Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 INDIAN WINTER (Part 7)

   By KATZMAREK (C)

   ---------------------------------------------------

   Author's note,

   This work is my property and cannot be used for gain without my express
permission in writing.

   -----------------------------------------------

   Jake was busy in the kitchen when Mary arrived home.  She went straight
in and gave him a long, lingering smooch.  He patted her on the arse and
warned her not to disturb the pots.  She volunteered to crack a bottle of
vermouth for them and he agreed.  He'd grown to enjoy a drink or two with
her in the evening.

   Mary left a glass for him on the bench and went into the bedroom to
change.  She put on a loose, cotton, men's shirt she knew he liked her
wearing, and left off her bra.  It fell down to her thighs, so she could
leave off her knickers, too.  Coming back out, he immediately noticed, like
she hoped he would.

   This was early home for her and she had much more energy than normal. 
The shirt brushing her bare skin made her feel playful and sexy.  She
brushed up to Jake and slipped a hand under his T-shirt.

   "Had a good day, sugar?" she asked.

   "Not bad, you?"

   "Quieter, thank God!  Whatcha cooking?"

   "Thai chicken."

   "Sounds good, and dessert?

   "Fruit salad, whipped cream and sex!"

   "Even better!" she grinned, "can I stir something?"

   "Uh, not that!  Not yet!" Jake said, backing away from her questing
fingers.  "What's got you warmed up?"

   "You!  You did say to keep my motor running?"

   "Horny bitch!" he said and smooched her again.

   Mary withdrew from his arms and went and sat in Jake's rocking chair. 
It was facing the open kitchen door so she was able to watch him cook their
dinner.  They chatted about some ideas he had for the garden and she asked
when he was ever going to be satisfied with it.  Halfway through the
subject, Mary noticed him looking at her grinning.  His eyes weren't on her
face, however, but lower down.  It was then she realised he had a perfect
view up her shirt to her naked pussy.

   "You like?" she grinned, cheekily, while opening her legs slowly.

   "Haha!  Like that movie with that guy Michael Douglas and that chick
does the leg open and..."

   "That's the one, the famous beaver shot!  And when did women become
chicks?"

   "When I'm preoccupied and forget to self-censor?"

   "Quite glib with the jargon, now, aren't we?  Hey, remember this?" Mary
placed a hand between her thighs and lightly stroked her fingers through
her ginger thatch.  She looked up at Jake, who smiled.  His eyes fixed on
what she was doing.

   "Sharmila?" he said, and she nodded slowly.

   "This still a turn on?"

   "Hell, yeah!"

   "You think about her?"

   "Why do you ask?"

   "Curious.  You'd like me to masturbate for you, Jake?"

   "Depends.  Does it do anything for you to have me watch?"

   "Not really.  Not used to an audience.  I get to the point where I want
you to take over.  I don't think I can get there on my own.  At least not
with you staring at me.  Too much of a distraction."

   "On your own?"

   "Haha!  What do you think I did before meeting you?  My fingers were my
only friend, baby."

   "Every night?"

   "No.  Maybe a coupla times a week.  Just when I was in the mood."

   "We fuck more often than that."

   "I know."

   "So you're in the mood more often now?"

   "Honey, I could take you two or three times a day!  You've no fucking
idea how horny I've become."

   "Ya think?  Sitting there, legs spread, with your fingers up your twat
and you don't think I've noticed what a hot bitch you are?" he laughed.

   "Huh, if you knew what I sometimes dream about waiting for clients..."

   "Yeah?  What?"

   "Haha.  I dream that you come through the door instead and fuck me over
my desk!"

   "Careful!  That sounds a hot idea.  I might take you up on it."

   "No, Jake.  Leave me something to fantasise about!  If you did that I'd
have to come up with something else.  You finished in there?"

   "In a minute.  Light a candle?"

   "Sure.  Where would you like me to put it?"

   "Ho!  On the table for preference.  I wouldn't want you to set fire to
yourself."

   "Good point!  I'm not that into jamming things up me in any case. 
Unless they happen to be your tongue or cock."

   "Vibrators?"

   "Too sensitive!" Mary stood and placed a scented candle on the table. 
She lit it, then dimmed down the light.

   Jake came out with dinner and they sat, close together, at Mary's
dropleaf table.  His free hand rested on her bare upper thigh.  She knew he
knew it turned her on, that casual touch, and he was doing it to keep her
on edge.

   "You're amazing, I missed you," he murmered.

   "Me too," she replied, and accepted a gentle kiss.  "Jake?" she said,
her voice barely a whisper, "Y'know, I'd never thought this was possible
until I met you."

   "What?"

   "Being this much in love.  This," she swept a hand around the table,
"the sex, the tenderness..."

   "You've told me all this before."

   "I know!  Can't I repeat myself?"

   "Sure."

   "Jake?"

   "Mm?"

   "How old do you think Sharmila is?"

   "I dunno.  Hard to tell.  Maybe thirty?  Why do you ask?"

   "25.  You're 17 years older."

   "So?"

   "And I'm 13 years older than you." Jake shrugged.  He couldn't see the
point in the comparison.  "When I'm 60, you'll be 47.  When I'm getting the
pension, you'll still be younger than I am now."

   "So what, baby?  You hear me complaining?"

   "No, but have you really thought about that?  You, in the prime of
midlife with an old bag as a partner?"

   "Everything will be still working I hope?"

   "You hope!  But I don't think you've really considered that, have you?"

   "Probably not," he shrugged, "but I'm not that big at looking too far
ahead.  Ten year's ahead?  Who gives a fuck about ten year's ahead except a
property developer?"

   "Sharmila would be 35 and probably sexier than she is now?"

   "So what, Mary?  What's this all about?"

   "I can't give you children?"

   "I know...  Mary, what's wrong?"

   "I'm...  I'm scared, baby..." Her voiced came out choked with emotion.
Jake immediately threw his arm around her and drew her into his chest. 
Tears came in a flood and she clung onto Jake as a drowning victim to a
lifebuoy.  "Fuck, damn, shit!" she suddenly exclaimed and banged the table
with her fist.  "This is stupid!"

   "Mmm?"

   "Here I am, given the best chance of my life, and I'm trying to blow it.
I need to wake up and smell the flowers."

   "What's got you worked up all of a sudden, lover?"

   "I can't tell you," she said, "but it's someone we both know."

   "Sharmila?"

   "I never said that!"

   "You don't have to.  The fog's clearing."

   "I really can't say any more, Jake, I'm sorry!"

   "I know.  So, are we going to grab dessert and adjourn to the bedroom?"
he asked, moving his hand a little higher on her thigh.

   "Oh yes, babe!" she replied, running her hand over his chest.  "Can you
do me a favour and take off your shirt?" Jake obliged, and she resumed
stroking his chest.

   "Babe?" he said, kissing her, "you're going to get looked after well
tonight!"

   "Darling, I hoped I would!"

   Jake took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet.  He patted her
lightly on the bare bottom in the direction of the bedroom.  He told her
he'd fetch dessert and wouldn't be a minute.

   -----------------------------------------

   Sharmila lay face down on her single bed clad only in a pair of white
panties.  She still had her teeth clenched to the pillow so she wouldn't
cry out.  She thought she might be able to tease out another spasm and her
hand was still buried beneath her crotch.  She rubbed and squeezed, rubbed
and squeezed, but she appeared to be done.  Reluctantly she opened her eyes
and released the pillowcase.

   Her pussy was still warm.  Rolling onto her back, she moved her hands to
her rounded tummy and stared at the ceiling, revelling in the wonderful
relaxed feeling an orgasm always gave her.

   Sharmila looked down at her stomach and thought of the times Jake had
splattered his semen over her.  It was always a little colder than her skin
and likened it to having damp sugar sprinkled over her.  It looked like
cake icing in any case and thought that, if she smeared it over herself
now, she'd look like a boston bun.

   The taste, though, was bitter and salty and she didn't like it on her
lips and tongue.  Jake had wanted her to suck him, but she couldn't, it
would've made her gag.

   Jake had also wanted to fuck her, she remembered, and couldn't see the
difference between that and true love.  A lover would respect her and
realise how hard it was for her to have intercourse.  She knew Jake had
been frustrated, but he would've come round in the end.  They could've
worked on the problem together, with him, perhaps, teasing her with his
knob until she felt she could accept him completely.

   Sharmila understood from childhood that someday she'd have to give up
her treasure to her man.  It would've been a wonderful journey, a test of
true love, but not in the way it was stolen from her.  Jake could never
understand the savagery, the violation, the disrepect for her as a human
being, that had accompanied that theft.  It'd had been her gift to offer,
not her husnad's to steal.  Jake had described it as rape.  But it was more
than that.  Her husband had deprived her of a piece of her humanity.

   Jake had been close to understanding.  He'd slipped under her guard as
no man had ever done before.  Jake had given her hope and it was something
she should've cherished at the time.  Instead, she'd let others come
between them.

   Sharmila had no way to find him.  His little apartment had been sold,
along with the building, and all his things had been cleared out.  She
hoped he'd set up a business somewhere else with his money, but he hadn't
so far.  He seems to have disappeared from sight.

   She had hoped he would seek her out.  She hadn't made it easy for him,
but he was persistant and she was sure he'd have found her if he really
wanted to.  She was much better emotionally, now, and she felt she'd give
him a better reception than the last time they met.

   Closing her eyes, she could almost feel his arms around her, his sweet
body pressed to her back.  She held the feeling for as long as possible
until she drifted off to sleep.

   --------------------------------------------

   Mary bent and kissed his limp and soggy dick as a thank you to the
pleasure it'd just given her.  It had pumped so much up her that cum seeped
out between her legs and onto the clean sheet.  It had been a brave
performance on the part of its owner, because she'd demanded so much of it
over the past two hours.

   The owner in question was snoring contentedly in her arms, having been
thoroughly exhausted.  They'd tried all the possibilities and some that
weren't in the handbook.  She'd even suggested giving 69 another try, but
the same problem existed from last time.  She couldn't keep rhythm when his
tongue hit her clitoris and she'd the urge to bite him.  It was a natural
reaction to clench her teeth when on the verge, and she was grateful he'd
been so understanding.

   Mary had buzzed with sexual energy tonight and could've gone on longer
if he'd been up to it.  She'd even considered masturbation after he'd
flaked, but she still preferred to be alone when she did it.  Even though
he was asleep, she found it hard to concentrate.

   He'd managed two good fucks and a slow one to finish.  That was pretty
good going for a 42 year old inside two hours.  The last one had been for
her because, by then, he was beginning to lose interest.  He'd wanted to go
to sleep, but she'd coaxed him to another hard on and he'd managed, just, a
very weak cum.  It was special for her, also, because it had been
missionary and his mouth had rarely left hers.  It was an act of pure,
unselfish, love for her and tears had welled up at the emotion of it all.

   Afterwards, they lay draped and tangled together whispering endearments
and telling each other how perfect it'd been.  She'd dribbled all over his
leg but he was too tired to care.  They could shower in the morning.  Jake
had been too fucked to get out of bed.

   Sharmila still nagged at her mind.  Tonight, though, she'd managed to
chase her away for two solid hours.

   She moved his head so she could snuggle closer.  He rumbled something in
his sleep and she smiled, manuevred his head onto her breasts, and waited
for sleep to come.

   ---------------------------------------------

   Catherine Sullivan and Mary had known each other longer than she could
remember.  They'd met up at varsity, Cath had been a political science
student and she, already turned on by psychology.

   They'd wound up fellow counsellors for Rape Crisis before Cath had moved
on to drug and alcohol addiction, while she, relationships.  Cath had
always been there for her, though, as a sounding board for those
complicated issues and for stuff that came up in her life.

   She'd supported Mary through her difficult divorce and she, Cath,
through her occasional messy break ups.  Cath had bounced around a bit
between lovers before settling on Mike.  They'd been together 14 years,
now, and neither felt like moving on.

   Cath's daughter, she insisted, had pulled them together in the end. 
Michaela Sky was 11, now, and pretty and smart like her mother.

   Mary had a couple of hours in the morning owing to cancellations and
walked the half block to see her.  Cath worked for a 'private
rehabilitation provider,' which, fortunately, left her pretty much alone.
Cath found some time between clients and they talked over coffee in her
interview room.

   "Right, Mare," grinned her friend, "so you're this old bag who kind of
got used to the idea of being single when, 'poof,' this bloke comes along?
I'm right so far?"

   "Except for the 'old' part, bitch!" laughed Mary.

   "Now this guy appears to be prefect, except, well, he's got an ex,
right? This ex is a babe with tits out to here.  She's young, exotic,
sexy...  maybe has a few issues, but, hey, don't we all, right?" Cath
looked straight at Mary, winking.  Mary looked away, blushing bright red.
"This guy, though, shit, Mary, he really comes and fucks up your life. 
He's attentive, affectionate, good around the home, undemanding and
supportive, and fucks your brains out like you've never had it before, ok
so far?"

   "Cat?  Stop it!"

   "Mary, honey, at your age, how many more chances do you think you're
going to have?"

   "I know, Cath, but..."

   "And over the fucking flower garden?  Are you kidding me?  You fucked
over the geraniums?  Mare, that's sounds so fucking hot!"

   "I know.  It was!" Mary stifled a laugh.

   "You're right, Mary, you've no right to be this happy.  You pass him
over to me on weekends and public holidays.  I'll send Mike to the shops,
and..."

   "Cath, you don't understand.  It's not that...  it's nothing to do with
him.  He's perfect, he's...  too perfect.  I've never felt like this
since...  I'm so much in love with him it drives me insane.  I can't think
straight, I'm going to wake up, and..."

   "He's cleared out with his sexy, young squeeze?  You see her and she
reminds you of everything you're not?  She's got everything over you,
youth, beauty, except for one thing, Jake, and she wants to take him from
you?  I got it so far?"

   "I...  I'm not even sure she wants him, Cat," Mary conceded.

   "But you think she could?"

   "Yeah.  What's going on with me, Cat?"

   "You answer that question."

   "I'm...  I'm in love with him..." she considered, her eyes closed, "and
it's brought up feelings of insecurity...  inadequacy...  um, age
issues..."

   "And?"

   "Fear of change?"

   "Bingo!" triumphed, Cath.

   "I'm scared of having to change my life to accommodate another human
being..."

   "And?  You're getting warm, Mare!"

   "Part of me wants to sabotage...  to push him away so I don't have to
face up to it?"

   "Oo, you're good, very good!  Now, Mary, there's more to go?"

   "This sounds very familiar.  I do this every day!"

   "I know, so come to the climax?"

   "And I feel I don't really deserve him because I'm this boring old
bitch, ugly as Hell, and one day he'll see through my disguises and piss
off?  Hey, better to kick him in the guts, now, so I won't be hurt as much?
And, hey, why don't I bring in some Jezebel to steal him from me so I can
say, 'it's not my fault but this amoral bitch who fucked up my life'?"

   "And then you can return to your comfortable, familiar, old single life
where you can have everything your way, don't have to make compromises,
stay out late, walk around in your underwear...  oh, silly me, Jake kind of
likes that, doesn't he?"

   "Oh, shut up, bitch!"

   "So what does Jake really see when he looks at you?"

   "Gestalt, Cat?" she nodded, "imagine I'm looking at myself through
Jake's eyes, feeling his feelings, his thoughts?"

   "Go ahead, Mare.  You can do it!"

   "Stop being such a smartarse!  Ok, I'll try, here goes..." Mary closed
her eyes and leaned back.

   "Jake," she heard Cat whisper, "what do you see in this woman, Mary? 
What is she like?  Describe her?"

   "Fun..." Mary whispered, "tall...  kinky red hair, caring, big hearted!
Fit, Christ, is she fit?  I can't keep up with her."

   "You like the way she looks, Jake?  What do you think when you see her
naked?"

   "Not bad for her age!"

   "Mary?  That's you talking.  You really think Jake cares about your age?
Ask him, is he thinking 'there's a 55 year old who hasn't put on too much
flab, her tits don't sag all that much, and, well, if I close my eyes...'?"

   "Cat?  Stop!  This hurts!"

   "I know it does, Mare.  Tell me what Jake sees?  Not what you think of
yourself?  You want to look in the mirror?"

   "No, I'm fine!"

   "So, honey, tell me Jake?  What do you think when you see Mary naked?"

   "I...  I...  don't see anything!"

   "Go on?  She's old, Jake...  look at her?"

   "No!  I don't see her body.  I can touch...  feel...  I can hear her
voice, laughter...  hear her breathing, getting excited, feel her wet
kisses on my throat..."

   "You hard, Jake?"

   "Yes!  I want to squeeze her to me...  can't get enough, can't get close
enough..."

   "Why not?"

   "She wants to fuck, Cat.  All she wants to do is fuck.  I just want to
hold her...  love her, be close, hang out...  and all we ever do is fuck.
Wow, Cath, where the fuck did that come from?"

   "You tell me, Mary?  You're the expert on Gestalt Therapy?"

   "I'm fucking our relationship to death!  Jesus, Cat, I'm killing us with
sex?"

   "And Sharmila?  She doesn't need to fuck him, Mary, does she?  He loved
her even though she didn't bang him senseless?  How'd she do that, Mary? 
How'd she get him to love her without fucking him?"

   "Because she held back, but gave him hope that..."

   "Hope that there was some growing together as a couple to do?  Mary,
you're flogging the poor guy to death, girl.  You're going to exhaust the
whole relationship before you have a chance to really discover what makes
each of you tick.  You're holding on to the guy so fiercely you haven't let
him breath.  Give him a chance to come up for air, huh?  Read each other
stories, do something else together beside fuck each other to death.  He
doesn't give a shit how old you are.  You've told me.  He loves you as a
person and companion and want's to comfort, nurture, do all that sugary
stuff..."

   "I know."

   "But you won't let him.  You think if you're this sexual dynamo then he
won't notice how repelled he is by your old body..."

   "I know, but..."

   "But, nothing!  Let him be himself and accept what he's offering? 
Jesus, Mary, he get's it up for you three fucking times in two hours and
you think he's repelled by your age?"

   "Ok, ok.  Can we stop now?  I'm done, I kind of need to think about all
of this."

   "Sure, Mary.  We can call it quits.  Now...  tell me true, were you
serious?  He really did you over a garden wall..."

   ---------------------------------------

   Sharmila was sitting by herself in the day room of the Refuge.  She'd
bought some business orientated magazines and she was trolling through
them, searching for ideas.  Nearby, a couple of women were having a
conversation.  Their voices were a little too loud and intrusive and
Sharmila considered reteating to the quiet of her room.

   "Yeah," one of them said, "it's that same guy who who made all that
money!"

   "What, guy?" the other asked.

   "Didn't you read the Herald?  He owned some building downtown... 
inherited it...  sold it for 10 million bucks!"

   Sharmila listened with one ear cocked.  She'd overheard similar
conversations about Jake.  He'd been the talk of the town for weeks.  She
hoped she'd get a clue one day where he was living.  She thought he'd
probably left the country and was touring the world.

   "Y'reckon he's gone and shacked up with Mary?  Bullshit, Glenda!"

   Sharmila's magazine went out of focus.  She listened intently to the
couple, while not trying to look obvious.

   "No, it's true!  I overheard them in the staffroom.  Rachel said she'd
been out to her cottage and this guy was living there.  She said they were
all over each other like a case of hives."

   "I don't believe it.  Mary must be well into her fifties and this
guy's..."

   "He's 42.  I read it in the Herald."

   "I suppose that's not so bad.  Jeez, she must really turn it on for him
to hook a guy like that.  He could pull anyone he liked.  Maybe hope for
us, yet, Cheryl?  Lap of luxury, eh, in return for a leg over now and
again. Not bad looking, either.  I'd give him a run for his money!"

   Their cackling laughter annoyed Sharmila and she got up and went to her
room.

   Counsellors' addresses and phone numbers were always unlisted. 
Obviously, they often dealt with some unstable clients and, well, some also
developed fixations, obsessions towards those trying to help.  Sharmila
could only assume she lived somewhere on the 57 bus route.  Then again, she
may well have been going to see a friend.  The refuge volunteer staff were
obsessive, too, about their confidentiality.  Disgruntled partners of some
of their clients had made threats in the past.

   Sharmila could tail Mary home one evening?  She didn't like that idea.
It would mean catching the same bus and Mary would be sure to spot her. 
She could jump in a taxi and follow the bus?  That would mean trusting a
taxi driver.  Unlike the movies, cab drivers are apt to grow suspicious
when asked by their passengers to tail people.  They may report it to the
police.  Sharmila ran all the possibilities through her head and knocked
them off, one by one.  To follow someone around town was just too dangerous
unless you knew what you were doing.

   'And to be frank,' Sharmila thought to herself, 'getting a little
obsessive and creepy.'

   But she'd kind of like to see Jake again: even just to find out whether
the spark was still there.  She knew she'd be much better for him this
time.

   She lay on her bed just thinking about him.  A copy of the Herald was on
her bedside table and it featured a photo of Jake standing in front of his
mart.  She picked it up and looked at it.  A flood of memories came back:
Jake, naked, sitting on his haunches above her grinning.  He had his dick
in his hand and he was stroking it for her.  He moved up so he was hovering
over her naked breasts.  Her nipples were stiff waiting for the streams of
his cream.

   Sharmila felt a familiar itching, a need to get herself off.  It was too
early in the evening, though, and dinner will be ready soon.  She didn't
want to come out to the dining room, flushed and dreamy from cumming.  She
longed for her tiny flat where such things didn't matter: where she could
pleasure herself any time she liked.

   She sat up and put the paper down.  Climbing off the bed, she checked
herself in the mirror before going out to dinner.  She thought she'd retire
early tonight.

   --------------------------------------------------------

   Duty at the Refuge often meant just hanging out until staff officially
left, around 9 o'clock.  From then on till 7 in the morning, security was
handled by a local firm and emergencies by the Hospital Crisis Centre.  If
a woman was in a situation where she needed to be removed from a house,
then that was handled by the police.  They'd then call the Centre and have
someone accompany the victim to the Refuge.

   The word 'victim' wasn't used by the professionals, however.  'Client'
was substituted instead.  There were no 'victims', just 'clients' needing
'service.'

   It had changed a lot from those early days 30 years ago when Women's
Refuges had been set up by angry women tired of hearing the stories of
women being bashed and killed by their partners.  Then, there was no
funding, all were volunteers, they rented houses, provided emergency
numbers...  A posse would respond to a call from someone who'd 'had
enough.' Sometimes, they'd bring along a couple of sympathetic guys, big
intimidating men, to subdue an out of control partner: maybe high on drugs
or just boozed out of his mind.

   Plenty of mistakes were made, sure.  Once or twice there were fights,
complaints made to the police, and a refuge volunteer would end up in
court. There were failures aplenty and sometimes someone wound up dead
because help didn't arrive in time or they just couldn't convince someone
not to go back.  A male partner knifed by their woman...  an infinite
number of situations and few of them straight forward.

   Obviously funding, training and things had to be put on a professional
basis so assessments could be made that would be valid in court.  The law
came onto their side more and more and some of the militancy, the political
points scoring, the feminist crusade, gradually disappeared from the
service.  They were now an integral apart of the Crisis Team, official and
date stamped.

   Mary did her turn there twice a week, Wednesdays and Thursdays.  She'd
been associated with them from the early days, she was part of the
furniture.  She knew Sharmila was still there, that she'd been brought by
the police and that some investigation was in progress.  But, she wasn't
her client anymore and didn't have a right to the facts of the case, unless
Sharmila herself told her.

   She was a little surprised, therefore, when Sharmila herself came up to
her one Wednesday evening and asked if they could have a chat.  She seemed
relaxed, enough, even friendly, and Mary's professional training clicked
in. It was necessary to suppress one's own personal issues.

   "How's everything going, Sharmila?" she asked, smiling, reassuring.

   "I'm good now, Mary," she replied, "I'm looking forward to finding a
place by myself."

   "Good!  You okay with money?" Mary knew she was: she had Jake's cheque
for $80,000.

   "Fine!  The police want to interview me.  When that's done, I can go."

   "Uh huh!  Any idea when that's going to happen?"

   Sharmila shook her head.  "They don't move very fast, do they?" Mary
agreed the police can sometimes take their time about things.

   "So have you got anything on your mind?"

   "Yes.  I wondered whether you might know where Jake is?"

   Mary momentarily lost her composure.  She hope Sharmila didn't notice.
Little slips by that woman.  "Why do you want to know?"

   "I'd just like to see him...  to tell him I'm sorry about what happened.
I think it's necessary for some sort of closure, don't you agree?"

   'Cunning bitch!' Mary thought to herself, 'tossing the jargon at me,
putting me into a position where I must agree.' "This is important to you?"
Sharmila nodded, "what if he doesn't want to see you?" 'Chew on that,
bitch!'

   "That's ok," she replied, sweetly, "he has a life of his own?  I'll
understand.  He is a good man, a lovely man and I treated him unfairly.  I
was foolish...  I'd like to make it up to him."

   'So that's your game, is it?' Mary thought.  "Are you dealing with those
issues, Sharmila?  Around sexuality?  The masturbation?  Voyeurism? 
Bringing other women into a relationship?" 'Fuck, Mary, what am you doing?
That was kind of blunt, wasn't it?'

   Sharmila lost some of her composure, looked shocked for a second, then
recovered.  "I'm much better, now," she told her, "I think I'm ready to
work on that...  with the right patience, understanding...  with the right
kind of love.  I think I am ready to try having full intercourse...  with
the right man, of course."

   'Ok, Mary,' she thought, 'you deserved that.  She's playing head games
with you.  Of course she knows you're with Jake.  She's fucking with you!'
"I see!" she said, "of course you must realise that Jake may have found
someone else?  If you've got a desire to get back together with him, it may
be tough on you...  seeing him happy with another woman?" 'Shit, Mary,' she
thought, 'you're twisting the knife?'

   "I know that," Sharmila replied, "but I just want to see him to find
out. If he's with someone else, then that's something I have to deal with?"

   'Deal?  What's she mean by deal?' "I'll see what I can do.  As a matter
of a fact, I can contact him.  I'll ask him if he wants to see you?" 'In
your dreams, bitch!'

   "Thank you, Mary," Sharmila said, putting out her hand, "I knew I could
rely on you...  that you'd be on my side...  supportive!"

   'You've no idea how supportive I can be.' "No problem, Sharmila, keep
yourself safe?"

   "I will, bye, and thanks!" She smiled sweetly at Mary and left.

   Mary sat staring at the empty chair for a moment wondering what she
should do.  The conflict between her professional and private lives was
obvious.  The jealous woman wanted to ignore the request and protect Jake,
and herself, from Sharmila at all costs.  Yet, professionally, she had a
duty to honour the wishes of a client, to help and support?

   Which one was going to come out on top?

   ------------------------------------------

   KATZMAREK (C)