As most of you know, I generally don't participate in festivals.
I glanced over the request for participation for the Sapphic
Festival with passing interest, female-female love having found 
itself a focus for some of my previous writing. Imagine my surprise, 
when Seren, my Muse, whispered in my ear: "We can do this!"

"Love Unexpected" is the result. Be warned, it doesn't quite
fit into any of the festival categories, but Kelly kindly
agreed to allow it, despite Seren's utter refusal to bend to
a ruleset. Word counts?

"A story is as a story must be," Seren said smugly.

I shrugged, and merely bent to the keys as she continued to 
whisper in my ear, completely lost in the words.

And so, I share with you the result. It kind of fits into
the festival, so I hope you'll accept its length. I would
apologise, but stories are as they must be, laments cannot
change that.

As usual, this is better for the eyes of Denny. He should not
be blamed for mistakes, I can only take that responsibility, but
it is the best it can be because of him. Again, thank-you, Denny.

Please understand that this is a work of mildly erotic fiction.
There is nudity, sex, and relations between members of the same
gender here. While I'm not sure this is about sex, or about erotica,
by any classic definition, if this may offend you, or you are too
young to read such things, please pass on by. I won't be offended
that you didn't read it.

Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is purely
coincidental. The people involved won't admit it, anyway.

This work is copyrighted in its entirety by Crimson Dragon.
Please respect this, and do not redistribute it outside of my 
original offerings via Usenet and my website(s). If you'd like to 
redistribute the story, please write to me and ask. I don't bite. 
Much.

Feedback, comments, rants or dissertations, can be forwarded
to my e-mail address that remains: dcrimson@yahoo.com.

If you are still with me, onwards to the story,
- Crimson (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

http://www.asstr.org/~Crimson_Dragon
http://members.tripod.com/~Dragon_Of_Crimson


========================================================================

                              Love Unexpected

                                   FF

========================================================================

                  (c) Copyright - July 2002 - Crimson Dragon
                            (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

                            All Rights Reserved

========================================================================

Sometimes love finds us in the strangest places -- the ring of a
telephone, the smoky haze of a neighbourhood pub, the kiss of
stocking toes light and sensuous below a table, rising and 
teasing.

Love is undeniable, rushing onwards, like a proverbial irresistible
force striking an immovable object, shuddering, insistent. It comes,
unbidden, and unthinking, claiming us and propelling us, crying
out to be experienced, as if it were a lonely beast, awakened
by the ring, the haze, or the touch.

And sometimes, love finds us, like a soft kiss, or a gentle
caress, hidden in the delicate curve of the forbidden, where
we are most afraid to peer.

                      <---===***===--->

I watched them all scurrying like ants, moving to and fro,
hailing cabs, jumping into them, and moving away, drones to
the queen. The fluorescent lights behind me hummed softly,
banishing the dimness, silhouetting me against the tall panes
of glass. If one might hover, sixty metres above the concrete,
the taxis, the glowing taillights of the city street below,
one might have seen me as I am, naked while wearing my
clothes, a shadow in stark contrast to the lights behind,
fingertips pressed placidly against artificially cooled glass.

I sighed, and turned away, towards the large desk that
dominated the office. I sat, the leather seat moulding to
me, hugging my hips, almost embracing me, creaking.

Shifting some papers, I piled them neatly to the side.
I didn't want to look at them -- they'd still be here on
Monday, waiting for me. Perhaps, I might trespass here
on Sunday -- not because I wanted to, or out of any sense
of misplaced corporate loyalty, but because I simply had no 
place else that demanded my attention.

I leaned back in the chair, interlacing my hands behind
my neck, closing my eyes. The luminescence of the fluorescents
retracted behind my closed eyes, only their soft hum
permeating my world.

It was better this way. Alone, not depending on anyone.
Nobody to hurt. Nobody to hurt me.

I sighed, straightening and opening my eyes. My breasts
rose and fell, as they always did, underneath my clothing.

There wasn't any real advantage to going home, but I
pushed myself to my feet, stepping out and sliding the
chair under the desk. The shoes were new, and my heel
complained at the pressure, perhaps a blister forming. I 
shrugged and paused with my hand on the knob to my office.

A quick fantasy caught my breath, a janitor, nondescript
and anonymous, opened the door under my hand, taking
me wordlessly, tearing off my clothes, clearing my desk with 
a sweep of his muscled arms, pens and papers littering the floor 
under my naked feet.

I smiled, even as I shivered. Only a fantasy. My nipples
throbbed for a moment, then settled.

I opened the door, the gentle hum of a floor polisher
tickling my ears.

At home, there was a warm bath, and mindless sitcoms. A
TV dinner, steaming and tasteless, propped on a tray.

I stepped out into the hallway, flicking off the lights
as I did. The gap, ever narrowing as my hand guided the
door closed, halted as the telephone on my desk began
to ring.

                      <---===***===--->

"Jake, no. Not tonight," I said into the phone. The coiled
ringlets that formed the handset's tether descended from my 
hand like a serpent.

"You haven't even met him," Jake said, his voice insistent and
as whiny as I remembered it. "I know you haven't been seeing 
anyone, and I feel bad."

He didn't feel bad, but that was Jake. I shrugged, knowing
that he couldn't see me sitting in the dark, miles away
across copper wires.

"Is he anything like you?"

"What's the right answer?" I could sense the smirk on his
face. I didn't want to see Jake. Couldn't. Not now. I
leaned back in the chair, envisioning the receiver lying
in its home. But he would call back, even if I hung up on
him, insistent and hurt. And I would answer it, because I
wouldn't be able to let it ring.

I sighed. "Jake, I'm seeing someone, now."

I wasn't, but it made him pause. There was silence on his
end of the phone, and it made me shiver. But the victory
was short-lived, as I knew it would be.

"Your fingers don't count," he said slowly.

A flush rose up into my face, and I didn't reply. What was there
to reply to that? It was the naked truth, and he somehow knew
it, as he always did. Men like Jake always seemed to be able
to read women; it was how they managed to be successful, how
he'd managed with me.

"Just meet him. If you don't like him, nothing lost. You get
a dinner out of it. Has to be better than those TV dinners
that you were going home to. We're meeting there in twenty
minutes. The Fox and the Hound. It's only downstairs for
you."

"Jake ..."

He cleared his throat.

"Alyssa, come on." This was the closest I'd ever heard him
to begging. "We need a fourth, I wouldn't ask, but I've already
invited him."

"What's his name?"

"Michael."

"Who blew you off?"

There was silence again, and he cleared his throat. It was all
I needed to know. I hadn't been his first choice, but I hadn't
really expected it. He didn't answer me, and I swallowed,
stung somehow.

"Is this Michael a leper?"

He laughed, the old Jake re-emerging as I let him off the
hook. I hated myself for even considering it, but Jake did have
a point. TV dinners sucked.

"He looks like me."

That wasn't appealing either, but I didn't say so. Instead,
I twisted and turned towards the plates of glass, back towards
the city. I had the crazy urge to close the door, lock it, and
strip, here and now, stand naked against the glass watching the
anonymous people far below.

"Jake, what happened to us?"

He sighed. "Alyssa? Do you really want to go into this? It's
been a year. You need to move on."

I could close my eyes and see myself, naked, riding him,
feeling him inside me, the climax approaching hard and fast. 

Jake.

I shook myself, and opened my eyes. Taillights flickered
below -- a sea of red.

"Alyssa? You still there?"

His voice floated from the receiver, a distant grounding to
reality. I nodded, even though I knew that he couldn't see
me.

"I'll be there."

"Thank-you," he said easily as if there had never been any
doubt of my eventual agreement.

There was a click on the line, and then the constant drone
of the dial tone. Slowly, I returned the handset to the
base, watching as the red dot indicating a live line winked
out.

I sighed and pushed myself to my feet.

Damned if I was going to worry about prettying myself up
for Michael. I stepped out into the hallway.

The janitor looked up from the machine he was pushing,
the polishing pads humming along the tiles. He tipped
his head towards me, and I returned the smile, ducking my
head to hide the flush that I knew would rise if I watched
him any more than I should.

Perhaps, tonight wouldn't be as bad as all that. I wasn't
expecting anything, even if Fate was rushing towards me
with the force of a locomotive.

                      <---===***===--->

I peered at myself in the mirror. Tired? Perhaps. My eyes
held that haunted look that one seems to acquire when one
spends too much time by herself.

I touched up my make-up, despite my promise to myself to
damn the torpedoes of Michael, and I brushed out my hair.

My legs were encased in stockings, itching. Perhaps, a little
risque for the office, not quite risque enough for a date. Not
a date, I reminded myself. But it was, even if Jake had set it
up, the first time out in a long time. My heart pattered under
my clothes, but I wasn't expecting anything. Jake was involved,
after all. I gazed at my image for a moment longer, smoothing my 
skirt with my hands. The suit was slightly wrinkled from the office. 
C'est la vie.

Presentable, if not beautiful.

I pushed open the ladies room door, stepping out into the
gleaming hallway. The janitor seemed to be everywhere, and for 
a crazy moment, I thought that he might be stalking me, had tuned 
into my crazy fantasy somehow, and wanted to get to know me better. 
A lot better. Sometimes, I'm more vain than I give myself
credit for, even in the face of obvious facts.

He was older, perhaps seventy, and he was far from the
muscled presence that swept my desk clean, me naked
upon it. He smiled at me, and tipped his head. He
switched off the polisher -- a courtesy that set my nerves
to jangling.

"A fine night to fall in love," he said.

I looked at him quizzically, but my unease settled. He didn't
look like the raping or stalking type.

"Do I know you?"

"Does a knight know the dragon?"

Puzzled, I laughed almost uneasily. The janitor smiled, and
raised his hand.

"Have a nice weekend, Miss Jones," he said.

I nearly corrected him. My surname wasn't Jones, never had
been. I didn't understand the reference, and I'm not sure
that he did either. But perhaps he did. Dragons have a way
of seeing knights that the rest of us can't.

"And you as well," I murmured, turning away. The polisher
wound up with a sound similar to a motorcycle speeding off
into the distance, the pitch rising behind me as I walked
to the elevator shaking my head.

                      <---===***===--->

Smoky haze filled the pub, raucous laughter surrounding me.
I swept my eyes over the crowd, most of whom seemed self-absorbed
in conversation, or watched the latest soccer match on the
wide screen televisions mounted about the central bar.

I glanced at my watch, surprised. Fifteen minutes late.
I shrugged. They either would have waited for me, or not.
It didn't matter.

"Can I help you miss? Table for one?"

Startled, I turned my gaze to the hostess, a girl in a white
blouse, shorter than I, perhaps only recently out of high
school.

"I'm meeting people here, but I don't see them."

Her eyes appraised me, and suddenly I felt a little uncomfortable.
Then the girl smiled, and said, "You must be Alyssa. You're
taller than he said."

I swallowed, confused. Nevertheless, I followed her, twisting
through the haze, and avoiding tables filled with strange
accents, and pints of lager. At a booth, near the back,
she swept her arm, like a courtesan introducing a queen.

They sat in the booth, none of them smoking, but surrounded
in the haze like fog. The smoke stung my eyes, but I blinked,
and tried to smile. The hostess disappeared, and I barely
noticed.

I slipped into the only available seat, crossing my legs
under the table. Jake looked up, relieved, as I wiggled to 
make myself more comfortable.

"Alyssa, you made it."

I nodded, then glanced to my left. A large man, not fat,
but muscular, sat beside me, a gentle smile upon his face.
With a start, I realised that this man could have fit
my mental picture of the original janitor, unlike the
true elderly dragon that had stalked me upstairs, and very 
unlike Jake. I twisted my head. The girl next to Jake was slender, 
her brunette hair in a simple ponytail, her hands cupping a 
glass of wine that seemed out of place in this establishment.
The men sipped at their beers, the golden liquid refracting
the light, muddy water in a stein.

She stuck out her hand, casting a glance at Jake.

"Alyssa, I'm Cameron, and that's Michael beside you.
Jake's being rude tonight."

She took my hand, the momentary contact warm and inviting.
Cameron almost seemed bored with the table. As she released
my hand, I turned towards the other presence on my side
of the table, extending my hand. He took it, almost crushing
my fingers in his grip. I must have grimaced, because he
smiled and eased up the pressure. Then, before I could
react, he raised my hand, and pressed his lips to the
back, my skin tingling. I nearly pulled my hand back in
surprise.

"Charmed, Alyssa," he said, his lips grave in his politeness.

Cameron laughed, and tossed a pretzel at Michael.

"You're such a goddamn phony," she said.

I shivered. It hadn't felt phony -- but rather almost
chivalrous. Michael merely smiled, and turned back to
Jake, his hands again animated in talk, dismissing me
lightly. I wondered if he was aware that I was supposed
to be his date. It didn't matter. Despite his resemblance
to fantasy, I couldn't say that the reality of him struck
any immediate chords within me, chivalry notwithstanding.

The waitress came, and I ordered a white wine, joining
Cameron in her flaunt of the obviously lager oriented
establishment. The waitress, a petite blonde girl in
uncomfortable looking high heels, and a low cut blouse,
raised her eyebrows, but scurried off to get my order.
The guys continued some inane argument about Italian
football players. I glanced at Cameron, and she rolled
her eyes.

I pointed at Jake. "You're seeing Jake, now?"

Cameron smiled, as if she was aware of our history. She
probably was -- Jake would have had to tell her.

"Nothing serious," she said lightly. "A few laughs."

I sighed, and hesitated. "It's okay, Cameron, it was
years ago." A bit of a lie, but a year was as good as
three, wasn't it?

She smiled, and leaned forward, cupping her lips away
from the guys. She could have screamed, and I doubt if
they would have heard her.

"We've only been hanging out for a few weeks." She
hesitated, gauging me, perhaps trying to determine how
she stacked up against me. It's what women do. I
couldn't have been more wrong. "You want to know if
I've fucked him, yet."

With a start, I leaned back away from her. I wanted to swing 
my legs out, and run from this pub, away from the smoke, away 
from the haze, away from Jake. TV dinners weren't worth this.

My wine arrived, and I drank half the glass without
pausing. Cameron raised her eyebrows, but the guys
didn't even come close to noticing.

She smiled kindly, waving dismissively. She motioned me
back down, and against my better judgement, I leaned
forward, my chin cupped in my hands. The sweetness of the
wine battled with the haze of smoke.

"I'm sorry, Alyssa. I didn't mean anything by it."

But she'd been right. I did want to know. Why? I don't
know. It wasn't as if I harboured feelings for Jake
any longer. The thought of him with another woman didn't
really bother me. He was free to do with his life
as he always did. Romance 'em and leave 'em. It was
Jake. I wanted to warn this girl, but somehow, I didn't
think she needed warning. Cameron smiled, her lips
only centimetres from mine.

"I haven't," she said.

I swallowed heavily. I wanted to ask her why not, but she
answered without my having to open my mouth.

"I'm not sure he's my type," she said.

I sighed, and looked at Michael. The big man was talking
animatedly, his hands waving, his words indistinguishable.
I tried to picture him sweeping my desk contents to the
floor, lifting me onto the desk. I sighed; I didn't think he 
was my type either.

                      <---===***===--->

I shivered, carefully cutting my greens. For some reason, ever
since I'd been small, I always ate the broccoli first, perhaps, 
to get it out of the way so I could enjoy the rest of the
meal. The knife slipped and screeched across my plate, and I
looked up, cringing.

And suddenly it was there, light and whispery, like a butterfly.

Jake's head was down, savagely cutting at his steak. Michael,
beside me, couldn't have done it. I glared at Jake for a
moment, then returned to my task. The bitter taste of
the broccoli kissed my tongue, but I ate it, chewing and
swallowing thoughtfully.

The stupid part about it was that it was sexy in a strange
way, kindling reaction in all the right places. It was public, 
and it was naughty, and it was deliciously secret.

But what about Cameron, Jakey? Don't make me a part of this.

I glanced down, and adjusted my napkin upon my lap. My skirt
ruffled over the nylons I wore. I sighed, and returned to the
broccoli. I tried to ignore the touch, but it rose insistently
up my leg, beginning at my ankle where the straps of my
shoe held it to my foot, and billowing like a sail up
my calf to tickle near my knee. I glanced up again, and Jake
seemed absorbed in his steak, spreading sour cream on to
its red surface. That's one thing I'd always remember about
Jake -- not the love-making, not the midnight fights, but
that he ate his steak rare, and enjoyed sour cream with it.
Strange. I'd tried it once, at his insistence, and nearly
gagged.

"Jake," I hissed. The touch under the table pulled away,
but instead of feeling relieved at the removal, I felt
empty. I didn't want him, but the touch sent shivers
up my spine. Pure frustration, I'm sure. In the very least,
it wasn't fair. Teasing me.

Jake looked up quizzically, and I shot him a look that I
hoped was clear enough. Stop. Even Michael looked over
at me, and shrugged, returning to his porterhouse. Jake
shrugged as well, giving me a truly puzzled look, almost
one of those 'crazy-female' gazes. He bent back to his
plate, and I sighed, deciding to leave the broccoli
for later.

                      <---===***===--->

Shivers shot up my spine, igniting things that I wasn't
sure I wanted ignited. It began as almost a kiss, and
the touch lightly traced up my leg again. I struggled
to ignore it, hoping that he'd desist if I didn't react,
but his foot rose slowly and sensuously up my leg,
even slightly higher this time, actually touching
my thigh. I pressed my legs together, and his foot
remained, stymied there. He made no attempt to
go further, not that he could have reached much
further, but he didn't pull back, either.

I thought that he would pull his foot back as I
lowered my hand. Perhaps he was teasing me, allowing
me to get close, then pull back as he sensed my
fingers. But I'd see him move, then, betraying him,
the game over.

It was a game. Though, I didn't understand until
later the nature of it.

My eyes widened as my fingers touched the toes
trapped between my thighs. It took a moment for the
magnitude of the tactile sensations to fill my
mind.

                      <---===***===--->

Nylon around the toes, smaller and daintier than Jake's
could possibly be. Somehow, my mind bent from the obvious,
and I regarded Michael. Of course, he couldn't possibly be
playing this game, seated as he was. Even if he was
double jointed, and even if he could have owned the toes
that I touched, however unlikely, my mind couldn't reconcile
his involvement. I didn't want it to be him, anyway.
Nor Jake.

What I realised were distinctly feminine toes retreated
from me, and I shivered, bringing my fingers back above the
table, knocking my plate as I did. I refused to raise my
eyes. Couldn't face her. I blindly reached for my wine
glass, the broccoli mocking me. The glass appeared in
my hand, Cameron placing it there gently. In my peripheral 
vision I could see her fingers wrapped easily around the
stem of my wine glass. The taste of the wine filled my
mouth, intoxicating and sweet.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her voice only loud enough
for me to hear. I nodded mutely, and glanced over the side
of the booth to the tiled floor, sunken below where we ate.

A single shoe, white with straps that should have been around
her ankle, fell from beneath the table, lying like a beached
minnow, mocking me. I caught my breath, the implications of
the shoe, and whose it was, flooding into me. She probably
kicked it, to ensure that I understood.

Cameron leaned down, a flash of the white of her chest above
her buttons enough to make me raise my eyes, her fingers reaching 
for the shoe. Jake looked up as I reached again for my wine. He 
smiled, and shrugged, as if he knew what was going on. He couldn't, 
and I knew that, but suddenly I felt sympathy for him. I don't know 
why. Perhaps, because he'd met Cameron first, even if he was a 
womaniser, and I'd been one of his victims, but he'd expected 
something from her that he wasn't likely to get. I'd talk to him 
later. Maybe. If I wasn't too embarrassed.

I nearly looked directly across the table, where I was
sure that Cameron was watching me. Instead, I let my
eyes travel down the tablecloth, back to my vegetables.
Carefully, I sipped from the wine glass, the last of the
fruity flavour washing my senses.

I shivered. I tried to push the thoughts from my mind, but
I couldn't; they refused to release me, even when I threatened
them.

I didn't want to admit it, not even to myself, but I was
anticipating that silky touch of soft toes beneath the table. 
I wasn't likely to get it, unless I gave her a sign, but that, I 
knew, I could never do. Not even if Jake and Michael weren't
sitting there, ready to judge me.

                      <---===***===--->

Her toes touched me again, hesitantly, like a first love,
exploring, kissing, full of dread and anticipation. I closed
my eyes, drinking in the sensations of her, wondering
what the hell I was doing, but enjoying the soft tingling.

Her foot rose slowly, kissing my skin, nylon on nylon,
slipping and teasing. I struggled not to move my
leg, as one might when being tickled mercilessly,
but this didn't tickle. Not at all.

I sighed, refusing to raise my eyes, enjoying every
touch, every nuance of her. I thought that I could detect
her scent, a light perfume, the kind I knew that Jake liked,
floating above the stink of the cigarettes.

What if someone saw? There was no skirt on the table, no
falling tablecloth hanging low, and we were raised in a booth.
A waitress, another patron?

When she reached my knee, I finally raised my eyes. As I
expected, she was watching me, a faint smile upon her
lips. It was dim in the pub, and it seemed overly
surreal with Jake and Michael eating obliviously beside me,
and her nyloned toes so lightly kissing my knee beneath.
A raucous roar of approval rose from the other side of
the pub, a goal perhaps, or a badly timed penalty.
Would they be turned on if they knew? They were guys.
Probably -- even Jake -- especially Jake. I shivered, and
held her eyes.

After a moment, I swallowed, and tilted my head to the
side. Slowly, ever so slowly, I eased my legs apart.
Inviting.

                      <---===***===--->

Perhaps she knew, perhaps not. Either way, I thought that I
was going to embarrass myself, an inadvertent moan, a groan,
something that I might have done with Jake in an earlier
life, in the privacy of our bed.

Her toes continued to kiss me, and we stared at each other,
her eyes sparkling with mischief, mine probably shining with
anxiety, or simple tears. Sometimes I cry with lovers. They
generally don't understand, but I think that Cameron might
have -- at least that night, I suspect that she did.

She nodded slightly, and her toes brushed past the tops
of my nylons, under my skirt. I glanced down, and my
napkin bounced once, as if there were a living creature
underneath. I was insanely glad that Michael wasn't
looking into my lap. I glanced over at him, unable to
summon up any sort of image with him in it naked. The
fantasy kept shifting, more feminine curves gracing the
participants in my mind. I shivered, my eyes widening as
her toes brushed my external lips through my panties.

I must have gasped, because she smiled for only a moment,
then she glanced quickly at Jake, and then at Michael
before her teasing disappeared from between my legs.

Weak, I closed my eyes, and then opened them again.
I tried to concentrate on my food, but there was no
taste there, seemingly leeched by more intense sensations.

My breasts ached, and my legs trembled. I tried to
catch Cameron's eyes, but she appeared to have contented
herself with joining in with Jake. I couldn't understand
their conversation, and continued to eat. Michael tried
to engage me in conversation, having lost Jake's spiralling
soccer arguments. Even after the waitress had cleared our 
plates, and offered after-dinner drinks, I couldn't
concentrate, only smiling at his words in all the right
places. He could have been asking me if I enjoyed kinky
sex, or romping around naked in Queen's Park, and I wouldn't 
have known any different. I nodded and smiled, and he seemed 
satisfied with my responses. My mind drifted.

I leaned back my head, and breathed in the heavy haze
that surrounded me. Sensing movement across from
me, I opened my eyes with a start. Perhaps, I'd dozed,
but in the atmosphere and noise of the pub, I couldn't see 
how. Perhaps, the wine.

Cameron had pushed herself from her seat. I glanced down.
White shoes encased both her feet, dark nylons enhancing 
her limbs and toes.

"Going home?" I said, perhaps too quickly. I prepared myself
to rise with her. She leaned in, her breath sweet against
my ear.

"Just going to the little girls' room," she said, her voice
airy.

I relaxed, and settled back into the booth. Jake looked
at me strangely, but I ignored him. Perhaps, I was being
unsociable, but so were the conversations of Italian soccer
moments, which seemed to revive with Cameron's departure.

I think I might have dozed again, the buzz of conversation
surrounding me like a shroud.

                      <---===***===--->

"... too much to drink ..."

I opened my eyes with a start. I pushed myself up, embarrassed
and concerned. My head had been leaning against Michael's
shoulder and Jake was watching me with undisguised mirth.

"Wine makes me sleepy," I mumbled, and Michael laughed. While
I might have consumed my wine a tad quickly, I wasn't drunk by
any stretch of the imagination. I almost wished that I was.

"Quite all right," Michael said, his voice mild. "I don't mind
women falling asleep on me."

"Was I out long?"

Jake shook his head. Cameron's seat stood empty beside him.

"Where'd she go?" I asked, sure that my interest would be
interpreted correctly, branding me. Jake shrugged, unconcerned 
about the question. Apparently, I hadn't slept on Michael for
very long.

"She's only been gone for a few minutes. Maybe to the bar?
Maybe to the can?" He laughed. "I'm not her keeper."

No. I didn't suppose he was. Especially, not now.

I sighed, and straightened myself. I felt like I'd been
awakened from a deep sleep, groggy, drugged. But I wasn't.
I was tired, but not enough to warrant my behaviour. I
felt like a school girl, working up the nerve to accept
a first kiss, exhausted by the anxiety, the mental push. My body 
sang, alive and sensitive. My nipples throbbed in time with my 
pulse.

My heart sped up a little as Cameron rounded the corner,
mischief again in her eyes. She talked to one table as
she seemed to float closer, glancing at her watch. Only
the time. She flashed me a smile and slipped into the
booth, her left hand at her side, her right upon the table,
toying with her wine glass.

                      <---===***===--->

She didn't look any different, though I'm not sure why I
supposed that she should. Cameron flashed me another smile
and glanced at the boys. They were ignoring us, fighting
about Brazil and Italia animatedly.

"Here," she said mischievously.

I raised my eyebrows, but accepted the folds of cloth that
she handed me across the table. In the dim light, it seemed
like the fabric was pale hued, like her blouse. Was I imagining
it, or were there more buttons undone at her throat than
when she'd left?

I turned my eyes away, and glanced down at my hand.

The unmistakable delicateness of a bra lay across my hand,
still warm from her body. I nearly dropped it in surprise, my 
sudden movement attracting Jake's attention. I slipped the bra 
down beside me, tucking it under my thigh.

"What's that?" Jake asked.

I flushed and shook my head quickly, shrugging. What's what?

He cast me a sidelong glance that encompassed more than simple
curiosity. He didn't know what I held under my thigh, but he
didn't care. It had only been an attempt to draw me into
conversation. He did care that I wasn't making an effort with
Michael. On the other hand, he wasn't about to push the issue,
perhaps realising that he and his soccer were half the
problem.

I swallowed, and turned my attention back to Cameron, as Jake
turned back to his soccer dissertation. My eyes fell to
Cameron's chest, feeling like a guy, stealing a look, groping
her with my eyes. I couldn't tell if she was actually braless. 
For that matter, I'm not sure I would have known if she had
been wearing a bra previously, either. Whatever the case, whether 
I had her bra under my thigh or not, she didn't really need one. 
I inhaled sharply, realising where my eyes were resting, and 
raised my eyes to her face.

She smiled easily, her eyes laughing.

I leaned in conspiratorially.

"Cameron, where ..."

She smiled. "The bathroom. It's not difficult. You've taken
a million of them off over your lifetime."

"Maybe not a million."

She shrugged and gathered in her breath.

After a while, she glanced at Jake, and then back at me.

"I don't need it," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"But if you want to return it, I'm staying at the Westin,
room 902."

I swallowed and nodded, though at the time I wasn't sure
what she was telling me. I should have. I had her bra tucked
under my thigh, still warm from her.

With that, she pushed herself up and stretched. She reminded
me of a cat, stretching in the sun. I fancied that I might be
able to see her breast, under her clothing, pressing sensuously
against her blouse, the bump of an otherwise uncovered nipple. 
She rubbed her eyes once.

"Gotta get some sleep, Jakey," she announced.

He looked up at her, a whisper of annoyance flashing across
his face. Irritated, he pushed himself up to join her,
and a flash of jealousy stole across me. I didn't understand
it, but it was there, green and intolerable. Cameron winked
at me, and relief washed through me. She'd come with him,
and she'd leave with him, but tonight wouldn't end with
a Jake conquest. The envy slowly seeped into sympathy, again.

"Will you be all right?" Jake asked.

At first, his words seemed foreign, without sense, but I
nodded.

"I'll take a taxi home. Don't worry about me."

He flashed me a disappointed look, one of those: I-try-but-I-
can't-help-a-girl-that-refuses-to-help-herself looks. He wanted
me to go home with Michael, probably an ill-fated attempt
to force me onwards with my life. In a way, I suppose, it was
Jake's way of being kind. I shrugged.

"Don't let Michael take advantage of you," he said, ironically.

"I won't."

I watched them walk hand in hand towards the front of the
pub, and disappear into the haze. My eyes stung, and I rubbed
at them. Michael mistook the gesture for tiredness.

"You want to go to bed?" he asked gently. I turned, eyebrows raised, 
and he laughed. "Not with me. Relax."

I nodded. I was tired.

I nearly forgot to pick up her bra as I slid out of the
booth, but before Michael could pick it up and realise
what it was, I palmed it, and held it easily at my side.

                      <---===***===--->

The night remained hot, the heat of the day floating in the
dark air, rising from superheated concrete and steel. While the 
fresh air felt like heaven, the humidity stuck my blouse to my 
skin almost immediately. I picked at the cloth absently.

We stood awkwardly on the curb. Traffic flowed by, taillights
glowing in the darkness. A thumping bass beat issued from the
Crocodile Rock across the street, drunken patrons stumbling
out, the line stretching seemingly forever to get in.

"I had a good time tonight," I said glibly.

"No, you didn't," he said, but his lips still formed an easy
smile. "I wasn't much company."

I shrugged. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I had the
uncanny feeling that I'd gained, while Jakey had lost.
Perhaps, Michael had lost too, somehow.

"Can I get you a taxi?" he asked. No offer to join me.
No offer for a night-cap. Not even coffee, in a neutral
Starbucks, a last attempt to find solace. I was thankful;
I didn't fancy refusing him, if he had asked, though I
would have. Only an offer to provide a ride home, safe and 
serene, and alone.

I shook my head. "I think I'm going to walk."

He looked concerned for a moment.

"I should walk you," he said. But he glanced at his watch,
almost surreptitiously. I didn't mind. I wanted to be alone
anyway. The city was safe enough, unlike its American counterparts.
A girl could get hurt, but it was unlikely. Not around here. Night 
sounds surrounded us. A drunken party of four hung off each other, 
stumbling from the pub behind us.

"Pretty lady ..." one oaf sang out as they passed. But other
than that, they ignored the two of us. I smiled and waved.

"I'll be fine, Michael. I'm a big girl."

Awkwardly, I shifted my weight from foot to foot. What would
I do if he tried to kiss me?

He didn't, but touched my shoulder.

"Alyssa?"

"Mmmmhmmmm?"

"We're different people. I like you, but ... to be honest,
you're not really my type."

We hadn't spoken much in the pub, a physical awkwardness
between us. He didn't like the way I looked. I didn't know
why, but it didn't really matter. I wasn't that insecure.
It happened.

"It's okay, Michael. You're not really my type either."

Cameron is. 

The thought jolted me.

He smiled, a weak smile.

"Are you sure I can't get you a taxi?"

I shook my head. The night air felt clinging and wet.

He nodded, a regretful expression gracing his face.

"Good night, Alyssa."

"Good-bye," I said easily.

I watched him walk up the street and turn left at the lights.
Normally, I would have felt a passing regret. Instead, I held up
the cloth that pressed between my fingers. Under the street light,
it almost glowed, warm and inviting. I closed my eyes. It had
been around her. Around her, pressed to her body.

I turned in the opposite direction to that taken by Michael,
and like a ghost, I began to walk without destination.

                      <---===***===--->

I stood in front of the eternal flame, commemorating, as the
plaque stated, the lives of fire-fighters lost in the line of
duty. Their lives were as distant to me as Michael's, insubstantial
and waifish. I felt selfish, but I stood and sighed, trying to
make sense of it all.

It wasn't only the fire-fighters. I hadn't been close to anyone
but Jake in a long, long time, and well, Jake was a bit of a joke.
I told myself I didn't mind, that he didn't love any of the
extra tail that he sought. It didn't matter. But of course, it
did. In some ways I missed him, in others I didn't.

I leaned on the protective rail, wondering if it was there to
protect the flame, or to protect idiots from getting burned.
I wanted a protective rail around my life.

Slowly, I turned away, almost surprised that Cameron's
undergarment remained gently pressed between my fingers.

I stared up at the tower, silhouetted by the rising moon. Wispy
clouds scattered the moonlight like a shroud.

I didn't know what I wanted anymore.

                      <---===***===--->

I had no idea how I arrived there, or why I was there. Across
the street, men in red uniforms helped the occasional limousine
and taxi with clients and luggage. I sat on a bench debating
with myself, legs crossing and uncrossing, the feeling not
unlike her nyloned toes teasing my calf.

I glanced up. Ninth floor. I counted carefully, each window
division ticked off in my mind until I reached nine. None of the 
windows were lit, all dark as if warding away unwanted guests.

I raised the cloth to my face, and inhaled through my nose.

The scent of smoke was strong, as it likely was even into
my own skin and clothing. But there was something underneath,
the scent of honey and clover and perfume; Cameron.

I sighed and pushed myself up. Rivulets of perspiration ran
down my back under my blouse. I'd undone the top three buttons,
aware of how low the fabric flapped, but not caring.

There was little traffic at this time of night, and I crossed
against the lights, almost jogging across the cross walk.

The revolving door admitted me, sighing as it spun. I considered
simply walking around, allowing it to spit me back out into the
heat. I could go home, and never return. For all I knew, she'd
only be here one night -- perhaps the room originally meant for 
a different night, with Jake.

I blinked in the sudden light. There were three men sitting
in the lobby, one reading while the other two played cards.
They looked up at my entrance, but then lowered their eyes
back to whatever they were doing before I'd intruded.
Their eyes, though, had all said the same thing to me.
What was this lonely girl doing here? Even if they'd asked out
loud, I wouldn't have been able to answer them. But,
of course, their eyes had said no such thing, only mild
interest at yet another anonymous entrance of the night.

I sighed, and walked towards the elevator banks.

                      <---===***===--->

I hesitated at the door.

902.

What if she were playing a game with me, giving me a random
room, my knock disturbing the peaceful sleep of a nun and
a priest, celibacy screaming out at me as the nun answered
the door rubbing her eyes? I swallowed heavily, and raised 
my hand, knuckles ready.

I couldn't do it. My hand lowered to my side again. I felt
self-conscious here, alone in the hallway. I could feel a
thousand eyes upon me, watching me through the inverted telescopes
in the doors. A thousand eyes accusing me of what I was about
to do. If she were here.

902. Westin. If I wanted to return it.

The fabric hung limply from my left hand at my side, brushing
at my leg. My nylon stockings itched, and I wanted to take them 
off. Reach the other side of the door, and I could. I had to 
knock first.

What if Jake was there? Had orchestrated a little menage a trois?
Would I step in? Would I accept it, simply to touch her?

I didn't know.

What if Michael was there?

It struck me that what was behind the door, even if it was
only Cameron, was a mystery. Who was she? Where did she come
from? Why me?

I sighed, and turned away. My feet whispered across the carpet,
leading me inexorably towards the elevator.

When the doors slid open, I stepped back, away from the
car. Inside, a nun, wearing only her headcloak, and a normal
shirt and blue jeans, and a priest, wearing white about his throat, 
both looking tired, gestured to me to join them. I shook my head, 
backing away from the yawning opening. 

Stupidly, I didn't understand. How could the nun and the priest
be in 902, if they were in the elevator? It didn't make sense,
and I knew somewhere in my mind that it shouldn't.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

The elevator doors closed with a rumble and a snick, their puzzled
faces disappearing through the narrowing gap. The beast that was the 
elevator descended, its growl receding into the depths of the building.

I didn't know how I had travelled back, must have walked, but I 
faced the door again. It mocked me silently. Somewhere, up the
hallway, someone coughed, the sound heavily muted by the intervening
doors.

"I don't need it, but if you want to return it ..."

902. 

Westin.

I closed my eyes, and without further thought, let my hand fall, a 
single rap echoing up and down the corridor. A thousand accusing
eyes burned into my back.

                      <---===***===--->

Cameron smiled as the door opened. Her hair tumbled free of
the ponytail, falling in damp waves about her shoulders. A red
towel wrapped her from breasts to thighs, her pale skin inviting
and alluring. Her feet were bare upon the worn carpet. She ran her 
fingers through her hair, and her face looked almost apologetic,
though for what, I had no idea.

She stepped back, and gestured me in. I hesitated, thinking of the
nun and the priest, but then crossed into the dimness of the room. 
A step into another world, one that I wasn't sure that there was a 
bridge back from.

The door closed gently behind me.

"I'm glad you came," Cameron whispered.

I forced a smile onto my face, and held up her bra like it was
a talisman. She grinned, and touched my fingers.

"You hold onto it, for now," she said easily. I closed my hand
around it again, and listened. A drip from the shower dropped
in a rhythmic monotony. The cheap television remained silent.
No other breathing permeated the air. She was alone here, that
much I could tell. The scenarios of menage a trois flitted
from my mind as smoke does before a wind.

Her lips looked puzzled.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

I tried to smile, and I nodded slowly.

"Better than in a long time," I said.

She smiled, radiant and pure, pleased.

"I have to dry my hair. A few minutes earlier, and I wouldn't have
heard you, water running into my ears. A few minutes later, and
the hair drier."

Fate.

I nodded, and bent to unlace my shoes. When I rose, she had
moved into the small hotel bathroom. I could see flashes of her
skin and red towel through the narrow gap in the door. She
wasn't naked in there, but the flashes of her sent inexplicable
tendrils of desire into me. I swallowed, and moved into the
room, the carpet slippery and strange under the nylons.

The room was dark, only lit by the ambient light from the
bathroom on one side, and the lights of the city outside near 
the windows, filtering between drawn curtains.

In the middle of the room, a bed, a king size playground,
sat, the blankets unruffled, the top sheet turned down, mints
like shadows on the pillows. The television stood darkened
upon the dresser. There was no bag, no luggage. Only her,
and me, now.

I moved to the window, where the drapes fluttered, and traffic
noise filtered in with the city lights. Someone shouted
below, and I jumped a little, nervous. I drew back the drapes. 
The windows were open, night air shifting around my legs, teasing
and heavy.

They looked like ants below, scurrying to taxis, alighting,
and hunting for their queen. Taillights glowed.

I backed away, conscious of the hair drier halting, and silence
descending like a blanket. My heart began to race, perspiration 
again pinning my blouse to my skin.

The air conditioning had been turned off, or was broken, the
hum from the wall unit silent as if competing with the chaos
of the city had beaten its will to live. I ran my fingers over
the loose knob.

"It's not broken," Cameron whispered behind me. "I just
prefer it hot."

I turned from watching the silent air conditioner to face her.

                      <---===***===--->

She moved towards me, like a ghost, her bare feet whispering across
the carpet. I wondered where her clothes were -- I hadn't seen them
as I moved about the room. No blouse. No whispering nylons. No
skirt. Only her bra, still heavy in my right hand.

Cameron smiled, and stood beside me, her eyes taking in the city
stretched out in front of us, below, like a queen surveying her
realm.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

Her fingers stole to mine, lightly holding my free hand. My
palms felt slick with perspiration, but she didn't seem to
notice, her fingers intertwined with mine, gossamer, almost
insubstantial, and cool.

I bit my lip, and watched them below. Her scent rode on the
heavy wind, honey and clover, the scent of clean, the scent of
her. I breathed her in, pretending to watch the people below.
Compared to her, I must have smelled, the stink of cigarettes
coating me like a film. Cameron didn't seem to mind, and I
hoped that the night walk had eased the unwelcome remnants of 
the pub.

"There," Cameron said softly, pointing.

I followed her finger, and smiled. Below, two girls, perhaps 
college aged, walked, their fingers intertwined in the night,
mirroring my own pose. Suddenly self-conscious, I nearly withdrew 
my fingers from Cameron, but then relaxed.

To my surprise, the girls kissed, right there on the sidewalk,
their bodies shimmering. Then they parted, and I watched them
disappear, turning up a darkened side street. The soft sound of
their laugh tickled my ears.

I withdrew, my eyes focusing on my reflection, a silhouette
edged in glass. Beside me, Cameron had shifted her pose,
no longer viewing her realm, looking up at me. I turned
from our reflection.

Her eyes uplifted to mine, her body trembled -- I could feel
it through our linked fingers. She released my hand, and it
fell easily to my side, a dead weight. She closed her eyes,
and her hands raised to my shoulders, resting there light
and cool through my clothes.

She raised herself up on her toes, reaching, her lips
parted slightly. I hesitated for a moment, not because of
her gender, or her desirability, but only the hesitation of
emotion, of crossing bridges that cannot be re-crossed.
It had been far too long since anyone had kissed me.

And then her lips touched mine, and all the fears, all the
hesitations, all the apprehensions melted. Somewhere below,
a car honked, and the sound of feminine laughter rose,
joining me to the real world somewhere beyond the room.
I dimly felt her bra leaving my fingers, fluttering to
the floor to lay like a soft reminder against my foot.

Cameron's moan joined the shivers racing through my nerves.

                      <---===***===--->

I sat, leaning back on my hands, the mattress soft and yielding
under my palms.

She stood in front of me, smiling, her arms held out slightly
from her sides. The red towel mocked me, hiding her, teasing
me. Suddenly, I was very conscious that she was naked but for
that towel, her skin teasingly close. She smiled, and tilted her 
head.

"You want to take this off me, don't you?" she said quietly.

I didn't know. Kissing her was sweet, forbidden, and my body
tingled in all the right places. I envisioned myself placing
a finger, right there, below the hollow of her throat, below
where her collarbones merged in a symphony of shadow and light.

A quick tug, releasing the easy friction of her covering, and 
she would be nude, unclothed before me.

I swallowed, my right hand twitching. I slowly shook my head,
unsure, seeing bridges burning in the night, once crossed,
never to be whole again. I shivered.

"You do, don't you?"

I swallowed again, my heart racing. If not, why had I come here?

Slowly, I nodded, my hair whispering through my peripheral
vision. 

"You can, you know," she said softly. An invitation, permission.

I paused, but my hand rose as if it had a mind of its own,
my fingers reaching. She smiled as my index fingers slipped
under the folds of the towel. The towel was still damp, from
her skin, from her shower. She shivered, closing her eyes.

The towel seemed to swirl about her body, falling under the
relentless pull of gravity, pooling about her ankles. 
She opened her eyes, and smiled. She stood still permitting me
time to look at her, inviting and bare. Nothing to hide.

I'd only met her, perhaps a few hours ago. I had never been
with a woman before, not even in my experimental days at
Waterloo. But there she stood, her breasts, her legs, her
belly -- her. Naked for me. I shivered.

Without a word, she sank to her knees, and thinking that
this was moving way too fast, that she was about to bury
her head beneath my skirt, I found my voice.

"Cameron ..."

"Shhhh," she said.

Her fingers reminded me of her toes earlier, under a table
far away. She teased my leg, no longer clandestine, no longer
tentative. Her fingers trailed up my calf, tickling my
knee. I gasped, edging my legs apart, inviting her to
what? I didn't know. Weightless as a butterfly, she discovered
the ridges of the top of my stocking, playing there. My mind
filled with the sensations, her fingers, my thigh, trembling.

She raised her eyes to mine, questioning.

"You wear this to work?"

I swallowed, and shrugged. I didn't know what possessed
me to wear them today, perhaps fate. I didn't normally.
Too risque.

"Today," I said simply. She nodded, still on her knees
below me, her fingers lightly resting, toying with the tops
of my stockings.

She edged the stocking down, my leg sighing in relief as the
slippery fabric released me from its intimate grasp. First
my right, then my left. I'm not sure, but I think she may have
used her teeth, too, tugging the fabric over my toes, and I sat 
there eyes closed, concentrating on the sensations of her. The 
stockings might be ruined, torn, shredded. I didn't care.

My arms collapsed, and I fell back on the bed, dimly
aware that she'd pushed my shoulders gently.

"Cameron?"

"Mmmmhmmm?"

She sat beside me, her weight dimpling the covers.

"The rest."

"The rest?"

"Of my clothes."

They seemed tight and restrictive. I wanted to be naked,
like she was.

She leaned down and kissed me, bending over her crossed
legs, her lips airy and soft.

"In time, Alyssa. In time."

I felt like crying. If asked, I wouldn't be able to explain;
it wasn't her gentle denial, but my name spoken upon her lips.

                      <---===***===--->

She hadn't lied; in time my clothing lay in scattered heaps
about the room, my jacket tossed across a chair, my panties
lying half on, half off the television, my bra lying like
a talisman across the foot of the bed. My bare body trembled. 
I lay on my back, my hands behind my head, breasts lifted to
her, inviting her to touch. She sat easily beside me, her
lips crimson, even in the dimness.

I gasped, my voice foreign, almost shattering the silence.
Her fingers trailed from my right nipple, over my breast,
tickling over my tummy, to rest familiarly on my thigh.
She stroked there, light and wispy. I couldn't think of anything
but her hand there, forbidden, and sweet.

"Alyssa?"

I looked up, my eyes blurred.

"I don't normally do this."

Confused, I continued to watch her. Her breasts rose and fell
gently with her breathing.

"Seduce my boyfriend's former girlfriends," she whispered, elaborating,
almost wistful.

"Is he your boyfriend?"

She sighed, and shook her head. "I suppose not. Not now."

Relaxed a little.

"How about anybody's girlfriend?"

She smiled and leaned down and kissed me, her fingers still
teasing my thigh. Her breath was minty, the smell of toothpaste
and ice cream.

"Do I ask girls up to my room regularly, instead of the boy
that was the original plan?"

I didn't say anything. Couldn't. She almost seemed like she was
talking to herself. She sat up again. Her fingers paused on me, and 
then resumed. She shook her head slowly.

"No. Hardly ever. It's been a long, long time," she said
mistily, as if remembering another time in her life, long
ago and far away. It was something I wanted to know, but
suspected I might never find out. I shifted a little, but her 
fingers followed, light upon my skin. I wanted her to move them, 
a little higher, a little more. I squirmed for a moment, then forced 
myself to relax. In time, Alyssa.

I breathed in, nerves jangling. She might get up and walk
away, putting on her towel, perhaps finding her hidden
clothing and dressing first. She was expecting something else
from me -- something I wasn't -- I'd appeared at her door, her bra 
cradled in my hand, the message different than the reality.

I plunged.

"I've never ..."

Her fingers left my thigh, and it ached where they'd been.
She touched her finger to my lips.

"Shhh. I know," she said easily. She didn't rise at the
admission, didn't dress, didn't leave me frustrated there. If
she had, I would have understood. Instead, only soft words of 
knowledge fell from her lips. She knew. I didn't understand her; 
I didn't have to.

With that, she lay herself beside me, her skin gentle, and
soft, pressing into mine. Her breasts pressed into mine.
Her toes damp with perspiration, her calf hot and soft,
stroked up my bare skin, teasing me like she had back in
the pub. This time, I gasped, unafraid of questioning looks
from men that I didn't care about, body alive, begging, and 
wanting.

                      <---===***===--->

Her tongue teased me, my hips rocking, finding my rhythm quickly
and naturally. I sighed, pushing myself towards her, gasping
for air as her fingers plunged into me, stroking.

Her other hand rose up, searching, teasing, tickling my nipple. I
throbbed to her touch.

Blue light rose up in my mind, like a tsunami racing towards
the beachhead. My voice cried out. Dimly, I was aware of the
sounds from the street below, the ants calling to one another,
a horn, out of place. The air clung to me, perspiration finding
my brow, trickling down my cheek like tears.

As if from a distance, I could hear my own voice, passionate,
and loud, crying out as every muscle in my body contracted,
my back arching. And still her tongue teased me.

"Enough," I gasped.

But she didn't stop, and I didn't have the strength to
protest more.

It took longer the second time, but I crashed into the beach
again, the ocean, and Cameron taking me on the journey where
blue lights sparkled in my mind.

                      <---===***===--->

I lay outstretched, and opened my eyes. Her face appeared
like a Cheshire cat, smiling and open. Below, her breasts
swayed. I wanted to touch her.

"Good?" she asked simply.

I nodded, unable to speak. My breathing refused to calm,
my breasts rising and falling against my ribs, my heart
hammering a quick pulse into my ears.

She kissed me, and I opened my lips to her. I tasted myself
on her, and didn't mind, the musky scent tickling my nose.
Without pausing, I pushed myself up on my elbow, finally
breaking the kiss.

She regarded me, seeing into me, becoming me for a moment.
Her breath came in quick bursts, her lips shiny, her eyes
damp.

She whispered, "Alyssa ..."

"I want to taste you," I murmured.

She shook her head slowly, a regretful refusal, a politeness
that I didn't want. "I'll be okay," she said.

"I know," I said. I gently pushed her to the bed, and she
didn't resist. Her legs parted a little, and I bent and
kissed her nipples, one then the other. Her breathing
quickened still further.

                      <---===***===--->

She tasted sweet, and musky. Her lubrication coated my face.
I found her lips, and gently ran my tongue over her soft skin.

Her hips rose towards me, rocking, and pushing, her moans
echoing about the room. I wondered if the ants had heard us
through the open window. Would they care? I doubted it.

Another taxi roared away, tires squealing, breaking the easy 
silence. Somewhere, a siren cried out into the night.

I breathed her in, and fixed her pleasure upon my mind,
my body becoming one with her, my fingers in her, touching
her, intimate and close. My tongue found her clitoris,
stroking to her rhythm, so easily sensed.

She paused, her body becoming rigid around me, then pulsing
with a cry around my buried fingers.

"Oh. God," and she crashed onto the beach, her body begging
me, pulling me in.

With a smile, I bent my head back to her, even before she
completed. I wiggled my fingers in her, soft and yielding.

"No, Alyssa," she said, her voice weak. I ignored her, and
ran my tongue over her again. She gasped, but gently touched
my head, her fingers insubstantial in my hair. I raised my head,
peering at her over the bumps of her breasts, my chin resting
easily above her pubic lips. She shook her head once, and 
then lowered it, exhausted.

I kissed her once more, fixing her in my memory. She
shivered, and waited. My body aching, I raised myself and
crawled up the bed. Her arms pulled me in, and I lowered
my head to her shoulder, my hair fanning out across her
skin. Her skin glossy with moisture, mirroring mine. Her
hands stroked my hair. I couldn't remember any lover I'd
ever had stroking my hair.

I began to say something, something inane, something unnecessary.
She touched my lips with one finger and I closed my eyes.

Her breathing gently slowed under me. Sleep would not claim
me that fast -- sex always causing a rush, my mind spinning.

Soon, she was breathing rhythmically under me, her nipples
relaxed now in my plane of vision, small hills in silhouette. 
I smiled, and closed my eyes again, her breathing lulling me.

                      <---===***===--->

The sharp crack of thunder woke me. It was dark, darker than
before, the moonlight invisible. My head still rested upon her 
shoulder. Carefully, not wanting to wake her, I rose, my bare 
feet whispering across the carpet to the bathroom.

Her clothing lay neatly folded on the counter, a skirt,
a white blouse and nylons. No bra.

Smiling, I reached for a glass, tossing the paper covering from
it into the trash, and drew water from the tap, lifting it to my 
lips, throat working hungrily. The water seemed to waken me, and 
another peal of thunder echoed across the city. Humidity hung about 
me like a damp blanket, heavy and cloying to my bare skin.

I glanced at the towels upon the rack, red and white, all
with a large 'W' emblazoned on them. I considered wrapping
myself with one, suddenly wishing for a strange sense of modesty. 
It was the humidity that changed my mind, my body unable to
accept the touch of anything against my skin.

I drew another drink, and carried it out, settling myself
into a chair by the window. For a moment, I was aware of my
nudity, odd sitting naked in a chair, my breasts visible through 
the open shades. I reached for the curtains, intending to draw 
them, hide myself from voyeuristic eyes, but the silliness of it 
forced a smile to my lips. I sipped at the water and watched the 
street below where the ants moved slowly, lulled by the lateness,
but some glancing up towards the sky, pale faces in the darkness.

Without warning, the skies opened, a deluge of water striking the 
pavement as if Armageddon had arrived, spouting water instead of
flames. The world disappeared in a wall of mist and hissing
water. The humidity leached from the air like a towel spiralling
from naked skin. I watched the rain for a while, then turned.

I watched her sleep. After my departure, she had curled herself
up on her side, facing the window, her bare breasts peeking
between her arms, her cheek cradled on her hands, her legs crossed, 
her toes bare upon the covers. She murmured something, her leg
twitching. I started, almost as if I were nervous, watching her 
sleep, a voyeur in the dark.

Another crack of thunder pealed through the room, shaking it,
the lightning having struck the hotel, or perhaps the towers 
surrounding us. Cameron mumbled, reaching across the bed, fingers 
grasping air.

"It's only thunder. It's only thunder," she whispered. "Raining."

She drew her hand back in, and I realised that she had been
searching for my warmth beside her. I nearly rose to rejoin
her when her eyes fluttered open. Disoriented, she gasped,
then her eyes settled on me, and she smiled. My hands rose 
automatically, to shield my nudity, but of course, she wouldn't 
be offended. Her fingers had removed my clothing, as surely as
mine had released the towel from her. I pushed my hands back to 
rest on the chair arms, my upper arms brushing lightly at the sides 
of my breasts. Gentle tingles from my own touch spread through
my body.

"It's raining," Cameron said.

I could feel the rain coating my bare thighs, the wind changing
direction, driving the deluge towards our room, through the window
to touch me.

"Come back to bed," she whispered, her hand reaching. It was
in her eyes, not her words, the unspoken meaning -- while we can 
still be together.

I shivered, and wrapped my arms around myself, hugging my
breasts. I shook my head; I couldn't let it go. Not that easily.
She raised her eyes questioningly.

"You won't be here when I wake up, will you?" I said, surprised
at my own words. She pursed her lips, and sighed. She didn't
answer me, but that was answer enough. I felt tears, hot wetness,
fill my eyelids. I didn't want to cry, and somehow, I forced
the moisture from my face before it spilled. Big girls don't cry.

"Come back to bed," she murmured. "Please?"

After a moment, I turned back to the rain, where the world had
disappeared. I pushed myself to my bare feet, and pulled the
curtains closed, muting the rumble of the water outside.

I returned to the bed where Cameron lay. I tilted the glass to
her lips, and she drank, her throat swallowing prettily. She
shifted herself, returning onto her back, pushing away the glass
gently. She seemed about to say something, but I pressed my finger
to her lips, perhaps an apology, an expression of different
worlds. I misunderstood then, but I thought that I did understand. 
She wouldn't be the only lover to leave me as the sun greeted the 
world, before I woke. Only, the first female one. I shivered at 
her softness.

I crawled back into bed beside her, laying my head down
again on her shoulder. I'm not sure if she slept after that,
but the soft rhythm of her breathing, the pounding of the rain,
the clean scent of her, lulled me again, the sandman overtaking
me and kissing me to sleep.

                      <---===***===--->

Cameron was gone when I woke, where she had lain rumpled and
still warm from her body. I sighed, fighting the tears. Perhaps,
the soft closing of the door behind her had awakened me.

I pushed myself up, glancing about the room, hoping that she
would be sitting in the chair by the window, hoping to hear the
waterfall of the shower. Instead, only silence greeted me,
the sound of loneliness and aches. I swung my legs from the
bed, and padded to the window. The humidity had broken with the
storm, and the air had lost the cloying heaviness that had
permeated my skin during our romp in the darkness of early
morning. The carpet was wet beneath my feet where the rain
had fallen through the open window during the storm.

I could still taste her upon my lips, and I ran my tongue over
them. My vagina ached, that sensation that one gets after sex
the night before, satiated and serene. My throat was dry, my head 
throbbing a little. Without thought, I pulled open the curtains.

She stood, one ant among many, no longer the queen of the
realm, abdicating into a common life, her face lifted towards the
side of the building, searching for something, someone. Her
hair tumbled loosely over her shoulders, her face pale but somehow
fresh. I nearly lifted my hand, but didn't, knowing that she couldn't
see me from where she stood far below. I didn't care that I
was naked; it seemed appropriate somehow.

I watched her walk away. I only knew her first name. Perhaps
Jake ... but I wouldn't call him. Of that I was certain.
What would I say? How could I explain?

I couldn't explain even to myself.

My body ached, and I finally stepped from the window, 
self-consciousness invading. I closed the curtains, and lay
back down on the bed. Her fingers still teased me, and my
breathing quickened with the memories.

After a time, I pushed myself up again, unable to sleep.

                      <---===***===--->

The falling water reminding me of the rain in the night,
cascading over my hair, washing all traces of the evening
and morning from my skin. Stale cigarette smoke, and musky
beauty swirled down the drain between my bare toes. I
think I cried, then, but the tears mixed up with the
water, and even I'm not sure that I did.

I turned my face up into the spray, gasping at the heat,
my skin reddening.

Before I stepped from the small enclosure, I twisted the
knob, forcing myself to remain under the spray even as it
shifted to ice. I heard myself cry out, and my fingers,
trembling, flipped the water off.

Shivering, I stepped from the shower, grabbing a big
red towel from the rack, and huddling it around me. I wiped 
off the mirror, my image appearing. For a moment, I saw her,
instead of me, the towel wrapped about her breasts,
standing barefoot motioning me inside, the towel pooling
about her ankles. Tears rose, unbidden, and I turned
from the mirror, drying myself, keeping my eyes on my
own blurred, bare skin. After a while, the tears stopped.

As I stepped from the bathroom, I almost expected to hear
her soft voice, calling to me. Of course, the hotel room
remained lonely and empty, but for me.

                      <---===***===--->

I gathered up my clothes, laying them neatly on the bed.
I stared at them for a while, not wanting to dress, wishing
that I could step from the room as only me, exposing myself
to the world -- take me as I am. But that would get me
arrested, and I didn't feel like explaining to some policeman
why I hadn't been wearing any clothes.

Instead, I settled on the edge of the bed, playing with the 
floor with my toes. I saw it lying there, a flash of pale 
colour against the mottled, colourless, worn carpet near the
window. I bent and picked it up, a gentle weight in my hands. I 
lay it across my knees, staring at it, remembering.

Sometimes, love finds us, like a soft kiss, or a gentle
caress, hidden in the delicate curve of the forbidden, where
we are most afraid to peer.

I pushed myself to my feet, standing naked in front of
the room mirror, in a hotel room far outside of where I should
have been, Saturday traffic noises wafting up and enveloping me
in its familiarity, doors slamming down the corridor beyond
my haven as the hotel wakened itself.

I lifted her bra, watching myself as I did, touching it to
my skin. It was cool, no longer holding her warmth, only
a delicate curve kissing me. It would have fit me. Somehow,
we were the same size, and shape.

Something inside the cup scratched at my nipple, something
foreign, unnoticed until it touched the gentle rise of
my breast. Still I held it against me, knowing that it had
touched her, knowing that it was hers, and she'd left it
for me, when she could have taken it.

With a sigh, I flipped it away from my chest, touching inside,
not looking. A piece of paper, taped to the inside. I didn't
know where she might have procured tape, but it didn't matter.

Suddenly, I knew. She'd put it there last night, before I
stepped across the bridges, before I'd even known that I would
knock at her door. She knew, even before I did, perhaps because
I didn't know.

I didn't want to look, and yet I did.

My eyes misted with tears, my heart hammering in my chest.

Cameron. Still no surname.

And a phone number, seven digits written in a feminine hand.

I sat down wearily on the edge of the bed, turning the whiteness
of the paper over in my fingers. Gently, I pressed it back into
her undergarment, and cradled it in my hands.

I sighed, looking out at the city, and beyond, the freshness
of the rain tickling my senses through the open window. Because
she liked it hot. Sunshine broke through the clouds, bathing
the world again in light.

Still naked, I closed my eyes, my fingers playing with her cloth.
Memories of her fingers, her tongue, her lips, her toes, her skin, 
flashed through my senses.

Would I call her? I didn't know. She had given me a gift,
losing her, and setting me free simply by leaving. The piece of 
fabric with its message called to me, demanding an answer that I 
simply didn't know, perhaps of which I was merely afraid.

I looked at it, such a simple article, cradled in my fingers,
innocent, but not.

                      <---===***===--->

I still don't know what I'm going to do with her bra.

