young enough to 
be her children. But once she had lived that way for a 
while, she came to enjoy their youth and exuberance. Rex 
had been a flatmate for over a year now and was almost a 
second son as well as friend. He was nudgeing and 
winking whenever Hiro or Walt called. _You go for it, 
Pammy babe, you are one hot mama!_

So, well past a couple of years down the track, things 
were going well. Brendan was away at college; perhaps it 
was time she did take the dating game rather more 
seriously. But something still made her shiver at the 
thought of going out with new men. Somewhere along the 
line, perhaps, there would come a moment..._that_ 
moment.

Mark was the only man she had ever known as a lover. The 
thought of having any other still made her quiver, and 
not with desire. Which was completely at odds with the 
hungers her body felt, and acutely. There came times 
when she ached with need; but she was far too fussy and 
ladylike to go picking up uni boys in bars. Most times 
she thought of Mark, remembering his voice, his scent, 
his touch.

Mark had been dashing, with a pencil-thin moustache and 
spades of self-assurance. He had been a health and 
fitness fanatic, which made his death of viral 
encephalitis even more senseless. Lean and fit, a 
martial-arts expert, he could have out-fought a man half 
his age. His body had been toned and fit, his reflexes 
lightning-fast. And so had something else.

On her wedding night, Pam had wondered, "was that it?", 
and felt rather let down. Perhaps he'd just had too much 
to drink at the reception, the young bride reasoned. He 
had fallen asleep, so she had placed his hand in her 
moist crotch, and under the guidance of her own fingers 
rubbed his up and down her clitoris until she had found 
sweet, orgasmic relief. From there, she had applied her 
mind to solving what simply had to be a matter of 
timing. The male sex drive, after all, was a much more 
immediate thing, while a woman required time to get in 
the mood. Timing would be all.

And Mark was no fool. He knew she was unfulfilled and 
agreed, it was a matter of timing. His interest shifted 
to exotic Oriental sexual practices and meditation, and 
with private wry amusement Pam was sure they were the 
first couple on the block to have attempted much of the 
Karma Sutra seriously. He had obliged her keenly with 
some of the things she liked, resigned to making her 
come through secondhand means rather than his primary 
equipment.

They were a couple who enjoyed routine, Mark positively 
regimented in his. So, on Saturdays, Wednesdays and 
Fridays, Pam would go to bed at nine-thirty. She would 
wear a sheer nightie and nothing else, and perhaps take 
a sexy paperback to bed with her rather than her 
husband. Or if she didn't feel like reading, she would 
slip down between the sheets, slowly stroking and 
caressing her whole body sensuously. She would stroke 
her nipples through the soft silk of her gown until they 
formed hard peaks, and draw the fabric across them 
delighting in the gentlest of caresses. Sometimes she 
liked to leave her nightie-straps slipped down from her 
shoulders, so that her quite ample breasts would slip 
out in an almost tartish way. The kiss of cool air 
excited her, and the feeling of nudity. Then, most 
importantly, she would slip her hand up her thighs, 
finding the delicate bump of her clitoris, and there she 
would rub and tickle until the slippery juices flowed.

At ten, Mark would enter the bedroom, and draw down the 
sheets ever so slowly, revealing her body. And she would 
watch the swelling arise in his trousers, small shocks 
of need bursting through her throbbing clitoris. He 
would barely stop to unfasten his pants, and she would 
catch only a glimpse of his naked erection before he 
plunged into her quickly, handsome face contorted with 
need. And always, just as she clutched him close and her 
body started to thrum to his rhythm, he would gasp and 
fall still, that tantalising hardness inside her 
dwindling to nothingness.

Then he would stir. "What may I do for you, my darling?" 
he would whisper. And then, while his lips and tongue 
caressed her breasts, with his fingers he would slither 
within her until she moaned with ecstasy and begged him 
to stop, sensations so intense that they were 
deliciously painful. For all his speed, their sex life 
had not been unsatisfactory. And now he was gone.

Two fingers. When the need became too much, two fingers 
sufficed. In a bleak way, she was glad now that she had 
learned to achieve satisfaction without relying on an 
erect penis.

It was all behind her now, and tonight she felt too 
weary and preoccupied to be needful. Eventually, she 
drifted off to sleep.

***

She arrived at the cafe first and reserved a booth, then 
went back to the footpath to look for Tom, who was 
nowhere near as familiar with the city as she. He was, 
however, good at following directions, and before long 
she recognised his tall form alighting from a bus, 
wearing an eternally Tom-slate and conservative suit. 
There was such familiarity in that upright carriage and 
somewhat chiselled, bony face that the warmer memories 
of how life had been glowed in her memory. He had gone 
grey rather early and persisted with that combover, and 
had a neutral, sombre face until he recognised her. Then 
his brown eyes warmed, mouth turning up to smile, and he 
greeted her with a big hug and a peck on the cheek. He 
was actually a year younger than Pam, but his looks 
hadn't changed much in five years whereas Pam worried 
that she had declined woefully. That hair of hers, 
especially!

"There you are, Tom! After our phonecall last night, I 
was so worried, I thought something terrible might have 
happened from the way you were talking."

"No, no," he assured her, "I'm all right now. That must 
have been one of our shortest phone conversations ever, 
and I do apologise if I sounded rude, but I was in a 
hurry...so much has happened lately."

"Come on, I have a table reserved for us." She wondered 
at the strange, cold light in his eyes. He seemed 
haggard, and his eyes were bloodshot. "You must tell me 
what you've been up to."

"You mightn't thank me when you hear what's been going 
on. Before we get started, Pam, I just want you to know 
how much I appreciate your meeting me here today at such 
short notice. But I...I'm sorry, I need somebody to talk 
to, and you were always the one to listen, the best. 
You're about the only person I can rely on any more, you 
know that?"

"It's no problem, Tom...but what on earth's the matter?"

She spent the next three hours listening, as Tom told 
the tale of the final, sordid collapse of his marriage. 
In the past week he had filed for divorce. He wanted to 
leave their home town altogether, to quit the dull grind 
of his public service posting, and perhaps indulge his 
boyhood dream of going to sea. His cousin had a marine 
engineering firm, and had told Tom he could use an 
experienced stores and supply clerk if life at home 
continued to be "rough". Of course Linda would wish to 
claim custody of Emily.

Pam listened with detached sympathy. There seemed little 
point in telling Tom this had always seemed an 
inevitable outcome. There had been many times over the 
years when Pam wondered how two such different 
personalities had gotten together. Linda, loud and 
blundersome, goodhearted but entirely without tact, 
hopping around with one foot ever gracelessly in her 
mouth; and quiet, understated Tom, for whom peace and 
quiet and a good book denoted a good time. Unless he was 
drum-majoring the municipal brass band, which was the 
only time the hidden veins of colour in Tom's 
personality came to the surface.

Beside his brother Mark, Tom had been unassuming to the 
point of drabness; a younger brother eclipsed by his 
flamboyant sibling. "Apparently, I had become far too 
boring for her," he laughed bitterly. "I slave away for 
a living and keep a roof over our heads, food on the 
table, the car running smoothly. I don't expect to be 
waited on hand and foot; what's more, I keep the peace 
with all our friends. I don't hold her down when she 
wants to gad about the neighbourhood. I'm considerate 
and I'm housetrained, she doesn't have to clean up after 
me. But do you know what did it for her? I was boring 
because I wouldn't do her like a dog in a ditch by the 
main road into Kennaware. That was her idea of 
excitement, and when I wouldn't do it, she found someone 
who did."

"You mean she had an affair?" Pam had been going to 
suggest that perhaps there had been some need to spice 
up their love-life. Somehow she imagined Tom was a 
Sunday-night missionary, as regimented as Mark had been. 
Herself, the predictability of her married life had been 
a little stale at times, but also comfortably stable, a 
cosy if somewhat dated lounge-chair of a romance. Linda 
was a good-time gal, the life of the party, and would 
have bored very quickly indeed.

"Remember Slater, George Slater?" He was the local 
upholsterer, a pleasant and avuncular man who had been a 
friend of Tom's. Universally acclaimed by the townsfolk 
as a lovely guy, a nice fellow; five-nine and portly, 
aged in his mid-fifties, with a bristling moustache--he 
often played gigs as Santa at Christmas charity dinners. 
"Linda had to take Emmy to an optometrist in Kennaware, 
and I had the car and had to work that day, so George 
very kindly offered to drive them over." Which was just 
the sort of kindness George was renowned for. Tom's 
nostrils flared, and he rubbed both hands back over his 
thin hair. "See, she didn't just say she was having an 
affair and leave it at that, ohh no! She insisted on 
describing it in all its lurid details, as if to shame 
me for my lack of daring..."

Pam pursed her lips, but made herself listen to allow 
Tom to let go his grief and disgust; she knew she was 
not going to like what she would hear.

...moaning to George about how dull life had become as 
they drove to Kennaware, and Tom was so dull and the 
most interesting thing he had ever attempted to do was 
dress up in his band costume, when she wanted excitement 
and danger and risk. He'd let her join the nudist camp 
but didn't go along because he didn't much like the idea 
of living as Nature had intended, he was such an old 
stick-in-the mud and a party pooper besides. Where had 
the spontaneity gone? He bought her flowers and trinkets 
and kept her credit card liquid, as though that could 
make up for him being too tired when she was in the 
mood--he had actually fallen asleep beneath her one 
night! Yes, he worked hard and was a good man, so 
perhaps he really did get too tired, so she'd tried to 
give him the hint on weekends. "Come quick!" she would 
say, indicating the bathroom while their daughter was 
playing in the family room with her friends, and he 
would refuse, then sulk. Or she would wrap her legs 
around him while they relaxed in the above-ground pool. 
"Let's do it here, in the garden, in the sun! Hurry up!" 
The fact that the neighbours were having a barbecue and 
Emmy was bouncing on the other neighbours' trampoline 
only made her keener, and Tom grumpier in his refusals.

George nodded sagely and agreed, marriage certainly 
needed spice and variety. He'd heard the local doctor 
and his wife were real swingers, and that they were into 
wife-swapping with the doctor's brother. Linda had 
giggled, intrigued, but knew Tom would never go in for 
such a thing. Although he always did spend a lot of time 
talking to that stuck-up cow Pam, Linda laughed...

Pam flushed and almost hit her feet for outrage on 
hearing that; Tom gave a quick smile and put his hand on 
her forearm to steady her. "How _dare_ she suggest such 
a thing!" she spluttered. "We're both far too 
decent...we have too much respect for each other, you 
were only ever a perfect gentleman toward me and I would 
never debase myself so, most particularly while my 
husband was still alive!"

"We both know that; you were utterly devoted to Mark, 
and I swore marriage vows to honour my wife that I never 
broke. But poisonous tongues abound. She was probably 
only making one of her silly jokes, but...ah, there I go 
protecting her again, when I owe her absolutely nothing 
but alimony. I've got to get used to not making excuses 
for her anymore."

"And she was going on with such talk in front of Emily?"

"So it seems. I didn't want to ask Emmy about the things 
her mother said, of course. To Linda's thinking, the 
girl won't grow up if she doesn't hear grown-up talk."

"Tom, she's not ten years old!"

...and to his credit Tom had suggested trying some 
different things occasionally, like strange positions 
and even kinky things, but Linda declared she was no 
gymnast, she wanted it down and dirty, quick and easy 
and simple, with dirty words that Tom just couldn't seem 
to get his mouth around convincingly; things she 
couldn't say in front of Emily, of course.

She had taken Emily up to the optometrist's office. He 
was running late and there would be a bit of a wait, but 
Emily had her nose in a book so much like her father 
would. Linda was dying for a cup of coffee, so she'd 
left Emily at the medical centre on her own and found a 
coffee shop. She had noticed a wicked, mischievous light 
in George's grey eyes as they ordered. He was quite 
pleasant to look at, she thought. The shop was busy, and 
the waitress had apologised for seating them so far down 
the back. They were in a corner, with only a planter-box 
between them and the rest of the cafe. A quartet of old 
ladies cackled and stirred tea just the other side of 
the greenery.

It was the spontaneity that was so important, he told 
her with that flirtatious smile, taking her hand and 
placing it in his lap under the table. There she had 
felt a distinctive, rock-hard, bullet-headed shape 
beneath his polyester wash-and-wear shorts. Ever Linda, 
she had giggled, and met the unspoken dare in his eyes 
to keep her hand there. Probing with her fingers, 
pushing at the cloth, she measured as much of his length 
as she could, and made a ring of her fingers over its 
tip, squeezing the hot, springy flesh.

While she did that, he slipped his hand beneath the hem 
of her skirt, making idle conversation about the fields 
full of sunflower blossoms on the outskirts of town, 
sunny and bold and brassy just like her. His fingertips 
made little circles as he inched them along her inner 
thigh, and she shifted her seat so that they sat closer 
together, parting her legs more so that he could reach 
right up to...he teased her, taking his fingers up 
closer, closer, but doing no more than brushing the 
gusset of her panties. They smiled at each other like 
naughty children making mischief, and this was the most 
fun Linda had known in years and years. With his other 
hand, he upped the ante by unzipping his fly, there in 
the restaurant beneath the table, while old ladies 
gossiped and cappucino broiled and a waitress bustled 
hastily past with dirty dishes stacked high.

He made as though he were adjusting his chair, checking 
for his wallet and car keys and finding his 
handkerchief. When he was done shuffling, Linda reached 
for his lap again, and touched the hot, silken dome that 
peeped from his pants. She could ease her fingers down 
the ridged sides into a nest of curling hair; slipped 
them back up to feel the rim, the creases underneath. 
George was having trouble keeping track of their 
conversation now, and he moistened his lips, brow 
sheening with sweat. With the tip of her finger she 
found the notch at the very tip, wriggling it in the 
slippery droplet she found there.

Then she excused herself and went to the restroom 
briefly. When she returned, she favoured him with a 
dazzling grin and sat close by. She took his hand and 
placed it firmly on her inner thigh again, and was 
pleased to find he had not put anything away while she 
was gone. This time, his fingertips tickled her pubes, 
for her damp knickers were now in her handbag.

She commented the service was woefully slow and they 
didn't really have time for this. George agreed and 
fumbled for his car keys. The coffee could wait.

They drove just outside of town, to where the first of 
the sunflower fields began. As soon as the car was 
mobile, Linda unzipped him again, and delighted in 
seeing as well as touching that fiery red cockhead. He 
drove with one hand on the wheel, reaching for her 
breast with the other, cupping it and feeling the weight 
of it. She worked her dress up until her pussy was in 
clear view, laughing merrily as he struggled to divide 
his attention between the road and that snatch. She was 
so excited already that her clit was zinging and her 
vagina clenching in anticipation.

George brought the car to a sharp halt by the closest 
sunflower field, gravel crunching. He didn't even shut 
off the engine; he leapt from the car and ran around to 
grab her hand, and they raced to the smooth wire fence 
that edged the paddock, scrambling through a ditch. He 
held the wire strands of the fence apart so that she 
could clamber through, and she couldn't tear her eyes 
from his exposed dick. As soon as they got just a few 
sunflower plants between themselves and the road, she 
dropped to all-fours and flung her skirt up over her 
back, pointing her wet, needful hole at him. George's 
belt and loose change jingled as he dropped his pants; 
his fingers were taut and clutched at her ample beam, 
and he jammed his rod into her deep and hard.

There, in the dust and heat, in the buzzing of bees and 
flies, he shoved in and out of her hard and fast, 
grunting like a lustful hog. She cried out for him to 
fuck her cunt harder, harder, fucking harder, and 
screamed and gasped and moaned from the depths of her 
lungs. He groped beneath her blouse, demanding her tits 
to squeeze and promising he'd fuck her like she'd never 
been fucked before, the way a slut should be, anywhere 
she liked, anywhere he pleased, any time. And while she 
moaned and gasped and laughed, she grabbed roughly for 
his taut balls. He pulled out suddenly, and warm fluid 
splattered her rump; she laughed again and rubbed his 
juice into her skin and promised she was safe, she 
wasn't going to get pregnant. A semi-trailer and a 
string of traffic roared by, so close that exhaust fumes 
wafted over them. Laughing and gasping, they staggered 
to their feet again, trying to compose themselves, 
wondering where she was going to wash her hands. George 
generously offered to piss on them.

They went back and picked up Emily, then drove home 
saying little, but sometimes smiling or giggling. After 
that, Linda hadn't bothered Tom any more. When he did 
make love to her, she did little more than tolerate it, 
and overtly watched the clock as if to wish it would be 
over sooner. She acquired some nice new upholstered 
dining room chairs, and visited George's showroom often 
as she struggled to decide which setting looked the best 
and kept changing her mind.

Linda was not good at keeping secrets. At last, bored 
and frustrated with Tom's bedroom etiquette, she told 
him how should be doing it. The way George did it.

"I'm sorry, Pam, so very sorry...I just...needed to talk 
to somebody, and you knew what she was like, I..." Tom's 
face was scarlet with embarrassment, but pale beneath 
the flush. "Was it really me? I was raised not to call 
women insulting names, I...I don't know..."

She tried to reassure him, to help his shattered 
confidence. "Good gracious, Tom, there is nothing 
flattering about smutty or abusive talk like that, it's 
cheap and tawdry...just like Linda, I fear. Don't blame 
yourself. If Mark had spoken to me like that, ohh, how 
horrid! Tom, it just wasn't worth it. She wasn't worth 
it. You've done the right thing in getting away from all 
that."

He gave a small, painful smile, brown eyes sincere. "At 
least you're a lady, Pam. As long as I've known you, 
you've always had class. If only Linda could have taken 
a leaf from your book."

"What on earth were you doing with the sort of person 
who gets excited by a man who exposes himself in a cafe, 
I mean, really!" Pam looked about, still appalled by 
what she had heard. They sat in a coffee-shop, thinly 
populated in the late afternoon, and for the first time 
she wondered if any of the couples in the darker, 
further booths might be engaged in a furtive grope?

"Maybe I was desperate. Mark had scored a delightful 
woman and gotten married, and I was feeling left behind 
until Linda flounced in. She wanted me then, and I 
thought that was my big chance." He shrugged. "I made 
the best go of it that I could, and this is the thanks I 
get."

"Well," said Pam briskly, hitting full maternal-advisory 
mode. "It'll take you a while to get your balance now 
that this has happened, but what you need to do next is 
aim higher. You'll mend, you'll feel better without her, 
and you'll be able to find yourself the lady a gentleman 
like you deserves. I'm not the only one about, you 
know." She winked sagely, although privately, her words 
rang hollow. Three years on from Mark, she hadn't found 
anyone else. But that was different, she told herself. 
She had been parted from Mark in grief, not in hatred. 
Tom's situation was entirely different to her own.

***

Tom flew out again that evening, heading for his cousin 
Neil's maritime business and a new life. Pam resumed 
forging hers. Sometimes they rang each other as weeks 
became months, going back to those long phonecalls as 
Tom started to sound happier. He was learning 
navigation, which he found completely fascinating, and 
had even become a qualified scuba diver; in his words, 
when he looked in the mirror of a morning, he almost 
didn't recognise himself for some of the exciting things 
he had done since leaving Linda.

When Christmas rolled around, Pam answered Neil's invite 
to fly down to the coast and celebrate with the family. 
Brendan would be home from college, and he had always 
loved the sea and to visit Neil's when he was a much 
younger boy. So mother and son would together return to 
the bay and the boat trips. Tom gallantly offered to 
pick them up from the airport.

She bustled from the plane and down the passenger ramp 
at the terminal, Brendan with a knapsack over his 
shoulder behind her, and peered about the people milling 
around the reception area. She looked for brown tweed 
trousers with neat seams and a knitted beige vest, a 
collar and tie, but couldn't see him anywhere, so she 
wandered out into the centre of the concourse. She was 
aware Brendan hadn't come with her and expected the 
teenager had wandered to a drink machine for a can of 
cola, and eventually turned around to look for him too. 
Perhaps he had spotted Uncle Tom already? 

Brendan had set down his pack and was standing beside a 
bench seat wearing that half-smirk so much like his 
father's. The man who had been sitting there had risen 
and came toward her, some quite attractive stranger 
intent on speaking to her. His short, neatly-trimmed 
brown beard was frosted with grey, and the little hair 
he had was crewcut to a short fuzz. His dark eyes smiled 
as though he knew her, although she expected he would 
ask her for directions. But then he called her by name, 
politely expectant. "Pam?"

"Oh my God! Tom! I walked right past you!"

"I know," he laughed, gathering her in a hug that she 
drew back from so that she could look him over in 
wonder. Yes, the same refined nose and chiselled face, 
but now with a beard, and he was rid of that limp and 
tired-looking combover. He looked much happier than the 
last time she had seen him. He wore rumpled cargo pants 
and loafers, a polo shirt and spray-jacket, and seemed 
right at home in that attire. The beard kept him warmer, 
and the combover had been impractical when the seabreeze 
kept blowing it off his scalp, he explained.

They set off for their seaside hotel, joining the family 
for the best Christmas Pam could remember in some time. 
Brendan thoroughly enjoyed himself in the company of his 
uncle and a cousin-by-marriage to the family, Ryan, a 
seasoned yachtsman. She was amazed to watch Tom, 
formerly a complete landlubber, moving around the deck 
of the sailboat they cruised upon with a skill and 
alacrity almost matching Ryan's. Simply watching them at 
work was a private joy. The pair had clearly become good 
friends and were both quite easy on the optic nerve, 
especially Ryan.

"I told you things would only get better," she said to 
Tom at Christmas dinner.

"They have, yes," he said wistfully. "But I miss Emmy 
so, and worry about her, and...well, there's a vacuum in 
my life. I've looked about, and don't get me wrong, it's 
been splendid to be able to look, but, nothing much has 
happened."

"He does all my looking for me, now that I'm hitched," 
Ryan quipped, glancing at Pam from dark, deepset eyes 
that smouldered. "Got himself sunglasses so that he can 
check out the joys of summer on the dockside, all those 
babes topless sunbathing on the foredecks..."

Brendan laughed, and Tom managed a distinguished poker-
face. "Oh, come now Ryan, I don't believe Tom would do 
anything so crass," she clucked lightheartedly, although 
she had known Tom for too many years to fall for that 
innocent look. Sobering, she addressed herself to him. 
"Never mind, Tom, it does take time. You've got to live 
empty for a while, so they say. It's not easy, but you 
do have to take a break from being one half of a 
partnership and rediscover yourself, and find out who 
your friends are. You look to be doing really, really 
well."

"You've shown me the way, Pam," he smiled. "Take some 
courses, do something new, change your hairstyle even."

"At least Pam didn't grow a beard," Ryan teased.

***

Pleasant as the Christmas break was, it also left her 
with a bitter taste in her mouth. Being in the company 
of Tom's cousin Shelly and her quite striking husband 
was always difficult. She had first met Ryan at Mark's 
funeral; he had merely been a friend of the family then. 
He had needed a lift to the airport after the ceremonies 
were over. Pam had been going to offer him a ride, but 
Shelly had gotten in first, and had stayed for dinner 
with him while he waited for his flight. Pam couldn't 
help feeling opportunity had knocked then, too cruelly 
close to Mark's death, and Shelly had picked it up 
instead of her.

_Face it, Pam, you're jealous!_

He was a very attractive man, a few years younger than 
Pam, a good six feet tall, slim and athletic. He was 
black-haired and swarthy, tending to keep stubble that 
made him look a little rough; very appealing with his 
craggy, square features. He was alert and intelligent, 
an excellent foil to Tom's lightning-quick wit, a very 
clever man. To see him and Tom together almost hurt, and 
at first she didn't realise why; but it was because he 
was the leader to Tom's loyal follower...he was, in some 
ways, Mark all over again. Tom had found a new elder 
brother to look up to, although Ryan was actually 
younger than him.

He'd also been wearing a pair of comfortable cotton 
shorts around, the soft folds of which had clung just 
enough to his hips to entice the eye with hints of very 
pleasing contents.  Pam had found it almost 
distressingly difficult to keep her eyes off him, even 
when his wife was about, or he was dandling his baby 
daughter. There was never any way Ryan would pay her any 
notice; but in fantasy, anything was possible, and he 
could be the stuff dreams were made of.

Pam retired late one night with her mind full of Ryan. 
He'd been wearing those damn shorts again, and she knew 
that if she didn't pleasure herself tonight she was in 
for a grumpy day tomorrow. Brendan had stayed back 
aboard one of Neil's boats, roughing it for the night, 
so she had the motel room to herself, and the great 
empty double bed. It was hot, so after she showered she 
did not dress, but went to bed and drew up the sheet 
only. She lay on her back with her legs wide apart, 
running her hands up and down her body with languid 
strokes. If only the end of the bed would bow under the 
weight of a man, coming to kneel between her legs, and 
run his fingertips over her skin and kiss her breasts.

The light of the full moon slanted through a veil of 
curtains she had drawn. Her eyes half-closed, she 
fancied she could see Ryan standing there, lean 
musculature highlighted, skin pale as an alabaster 
statue. He would be wearing that half-smile of his, and 
nothing but those shorts, but not for long. One tug on a 
drawstring, and the shorts would fall away, revealing a 
long, straight pole standing out from his hips just for 
her.

He would kneel on the bed and lean over her, lips 
caressing her mouth as his hands roved over her breasts. 
She would not have to touch herself any more, for his 
fingers would do all of that for her. He would kiss her 
throat, moving slowly down her body to suck her nipples 
and flick them with his tongue. His fingertips would 
dance over her hips and belly, down to her moist bush, 
and his lips would follow...

There had been things Mark would not do. She had wanted 
him to kiss her all over, in every place, but he hadn't 
wanted to do that.  She would have bathed, shaved, made 
it clean as it could be to assuage his fussiness, but he 
had not been tempted. Nor had he let her kiss his 
manhood, for his body had been his temple. He would have 
come within seconds. She had wanted to taste him, yes; 
but more than that, she had wanted him to taste her.

Shelly was a new-age woman unashamed of sex. She had 
said enough of Ryan to intimate he enjoyed going down. 
It was his "thing", and he was damn good at it too!

Would he press his face fearlessly into the curls of her 
snatch, and then sneak the tip of his tongue into her 
slit, there to just touch her pulsing clit? Would he 
kiss these lips as passionately as he kissed her mouth, 
while his tongue dipped and lapped, mixing his saliva 
with her juices?  Would he make little circuits of her 
opening, or would his hot breath puff lightly across her 
burning clit?  Would his tongue wriggle inside of her, 
strong and lithe, darting and whirling, and would his 
fingers join the dance? She could feel his stubble rough 
upon the skin of her inmost thighs and her labia, and 
she would knot her fingers in his thick black hair and 
drive him in to where she wanted him, and he would lick 
her until she screamed for mercy.

Her fingers pretended to be a tongue. Damn her for 
leaving the dildo behind this trip!

And when he was finished, when she could respond to him 
no longer, they would curl up together, snug beneath the 
sheet in a cosy haze. As her thoughts drifted away from 
consciousness, fantasy and reality swirled and mixed in 
a surreal sexual slide-show. Ryan became Mark, who 
couldn't be Mark because he would never do cunnulingus, 
and Tom briefly appeared and cuddled her but he was Tom 
cleanshaven with a combover who was not now-Tom of the 
wetsuit that made him look a lot more macho than she had 
ever seen him before...the wetsuit belonged to a 
snorkeller that was Ryan who nuzzled her thatch...she 
was sitting in one of those exclusive airport cafe clubs 
wearing no knickers, and Ryan dressed in a conservative 
neatly-pressed suit knelt between her parted knees and 
put his head under her skirt and licked her cunt, and 
she looked at the clock because it was taking so long 
and Tom would be late...

***

It was the cuddling bit at the end of her fantasies that 
made her ache with sorrow. She awoke in the early 
morning, chilled and bewildered, and crept out of bed to 
find some pyjamas and a coverlet and get herself decent 
again.

The next morning, the family gathered on the dockside 
for a special treat. Neil's firm had just completed the 
construction of a large luxury motor launch with room 
for twenty guests. For a week they would be his guests 
on a shakedown voyage before the cruiser was passed on 
to its new owners. Accommodations were split between 
single cabins and double staterooms.

However, there was greater demand for single rooms than 
doubles. Rooming everybody to the best compromise 
required the wisdom of Solomon; and when all was said 
and done, Neil found himself with two single guests and 
one double bedroom left.

"Do you two mind?" Neil said apologetically. Pam wasn't 
sure it was entirely proper, but Tom laughed it off.

"We've been friends a long time," he said. "I'm sure we 
can be mature about this."

"This is because we're Mr and Mrs Franklin, isn't it?" 
Pam asked tartly. "Oh, very well, but if anyone should 
make any lewd suggestions I will not stand for it!"

"I'll try not to snore too loudly," Tom smiled.

Less a night-owl than Tom, Pam turned in first. She had 
a quite frumpy but practical pair of button-up pyjamas, 
shapeless and unflattering, which seemed most 
appropriate for sharing with a friend. She was just 
putting out the reading-lamp when Tom took his turn 
getting ready for bed. Something had told her he was a 
striped flannelette drawstring pyjamas kind of fellow; 
no surprises there. The bed was so large there was 
plenty of room, and new, so it didn't sag in the middle 
and roll them together. Tired but invigorated by the 
trip out to sea, she fell asleep, and they never touched 
all night. She was scarcely aware he was there.

For two days it was polite "good nights" and "good 
mornings". All the same, it felt strange to be in a 
double bed after all this time, and especially to be 
sharing it with a man. It was...nice. But a little 
frustrating. If she bumped his back or feet when she 
rolled over, she felt awkward, as though she had crossed 
some unspoken boundary of conduct.

"I've been worried that I've disturbed you when coming 
to bed late," he admitted, and agreed he too had found 
it pleasant to be in bed with a woman again, but also 
disconcerting. "But if it had to be anyone, I'm glad it 
was you," he added, voice warm in the darkness.

She agreed. He might have become Sailor Tom, but he was 
still Tom, a known quantity, familiar and safe.

On the third day out, the launch sailed into hot, humid, 
oppressive conditions. It was so sultry everyone changed 
down to their lightest clothing; Pam and the other women 
dressed in bathers, Pam wearing a skirt and loose blouse 
over hers. Likewise the men stripped down, baring chests 
in the heat; even Tom left his shirt undone. He had 
always been lean, and while his stomach had sagged a 
little with the years, he wasn't carrying the excess 
ballast that many of the older men were.

Ryan, of course, went back to wearing those damn shorts, 
and his stomach wasn't far off washboard.

At last, sun-flushed, sticky with suncream and salt 
spray, Pam retreated downstairs to her shared cabin to 
shower. Burrowing in her dresser, she found the 
lightweight summer nightie, linen and rather short, then 
turned and pulled the blanket off the bed. The sheet 
would be all that was necessary tonight, especially with 
the heat of a second body in the bed as well. She lay 
down, but slept only fitfully, tossing and turning. Time 
must have passed, because she eventually became aware of 
Tom's heavy, warm presence nearby. He was motionless, 
breathing soft, deep and rhythmic, sound asleep.

Which was all the more irritating, for she was now wide 
awake, grumpy and bored. A pressure within her was 
building, a need she had been resisting. Perhaps it was 
hormonal; perhaps it was loneliness, or three years of 
hunger. Knowing why it was there didn't help it go away. 
If she'd had a room of her own, she could have dealt 
with the matter privately and gotten over it.

She hadn't been under the sheet, so she swivelled and 
sat on the edge of the bed without disturbing him, and 
stood up angrily. Perhaps what she needed was a quick 
walk on deck, some cooling night air, or a glass of 
water. She'd have to throw a robe around herself if she 
went out. There was a crack of light above and beneath 
the door, where the outer hall was lit at all hours; the 
small amount of light that was let in being just enough 
to make out the room's furniture, the outline of the bed 
and its sleeping occupant. The satin sheen of bare skin 
gleamed. He had opted for boxer shorts as nightwear in 
the heat.

But she didn't want to fool around looking for a gown in 
the dark. She wasn't thirsty. What she wanted to do was 
lay on her back in comfort on the bed, and think of Ryan 
or any one of several attractive men; to imagine she was 
with them, and that they touched her in special places 
and secret ways, and murmured sweet nothings as they 
gave her pleasure. Sweat oozed beneath her breasts, 
beads gathering between them. Touch. That was what she 
wanted right now. Needed.

_Surely you have these feelings, Thomas, now that 
Linda's gone. You must know them well. Men need it even 
more than women._

For a while she stood there, simply studying the play of 
the highlight along graceful contours of muscle and 
sinew, his manly shape. He was curled on his side, 
facing her, breathing deep and sound. Had he ever woken 
taut and needful while she slept? What did he do about 
it? What men always did, she guessed. It was so much 
simpler for them.

A droplet of perspiration trickled, caressing, down her 
cleavage. It was hot...too hot for clothing. The collar 
of her nightie was open and loose. Slowly, enraptured by 
the tartishness of what she did, she unbuttoned the 
front, with languid caresses easing the straps from one 
shoulder, then the other. The linen crumpled down, so 
that her breasts swung gently free. Night air stroked 
her back and kissed her nipples, which drew erect with 
the thrill of nudity.

In the dark, she could be bold and brazen, someone other 
than daylight Pam who strove to be cultured and ladylike 
at all times, and never to offend.

_Look at me, Tom..._

There was something ferociously exciting about baring 
her body before someone other than her husband; she who 
was so prim and proper, so concerned with reputation. 
Especially being so raunchy before a man so decent as 
Tom. It didn't matter that he was insensate. Her breath 
caught in her throat as her heart raced, and her nipples 
stood upright and sore with need. In youth her bustline 
had been splended, although motherhood and age had taken 
their toll; she cupped the weight of each breast in her 
hands and lifted them, rubbing them in slow circles 
together, being the wild wench she had never dared be.

Still, the Need had to be answered, and he was deeply 
asleep. If she were careful, she would be safe. After a 
time, she hitched her nightie back up, but eased her 
hands beneath the hem and under the elastic of her 
panties, sliding them down until they dropped. Smiling 
at him, she teasingly lifted the front hem of her gown 
so that her snatch would be visible. Her slit was so wet 
that the cooler air made her twitch on contact.

Then she lay carefully beside him on her back, not 
touching him, legs parted slightly, comfortable. She 
closed her eyes and called Ryan to mind, watching his 
lean body at work on the foredeck. Tom was there too, 
always the pair of them at work together...she hadn't 
noticed before, but Tom's bottom was neat and round in 
the boardshorts he wore...Ryan, oozing raw sexuality, 
and Tom, saucy as never before. She had a wicked habit, 
and her hands moved over and under her nightgown, across 
her moist skin, working her up to the pleasure she 
craved, the sweet release.

A gorgeous dream-man made love to her, his face and body 
changing and morphing with her need, her whim, her 
desire until his identity blurred as her body thrummed 
toward the peak. A confusion of illusory tongues and 
lips flickered at her engorged, throbbing clit but it 
wasn't enough, she needed penetration, and her fingers 
were not long enough, not wide enough to do it. Her back 
arched, her bent legs tautened, lifting her pelvis as 
she strove to reach that sublime place. Still the dam 
would not break, the release come, and sweat poured from 
her skin as her body started to shiver, then shake 
violently as the climax happened...

"Pam? Are you all right?"

Reality struck as solidly as a bucket of icewater. She 
snapped her legs together and rolled away, doubling up 
and tugging her nightie down in a maidenly way. "Yes, 
yes, I'm fine," she managed coolly.

"You were shaking, Pam, are you sure?" he asked 
concernedly.

"Tom, I'm fine, really," she declared, an irritable edge 
creeping into her carefully controlled tone.

"It's not heat exhaustion, is it?"

"How long have you been awake?" she snapped. "I said I'm 
O-K!"

"I thought you might have a chill," he insisted. A warm 
hand was cupped over her sticky brow. She grit her teeth 
and wriggled away, almost on the very edge of the 
mattress.

_Damn! I knew I'd get caught!_ "Tom, if you MUST know, I 
was...masturbating." She whispered the last word primly, 
spitting it out very quickly so that perhaps he wouldn't 
hear.

"Oh," he said, quietening and shuffling back his way 
somewhat; certainly taken aback. "Oh. Ahem, sorry, 
hrrm."

She shook her head. "No, it's me who should be sorry... 
this is so embarrassing! I should have gone somewhere 
else."

"On this ship? Where would you go?" he snorted, with the 
air of someone already acquainted with privacy issues.

"I should have at least gone to the bathroom. I'm sorry, 
I thought I could get away with it, you seemed to be 
sound asleep and the last thing I wanted to do was 
disturb you. It's just, you know, sometimes there's an 
itch you just absolutely have to scratch."

"It's all right, Pam, I know that itch, it bothers me 
too from time to time," he admitted. "I just, er, didn't 
think you had the same itch, but of course you would, I 
mean we're both only human." Now he sounded as 
embarrassed as she felt. "There's a reason for my late 
nights sometimes. I work hard, and I'm not twenty 
anymore, but still, you know, it gets to you at times."

"At least you have the sense and common decency to use 
the bathroom."

He chuckled gently. "Never mind, Pam. I hope I didn't 
spoil it for you, that's all."

"Well, it was a bit of a shock, I must say." She hugged 
herself, then reached for the sheet and pulled it over 
her guilty body, wrapping herself snug and tight. She 
was superconscious of her lack of knickers.

"Uh...what I meant is, if you, er, didn't finish, I 
could take a walk upstairs for a while," he said 
awkwardly.

"Oh, no, it's all right, I'm, yes, okay now. Thank you." 
She huddled down in her sheets feeling ashamed and 
repentant, while Tom rolled onto his back and folded his 
arms behind his head, now as awake as her. After a 
while, he spoke again, slow and hesitant.

"Pam...who do you...think about?"

"Pardon?"

"When you...do that...is it Mark you think about?"

She gave a nervous giggle. "Not always. Sometimes, yes, 
but sometimes thinking of Mark makes the loneliness 
worse, you know? I think about...a few different men, 
but I'm not telling who. The sexiest man I can think of 
at the moment is married to someone else, wouldn't that 
be the way?"

He sighed. "Tell me about it! You can't always have what 
you want."

"And you shouldn't go wishing for what you can't have 
either, or so they say. You might end up disappointed." 
She relaxed a little. Sleep was still staying well 
clear, but if Tom wanted to talk, that would be good. 
Their conversations had spanned many things from the 
banal to the esoteric over the years; why not sex too?

He thought for a moment. "Hmm? No, I can't imagine so. 
Nothing she did could disappoint me."

"Have you...had anyone since Linda?"

"No. I thought about going to a prostitute, but...no. 
Have you?" he countered.

"Not at all. I've settled for dreams. I used to think of 
Mark a lot more in the past, but, it's like...there's 
things he wouldn't do, and I wonder what they would be 
like."

He chuckled speculatively. "Like what?"

"I'm not telling you!" she giggled.

"You can tell me," he said, lightheartedly coaxing. "I 
promise not to be scandalised. After what I just caught 
you doing, we can't keep any secrets from each other any 
more."

"Tom..." They laughed and fell silent for a while, Pam 
continuing after they had sobered. "So, who do you think 
of?"

"Oh, this one and that one. Sometimes nobody, it's just 
something I do, then get on with the rest of my life." 
He chuckled, a warm flirtatiousness coming into his 
tone. "Glenny...I've fantasised about her since we were 
at school, but there's no way anything real would come 
of it. Sara...Louise is a fine looking woman...but I 
know, they're all off-limits." His tone lowered, 
becoming soft as velvet. "I'd be a liar to deny you've 
been in there sometimes. Tell me about your wildest 
sexual fantasies, Pam. Perhaps..."

She lay very still, scarcely daring breathe. "You're not 
about to suggest we help each other out in the physical 
sense, are you?" she said dubiously. "I mean, I know 
we're friends, but..."

"No, no, before you jump down my throat, that's not what 
I meant at all," he chastised gently. "But experiences 
shared...I mean mentally, not physically. Forgive my 
curiosity, no doubt it's undue. Sometimes I tire of my 
same old worn-out imaginings, and I'd like to hear 
something fresh. We've often shared insights on many 
things. But only if you wish it."

"My wildest sexual fantasy?" she mused.

"What sort of things do you like?"

"Ohh..." She gave a little laugh. "I...don't know, 
really, there's a few. Always in a sumptuous setting, 
silk and satin sheets, heavy drapes trimmed with gold. 
Or in a huge marble bathhouse, with oils and scents and 
bubbles, and long slow body rubs." She sighed at the 
thought, relaxing, imagining gentle fragrance. "Deep, 
plush towels...In an exotic location, some exciting 
faraway land."

Tom hummed agreement. "Bathing in milk, waited on hand 
and foot by eunuchs?"

"Who said anything about eunuchs?" Pam retorted 
humorously, and they laughed. "Gorgeous men with 
beautiful neat bottoms who could make love to me slo-
owly, all night, who would kiss me all over...and I mean 
ALL over, especially...you know."

"Really? Mm hmm...that could be fun. That's the thing 
Mark wouldn't do, I expect."

"Far too fussy, you know what he was like. Might have 
messed up his moustache." She smiled, rolling onto her 
back, joining Tom in gazing at the darkness overhead. 
"You did say this was about fantasy, about what isn't 
real, the things we can't have but can dream of."

"For Pam, next birthday--one palace with extended 
bathroom and spa, staff of naked bucks for intimate 
service. I'll see what I can do," he chuckled.

"What about you, Tom?" she murmured dreamily. He gave a 
deep chuckle.

"Ohh, my wildest fantasy? It's too racy."

"Go on." She elbowed him in the ribs.

"Oow! All right, but you've got to promise not to laugh. 
It's pure fantasy."

"I promise."

"All right." He drew a breath, tone becoming coy. "I'm 
in this, ahem, classroom, and instead of being the 
goody-goody I always was at school, I've actually been a 
naughty boy because I'm naked, stark naked...now you 
promised you wouldn't laugh." She put her hand over her 
mouth and suppressed a giggle.

"I'm sorry. Do go on."

"Don't laugh, and don't be scandalised, so I know you 
will be when I admit that _you're_ the teacher, and 
you're wearing a very, very short skirt and seamed 
stockings, suspenders..."

Now she couldn't not laugh, face glowing with 
embarrassment. "Thomas!"

"...and when I've been naughty you send me to your 
office, and then you come in and..."

"No, wait, let me guess--give you a right good 
spanking."

"You know me too well! I was ony dreaming...at least, I 
thought it was a dream..."

"Tom...you're having me on! I didn't think you were the 
spanking type." He had always had a creative streak, but 
somehow she hadn't envisioned him as having a sexy 
imagination. She had programmed herself not to think of 
him in any sexy way, precisely because he was her 
husband's brother, beyond touch, married, out of reach.

His soft laughter held a self-deprecating tone. "Well, I 
learned a thing or two about you, too. It's not so much 
the spanking, it's the nudity thing that gets me. I 
mean, in real life I'm way too shy to go around with no 
clothes on. Do you remember when Linda wanted to join 
that nudist camp?" Pam giggled. "There's no way I could 
have done something like that, but she wanted to, and 
she did, what's more. Which was fine for her, so long as 
she didn't expect me to go along."

"Were you afraid things might pop up inappropriately? I 
agree, it's not my cup of tea..."

"No, well, yes, but not just that." He sighed. "Nudity 
is for bathing, hospital in an emergency, and for making 
love - that's that. So if I'm not unconscious in 
hospital, or having a wash, then it must be erotic - 
very erotic. I mean, some men sleep naked, but I 
couldn't - sleep means pyjamas of some kind, even on a 
night like this. Naked means, well, something else."

Pam was very aware of her naked pussy beneath the scant 
coverage of the nightie, and kept trying to smooth the 
cloth down. "But aren't we all naked beneath our 
clothes?" she asked, going for the philosophical angle.

"Perhaps so, but it's what you can see that counts, 
isn't it? I don't have x-ray vision."

"But what if you were blind, say? Or, look, it's almost 
pitch black in here. How do you know whether I'm naked 
or not, especially given what I was doing a little while 
ago? And how do I know you're not laying here naked 
getting your thrills?"

He gave a deep, devilish chuckle. "If I were naked, by 
now I'd be shaking and shivering with pleasure! Ow, 
that's a vicious elbow you have there!"

"Thomas!" She unthinkingly assumed her most 
schoolmistressly tone. "You ought to be spanked for a 
remark like that! With your pants on, too!"

There was a moment's silence, when she realised she 
might have gone a little close to fantasy's borderline. 
"Well, I _am_ wearing shorts," he said coyly. "Shall I 
roll over?"

"Oh, Tom!" she giggled, and he started to turn his 
shoulders away from her as if to present his rump. "Stop 
it! I couldn't! I'd feel silly!" He chuckled, the 
tension easing as he lay flat again.

"As to whether you're naked or not, you're right, I've 
no way of knowing. We haven't touched, so I can't say by 
feel. I have to rely on conjecture, the way I read your 
personality, and thus to the best of my knowledge you 
are most likely clothed, even taking into account your 
earlier activities. Am I correct?"

She took a breath, heart skipping up a beat. "And even 
if I'm wearing clothes now, how do you know what I might 
have done while you were asleep? How do you know I 
didn't dance like a naked fairy all over the room?"

"Did you? I'm sorry I missed the show! No. I could 
imagine you doing that, maybe...Fantasy Pam might do 
that, but real Pam wouldn't."

A fey, girlish thought caught her. She hopped up and 
attempted to skip around the bed, swinging her arms and 
swinging her nightie. Air tickled her snatch, and that 
delicious naughtiness of earlier returned. Her crotch 
was starting to tingle again, even though she was 
getting her feet tangled in bedding, shoes, and at risk 
of tipping over in the dark. Tom was laughing.

"Now I _know_ you've got your clothes on!"

She returned to her bedside and sat, feeling about with 
her feet for her missing panties. All this sexy talk - 
she really should get dressed again. "I'd give you about 
seven out of ten for that guess," she said saucily, 
breath catching. This flirting was invigorating, to say 
the least.

"Good heavens!" said Tom with some amazement and plenty 
of delight. "Which thirty percent is missing - oh, I 
think I know..."

"You're using deduction again. It's all in your mind."

"My goodness," he breathed, trying to imagine what she 
intimated, and still amazed. "How does it make you feel, 
being...thirty percent undressed?"

"Naughty!"

"Ohh yes, I know that feeling," he murmured.

"The part I like best is...the feeling of openness about 
parts of myself that are normally covered up and kept 
out of sight. See, you _can_ be naked whilst still 
wearing clothes," she declared as if delivering the 
winning speech in a debate. "It all depends on which 
parts of your body are covered, and which aren't. You're 
not wearing much, but you could wander up to breakfast 
in those shorts and still be acceptable because the 
important bits are covered."

She could imagine him shaking his head in wonder by the 
tone of his voice. "I still cannot believe you are 
sitting there with no undies on."

"See, what we have here is a question of appearances. 
There is no way I'd behave like this in public, by 
daylight. But here, in the dark, I can be bold and do 
anything I want! I could take _all_ of my clothes off!" 
She felt reckless, free of repressed daylight Pam and 
her fussy husband and their regimented sexual habits. 
Somehow, she had never felt so excited in her life.

"But how," Tom insisted pedantically, "do I _know_ 
you're naked? You could be stringing me along."

"Perhaps that's the point?"

"And you accuse me of being a tease," he said a little 
truculently. "Let's try a little experiment then, shall 
we?" The sheets rustled as he sat up. She glimpsed his 
shoulders and torso silhouetted against the ray of light 
from under the door. "Hmm." He bent down and gathered 
the blanket, and threw it across so that the light was 
blocked off, his shape disappearing into inky blackness. 
"There. Now we have complete anonymity. We cannot see. 
Now, we must not touch, nor speak. Only our ears will 
tell us what the other is doing. After a few seconds, we 
then describe what we're doing, and whether we're naked 
or not. Our imaginations, then, should take us on an 
extraordinary ride."

"Interesting," said Pam agreeably. "Do we tell each 
other where our imaginations take us?"

"Absolutely. No holds barred. Points awarded for... 
naughtiness." His voice was a daring murmur from above 
the foot of the bed.

"All right, I'm game," she said softly. In the close 
darkness, even the slightest movement could be heard. 
The end of the bed moved fractionally as Tom shifted his 
weight, doing whatever he was doing. She listened for 
the whisper of cloth on skin, but heard nothing. Moving 
as stealthily as she could, leaning back on her pillow 
for support, she spread her legs wide apart, pointing 
her moist cleft straight at where she guessed him to be. 

Her breath shuddered just a little as they both sat 
motionless and silent in the dark, waiting. Her vagina 
contracted in anticipation, ready to receive. Her clit 
jumped. Mark would have been in and out already.

What a wonderful, tantalising sensation!

"All right," said Tom, a rueful smile in his voice. "I 
give up. What are you doing?"  

She told him. "What about you?"

"I'm still here at the foot of the bed, only...I've 
allowed my old fellow to hang out and take a look 
around."

_A naked penis!_ Chris' whole body clenched with need. 
It didn't matter whether Tom was telling naughty fibs or 
not...for all their talk of fantasy, there was nothing 
she had ever wanted more. She swallowed, trying to 
steady her breathing, her voice. "You've still got your 
shorts on, then? Neither of us are naked yet. Are you.." 
Her voice trailed away to a whisper. "Erect?"

He chuckled. "Do you think so?"

"This is...intense! I-I don't know what to think, Tom."

"I estimate he's pointing directly at you, which 
suggests he, unlike me, can see in the dark."

"Thomas!" Suddenly, everything about their situation was 
absurd, even unbelievable. Her tension broke in 
laughter. She bounded upright, catching up a pillow and 
hurling it at him. Of course he was egging her on, 
playing the fool--that was the Tom she knew, his 
slightly loony sense of humour. He grunted and laughed 
and the mattress bounced as he bounded toward her in the 
dark, and the pillow swatted against her. She grabbed 
the other, and they batted and swiped giggling and 
panting like children. Sweat poured from their bodies, 
and at last they fell to the mattress, laughing.

"I need a shower," Tom sighed.

"A cold one?" Pam teased.

"You guess." He swivelled across the mattress and stood 
up in the bathroom doorway.

"Here's an idea," Pam murmured suggestively. "Leave the 
door open, and shower in the dark. You said nudity was 
okay for washing."

"So I did. But I might have more than just washing on my 
mind."

"Wimp!"

He laughed. "I suppose, since it was you who started all 
this with your lewd behaviour, that it's down to me to 
finish it." The last of his laughter echoed from within 
the bathroom, and then the shower hissed to life.

Pam lay down on the rumpled bedding, sprawled lazily, 
waiting her turn. She thought briefly about getting up 
and smoothing the sheet out again, about tidying up. She 
and Mark had always straightened up after their loving 
was done. But that would be silly, wouldn't it? She and 
Tom had done everything _except_ make love. She felt 
languid, sweaty, ravished, as if she had lived her dream 
of making love all night...

He seemed to be taking a long time in the shower. Was 
that a quiet but distinct, rhythmic slapping sound mixed 
with the whisper of water? She felt so sleepy now... 
sleepy...

***

She woke disoriented, not sure of anything in the gentle 
light from behind the cabin blind. Realised she still 
didn't have her knickers on. The sheet lay over and 
between them - Tom must have draped it over them when he 
came to bed. He was curled up in the linen. The bedroom 
was a mess, blanket crumpled against the door, discarded 
clothing tossed about, her knickers in clear view on the 
floor. It looked like a den of debauchery, and yet 
nothing had happened other than...

She felt as if she'd gotten drunk and now couldn't quite 
remember the night before...God knew it had been half a 
lifetime or more since she'd had that feeling...but 
there was no hangover. Tom snored quietly. She gathered 
some day clothes and headed for the shower with some 
trepidation. Had he really..? The bathroom was as clean 
and innocuous as ever, although his boxers had been left 
empty on the floor, which meant he was wearing?

She showered and dressed, bundled her knickers into the 
dirty clothes' bag, and tiptoed off to breakfast.

Another relaxing, languid day at sea awaited. With the 
coming of a brisk breeze, the heaviest heat lifted. She 
caught up on reading or crosswords, watched Brendan 
having fun with cousins, chatted or played pass-the-baby 
with other mums of the clan. Ryan showed up in those 
shorts, and somehow, their effect was lost on her today. 
This she attributed to her relieving herself the evening 
before. He was still pleasant to the eye, that would 
always be the case, but not so fascinating as before.

Later on, Tom also appeared and joined Neil and Ryan, 
three mates fishing on the afterdeck, laughing and 
chatting, enjoying a light ale. Just like any other day 
at sea. But something had changed. Pam found herself 
watching Tom, noticing everything from the sport on his 
face as he bantered with his friends, to the shape of 
his legs and how his neatly-tailored shorts fitted him. 
Which led to naughty thoughts about spanking, and a 
devilrous urge to lightly whack him on the backside 
should he walk by. Of course she was far too civilised 
to yield to the impulse, but the mischievous thought 
kept her smiling to herself for much of the day.

As evening settled, she went below to get a lightweight 
jacket, and was startled to find the cabin tidily made. 
It was as though last night had truly been a dream. But 
now they knew things about each other beyond their 
wildest respective imaginings. It was a dream that would 
not be forgotten, for she was thinking of Tom in ways 
that had never occurred to her before.

She was wondering what the touch of his hands might feel 
like. Watching him speak, and how his lips might play 
upon hers. Wishing she had run her fingertips along the 
curves of his body as he had lain there beside her.

Wondered what their last night of sharing might bring.

Although decorous as ever when they spoke, his eyes 
lingered upon her, smiling, a light in their depths. 
After dinner there was music, singing, and a little 
dancing that she shared with most of the men of the 
family. When Tom's turn came she locked eyes with him, 
and although he turned her about as ably and chastely as 
ever, there was something irresistibly flirtatious and 
intent at once in that gaze.

As usual, she started yawning earlier in the evening 
than others. Tom nodded and smiled, acknowledging, as 
she made her goodnights. It disappointed her that he 
seemed nothing like ready to follow her downstairs. She 
took a long, slow shower, then wandered naked into the 
bedroom, taking her time deciding what to wear to bed 
tonight. Something special to celebrate their last night 
at sea? It was still very warm, but not so uncomfortable 
as the night before. One of his pyjama shirts? She 
giggled a little as she slipped one on, but the fabric 
was rather heavy and hot, so she folded it away again. 
She fretted over her underwear selection. Lacy and sexy 
had gone by the wayside in her widow years; they were 
feminine but practical, nothing special, so she put on 
all that was left to her. Or what about a pair of his 
boxers? Again, she held back. What were the chances he'd 
dismiss last night as passing lunacy?

She had a fresh summer nightie, a bit longer than the 
other one, so finally dived under the sheet feeling a 
lot more decent than last night. She'd only just picked 
up a book when Tom arrived, earlier than usual.

She glanced at him over her reading glasses. "Sure you 
wouldn't like to leave the bathroom door open?" she said 
mischievously. He just laughed as he gathered a pair of 
boxers and pyjama pants, and headed for the bathroom - 
closing the door behind him.

"Yes, must have been dreaming last night." She put down 
her book and glasses, and put the light out. Something 
naughty and tantalising had turned back into dull and 
spinsterly middle-aged. Tom should emerge from the 
shower dripping and naked and pin her to the bed, 
covering her with passionate kisses. Or better still, 
she should be an assertive modern woman and go in there 
and climb under the shower rose with him, so that her 
nightwear would cling to her full breasts and erect 
nipples, and he would be unable to deny her. But of 
course, he'd have locked the door.

Wouldn't he?

It took her a moment to decide to try it. The shower had 
stopped, so he was probably getting dressed anyway, and 
she could make some excuse about forgetting to floss or 
something...With utmost care and stealth, she eased the 
doorknob around. And the panel opened.

He was at the vanity, his back to her and already 
dressed, leaning close to the mirror to trim his beard. 
She enjoyed the sight of the smooth sweep of his bare 
back, and didn't hesitate. Stepping up to him, she put 
her arms around his waist, pressing her pelvis to his 
rump and hugging him. He felt wonderful! Just to embrace 
a man was a simple pleasure sorely missed.

"Mm hmm?" His body shook with gentle laughter as she 
moulded herself to him. He made no other move, and she 
let her hands explore. He had tautened his belly, and 
she ran her fingers out to the crests of his hips, and 
the bunched waistband of his pyjamas, then followed that 
cloth border around to the front again. There, she found 
the knot, and the cords. Drawstring pyjamas were the 
very best kind! In the mirror she could see he had set 
down his grooming scissors and waited, a big grin on his 
face, to see what she was up to. Taking the strings 
firmly, she gave a good tug, and stepped back a little 
to allow his pants to drop away.

Underneath was a thin layer of light linen over his 
nicely-shaped backside. "I've been wanting to do this 
all day," said Pam saucily. And she briskly smacked him 
on each cheek, enjoying the firm, resilient feel of him. 
His mouth dropped open in astonishment.

"Pamela!" He spun around, hampered by his fallen pants, 
so she fled giggling to the bed and dived under the 
sheet. Hitching the trousers up again, he tied the knot 
methodically, laughing lightly, face slightly rosy. He 
walked around and climbed into bed beside her. "I'm the 
one who's supposed to be naughty, not you."

"You've been naughty enough, making me think naughty 
things all day," she chided. He lay on his back, but 
turned his face toward her, smiling.

"Really? Tell me, what sort of naughty thoughts?"

She rolled onto her side, facing him. "Ohh, silly little 
things...I never really thought of you as a sexual 
creature before," she added seriously. Although that 
wasn't exactly true since his testimony of Linda's 
infidelity. Words like "boring" had stuck in her mind 
somehow. Silly Linda had such a short attention span she 
would have found a three-ring circus boring. Had she 
ever lain still long enough to listen and let Tom tease 
her mind as well as her body? Unlikely.

"You mean to say that all these years you've been immune 
to my undeniable machismo? I'm insulted!" he said, droll 
and self-deprecating. Then he sobered. "With Mark in the 
foreground, and given I'm your brother-in-law, that's 
probably a good thing."

"Yes, but also redundant these days. It's too easy to 
get stuck in old ways of thinking, and this has made a 
refreshing change." She smiled fondly at that face so 
familiar yet so new, and so oddly intimate on a pillow 
beside her. "Of course, other things have helped too. 
Your new lifestyle, your hair, this." She raised a hand 
to stroke his beard, finding the silken texture of neat 
whiskers very pleasing. "New Tom's much, much sexier 
than Old Tom."

His eyes glowed with merriment, underscored by something 
much more enduring. Rolling toward her, he gently took 
her hand, and brought her fingers to his lips. "Someone 
I know has never been anything but lovely. I used to 
tell myself it was because she was unattainable. I 
wonder if she will stay that way?"

That gentle kiss, and the velvet in his words together 
stirred feelings she had thought long lost to her. No 
man had moved her since Mark; she had been old and cold. 
Warm embers sparked and fired. At first she couldn't 
quite believe what she was hearing. "I...you...surely 
you're not talking about...me?"

"Goodnight, Pam," he said softly, leaning forward to 
brush her forehead with his lips. Then he rolled over.

*Was that it?* she found herself asking yet again. Was 
that all she was going to get? After all the years, 
anger and frustration billowed. "Thomas Franklin, don't 
you dare turn your back on me!" she declared 
imperiously.

"Tomorrow we go back to our new lives, hundreds of miles 
apart. How were we going to celebrate our last night 
together? Wham bam thankyou ma'am?"

"Statistically speaking, the chances would have been 
good," she said stiffly.

"Let's have a screw because we're lonely and desperate 
and it's our last chance and then off we go? Grab the 
opportunity and root in a ditch by a sunflower paddock? 
Well, no thanks, I'd rather not cheapen our friendship 
so, so let's go home and not complicate anything because 
our relationship ain't broke and doesn't need fixing."

She sat up angrily. "How dare you compare me to Linda!"

"I don't want sex, I want love," he muttered, "I've been 
waiting half a lifetime and I'm getting pretty bloody 
tired of waiting."

He was huddled on his side, facing away, bunched up in 
the sheets. "Jesus, Tom," she muttered, the anger 
draining from her. She lay down again and put her arm 
around him, snuggling herself to his back.

"Tom, if I didn't care, I wouldn't be here now."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound like I was 
making unfortunate comparisons, that wasn't my intent," 
he said. Then he tossed and wriggled around to face her 
again. "I just..." There was pain in his eyes, and a 
keen light. "If this evening had...panned out 
differently...I wanted it to be for all the right 
reasons, not the wrong ones. For love, not pity or 
loneliness."

"Making love, as opposed to having sex."

He nodded gratefully. "I'm tired of feeling like second-
hand goods, and I'd never dream of hurting you." He drew 
his fingertips along her cheekbone. "I would do anything 
to please you."

"Tom," she said huskily, "I want a man who can satisfy 
me. That's something I've never known, did you know 
that? I want love, and I want a love that lasts more 
than five minutes. I want a lover like I've never known 
before...and I want to have him forever." She stroked 
his bearded chin again, this time brushing the edge of 
his lip. "Something is telling me you might be the one, 
and if I don't find out we'll both be poorer for it."

"You're the only woman left that I can trust, Pam." 
Turning his head ever so slightly, he trapped her 
fingertip softly between his lips.

"Your trust means everything to me, dear Tom. And the 
night is young."

Their lips had touched before; only ever briefly, 
formally, and very rarely. Now, it was a delight to let 
such a kiss draw out, linger; pause, then resume, 
unhurried and without any guilt at the pleasure of it. 
His beard made her skin tingle; his long straight nose 
nuzzling hers. He slipped his hand around to the nape of 
her neck and up, his fingers losing themselves in the 
soft mass of her hair, combing and playing with it in a 
way that suggested he had long wondered how it felt. And 
whenever she thought of how long, it seemed, he had 
admired her, her heart ached and she wanted to make up 
for lost time.

She ran her hand over the cool curves of his shoulder, 
pulling her body closer, finding his feet with hers. His 
tongue peeped between her lips as passion grew; her 
tongue raced up to peck it then run away, begging him 
chase her. His hair was velvet-bristly between her 
fingers as she drew him into a deep French kiss that 
seemed to last forever. And that was just the entree.

Their kisses made them friends no longer. Well-
conditioned by the years, her sexual centres were 
responding, her crotch throbbing, every sensation 
sharpened by the knowing that she would not be pleasured 
by herself, but another; a loving and familiar man. His 
lips left hers and roved along her throat, hands moving 
to cup her breasts through the cotton gown. She ran her 
foot up his ankle and leg, catching the hem of his pants 
with a toe so that she could feel the coarse manly 
texture of his skin. His chest was smooth and warm, and 
as she moved her hands along his ribs and down toward 
his waist, his hands followed hers but along her body, 
seeking the hem of her nightie, pulling the fabric up, 
finding access. She had taken her breasts for granted, 
her natural cleavage. Had he been secretly admiring them 
for all this time?

A night ago, she had dangled them before him while he 
slept, unaware of how thrilling his touch would be. He 
drew back a little, wonder in his eyes as he gazed at 
their naked fullness by lamplight, pressing them up into 
magnificent mounds. While he admired her, her questing 
leg hooked over his, pulling their lower bodies 
together. And laying there was something she had 
resigned herself to never knowing. At first she thought 
it the knot of his pyjamas - but that was also there, 
much higher up. Something else definite was pressing 
against her lower belly, and she gave a small gasp. 
Something she wanted. Needed.

Tom raised himself up to gain better access to her 
breasts, taking his time to cover her chest in kisses. 
When his lips found one nipple and joined forces with 
his tongue to kiss and suck, she gasped again as her 
clitoris throbbed. Her womanhood seemed to open wide and 
wet with desire, and when her hands reached down to find 
the stuff of dreams, every muscle and nerve flashed with 
hot pleasure.

From between the folds of his clothing...It wasn't so 
much his length as his diameter, how he filled her hand 
that astonished her. A thick, hard column beneath soft, 
sliding skin; she was almost afraid to move her hand 
lest he erupt and the wonderful feeling be lost. Her 
heart thundered beneath his lips. Feeling her stillness 
and her agog gaze upon him, he lifted his face to smile, 
and slowly, easily, rocked his pelvis while she held 
him.

"My God, Tom, won't you...come?"

He just smiled. Lowering a hand to hers, he encouraged 
her to slowly stroke his full length. While he lowered 
his lips to her nipple again, he untied and got rid of 
his clothing.

"Lie on your back, my love," he murmured, kneeling and 
gathering her gown and lifting it off as she changed 
position. Now she let her eyes do the touching, from his 
reverent face down the lines of his torso; down past 
navel to the nest of pubes grey-frosted as were her own. 
From there rose his strong, impossibly-patient shaft, 
still large.

"Why do we have to wait for the very best things?" she 
wondered, reaching out to touch him again. He shuffled 
closer and straddled her waist, moving closer and 
closer, so that now she could feel his pouch warm and 
soft caressing her stomach as he moved.

"Perhaps hunger is the best sauce...oh, Pamela, I never 
thought I would see you like this!" He cupped her 
breasts in his hands, pulling them up to embrace his 
penis, and rocked to and fro. It felt wonderful, and his 
light musk only heightened her need.

"Don't come here, Tom, come inside me, that's where I 
need you!" She didn't even have her soaking wet panties 
off - unlike last night, they were the last to go, and 
she got rid of them quickly. Again, he gave his 
enigmatic smile, then started moving back down her body, 
trailing kisses down her midline. At her hips, he was 
still straddling her, and this time he pushed his penis 
firmly down between her thighs. His cockhead tormented 
her clit by slipping over it.

Immediately she thrust her pelvis up and tried to get 
her legs apart, giving a small groan of frustration. He 
did it twice more before raising his hips and freeing 
her, so that she spread her legs wide apart and he knelt 
between them. He found the place, and with almost 
ceremonial slowness, pressed into her and filled the 
emptiness.

Pam moaned as a wondrous, stretching sensation grew 
within her. Her own body wanted to twitch and jerk 
about, to dance as if on live wires, and the urging 
built as that fullness started to slide, back and 
forward. Her eyes were locked with Tom's awestruck gaze. 
"Twenty years," he breathed as he slowly thrust. "I've 
waited twenty years for this moment!"

Pam could not answer, her throat and body coiled at the 
point of orgasm. Instead she clutched at his buttocks, 
trying to drag him ever deeper into her, to pull herself 
onto him, to have his every last rigid centimetre...to 
hold his hardness inside and embrace it fully, for as 
long as she could.

"Easy, love, what's the hurry? We have all night." But 
his voice came from a long way away as she hit the 
heights of orgasm. She had never thought it ladylike to 
scream or holler, especially in shared accommodations, 
and Mark would not have liked her to bellow. But there 
was no containing the soft cries of delight that helped 
her joy find an outlet.

And when her body relaxed, agonising white heat cooling 
to a warm hum, Tom's shaft still moved inside her, 
rhythm picking up and stimulating. After childbirth she 
had dutifully stuck at her perineal exercises and was 
now grateful for it, for she could clench those muscles 
and feel him even more keenly. He felt it too, for he 
glanced at her quizzically, so she did it again and he 
smiled, and changed his stroke again; plunge in, ease 
out. Her breath caught, feeling his wonderful motion and 
solidity within, her body pulsating in resonance. She 
was going to come again.

"You beautiful man!" She clung to him, their legs 
interlaced; felt his rump rippling as he drove 
tirelessly into her. Surely he would come soon! He was 
picking up speed, and their bodies were slick with 
sweat.

But then, he pulled right out, and lay over on his back. 
"Come on, I want you up here, I want you as many ways as 
we can!" His erection pointed up toward his navel, and 
he raised it up with one hand, an irresistible pole.

Pam needed no further invitation. She hesitated for a 
moment as his glans tickled her clit - hesitated as a 
diver before taking a joyous plunge. She thrust herself 
down upon that slick column good and hard, leaping and 
diving, while he bent his back and brought his lips to 
her nipples again. Pleasure rose up in her in waves, 
climbing and falling, again and again, higher with each 
thrust, and he may as well have been made of iron.

"My ex would have been bored to tears by now!" he 
panted, eyes afire with love and joy on his face. Pam's 
only answer was to gasp and whimper, a great tremor 
shivering through her. He thought of her shaking the 
night before and arched himself again, bringing more 
whimpers from her as the pleasure took her for a second 
time. At last, she slumped upon him, catching her 
breath. He was still smiling, and still rock-solid 
within.

She raised herself up again, now using her body to 
stroke him, gliding up and down. "Let's do something 
else," he suggested. "Although watching you come - 
that's something I could watch over and over!" His hands 
curled beneath her thighs, lifting her. She was 
reluctant to dismount, to let that cock escape, and rose 
away from him very, very slowly, eyes dark with 
disappointment as his head slipped from her.

He rolled from beneath her, surging to his knees to 
kneel behind her. Wrapping himself around her, he 
nuzzled her neck and shoulder, arms snug around her 
waist and breasts, his inner thighs pressing her rump. 
His stiffness rubbed her buttocks, standing hard against 
her sacrum. They rocked together, closer than any dream. 
At last, she pushed his hands down her body, to her 
hips, leaning forward and rolling her still-pulsing 
womanhood upward. He found her moist well, and their 
bodies meshed again. Her moan of delight was deep as his 
hardness entered her.

Was it possible she would come yet again? He was still 
moulded around her at first, hands clasped over her 
swinging breasts as they rocked. But now his tempo was 
picking up pace and his body slowly straightened, hands 
travelling to her hips and kneading her buttocks. He 
drove hard against her now, so that their skin slapped, 
and she could feel the soft buffeting of his balls 
bouncing against her.

"You have got...the most beautiful...god you're lovely!" 
he gasped, driving harder and faster, his thighs taut. 
She could just see him in the dresser mirror, and 
engorged muscles gave his body shape, stripping the 
years from him. Could twenty years lost become twenty 
years regained, to enjoy all over again?

She felt his penis jerk as he came at last, shivers of 
empathic pleasure taking her as well. Together, they 
sagged to the rumpled bedding. Even then, he didn't slip 
away quickly. They both lay as still as possible, she 
still clenching upon him fitfully until finally, his 
bulbous head slipped free, leaving a warm tingling of 
satiety. Spent, they slumped together, resting, until 
finding the energy to crawl into each others' arms.

"Tom," she whispered, caressing his face. So familiar 
and so close. Eyes lit with wonder, as though he could 
not believe his good fortune. "Why...did it take so 
long?"

His smile was whimsical, almost smug. "I guess I was 
just born that way."

"No, you silly thing! I meant...for this night to come 
about..." She squeezed him and kissed his brow tenderly. 
"It was a rhetorical question."

"Time for you to grieve...for me to see the truth about 
Linda..." He pressed his lips to hers with more 
assertiveness, more passion, and she melted against him 
as her mouth responded. "I'm not going to let this end, 
Pamela," he said huskily. "We'll rest for now, but 
later..."

"Ohh good, you intend to do this to me again?"

"That, and more, if you wish," he purred, letting his 
fingertips slip across her damp bush. As he kissed her, 
he let his tongue demonstrate to hers what it may well 
be capable of down below.

Pam shivered in delight and anticipation. "I wish," she 
murmured, nuzzling him. "But what's the hurry?"


  
To_Those_Who_Wait