Copyright 2000 George Carter

THE GIFT (MF, cons)

By George Carter

What do you do the day after your heart breaks?
What do you do when the person you love more than your own life
tells you she doesn't feel anything for you any more?

Well, I can't speak for everybody, of course, but I tried to forget
about it for a while. The French Foreign Legion seemed a little
extreme, not to mention clichéd, so I took extended leave from my
job and moved to Sydney, where I'd lived before I ever met Kate.
We'd sold the house and I was left with some spare cash after
settling the mortgage. Eight years of bliss, and now I was living in a
flat again. I'd lost touch with most of the friends I'd known in my
bachelor days. Sydney's a bastard of a town to be lonely in. It's just
too damned pretty. It's made for walking around with a girl on your
arm.

I tried to smile and get on with my life, but it was a doomed effort
from the start. I'd not only lost my compass, but my sails and most
of my keel as well. I was becalmed and aimless, pushing forty with
a bulldozer, and miserable, but in denial. Rather than sit at home
and masturbate, or worse, contemplate suicide, I decided to take on
some volunteer work. That way I figured I could keep busy long
enough for the pain to go away.

So it came to pass that I became one of the thousands of volunteers
at the Olympics, where I met a woman I admired very much but
whom I'd never dreamed I'd ever meet. This rare, amazing woman
ended up giving me the most precious gift anyone ever received.
What was it? Be patient. I'll tell you in the end.

*****

I'd ended up drawing 'Spectator Support', which was as good as
anything on offer as far as I was concerned, so on day one I was
running around Homebush Bay like a manic rabbit. It was pure
chaos. There were hundreds of little tasks and little respite: lost
kids, lost adults, enquiries, arguments, wrong tickets, wrong days,
and quite a few language barriers. And guess what? The pain in my
heart didn't have the common decency to ease off one little bit. I
kept going, all right, but I felt like I was made of glass.

For early spring, it was a bloody hot day. I'd taken a swig of water
from the plastic bottle at my hip and was fanning myself with the
broad-brimmed uniform hat. It was the first time I'd had a minute to
myself all day.

The voice came from behind me, strong but definitely feminine.

'Excuse me... '

I turned, essayed my best smile and started to offer to help. To my
surprise, I was looking straight at my questioner's chin. She had to
be four inches taller than me. I looked up and held her gaze, then
started again.

The woman's voice said she was either American or Canadian,
probably the former. She had untidy, dirty-blonde hair, eyes
sparkling with amusement and the smile of someone who
thoroughly enjoyed her life. She was wearing a plain gold t-shirt,
faded blue jeans and worn running shoes. She looked strong and fit.

'Sorry to bother you,' she continued, 'but I've gotten a little lost.
This place is so big, it's overwhelming at times.'

'I know just what you mean, and it's no bother, it's what I'm here
for. My name's George, by the way. What can I help you find?'

'Mine's Jane, and I'm looking for the residences of the U.S. swim
team. I came from there, but I've just kinda got turned around.
Clueless, huh?'

I liked the way her nose crinkled when she said that.

'Not a bit. How do you think I'd go if I hadn't had a week's training
in getting around this place?' The sun beating down on my crewcut
reminded me that I had my hat in my hands, in an old-fashioned
gesture of etiquette. I must've looked pretty sheepish. I put the
thing on my head pretty quick, and her smile widened. She had
great teeth. 'This way,' I continued.

We took our time strolling to the residences. 'Fifteen hundred?' I
asked, apropos of nothing.

'Pardon me?'

'Your event. You look like a long-distance specialist. I'm sorry...
that's impertinent of me, but you're one of the athletes, right?'

She blinked, and for the first time looked a little wistful. 'Not any
more. I'm with the coaching staff.'

I realized I'd said the wrong thing, which was par for the course for
me with women lately. I decided to shut my big mouth, and soon
we'd found Jane's bungalow.
'Well, here we are, Jane. Maybe I'll see you around the place. I
hope you have a great time while you're here.'

'Thanks, George. Keep your nose clean and your hat on, OK?'

I didn't really want to leave, but I turned on my heel. Then I saw a
figure I'd seen once before, a rotund, balding man - assistant chef de
mission I thought, clearly agitated about something.

'Jane Urquhart! I've been looking all over for you.'

Jane turned to speak to him, and I felt my stomach do a little jump.
I recognized that name... I couldn't believe it. The coincidence was
too great, suspension of disbelief factor would be blown out of the
water if this was a story. It couldn't be her.
And yet, this woman did look like the picture I'd built in my mind of
the woman whom I'd admired for a long time. If this was an
enormous happenstance, then I'd be a fool not to at least ask. Hell,
what did I have to lose besides my dignity?

I waited until the man had finished speaking to her before
approaching her again.

'Umm... Jane, I'm sorry to bother you again...'

She waited.

'But... I couldn't help hearing your last name, and I think you're
someone I e-mailed a couple of weeks ago. My full name is George
Carter, and I'm either an embarrassed fool or your biggest fan.'

Her face moved slowly. An eyebrow twitched. One corner of her
mouth moved upward.

'Naaah,' she answered, 'I have much taller fans.'

'Ooooh,' I laughed, 'a height joke! Not fair.'

'Well, at least you didn't mention those damn yellow raisins...
everyone else does. Pleased to meet you, George,' she continued,
sticking out her hand. I took it. It felt like... a woman's hand. I
ordered myself to reel my tongue in, I probably looked ridiculous.

'You're the guy who wrote me that nice e-mail,' Jane pondered. I
thought she must get hundreds of nice e-mails, and probably some
creepy ones as well, but it was fine to be remembered. 'You said
that you write yourself, but you were pretty dismissive of your own
ability. Hmm. Tell you what. I'm gonna be real busy for the next
week, while the swimming events are on... but the second week's a
vacation, really. Why don't you get some of your stuff together and
slip it under my door one day. Put your phone number on it, and
I'll call you when I've read it. What do you say?'

I said, 'Thank you.' In moments of crisis, dialogue should be basic.

*****

Over the next week, my life became a little easier to face. Part of
the reason was a burgeoning sense of patriotic pride. It was
impossible to be an Aussie and not to be proud of the job we were
doing with these Games. From the opening ceremony on down, it
was just superb. And my countrymen weren't doing too badly in the
pool, either. I was lucky enough to see the men's 4 x 200 metre
relay, and it was the finest swim I can remember. Turning
conventional wisdom on its head, we sent our fastest man, Ian
Thorpe, out first, and it was a stroke of genius. He had the race
won before the end of his leg. He demoralized his opponents and
drew the very best out of his teammates, and we ended up beating
the world record by two seconds... and the old enemy, the USA, by
nearly five.

The seppos were doing pretty well too, just quietly. Susie O' Neill,
'Madam Butterfly', had to settle for silver in her favourite event,
beaten by a plucky American longshot named Misty Hyman. The
first time I saw that name I did a double-take. Misty Hyman? What
were her parents thinking? That was a porn-star name if ever I'd
heard one! It gave me the first good belly laugh I'd had in far too
long. It made me think about Jane. I bet she had a great line in
belly-laughs. I hoped that she would make that call, but I wouldn't
blame her a bit if she didn't. After all, she didn't know me, and I
could be any kind of ratbag. I mean, I knew I was the harmless
kind, but she didn't.

The days were pretty good for me. Being at the Games was an
experience that could cheer anyone up. It wasn't just the events, the
feats or the athletes. It was the spectators as well. I'd never seen
such a vast, heterogenous mass of humanity being so good-natured.
It was touching. I was working hard, but it was what I needed. It
wasn't healing, but it was a kind of solace. And it felt like I was
losing weight.

The nights were a different story. I used to like being alone in the
night, once upon a lifetime. I'd stand on the flat roof of a block like
the one where I now lived and stare into the heavens, feeling good...
feeling complete. I'd been part of a pair for too long to feel that
way anymore. The night I once loved now only made me feel
empty. I tried several things to fill the emptiness. I tried drinking,
which just made me maudlin and ill; I tried staying up all night, only
to find you can't get away with that at age forty any more; I even
tried fantasizing about Jane, but Mr. Happy wasn't in the mood. If
he didn't watch his step, I'd have to rename him. Finally, I turned to
the word processor and started writing. This was slow, almost
painful in its progress, but it was creative rather than destructive,
and it helped a little. The trouble was that little things here and
there kept reminding me of Kate. She gave me my desk lamp.
Some of her old books were in the bookshelf, God knew why.
Every time I thought of her I missed her all over again. Why?
That's all I wanted to know. Just why?

*****

The first week passed, and with it the swimming competition. By
Monday of week 2, I'd pretty much accepted that Jane wasn't going
to call. It was okay, in her shoes I probably wouldn't either. Must
be just a little too surreal, to meet a fan in the flesh and wonder just
what kind of person he really is, then read his fantasies. It was great
to have met her, but I didn't really expect anything else.

So, naturally, the phone rang on Tuesday night.

'George Carter.'

'Hello, George... Jane Urquhart here.'

'Jane! Hi... How're things?'

'Just great, thanks... I love this place. The team does too. We're
having a lot of fun, but some of these kids are running me ragged,
trying to keep 'em out of trouble.'

'Heh', I replied, 'at least you don't have to worry about any of them
defecting. Lots of other teams'll have that problem.'

'I never thought of that... anyway, George, I managed to read the
stuff you gave me.'

'Uh, oh... be brutal, I can take it.'

'I took a few cold showers over the weekend.'

'That's sweet of you', I laughed, ' Now tell me what you really
think.'

'I think we should talk about this, but not over the phone. I've
marked up your hard copies with notes, and it'd be easier if you
could see them.'

I paused for a moment. 'How about we meet at the food court in
the village for lunch tomorrow? That's where I've been eating
anyway. Hundreds of athletes'll be there... just in case I turn out to
be a dangerous pree-vert.'

She laughed. It was a good laugh, honest and infectious. Not a
belly-laugh, but maybe I'd hear that later. ' One o' clock okay?'

'Great. See you there.'

*****

The next day dawned with me, uncharacteristically, fussing about
my appearance. Normally I didn't worry too much about this. My
mantra was 'neat, clean, smell ok' and that was about it. I stared
into the bathroom mirror, and the rational part of my mind argued
that there wasn't much to be done. My hair was low-maintenance; it
was very dark, almost black, and that was as much as I liked about
it. It was also dead straight and very fine, with no body at all, and
some years ago I'd adopted the number 2 buzz cut as the best of a
few bad choices. A few hairs had turned silver at the temples.

My eyes were a dark blue, and the skin around them was a little
pouchy. The eyes looked a little like Robert Mitchum's. They had
the same kind of world-weary look. They, and the grey hairs, were
the only giveaways to my age. Fortunate heredity meant that my
face gave the impression of a man perhaps ten years younger.

I looked down. My body was not that of an athlete. It was squat
and broad. The legs were a little too short, but strong. The arms
were a little too thin. I sometimes felt that I'd been assembled from
spare parts. There was still a little belly there, that said I like beer
and pasta, but that was about it for visible fat. The same fine,
almost black hair lightly covered my body. I snorted to myself at
this display of vanity. As if she was even going to look twice at
me... honestly. This was a married lady. Definitely a lady. And even
if she were in the market, she could do a lot better than me.

*****

It was another busy day, no surprise there, and quickly enough
Mickey's little hand pointed to 1. Jane was waiting at the entrance
to the food court, a large buff envelope in her hands, dressed in
similar fashion to our first meeting. She wore that which she found
comfortable. Good for her. Personally, I always thought that the
necktie was a perverted instrument of torture, probably invented by
a woman with a cruel sense of humour; but that just might be
because I have very little neck.

She said 'Hi', I said 'Hi', and that was it until we'd gotten our meals
and found a table.

We were halfway through the seafood mornay when she started
with a disclaimer. 'Of course, I'm not a critic, so this won't be a
professional review.'

'That's fine with me. You've done what I want to do, so your
opinion means a lot to me,' I replied.

'Okay.' She dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. 'Well,
you've got strengths and weaknesses. Actually, I think you've got a
lot of skill. You write the erotic scenes like you've done it all, and
taken notes... which worries me a little, 'cause there's some pretty
raunchy stuff here.' She gave me a sly, sidelong grin, and Mr.
Happy gave a little twitch.

'Research, research... it's a tough job,' I smiled back. I looked at her
and suddenly realized that there was nothing affected about this
woman at all. What you saw was what you got. Like her stories,
she was honest, good-natured and funny, and I found that very
attractive.

'Well... to list your strengths, you write clearly. Your technical
skills are all there... grammar, syntax, punctuation. The action
scenes are great, and I like what you've done with some of these
characters. If I had to point out a weakness, it'd have to be that
there isn't a whole lot of emotional depth here. It's the difference
between porn and erotica, and I believe that erotica is what you
want to write. Having said that, I can see that in your later work,
you are addressing this more... like you've diagnosed the problem
yourself and you're working on it. Can I ask...?'

'Yes? Ask away,' I implored.

'How long have you been writing this kind of thing?'

'Well,' I replied, 'I've been meaning to for years, really since high
school. But I've only really been writing for about six months.'

Jane fixed her gaze on me. 'Then, there's only one piece of advice I
can give you. Write. Write every single day. Set yourself an
amount to write every day. That's what you need. It may be the
only thing you need.'

She reached out slightly to my hand, and noticed the wedding ring.
The sly smile returned. 'Does your wife know you write this stuff?'

I closed my eyes. 'She doesn't care,' I replied. 'We're separated... a
couple of months now.' I hadn't meant to sigh. I wasn't fishing for
sympathy.

Jane blinked, and paused. She finished her tea, and asked, 'Do you
want anything else to eat? If not, do you want to get out of here? I
can't hear myself think.'

We got up and left, and were soon strolling through the village. At
least, Jane was strolling. What I was doing was just about power-
walking, trying to keep up with shorter legs. She stopped, and at
first I'd thought she wanted to give me a breather. I was wrong.

'Do you want to talk about it?' she asked.

'About what?' I replied stupidly.

'Your wife. George, tell me it's none of my business if you want,
but I saw the look on your face when you said you were separated.
It said... clearly... that the separation was something you weren't
happy with. So...?'

'Nothing much to tell. She wanted out. I didn't. But what I wanted
didn't matter very much.'

'How long...?'

'Were we married? Eight years. Eight years,' I repeated, bitterly.

'George... I'm sorry.' She reached out to touch my arm, then
thought better of it.

'It's okay. I don't want to bring you down, whinging about my little
problems. Not here. Not now.' I tried on a smile.

Jane paused, then her face brightened. 'Okay, if that's what you
want. You can do me a favor instead.'

'Jane, I owe you. Name it, ' I offered.

'Well, I've got responsibility for some of the members of the team,
kinda like a house mother. Their events are over, and they're
getting a little antsy. I was wondering, could you suggest any good,
fun touristy things we can do in Sydney?'

'Yeah... I know a real good one. You know the harbour bridge?'

'Uh huh... the "coathanger", I've heard it called. What of it?'

'How would you like to climb up to the top of it and look down on
the harbour?'

'Wow! That'd be amazing... you can't do that, though?'

'Yep... sure can. How many people we talking about? I'll set it up
for you.'

'Ahhh... about six? And can I ask you one more thing?'

'Sure.'

'Come with us? Can you get away?'

'Hey, that'd be huge! I'd love to meet some of the team. I'll be
there.'

We talked a little more, and worked out that the best time would be
about an hour before sunset. After we got back down we could
have supper on the quay, or at the Rocks. I advised Jane to dress
for hot weather, wear sturdy shoes and that, unfortunately, they
couldn't take cameras, or anything else loose like handbags. They
were forbidden, as dropping one from the top might do serious
damage to somebody down below.

As I farewelled Jane, I realized that for the second day in a row, I
was really... really looking forward to the morrow.

*****

Dawes Point is the name given to the protrusion of land at the south
end of the harbour bridge, and it was there that I waited for Jane
and her entourage. It would be a fine thing to meet some of the
young athletes that the Games were all about, but I had to be honest
with myself. I was really looking forward to spending some more
time with Jane. She had a sense of joy... of enthusiasm, that I felt,
almost painfully, in contrast to the emptiness I felt in myself. I felt
like I was without hope, and without hope, nothing is possible. It
was a strange attraction... the attraction of a vacuum for matter.

I shook my head and chided myself. How pompous could I be, for
heaven's sake? Fortunately, Jane had chosen that moment to arrive,
so I could abandon this dangerous introspection. Oddly, she was
alone.

'Hey, over here,' I called, and waved. She jogged up to me, looking
like a million bucks. American dollars, not Pacific Pesos.

'Hi, George. Looks like we got a good day for it.'

'Yeah. Uh, Jane... where's the rest of the group? Are they catching
up, or what?'

She looked a little sheepish. 'I'm really sorry, George. The team
had a function this evening. Short notice. They couldn't make it.'

I became worried. 'Aren't you supposed to be there too? Do you
want to bail out? I don't want to cause you any trouble...'

'No, no... it's fine. I can get away with not being there. I'd rather be
here. I got you something, by way of apology... here, I hope it fits.'
She was wearing a small backpack, and extracted something from it.
It was a U.S. team t-shirt, the back covered with autographs.

I was really touched. 'Thank you, Jane... what a thoughtful gift.
Thank you very much,' I repeated. I felt like kissing her, but I
brought myself up short.

'Here,' said Jane, 'let me put that back in here till later. By the way,
are you going to have any trouble about there just being two of us?'

'Huh? Oh, no problem. There's a charge, but you don't pay in
advance.'

'So, George... how did you set this up on such short notice? There
must be hundreds of people want to do this. I would've thought
you'd have to book ahead. Out with it... how?'

'Easy... soon as I mentioned foreign athletes, doors opened. This
city is keen to show you guys what it's got.'

'But... we have no 'foreign athletes' now. Won't that be a problem?'

'No.' I grinned like a schoolboy. 'I told 'em you were an IOC
delegate, so just remember to look a little self-important.'

'An IOC... you didn't!' Jane giggled. 'How could you... you're
pulling my leg.'

'Jane, one thing you have to know about Australians. The country
was originally settled by convicts. There's a national tendency to
buck against authority... to tweak its nose when you can. It was
fun.'

'You're a bit of a dark horse, Mr. Carter... aren't you?'

'Nooo... if I was any kind of horse I'd have been put down long ago.
Legs are no good. Shall we go?'

It wasn't a tough climb by any means. We entered at the base of the
south-east pylon, a hollow concrete pillar which appears to be one
of four which supports the bridge. Actually, they're dummies... they
look good, but it's the tensile strength of the bridge's steel
construction which holds it together. We walked up, and up, a long
flight of stairs inside the pylon. There was no hurry, although I
could go quicker than we were, and I was sure Jane could go lots
faster, but we were constrained by those in front of us. It was
single file all the way.

Finally, we were at the observation platform. Only the painters and
riggers went any higher. The sun was beginning to set over the
Parramatta River to the west. We looked down, onto what's
probably the most beautiful natural harbour in the world. For a little
while, the height and the sight left us quiet. It was a comfortable,
reflective silence. I realised that I was staring into space, and I
wasn't feeling empty.

'George...'

'Jane? Are you all right?'

'Yes. But you aren't. Tell me about it. I'll listen. Maybe I've been
there, or somewhere like there. Get some of that weight off your
shoulders before it breaks you. Please.'

I turned to her, about to refuse, and then I saw something in her
eyes which made me want to talk.

'I... I used to be someone, you know? I had a good job, a woman
I loved very much, a network of friends and co-workers, a home.
Everything a man could want. Kate even had two sons from her
previous marriage. They were twelve and ten when we were
married. We were so happy. Life was so simple and good.'

I paused to collect my thoughts. 'I moved away from Sydney before
we were married so we could live closer to the kids. Largely turned
my back on my local friends as a result. But that was okay.'

'What happened?' Jane asked softly, although I suspected she had an
idea.

'Kate moved on, I suppose. The boys were grown, and maybe I
wasn't very attentive to her. She found herself another man, and
one day, just told me it was over. I was devastated... I still am.
Anyway, we split up. Sold the house, and I couldn't stand to stay in
Newcastle any longer. I took long service leave from my job, but I
know I'm not going back. So in what seems like an eyeblink, I've
lost just about everything that used to define me. I turned forty the
day before the opening ceremony, and now I'm starting from
scratch. I used to be someone.'

'And you still are, George. Look at yourself. Look what you've
done. You've been hurt badly, but you haven't crawled into your
shell and given up. Lots of people would have, believe me. You're
fighting. You don't complain... and you've never once said anything
disparaging about your wife. I ... think you're admirable. But
you're being such a man about this... and I don't mean that in a good
way.'

She touched my cheek, and continued. 'You have to get some help.
You need to talk to a professional about this. You've got all this
emotion that you won't let out. You... you have to let yourself
grieve.'

It was wrong. I knew it. Not what Jane said... what I was doing. I
found myself putting my arms around her. Her eyes spoke to me in
a language older than speech. I moved my lips toward hers, slowly,
giving her plenty of time to move, or refuse.
As long as I live, I'll never forget that first kiss. Her lips were soft,
lush, yielding, and tasted like mead. I felt like someone had jump-
started the dead black thing between my lungs, and it was working
time-and-a-half, making up for lost time.

Not only did she not turn her head, but she kissed back, her lips
gentle but insistent. It was wrong, but I didn't care any more, and
neither did Jane. Eventually we broke the kiss, but were reluctant
to release each other.

One of us had to be the first to speak. It was me. 'Jane... there
never were any athletes coming today, were there?'

That sly smile again. 'My friends call me Janey.'

Gulp.

'George, I wanted to see you again. I ... needed to see you again.
Then you suggested this, and it was just perfect.'

'But why, ... Janey? Was it because...?'

'Don't you dare spoil this moment. Don't say what I think you're
about to say. Not everything is about you, you know.'

She turned from me and looked out over the harbour. 'It was a bad
idea for me to come to the Games, in retrospect. I don't really know
anyone in the team. They're nice kids, but they're... kids. And
they're a constant reminder that I can't compete any more, and that
upsets me. Until you came along, I thought I was going to be
lonely and miserable for the whole two weeks. And there you
were... polite, funny, someone I could talk to, who knew about the
other side of me. And I read your stuff. Believe me, the cold
showers didn't help. I wish now I hadn't wasted so much time, but I
was afraid... afraid of you. Afraid of myself. You must think I'm
terrible.'

'Janey... I think you're a miracle.'

She turned to look at me. A single tear fell from her cheek. I
wanted to hold her again. I did.

We kissed again, hungrily, with passion. Somebody nearby gave an
ironic cheer, but neither of us was listening. We were too busy
discovering. Jolts of white energy were shooting down my spinal
column, and ... miracle!... Mr. Happy was shaking off the cobwebs
and getting ready to greet the day.

Once again, we ended the kiss. 'So... what now?' I asked, stupidly.

'Now... we stay here for a little while. This place is wonderful.
Then, we find ourselves a cool drink and a light meal. After that, I
want you to take me home. And if you need instructions after
that... I've misjudged you badly.'

*****

I decided on the Lord Nelson, at The Rocks. Depending on who
you ask, it may be the oldest pub in the nation. It was cool, and we
found a booth that was fairly quiet. They brewed their own beer,
and their Pilsener was dry, hoppy, and very cold. While we were
waiting for our medallions of lamb to arrive, we made small talk like
we'd known each other for years instead of days.

'So, what's the story with the football here?' Janey asked.

'That's a bigger question than you know. Which code?'

'Code...?'

'Australia is, as far as I know, the only country in the world where
no less than four codes of football are played professionally.
Describe the game you're thinking of.'

'Uhh... about thirteen guys on the team. There's a ball involved, but
it looks like the object of the game is to kill each other.'

'Ahh... Rugby League. Good choice. That's the game we favour in
this state. It's pretty easy to explain. Think of gridiron. The same
principle applies, you score by running the ball over the goal line.
You get six tackles... you would call them "downs"... and then you
have to hand over the ball to the other team. You can't pass
forward. You can't tackle or interfere with a player who doesn't
have the ball. There's lots of other rules, but those are the basics. I
used to play a little in school.'

'Really? What position?'

I didn't think. 'Hooker.'

She didn't spray beer over me, but it was a close call. She did
laugh, uproariously. 'HOOKER? You're joking. You don't have
the legs for short skirts or fishnets.' She laughed again.
'Hooker... that's good. What, pray tell, does a hooker do?'

I tried to act hurt, but the truth was, I'd been waiting for that belly
laugh, and I wasn't disappointed. 'For your information... the hooker
is called that because he "hooks" the ball out of the scrum with his
legs.'

'The scrum... yeah, I've seen that. Looks like six guys on each side.
The ones in front butt heads with each other, and the ones in back
look like they have their heads stuck up the other ones' butts...
weird.'

'Not a bad description. The hooker occupies front row centre.'

Janey looked at me like I was Evel Knievel or something. 'Isn't that
dangerous?'

'It is if you do it right... Here's our food, great. I'm starving.'
The lamb was cooked just right, and sat on a bed of vegetables stir-
fried just a little past raw. It was delicious. On any other occasion I
would have savoured it. Just then, though, my breath was short and
my chest was a little tight, and I found it difficult to sit still.

*****

The trip from the inner city to Maroubra was fairly brief.
Thankfully the traffic was behaving along the run down Anzac
Parade south-east to the beachside suburb, and soon we pulled up
outside the block of flats. If I'd had butterflies in my stomach
before, they were flying-foxes now, as I opened the door and let
Janey in.
She looked around the living room and remarked, 'George... this is
very neat for a bachelor pad. It's even dusted.'

'Must still be trained', I shrugged. 'Would you like a drink?'

'No', she whispered. 'Come here.' I did, and she embraced me.
After a little while, we sank down to the sofa. Her lips were soft
and knowing; her tongue, a dancing nymph. We were very close,
our hands tracing the contours of each other's backs. After each
long kiss, I placed another shorter one on her lips, like a
punctuation. It was sweet, it was tender, but the heat between us
was increasing. The kisses became ravenous, the caresses grew
more insistent. Janey broke the embrace and started pulling at my t-
shirt, getting it over my head, and off. 'Show me', she said, so I
removed my shoes and socks, and then my shorts. My briefs
weren't really concealing anything, as I was fully erect, but off they
came too. 'Turn around, please,' she asked, so I did a slow three-
sixty. She smiled, and stood with her arms held loosely apart,
inviting me. I removed her shirt. Underneath she was wearing a
powder-blue bra. I ran my fingers over her breasts.

'You are... so beautiful', I murmured. I meant it. She was
magnificent.

'No. My boobs are too small and my butt's too big.'

By this time I'd discovered that the bra unhooked in front. Such a
joyous discovery! As I freed her breasts, I answered, 'You're
crazy... just look at these. They're so firm, the perfect size... and the
nipples are just...' I had to stop talking there, as my tongue had
started tracing an aureole. Janey shivered a little and stopped
arguing.

After a few minutes of pleasant exploring, I crouched down and
started removing Janey's shoes, and then her shorts. She helped me
by stepping out of them, leaving herself clad only in matching
powder-blue cotton panties. I left them on her for a little while, and
caressed her mound with my fingertips. Mr. Happy was starting to
drool a little... he has no manners. Finally I hooked the fabric in my
thumbs and pullled down, revealing a very neat little blonde bush.
Once Janey was completely unclad I asked her to return the favour
by turning around. 'Too big be damned...your bum is perfect.' I
stood then, and embraced her once more. Then I took her hand and
led her out of the living room.

She said, 'Do you think we could shower first?'

I was embarrassed by my stupidity. It had been a warm day, and
we'd been active. I must have smelled pretty ripe... I thought she
smelled great, but maybe all the blood in my cock was starving my
brain. I fetched a couple of towels and opened the bathroom door.
The shower cubicle was quite small, and I doubted we'd get both of
us in it at once. 'You go first,' Janey offered, so I did, making it
quick. I scrubbed myself dry and retired to the bedroom, thanking
providence that I was house-trained and that the flat was neat and
clean. Not that I thought she'd be scared away by a reasonable
amount of bachelor squalor, but her comfort and her approval were
very important to me.

I only had to wait a few minutes before Janey walked inside. I was
surprised a little to see that she was holding her backpack in front of
her mons. It was an endearing display of modesty, which made me
feel a little foolish, lying on the bed loud and proud as it were. She
favoured me with a small smile, and said 'I hope I do this right...
I've never been with a hooker before.'

'Less of your cheek, young lady... or I'll perform Australian foreplay
on you.'

She lay on the bed beside me and said, 'I'm game... what's Australian
foreplay?'

I nudged her in the ribs with my elbow and said, 'Are you awake,
love?' It was a very old joke.

She laughed, like music, and said 'All things considered... I prefer
the traditional kind. Please?'

'There's a lot to be said for tradition,' I replied, as gradually I began
to trace the terrain of her calves with my fingertips, moving upward
slowly, then just touching on the backs of her knees. Her thighs
were strong, yet the skin as soft as everywhere else. I was in no
hurry, and right then, giving this woman pleasure was my only
priority. My hands had found her inner thighs and were stroking
gently, with just the occasional touch of my tongue. I avoided her
centre, teasing, and asked her to turn onto her chest. Then my
fingers started tracing her spine, starting between the shoulder
blades and working down. It was the lightest of massages, but I
could feel her relaxing under it, making little inarticulate noises into
the pillow. I reached the coccyx, the very base of the spine, and
brushed with no more pressure than a butterfly's wing. This time I
heard her sigh.

Gently, but insistently, I pulled her arms out from her sides so I
could reach her armpits with my fingers. It seemed like an unlikely
erogenous zone, but it had worked for me before, and as I stroked,
I knew it was working this time. She was totally relaxed and a little
aroused. My hands sneaked down to the sides of her breasts and
pressed, just a little. Then I gave her a tiny smack on the bum.
Slowly she turned herself over. I took a pillow and placed it under
the small of her back, and we both knew then what was next.

I got my head between her thighs and gazed on the mystery and
majesty of a woman's sex. Once again my fingers played with her
inner thighs, and this time one or two found her perineum, and
brushed against her buttocks. She sighed, content for now with this
passive role, and I kissed her sweet cleft briefly, as a harbinger of
what would come soon.

Janey made little inarticulate sounds of encouragement as I raised
my head and guided my fingers around her labia, stretching,
stroking and testing the sensitive skin, but studiously avoiding the
clit. All things in good time, and I could already tell that Janey was
much more responsive than Kate had been. She was starting to
moisten and part slightly, so I moved my hands away and up,
stroking instead around her navel. Up again, along her ribs, and
then I had a breast for each hand - how convenient! - and a
prominent nipple to tease with each thumb and forefinger.

A growl started in the back of Janey's throat, so I moved back
down, extended my tongue, and tasted her. Nectar. I lapped, from
the back of her cleft to the front, and again, and then zeroed in on
her clit, and suddenly her arms moved and her hands were on my
head. She couldn't seize my hair - it was far too short - so she
settled for stroking it while I tongued and kissed her most sensitive
spot. I sneaked a finger inside her, then two, and stretched her a
little while I brushed her perineum with my thumb and described
tiny circles with the tip of my tongue.

As I said before, Janey was a lady, so I'll not repeat what she said as
she reached the edge of orgasm, except that it was most
encouraging. She panted, moaned, and for a moment I thought I
was going to lose an ear. My fingers, inside her, knew it first as she
spasmed around them, and immediately she cried out in that cry that
could be pain, but was something else entirely. I felt her heat and
then her body's stillness. I raised my head after her spasms ended
and saw the tell-tale flush of her chest... and for the first time in far
too long, I felt like a man.

She took a few minutes to recover. I played with her hair,and
touched her face, using my dry hand. No hurry at all, we had all the
time we needed.

'Get...' she caught her breath. 'Get your ass on that bed... it's your
turn.'

I scootched over to the warm place she left as she rose. She turned
to her backpack and extracted a strip of condoms. 'Fifty-one.
That's how many they supplied for each and every one of us.
Australian hospitality is really something else.'

I knew the story. 'Seventeen days... three per day. And after the
first week, the Cubans complained they'd run out already.' We both
chuckled at that. 'Just trying to intimidate you Yanqui imperialists, I
bet.'

She laid the little square in easy reach, straddled me, and laid a soft,
tender kiss on my lips... then one for my throat... then over my
heart. Splaying her hands, she ran them slowly over my chest, her
thumbs meeting and travelling down my stomach to my navel. My
penis was stiffening again; she found it with one hand and
encouraged it further. I exhaled, groaning a little, and if I'd had a
tail it would've been wagging. Janey grinned at this and moved
back off me. I had a reasonable idea what to expect next and closed
my eyes, waiting.

Hmmm... that was nice.

Her tongue had found my scrotum... gentle and warm. I started
breathing a little heavily. Slowly, tantalizingly, she laved my balls...
and then she found the underside of my cock with her lips. She
moved upward, her lips following the bulge of the urethra. I
couldn't move if I'd wanted to, and I thought I was going cross-eyed
with delight.
Then she took me into her mouth, and I said something clever like
'ohhhh'.

She kept me in there for only a little while, then placed a kiss on the
underside of the glans. I opened my eyes in time to see her self-
satisfied smile as she rolled the condom on to me. Then she
lowered herself gradually onto me... filling herself. For a moment or
two, she stayed still, both of us simply enjoying the feeling of being
joined so intimately. Then she kissed me with infinite tenderness
and started to move on my cock.

It was so good it was almost torture. I had my hands on her
buttocks, stroking her there, but my mind wasn't on it. I was
watching her face... burning it into my memory forever, associating
the sight with the sensations I was feeling just then. Tiny beads of
perspiration were appearing on her forehead, and her blonde hair
was flowing like sentient flame as she rocked and tossed her head.
My heart leapt in my chest and I wondered at that moment... was I
falling in love with her? Then something started happening that
chased the thought from my head.

Not all orgasms are the same. Women have told me this, but the
same is true for men. They're all good, of course, but it's a matter
of degree. Some are quick, hurried and, I suppose, concentrated is
the word. The one I was starting to feel was something else again.
It started as something not unlike an itch at the base of my penis,
along the urethra. My breathing quickened, and Janey stepped up
the pace, just a little. The itch became stronger and started travelling
up the shaft. I groaned inarticulately, and noticed that Janey was
getting a little flushed and was making little noises from the throat.
Her too...?

The itch was almost a burn now, and it was starting to concentrate
in the head of my penis, approaching the tip as the sensation became
almost unbearable. It reached a plateau, so good it was close to
pain... and stayed there for several seconds. The hallmark of a truly
rare orgasm... not so much the Rolls-Royce, as the turbo-charged
Carroll Shelby Ford Cobra of orgasms. I closed my eyes and let
myself relax totally... and then let go. It was unbelievable. The
feeling in my cock peaked, went past the peak, and I emptied
myself... I thought I was going to cry.

Janey kept going after I'd finished coming, and the feeling was really
pain now, but it was pain I could bear. It was pain I wanted to bear,
as I knew she was seconds from her own orgasm... seconds that she
was granted, as I stayed hard enough for long enough to help her to
her climax. She collapsed onto me and I kissed her gratefully.
'You're beautiful,' I said, with little breath.

'That's.... my line,' she gasped. 'You're beautiful too.'

I hugged her to me and didn't want to ever let go. After a few
minutes we got under the covers and cuddled. It felt so warm and
soft and safe, and I was totally relaxed. Maybe that was why it
happened.

Without any warning, my chest got tight and I was filled with
emotions I had no names for. Too many, too much, all at once. I
shook, and started to cry like a baby, bawling uncontrollably. I was
embarrassed by it, which of course just made me worse. Crying my
little heart out.

Janey, bless her, just held me. She didn't say anything at all, but
with loving patience, just let me go on until I was finished, knowing
that I needed her touch more than anything else to get me through
this. By the time I was finished, I felt lighter, so much lighter, like
I'd lost a millstone from around my neck. Janey got up, turned the
lights off and returned to bed. We held each other again and started
talking... really talking, like old friends and confidants. I don't know
how long we talked like that for, but thankfully, it wasn't all about
my problems. It was about lots of things, and nothing... it was a
d&m, and a bull session, all at once, interspersed with a lot of
snuggling and the occasional warm kiss.

After what must have been hours, we ran out of things to say, and I
was sure that I loved her. Not 'I can't live without you' romantic
love... more the love you feel when you've just discovered one of
the very few first-rank friendships of your life. I was starting to
doze off, feeling content and serene, when I felt an elbow jab me
gently in the ribs, and an awful attempt at an Australian drawl said
'You awake, love?'

My oath, I was awake.

*****

That would have been a good point at which to end the story, but
life is seldom as neat and convenient as the movies. We woke the
next morning and showered, and I made breakfast: poached eggs,
bacon and a plunger of Darjeeling. We talked about how little time
we had left before Janey had to go home, and we agreed that the
previous night would be our first and last time. Not that it was
wrong, not that either of us felt guilty about it, but we really had
very little time left, and neither of us wanted to dilute the memory of
that one heartfelt night with any hurried, furtive repeat
performances. It was bittersweet, but it favoured the sweet. I
wouldn't pine for her when she was gone, because she never
belonged to me, but instead I'd keep her in my memory box, folded
and cherished like a love letter.

I drove us to Homebush Bay, parked, and walked Janey to the
village. We stopped outside her bungalow and looked at each
other, suddenly not knowing what to say.

'How are you feeling?' Janey finally started.

'I'm... good. I feel good,' I replied. 'You?'

'Good... bad. Torn. Are you going to be all right, do you think?'

'Yeah. I'm gonna be fine. You haven't heard the last of me... I'll e-
mail you, and I'll keep on writing.'

'I'll look forward to it.' We embraced, and she kissed me on the
cheek. 'I guess this is goodbye.'

'Maybe one day... you never know your luck,' I answered. Then I
kissed her properly, and placed my Akubra hat on her head.
'Goodbye, Janey.'

She turned, opened the door and went inside, and that was the last I
saw of her.

*****

The night was warm and soft and dry; I'd taken a deck-chair out on
the flat roof of the block so I could look at the stars with a beer or
two. I looked inside myself for the old pain, and confirmed what I'd
found before. Where it had been like a poisoned wound, hot,
festering and refusing to heal... now it was different. It still hurt,
but it was clean, and the pain held the promise of a future without
pain. Sure, there'd be a scar, but scars aren't bad, they're nature's
way of reminding us not to repeat our mistakes.

Okay, I'm winding up the story, and you want to know what Janey's
gift was. Well, I'm not talking about the t-shirt, although that was
very nice. It wasn't what we did with each other. I wouldn't
cheapen that by calling it a gift.

Janey's gift was a number of things, all thanks to her generosity of
spirit. She gave me encouragement. She gave me friendship, when
I dearly needed a friend. Most of all, she found the hope I'd lost and
gave it back to me. Getting that hope back was the greatest gift
anyone could ever receive... because with hope, all things are
possible.

What do you do the day after you get back your soul?

I didn't know yet, but I was about to find out. And it was going to
be good.

THE END

I have permission from Jane Urquhart to use her character, 'Janey',
in this story - GC

If you'd like to comment, please e-mail me.

If you'd like to write to Janey, here's the link.

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