The following story may contain some explicit sexual material. 
Though not blatantly pornographic, reader discretion is advised.
Were this a movie, it would probably gain an R rating. 
This story was written as an exploration of character and while
it might be considered erotic, the intent was to delve into
the minds of the characters rather than to sexually arouse the
reader. If you are looking for that you should look elsewhere.
However, if you are offended by sexuality, you should look 
somewhere else as well.

This story is Copyright 1999, Krystoff Vagabond. 
It may be freely redistributed as long as it remains completely
intact and unmodified (including these headers). I welcome 
comments and criticism. 

Please send any thoughts you have on the story to 
kvagabond@mailcity.com

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     Alyssa's Story: Every Morning at 4am
     
     Two  minutes.  That's  all the  time  she  needed.  Two
minutes  and fifteen feet and Alyssa would be out of  there.
Find  all  of her clothes, get dressed and get out  and  she
would  never have to see whatever-his-name-was again. That's
what  she kept telling herself as she fastened her  bra  and
pulled  on her jeans. It's so much easier this way. So  much
better than the awkward moments the next day when you try to
keep  smiling  as you tell each other what a wonderful  time
you  had  last  night and make empty promises to  call  each
other  in  a  day or two. Things are better  this  way.  Get
dressed,  sneak out at four in the morning, hop in your  car
and  drive home. So much better than playing the game. Lying
because it's the thing to do. This is better.
     That's  what  Alyssa  kept telling herself  the  entire
drive home. It was warm for October, and she had the top  to
her  convertible rolled down. The fresh air helped to  clear
her  head - hopefully, it would be enough to fight  off  the
hangover  that  the gin wanted to give her.  But,  the  wind
coming off the lake made her wish that she hadn't lopped off
so  much of her hair three months ago when she broke up with
Ken. It wasn't long enough to tie back into a ponytail,  but
there  was  still enough of it to blow in her  eyes  and  be
generally frustrating. Fuck it. Maybe she should have cut it
all  off.  Okay, that's just stupid. The new look  was  hot.
Sexy.  What kind of guy would give a bald chick the time  of
day?
     This  is  better, she thought again as she entered  her
bedroom  and  tossed  her  keys.  They  missed  the  dresser
entirely  and made a muffled clang as they hit  the  carpet,
but  she  didn't care enough to pick them up. Three  seconds
later  she  was face down on the bed, her nose buried  in  a
fluffy  down pillow. She fell asleep without even  bothering
to take off her shoes.
     She  didn't  dream  that night. She  never  really  did
anymore. Not that she could remember anyway. Better  not  to
dream  at all than to wake up in a cold sweat in the  middle
of  the  night. Better to feel nothing at all than  to  feel
constant  fear. That's what used to happen. For weeks  after
she  left  Ken  she woke up at four o'clock in the  morning,
still  thinking he was there. Sometimes, she would  wake  to
the  sound of a car door slamming outside, sure that it  was
Ken  coming  home  in a drunken stupor.  She'd  lie  in  bed
crying,  waiting for him to stumble in and  climb  into  bed
beside  her.  She could almost feel his warm, alcohol-soaked
breath  burning  at  her neck. Muscles throughout  her  body
would  tense as she imagined his fingers, sticky  from  beer
and  yellow from cigarettes, reaching between her legs.  But
he  would  never come. An hour would go by and  the  bedroom
door  would  never open. It was a dream. Ken  was  gone.  He
wasn't  coming back. She would cry until she  fell  back  to
sleep.
     Alyssa  was  past  that now. She didn't  think  of  him
anymore when she slipped between the covers of her bed.  She
didn't think she heard his voice in the hallway or that  she
smelled  his  pot  in  the next room. She  didn't  think  of
anything more than getting a good night's sleep.
     Every night was the same. She'd get off of work at five
and  be home by six. By nine she was at Jack's and by eleven
she  had  usually decided who she was going home  with  that
night.
     Men  are easy, really. They don't require much coaxing.
Seduction  isn't the right word for it. Seduction implies  a
certain amount of effort. All Alyssa really needed to do was
pick  out a guy from across the room, stare at him until  he
noticed  her, nod him over and he was snared. The man  would
then  do  all the work. He'd buy her drinks all night.  He'd
compliment her. He'd try to feel her up on the dance  floor.
Around one A.M., she'd whisper into his ear, ask him to take
her back to his place and fuck her brains out. It was always
the  same. A sly grin would spread across his face and  he'd
take her by the hand and lead her out of the bar, winking at
his  friends about his new "conquest," firmly believing that
he had seduced her.
     It  varied of course. Sometimes they wouldn't  actually
make  it to his apartment. Sometimes she'd go to his car  in
the   parking   lot,  or  maybe  into  a  nearby   alleyway.
Occasionally she had them rent motel rooms. Every once in  a
while  she'd  try something really kinky: handcuffs,  a  hot
tub, the men's room in the back of the bar. Three weeks ago,
she  had even taken on two guys at once. It all depended  on
how  adventurous she was feeling that night - how horny. The
one  thing  she  never  did was bring  a  man  back  to  her
apartment.  That  would just be messy. It  was  hard  enough
trying  to get out of some love sick puppy dog's bed  before
he woke up in the morning; much worse having to wait for him
to  wake up and leave. And then she'd have to worry that  he
would try to come back again.
     
     It  was  just  another night. It had started  like  the
countless  nights before. She had put on a sexy outfit.  She
had  ordered a White Russian from Angel, the only drink  she
intended  to pay for that night. She had taken her  seat  at
the  bar. She had turned down an advance or two by Gino, and
it  was nearing eleven o'clock. There were at least three or
four possible prospects in attendance tonight. All that  was
left was for her to make her choice. Then she saw Ken.
     It  shouldn't have bothered her. After all, it had been
over  three months. It wasn't as though she hadn't seen  him
in  the  bar before. But tonight it was different. There  he
was, across the bar, hitting on some Hispanic girl.
     She  had been trying. She really had. All night she had
tried  to  keep her mind off of him, to find some other  guy
who'd  get her drunk, get her laid, and help her forget  for
another  night. But she couldn't. She couldn't stop feeling.
It wasn't jealousy. Not exactly. It wasn't anger. Not quite.
It was fear. Fear of being replaced.
     Alyssa was never special. She had always believed  that
she  was. For nearly three years, she had convinced  herself
that  she was special to Ken. That he loved her. It was this
love - this specialness - that made her stay for so long. It
made her put up with the drugs. It made her put up with  the
cheating.  It made her lay awake in bed waiting for  him  to
come  home  from a bender. It made her spread her legs  when
he'd  finally  arrive so that he could  drive  himself  deep
inside of her. It made her fight back the tears and smile.
     But, it had never been love. It had been fear that  she
felt  all those times. The fear of being alone. And now  she
felt it again. She felt it as she realized that all she ever
was  to Ken was a good lay. Maybe not even a good lay. Maybe
just a convenient one. She felt the tears welling up in  her
eyes again. She felt cold. Scared. Alone. And then that  all
changed.
     It  was  such  a simple gesture. So fast,  and  yet  so
perfect. So significant. The girl lifted her drink and threw
it in Ken's face. She stood up and walked away. That simple.
Ken's friends, B.J. and Chaz, laughed as he approached their
booth.  Alyssa  felt  vindicated. She felt  as  though  this
stranger  had somehow gotten him back. Done her a favor  and
exacted some revenge.
     The  stranger was now sitting on Alyssa's side  of  the
bar,  only  a  few  stools  down. More  importantly,  Alyssa
realized that Ken was now looking at her. He must have  seen
her when he was looking at the girl. The fright returned for
a  moment. The powerlessness was back. She looked away  from
his  cold stare. Looked to her right - to the stranger.  The
power  returned. If the stranger could do it  on  her  first
interaction with Ken, then after all this time,  she  should
certainly be that strong. "Jack, two White Russians please."
     "Right  away,  Alyssa.  Who's  paying?"  The  bartender
looked around her to see which of his patrons she was toting
along.
     "I am." She tossed a couple of bills on the bar counter
and  took  the glasses over to the stranger. "Here you  go,"
she  said  as  she extended one of the drinks  forward.  She
could feel Ken's eyes digging into her back and she couldn't
help  but tremble slightly.  A single drop of her own  drink
jumped  out  of  the glass and splashed on  the  floor.  The
stranger didn't seem to notice. Hopefully, neither did Ken.
     "What's this for?" The young, Hispanic stranger sounded
cautious, somewhat untrusting, but she reached for the drink
anyway.
     "Well, you looked like you needed a new drink since  my
ex-boyfriend is wearing your old one."
     
     You  never know what you're missing until you find  it.
That's what Alyssa thought to herself as she ran her fingers
through  the  silky black hair of the head on her  chest  at
four  in  the  morning. This was anything but  the  way  she
expected  this  night  to  turn  out.  She  had  never  even
considered  being with another woman before, not  even  with
all the experimenting she'd been doing lately, and certainly
not  before  her  relationship with Ken. Eighteen  years  of
strong catholic upbringing had taught her better than  that.
As  for  the four years with Ken - He had actually suggested
it  a  couple of times, but it was never something she could
agree to do.
     Now  look where she was. Sharing her bed with the  girl
that  Ken had been hitting on. It was wonderful. Being  with
Elena  was different than anything she had ever experienced.
She  was  comforting.  She  was gentle.  The  sex  they  had
together  was something shared. Until that night Alyssa  had
always  thought  of sex as something to be taken.  Something
you  do to someone, not with them. Last night was different.
Last night was wonderful.
     
     Alyssa woke up a little after eight in the morning  and
crawled out of bed. She was halfway through her first cup of
coffee  when she finally realized that Elena was  gone.  She
looked  around her room. Clothes, shoes, jacket, purse.  All
of  it  gone. No note. No phone number. Nothing. Alyssa  put
her face in her hands and began to cry.
