He recovered from his fall and vaulted toward me again, and I barely pulled myself up beyond his reach, struggled over the fence, to land with a breathless thud on the grass.

Chapter 6

I lay there, my lungs heaving, my arm aching as if I'd weathered an attack from a Baskerville hound.

And where is Sherlock when you need him?

I blinked to release the tears in my eyes and peered down at my arm; my sleeve was soaked red. By this time, the pit bull was snarling at me through the fence, biting at the wire, saliva dripping from his chin. "Drop dead, you sorry son-of-a-bitch," I told the dog. I took a bandanna from the side pocket of my sleeveless jacket and tied it tightly around the wound.

I can't go to the hospital. How would I explain what I was doing here in the first place?

Groggy and a bit queasy from loss of blood, I began a painful trip back down the street to the car, keeping a tight hold on the camera and its now more treasured contents, watching for the blond man.

I had to drive in first gear all the way to Nichols Hills, and into Leatherwood Landing, since I could not lift my arm to manage the "three on the tree" of the Falcon. When I pulled into the drive, my digital watch glowed 5:04. I knew Steve was gone on a business trip, but I also knew that Phoebe would not be watching for me, since we had already had our backseat drill. I flashed the lights three times and waited, my head swirling. Minutes passed, and from the feel of my arm, I would not make it to another destination; I knew the wound was serious since there was such a profusion of blood while the arm itself was numb. I honked the horn once. The upstairs curtain parted, and Phoebe's head appeared. The curtains closed again, and seconds later the woman loped across the yard in her pajamas and got in. "What a treat. Did you -- " she began, but stopped when she felt something damp on the seat beneath her hand. She held her palm into the light and saw that the dampness was blood. Then she saw the way I leaned against the steering wheel, and noticed the condition of my sleeve. "Sweetie, are you -- What happened?" I whispered, "Pit bull." "Jesus H. Christ." "You said you were a nursing student before..." and I trailed off, unable to complete the sentence. "Let's get you inside." She reached for the door handle. "Is ... the coast still clear?" "He won't be back until next week." "How fortuitous..." I mumbled. Phoebe got out and came around to help me out of the car. "Come on." She told me to lean on her, and we hobbled into the house. Phoebe sat me down at the kitchen table just inside and switched on the overhead light, while I squinted at the invasion of brightness into my dark-adapted eyes. She went to the pantry and retrieved a large first aid kit. Taking the scissors, she cut away the bandanna and gently peeled back the assaulted sleeve to expose a jagged wound surrounded by punctures. "God, Jobeth, how did you manage to tangle with a pit bull?" "It was relatively simple, actually. I was on his turf." I winced as she examined the wound. Phoebe got up to run water into a bowl and came back to sponge the wound clean. "Does this have anything to do with your Dick Tracy stuff?" "Don't be silly," I cracked. "I merely delivered a paper late -- " "You're so full of shit. I hope you've learned a lesson." "Several," I agreed. "One of which is the fine art of Pit Bull Wrestling. How about a stiff drink?" I asked through clenched teeth. "First things first." Once the wound was sponged clean, it began to bleed freely again, and Phoebe put a compress on it, holding it firm. "Okay. You want to tell me what happened?" "Must I?" I squirmed, still too involved in my pain to look up at her. "Here," Phoebe took my hand and placed it over the bandage. "Hold this. I'll get us both a drink." She came back with a bottle of spiced rum, broke the seal, and poured us both a hefty shot. "Drink it." I was more than happy to oblige and emptied the shot glass in one gulp, making a face and shivering as it went down. "Phoebe, I'm sorry about this. I just didn't know where else to go." "The hospital was all full up, huh?" I gave her a weary glance. "No. The hospital would have had to fill out reports. I didn't want to take a chance. The last time I got hurt, I had a convincing story to explain my condition. I just couldn't think of anything this time." "So, you were doing something illegal?" Phoebe peeled the compress back to check my arm. "Not really. Not ... intentionally, anyway. Trespassing can be an honest mistake, you know." Phoebe gave me a knowing look and began to apply the triple antibiotic ointment. "You're going to need stitches." "Can't you do it?" Phoebe huffed. "Sewing was not my forte in nursing school." "I know what your forte is, and they don't give classes on it," I flirted, silently thanking the endorphins that were finally amassing around the crevasse on my forearm. "You're so funny, Jobeth." She studied the wound closely. "The best I can do is a bunch of butterfly bandages." I examined Phoebe intensely for perhaps the first time. She was prettier than I had realized. The soft white incandescent light of the kitchen served to enhance the high cheekbones and ash-blond hair. Her eyes were not blue, but green, I discovered. How many women had I been with in anything other than darkness? The darkness of bars, of bedrooms, of back seats. "What are you staring at, Ms. O'Brien?" Phoebe smiled. "A well-lit you, for once." She giggled. "Yes, I suppose we've only known each other in the dark, so to speak." I smiled back. "'And we love the darkness better than the light, because our deeds are evil,'" I quoted. "'But evil is wrought by want of thought, as well as want of heart,'" she quoted back, revealing pearly teeth. "How does it feel now?" "Hurts like hell." She prepared a fresh bandage and placed it over the gash, then began wrapping gauze around it gently. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" "Nothing much to tell," I answered evasively. "I was on a stake-out and had to unexpectedly make myself scarce. My shortcut proved more potentially deadly than the person I was running from." "You're lucky that dog didn't eat you alive." "Don't be so critical. He did his best," I joked. Phoebe gave a half-laugh and secured the adhesive bandage to itself. "You are a handful, Jobeth O'Brien." I looked down at the bandage. "Or a mouthful, whichever the case may be." Phoebe got up and put the first aid kit on the counter. "Are you hungry? I could fix you something." "I don't think I'd have the strength to chew it," I admitted. "Then I'll get you a pain pill, and you can go upstairs and lie down for awhile." She returned shortly with a glass of water and the pill. "What is this?" "Darvon. It'll help with the pain and swelling." She lifted the back of her hand and pressed it to my forehead. "It'll help with that fever, too." "I have a fever?" I touched my face, and it felt normal to me. "Yes, you have a slight fever. That's another reason you will go lie down for a while." She pushed the glass of water across the table toward me. After swallowing the Darvon, I followed her through the doorway to the foyer, where an ornate, banistered stairway led away from the front entrance of the house to the upper floor. I held onto the mahogany handrail, and with a great deal of effort and some gentle assistance, allowed Phoebe to lead me to the top landing and into an adjacent bedroom. "This is the guest room. It's much more comfortable than the master bedroom, I think, because of the waterbed. Steve hates waterbeds..." My brain tried to reel in the direction of a scenario involving Phoebe and that waterbed, but I halted the excursion for fear that in my weakened condition, the power of the image would render me unconscious on the floor. Phoebe helped me over to the four-poster and pulled the Aztec comforter and matching sheet back. "There's a nightshirt in the bureau." She started for the door. "I'm pretty grungy, are you sure you want me to climb between these clean sheets?" Phoebe came back to me and leaned down, imparting a loving peck. "They'll wash. Get some rest." I watched her leave, more keenly aware of her natural beauty than ever before. When the door closed, I got the nightshirt out of the antique drawer and held it up to read the small lettering on the front. I USED TO BE SNOW WHITE, BUT I DRIFTED_,_ it said. * * * * I woke up suddenly and looked at my watch. It was twelve o'clock. But noon or midnight? I wondered. When I tried to get up, there was a rather rude reminder of the condition of my right arm. I waited for the pain-dragon to ease back into his cave, then moved gingerly to the window. I parted the heavy drapes and was met by stark sunshine. "It's not midnight," I mumbled sourly. My stomach growled, and I removed the nightshirt carefully, and managed to pull on my jeans and button them with mostly one hand. One sleeve of my purple flannel shirt and the thermal shirt I had worn under it was shredded and darkened with dried blood, but it was all I had. I eased into the flannel shirt, wishing I had stayed in the nightshirt when I approached the formidable task of more buttons. I dutifully folded the nightshirt, placed it on the bed, and padded out the door and down the stairs. I found Phoebe leaning with one elbow on the kitchen table, that hand rubbing the back of her neck absently. As I moved closer, I saw the newspaper on the table in front of her and the cup of coffee cradled in her other hand. "I hope that's my paper you're reading," I said, approaching. Phoebe turned and smiled. "Morning, sleepy head. Of course it's your paper. I thought it was high time I actually read one." I took a seat across from her. "Oh, Steve reads it?" "No. I took out a subscription hoping the paperboy would be cute and innocent so I could take advantage of him." She took a sip of coffee, her eyes dancing. "You're not serious." She turned the page. "Yes, I am." "So you've been toying with me all along." I shook my head. "Not necessarily. I was disappointed when I found out my paperboy was a girl, remember?" I grinned collusively. "Are you still disappointed?" "Don't ask questions you know the answers to, lover." I chuckled. It felt so good to be here with her. It was almost like we were ... friends ... "Is there any more of that great coffee?" Phoebe pointed to the coffee-maker. "Help yourself." I pushed away from the table and took a hand-thrown stoneware mug from the small tree on the counter, pouring left-handed with a measure of clumsiness. "I don't have to drink it out of a thermos anymore, do I?" "Not unless you just prefer it." Phoebe turned another page and continued to read. I joined her again at the table. "You always drink coffee this late in the day?" "I only got up an hour ago, myself." "Oh." I blew on the coffee and took a cautious sip. "You seem a little different -- " She looked up. "Different, how?" I absorbed a second impression of the kitchen, with its tiled, warm blue-teal countertops, and white accents, its Indian pottery and lacquered blond wooden flooring. "I don't know. Civilized." "Back seats don't breed civility, dearest." "Truer words were never uttered," I laughed, indulging in a thorough survey of her face. "God, you're beautiful," I heard myself say. Phoebe explored my eyes boldly, her lips pulling into a serene smile. "Funny, I was just thinking about how adorable you are by the light of day. How's the arm?" I stifled a blush. "I had a good nurse. It's better. Thanks." "No problem. Actually, I'm glad you came to me." She pushed the paper to the side. "Makes me feel needed." "You are needed, Phoebe." Phoebe moistened her lips thoughtfully. "Are you able to chew yet?" "If not, I'm perfectly willing to suck it through a straw. You have a blender, don't you?" Chuckling, Phoebe got up, moved to the opposite end of the elongated kitchen, and began to prepare breakfast, humming some tune I did not recognize. I watched her move about the room, studied her mannerisms and the graceful way she handled the culinary implements. I'd only been aware of a tiny portion of a subtle sensuality she possessed; it was odd to recognize this fact after I'd been so intimate with her. It was like biting into a donut, totally content with the glazing, and then discovering that it was filled with vanilla cream. Phoebe wore a pink cotton nightshirt, much like the one I had changed out of. She made it look just as sexy as those silk shirts she wore when dashing out to the Falcon to meet me. The nightshirt she wore now came to just past her knees, and I could see the smooth curve of her legs below it. I watched the muscles in her calves flex and relax with each movement and tried to match the skin my hands had touched with the skin my eyes were now seeing; the connection sent an unexpected shiver up my spine. This was a woman who exercised frequently. "Are you staring at me, Jobeth?" Phoebe asked softly, her back to me as she turned the bacon. I felt another uncharacteristic flood of crimson fly to my face. "How did you know?" "I felt your eyes caressing me." "Guilty as charged," I confessed. "What sport do you play?" "You mean besides backseat aerobics?" Phoebe turned off the flame and took the bacon from the pan, glancing over her shoulder briefly at me, and placing the strips onto a paper towel. "Racquetball, usually. At the country club. How do you like your eggs?" "Sunny side up, and crisp around the edges." She nodded and began to break eggs into the pan. I imagined what Phoebe would look like in a pair of those spandex shorts and a tank top, with sweat at her temples. "I play racquetball, too." "Great. We'll play sometime." That was like having a wrapped Christmas present waved under your nose, and being told you have to wait weeks to open it. I wondered how long it would take my arm to heal so that I could hold a racquet. And when I was available, would Phoebe be free to run off with me to the country club for a game? I scoured the room for signs of a husband. There was nothing to suggest that the influence of this room was anything but feminine. "When did you say Steve was coming back?" Phoebe turned around and leaned against the counter. "Are you getting nervous about it?" "No. I just ... I thought it might be a good idea for me to be long gone before he gets here." "Why? There's nothing suspicious about two women spending time together. I'd just tell him I met you at the club." "I don't think I fit the profile," I said, indicating my bloody, torn flannel shirt and faded 501's. "Don't be ridiculous. Not everyone at the club is as stuffy as you think. But it's a moot point anyway. His trip will last until next Sunday." "You're sure?" "Positive." She paused to absorb my derisive expression before turning back to the eggs. "It's not like in the movies, where the husband arrives early and catches the wife in bed with someone else." My skin was tingling all over. "If you say so." She ran the spatula around the pan, probably loosening the edges of white around the yolks. "When the cat's away, the mice will play, now won't they?" "These will, I'm hoping." Phoebe gave that throaty laugh and dipped the crackling eggs from the pan onto a plate and added the bacon and toast. She brought the plate over to me, and I began to eat immediately, surprised by the fierceness of my hunger. Through a mouthful I said, "I have to go through the trash in my car. I could go home to do it, or you could offer the back driveway. I'd clean up after myself, of course." Phoebe sat down opposite me. "You can clean out your car some other time, can't you? You need to rest that arm." I swallowed, shaking my head. "This trash is very special. I have to sort through it today." "You sort your trash?" I knew it would be slightly awkward to explain the treasures that one finds in the trash. Treasures like letters, receipts, and other forms of concrete evidence. "It's a fine art and a recognized science." I shoveled a forkful of eggs into my mouth. "It's called Garbology." Phoebe lifted one eyebrow. "Never mind." Phoebe shrugged. "The driveway is yours, my sweet, even though I don't know why the hell you're sorting trash." I decided to keep it simple. "Evidence." "Oh, I see. Well, have at it." * * * * Moments later, I had cleaned the plate with the last bite of toast, and Phoebe was refilling both of our coffee cups. My eyes wandered to the orange and red and yellow leaves waltzing in the wind just outside the bay window. "Now that we've slept, and eaten, and had some coffee, you can tell me what happened last night -- or this morning." "I told you." "What are you hiding?" "Why so suspicious?" I tried to find some ulterior motive in Phoebe's face. "I'm not. I'm just interested." I took a sip of coffee and added more creamer from the bowl on the table, happy that Phoebe preferred her creamer powdered like I did. "You never seemed to take it seriously before." "After you dragged in here this morning with half your arm torn off, I decided there must be more to it than I realized." "Well, that's true enough." I tapped the spoon dry over the rim of the cup and placed it on the table. "So tell me." She said, peering over the rim of her cup as she took a sip. "Unless you think you can't trust me." I wondered if I was being baited or if Phoebe really wanted to know. One thing was for sure, the woman certainly had taken good care of me. "I was trying to get some pictures of the people I'm after. I worked on this case last year, and it got nasty. After I got over my injuries, I just sort of picked up where I left off." She turned the cup around and held it in both hands. "Oh, this isn't the first time you've been hurt." "Not by a long shot." "Why do you keep doing it?" "The glamour." Phoebe picked up my plate and took it to the sink, splashing it with a blast from the faucet. "How did you get away from the pit bull?" she asked, taking a seat across from me again. "I hit him with my camera, dragged him to the fence, pulled him up in the air, and kicked him until he let go." She arched an eyebrow sardonically. "Sounds like what I'd like to do to the IRS." I laughed as she went on. "Jesus. I hope you at least got the pictures you wanted." "Yep. That is if I didn't break the camera on the dog's head and expose the film." Phoebe looked at my sleeve. "I think you're in the market for a new shirt." She shook her head at the torn areas that framed my bandage. "So what's your next move with this case you're working on?" "Well, I got the trash from their cans while I was staking them out. I need to go through it. Maybe I'll find something in there to go on." "Where's the camera?" "In the car. I need to take the film to the Fotomat." "Well, I'm going into town later. Do you want me to do it for you?" She seemed quick to help, and I wondered for an instant if her motives were pure. Phoebe rolled her eyes. "Jobeth, you're looking at me like I'm in cahoots with the bad guys. What's your problem?" "I just ... trust doesn't come easy for me." "For me either." Phoebe turned the cup in her hands. "Something is different, Phoeb' ... you're treating me differently..." "I guess I am." She took a drink of coffee and sighed. "I used to think you were just a young woman who had an adventurous spirit, and was very good at making me feel great. But I see now that I've underestimated you. I want to get to know the real Jobeth O'Brien. I mean, I think -- I've grown to care for you very deeply." I leaned back slowly. I wasn't sure if I wanted to continue this conversation. "What are you saying, Phoebe? That you're falling in love with me?" "I don't know. The dynamics of love have changed for me lately. But I do know I care about you." She captured my hand in hers across the table; it was warm from holding the mug. "And I want you to stay here while Steve is away ... if you want to."

We studied each other, questioning silently. Finally, I rubbed her hand with my thumb. "I'd like that."

Chapter 7

I went back to the trailer to get some clothes and a few things I'd need in order to stay at Phoebe's for a few days. I found a notice taped to the front door from my landlady. If I didn't produce the back-rent within three days, she would serve me with an eviction notice. I took the note inside and tossed it on the bar. After spending time in the "McMasters Manor" my trailer seemed squalid and pathetic. But it was the only home I had and I was about to lose it if I didn't come up with the money. There was no cash in my foreseeable future, since I had just put new tires on the Falcon. I would simply have to go see Ms. Pemberton and beg for mercy. I packed a small bag and called Phoebe to say I had to take care of personal business before I came back over.

I rang the bell and studied the door harp as I waited. Porsha Pemberton opened the door and smiled. "Well. Ms. O'Brien. You're very punctual. I only left that notice a few hours ago." I cleared my throat, preparing to do battle with Medusa. "I was hoping we could have a chat about the back-rent." Porsha stepped back to let me enter. "You needn't feel awkward, Ms. O'Brien," she said, securing the door with a shlink of the deadbolt. "We're both adults, and I'm sure we can come to a mutually satisfying agreement." I shot her a glance and sat down on the mauve Chippendale sofa. Porsha struck a pose and raked me with her eyes, taking in the stone-washed 501's and the pink button-down shirt I wore. The long sleeves hid the bandage on my arm, which was just as well, since I didn't care to explain it. "I've just made coffee. Would you care for some?" "Please," I agreed. It would give me time to fashion a convincing request for clemency. As the woman moved into the kitchen, I took a deep breath and released it slowly, aware of the sensuality that Ms. Pemberton was trying, quite successfully, to convey. "Oh, boy..." I sighed. Seconds later, Porsha returned with the silver tray and poured for us both, handing an elegant white cup and saucer to me. "Do you like cream?" I was afraid to look at her; afraid there would be snakes in her hair, and I'd be turned to stone. "Yes." After pouring the white liquid into my cup, I settled myself on the matching sofa opposite her. She held her cup and saucer in the palm of her hand and crossed one shapely leg over the other. The black pump on her foot began to sway lightly from side to side. I caught her eyes and smiled innocently, having a sip of the fresh ground coffee. "Now then. What sort of arrangement did you have in mind?" I fought back my reaction to the innuendoes that had been present in each sentence uttered by this woman since I came to the door, and instead, I took another steadying breath. "It looks as though my finances are ... a bit strained. I'd like to be honest about it. You see, I had to buy tires for my car, since my job requires a good deal of driving." "What sort of work do you do?" Great. I hate this question. There's no way to legitimize a career of throwing things in people's driveways from a moving car. "I have a paper route." She pursed her lips. "Quaint." I resisted the urge to toss my coffee in her face. "I was wondering if maybe you and I could work something out." A grin slithered onto Porsha's lips only briefly before she took a sip of her coffee. "Perhaps." I knew I could probably float a loan from Phoebe, but it just didn't feel like an option. "I'd like to settle it by putting up some collateral." "What sort of collateral is that, Ms. O'Brien?" She sat with her back straight, as if the sofa would not support her weight. "I thought I would give you the title to my car until I can pay you the back-rent, if that would be okay." I sat back against the sofa and sipped my coffee. "Your car?" "The Falcon, yes." "Now what would I do with that silly thing?" "You may not care for the car, Ms. Pemberton, but it is worth the amount I owe you. If I default, you would have the title and could sell it at current market value, and I would of course vacate the property so that you could rent it again." Porsha placed her cup and saucer on the glass table and considered me with a thoughtful sigh. Again, her eyes trailed over me, and her tongue painted moisture across her upper lip. "I've an idea. I haven't had dinner yet. Why don't you prepare dinner for me at your place, and we'll discuss it further?" A frown tickled my brow and was gone. "Dinner? You want to come over for dinner?" "Why not? I have no other social engagements this evening, and we really must settle this problem as soon as possible." I shifted slightly, resting the cup securely in the saucer for fear I'd drop it. "What do you want?" "Pardon?" "For dinner." "Oh," she smiled victoriously. "Any old thing will be fine." I took a final drink of coffee and stood. "Okay. I'll expect you around seven?" "Fabulous." Porsha rose and I set my cup down across from hers. She went to the door to show me out. "I'll look forward to it," she murmured. I cleared my throat and smiled. "Good-bye, Ms. Pemberton." Porsha leaned on the door. "Porsha. Call me Porsha." I smiled again. "Porsha." I followed the cobblestone walkway to the Falcon and got in, pausing to stare at the condo. "Well, this should be interesting," I told myself as I put the key in the ignition. By seven, I had turned the oven temperature to warm and opened the oven door a few inches so that the chicken wouldn't overcook. The stuffing and broccoli were in covered dishes on the table, the breadsticks in a glass at the CENTER. I opened the raspberry wine and poured myself a glass, hoping the alcohol would numb the pain in my arm from the exertion of lifting pans. I lit a cigarette and tried to predict what might happen. The doorbell rang, and I took a quick gulp of the wine before I went to let Porsha in. A disarming smile greeted me, and Porsha handed me a bottle in a gold sack. "I brought wine." She saw the half-empty glass in my hand. "I see I made the right choice." "Thank you." I accepted the bottle and went to put it in the refrigerator. "It smells wonderful, Jobeth." "Thank you again," I nodded once. "I have a bottle open already. Would you like some?" "Yes, please." The small talk kept us busy over dinner. Porsha obligingly asked about the paper-throwing business, and I managed to get her to admit that she was not exceedingly wealthy, just a bit pretentious. Amid numerous displays of innuendo from Porsha, we finished the raspberry wine with the meal and adjourned to the living room. Which, in my trailer, was a trip of about ten feet. I lit a cigarette, and Porsha reached and took it from me. "Thank you," she said casually. I lit another one and sank into the sofa at one end, opposite Porsha. "So, would you like me to get that title now?" Porsha waved the offer away with a pink fingernailed hand. "Let's not worry about that. I had an exhausting day. Let's talk about you." I shifted. "What about me?" "I'm aware of your ... shall we say -- lifestyle -- and I wanted you to know that I'm not offended by it, nor would it keep me from renting to you." "That's refreshing." I imagined how many times she must have seen women coming home with me and leaving early the next morning. I know there were less than discreet kisses on the way from the Falcon to the front door. "One might even say that I accept it," she was saying. "I think that whatever two consenting adults do in private is their own business." I inhaled deeply on the cigarette and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. "Would you like me to open the other bottle?" "Actually, I'd like to take a quick shower, if you don't mind." "What?" My head began to swim, and I wondered if I could conceivably blame the wine. "I didn't have a chance to take one after you left, and I really would like to freshen up. You don't mind, do you? I mean, it's just us girls, right?" I answered numbly, "Feel free." Porsha got up and went into the bathroom, and I heard the door close. I went into the kitchen and opened the other wine bottle, against my better judgement. What was this woman up to? I knew the answer as quickly as I had the thought. "I'm being seduced," I said aloud. The question was, did I want to be seduced? Whether I had an answer to that one or not, I still could not deny the thumping in my chest. Porsha was a very attractive woman, and I had entertained thoughts of what it would be like with her. But I had never considered it as a real possibility until tonight. I downed the wine and went into my bedroom where the bath was located. Staring at the door, I considered the situation with mixed emotions. If this thing was going to progress into a roll in the hay, how would I be able to face Phoebe again? Did I have a commitment with her or not? Was I still a freebird, or had Phoebe clipped my wings? I heard Porsha turn off the shower. If I couldn't go through with it, I'd know in the next few minutes. I turned to go back to the living room as I didn't want her to find me standing there, gawking at the bathroom door like a schoolgirl. The door opened, and a short moment later, Porsha called to me. "Jobeth ... could you come in here a moment?" Was she in the bedroom? I made the trip down the hall, passing the empty bathroom, fraught with steam. I stepped through the door and turned to see Porsha standing demurely in a rather skimpy towel; there were larger towels, and the one she had around her was in fact the one I used to dry my hands. It barely covered the important parts. "I feel much better, now," she said, a childlike grin upon her lips. I swallowed hard, not at all prepared for the scene before me. Porsha was holding the towel clenched at her chest just below the swell of her breasts, so that I had a clear view of a rather formidable cleavage. She crossed casually to the bed and sat down, patting on the comforter beside her in invitation to me. "Come sit." I obeyed dumbly, telling myself that sitting on the bed did not obligate me to go any further. I realized that in all my days as a womanizer, I had never been seduced. I had always started and finished every tryst. Cross-legged on the bed facing the woman, I studied her salt and pepper hair, her hazel eyes, her lips; I waited for Porsha to make the next move, as if I didn't know what that move would be. Porsha Pemberton smiled awkwardly. "I guess we both know what's happening." I reached for the cigarettes in the breast pocket of my oversized lavender shirt and lit one. "Do we?" "I know you must think I'm ... I've never done this before, I swear to you." "You're a virgin, huh?" This might actually be entertaining. She laughed. "Hardly. I mean I've never been with ... a woman." "Are you sure you want to be?" She chuckled softly. "I seem to be sitting on your bed in a towel..." "I noticed that." The woman sighed and looked around the dim room, the glow from the street lamp outside caressing the walls. "I've gotten us as far as the bed ... now, I seem to be a player without a play book -- " I took the pack of cigarettes from my pocket again and offered her one, which she took gladly, as if afraid for her hands to be empty. "So, you expect me to take over at this point?" Porsha put the lighter back in my hand, capturing my fingers lightly. "I was hoping you would." "Porsha, I'm very flattered and very tempted by your offer, but I'm ... I'm involved with someone right now and I don't think I can -- " The kiss came swiftly as Porsha swooped over and captured my lips. I was still trying to recall what the rest of my sentence was supposed to be, and was too shocked to resist. Porsha broke the kiss, took my cigarette from me, and put both of them in the ashtray on the dresser. She sat back down and pushed me back upon the waterbed, a wild look in her eyes. "If you didn't intend for this to happen, then why did you come in here?" I winced at the pain as my arm flopped against the bedspread, and merely stuttered that I had made a mistake, that I didn't know what her intentions were, that -- "I want to devour you, Ms. O'Brien!" Porsha was saying, tearing at my shirt, the buttons popping off as she forced the fabric free of constraint. She kissed my chest, and sat up, straddling my legs, effectively pinning me to the bed. The towel fell away from her naked body, as she released the buttons of my jeans. "I've waited too long, darling girl. I've got to know what the secret is. I know you can teach me -- " "Porsha, you don't understand, I -- " "No, I don't, but you're going to help me understand, aren't you?" She had released all the buttons and had her fingers under the bottom of my sports bra. I seized the woman's frenzied hands. "Porsha, listen to me. I -- " The woman broke free and jerked my bra up and over, exposing my breasts, falling with her face between them, soon drawing an erect nipple into her hungry mouth. My libido screamed Stop! but my body shouted More! in an involuntary surge of primal lust. I was being devoured by this once haughty, dignified woman suddenly transformed into a sexual monster. My images of Medusa were slipping back into my mind's eye. I saw the escape route growing dimmer and knew that there was only one way to salvage my dignity. In one swift, rough movement, I pushed the woman over and pinned her on the sloshing bed with my own body, my uninjured left hand darting between Porsha's thighs, invading her with two fingers. Porsha sucked in her breath and whined, arching to meet my pushing hand. I tried not to put a lot of weight on my right arm, sort of balancing on the elbow. As she opened to me, I added a finger at a time until there were four nestled inside her. Seconds later, I was astonished as the woman's body opened and swallowed my hand whole; I felt like Jonah on his way into the stomach of the whale. Porsha writhed, moaned, growled, and worked herself to climax, her female muscles chewing on my hand, until I was sure that the small bones were breaking. As suddenly as it had begun, it ceased, and I released a lung full of dry air, waiting. Porsha was motionless beneath me. I tried to focus on the woman's face. Her eyes were closed, her features pleasant and relaxed. "Porsha?" The steady rise and fall of the woman's chest indicated the situation. She had passed out. I wriggled my hand carefully, trying not to rouse her as I pulled my aching hand from the still-undulating muscles inside the woman. Free at last, I heaved a sigh of relief and tried to move my aching fingers. I decided to just make a getaway while I could. I would have to escape from my own trailer and stay away until the woman woke up and went home. I had never experienced such frantic, violent sex. I understood now that there was a very real difference between passion and what I had been through tonight. Careful not to make a sound, I carried my aching right arm aloft, buttoned my jeans with my newly-accosted left hand with some difficulty, and watched for the wound from the pit bull to start bleeding again. I grabbed another shirt and my keys on the way out. * * * * I pulled into Phoebe's back drive and entered through the kitchen. I called to her but got no answer. My first action was to wash both hands in the sink, and then search the cabinets for the rum, which I found above the refrigerator. I took it down and indulged my jagged nerves. Once the liquor kicked in, I started up the stairs to look for Phoebe. When I entered the guest room, I heard the shower. Relieved, I went back downstairs and onto the patio to tackle the bags of garbage from the boutique. I had sifted through the two trash bags, finding nothing of value, and plopped on the sofa to collect my thoughts about Porsha and brood over my lack of new evidence in the case. Phoebe strolled in, her hair wet from a shower, wearing a skimpy pink terry-cloth robe. I couldn't help but flash back to that event in my trailer an hour ago. She greeted me with a large smile and joined me on the sofa. "You should take a shower, Jobeth. I feel so much better. It's the next best thing to an actual nap when you're tired." "I will a little later." I sat back up abruptly when the program in my brain hit a loop and reminded me of other problems. "I completely forgot! I've got to find someone to do my route. There's no way I can drive and throw papers with my arm like this." I looked down at the bandage, which had grown dark with blood in one spot. "What did you do to your arm? It's bleeding again." I tried to look surprised. "I don't know. I must have hurt it lifting those trash bags and cleaning up the patio_." That was good. A clever way of diverting her attention._ "I could have helped you clean the patio, Jobeth. Why didn't you come get me?" "I did, but you were in the shower." There I was: smack in the middle of that subroutine of lies that weren't really lies. Phoebe nodded toward the end table. "Phone's right there. I'll go get the first aid kit while you make your call." I punched in the numbers on the keypad of the French-style telephone. I asked for the circulation department and explained my predicament to my supervisor. He informed me that the only carrier familiar with my route was on vacation. I told him I'd find a way to get the papers delivered anyway and replaced the ornamental receiver in its elevated, golden prongs, scooting back into the cushions again to stare into the barren fireplace. Phoebe returned with the kit. "Everything worked out?" "No. There's no one available to sub for me. I'll just have to do it, that's all." "You said yourself that you can't throw papers with this arm." She began to cut through the soiled bandage. "I don't have a choice. It's my job. The only one that pays the rent at the moment." And the one that gets me into no-win situations. I knew I was in a different kind of danger now. Either Porsha would pursue a continuation of the arrangement she thought she had made, and evict me if I said no, or she would be satisfied and give me a break. Or -- "You always have a choice, J-Bo." "What?" "I'll go with you, and we can take my car." She squeezed the ointment from the tube onto my wound and placed a gauze pad over it. "It's automatic, so you can drive with one arm while I throw the papers." I considered this. "Are you sure you want to be outside in the middle of the night with both windows down, going forty-five miles per hour past eighty-seven houses?" "I could use a little more variety in my life ... except for pit bulls, that is." She finished wrapping my arm and pulled a sofa pillow into her lap and leaned back, stretching her feet in my direction. I shook my head and grinned. "Okay, but I can't promise that you'll enjoy yourself." I wrapped a hand around one of her bare feet. "You might freeze." "We can always come back and light a fire. I haven't used that fireplace in a long time. Besides, I enjoy being with you, J-Bo. It doesn't matter what we're doing." I noticed the new nickname and chose to ignore the warm feeling it gave me. "That's a switch. I thought our relationship was pretty cut and dried." Phoebe tossed the white ruffled pillow at me. "If that's what you think, you haven't been paying attention." It wouldn't be the first time, I admitted mentally, my thoughts straying back to that morning when I woke up and noticed the octagons on my kitchen floor, then naturally forward to the fiasco with Porsha. Not so long ago, women had been within the confines of my control. "How has our ... relationship changed?" Phoebe took a wistful breath. "Let's just say we've evolved." "Evolved. Whatever. This evolution has made me forgetful. I can't believe I almost forgot my route." She ran her fingers through her hair and smiled disarmingly. I didn't miss the open sensuality of it. "Well, you've had other things on your mind." I'm glad she didn't know that I had also had a lot of things on my body. A lot of warm, sweaty, frantic things. "Phoebe ... you've said you wanted to get to know the real me, and that we've evolved ... but do you mean you don't want ... that you want our relationship to be platonic?" A sly smile spread over her lips. "I don't know. Do you think we can go back to that, now?" I conjured an image of all the nights in the back seat of the Falcon and sighed dramatically. "I guess not." Phoebe moved closer to me and touched my left hand. "How's your battle wound?" She was trying to avoid touching the sore part on my right arm, but she didn't realize that my hand was sore, too, and I was not about to impart the information. "It hurts." "So you've lost the use of your right arm, huh?" She leaned over and kissed my neck, brushing her lips ever-so-slightly against the sensitive skin there. "Have I told you how adorable you are in the light of day?" She murmured in my ear. My heart thumped wildly in my chest. "What do you have in mind?" Phoebe reached for the top button of my Levi's, but her movements were stilled simultaneously by my hand and the harsh ring of the phone. "Oh," Phoebe teased, putting a palm to her cheek and feigning distress. "The phone is ringing -- " My head fell back against the sofa in frustration, as Phoebe sprawled shamelessly across my lap to answer it. "Hello? ... Who are you with? ... No, I don't think I'd be interested ... No, I'm sorry, I..."

I recognized her responses and knew there was some telemarketer giving a spiel about something that Phoebe just had to write a check for. As the one-sided conversation continued, I looked down at the lovely backside in my lap, covered only by the short terry robe. Smirking, I laid my hand on the back of the woman's thigh and moved it slowly upward. I stopped when Phoebe twisted to give me a half-hearted warning glance. The conversation continued, and my hand began to travel upward again, caressing the soft mound of her buttocks. Phoebe's tone became strained as she made a valiant effort to hide the sensations I was evoking in her. "I give to charity regularly--" she was saying. "I appreciate your call, but I was about to have sex." She terminated the conversation quickly and turned over, pressing her lips to mine in a kiss of acceptance. "I hate telemarketers," she informed me. "Now, where were we?"

Chapter 8

My eyes snapped open abruptly, and I was immediately aware of Phoebe's body next to me on the sofa. I checked my watch. "Phoebe, wake up. We have to go do my route." The woman stirred, her hand travelling sleepily up my arm to smooth my cheek. "What time is it?" "Midnight." Phoebe opened her eyes and peered up at me. "We must have overdone it a bit. I was hoping we could get up and go sleep in an actual bed this time." "I think we're working our way to the bedroom." I recalled the scene hours before of Phoebe sitting on the sofa, her head tossed against the back cushions in ecstasy as I explored her now-familiar secrets with practiced ease. I remembered the way Phoebe had hauled me back up to the couch and tried to undress me. I had only allowed her access to my torso, soon distracting the woman with my searching hands, until I once again had control over the lovemaking. Phoebe had openly accepted my ability to take her through a series of climaxes, until she collapsed atop me and drifted into a gratified slumber. Phoebe pushed herself up and moved toward the stairs, naked, as I enjoyed the view. _God, what a woman!_ As Phoebe's flawless, lithe figure disappeared around the corner, I wondered how long I would be able to distract her from that growing need to have me unclothed and vulnerable. The thought was arousing, but tempered with an old apprehension. _Phoebe would be the first to have me that way since...

I cleansed the memory from my mind with a deep breath and began to search for my Reeboks.

I heaved the last bundle of newspapers onto a blanket covering the hood of the cranberry-colored Cadillac, lamenting the weakness of my left arm, and the uselessness of my right. "Okay. Now the fun begins. We get to roll all these puppies." Phoebe shook her head. "I never realized what paper delivery entailed. My only frame of reference was the mysterious car that pulled into my drive in the middle of the night and tossed a nicely bound paper on the ground." I dug a penknife out of my pocket and began cutting the strings on each bundle. "Oh, I wouldn't say that's your only frame of reference, Phoeb'." I bobbed my eyebrows meaningfully. Phoebe released a breath that ended with an amused sound as she breathed back in. "Well, okay, I mean before I started to rendezvous with you every night." I showed her how to fold and band each paper, and left her to it as I went to fill the thermos inside the Shell travel mart where my papers were dropped off each night. Forty-five minutes later, the rolled papers were loaded into the back seat with several in the front seat between us, and with another thermos refill, we were on our way to Nichols Hills. * * * * The weather report promised calm winds, but the temperature was expected to drop below forty degrees. Phoebe turned off the radio and began to pour us both some pre-creamed coffee. "How long does it take to do this route?" I took the Styrofoam cup from her. "It depends on two whethers: whether the weather is bad or not, and whether your throwing arm is in sync." "Uh oh. We're going to be here all night. I've never thrown a paper in my life." Phoebe sipped the creamy coffee, careful not to spill it as I turned into Nichols Hills. "You've played softball before, haven't you?" "When I was about twenty-five -- what was that? About ten years ago? God. Anyway, I played on a city league." Mmmm. That's another sport we have in common. "Well, it's pretty much the same. You just have to keep your eye on the target. Okay, put that coffee in the holder. You have a throw coming up." Phoebe obeyed, picking up the paper and waiting. I cleared my throat curtly. "Uh, Phoeb', you have to roll the window down -- " Phoebe huffed at her own shortsightedness, pulling back on the button that lowered the glass and grunting at the cold blast of air that struck her in the face. "Jesus, that's cold," her voice strained. "See that driveway on the right up there? The one with the horse on the mailbox?" "Yeah." "Put that paper in it." "In the mailbox?" I snorted. "In the driveway!" "Aren't you -- " "Throw it! Throw it!" I shouted. Phoebe flung it out the window and turned to watch it land in the ditch, as I braked to a stop. "There's this wonderful thing called timing, Phoeb'." "Well, for Pete's sake, you were going too fast." I laughed. "If I slowed down, we'd be at this all night. I was only doing forty-five." "Forty-five! Good grief, how do you expect me to hit that tiny little driveway at that speed?" I put the Caddy in reverse and backed to the driveway. "Can you hit it, now?" I asked smartly. Phoebe whacked my shoulder with the paper on her back swing before tossing it on the pavement. "You need a spanking." "It will have to wait until dawn when we're through," I retorted. * * * * By four that morning, Phoebe had thrown enough papers so that she could hit the last few driveways while I drove by at forty miles per hour. "How's that, smarty-pants?" "Pretty good. All it takes is practice." "Can I roll up the window now?" She reached over and pressed her cold hand on my cheek. "Yes! Yes! Put some glass in that hole! Your hands are ice-cold!" "Tell me about it," Phoebe agreed, pushing the button that whirred the glass up, and turning up the heater. I pulled onto Interstate 35 to complete the circle back to the beginning of the route at Leatherwood Landing. After a few moments of holding her hands over the heater vent, I eased off the ramp and onto Rockwell Boulevard, and Phoebe slithered over next to me and began to plant kisses on my neck. The Caddy drifted momentarily toward the shoulder of the road, before I steered back into the lane. "Phoebe -- " I protested. "Phoebe, I'm trying to drive here -- " Phoebe glided a hand over my breast and down one thigh, still kissing my neck. "I can't ... Phoebe, I can't drive when you do that." I tried not to let my eyes drift closed with the pleasure I was experiencing. Phoebe leaned away from me. "Then pull over." I glanced at her suspiciously. "You're not thinking what I think you're thinking -- " "Guess," she challenged. "We've done it in your car a bunch of times. My car is getting jealous." "But Phoebe, what about the 'fine, Corinthian leather'?" I said in my best Fernando Lamas voice. "It's Scotch-guarded." I checked for traffic in the rearview mirror and noted our location, as Phoebe continued to touch me solicitously. "Phoebe, we're almost to your house. Can't you wait?" In answer, she reached over and turned off the ignition, pulling the keys out and tossing them over the back seat. My foot went immediately to the brake, my arm tensing to control the loss of power steering. "What the hell -- " I guided the vehicle to the roadside carefully, the Caddy easing to a stop as Phoebe leaned across my lap and began to kiss me urgently. I tried to object again, but knew that my resistance was fading fast. Phoebe pushed and pulled until my head was flat on the seat by the steering wheel, and grated her body up the length of mine as if I was a slicer -- Phoebe, a hunk of pepper cheese. Phoebe lay still when we were face to face. "Lady, you are an absolute maniac." Phoebe chuckled in the same manner she had the night I first made love to her. "Maniacs need love, too." She dropped a hand over my shoulder to the electric buttons on the side of the seat. Amid a whirring sound, we crept away from the steering wheel. Phoebe shifted to the side by the steering wheel, then, and stroked my thigh, her left hand sliding easily upward. I tried to stop her, but she grabbed my wrist and pinned my left arm firmly over the drop at the front of the seat. Her palm cupped the mound between my thighs, pressing and rubbing through my jeans. A potent charge surged upward in my chest, the shock of it inciting a quickening in my heart. The onslaught of response was startling to me, and I tried to wriggle free, but could not escape the hold Phoebe had on me. I had not felt such a purely electrical Eros since I came out to my best friend at sixteen, and wound up under a sleeping bag with her in a tree-house. Phoebe continued to massage me there, intimately, deliberately, until I had to toss my head back to open an airway. She released my wrist and opened several buttons on my shirt, slipping her right hand inside and covering my breast with a surprisingly warm hand, her arm successfully constraining across my torso. She moved her palm in circles over the nipple as her other hand continued to stimulate me below. Swiftly, a great torrent of searing heat gushed through my veins in a thousand different directions, and I was held steadfastly in a fist that soon liquefied and billowed in and out of me. The sensation seemed eternal, and I could only allow it to continue, mindless and weak. I felt like the ocean; like an legion of tentacles were filling my bones, writhing, pulsing. Then, as swiftly as the feeling had filled me, it ebbed away, leaving me limp and throbbing. Phoebe placed a hand at my jaw and stared at my face. "J-Bo?" I opened my eyes dizzily, then closed them again, a huge tear emerging from the corner of my eye and falling, mingling with the small beads of sweat at my temple; she pressed her palm there. "Oh, baby ... are you okay?" I sighed wearily and let my eyes focus on the lovely face that hovered over me in the dim light. My mind began to reel with questions, fearful puzzles that were foreign and frightful. "Jobeth, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." I wrapped my arms around the woman and pulled her close. I wanted to sink into Phoebe and just lie there. "You didn't -- " I swallowed. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just not used to having my walls demolished." Phoebe leaned back to regard me. "Was it so bad to let go for a few minutes?" I reached up and stroked the hair away from her face, holding it against the back of her head so that I could view the features that I had grown so fond of. "I'm afraid this is a new feeling for me, Phoebe. I've never experienced anything like that before." Headlights flashed over the roof lining as a car swept past us, but Phoebe didn't take her eyes from mine. "That was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." She touched my cheek softly. "I understand, now, why you always want to be in control. It's such a magnificent experience to bring such pleasure to another woman." I smiled lightly. "It's more than that. By being in control, I wasn't vulnerable. I could have the pleasure of giving pleasure, and not open myself up to be hurt." Phoebe leaned down against me. "Oh, baby, I'd never hurt you. You should know that by now." "I have to believe that. If I don't, I'm afraid I'd turn tail and run."

Phoebe hugged me as if she was trying to sink into me. "Don't run, Jobeth. Please don't run."

Chapter 9

When we stepped inside, Phoebe hung our coats in the foyer closet and strode across the Southwestern-style rug to the bottom of the stairs. She turned and sat on the lower steps, watching me move toward her uncertainly. "I want you to come upstairs with me, J-Bo." My eyes followed the mahogany banister up to the top landing, then back down, to the woman perched upon the step waiting for my answer. "I should go home." "Why? What's changed?" I made an incredulous face. "Everything." Phoebe leaned back, her elbows propped on a carpeted step. "The only thing that's changed is that you felt something you didn't expect to feel. Are you afraid of it?" Phoebe did not wait for the answer; I'm sure it was there in my eyes. "Jobeth, nothing ever stays the same. If someone had told me months ago, that I would meet a charming young woman who made me feel the things you do, I'd never have believed it. But here we are. I cherish the passion you've given back to me. I cherish the laughter. I cherish you most of all. You're not a distraction to me anymore. You've become ... you mean so much to me. I'll never be able to put it into words." I toyed with the bandage on my arm, it's original whiteness sullied with newsprint. This was not a situation I had rehearsed before. I was a stranger in a strange land. "For the first time in my life, I don't know what to say to a woman ... a promise was broken tonight." Phoebe sat up again. "What promise?" "The one I made to myself. The one about how I'd never let a woman tame me." The smile that seeped onto her face along with a deep breath was compassionate, serene, filled with understanding. I suddenly felt so unworthy of her. "I told you before, I don't want to tame you. I like you wild." A quick puff of air escaped my lips, a half-laugh that didn't quite make it out. "I want you to come upstairs ... and get in my bed ... so that I can make love to you." I met her eyes. This emotion could cripple me, and I knew it. "I don't know what to say -- " Her whisper came so clearly that her lips might have been beside my ear. "Say yes." I sighed, rubbing the toe of my Reebok on the rug, remembering that mad rush of pleasure Phoebe had made me feel moments ago in the front seat of the Caddy. That little voice in my head, that libido dictator, was stomping his feet and shouting at me, but his voice was fading. I swallowed and stepped forward to take her hand.

Phoebe closed the bedroom door behind us, and watched me release the Velcro of my high-top sneakers, kick them away, and stare at the bed as if it were some sort of altar and I were the sacrificial virgin. She moved up behind me and encircled me with her arms, her chin on my shoulder. "You're trembling." "I know." "Do you remember how I trembled that first night?" How could I forget? "Yes." "How did it make you feel?" I swallowed, trying to moisten my parched throat. "It made me feel like I could do anything, and it would be right." "That's how I feel right now, J-Bo. You have made love to me countless times, and yet, I've never made love to you -- not the way I want to. I know it's not meant to be that way. Especially after what happened tonight. I know there's more." I turned to face her. "There is. I just haven't been able to share it with anyone." Phoebe kissed me. "Share it with me, J-Bo." She leaned to kiss me again, and without intention, I responded. When we broke the kiss, Phoebe's hands went to the top button of my shirt, and she unfastened all the buttons until the shirt was open. I closed my eyes and swallowed, willing my tenuous knees to support me. Phoebe grasped the lapels of the shirt and lifted it off my shoulders, down my arms, and dropped it to the floor, revealing my black sports bra. Her hands came to rest on my chest, caressing their way over both shoulders. "Your body looks so strong." I took another tremulous breath and removed Phoebe's shirt in kind, to reveal a lacey white bra. Phoebe freed the buttons of my Levi's and pushed them down with her hands against the back of my legs. She was squatted below me as I stepped out of the jeans and lifted each foot so that she could remove the socks; I felt very much the child, being undressed by the mother, and the feeling was altogether warm and soothing, yet laced with a sensuality that had nothing to do with maternal things. Phoebe rocked up to her knees, resting her cheek against my stomach, her hands pressing the small of my back. Finally she stood, removing her own socks and jeans, then stepped into my embrace. We kissed, and I relished the feel of skin against skin. It was like being intimate while occupying a strange body. Phoebe turned to sit on the bed, still holding my hand. "Come on, J-Bo. Let me love you." I fell back with her in a fresh embrace, our hands exploring. We undressed one another completely, and lay naked in each other's arms. I again fell prey to the sensations that welled in me as I pressed my skin to Phoebe's. It was beyond all imagining, to give like this. Phoebe took her time trailing kisses over my neck and chest, her hands caressing me all over. My body shook until I thought I would explode. She kissed my breasts and began to move downward.

I tensed as Phoebe's lips found my tender place, and that swelling of passion I had felt earlier began to return, swirling, ebullient, engulfing. Phoebe moaned in the pleasure of her discovery and easily found a magic technique of her own.

Chapter 10

I awoke in Phoebe's waterbed completely naked and smiled as a review of the night before ran through my mind. I tried to push myself up, forgetting about my arm. "Damn!" I spat, cradling the arm and peering about the immaculate room for a sign of Phoebe. Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I noticed the pale pink envelope leaning against the hand-thrown clay lamp on the nightstand. "J-Bo" was written in script on the outside. Opening it, I read the elegant script of Phoebe's hand on the hot pink page. _Good morning, lover-baby -- how did you sleep? The hot tub is heated up just for you. Keep the arm away from the water, though. I'll change the bandage when I get back. I've gone to run errands in town. I will bring you something. Relax and enjoy._ _P.S. Last night was fabulous. I'm looking forward to an encore. Maybe I am a Lesbian, huh?_ I sighed and tossed the note on the nightstand. Last night had indeed been fabulous. I had let Phoebe get close, though I swore I'd never do that with any woman. Yet, there was a strange sense of peace nestled deep inside me. My days of always being in control of sexual matters were drawing to a close. Last night I had broken my own sacred commandment and discovered there were new worlds involved. New sensations. New opportunities -- to get hurt. I pushed the last negative thought from my mind in favor of the hot tub which bubbled in the master bath, awaiting my weary muscles. I switched on the light and took in the view. Inside and to the left was the hot tub, charcoal gray alabaster with bright pink flowers on the shelf lining the wall behind it. The sink was two seashell gray basins, the towels pink to match the flowers. The luxurious carpet was a mixture of the two colors. The room made me feel special and safe. Stepping into the tub, I sank slowly, moaning in pleasure at the feel of the hot, swirling water against my skin. I could almost feel it seeping into my muscles. I found the button to engage the jets along the inside of the tub. On the ledge of the sunken alabaster tub was a crystal pitcher of orange juice. A yellow Post-it note informed me that it was good for me and that I needed to drink it. I obliged, happily pouring myself a full glass. A full thirty minutes later, Phoebe swept into the bathroom carrying a large plastic sack full of things. She grinned and came over to the tub's edge, lighting a cigarette and having a seat. Phoebe pressed a button on the inside edge of the tub and the jets ceased. "You look so cute floating around in my tub," she cracked. "Yeah?" "Yeah." She held her cigarette still, the smoke spiraling up toward the subdued lamp in the ceiling. I noticed the large tortoise-shell spectacles perched on her nose. "I didn't know you wore glasses." "Only to drive and sometimes to read -- " She paused. "Do they look silly?" She made a quick movement to take them off, but I stilled her with an upraised hand. "Don't. I like them.

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 631