Reasons
by Wind's Whisper


The wind through the window teased the papers across his desk. If it
weren't so hot and stuffy in the room, he'd have closed them, but
the a/c was out, and so the window was open, so he put up with
the papers fluttering about every so often.

Besides, he liked having his desk next to the window, and this was
part and parcel with that, so why not.

Sunlight refracted through the glass of scotch on his desk, turning
burnt amber liquid into the ocean, or was it just pretty to look at,
without being like anything else?

This was not helping the article get done.

And he'd been working on it for a while, if working could be taken
to mean having it sit on his desk.

``Well it just won't write itself.''

Maybe this time will be the exception, he rejoined to himself.

Over in the shade beside the window, the rats peeked out from their tissue
box, the sound of his voice having woken them from their mid-day nap.
Seeing as neither excitement nor food was forthcoming, they yawned and
shifted a bit before going back to sleep.

As it was the weekend, he considered putting the rats back in their cage
and himself back in his bed, but decided against it --- he'd been sleeping
too much anyways since he and J had broken up.

A knock at the door.

``Hi, I'm bringing around a petition to have an independent party on the
upcoming election ballot. Would you like to sign?''

His first thought was ``the place is a mess.''

Well it was over in the kitchen. People had been over last night, and he
hadn't finished cleaning from dinner and drinks. Maybe she wouldn't notice,
maybe.... A mental pause before realizing that this was just a petition
girl, and it didn't really matter.

The pause was going on a bit long.

He smiled. ``Sorry, I've been trying to write for the past hour or so.
What party is it?''

She started to answer``It's the-'' but was cut off.

``Uh oh, the rats!'' He remembered that they were out, and sure enough
the sound of talking had woken them up. They'd gotten up to investigate
the situation, crawling out of the tissue box and across the writing table,
giving the scotch a wide berth. Not wanting them to cause mischief, he
picked them up and put them on his shoulder, where they'd stay put.
Hopefully.

``Sorry, didn't want them wandering free while the door was open. Never
know if they'll see something interesting outside. They're the devil
to catch.''

Then he remembered that not everyone likes rats, and the sight of some
fellow with rats on his shoulder might be a bit disconcerting.

``They're adorable! Are they pet rats?''

He smiled. Everyone always asked that question. ``Yes, They're pets.
Lab rats wouldn't be allowed to get into as much trouble as these
two do on a regular basis.''

The rats sniffed at him and licked his cheek before going back to
trying to identify the other smell in the room. Her perfume or soap,
no doubt. A slight trace of lavender. Probably a soap.

``Would you like to hold them?''

``Will they bite?''

Another question everyone asks. ``Are you food?'' He quipped. ``I'm
not really sure what you could do to get them to bite.''

She came inside, folded the petition under her arm, and extended her hands. He
reached out his own, palms touching hers. The rats immediately ran down his
arms and stopped to sniff her wrist. They excitedly twitched around, checking
her out but not leaving his arms.

``Well, go on.''

They took a bit more time, then ran up her shirt to lick her face, making
her laugh. Whenever she moved her face, they'd move their paws to try
to hold her still, making her laugh all the more.

``They're great! Are they always this friendly?''

``They like some people more than others.''

``They're so neat.''

The rats tired of licking her face, and started running around on her shoulders,
checking out her t-shirt.

``Would you like some water?''

``Please. It's very hot out there.''

He went to the kitchen and found a clean glass. As he was filling it, he heard
her move around, and then heard a shriek. He ran back into the room to see
her with her arms across her chest, wiggling like something was going down the back
of her shirt.

``Sorry, it just surprised me. They went down my shirt!''

``I should've warned you. My fault. Errr...I'd offer to get them for you, but....''
He smiled.

``It's okay. It just surprised me, and their claws are prickly.'' She reached down
the front of her shirt and retrieved one, which he took back from her. Self-satisfied
little varmint was bruxing happily.

Through various contortions and odd facial expressions, she managed to get the
other rat out of the back of her shirt. He moved to take that one as well, but she
instead held the rat in her arms, scratching it behind the ears.

``They probably did that because you walked into the light. They like to be in the
shade, and apparently they like you, so they just took the short course.''

She smiled.

``Guess so. What's that noise it's making? Is it okay?''

``Fine. She's bruxing, it's rat purring. They grind their teeth when they're happy.''

He picked up her petition from the floor where it'd fallen during her attempts
to dislodge the rat. The petition said ``Petition for Libertarian ballot
access, 2004.''

``Libertarian, eh?''

``Yes, we have a candidate for Governor.''

She stopped petting the rat long enough to get a pen out of her back pocket.

``This one's dead.''

She produced another one.

``Dead again.''

``Dammit.''

Another one. Lucky number three produced a spotty line, but sufficient for
the purposes.

While he filled out the form on the kitchen table, she threw away the dead pens.

The rat on his shoulder could take it no more and made a dash for the pen
in his hand, pulling off the cap and running across the table.

Fortunately, there was nowhere for the rat to hide, and was easily retrieved.

``Okay, that's it. I'm going to put them up.''

She smiled and handed him her rat. He went back to the rat cage and put them inside.
They immediately hopped up on the wire sides and stuck their snouts as far out of the
cage as the gauge would permit.

``Is this my water?'' She called.

``Yes.''

He came back to continue filling out the form.

``Thanks for the water.'' She said between sips.

``You bet. I did some petition work myself about two years ago. It's thirsty work.''

``Especially around here. What was your petition for?''

``LP party access, just like you.''

``Oh, you're a member?''

``I'm a supporter. Dunno about a member.''

She looked skeptical. ``So you believe in the Libertarian ideals?''

``Yes.''

``And you've voted Libertarian in the past?''

``Yep.''

``And you've done petition work for the Libertarian party.''

``Yes, about two years ago.''

``You're a member. Face it. You're going to have to accept it eventually.''

``I've heard there's a twelve-step program.''

``That's only for alcoholics, politics is incurable.'' She answered with a grin.

He reached out and adjusted the shoulder of her t-shirt from where the
rat-related adventure had put it awry.

``Are you doing the high-school `pick a piece of non-existent lint off her shirt'
trick so as to touch me more often?''

``Not at all.'' Busted. Best to go whole-hog. ``This is the 'straighten out her
t-shirt' trick, suitable for more mature audiences.''

``Doesn't work. Makes them feel like you're their mother.''

``Darn.''

``Girls, on the other hand'' she reached out and re-arranged the collar on his
shirt, ``can get away with it just fine. See, that's how it's done.'' She winked
at him.

He shook his head. ``I guess I'll never be a pro, then.''

``Gifted amateur is always nice to go for.''

He handed the filled petition back to her, saying ``all my papers are in order''
in a faux German accent.

``Mind if I finish my water?''

``Sure.''

He walked to the living room, and sat in a chair, motioning for her to do the
same. She closed the front door and moved over to the other chair, sitting down.

She sat like a little bird. That's how it struck him. Daintily. She put her knees
together and carefully caused bottom to meet cushion.

She sipped at her water, looking around the room.

``Nice library.''

``Thanks. The usual comment goes `have you really read all these books?'''

A laugh.

``Or what about `do you know what all the words mean in all these books?'
You really want to answer `well, no. Most of the time I just fake it and
look like I'm reading. It makes people think your smart and is great for
getting a boyfriend.'''

He chuckled.

``So, what do you read,'' he asked.

``Classic fiction, and science fiction, for the most part.''

``Interesting combination.''

``Why is it that people think that your tastes have to form some
picture of you?'' She sounded frustrated.

``What do mean?''

``Your preferences have more to do with what you've been exposed to
than some overarching universal statement about yourself. Your preferences
change all the time. Why would it be any more surprising to meet a
person who liked country music and space operas than a person who
liked country music and romance novels?''

Chick had a brain on her shoulders.

``Maybe people conform to expectations, even in their likes and dislikes.''

She shook her head.

``You see it even in very independent people, expecting preference to
mean something.''

``Well, here we are discussing it.''

``Does that mean something?'' She inquired.

``Yes, that we're both sitting in chairs and talking.''

Another laugh.

She leaned forward, putting her glass on the table,  and said ``My current
guess is that it has to do less with image and more to do with social networks
and idea propagation amongst developmental age groups, along with a dampening
effect later in life based on past association.''

A pause.

``You lost me,'' He said.

She picked up the glass off the table and leaned back again.

``Kids like the genres their friends like, and are not likely to try
what's liked by the people they don't like.''

``On into adulthood?''

``Maybe. It's a guess.''

He nodded.

She got up, holding the glass. ``Where would you like me to put this?''

``Here, I'll get it.'' He moved over to her and took the glass from her.

Something hit the window with a loud thwack.

He jumped, startled, almost dropping the glass. The sound was just a bird.
Must've confused the window with...well, whatever it was birds thought things
were.

He noticed that her arm was against his, her hand holding the glass.

``Scared me for a second. I thought you were going to drop the glass.''

``Almost did. Thanks.'' He started to turn towards the kitchen, and instead
noticed how brown her eyes were. He stopped turning, but his head kept moving,
going in to kiss her.

She accepted.

The first kiss ended, he looked at her face and put his hand on her hip. She
took the glass and put it on the closest thing at hand, the kitchen table.

She reached up with her mouth and kissed him again, this one lasting longer.
He put his other hand on her back and held her tightly.

Things were progressing quickly, but they always do. What's the difference between
meeting someone for a date and signing a petition? A kiss follows what we've intended
for a while: it's a promise that there's more.

Wasn't there?

She put her hands under his shirt and passed her nails along his back. There was.

He kissed along her cheek, and mouthed the skin below her ear. She obviously liked
that.

This was the point at which either dinner would be arranged for later, or clothes
would be arranged on the floor. He paused, uncertain.

He felt her hands on the button of his jeans.

Clothes it was, then.

She was deliberate and delicate in laying on the floor. Getting on her knees first,
then twisting onto her back. Her red underwear was very nice, not too much,
not too little. He kissed her stomach right above where it met red. Soft, and
the smell of lavender, skin, and intimacy.

She pulled him up to her, kissing him again, reaching to remove his boxers, an
intense look of concentration on her face.

He put an arm behind her neck, reaching up along her stomach with his other hand.
Cupping a bra cup. Through it her breast was soft and giving.

She took off her panties in that way that women have: one side down, lean on one hip,
the other side down, grab the front and off. He pulled them the rest of the way down her legs.

She was warm, and she was wet, and she felt great to be inside. She apparently didn't think
he was all that unwelcome, either. She'd crane her neck to the side, stretching. Just pleasure.
Just pleasure.

                                       ***

``So, thanks for signing the petition.'' She pocketed his number.

``Any time. Call me.''

She kissed him, straightened her jeans, and walked away.

It'd been fun, especially after having moved over to the couch, and lying there afterwards.
They'd had some scotch and enjoyed being sweaty before she'd had to leave.

She put a star next to his name on the petition list.

No orgasm, but she'd still been somewhat worn out from the last fellow. She twitched
her bottom, trying to adjust the underwear without doing anything she wouldn't while in
public.

She immediately regretted it, the pleasure of sex fading enough to where she could feel how
sore she still was from petitioner number...73. ``James Gadling.'' He hadn't been
that large, which was why she'd been willing to let him fuck her in the ass, but he hadn't
used enough lubrication, so she was still sore. Had been a lot of fun, though.

He'd gotten a check mark.

On to number 75, if he signed.
