Stop, I demanded of myself, struggling for calm, lucid reason. I would, I decided, survive - somehow. I was ordinary, average, eminently inconsequential - hardly noticeable as I made my way along the sidewalks toward work. That, I decided, seemed a comforting thought.

Work in a used furniture store nestled among ancient, crumbling warehouses along a dilapidated section of State was the usual undemanding drudgery, an old metal desk and dented filing cabinets in a crevice, a computer collecting dust which they tell me hasn't worked for five years, invoices, bills, nothing particularly demanding. Mr. Arnolds, sixty, sitting in his own crevice on the other side of the store his nose buried in his own papers, hasn't by and large noticed my existence for the past several months now. Sam and Bobby Arnolds carrying furniture into and out of the store still glance leering scrutiny toward my crevice once or twice a day, will content themselves with a gawking glance toward my legs, won't bother me if their father is in the store. Dorey Carter with coffee cup in hand will wander over from the front counter every several hours, will brood over her grandchildren or various aches and pains, a distracted nod whenever she allows me a word or two. I'll almost fancy I'm back in the flower shop, the illusion dispelled in another moment.

"Slice their balls off and they'll behave," a woman of grandmotherly appearance suggests with a glance toward Sam and Bobby.

Another day, another twenty minute trudge from State back to Cedar and an apartment building which I supposed would be demolished sometime after the first of the month. I'll take the bus on occasion, though doing so is an annoying bother when it's crowded. It's difficult, particularly when there's only standing room left, to appear inconsequential and hardly noticeable on the bus. Standing at the stove in my rooms over the tea kettle, I noticed as I always did the cockroaches only from a corner of my eye, have learned just to ignore them over the past several months, still on occasion wonder that I can do so. I'd never even seen a cockroach before moving into the city and into this building three months ago.

Another few moments despairing panic, perhaps then a moment's hysterical mirth. I must before the end of the month vacate two rooms well infested with cockroaches in an apartment building in which derelicts and used syringes can be found laying along the corridors. I curled myself onto the couch with my tea, as vaguely aware as always that I had been married at twenty one years of age, had moved back in with aunt Eliza at twenty two with a bruised arm, had sighed little more than shuddering relief a year later learning that I was a widow. Twenty years, then, of nothing working at a counter in aunt Eliza's flower shop until aunt Eliza had died. I'd then discovered that the flower shop was worthless and the house was to be sold for back taxes. Everything I owned at forty two years of age easily packed into two suitcases, I'd moved into the city and found a roach infested apartment on Cedar, had after a few more weeks of lonely, ever increasing panic found a job in the furniture store - had still, however, had to live a moment of terror I could never before have imagined. Answering a knock on my door one evening several days after the first of the month, I'd asked for just another week of the building manager demanding the rent, he a young resident of a downstairs apartment, denim and a t-shirt, though he had for moments seemed genial propriety explaining that Hawlies Realty wanted the rent on the first, that today was the third and therefore wasn't the first. I'd chuckled in amused mirth for innocuous levity, supposed another genial comment or two the same - had stood in awakening fright for conspiratorial geniality settling into his features. A hand to the doorknob, a young man fifteen years my junior informed me that Hawlies Realty and the rent needn't be a problem at all. I'd stood finally in speechless, confused panic, I forty two years of age, eminently average and unnoticeable - and yet a man suddenly staring blatant, inspecting scrutiny.

"Know what I mean, Andrea? A fine lookin' woman like you don't need to pay no rent -"

"That's - that's all right," I'd finally tried. "I'll find the rent -" a demeanor of stern propriety, a demanding glance toward his hand on the doorknob - the thing just new terror I couldn't have imagined living and working in a flower shop in the suburbs.

"Andrea -" nothing but the same conspiratorial mirth, a step closer, "fuck Hawlies and the rent. What they don't know won't hurt 'em. And you're one sexy lookin' woman, Andrea - all alone here -" and it's culminating, reeling terror, the same confused words crashing into every corner of my mind. I'm forty two years old, eminently average, inconsequential - and it's an unfeigned, blatant brush of his eyes the length of my body. "Whad'ya say, Andrea -? Let's you and me get naked together - fuck each other's brains out -?"

I'll never really know how long I might have just stood there backed onto my door in numb, helpless panic had not a resident of an apartment a few doors further down the corridor suddenly stepped from the stairwell. A young woman in her twenties her attire suggestive to every blatant extreme stepped toward the building manager in an angry rage, a loud, vehement dispute ensuing over that which I eventually suspected was a considerable amount of cocaine. I stood even in the midst of my terror listening with morbid fascination to an expletive which I'd heard often enough in the past though never before with such bizare and constant repetition, stood then in ever increasing horror that I was involved in the dispute. "I fuckin' want my fuckin' dope," the young woman demanded of the building manager. "You fuckin' gonna gimme my fuckin' dope or I'm gonna tell fuckin' Hawlies you're fuckin' this little white bitch for the rent and I know ten other fuckin' bitches in this dump you fucked for the rent -"

I'd stood a final few moments in terrified paralysis the disputants now holding knives in their hands, the dispute loud, cursing anger, one or the other advancing, threatening gestures the length of the corridor - until the whole thing just disappeared through a door into one of the stairwells. I'd stood at my own door another moment in numb, trembling paralysis, gazed in dazed confusion up and down an eerily silent corridor and a dozen closed doors. I'd finally fallen onto my own door, pushed it closed, somehow managed the locks - had just collapsed beside my door curling myself into my own arms, waiting for my next breath.

"Oh God -" I'd whispered. How at my age had I ended up all alone in a place like this?

Three more months of trembling fright, moments of calming drudgery buried in my secluded crevice in the furniture store. I'd mentioned a terrifying scene in my building's corridors to Dorey Carter, she sighing distracted annoyance over her coffee, sighing annoyance for a twelve year old grandson who a few hours after his release from "juvie" had been arrested for armed robbery on Cedar Street a block or two from my apartment building.

"Carry this walkin' home on Cedar an' they won't mess with ya. That's what I do," Dorey suggested, holding a box cutter in her hand.

I curled myself onto the couch in my apartment said couch the home of that which seemed to be a sizable family of mice. After three months it's nothing more than a quiet scream escaping my throat whenever I must curl my legs away from mice demanding a path into and out of their home. That out of the way, I'll seek another moment's calming solace in my tea.

"Help me -" I whispered for another stab of trembling, lonely pain, raised my eyes toward the ceiling, found another moment's bizare, amused solace contemplating a roach making its way across the ceiling. Finishing my tea, pushing myself from the couch toward the bedroom, I decided again on stoic fortitude, found another moment's amused mirth as I glanced toward the bedroom window. How, I asked myself, could I possibly feel the least remorse over loosing a home the city had declared unhabitable and a public nuisance? A young woman who resided a few doors from my own now stood on the pavement below my window her voice raised in drunken hilarity. "No one fucks this whore," she declared. It's riotous laughter on the pavement below. It will never fail to amaze me that I could chuckle myself. It's as quickly, however, some new and culminating fright, I as aware as anyone in the building that a resident manager had been found a few days ago in the bushes behind the building with his head caved in, a lead pipe laying at his side. I'd stood again at my door in trembling terror as a policeman asked if I'd seen anything in the bushes behind the building. I'd nodded a no, had drawn a breath not quite certain what else I was going to say - and a policeman scribbling a letter or two in his notebook, moving without a word to the next door, a lethargic sigh as he pounded on it with his nightstick.

I stood at my bedroom's window another moment, wondered if life would ever again seem anything but a nightmare. I'd stood at a flower shop's counter for twenty years supposing life in a bedroom community a few miles from the city endurable, aunt Eliza usually so. My life had been such as bingo with aunt Eliza at Saint Mark's on Thursday nights, perhaps a moment's vain amusement discovering that my legs still drew the scrutinizing attention of men sitting at nearby tables. Requesting aunt Eliza's permission every several weeks to take the bus downtown, feeling a moment's annoyance that I at forty two years of age wouldn't have dared not obtain her grudging permission, I'd gazed wondering fright toward city streets and a world entirely alien to me. I'd known as anyone might why young women stood on corners their attire anything from theatrical to ludicrous. I'd trembled even on downtown streets as I wandered an idle hour or two from shop to shop. Returning home after one such afternoon's adventure, I'd stood in that which I suppose had been helpless, childish confusion as aunt Eliza's body was carried from the flower shop into the ambulance and driven away. Another few weeks had seemed a instant's blur of lonely fright, moments of terrified panic - until I'd stood in despondent though accepting resignation staring at two suitcases containing everything I owned.

"Please - help me, God -" I'd whispered.

I'd made my way into the city deciding that I had, of course, to become a waitress. I'd found myself standing in a small room in the back of a restaurant an obese man sitting behind the desk smoking a cigar.

"Turn around - all the way -" he'd demanded.

It will never fail to amaze me that I hadn't that day more than a vague idea as to why I had been asked to do so. I'd glanced toward my dress as I turned to see what might have been out of order, might in a not quite dared corner of my mind have suspected it leering blatancy in his features. I'd been entirely unprepared, however, for a shrug and matter of fact complacency in his voice.

"No experience, but you got one gorgeous little ass. I might have something. Check back."

I'd fled, stood on the sidewalk catching my breath - might even have felt a moment's sighing, settling amusement. Even if I was as ludicrously naive a creature as any who had ever lived, it hadn't been anything I might not have anticipated, might even have been a moment's vain little amusement. I, for the past twenty years standing next to a mirror even in the flower shop, had sometimes glanced over my shoulder just to be certain that a form fitting dress revealed my form a bit more explicitly than my aunt considered proper. Both my facial features and my form, I'd decided as always, were ordinary and average - perhaps just a lingering edge of something in them which might have been called girlish. And still, I couldn't at forty two years of age have imagined standing a second time in front of a perfect stranger who with a scrutinizing glance had stripped the clothing from my body entirely, he blatantly staring at and as blatantly commenting on "my ass." I decided I must seek employment elsewhere.

Receiving shrugging "check backs" in several more restaurants, discovering in several more instances that feminist idealism hadn't had any noticeable impact in the circles of society in which I must now live and work, I'd stood finally in another back room a younger man wearing pleasant geniality in his features even if his scrutiny and his comments regarding my appearance were familiarity toward which I would, I decided, just have to accustom myself. It might even have been an intriguing little adventure. I was forty two, my features not unattractive though most certainly revealing my years, I for most of the past twenty years standing at the counter in a flower shop as vaguely aware as customers walking into the shop that my form wasn't unattractive. And I stood in a sudden moment in that which I can only call girlish fright as the owner of a restaurant catering to an affluent clientele informed me that I was a very attractive woman. Some of his customers, he informed me with conspiratorial geniality settling into his features, were of a sort who would like to see more of me, "know what I mean, my dear?" It had by then been a half moment's uncomprehending confusion - and had as quickly been trembling fright for another scrutinizing glance. I'd urged myself toward lucid, reasoning calm. I told myself as he stood at my shoulder tearing the clothing from my body with another scrutinizing glance that it wasn't anything I hadn't by then anticipated. I'd been quite aware that I, even if forty two years of age, must dance entirely naked for a man in a back room of a restaurant in order to obtain a job as a waitress. "Yes - I suppose I know what you mean -" I'd tried, perhaps even a sighing chuckle, perhaps even a sultry little change of posture as I let him strip a bit more of my clothing away - and I'd stood in culminating, paralyzed fright for something I couldn't have anticipated, something again for which I was entirely unprepared.

"Andrea -?" he yet again standing behind me, a hand lain to my waist, a hand to my shoulder in toying caress, "you gotta be the sexiest little thing walked back here in ages. I wanna see more of you, Andrea - a whole lot more -" a fondling hand at my waist slid lower, a hand brushed across my shoulder to the straps of my dress.

I'd fled in terror - stood on the pavement in a despairing panic not quite like any I had ever before known. I'd brushed tears from my cheeks - had debated flinging myself toward a policeman another moment. That, I suppose, was a moment of hysterical though settling mirth. I'd just arrived in the city looking for a job and a man with a suggestive little comment had placed his hand on my shoulder. N.O.W. might be furious about it. I very much doubted that a policeman standing a few paces away trading idle banter with a pair of prostitutes would evidence any great concern.

"Oh God -" I'd whispered as I stood in lonely, despairing pain seeming brutal and culminating. How at forty two years of age could I end up on a city sidewalk a helpless innocent without marketable job skills owning little more than the clothing I wore.

"Oh God - help me -" I whispered.

And I'd stood again in frightened confusion for a policeman idling in my direction - blatant, leering eyes run the length of my body.

"I'd work another corner if I were you, toots," a policemen chuckling amused mirth, nodding toward a pair of prostitutes who were glaring in anger toward me. I might in some vague corner of my mind have realized even at the moment that my posture as I loitered next to a lamppost could have been taken for something other than it was. The women who stood a few paces away glaring, I'd finally realized, toward a competitor, appeared to be in their late thirties, and neither of them could be described as a "sexy little thing with a gorgeous little ass." I'd stood for one more timeless moment in the back of a restaurant a man who was probably thirty running a caressing hand across my shoulder to the straps of my dress - I finally daring a frantic glance over my shoulder and standing in terrified disbelief, leering scrutiny in the eyes of a man ten or fifteen years my junior who stood behind me in obvious aroused want.

I opened my eyes - two women now standing on the sidewalk a pace or two away from me gazing leering scrutiny.

"Whore - you wanna get cut -?" one of the women standing hand on hips the knife in plain sight.

I'd found a park bench, had allowed myself a few more minutes - had struggled to hide the choking pain and anguish thrusting its way into my throat. I'm not quite certain why I bothered with the struggle. I imagined myself for a few more minutes, I suppose, in the pages of a Victorian novel, perhaps Dickens or Bronte, someone sooner or later to come to my rescue - and I as quickly aware that passersby in a city park, if they noticed me at all, weren't paying a great deal of attention to my emotional state of mind.

I'll never quite know why I'd wandered up State that day, noticed a help wanted sign in the window of a used furniture store, a grandmother at the counter proffering a distracted nod toward an elderly man sitting at a decrepit, cluttered desk in a crevice. "Fill this out," a clipboard shoved across the desk - a moment's curious wonder in Mr. Arnolds features as he glanced toward my completed application.

"Andrea Auldley - you can spell, it seems," another glance toward me. "Can you keep your clothes on?"

"Yes -?" I tried, and sat in confusion wondering why the application process in a used furniture store was the reverse of that which it was in a restaurant.

Dorey Carter, as she settled me into my own crevice, explained that its last several occupants were all but illiterate girls who tore their clothes off at a glance from Sam or Bobby Arnolds. Sam and Bobby, who I could readily admit were both exceptionally handsome young men about ten years my junior, began by glancing curiosity toward me. I leaning toward a shelf for an invoice or something of the sort, I'd finally suspected that two young men ten years my junior gawked, as soon as my back was turned, all of the blatant, gawking scrutiny which seemed requisite of an inhabitant of an urban environment. I might by then even have sighed amused, accepting resignation, I landed in said urban environment and suddenly discovering that I must inhabit it as "the sexiest little thing" a great many of it's other inhabitants had seen in ages. Sam and Bobby Arnolds were soon leaning at my desk with unabashed mischief in their features expressing their opinion regarding my appearance in a manner to which I supposed again I would just have to become accustomed.

"Andrea - do you know you got a real cute -"

"Yes - of course - I'm busy -" a scolding glare gaining me a moment's respite from comments they genuinely considered little more than mischievous flattery, I sometimes sitting in amused amaze for social conventions markedly different than they'd been in a flower shop.

"Let me help you, Andrea -" Sam Arnolds seeming particularly enamored of my appearance, he with genial amusement in his voice if Mr. Arnolds wasn't in the store persistent in his attentions.

"Sam - I can manage -" I barked as leaning for invoices on a shelf I pulled an assisting arm from my waist, clawed a groping hand from that which I was finally terming, as readily as anyone might, my ass.

It will never fail to amaze me that I could in another few weeks turn with little more than sighing annoyance in my voice toward a young man who followed me into a store room at the back of the shop.

"Behave, Sam," I barked, "or I swear -" I holding a box cutter in my hand, a succinct and to the point gesture with it, Sam just chuckling in amused mirth for the implied consequences of misbehavior on his part - he as he helped me lift heavy boxes from shelves behaving for a minute or two.

"Damn it, Sam -" I barked again, disentangling myself from assisting arms and groping hands, he for an angry, threatening gesture with the box cutter chuckling in riotous mirth, flinging himself back to the shelves and the next box.

"But Andrea - it's just - natural. A man's gotta look -"

"Then look - but don't touch -" I could sigh in annoyed mirth - and a minute or two later could lead Sam toward another shelf in a corner of the room knowing that I was entirely naked as I did so, a handsome young man walking a pace or two behind me allowing himself, I supposed, all manner of liscivious imagining.

Oh Lord, stop - I demanded of myself as I reached up for the first box, admitting perhaps in corners of my mind that an adorably handsome young man's stolen caresses over the past few weeks had been something other than just an annoyance for me.

"Sam -" I groaned a minute later for a touch of his hand to mine, edged scolding eyes to his - the thing yet again something for which I just wasn't prepared.

"Andrea - come on - why not -?" blatant, unfeigned pleading rather than just the usual mischief in his voice. "Andrea - we've known each almost a month now -"

"Three weeks, Sam -"

"But Andrea - you're the sweetest, sexiest woman I ever set eyes on. Andrea - I wanna - I never wanted to so badly before -"

I stared a timeless moment in confused amaze toward a handsome young man with unfeigned pleading in his eyes, a hand slid about my own in urging caress - and it might almost have been some bizare, reeling mirth for me. Married at twenty years of age, I was quite familiar with the mechanics of the thing - and sex for me twenty years ago anything from duty to tormenting pain. I edged my eyes again toward his hand now wrapped to mine in pleading caress, and it was yet again in our corner of dark, secluded storeroom something for which I just wasn't prepared. I'd barked annoyance for his groping caresses for weeks now - and had sighed frustrated annoyance with myself finally suspecting that a handsome young man was stirring in me a pleasant little warmth I had never before known with anything close to the same intensity. I had, any number of evenings for the past few weeks, rested by myself in my rooms on Cedar wondering if a touch which twenty years ago had been anything from boring to painful might be something else - and had lain on my bed one evening gasping in everything from amused mirth to startled, wondering amaze, I forty two years of age, and discovering a month after I'd moved into the city what physical pleasure was, discovering what the ultimate pleasure was - discovering that I enjoyed it as much as anyone might. I'd sighed in another week anything from girlish frustration to amused resignation, might have tried to resist it all for a few more moments - and wondered as I just gave up if I was as sexually ravenous a creature as any who had ever existed.

"Andrea -" and I edged my eyes again to a pleading hand wrapped to my own, edged my eyes again to those of a maddening and adorably handsome young man who had backed me into a corner of a dark, secluded storeroom. "Andrea -" a handsome young man pled without the least pretense, "why not? I wanted to the first time I saw you -"

I struggled for lucid reason - and it might again have been some bizare, confused mirth. I was forty two years old - and hadn't a month ago had the least idea what genuine sexual warmth was. And I stood again backed into a dark, secluded corner of our storeroom trembling in fright for a handsome young man now holding pleading hands to my waist, wanting desparation in his eyes - and the want of my own body something which I couldn't before the moment have imagined, that which I suddenly knew was an aroused sexual want to every finished extreme, a want of my body for his become nothing less than a flooding, pounding ache desparate for relief.

"Andrea - why not - I want to -" pleading, caressing hands wrapped onto my waist.

"Sam - no -" my voice a frantic whisper - and that just another half moment's bizare reeling mirth. A slash with the box cutters in the environment in which I now lived meant "no." A whispered, hesitant "no" in a dark, secluded corner of a storeroom - and it's wild, frenzied delight in Sam's eyes, a handsome young man in a used furniture store interpreting a whispered, hesitant "no" as coy, teasing encouragement he genuinely hadn't anticipated.

"Andrea -" a gasp of frenzied delight, an arm around my waist, a caressing hand flung to my shoulder. "Andrea - come on - let's -"

"Sam -" I gasped again, frantically searching for a more vehement and insisting "no" as I flung my eyes to a pleading arm drawn about my waist, a hand slid to a touch of caressing, fondling intimacy, a hand brushed across my shoulder to the straps of my dress. "Sam -" I gasped, flinging my eyes another half moment toward my body wrapped onto his, flinging my eyes back to those of a handsome young man shuddering in obvious aroused want for me. "Sam -" I gasped - fuck me - hurry.

And with that, I finally demanded a half moment's awakening, reasoning pause of myself. A cry of - fuck me, hurry, I decided, might not be interpreted as a particularly vehement and insisting no.

"Sam -" I finally snapped, another half moment's search for lucid reason providing all manner of logical answers. "For God's sake, Sam - you're married with three children. And what would your father say - Sam - let me go -?"

"But Andrea -" and it was, even as he allowed me a half inch, something I could never quite have imagined. A handsome young man holding me in his arms did so in a want which was obvious and finished - and it seemed a want of my own body which was aching desparation, a throbbing, pounding need of my body for his. "Andrea -" Sam searching frantically for another persuasive argument, a gasped plea when he decided he had one. "Andrea - I wanna -"

It was everything from bizare, reeling mirth to some lonely, despondent resignation. I'll never quite know why my voice was little more than a whispering sigh when I finally answered.

"All right, Sam -"

It's culminating, burning delight in his eyes, perhaps a final half instant's wondering intrigue for me. I'd never quite dared believe, even after a gawking city had torn the clothing from my body, that anyone would really see me as anything more than average.

And it was all in another half instant yet again something I couldn't have anticipated at forty two years of age, a handsome young man holding me in his arms his eyes ablaze with a wild, frenzied abandon for my sigh of assent, a trembling arm wrenched about my waist, a shuddering hand wrapped onto my shoulder. I'll never entirely remember the next half moment or two, will never doubt that my maddening young man finally saw raw, burning want in my own eyes, felt a clawing hand atop his, his hand thrust from my waist to fondling caresses I now wanted without the least pretense. It's yet again the primal, ultimate intimacy, an exquisitely beautiful young man very obviously seeing me as attractive, his desire for me arousing in me wants of a ferocity I could never have imagined possible.

And the thing in that same half instant was yet again something I couldn't have imagined at my age, a maddening young man gasping in frenzied want for me, another timeless moment's frantic caresses, a furious hand flung to my shoulder and to the straps of my dress. I with a frantic caress of my body to his made it eminently obvious that I now wanted the ultimate intimacy as desperately as he did - and it eminently obvious in another half moment that I wasn't going to get it, my poor Sam's features in that half moment that which I can only call sheepish, boyish embarrassment, my poor Sam gasping in despairing frustration for his want which he couldn't control.

"Andrea -" my poor Sam flinging his eyes downward a final half moment, edging sheepish eyes back to my own. "Andrea - I'm - I'm sorry -" he tried.

"That's - that's all right, Sam -"

It was, as I stepped from his arms as gently as I could, a bizarre mix of shuddering relief and annoyed disappointment.

"Anyway, I said behave, Sam -" the box cutter again in my hand as I got back to work, perhaps an edge of merciless teasing in my eyes for lingering, boyish reserve in Sam's as he stole from the room. It was perhaps a final moment or two of wondering intrigue for me. I was ordinary, average, might just a few months ago have thought it ludicrous that anyone gazing toward me might feel anything like genuine desire - and a young man ten years my junior very obviously feeling a great deal of desire for me, desire which after just a caress of my body to his hadn't even been controllable.

Another two months, I sitting at my desk in my crevice pretending engrossed interest in an invoice - Sam or Bobby Arnolds after a few more minute's teasing or pleading finally giving up for the day, retreating with a frustrated sigh and I sometimes sitting in my secluded little crevice wondering again for circumstances I couldn't have imagined in the flower shop. A handsome young man had just spent ten minutes pleading some new excuse for he and I having sex with each other. "Who would know, Andrea -?" and I chuckling, sighing - the thing nothing more than a daily bother for me - perhaps another moment or two of amused intrigue. Two handsome young men as often as not were standing in some other corner of the store fighting over me, words and gestures sometimes so loud and obvious that Mr. Arnolds raised his eyes from his desk and his papers. A half moment's glance toward me, it seemed, was enough, Mr. Arnolds burying his nose back into his paperwork when I sitting fully clothed in my own crevice appeared clerically engrossed in my own papers.

I might have allowed myself another moment's idle imagining - and sometimes sat again in my secluded little crevice sighing in frustration for a moment's fanciful imagining become consumating to every abandoned extreme. I'd allowed Sam the usual stolen caress or two in the storeroom just a few minutes ago, gestures with the box cutter become little more than a part of the flirting little dance in which we engaged two or three times a week. And I'd wondered even as we danced together in our dark, secluded storeroom if this would be the time he slammed me into his arms, ripped every last shred of clothing from my body, he and I gasping together knowing it was the same maddening, agonizing want for both of us. It's a desparate ache of my body for his, an ache that his body be one with mine in the finished touch of intimacy - and a moment in our secluded storeroom yet again something I couldn't have imagined just a month or two ago. A thirty year old man is sweet, boyish charm, he perhaps seventeen now, he for my sighing "behave" by and large doing so and I perhaps in a not quite dared corner of my mind admitting his doing so increasingly frustrating. My excruciatingly beautiful and boyish Sam hadn't, I supposed, the least idea that one more stolen caress on his part might be enough. He hasn't the least idea that I'm leaning over a box in a corner of the storeroom waiting for him, my posture merciless teasing - my imagining every bit as liscivious as that of a maddening young man who after yet another frantic glance has lunged, has torn my dress to my waist, his arms crushing violence about my waist as he pounds me with all of the abandoned fury I wanted.

My fantasizing in my corner of the storeroom wasn't a great deal less than the novels I had found in a cupboard in my rooms on Cedar. I in a moment of wicked, lascivious abandon had finally given up, had lain Dickens and Bronte aside for a wicked page or two of Wet And Waiting - my imagining in my corner of the storeroom a timeless moment's blatant and bawdy prose to every abandoned extreme. Fuck me, she cries out, fuck me hard - his throbbing manhood - thrusting in and out - her warm, moist depths ready for him - aching for him -

Oh God - stop, I might demand of myself, might even deny that my leaning over a box in a corner of the storeroom was anything more than a matter of necessity - and the thing yet again something I could never have imagined.

"Andrea - lemme help you -" Sam finally gasping, lunging indeed - and all I got from my maddening young man was his help with the box, he as he helped me lift the box onto the shelf perhaps stealing an "inadvertent" caress or two. "Sam - behave," I sighed, the usual groaning annoyance - and it's the same boyish mischief in his eyes, he by and large behaving for very genuine annoyance in my eyes - I perhaps allowing myself another moment's bizare, mirthful amusement as I glared annoyance toward my agonizing youth who despite my incessant teasing was by and large behaving himself.

I might even in that moment have allowed myself another timeless little eternity's abandoning imagining - fantasizing of a sort to which I might succumb that same evening when I'd settled onto my bed in my rooms. My handsome young man helping me with my box couldn't, I supposed, have had the least suspicion that I might that same evening yet again give myself up to wants seeming insatiable - a sweet young man and I gasping together for our bodies entwined and one in the finished act of intimacy - my body yet again wracked in the throes of an exploding, agonizing pleasure I couldn't just a few months ago have imagined possible.

I sat at my desk in my secluded little crevice pleasant little fantasies yet again in bizare moments run to their consumating conclusions. Oh God - stop, I demanded of myself - perhaps a very genuine prayer. My entire life, I supposed, was something I couldn't have imagined just a few months ago. I glanced another moment toward Bobby instead of Sam Arnolds, Bobby every several weeks if certain that Sam wasn't anywhere about eagerly following me into the storeroom, Bobby unmarried, several years younger than Sam - Bobby a seventeen year old girl's every longing, sighing, excruciating dream. Behave, I might for a fleeting moment demand of myself if it was Bobby edging devouring eyes toward the corner of the storeroom in which I danced merciless, blatant teasing - Bobby sweet, boyish charm flinging himself forward only when I dancing all manner of exotic writhing over my box had managed to work the hemline of a form fitting dress a ridiculous distance above my knees. It was, as Bobby helped with my box, anything from amused mirth to sighing despair - all my exotic dancing getting me nothing more than a timid caress or two. Behave, the same word shooting into every corner of my mind as Bobby helped me edge the box into place on its shelf, my entrancing, agonizing youth standing at my shoulder - flinging frantic arms about my waist only when I stumbling decided that I might as well stumble into arms flung with frantic fury about my waist.

It had finally, I suppose, been all of the dizzying, reeling bliss I had known it would be, my sweet Bobby hesitating another timeless moment as he stood supporting arms to my waist - and his lovemaking as he slammed my body onto his own an adolescent frenzy of wild, frantic kisses and caresses, his mouth buried onto my own in hungry, devouring want, his hands run up and down my body in wild, searching abandon - he my sweet youth who had sometimes passed ten or fifteen minutes at my desk, I pretending sighing annoyance as he with shy mischief in his features informed me that I was "the cutest little thing" he'd ever seen. I'd sighed again, informed him that I was at least ten years his senior, pretended engrossed interest in an invoice - Bobby after a glance about the store in order to make certain that his older brother or his father were nowhere in sight deciding on that which he thought culminating mischief. "You are, Andrea - you're the cutest woman ever worked here. And you got the cutest you know what of any girl worked her yet. Andrea - why not you an' me after work -"

Resisting that which I supposed a juvenile urge to rip my dress away for my agonizing youth, informing Bobby with another amused sigh that there were plenty of girls his own age with "cute you know whats," I might decide that the perfect moment to lean for invoices or something of the sort on a shelf behind my desk, Bobby Arnolds finally daring the word "ass," I with a sighing glance over my shoulder demanding that he behave - I perhaps for another fleeting moment or two tearing every last shred of clothing from my body for a maddening youth sitting next to my desk gawking in a transfixed stupor.

And still, I'd never quite dared believe that the younger of the Arnolds brothers might deport himself with anything other than timid mischief in the storeroom at the back of the shop, hadn't even after an "inadvertent" stumble into his arms dared hope for more than another moment's pleasant mischief - and I stood again in dizzying, falling abandon for my sweet, maddening youth devouring me with wild, unrestrained kisses and caresses.

"Bobby - stop it - let me go-" I finally gasped, frantic hands flung to his chest - and he to my swooning delight finally suspecting that it was raw, frenzied want ablaze in my own eyes.

"But Andrea -" pleading arms still crushed about my waist, Bobby deciding on his usual argument, "why not? Who would know? Andrea - I want to -"

"Bobby -" I tried as I stood in the arms of a young man who I could only call boyish beauty to every maddening, agonizing extreme, a single word shooting into every corner of my mind. "Bobby - why -?" I gasped, I forty two, eminently average - and yet my maddening, agonizing Bobby very obviously "wanting to."

"Andrea - I'm almost thirty. And why can't it be you and me? Why should it be Sam? He's married, got three kids already. Andrea - I got a place - we could move in together. I wanted to ever since I first saw you. You're the only woman I ever wanted like this, Andrea -"

"Bobby -" I whispered in disbelieving amaze, "what about Laurie, Alice - how many others -?" perhaps an edge of accusing mischief in my features.

"Andrea - they're just girls - nothing like you. I haven't stopped thinking about you from that first day you walked into the store -"

I'll never quite remember covering his hand with my own, urging his hand from my waist to caresses of fondling intimacy, he also in a sudden moment lowering eyes awash with startled, boyish disbelief realizing that he stood indeed his arms owning, possessing strength around my shoulders and waist - a hand yet again slid to a caress of fondling intimacy - and I rather than protesting a touch of fondling intimacy just standing in his arms writhing in shuddering, breathless abandon. It was raw, pounding sensation not quite like any I had ever before known as I fell past every edge, the thing finally to happen. I'd known for the past several months now what an imaginary lover was, had sometimes dared his features in vague corners of my mind - and it seemed a sudden moment come from nowhere, was something I'd never dared believe possible - Bobby finally holding me in his arms, my maddening, agonizing youth shuddering in raw, primal want as he ran a trembling hand again to caresses of finished, fondling intimacy. Stop, I might even then have whispered in distant, clouded corners of my mind, the thing confused, despondent despair - and my hands clawing violence urging his to the straps of my dress, my sweet youth again giving himself up to the frenzied violence of his own wants, clawing my dress onto my waist, pushing it to the floor. I stood another dizzying, timeless eternity in reeling fright as I flung my eyes again to his - and the thing yet again an incompressible oblivion of wild, falling sensation, I standing for my Bobby wearing nothing more than a bit of light, flimsy clothe knowing I must see disappointment in his eyes. And it's yet again something I couldn't quite have imagined, he with trembling hands wrapped to my waist devouring me, finally edging eyes awash with frantic pleading back to mine.

"Andrea - can I - kiss you -?"

It's a gasp of reeling mirth, the same swooning, falling abandon.

"If you want, Bobby -" I whispered.

It's a cautious touch of his lips to mine, trembling arms drawn about my waist - another timeless moment's frantic, despairing question shooting into every corner of my mind. Oh God, why on earth am I doing this, I perhaps attempting a futile moment's half hearted pause - and the thing something I can only call a girlish, giddy ecstasy for culminating, boyish abandon in my sweet Bobby's features, my body his to play with as he wished, to search and explore with his hands, my sweet Bobby gasping in shuddering delight - gasping finally in raw, primal abandon as he slammed me back into his arms, pushed the rest of the clothing from my body. Stop, I tried again as I let him devour me another few moments with wild, frenzied kisses and caresses - my hands answering, clawing fury until I was certain he had torn every last shred of clothing from his own body.

It's yet again a timeless moment's dazed, reeling pause. I stood feeling absolutely ludicrous. It was supposed to have been a teasing little dance, a stumble and a stolen caress or two - and I stood entirely naked in our dark, secluded corner of the storeroom a young man not ten but fourteen years my junior yet again wrapping trembling hands to my waist - and the thing yet again an oblivion of raw, dizzying sensation I couldn't just months ago have imagined. It's another timeless moment's ludicrous, foolish pause, I standing entirely naked, I average to every possible extreme - and I admitting in another dizzying, timeless instant that I might, glancing curious amusement toward mirrors from time to time, have seen a figure which was still girlish rather than just average. It was yet again something I had never quite dared believe I would see - that which I could only call gaping entrancement in my exquisitely beautiful youth's eyes settled with devouring abandon on "them." Gazing my moment's amusement into mirrors, the word average yet again coursing through my mind, I might for another amused moment have dared see my breasts as pretty, certainly large enough for my form, I lowering my eyes to a waist which was certainly still girlish, lowering my eyes finally to curves which were obviously feminine and yet the word "girlish" still possible - and the thing in our hidden corner of the storeroom yet again a dizzying, reeling ecstasy. I was standing entirely naked in a corner of the storeroom - and yet it was still gaping entrancement in my maddening youth's eyes.

And I stood entirely naked in our hidden corner of the storeroom my own eyes blatant, devouring abandon - every last doubt gone that he indeed found me arousing. He's agonizing, maddening beauty, I yet again admitting that it had been my sweet, boyish Bobby who had aroused in me passions I had never before known, I some evenings imagining it my Bobby fallen into the most intimate want for me, imagining as I abandoned myself to the wants of my own body that it was my agonizing, maddening Bobby joining his body to mine in the ultimate touch of intimacy.

I'd decided fantasies of the sort foolish, had never dared believe that my sweet, maddening youth could gaze anything more than a moment's innocuous mischief toward me - and he and I in a moment seeming come from nowhere standing naked in our hidden corner of the storeroom, his hands wrapped to my waist with trembling violence. It's the want of my own body become nothing less than a helpless, flooding ache desparate for relief - my sweet, exquisitely beautiful Bobby standing in finished, aroused want for me.

It might almost have been another moment's bizare reeling mirth - he standing again in startled pause for my eyes lowered in that which I suddenly realized was raw, wanton lust, my Bobby lowering his own gaze, flinging boyish eyes back to mine - my Bobby realizing that we stood indeed entirely naked in our hidden corner of the storeroom, my sweet Bobby with yet another frantic glance realizing it was indeed the finished, aroused want of his body revealed to me.

"Andrea -" he gasped as he edged boyish, disbelieving eyes to my own. "Do you - do you really wanna -?"

It might have been that same half instant's reeling mirth. I've let him push every last shred of clothing my body, have let him wrap frantic, owning hands onto my waist - my breath a wanting frenzy as I yet again edged merciless eyes toward that which was obviously an aching want of his body for mine.

"Bobby - yes - I really want to -" I gasped, the thing that same mix of tumultuous despair and raw, primal want, a want to helpless, pounding extremes I had never before known with quite the same ferocity, the thing seeming an agonizing need of my body for his - my sweet Bobby's hands finally crushed onto my waist without the least hint of caution or restraint.

And it was, in that same moment, a startled awakening for both of us - the front door of the furniture store slamming, Bobby flinging terrified, panicked eyes toward either his father or his older brother returning to the store.

"Bobby -" panic, I suppose, in my own voice, I standing in startled disbelief even as I gasped the words, "Bobby - come on - we can still do it -"

He never heard me, my sweet, terrified Bobby frantically snatching his clothing into his hands - I sighing that same mix of annoyed disappointment and shuddering relief as I leaned for my own clothing, sighing another moment's despondence that it was, by and large, little more than vexed annoyance I felt as Bobby and I fully clothed got back to work on our boxes.

It was one more moment of bizare, reeling mirth, Bobby flinging terrified eyes to a slamming door supposing it his father or older brother approaching the storeroom, my sweet youth touching a pleading hand to my own.

"Andrea - you won't tell, will you -?"

I sat over the next several months in my crevice of the furniture sighing an amused "no," for Sam and Bobby Arnolds’ pleading attention, perhaps edged eyes awash with the same wondering intrigue toward my sweet, boyish Bobby forever pleading that I move in with him.

"Bobby, honestly - I'm forty two years old," I stated with brutal honesty toward a young man fourteen years my junior - and usually decided that the ideal moment to lean for some document on the shelves behind my desk. My maddening, agonizing Bobby who now knew exactly what I looked like without my clothes on still hadn't tired of ripping my clothing away at every opportunity.

"Andrea - couldn't we try it - maybe for a month. I'd even sleep on the couch - then maybe sometime - if ya wanted to -"

It's been three months trudging from a furniture store on State back to my rooms on Cedar in an apartment building the steps of which could be anything from a nuisance to terrifying. My first attempt to wield my box cutter in threatening gesture against a drunken and drugged attacker had just elicited riotous laughter from the usual crowd of derelicts and unemployed youths clustered about the steps - and a young woman her attire blatant and obvious suggestion coming to my aid, that my introduction to Celia and facts of modern urban life which I couldn't just months before have imagined in my wildest, most bizare dreams. It's been three months of Sam and Bobby - and three months of Celia.

"No baby - ya gotta mean it - like this -" Celia rescuing me from my attacker, a crowd of onlookers about my building's steps laughing in riotous mirth as my box cutter in Celia's hand was wielded in vehemently threatening gesture, a young man bellowing angry curses as he fled down the street in frantic, terrified haste.

"Thank you, Celia," I chuckled some afternoons as a tall, impossibly voluptuous amazon attired in little more than a bit of clinging pretense walked with me up the steps, a possessing arm wrapped around my waist. "You all leave my 'ho' alone," Celia barked toward the crowd - and I might, an hour or two later, turn toward a window in annoyed amusement for my name barked with insisting demand.

"Andrea - come on, bitch -" Celia just bellowed again in plaintive demand if I attempted to ignore her.

Sighing, chuckling for Celia's term of endearment for me, I let her and her 'client' use my bedroom for the four or five minutes which was necessary, Celia as she left promising me that she would pay her rent and get her own rooms back - and Celia a half hour after a twenty dollar bill had made its way into her hands standing again beneath my window bellowing in insistent demand, 'a quarter' concealed somewhere in her clothing.

I'm not quite certain why I couldn't refuse her, let her spend the night on my couch, let her use the sink in my bathroom, my heart sometimes breaking as an impossibly beautiful twenty two year old girl drew the drug from a spoon into a hypodermic needle.

"Celia -" I might some evenings try.

"Oh Andrea - don't start. Here - you earned it -" Celia pushing a scrap of paper across the counter toward me, I some evenings taking a pinch or two of the drug onto my fingers - chuckling in amused mirth for the pleasant tingling.

I stood in my bedroom in my apartment on Cedar chuckling another moment in relieved, amused mirth that I would be spared Celia for at least an evening or two. She stood on the pavement below my window her voice raised in drunken hilarity, usually disappeared for a week or two into some other part of town whenever she was drinking. And even Celia, however, had on several occasions been some wondering intrigue for me which I could never have imagined prior to three months ago. Standing in my bedroom on several occasions after I had pushed the clothing from my body, Celia wandering from the couch through my bedroom's door had stood in gawking amaze.

"My God, Andrea - you could work the hotel. You'd get a hundred dollars a trick."

"Celia -" I'd chuckled in amused mirth toward a tall twenty two year old girl her dress little more than a bit of clinging pretense, Celia tall, hourglass beauty to every impossibly voluptuous extreme - and yet she gazing toward me in that which I could only call entranced, devouring wonder.

"You could, Andrea. My God, I knew you were pretty from the start, but - you gotta be the sexiest little thing I even seen."

I’d chuckled again, perhaps a moment's vain, amused intrigue, perhaps a sultry little dance for my flattering admirer - and I'd stood a moment later in reeling confusion, had stood yet again in circumstances I could never have imagined at a flower shop’s counter, had finally realized that Celia’s compliments for my appearance hadn’t been flattery in the least. I'd stood naked, had stood in my bedroom seeing another woman's eyes lowered in blatant, devouring intimacy - the thing seeming the matter of another sudden and bizare moment. It was another woman's eyes lowered in devouring scrutiny - and yet it was my body in those bizare moments fallen into as finished an aroused want as any I had ever known.

I'd stood another moment in reeling confusion, had supposed I was mistaking something - and Celia in another sudden moment pushing the clothing from her own body, stepping forward, frantic arms crushed onto my waist, a twenty two year old girl yet again expressing her opinion regarding my appearance in a manner which I couldn't prior to the moment have imagined.

"Andrea -" her voice a frenzied gasp, "come on - lemme fuck you -"

I'd flung startled, frightened eyes toward her arms drawn about my waist, a hand pressed to a caress of fondling, groping intimacy - had flung my eyes toward our bodies drawn into an embrace which couldn't have been a great deal more intimate. I'll never quite know why a single word shot into every frantic corner of my mind as I flung my eyes back to those of a young woman holding me in her arms pleading "to fuck me."

"Celia -" I'd gasped, "how -?"

It's moment's confusion in her own features, Celia then gazing amused mirth toward a naive innocent.

"There's all kinds a ways, baby - some of 'em better'n anything a man's gonna do to ya. Come on - lemme show ya -" and it's yet again dazed, startling confusion I could never have imagined - even as it was raw, dizzying warmth to extremes I could never have thought possible. It's her breasts crushed onto my own, her hands yet again thrust from my waist to caresses of fondling intimacy - I clawing startled hands onto her arms yet again flinging my eyes to that which I couldn't again deny was my body fallen into a flooding, pounding want of a ferocity I had never before known - and I yet again flinging startled, confused eyes to the body of another woman as she maneuvered me toward the bed.

"Celia -" I finally gasped, struggling for a half moment's lucid pause. "Celia - let me go. Go back to your couch -" and I'd stood even after I’d disentangled myself from her arms in another timeless moment's dazed, reeling wonder. I'd suspected any number of times over the past twenty years standing at the counter in a flower shop that it might have been a moment's inspecting scrutiny even in another woman's eyes. I couldn't before moving into the city, however, have imagined another woman's inspecting glances anything more than envy - and couldn't have imagined a twenty two year old girl standing again at my shoulder a pleading, capturing arm yet again slid around my waist.

"Andrea - come on - I'm burning up for you. And you wanna -"

"I most certainly do not, Celia -" and it's yet again something not quite comprehensible, the crush of her arms around my waist and the touch of her lips to my neck leaving me yet again immersed in raw, falling sensation like none I had ever before known.

"Andrea - come on - ya wanna -"

"I do not -" and it's dizzying, falling abandon like none I could ever have imagined, Celia standing behind me cradling my body onto her own, another woman knowing that her teasing caresses are maddening. It's even then a moment's culminating, helpless fright for circumstances I'd dared in the past only in vague, supremely frightening corners of my mind - and it's yet again something I could never have imagined, my struggles for escape very genuine - and the word rape crashing into every corner of my mind for arms drawn about my body with unrelenting strength, my struggles against a tall, voluptuous amazon useless.

"Celia - let me go -" I gasped - and flung my eyes to a searching, fondling hand crushed onto my breasts, an arm wrapped with violent strength about my waist - the thing another moment's dizzying fright for a hand brushed from my waist to caresses which I knew in a sudden instant were going to be the ultimate intimacy. It yet again seems one sudden, blinding instant, I indeed crushed into helpless submission about to be raped, the thing exactly that which only months ago had been a not quite dared terror lingering in vague, distant corners of my mind, that which had been my worst fear contemplating the city. I'd never, however, quite dared believe that it could happen - and I standing naked and helpless as she wrapped my body onto her own with frantic strength, her caresses fondling, groping, a hand pushed to my thighs, pushed closer - and my body for the surrounding, enveloping warmth of hers already immersed in a raw, agonizing pleasure I could never have imagined possible, my body for her hand pushed closer fallen into a flooding, aching want I had never before known with anything close to the same ferocity.

"Celia -" I gasped and struggled even then, "Celia - stop it - let me go -"

"No, you wanna -"

"I do not -"

"You do to, Andrea -" Celia's caresses maddening, my body aching for her touch.

"Celia - please - let me go -" and it's little less than gasping mirth for both of us as I gave up entirely, let her draw me onto the bed, let wrap my body to her own with finished, violent strength, the brutal crush of her surrounding arms a dizzying bliss.

"Andrea - please - let me. I never wanted no one so bad in all my life -"

"Celia - no - let me go -" and it's bizare, reeling ambivalence of a sort I could never have imagined. I'm being raped, I told myself again, am being given no choice whatsoever. And it's my arms entwined about hers as she cradled my body onto her own, my hands crushed onto hers with pleading violence for a caressing touch of her lips to my shoulders, to my neck. It's helpless, primal gasps wrenched from my throat for a wanting, devouring touch of her lips, a hand run in searching, exploring caress across my breasts, a hand yet again run from my waist to my thighs until it's that which I can only call lightning pounding the length of my body.

I'll never quite remember the next few moments. It might have been another bizare, half instant's struggle for escape. Oh God, I'd cried in every frantic corner of my mind, I just three months in the city - and my body wrapped to the body of another woman's in that which I suddenly realized was going to be a consumating act of sexual intimacy in every sense of the word. Oh God, I'd cried again - knowing and admitting that I wanted her touch with frantic desparation, my hand now clawed onto my lover's, urging it closer - and the thing an abrupt awakening for both Celia and me, someone standing on the pavement below the window bellowing out Celia's name.

It was even then anything from mirthful amusement to bizare, wondering intrigue. Celia flung frantic eyes toward the window and a quarter gram of cocaine, flung her eyes back to me, an impossibly beautiful twenty two year girl frantically trying to decide which she wanted more at the moment. I couldn't, I suppose, any longer doubt that I, even if forty two years of age, was Celia's "sexiest little thing" she'd ever seen. She wanted me almost at much as she wanted the cocaine.

"Damn it," she finally barked, another frantic glance toward the window, her eyes flung back to me. "I'll be right back, baby. I will - and then we'll fuck each other all night long -" another moment's crushing touch of her hands to my waist as she flung burning eyes up and down my body. "Oh God, Andrea - I'm gonna rape you forever -" a frantic touch of her lips to mine as she snatched her clothing into her hands and dashed away, I sighing in shuddering, amused relief knowing I had anywhere from a day's to a week's respite from Celia's attentions. I sighed another moment's reeling, bemused wonder, had just escaped being raped by another woman - and I rested by myself in my bedroom frantically denying that it was as intense a disappointment as any I had ever known.

I stood by myself in my bedroom over the next several months supposing the affection I felt for Celia passed out on my couch once or twice a week every bit as gentle and as genuine as that which I felt for Sam and Bobby Arnolds who were still a bothersome - and intensely intriguing annoyance in the storeroom once or twice a week. And Celia, albeit it in a typically urban and frightening manner voicing her affection for me on the building's steps, had made life a great deal more bearable for me than it might otherwise have been.

"This here white bitch is mine," Celia with her arm around my waist informed the usual loitering crowd about the steps. "Don't any a y'all wanna be puttin' your hands on my fuckin' bitch -" Celia with knife in plain sight succinctly informing the crowd of the consequences of their doing so, I walking in Celia's surrounding, protecting arms immersed in a strange mix of trembling terror and blissfully safe warmth. I for the past three months even when Celia had disappeared for a week into some other part of town could walk in perfect safety by myself anywhere along Cedar knowing that only the suicidal would dare lay a hand on "Celia's bitch."

I stood another wondering moment next to my bedroom's window, Celia and several other young woman attired in next to nothing standing on the pavement below. "'Ho,' you a lyin' fuckin' 'ho,'" one might inform another in drunken mirth. And I stood again in bewildering wonder, had just several days ago lain a desparate, pleading hand to the arm of a young woman standing at the sink in my bathroom with a hypodermic needle in her hand and very genuine desparation in her own eyes.

"I'm gonna stop, Andrea," a sweet, beautiful creature pled. "Jesus loves me, and my momma's prayin' for me. I'm gonna stop - I know I gotta -"

"Celia -" I pled as well, searched desperately for some new argument, an intelligent young woman and I both quite aware that her chances were statistically nonexistent.

"Andrea -" she sighed as she drew the drug into the needle. I just gave up - and stood a moment later in the same bemused wonder. Celia and I both naked, a young woman for whom sex was five or ten minutes bothersome work had yet again flung burning, devouring eyes the length of my body.

"Andrea - oh God, I wanna rape your brains out so bad -" a caressing brush of her hips to mine.

"Celia - stop it -" and I stood in chuckling amusement, writhed in giddy delight for the touch of her body to mine.

"Remember that day - we almost did it - you were coming already, weren't you -?"

I'll never know why I could finally chuckle a "maybe" instead of a "I was not." I edged my eyes again to that which was nothing less than blatant lovemaking between us, she and I standing in teasing, caressing intimacy. Stop, I demanded of myself for one futile moment - and the thing another timeless moment's abandoned imagining. Another woman not that long ago had cradled my body in her arms with frantic, abandoned strength, my body for just her teasing, threatening touch fallen into as maddening a want as any I had ever known - my body just for her frenzied kisses and caresses finally wracked in the throes of a pounding, exploding release I could never have imagined possible.

I edged my eyes back to Celia's not quite certain why a familiar ceremony was such abandoned delight.

"Yeah - me too -" nothing less than sheepish, girlish reserve in her eyes. "I swear, Andrea, that maddening ass of yours touching me and rubbing me - I never come so long in all my life, and we weren't even started yet. You gotta be the cutest, sexiest little thing that ever lived -"

Stop, I cried in every frenzied corner of my mind as I edged my eyes to hers another timeless moment. I would, I supposed in some not quite dared corner of my mind, let my tall amazon beauty take me to bed with her any time she wanted to.

"Stop it, Celia -" that just some bizare little ceremony as she pushed a caressing hand from my waist to a touch of fondling intimacy.

"I can't," Celia as usual deciding on blatant, liscivious intimacy. "Andrea - you got the cutest ass I ever saw -"

It's yet again something I couldn't have imagined just a few months ago, I giggling in girlish delight letting another woman steal caresses of supremely personal intimacy, denying that it was anything more than a moment's familiar mischief between us - standing another moment in bemused wonder for the ultimate in the bizare. Celia, quite as she had a half dozen times over the past three months, had staggered into to my rooms several days before in despondent exhaustion, had declared that she was done with the streets and the drugs, this time for good. I'd sighed the usual annoyance, let her sleep on my couch - a young woman for whom sex was a bothersome necessity gawking, as soon at she'd been sober for a day or two, toward my ass, my dominatrix deciding that I wasn't to be allowed clothing while indoors. I'd sighed a mix annoyance and wild giddy delight, knew that I'd see a longing lust for the drug in Celia's eyes in another day or two, could, I supposed, endure my dominatrix for that long.

"Celia - stop it -" I demanded, she despite my sighing objections following me into my bed, I her breathing doll to play with.

"No -" she chuckled in liscivious mirth, a caressing hand lain to my breasts, a teasing hand run from my waist to fondling, exploring intimacy. "You like it."

"I do not," her caresses maddening, I writhing in giddy ecstasy seeing entranced delight in her eyes. "There. That's enough. Go back to your couch -"

"I don't wanna - you can't make me -"

It's a gasp of explosive mirth for me - and it's wicked, dizzying delight for my hand urged onto her waist. Just our usual mischief, I sighed - and it's raw, abandoned sensation I could never have imagined, her body mine to play with, my agonizing, voluptuous beauty shuddering in breathless abandon for my touch - and she edging eyes awash with nothing less than sheepish, girlish delight to mine.

"Andrea - remember that day - when we almost did it -"

I buried my eyes to hers not quite certain what to expect

"That was my first time in years, Andrea. And I never came before like that - never knew what it was like coming so hard for someone -"

I rested at her side in my bed - and it seems another half moment come from nowhere, she and I clawing our nails onto each other's waists knowing it our bodies aching for each other, our bodies fallen into a want neither she nor I had ever before known with quite the same ferocity. It was yet again a helpless, falling abandon I could never before have imagined, I for a dizzying timeless eternity just giving up - deciding it was indeed going to be another woman for the rest of my life.

It might almost have been another half moment's bizarre, reeling mirth. I hadn't the least choice, Celia slamming my body onto hers - and she stopping, waiting, burying pleading eyes to mine.

"Can I, Andrea -?"

It's a "yes" wrenched into my throat - and yet another moment's struggle for lucid reason.

"Celia -" I pled, "stop the drugs. Get off the streets. Celia - just stay with me - and then - maybe -"

"I'm gonna, baby," her whisper pleading fury. "Can I just hold you, Andrea?"

It was, I just can't deny, a warm, reeling bliss like none I could ever have imagined, the crush of Celia's breasts to my own throughout the night seeming a rapturous safety. It was my tall, voluptuous beauty and I sleeping our limbs entwined about each other's bodies with clinging strength, I telling myself again that I wasn't allowing her consumating sex with me until she had given up the drugs. And it was sometimes Celia and I meeting each other's eyes even as it was a caressing touch of our breasts to each other's, hands flung from each other's waists to caresses of fondling intimacy - she and I seeing little less than the same startled amaze in each other's eyes knowing we'd yet again needed nothing more than moments. It was Celia and listening to quiet though helpless and primal screams wrenched from each other's throats for our bodies wracked in the throes of that which I could only call an unrelenting, pounding wash of torture, a released pleasure which just never stopped. I might have told myself even then in some confused and dizzying corner of my mind that it wasn't anything more than our bodies entwined about each other's in frenzied, writhing caress - and it was her breasts which were agonizing, voluptuous beauty crushed onto mine, my hands lain to voluptuously broad and round feminine curves in frenzied, devouring caresses, the frantic, intimate crush of her hands to my body a dizzying essays as we writhed together in an abandoned frenzy of raw, sexual want - she and I even then meeting each other's eyes knowing our bodies fallen together into a pounding and exploding pleasure which was long and unimaginable ferocity - something which I'll always believe wouldn't have possible if it hadn't as well been an honest and genuine touch of our hearts.

And it was yet again a timeless moment's reeling, dizzying confusion, I even in the midst of the ultimate intimacy preparing myself, knowing that in the morning I would see the same wanting lust in her eyes for the drug, knowing that amorous and sexual wants would be forgotten as she stole through the door.

I'm not quite certain why I always let her back in, told myself that I would insist that she behave, sleep on the couch - and she and I yet again standing naked together at the sink in the bathroom, I trembling in rapturous delight watching her run a teasing hand from my waist to a caress of fondling intimacy.

"Stop it -" I sighed, giggled - covered her hand with my own - she and I in another timeless moment standing our eyes fallen toward each other's in waiting intimacy.

It's still something I could never before have imagined - another woman taking me into her arms, I hiding absolutely nothing from her, gasping in raw, abandoned desire for her hands run up and down my body in caresses of searching, exploring intimacy - another woman letting me search her body as I wished. It's nothing less than the same unfeigned, liscivious delight between us for the differences in our forms, she my maddening, voluptuous hourglass beauty letting my play with her breasts, letting me run my hands from her waist to curves which are broad, feminine beauty and allure to every impossibly perfect extreme.

It was yet again something I could never have imagined as another woman touched her lips to mine in teasing caress. It might again have been some giddy, juvenile mirth between us, Celia reveling quite as I was in wicked, girlish mischief, the teasing brush of our tongues to each other's an amusing little ecstasy - and the thing as quickly a falling wash of dizzying sensation for our mouths buried onto each other's in writhing, devouring want. It's yet again something I could never have imagined it would be as another woman slammed my body to hers with wanting violence - another woman's body mine to search with my hands, her naked feminine warmth mine to devour, she and I shuddering together in helpless, dizzying ecstasy for each other's wild, searching caresses.

I flung my eyes again to hers.

"Celia - let me go -" and it was everything I wanted it to be. She held me with owning violence, her eyes awash with raw, burning want.

"Let me go -" I cried, I perhaps attempting another moment’s pretense, struggling against my attacker - gasping in frantic desparation until it was yet again all of the warm, falling bliss I wanted. It's the same outright liscivious intrigue, my tall, voluptuous amazon crushing owning hands onto her helpless little beauty, my Celia gasping in a wanting frenzy and yet she a sweet, gentle lover. I'm her fragile little beauty to search and explore with her hands, she abandoning herself to wild, violent lovemaking only when it was my hands run the length of her own body in devouring intimacy.

"Celia - let me go -" perhaps almost a genuine effort to escape her - and I her helpless, girlish beauty, my body wrenched back to her own, my Celia gasping in frenzied want as she crushed her lips onto mine. I gave up entirely - the thing perhaps the moment's dizzying fright it had been the first time. I've been in the city for three months now - and I digging a clawing hand onto that which even in the moment was the broad and maddening curves of her ass, Celia, I yet again realized with strange and sudden clarity, flinging as liscivious a gaze toward girlish feminine curves. It's the voluptuous warmth of her breasts seeming my entire existence for another dizzying, timeless eternity, mine girlish, perhaps pretty - my Celia gasping in frantic, entranced ecstasy for my breasts now hers to search with caressing fury.

And it’s all some bizare, reeling despair, perhaps almost a half moment’s abandoned resignation as I realized I could, if stretching the point to the limit, tell myself that I was indeed helpless to her, hadn't the least choice - and my eyes ablaze with wild, reeling ecstasy knowing that my agonizing amazon beauty gazed raw, burning want toward me, she simply incapable of stopping.

I edged my eyes again to hers, and it might almost have been some new, reeling mirth. It's the same words crashing into every corner of my mind, I pleading with a captor to let me go - as I stood an arm drawn about her waist with frantic, brutal strength, a hand run to caresses of fondling, clawing intimacy - another glance just to be certain that my captor was standing a helpless captive in my arms, was gasping in an abandoned frenzy for her body immersed in that which I knew was torturing, agonizing pleasure.

I saw finally in Celia's eyes everything I wanted to see, nothing less than an edge of wondering fright.

"Andrea - stop it - lemme go -" she gasped - almost a genuine attempt to escape lovemaking of a ferocity which she'd never before known.

I'll never really be certain if I realized what was happening, I standing in a captor's arms about to be raped - I yet again escaping being raped. And I consoled myself that evening, I suppose, by raping my captor instead. It was raw, abandoned want like none I could ever have imagined possible, her writhing struggles against the touch of my hands just stirring in me new burning desires for her.

"No - I don't wanna now -" she edging her body from my arms, turning away from me - and it's everything I could have wanted, a frantic arm wrenched about her waist.

"Lemme go - I don't wanna now -"

It's reeling mirth and raw, dizzying sensation. It's my agonizing beauty standing in helpless paralysis, her body mine to draw back onto my own, her breasts mine to fondle and caress, their voluptuous beauty mine to devour in a wanting frenzy. It's nothing less than the same raw and liscivious delight, the curves of her ass broad and round feminine allure to every perfect extreme, her body yet again and finally mine to cradle in finished, capturing embrace.

"Andrea - stop -" her cries helpless and primal for a hand thrust to her thighs.

"No - you want it -"

It might have been a final moment's reeling mirth, a wild, frantic glance over her shoulder, as frantic a glance toward her body cradled onto my own - another moment's writhing struggles. It's a burying touch of my lips to her neck, a hand crushed to her breasts in fondling caress - my agonizing, voluptuous beauty helpless to my lovemaking.

It's yet again something I could never quite have imagined - her writhing struggles just sending that which I can only call lightning pounding the length of my own body - and the thing in another moment a finished oblivion of pounding sensation as I held a woman's body in my arms my touch the ultimate intimacy. It's blinding, hammering sensation for me knowing that it's her body wracked with torturing pleasure for my caressing touch. It's that, I suppose, which it had to be between the two of us, she and I knowing already that just a glance between us was arousing, a touch of our hands to each other's bodies an ecstatic little warmth - and my Celia yet again flinging dazed, tortured eyes over her shoulder, flinging her eyes again to her body and a touch of my hand which was ultimate and consumating - gasps of helpless, primal abandon wrenched from her throat for my lovemaking. It's that for me which I just can't deny is a maddening pleasure to impossible extremes. I'd known by then what I liked myself, had known what a caressing, consumating touch was - had sometimes gazed timeless moments of liscivious imagining toward my agonizing, voluptuous beauty laying naked beside me on my bed. No, I'd demanded of myself - not, at least, until Celia had escaped her addictions, I perhaps in not quite dared corners of my mind admitting that I longed for her to do.

I'll never really be certain why it finally happened, I yet again escaping a frenzied pursuer - and I the moment I had standing in a wanting, burning frenzy, flinging restraint away entirely.

It was finally done - and was yet again the inexplicable, dizzying pleasure I had known it would be as I cradled another woman's body to my own, my touch to her body the ultimate intimacy.

"Andrea -" another helpless, primal gasp, dazed eyes flung toward mine.

I edged, I suspect, wicked, brutal eyes toward "my bitch," wrenched a violent arm around her waist, she mine to fuck with ravenous fury. I allowed myself moments of lucid pause certain that I had flung myself into a cruel, maniacal abandon, was hurting her, her struggles for escape writhing, flailing violence - and that just another moment's dizzying, reeling mirth. She escaped me indeed - and her escape nothing more than interrupted lovemaking, her nails clawed onto my arm with frantic pleading until it was yet again every last pretense between us gone.

I allowed myself fleeting moment's of wondering, brooding pause even in the midst of that which I just couldn't deny was another woman's body become mine in the finished, ultimate act of intimacy - I just several months ago standing at the counter in a flower shop as naive an innocent as any who had ever existed, a touch of another person's hand to my own which might have been a stolen caress leaving me in cold, repulsed fright. And it suddenly seems impossible that I could ever have existed without the naked warmth of her body crushed onto my own, her breasts mine to cover and fondle with my hand. It's yet again nothing less than a liscivious delight for the shuddering, writhing touch of broad feminine curves to my body - just that seeming for me penetrating, filling, a consumating pleasure of a ferocity I had never before known. And it's yet again the ultimate intimacy - the most personal intimacy of another woman's body mine to touch and caress - the thing a raw, finished ecstasy for another woman's body fallen into a flooding, aroused want for my touch.

I allowed myself even then fleeting moments of honest, brutal pause - and I just crushed her body to mine with desparate, finished violence, she now that I'd found her mine forever. It was yet again the ultimate physical ecstasy between us, quiet through primal screams wrenched from my Celia's throat, I holding another woman in my arms her body for my intimate touch finally fallen into the throes of an obvious and violent release, my own body for just the writhing, shuddering touch of hers wracked with a torturing, agonizing pleasure to every satisfying limit.

We stood another timeless eternity in each other's arms our breath gasping fury. It's yet again, I suppose, the ultimate in the bizare - Celia's features nothing less than girlish and sheepish, she even yet gazing a lingering edge of wondering fright toward clawing, owning hands crushed onto her waist.

"Celia -" my voice raw, wicked abandon, "I'm gonna fuck you forever," and my voice whispering, pleading fury as I spoke the words to another woman. "Celia - please baby - come to bed with me -"

I'll never really be certain if I knew that my pleading was futile from the start. It's a final half moment's dizzying ecstasy, my Celia wanting me as desperately as I wanted her - and the same sorrowing despair settling into her features in another sudden moment, a needle with the drug already drawn into it resting on the counter.

"Celia -" I pled, "I love you -"

"Andrea - I love you, baby - I love you with all my heart -"

"Celia - I'll be your lover - forever - if you'll just stop -"

It was my Celia holding me with frantic strength, and yet it was that which I'd known in every despairing corner of my mind it had to be - a cry of tortured agony wrenched from her throat.

"Lemme just finish, baby," a nod toward the needle. "Just once more. This is the last time, baby, I promise. Soon as I'm done we'll go to bed - just you an' me - all night -"

I sighed, nodded, touched my lips to her cheek - felt that same bizare mix of shuddering relief and remorseful, brutally painful despair as I watched my lover reach for her needle.

I glanced another moment toward my bedroom's window, Celia and the building's other girls standing on the pavement in drunken mirth. I allowed Celia, I suppose, another wondering moment.

"Andrea -" a twenty two year old girl with genuine pleading in her voice had begun several evenings ago, "Andrea - I love you -"

I'll never quite know why that had been so awakening. I gazed again toward the window, felt a gentle though very genuine and affectionate warmth for her, supposed she might indeed, at least for the moment, feel a very genuine romantic love for me.

"Celia -" I'd answered, "try rehab again. Try anything. And then - then we'll see -"

"I'm gonna, Andrea - then it's gonna be you an' me - just you and me -"

It's perhaps another moment's lonely musing for me as I stood in my bedroom on Cedar wondering what real romantic love was.

Oh God, I whispered, perhaps another moment's wondering fright for a moment in the storeroom just this afternoon which I'd anticipated for the past several weeks now.

"Stop it -" I'd sighed, Sam as he helped me lift a heavy box from the shelf deciding it the usual opportunity for caressing mischief - and my maddening young man in another sudden moment yet again a bashful, adorable teenage boy edging pleading eyes to mine.

"Andrea - please - marry me -"

"Sam -" I sighed as gently as I could, "she'll take you back -"

"She ain't let me in the house a week this time -"

"Well if you wouldn't chase every skirt in town up and down the street, Sam -"

"But I ain't doin' nothing, Andrea, I never have - not in ten years bein' married. I never wanted to - not till now. Andrea -"

"Sam -" I gasped.

"Andrea - I love you - and you're - you're the sweetest, sexiest -"

I sighed, edged my eyes to his - will never quite know why I could allow myself a timeless moment's supremely dangerous abandon. I tore every last shred of clothing from my body, my hands clawing fury to his clothing until my agonizing, maddening young man gave me the only thing I wanted.

And a moment's lascivious imagining enough, I touched a gentle, consoling hand to Sam's arm - felt a moment's gentle affection for a young man who might indeed, I decided, have fallen romantically in love with me - at least for the moment.

"Behave -" I sighed, a half moment's teasing gesture with the box cutter - perhaps another moments musing as I got back to work. I wondered what it felt like - being in love with someone rather than just feeling a gentle affection and a ravenous sexual want for them. I supposed for another moment that the gentle affection I felt for Celia was the closest I had ever come to knowing what genuine romantic love was. And I stood another reeling and confused moment in the storeroom a naive and undemonstrative innocent just three months in the city - who had wrenched another woman's body into her arms, another woman's protesting struggles meaningless to a frenzied barbarian who had just taken what she wanted, who'd ravished her struggling and helpless captive in a maniacal frenzy of raw, savage want.

I sat at my desk recovering from Sam and Celia - and edged my eyes toward my sweet, boyish Bobby's hand wrapped to my own with pleading strength, wondered if this particular day was ever going to end.

"Andrea, don't marry him," angry eyes flung toward the door through which Sam had walked from the store, frantic eyes flung back to mine. "Andrea - I wanna marry you -"

It's the word "yes" leapt into my throat - and I'll never know why another awakening moment was yet again enough. I wanted only one very specific and primal thing from my maddening youth, realized again that I hadn't the least idea what genuine romantic love was.

"Night, Andrea," Mr. Arnolds had as usual mumbled at the furniture store's door a few minutes later - and I standing another moment in amused mirth for something exceptionally out of the ordinary, a half moment's scrutiny even in Mr. Arnolds’ glance toward me. "You're the cutest little girl we had here in years. Y'oughta get out more, Andrea, not spend all your time working."

I stood in my bedroom in an apartment on Cedar which I must vacate in several more days. Even after three months in the city it's a moment's trembling panic for me, finally just the same dull, lonely pain as I decided an apartment on Cedar hadn't ever been a great deal more than a night to night refuge from the elements.

I wandered toward the bed, pushed the clothing from my body - glanced toward a mirror. I'll never entirely know why I've done so almost every evening for the past three months now. I still, I suppose, like what I see, have always felt at least a touch of vain satisfaction for a figure which I can readily admit might be called girlish rather than just average. I can, behind the walls of my refuge from the elements, finally allow myself a moment of imagining which is little less than blatant and liscivious, can glance toward a mirror and toward a woman who could still be called pretty and who standing naked really is as "gorgeous" as others stripping her clothing away might imagine her to be.

It's a final, imagining glance, I suppose, toward a stranger standing on the other side of the mirror, toward a woman who I might at first glance have thought eminently ordinary and average - and it's little less than a gasp of wondering amaze. My God - she really is the cutest, sexiest little thing I've ever seen.

Oh Lord - stop, I demanded of myself with a sighing chuckle, wandered into the bathroom, a moment's sighing glance toward a tub on which none of the faucets worked. I stood at the sink, struggled again for calm resignation as I took soap and wash towels into my hand. It's not so bad, I decided. I'll survive - yet another moment's fanciful imagining a means, I suppose, of doing so. I'm standing naked beside a stream in the depths of some primeval forest. Perhaps even here there are leering, devouring eyes, savages in the surrounding wood waiting to pounce. They're finally of no real consequence, however, are nameless and faceless. It's the woman washing beside her wilderness stream toward whom I'm gazing in intrigued delight, she dashing away into the forest, eluding her pursuers just as she always has - she dashing naked through the forest as maddening and arousing a creature as any who has ever lived.

Oh Lord, stop, I sighed and chuckled for fantasies of a sort I might have allowed myself when I was a girl. I wandered back into the bedroom, settled another moment onto the edge of the bed - and it's all something I'll never entirely comprehend, I naked and alone in that which might as well have been an abandoned warehouse, trembling again in a moment's frightened panic - and yet my body fallen finally into a throbbing sexual want I've never before known with quite the same ferocity. I lowered myself onto the bed, and I suppose I'm taking myself into my own arms, telling myself again in some searching corner of my mind that I still like myself, wondering why it's all become so intensely sensual over the past three months - and chuckling again in some bizare amused mirth as I glanced toward an exceptional number of mirrors arranged by the apartment's previous occupants in that which I had thought at first a peculiar manner. I'd thought mirrors attached to the ceiling particularly odd. I'm not quite certain why I've just left them as they are - not quite certain why it's only at forty two years of age that I've discovered why someone might want to plaster a bedroom's walls and ceilings with mirrors. And I gazed another timeless moment toward a frightened woman laying naked on the bed curled into her own arms, nothing particularly exceptional about her appearance though I could, I supposed, understand why so many other people over the past three months had imagined her clothing stripped from her body.

I searched again for at least a measure of lucid, rational calm - had supposed myself over the past twenty years no more yet no less given to sexual wants than anyone else. And I lay on a bed in a warehouse apartment, a moment's helpless falling panic and yet my body fallen into an aroused want I had never before known with quite the same ferocity. It might even then almost have been some bizare mirth. Sex, twenty years before, had been little more than the price I had paid to escape aunt Eliza for a year, anything from duty to brutal pain. I'd sighed with frantic relief when I'd finally escaped that which had become a disillusioning nightmare, sighed with frantic relief that I would never have to have sex again. I might since then on a few occasions have allowed myself vague little fantasies, might finally have recognized a want of my body for that which it was, might even have suspected that I was as capable as anyone of feeling something a great deal more.

And it's yet again in my warehouse apartment something incomparably more than I could ever have imagined. It's that moment's trembling panic for an ordeal I must yet again face in another several days. It's a moment of brutal pain that I've ended up alone and so ludicrously helpless - the panic and the pain finally subsiding as I tell myself again that it's not so bad. And yet a warmth which I finally suspected had been there all along was just there still. Just a bizare little fact of life, I might tell myself searching for any settling amusement, I perhaps some "type," moments of terrifying change awakening in me physical desires I've never before known. And with that, it's nothing less than another liscivious little glance into the mirrors toward a woman I had seldom noticed myself over the past twenty years. She's no one, really, eminently average - and yet she's naked and alone, the wolves as soon as they've noticed her surrounding her on all sides, the wolves in another day or two to have yet another chance at her, drooling in anticipation knowing that feminist ideals are a joke in the world in which she must live. It's another moment's wondering glance into the mirrors. She really is very pretty - and she laying naked on her bed very obviously feminine, a creature who I suddenly find as arousing as anyone might. It's a hand lain to her breasts in searching, fondling caress, a hand slid onto her waist, another moment's blatant, liscivious abandon. Her ass really is gorgeous, fondling caresses until she's laying naked on her bed her body immersed in a warm, flooding pleasure she's never before known with anything close to the same ferocity.

Stop, I might demand of myself for fleeting moments, might tell myself again that it's all just some bizare response to circumstances - and I'll hold myself in my own arms the thing finally a raw, falling abandon not quite like any I had ever before known. It might even then be a finishing, liscivious glance into the mirrors, trembling caresses closer until it's yet again the primal want of her body become a helpless ache for relief, she as ludicrously insatiable a creature as any who has ever lived - she knowing it will finally and again be consumating in ways she's never before known.

And I just can't in the end deny that it's maddening, agonizing pleasure, everything I might ever have imagined it might be. It's even then auto eroticism to every abandoned extreme. It is, I suppose, a fleeting moment's glance toward a tall, agonizing hourglass beauty her body sprawled atop my own and her body writhing in an abandoned frenzy, my hands clawed onto voluptuously broad and round curves just to see her shuddering and writhing again for her body awash in wave after wave of pounding, torturing pleasure. Just the image, I could easily enough admit, was every bit as exquisitely exciting for me as it was for Bobbie who in drooling delight asked if I and my girlfriend might "really be girlfriends," I providing Bobbie with subtle little hints until he was gazing in shuddering, entranced oblivion toward two women who were laying on the bed naked and their bodies entwined about each other's in frenzied, writhing abandon. And it was all as quickly in my warehouse apartment that which it usually was. I edged my eyes again toward the mirrors and toward the woman who I saw as uniquely, exquisitely exciting, cradled her body in my arms gazing the same almost entranced fascination. I just can't deny that I like her even as it's her body writhing in a building frenzy, her body mine to search with teasing, exploring caresses, her body shuddering for a warmth become raw, agonizing sensation in want of something more, something ultimate. It's caresses which are closer - is finally her body which is mine in the finished act of intimacy, the pleasure maddening, agonizing - quiet screams wrenched from her throat for her body finally wracked in the exploding throes of the ultimate pleasure.

It might even in that moment have been some bizare, reeling mirth, she surrounded by hungry, slobbering wolves - and none of them are going to get her. She hasn't at forty two years of age the least emotional need for any of them. If she must have a lover, she has the only lover she needs.

Oh Lord, I sighed - a very genuine prayer this time, perhaps another moment's strange little mirth. I'm forty two years old and hoping I will grow out of something seeming girlish to every ludicrous extreme. Oh Lord, I sighed - and as good an answer as any, I suppose, coming to mind. Even if I was still by and large a helpless innocent all alone and yet again in search of a refuge from wolves and the elements, I had to find a refuge without quite so many mirrors.