	             ____________________________
                    |                            |
                  /)|     KRISTEN'S BOOKSHELF    |(\
                 / )|         DIRECTORIES        |( \
              __(  (|____________________________|)  )__
             ((( \  \ >  /_)              ( \  < /  / )))
             (\\\ \  \_/  /                \  \_/  / ///)
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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o  	The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of  o
o  stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the  o
o  world.  Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups).   There is no  o
o  particular  order  other than offering them to you in  alpha-  o
o  betical directories.                                           o
o   	Lest we forget!!!   This story was produced as adult en-  o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors.   Kristen         o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Fire And Ice (MF)
by Delta <delta@nym.alias.net>
(c) Apr 1998



RE

If you wish to comment upon my story, I can be reached by
E-mail at: delta@nym.alias.net

Comments and criticisms are welcome.

Standard disclaimers:  This is a work of fiction - no character 
within is a depiction of any real person, living or dead.  No 
place or event described within exists outside of the writer's 
imagination.  Copyright retained by the author and this post
is for private use of the reader only.  It is not to be published,
posted or reposted, in any form whatsoever, including being made 
available on BBSs, without the express prior consent of author.
  
     Any readers who are underage in the jurisdiction in which
they reside are asked to please pass by.


Delta.

                        FIRE AND ICE 
                        by Delta (c) 1998

     Some things were not funny, Will thought, and this was one
of them.  For the life of him he could not figure out who would
play such a joke.  April Fool's.  Ha!  It was the day and the
hour, but not the right time.  There were only a limited few 
who would know both of Jeanne and his e-mail address.
     That was the problem with nyms.  You never really knew who 
you were talking to.  Anyone could use a nym.  Well, perhaps
not anyone.  He'd spent several hours helping a friend create
one.  Hell files, he called them, not help files.  So, he
corrected himself, some would never be able to use a nym.
And, most of those he knew would have no use for one, either.
      So, just who was anon77647?  And why did she (he?)
sign the note "Jeanne"?
      Jeanne was a memory.  Both a good and a bad memory.
Why people had to be both, Will didn't know.  It would be so
much easier if everyone he met went either one way or the 
other.  He had loved Jeanne and he had hated Jeanne.  In the
end he had gotten over Jeanne.  Five years ago had been
final contact.  She had said goodbye and disappeared.
Fine.  Good.  It was over.
     Now, someone had sent him an e-mail suggesting that they
meet to talk over old times.  That someone had signed the 
message with the name Jeanne.  Strange as it may seem, given
the number of people he had met over the years, he had never
known any other Jeanne.  He smiled, not wanting to smile.  Did
that make her unique?

     "You are unique," Will said, then had to laugh at her
laughter.  "No, Jeanne, truly you are."
     "We are all unique, Will." Jeanne answered, brushing back
an errant lock of his hair, cupping his face in her hand.  "You
just can't see it sometimes."
     "Perhaps not," he laughed, "but I can see that!"  He 
touched her nipple, clearly visible through her white blouse.
"Teach you to not wear a bra."
     "But if I wore one, you wouldn't have had the fun you
just had.  Would you have me in a parka?  On such a lovely
summer day?"  Jeanne pouted at him.
      What a tease.  Picking her up in his arms, Will carried
her off the balcony and into the hotel room.  The bed was 
there, very inviting, and he dropped her on it then flung
himself on top of her.  It didn't take much to pin her, her
wrists crossed and held above her head in one of his hands.
She hadn't struggled very hard at all.  He bent down and claimed
a victor's kiss.  She groaned and writhed sensuously under him,
causing that all too familiar reaction.
     "Brute!" she cried, the maiden fair being used against
her will.
     "Vixen!" he replied, wishing he'd worn looser clothing.
It took quite some doing to reach down, undo his belt, snap
and zipper.  It took even more to push his jeans down far
enough to release that which had been kept captive, while
still holding Jeanne down.
     That Jeanne had been wearing nothing under her skirt
he had been well aware.  It had a great deal to do with
his 'discomfort'.

     The telephone rang.  Will shook his head to clear away
the memory.  It was Robbie, wanting to know if he was set
for the trip.  The four of them had planned to go see their
team play an away game.
     "Sorry, Robbie.  Something has come up and I'm not 
going to be able to go."
     "What?  We've had this planned for two months!  We have
the tickets.  What the hell happened?"  Robbie hated changes.
     "Get Stan.  He can have my ticket gratis."  Stan had
wanted to go, but had been unable when the plans were made
and the tickets bought.  Later his business trip had been
postponed . . . too much later.  He'd be ecstatic and jump
at the second chance.
     "You sure?" Robbie sounded doubtful.
     "Yep."  He wasn't.
     Will didn't know what the hell he was doing.  Stan knew
about Jeanne, knew about his nym.  Maybe it was all a ploy
to get his ticket.  No.  Stan would never do such a thing.
     He was mad.  That had to be it.  Mad to even want to see
Jeanne again.  She had left him.  He was over her.  Why 
awake old feelings.  He looked at the computer screen again.

     Will:
         Found out you were still in town.  It surprised
     me as I thought you would leave there like you always
     wanted to.  Read some of your stories.  We should
     talk.  I'll be at the Fire on Ice April 1st, 3pm.
       
     Jeanne

     The message had been sent through remailers and no reply
could be made.  Either he showed up or he didn't.  Fire on Ice.
Mexican Food at the skating rink.  Fire and Ice: Jeanne.  She
could be hot one minute and cold the next.
     
     Lying on top of her, Will could feel the heat of her.  It
burned.  He grinned down at her faked distress and pressed
onward and into the woman he loved.  She groaned and lifted
her legs, pressing her heels into his buttocks, pushing him
further in.  She was ready, hot and wet, and he sank in to the
hilt.  Her hips kept moving, grinding against him and Will
knew he couldn't hold her down any longer.  They were belly
to belly and all he could think of was how good it felt to
be in her without protection.  
     She was on the Pill now and they were engaged to be
married.  She wanted to feel him like this, nothing between
them.  He certainly felt her and it was like a hot wire in
his brain, short-circuiting.  His hips began to move slowly
then faster and faster.
     Jeanne's throaty laugh spurred him on; her hands, now
free, holding him tight.  Gods she was great, this woman,
this vixen, his love.
  
     Five weeks later it was over and she was gone.  He never
really knew why.  She told him that he was selling himself
short and if he sold himself short how could he not sell
her short as well.  It made no sense.  The job was a good
one.  In a year they'd have enough saved to move on.  It
was only a job, damn it.  It was only a year.  
     He had tried to explain the logic of it.  Apparently
she had failed logic, for the ice grew in her until it
also burned.  She was crazy.  They would have had it made.
All it was one year.  One single year.
 
     Will looked at his watch.  It was two-thirty.  He'd
been daydreaming for over an hour.  Half an hour to get
to Fire on Ice.  If he went.  Did he really want to go?
What if it were Jeanne?  There was nothing to say to her.
Nothing.  He no longer felt anything.  The hell with it.
     Shit.  It was too late to change his mind and go to the 
game.  The guys would have already left.  So, he had a free 
afternoon and evening.  Fire on Ice?  Forget it.  He'd get
caught up on his book and maybe on his sleep as well.

     Fire on Ice was much as he remembered it.  Though he
came to the arena to see the team play he hadn't eaten at
Fire on Ice for five years now.  The hot food didn't agree
with his stomach.  Will sipped at the water.  Strange how
his stomach was unsettled.  Even the aroma of the spicy
food was enough to start it, it seemed.  Five minutes
past three.  As he had surmised, an April Fool's trick.
If he ever caught the one responsi . . . .
     She was beautiful.  More beautiful than he remembered.
Will got to his feet as she wended her way to his table.
     "Jeanne."  Caution overrode all other tones.
     "Hello, Will."  
     She sat down and he followed suit.  The way she sat,
straight, upright, breasts proudly pressing against her
blouse, excited him as it had always excited him.  Fire
and Ice.  The excitement died.  
     "So, talk."  He wasn't going to give her an inch.  She
grimaced.
     "I read some of your stories."
     "What stories?"
     "Will," she remonstrated, "the fact that you are here
means you got my message.  I sent it to the author.  Let's
not play games.  I knew it was you after the first one I read.
That was a year ago.  It was very good."
     "You could have just posted a note," Will said 
uncomfortably.  No one knew the kind of stories he wrote for
the newsgroups.  No one he was aware of, anyway.  Only a 
couple of on-line friends knew about Jeanne, and then only
in relation to his nym.  So, to be confronted by someone,
in real life, who knew of his writing, was a bit of a shock.
     "I read a couple more, too."  She was very direct.  She
had always been very direct.  "They were good as well.  You
have a real talent."
     Will smiled.  "And you want an autograph?"  Why hadn't
she just remained an anonymous fan.
     "I'm not the woman in your stories, Will.  I never was.
But you, you're caught in the past."  She saw his face go
blank.  "At some level you are.  You never got passed it.
I thought you would.  So I'm here."
     Will took a long look at her.  Jeanne remained silent
and sat still, enduring his gaze.  Here, in front of him
was the woman he hated, the one who had caused him all the
pain; the woman he loved, the one who had brought such joy.
He looked deeper and something inside let go.
     No, this was someone he didn't know.  The way she
held the glass of water was both familiar and unfamiliar.
The clothing was more conservative and he'd bet everything
he owned that she was wearing panties under her skirt.  No,
not the same woman at all.  Walls were crumbling all around.
He needed somewhere safe to stand.
     "Mommy!"
     Jeanne's head swung round and Will followed her gaze
to two children, one about eight, the other a preschooler,
coming towards them.  He looked back at Jean, calculating.
     Jeanne smiled, "Don't worry, the arithmetic doesn't even
come close.  That's my daughter and my step-daughter."
     *Step-daughter!*
     "I'm sorry, I thought we'd have more time."
     "Mom, Dad say's we're ready to go now.  We have to hurry
if we want to get to Grandma's house before supper."  The older
girl stared at Will suspiciously.
     "Thank-you, Tracy.  Tell Dad I'll be there in a couple of
minutes.  Go with her, Susan,  I'll be there soon."
     "They're good looking kids," Will told her, not sure what
to say.
     "Thanks.  They are good kids.  And their father is a
good man."  She breathed in deeply, then sighed.  "I have to
go Will."
     The woman he didn't know got to her feet, hesitated then
turned away.
     "Jeanne?"
     She turned back.  Was that a shadow of relief on her face?
"Yes, Will?"
     "Thanks for coming."
     Jeanne smiled, turned and walked away.  The sway of her
hips did nothing for him.  He was over her.  This time it wasn't
a lie.  All the old anger, the old lusts . . . gone.  It was
worth the missed game.  He owed Stan for being there ready to
take his ticket.  Jeanne slipped from view.  Nothing.
     The waitress caught his attention.  That, on the other
hand was really something!  Gods, what a body!  Feline grace
came to mind.  She'd make a great character in one of his
stories . . . .
     Will waved her over.  "I'd like to order now, Miss . . ."
     "Charlotte," the waitress smiled at him.  Oh, what a
smile.  She'd make an even better character in his life.
     "Charlotte," he confirmed, his most winning smile on
his face.  Fire.

End of Fire and Ice by Delta.  delta@nym.alias.net
