Article 109997 of alt.sex.stories: From: an248969@anon.penet.fi (-DELTA-) Date: Mon, 27 Nov 1995 22:46:07 UTC Subject: The Cafeteria (mf) [1/2] The Cafeteria by Delta. (c) 1995 Part One The Cafeteria was almost full and the line was long. Jean groaned to herself, allowed her shoulders to slump fractionally, yet joined the line-up anyway. It inched forward. She collected her tray and silverware and began to scan the choices still open. There wasn't that much left. She reached the juice cooler and searched, unsuccessfully, for orange before pickinge a carton of apple. The juice cooler had a mirrored back and she was caught by her reflection. Still good looking at 45, but dull. Her assessment was without criticism, without passion, simply objective. She had lost it somewhere, she knew, but it didn't seem to matter anymore. Words almost broke through to her consciousness but were stopped short. There was a short moment of a memory of pain, then nothing. The salad bar was depleted and this almost annoyed her. She accepted the situation and picked over what was left. It would do. Finally she was at the till and the cashier rang up the bill. It was too much for what she had picked, she thought, but made no comment. The teller could do nothing anyway, outside of sympathize. She didn't need the sympathy. Jean scanned the room. Most of the tables were full. There were a few others which still had a seat open, however. She sighed. It would be nice to be able to eat alone, but it was useless to dream of what could not be. She spotted a likely table and made her way toward it. Another woman arrived several steps ahead of her and took the place. Jean sighed again and turned to scan the room once more. Her eyes stopped. There was a table near the side wall with only one person at it. Perfect. No, not perfect. The lone occupant, a man, sitting with his back to the wall, looking out over the lunch crowd, did not appear to be the ideal lunch companion. That was, no doubt, why he was the lone occupant. Jean looked at him more closely. It wasn't easy to tell what he looked like. His beard was unkempt and a bit bushy, his hair was longer than normal for the locals. He was not an office worker like the rest. She could tell that at a glance. She hesitated, was on the point of deciding to look elsewhere when his eyes caught hers. an acknowledging nod and glanced to one of the open places at his table, then back at her again. It was almost a challenge. This was her world, not his, and she'd be damned if she'd let one such as he keep her away from a nearly empty table. She straightened her shoulders and moved purposefully toward the table, wondering why her heart was beating faster as she approached. Closer scrutiny placed the man in his late twenties. His garb was outdoorsy and not particularly fresh looking. Still, beard notwithstanding, he was neat and his fingernails were clean. "Mind if I sit here?" she asked. He looked her straight in the eyes a moment longer than was polite then smiled brightly. "Not at all. Please do." His voice was well modulated and soft, not at all what she had expected. The smile transformed his face and she realized that he was probably quite good looking under the beard. She wondered, momentarily, what it would be like discovering what he did look like, then brushed the thought aside as unworthy of her. Jean placed her tray on the table and pulled back the chair to sit down. As she did he rose and waited until she had seated herself before settling back once more. This was far beyond anything she might have expected. Such manners were not a part of cafeteria eating. It puzzled her. She ignored it and began to eat. She concentrated on her meal even as she realized that he was concentrating on her. It was unsettling. Finally she spoke up. "I wish you wouldn't stare at me so much, it is making me uncomfortable." The younger man raised his eyebrows and sat back in his chair. His eyes never left hers and she began debating whether or not to leave. Suddenly he looked away, his glance roving over the other tables in the cafeteria. "Funny, isn't it? All these people eating together and no one looking at the others who share their tables. It is a sad commentary on what we've become." She looked around and noticed that he was right. Although some were talking together, most of the diners kept their gazes fixed on their food, on their own small portion of the table. She wondered that she had never seen this before. Almost against her will she began to smile. She looked back at the man opposite her and ventured, "It's almost ridiculous, isn't it?" He smiled back. "It is ridiculous. Now you and I, given that we are normal, average citizens," the words normal and average were delivered in a tone which suggested contempt, "would sit down, and hope against hope that the other wouldn't break into our little shell and force us to deal with yet another being." She frowned for that was precisely what she had hoped. "Yet here we are and we've found something to share. A very small smile at `the others'. A small miracle, considering the circumstances, wouldn't you say?" She said nothing. She wasn't sure she wanted this conversation at all. He merely smiled at her. She noticed that his smile touched his eyes, it was a genuine smile. `That's nice,' she said to herself, `that's nice to see'. "I'll share something else with you." His hand moved, palm up, from his chest towards her, fingers spreading as it moved. "My name. I'll share my name." He smiled as if at some private joke. She sat slightly farther back in her chair as if to avoid something that intimate. He noticed it, knew what it meant, and ignored it. "My name is Dream." "What?" She looked at him intently, suspecting he was playing some kind of joke on her, irritated that he would do this, that she had allowed this to come about. "Sad, but true." He lowered his head, mournfully, shaking it slowly from side to side. "My parents were hippies," he explained, "and they had been trying for some time for a child, unsuccessfully. I was their `Dream' come true." "Oh, no!" she expostulated. What it must have been like, growing up with a name like that! "Oh, yes!" he replied, grinning. "But it's not too bad. My second name is very regular and I usually use it." "You're putting me on, aren't you." Suspicion clouded her face. "Not at all." He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out his driver's licence and held it out. His fingers covered his middle and last names, but there, in plain view was his first name: Dream. Exactly as he had said. She laughed. Seeing the name caused her to laugh, and he laughed with her and withdrew the licence, but not before she noted that he was from out of town - a long way out. It made him safer, somehow. She looked at him with interest now. He looked back at her, consideringly. "Once you put a name to a person everything about him becomes more personal, more `rememberable', doesn't it?" She nodded, slowly, suspecting what was to come. "How about sharing your name with me, then?" he asked. Seeing full retreat in her posture he hurried on, "It doesn't have to be your real name, any name will do. Just a name for me to call you by, to remember you by." She thought about it for a full minute then told him, "Jean." "Jean," he canted his head slightly as he rolled the name over his tongue. "Jean," he repeated. "Very nice. Thank-you, Jean. It is indeed a great pleasure to meet you." "And why is it a `great' pleasure?" she wanted to know, pleased, for she knew, somehow, that he was being sincere. She was also pleased with the way her name sounded when he spoke it. She would have to watch herself or she might get caught up in whatever it was he had planned, whatever game he was playing, for she was also sure there was more to this than a simple conversation. "It is a great pleasure for I admire women with courage, Jean." "I have courage?" "You gave me your true name, you didn't have to do that; you are still here, you don't have to be, places have opened up at other tables; you are talking with me, most wouldn't. I know how I look, uh, let's say somewhat less than reputable?" Jean laughed. "Let's say quite a bit less than reputable, Dream." She laughed again. "Come on, what are you usually called, I feel silly calling you Dream. Every time I even think it, I want to laugh." "No, no, no," he wagged his forefinger. "If I can take the embarrassment of being named Dream, then you can take the silly feeling you get when you call me by name." He smiled, almost smugly she thought. She took a fork-full of salad and chewed it carefully while thinking. That was one of the good things about eating with someone, you could avoid talking and take time to think without appearing offensive. She wondered what it was he really wanted. "What is it that you want, Dream," she asked suddenly. "Ah, good, Jean. Forthright and to the point. I like that." He smiled again. "You may like it, but you didn't answer the question." Her eyes were sharper now. "It's the wrong question, Jean." His voice was very quiet, yet earnest. He sat up straight and looked in her eyes for a time. She began to become nervous again, as if she knew what he was about to say. "The question is, `What do *you* want?', for you are the important one here. I'm just drifting, on vacation you might say. I'll only be here a couple of days, then gone." He paused a moment. "So, Jean, what is it that you want?" The question buffeted her. Her stomach felt nervous. She wouldn't allow herself to think the question, let alone answer it, not even to herself. "What do you think I want?" Her smile belied the nervousness she felt. Dream shook his head sadly. "Clever, very clever. Okay, we'll play it your way." He looked at her, then away. It seemed to Jean that he was concentrating on a spot very far away, so far, in fact, that he wasn't really here anymore. It began to worry her and she was about to say something to bring him back when his eyes suddenly refocused. They shifted from the spot back to her face. He smiled a lazy smile and leaned back in his chair. `This would be good', she thought and smiled encouragingly at him, letting him know she was ready. She wasn't, for when his words did come they shocked her and the smile faded and died. "You are like a spotlight, Jean. There is a tremendous brilliance there, a tremendous radiance bursting all about you that would shine on anyone who came near, yet none come near. This is because they can't see your brilliance. "Somehow you've managed to put black-blinds up all around you, which only allow a dull gray light through. This light isn't bright enough, exciting enough, to attract any to you, and certainly not the one you wish for. "What you want is for that special one to see through the blinds to what really exists inside, to come and to tear them down so that you need no longer hide what you have to give." He stopped talking and stabbed a piece of pie with his fork and brought it up to his mouth, but stopped before putting it in. He smiled brightly, the seriousness past, "Anything else you want to know?" The pie disappeared into his mouth. Jean was pale, shocked. So much of what he said fit, fit in places where she didn't even look anymore. How could he know this? "Who are you?" she finally asked. He swallowed. "Just a weary traveler who plans to rest up here a couple of days before moving on once more." "Well, Weary Traveler, why did you come to me, what do you want from me?" "Jean, Jean. You came to me, I was just sitting here. I'd already been here 20 minutes when you came in. There's no way I could have known you were coming. So, the question becomes: Why did you come to me, to one you described as looking quite a bit less than reputable? Maybe you figured the reputable ones hadn't found a way through the blinds, to tear them down, so perhaps someone less than reputable might be able to do the job for you." Jean was suddenly tired. It was as she had suspected. "And you are the one who can do this, tear down my blinds and set me free?" She spoke caustically. "Look at yourself. You've crossed your legs and your arms. A very defensive posture. Yet you've nothing to fear from me. I am not dangerous to you at all. Unless you wish it, it is very unlikely that we shall ever see each other again." He was right, she had crossed her legs and arms and pushed away from him. With no little effort she uncrossed herself. "Better?" she asked. Dream gave a short nod. "I have a question for you, now." She braced herself, she knew she wasn't going to like it. "Why are you still here?" His voice was very mild. She looked blankly at him. "Why are you still sitting here talking with me?" he repeated. across her brain. Outwardly she did not, could not, move. "I don't know," was all she could say. "Okay," he sighed. "Now I'll answer your last question." She blinked, she couldn't remember what that was. "I am not the one who can tear down those blinds," he said softly, kindly. "You are the only one who can do that." She heard a wail inside herself grow, drowning out the hope that had been. Wait, what was that he was saying? "I don't know, Jean, I may be able to help - if you want it, that is." He spoke, almost reluctantly, looking down at the remains of his pie. He didn't look up. What was it he was waiting for? Was he waiting to hear her chair scraping against the floor as she got up and left? If it was, he was surprised. To her own vast surprise, Jean realized that she, also, didn't hear her chair scraping against the floor as she got up and left. She was, it appeared, still sitting. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her stomach seemed to be jumping about, out of control, inside her. To her even greater surprise she heard herself whisper, "Please." It was a plea. Dream looked up and there was something new in his eyes. Jean couldn't quite grasp what it was, the word that came to her, which she dismissed, was `haunted'. The look disappeared. Dream looked at his watch which caused her to do the same. "Okay, Jean. It's getting late. After you get off work go home and pack for a three day trip, it is, you know, the long weekend coming up. Meet me here at about 7 o'clock after... " "You expect me to take off with you on a three day trip?" Jean interrupted. Yet even as she spoke she knew she would do it, she simply didn't know why. "... at about 7 o'clock, after you've checked into a hotel." Dream finished, totally ignoring the interruption. "Much of what you are, of what is holding you to what you are, is in your home. You need to have the freedom to be who you are, not what you are. That freedom will be compromised if you remain in your usual dwelling." It made sense to her. She found herself both relieved and disappointed. She was also embarrassed. "Any particular hotel?" she asked, trying to suppress the embarrassment. "The best you can easily afford. This, too, is important." Dream paused for a few moments. "Then I see you here at seven?" They both rose from the table. "Yes." The answer was firm. Dream nodded and walked away. * * * Her nerves on edge, stomach jumping, Jean walked down the street towards the cafeteria. She was dressed casually, she didn't know what to expect. In more ways than one, she grimaced to herself. It was insanity, this going out with this stranger, this Dream. There was no telling what he could be, how dangerous he might prove. There was still time to turn back, to retreat to her apartment, to lose herself in what she was. It would be so easy, so comfortable. Her step faltered. A vision of herself in the mirrored cooler came to her. Dull, she had admitted to herself, and dull she was. The flame within going steadily down, soon, perhaps, to be extinguished. No! She wouldn't go back. Her stride extended, became jaunty. She smiled a wild, devil may care, smile. A man, walking the other way, was startled by the sudden smile which he imagined was aimed at him. Surprise slowed his reactions and his face contorted as he tried to decide whether to smile back or not. By the time he had made up his mind it was too late, she was past him. Jean almost laughed out loud, for she had read every move of his face. It had, indeed, been laughable. Her smile faded. There he was, leaning against the building, looking as disreputable as ever. Her stride slowed as she approached and, as she drew near, she realized she had erred. His hair was neatly combed, his beard, still bushy, brushed and his clothes clean. He was dressed casually, as was she, in jeans and jacket. She shivered, though the early evening air was warm. Dream's head slowly came up and, even more slowly, swiveled until he was looking straight at her. She came to a stop, a meter away. Again she caught the strange look on his features before it disappeared in a welcoming smile. Again she was caught by the genuineness of the smile. "Good evening, Jean. I was wondering if you would show." "No you weren't," she contradicted him, "you knew I would be here." Dream smiled, his smile a little wider, a little brighter. "I thought you would come, but I was not sure. There are many reasons you could have found to change your mind." He pushed himself away from the wall. "However that is all beside the point. You are here, and I am pleased that you are with me. Let's walk." He held out his hand and, after a moment's hesitation, she took it. His hand was strong, yet he held hers gently and her heart rate went up slightly. They crossed the street and walked through a small park. It was so nice to be walking hand in hand with a man again, she thought. Her thoughts went into a pattern of what she would like to do with him when suddenly he bumped into her. "Sorry," he said. "I guess I wasn't looking where I was going." She looked up at him suspiciously. He didn't sound very sorry. He did, however, have a contrite expression on his face, so she murmured that it was okay. They continued on but, just as she was becoming lost in her reverie again, he bumped into her once more. "Sorry." He didn't sound sorry this time either. She glared at him. "You did that on purpose." He struggled to keep his face straight, failed and broke into a wide grin. "Yep, I guess I did," he admitted. As she started to become annoyed he nudged her again. "Come on, Jean. Come out and play." He looked and sounded so much like a little boy that she almost had to laugh, but controlled herself. She turned her head away, nose up in the air. "Nope," she said, "won't. You play too rough." With that she started off again, walking quickly. She didn't let go of his hand, however, and jerked him off balance. Just as he was coming even with her again, she lowered her shoulder and stepped into him. Dream stopped short, lost his balance and fell to the grass, dragging her along with him. They both exploded in laughter as they sat there looking at one another. "Who plays too rough?" he asked. "I'm sorry," she replied in a little girl voice, lowering her gaze. "I guess I don't know my own strength." She was the picture of contriteness and Dream began laughing again. "Yeah, right," he managed to reply. "No, no, stop!" He tried to protect himself as Jean began tickling him. "Say uncle," she demanded. "Never!" he replied, protecting his ribs as best he could. "All right, Uncle!" She stopped. "That's better." Jean paused, suddenly sobering. "How did you do that?" she asked, serious now. "Do what?" Dream looked puzzled, but she didn't trust that. "Get me to act that way so easily. I haven't played around like that in a long time." "A minor talent of mine," he answered, then asked, apropos of nothing, "How old am I, Jean?" Jean looked a little flustered at the sudden turn of the focus. She looked at him questioningly. "Twenty-eight," she said firmly. She waited a moment for him to confirm or deny this age. He did neither. "Well, how old are you, then?" "It doesn't matter. Your answer was what was important, not my age. You said, almost immediately, that I was twenty-eight. Not middle twenties, not late twenties, not middle twenties to early thirties but twenty-eight." "So?" He had paused long enough for her to interject this. "So you are very age conscious. If you are that conscious of my age, or what you perceive my age to be, then you are likely very conscious of your own. How old are you, Jean?" She froze. She didn't want to say, she feared the knowledge might push him away. The joyousness of the past minutes disappeared. Oh, well, she thought to herself, I guess I owe him that. Before she could speak, however, he was talking again. "I don't care how old you are, Jean. It just doesn't matter to me. It seems to matter to you. Anyway, that's what I did. I caused you to forget, for a moment, your age and your conception of how one of your age should act." He smiled at her, disarmingly. She seemed a bit confused, so he continued. "Okay, answer a few questions, but not for me, for yourself. First, how should a person of your age act?" He waited a moment before continuing. Her face composed as she thought about his question. "How should a person one year younger than you act?" She looked up. "Two years younger than you? Three? "Let's say I am twenty-eight as you suggested. At what point should I be acting like you? Twenty-nine? Thirty and two months? Thirty, two months and eight days?" She was smiling again. "Thirty, two months, eight days and four hours?" "Enough," she laughed. "The answer is never. You should never act my age." "And nor should you," he replied. He jumped back to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. "And if my lady will get her butt off the grass we will go dancing." "Ouff!" She rose. "I'd be delighted, but I'm not really dressed for it." "Nonsense. There's a club just down the street." He named it. That's country!" she objected, "and it's for younger peop... " Her voice trailed off. "Exactly. Like us. Come on, Jean, you'll have fun. Maybe they'll have line dancing." She groaned. "Anything but that." In spite of herself Jean enjoyed the night club. Dream was a reasonably good dancer and the physical activity seemed to enliven her. She was a little flushed as they sat at a table to rest. "Whew. That's a workout!" "Would you like something else to drink?" "No, thanks. You?" "Yes, I think I will. I'm thirsty. I think a soda water would do me a world of good. Sure you don't want anything, Jean?" "Actually, I'll have the same, thanks." She was glad she wouldn't have to put up with an inebriated date later. Dream rose and walked through the crowd to the bar. It was faster than waiting for a server to come around. While he was gone another man approached her and asked her to dance. She was flattered but turned him down just as Dream returned and set down her drink in front of her. The other man looked a little annoyed at Dream's appearance with the drinks, yet moved off without a fuss. Dream and Jean sipped at their sodas as the music and patrons swarmed and clashed around them. They sat and watched the people for a while as they finished their drinks. Jean began to think that it wasn't such a bad place, if a bit loud. She became aware that Dream was speaking to her. "What was that?" Jean half shouted across the table. "I said, it's getting pretty noisy in here, would you like to leave?" Before Jean could answer, a man, who she had earlier noticed watching her, approached. He bent over the table toward her to make himself heard. "Would you like to dance, ma'am?" Jean gave him a startled glance, looked over at Dream, questioningly, then back at the man. She wasn't sure what to say. "How about another time, partner?" Dream smiled, to rob his words of any possible offense. "We haven't seen each other these past several years and I won't be around long. Perhaps next time." The stranger seemed to think that was reasonable. "Okay, ma'am. Next time?" Jean smiled up at him, graciously. "Thank-you. And thank- you for the offer." "My pleasure." The stranger turned and moved back into the crowd. "Let's go," suggested Dream and the two of them made their way to the door and into the sudden silence of the street outside. "Whew, it sure was warm in there." Jean shivered slightly in the cooler air of the evening, although it was still quite warm. "Thanks for getting rid of that man for me. You did it quite well, too." "Perhaps you should consider the idea that I didn't do it for you." "What do you mean?" she asked, even though comprehension came quickly. She wanted to hear it. "Perhaps I did it for myself. Don't go blaming our friend. I saw you as I was coming back from the bar. You had a certain glow about you. It was very attractive. That fellow saw it, too, and I don't blame him for trying to beat my time with you. I wasn't going to let that happen." "Why thank-you." Jean didn't know what else to say. "You are welcome." Dream spoke matter of factly. "I'm hungry. Do you know of a nice place to eat - preferably quiet?" Jean laughed. "I know just the place. Follow me." She held out her hand and he took it. They walked, hand in hand, together down the street. After dinner, while sipping coffee, Jean summoned up the courage to tell Dream how she was feeling. "You know, three men came up to me tonight and asked me to dance. It was very, very flattering. That just doesn't happen to me." "Why not?" Dream sounded genuinely curious. Jean was quiet for some time. She stared into her coffee. She wasn't sure if she wanted to tell him. Something within told her that she owed him, so she finally looked up. "I guess it's because I'm not so attractive anymore, because I'm getting older, becoming dull." She bit her lip, nervously awaiting his reply. "That's the other one," Dream replied, "not you." "The other one?" "Yeah, the age conscious one. Not the devil-may-care Jean that I know. Why do you think those men came up to you? Do you think it was because they thought you were dull?" He shook his head. "Why did they then?" "Tonight, because of two reasons. The first is that tonight you were very attractive, the second is that you were with me." He smiled. "I'm not being immodest. Men are a foolish lot, maybe this applies to women as well, I don't know. Many, ah, people rely on others for their ideas of beauty, etcetera, rather than striving to find their own. Those who are alone are suspect, they must be unattractive in some way - not necessarily looks. Yet place some third party with this formally "unattractive" person and those others suddenly think, `hey, someone is with her, or him, they must be attracted somehow, what have I missed'? Looking for what they have missed, they will generally find it." Dream fell silent, gazing down into his coffee cup. Jean looked at him for a time, gathering up her courage. "You find me attractive?" She needed to hear a positive answer. "Hell, yes," Dream looked up sharply. "Very." It felt so very good to be complimented again, and so positively, that Jean began to feel very warm inside. She smiled at Dream who pointed towards the window. She peered out but could see nothing but the empty street. "What is it?" she finally asked. "Your reflection. Now, is that the reflection of a very attractive woman, or is it the reflection of a very attractive woman?" Jean grinned at the repetition, then looked again and realized there was something different about her. She did look good. She turned and smiled her thanks at her companion. "You haven't answered me. I require an answer, Jean. I gave you two choices. Pick which ever one you think fits most closely, and tell me." He waited, expectantly. Jean was embarrassed, but when he showed no signs of letting her off the hook, she finally answered. "It is the reflection of a very attractive woman." He smiled. "I have to agree with you - a very attractive woman. And her companion is a very lucky man, I might add." He paused, grinned, then continued, "Not only might I add, but I do. A very lucky man. "Now, will you take the arm of that lucky man and allow him to walk you to your lodgings?" There was a half moon out in a clear night full of stars. Jean walked slowly, wanting this time to last for ever. She leaned against Dream and let her head rest against his shoulder. It was very comfortable. After a bit a thought occurred to her. He had taken her out dancing and to dinner. Would he now expect her to pay for it in that age old way - in bed? She didn't think him the type, yet one never knew. The mere thought of it took the edge off of her evening. Not, she stipulated to herself, that she would object to taking him into her bed - on the contrary, she thought that she would enjoy that, very much. It was simply the idea that he might expect it - `for services rendered' - that bothered her. he wanted her, he could have her. She owed him. "You are being very quiet, Jean." His voice broke into her reverie. "A penny for your thoughts." He had stopped and swung around so that they were now facing each other. "Figure they're worth that much?" she asked playfully. "Don't do this Jean." "Okay," she conceded. "I was enjoying the walk. It's nice to walk like this. I haven't done it for a while." "That was true, Jean. But at the time I asked you it was true no longer. So, are you going to tell me what's bothering you?" He looked down at her expectantly. She looked up at him silently, knowing she couldn't answer his question, knowing that if she answered it truthfully it would drive him away. "Let me guess," he continued. "You are wondering if I'm going to expect you to sleep with me." Jean was stunned. "How do you know these things?" "Come on, it wasn't that difficult. We're heading toward your hotel room. It was bound to come up. The evening is ending, I'm walking you home - what comes next?" He smiled into her eyes. She dredged up a smile to answer him with. After a moment she made her decision. "Do you want to come up to my room? You can if you want to." It had been too long since she'd last had a man in her bed. "Why do you set yourself, and me, up like this? If I accept and go with you now, you'll think less of me, and less of yourself for accepting that me. If I turn you down, you'll wonder why and blame yourself for not being attractive enough or something equally ridiculous. "So, I'm going to tell you exactly what I want and what I'm going to do about it." She waited with bated breath for him to continue. "I want to accept your offer, Jean. I wish, very much, to go up to your room with you. I do, very much, want to lie in your arms and sleep with you." There was more, she knew, and she waited. "I want to do these things, but I will not do them. Not tonight, Jean." "Why?" The question hung in the air between them. She watched his face closely. He seemed to be carefully gathering his thoughts, not wanting to rush an answer. "You're asking me to sell myself too cheaply, Jean. If you take me into your bed I want it to be because you want me. Me. Not just a man. "You're not ready yet. You still want me to fill a void which only you can fill. You still need time to be with yourself. You are making me this offer because you feel you owe me something - I don't know why - you don't. Make it again when it is something you want for you and I'll reconsider my answer." "How'd you get to be so smart?" The words came out without her thinking about them. There was a flash of pain which crossed his face before disappearing into a soft smile. If she hadn't been looking directly at him, concentrating on his face, she would have missed it. "Come on, let's go." She took the initiative and pulled him along with her. The hotel was on the next block and they walked the rest of the way in silence. Dream held open the door for her and walked with her to the elevator. She was about to press the up button when he stopped her. She turned to him, a question in her eyes. Perhaps he'd changed his mind. Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out three small scented candles. He handed them to her. "Take a nice luxurious hot bath, Jean. Turn out the lights and soak by candlelight. Pamper yourself. Sleep in, but be ready to go at eleven." "Go where?" She had trouble concentrating, her mind was on that hot bath. She was also very happy for she had half suspected that she had seen the last of him. "Didn't I mention it? I'm taking you on a picnic. Dress accordingly. Bring along a swimming suit." He pushed the elevator button for her. "Oh, and one last thing... " "Yes," she hoped she knew what was coming. She did, for he bent down and brushed his lips against hers. He gave her a small kiss on each corner of her mouth, then one full on her lips. Her arms went around his neck and pulled him close, her breasts flattening against his chest. His arms surrounded her and held her tightly. She could feel his excitement growing even as he began to relax his hold on her. Regretfully she followed suit and released him. He smiled at her as she stepped into the elevator, whose doors had opened while they were kissing, and waved as the doors began to close. Just before the closing doors cut off her sight of him she once again saw the haunted look from the cafeteria darken his eyes. * * * The steam from the hot water fogged the mirror and helped diffuse the light from the three candles, lending the bathroom a soft ambiance which hinted at mystery and intangibility. Three glowing halos of light in the dark, humid room, with a half-remembered scent, barely perceptible, guiding the mind onto old neglected paths within a cocoon of safety. Breathe in. Enjoy the lungs filling, feel the water, coated with it's thick foliage of bubbles sliding down off the nipples, leaving the breasts half submerged islands in this tropical paradise. Breathe out. Lungs emptying, water rising, submerging the islands once more, a gentle erotic motion - tides ebbing and flowing. And inside those same tides ebbing and flowing, making liquid her centre. How had this been forgotten, this place of mystery and enchantment? The slippery sensation of skin on skin, lubricated with water and bath oil, reviving old memories, encouraging new ones. The skin delighting in the soft slippery caresses. Why had the body been neglected for so long? Who was responsible for that crime? Silence, the deep silence of within, comforting, broken only by the sighs, also a part of the silence. Then tides moving more rapidly as respiration increased. Images floating: eyes, eyes that smile as the mouth smiles. Oh, yes, feeling so good. Young eyes, yet old, holding the truth in their gaze, reflecting the enjoyment of what they behold. Ohh. Nimble, lovely, loving fingers, the memory of the motion not forgotten, waking from the long sleep, recalled to consciousness by the smiling eyes, by the soft words yet unsaid, now moving in that old familiar way. Tongue touching lips, tickling, wetting. Areolae puckered, nipples erect, begging for that extra touch, the long caress, skin carrying shooting currents of energy up and down the body, from the surface to the liquid centre and back. Ohhhh. Safe, so safe and warm. Safe to enjoy, to feel once more. How had the feelings been suppressed? Not suppressed now, driving toward completion, toward the joy. Fingers, hidden by the bubbles, moving faster now, slippery, wonderful fingers opening the door, so long closed, to the delights. Breath catching, holding. On the brink, mind blank, tightening. The Eyes! OHHHH! Release. Ohhh, energy draining. Ahhh, yes, so beautiful, relaxing back into the warmth. Warmth radiating from the centre, soothing. Oh so nice. Joy remembered. Article 109930 of alt.sex.stories: From: an248969@anon.penet.fi (-DELTA-) Date: Mon, 27 Nov 1995 22:47:29 UTC Subject: The Cafeteria [2/2] The Cafeteria Part Two After a short shower, to recover from the bath and to rinse out her hair, Jean toweled off and returned to her bedroom. She looked at herself in the mirror. There was something different about this woman who looked back from the glass. Her posture was better and there was a knowingness about her which was sensual. The word `dull' no longer fit. She looked objectively at the reflection of her body. Her breasts were beginning to sag, but just a little, and there was a little unnecessary weight about her middle. Other than that her body remained in reasonable condition. She was satisfied. Not especially happy, for she had not been looking after herself too well, but satisfied. Jean toweled dry her hair and combed it out. She delighted in the feel of the comb lightly scratching her scalp, the pull on her hair, the sheen of her hair in the room's light. It had been a long time since she had so enjoyed this. Why had the she allowed the pleasure to be taken away? No matter, it was back. Her bed beckoned and she climbed, gratefully, between the sheets, sighed as her head hit the pillow, and reached forth to turn out the light. As she slowly drifted off to sleep the image of gentle smiling eyes floated before her mind's eye. `Nice,' she thought, `so very nice.' * * * At ten o'clock in the morning the doubts and anxieties had resurfaced. He would be here in only one hour. A bathing suit! She needed a bathing suit. She'd never even considered that when packing her things from home. There was still time to get home and find it, but she didn't want to go there. He'd warned her about going home. She needed to be away for the full three days. Going back would bring all the things she was running away from back into full focus. Her apartment! Could that be it? Was this Dream character setting her up for a burglary? She should go right home, this minute. Did he know where she lived? Had he followed her home the previous night after work? Where was all this coming from? She forced herself to relax and think. She was afraid. Change was dangerous and she was subconsciously trying to avoid change. It was so much safer, so much more comfortable to go back to the way she was. Comfortable, maybe, yet the consequences unbearable. She pushed her worries to the back of her mind. If she was robbed, she was robbed. She had started out on this path and she would not go back. There was a mall across the road. She would find a bathing suit there. * * * Standing in front of the dressing room mirror, she modeled the swimsuit. She tried to imagine what he would think when he saw her in it, to look at herself through his eyes. Would he be pleased, disappointed? Were her breasts too small? Was the extra weight around her middle unattractive? How can one hide these things in a swimsuit? Why was she doing this to herself? It suddenly occurred to her that Dream would find her attractive no matter what she wore. Yes, it felt very right. He would find her attractive. She looked again in the mirror. This time, instead of seeing the faults, she saw the pleasant curves, the sensuousness of her body. And as she saw this, her posture changed, accentuating it. She smiled at her reflection. Yes, he would like what he saw. She was sure of it. She stripped off the one-piece suit, dressed and stepped out of the dressing room. "I'll take it," she smiled to the clerk. * * * "Hi." Jean smiled brightly at him as Dream walked into the lobby. She noticed that he had trimmed his beard well down. He looked almost respectable. He echoed her smile and came to a stand in front of her. She had noticed him looking her up and down as he approached. "You look very lovely this morning, Jean," he complimented her. "Thank-you," she replied, then grinned. "I know." "Do you, indeed? Well, that's progress. Ready to go?" "All ready. She picked up her shoulder bag, which contained her swimsuit and other sundries, from a chair and put on her straw hat. She took his proffered arm and they walked out together. His car was a compact, its back seat half filled with what looked like his life's possessions. He opened the door for her and, after she seated herself, closed it. Jean noted that they were heading out of town - obviously not going to the city park as she'd assumed. Fifteen minutes later, on the highway a thought hit her. "Dream, I hate to do this, but there is something I have to do at home." "No problem. We'll just turn around at that service station up there," he indicated ahead. He seemed to be completely unperturbed at her need. He pulled into the station and signaled to pull out again, back towards the city. "Never mind, it's not that important." He hesitated. "Are you sure? It's really no problem." "Yes, I'm sure. I've thought about it and it really can wait." "Okay, if you're sure." She nodded and he changed the direction signal and reentered the highway. "Where are we off to?" She figured she knew. "My place." He smiled at her look of surprise before returning his attention to the road. "I've a camp site at the National Park," he explained, "not far from the public beach. It'll take about 45 minutes to get there." He paused for a minute, and they enjoyed the wind blowing in the windows. "Say, I forgot to ask if you were hungry before we left. You did eat breakfast, didn't you?" "Actually, no. You have a little something here?" "There's a chocolate bar in the glovebox." "A chocolate bar?" she raised her eyebrows. "Yes." "In the glovebox?" Her eyebrows crept ever higher. "Yes." With some trepidation Jean opened the glovebox and carefully withdrew the chocolate. As she'd suspected, it was a very soft, limp package. She gave her head a slight shake as she glanced over at Dream, whose attention had remained on the road. She carefully unwrapped the chocolate. "Want a piece?" She kept her voice calm. "Sure. He reached his hand over without looking and dipped his fingers in the gooey puddle of chocolate. "What the... " He glanced over and began to laugh. "Ah, I see." He licked the melted chocolate off his fingers. "Chocolate does have the tendency to do that in a hot car," Jean explained unnecessarily, keeping a straight face. She lowered her face and lapped at the chocolate, careful not to let it run over the sides of the wrapper. Dream turned as he saw her deposit the balled up wrapper in the garbage bag. He began to chuckle. "What is it?" Jean asked. He only smiled again. She turned down the visor and looked at herself in the vanity mirror. A dab of chocolate was on the tip of her nose. "Well, thanks a lot, Dream, for making me feel self-conscious about it," Jean complained as she removed the offending drop of chocolate. "I was saving that for a late snack." * * * The ride seemed to pass in a haze of good will and all too soon they arrived at his campsite. There was a small two man tent set up, and on the picnic table sat a propane stove. "Home, sweet home," he grinned at her. He opened his trunk and pulled out a bag of supplies. "I believe I promised you a light meal." He tossed her an apple to start with. Jean watched closely as he whipped up a lovely fresh fruit salad. He knew what he was doing, she noted, for there were no wasted motions. Within a couple of minutes it was prepared and placed in front of her. "We'll just eat lightly now, go to the beach, then have something a little heavier. Don't want to get cramps, do we, if we decide to swim?" "Certainly not." They started in on the salads. Jean allowed her gaze to wander around the campsite. "Your home from home?" "My home," he corrected her, and laughed at her raised eyebrows. "I told you. I'm just a weary traveler." "And what would it take to make a weary traveler cease his traveling?" Even as she spoke the last word she regretted it. His face lost its animation momentarily. "Sorry." "Don't be sorry. It's my problem." He smiled again. "You, know, the weary traveler problem: once started on a journey, it's hard to stop." His attempt at a joke fell short. "Problems can be shared, Dream. Maybe I can help." She wanted to reach out to him, yet held back, fearing he would be offended. Instead he reached out to her, touching her cheek, cupping her face in his hand. She leaned into his touch and her hand reached up to hold his against her face. "Ah, dear Jean. A lovely thought - a gift I'll treasure always. No. It's something I have to do alone." His hand left her and she felt bereft. "Let's hit the beach. Action is what we need. Movement to still the voices within. The mind cannot be sad when the body is in motion." "Where'll I change?" "You have the use of my simple dwelling. Not well insulated, yet sufficient unto the day." He grinned and her spirits rose as well. "You are indeed gallant, good sir." Jean rose from the table and stooped to enter his tent. She zipped up the screen, knowing from experience that it was difficult to see into the relative darkness and thus she did not need to close the outer flap. It didn't matter, anyway, as Dream was gazing up at the tall trees around and not at the tent. As she pulled off her clothes she wondered what he was thinking. She suddenly grinned. Last night she'd wanted a man in her bed, now, she was on a man's bed. She wondered what it would be like to make love in a tent, on an air mattress such as this. Maybe she'd find out. "All ready," she declared. Sometime when she hadn't been paying attention he'd taken off his sweatpants and was already in swim wear. She was a little disappointed. She had been subconsciously hoping he'd have on some type of tight swimsuit. Instead he was wearing something closer to jogging shorts. Ah, well, can't have everything. He was also wearing a t-shirt and sandals. His youthful body was fit and tight. Of course she'd known that from the dancing, still, it was nice to see it more closely. His low laugh brought her back and she blushed. He'd caught her looking him up and down. She was about to apologize when he beat her to it. "Sorry. Couldn't help myself. You look great, Jean." Hadn't he noticed her appraising him? "Thank-you, Dream. So do you." She picked up the beach towel in one hand, held out the other one for him to take and together they walked down the path to the beach. She'd put on some sunblock before she'd left her room, yet acquiesced when he suggested she put some on now. She knew he'd have to do her back and felt a little guilty at using this trick to get him to touch her. "All greased up and nowhere to go," she joked as she put the finishing touches to his back. It had been wonderful touching him also. Later, when she'd had a chance to think about it, she wouldn't remember ever having laughed more, having had such a good time. They'd played with a frisbee, walked hand in hand along the beach, got their feet wet and simply enjoyed the sun. Lying on their towels he suddenly reached over and poked her in the ribs. "You're `it'," he said and jumped to his feet, beginning an impromptu game of tag. After a slip, which she suspicioned was calculated, she'd caught him and went running away laughing. He finally cornered her, her back to the lake, and began closing in. She retreated until the water was up to her knees. There was nowhere left to run when he lunged forward and lifted her into his arms. "Okay, you've got me. Hey, what're you doing." He was walking further into the lake. Looking down she saw it was touching the bottoms of his shorts. "You wouldn't drop me, would you?" She tested the water with a foot. "It's cold." "I promise you, I won't drop you," he replied. He stopped moving deeper. The water was almost up to his waist, just inches below her. She wondered why she felt a little disappointed, when suddenly she noticed he was sinking lower. "Hey," she shouted, but it was too late. He dropped to his knees, immersing her in the lake. "You rat!" She sputtered her mock rage at him as she regained her feet then, cupping her hand, splashed water into his face. The water-fight was fast and furious and ended with them laughing so hard they had to support each other as they waded ashore and stumbled to their towels. "Jean?" The voice was familiar and she looked up from drying her face. "Peter. What are you doing here?" Peter worked in another department and was, if she remembered correctly a widower. "The kids thought it was time that Grandpa tottered out to the beach. Imagine that - grandfather at 48. Makes me feel old." Jean waved off the thought. "You'll never be old, Peter. You just don't have it in you. You'll always look and feel young." He laughed at that. She noticed he was looking at her as if he'd never seen her before. It was a very complimentary look. "You certainly look good. Enjoying the weekend?" "Very much," she paused. "Oh, and this is my friend... " "Thomas," Dream answered smoothly. "Pleased to meet you, Peter." He held out his hand. "Sure is some fine weather we're having, isn't it." "The best. Good to meet you, Thomas." He turned suddenly as a small voice caught his attention. "Ah, Grandpa is in demand. Nice to see you, but I have to go." He took three steps then stopped. "Jean?" "Yes, Peter?" She stepped forward. "The Lodge is holding a banquet on Friday - to support Literacy. I was, well... Would you care to accompany me?" "I'd love to. We'll talk about it later. Have fun." "Always," he laughed, "I have no choice." * * * "Thomas?" she asked, turning to find him looking across the lake. "Now you know. That's my `regular' middle name. The name I usually go by. You like it?" There was something in his voice which caught her attention. A sense of loss? "To me you'll always be Dream - my Dream." He turned to her and Jean saw a strange, undefinable expression on his face. It was comprised of happiness and sorrow, yet was more than either. Her stomach lurched. "Let's go back to the campsite. I'm about exhausted," she smiled at him, not feeling like smiling at all. She didn't speak while he prepared the meal, hardly noticed how it tasted as she ate it. Dream honoured her silence, a kindness beyond measure. "You're leaving." It was a statement, not a question. "Tomorrow," he confirmed. "You don't need me anymore. The black blinds are down. You shine, Jean. You shine." She could feel the lump at her throat. "I may shine," she forced a smile, trying to change the subject, trying not to think of him leaving, "but I am sore. That frisbee - I don't know, I think I pulled a muscle in my back or something." He was instantly solicitous. "Go on in and change. I'll give you a quick massage. I didn't mean for you to hurt yourself, only to enjoy." "I know that. And I did - more than you'll ever know. I'll take you up on that massage, though." She put down her utensils and went inside the tent. A few minutes later she called him. "Ready." He entered the tent seeing her lying on her stomach, a sheet drawn up over her, up to her lower back. She wasn't wearing anything on her top. He crooked an eyebrow, but said nothing. His hands were strong and skillful as they stroked up and down her back, finding little knots she hadn't realized were there, exciting her by their touch. She drifted into a dreamlike state, enjoying the caresses beyond description. Her mind cleared and she spoke a single word. "Stop." He obeyed. She turned her head to look at him, beside her. "There's nothing wrong with my back. I just wanted the massage. I knew you'd offer one. Sorry." He smiled. "You could have just asked." "I know. But there's something else." Jean turned over and threw the sheet from her. She had been naked beneath it. "I wanted you to see me, Dream." Dream looked her in the eyes for several moments then allowed his gaze to wander down her neck, rest on her breasts, follow the curve of her belly to her mound, down her legs to the feet and back up again until they rested once more on her eyes. A soft smile played about his lips. "You are very lovely, Jean," he waited until he had her full attention, "but I've always seen you." Tears came to her eyes. She turned on her side, looking past him through the screen. "Lie with me for a while, please. Yes, that's it, come in behind me." He snuggled in behind her, his arm coming over her, his hand resting on the mattress. She took his hand and placed it over her breast and held it there. The sounds from the other campsites melded with the buzzing of insects and the chirping of birds, weaving a tapestry of sound on the back of which her mind floated off on a flight of its own. When she came back - minutes, hours? - later, it was to the awareness that he had become excited, hard. She lifted his hand from her breast and kissed it softly. She rolled onto her back and looked into his eyes from the disturbingly close distance of a few centimeters. Her breath caught. "I owe you more than I can say, more than I can repay. I'd like to try, though." He was no fool. He knew what she was offering. He leaned over and brushed his lips against hers, "I think it's time I took you home." Frustration welled up within her. "You don't owe me anything, Jean. Do you think I haven't enjoyed being with you, holding you, seeing your smile, watching you burst forth in splendor? Perhaps it is I who owe you." * * * The drive back to the hotel was made in silence. A companionable silence where each was free to roam within the thoughts, to integrate the happenings of the day. And when he held his hand out she took it and held it for the last half of the trip. "It's better I don't go in," he said as he pulled up in front of the hotel. She nodded. "Thank-you, Dream, my Dream." She leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips, seeing, once again, the pain flash across his eyes, wondering whence it came and if it would ever go for good. The hotel room was lonely, now, there was an emptiness about it which had not been there before. An hour's pacing and she found herself back in the lobby, headed for the restaurant. It was hard, eating alone, seeing couples all around her. They were talking, that simplest of pleasures, and she was locked in silence, the ripple of conversation and the low music passed over and around her, yet did not touch, did not invite her in, did not comfort her. Jean ate quickly and left the restaurant, to toss and turn in her bed. It was only when the decision was made that she was able to relax and fall to sleep. It was early. She was up and on the road, retracing the path they'd taken the day before. The wind blowing in the open window, cooling her, kept her focused. Her mind was sharp, her intent clear. Dream, her Dream, was going to leave and she had done nothing to try and remove that haunted look from his eyes. He had been right, even at the last. She didn't owe him. It was simply something she wanted to do. At last the park entrance came into sight and she slowed. The road to his site came up and she turned, watching carefully for a glimpse of him. People were everywhere, people in campsites packing, getting ready to go on the road once more. Soon, just around the corner - it was empty. He was gone. Something inside her crumpled. She drew a long breath, pulled into the site and parked. Jean laughed at the lump in her throat, laughed at the idea of nostalgia for what had occurred only yesterday. It was foolish. Despite the foolishness, Jean gazed at the place where the tent had stood, walked the path to the beach, to look upon the spot where they, not so long ago, lay in the sun. It, like her hotel room, was empty, only a patch of sand no different from any other patch of sand. What did she expect, she asked herself as she turned and made her way back to her car. Hunger came upon her. The body demanded and she obeyed, turning into a truck stop for a late breakfast. She watched the cars passing by on the highway and felt a great melancholy come over her. Out there were people going places while she remained here. Who were those lucky people passing by? Or were they lucky; would they find what they were looking for when they arrived, when they stopped moving? She hoped so. Wherever they were going, whatever the purpose of their travels, they were on their way and, it came to her, so too was she. There was no going back. He had given her a gift and she would have to move forward, she couldn't allow that gift, which had cost him so, to gather dust, unused. Yes, she would move forward. Yet, there was no reason for her to stay in the hotel this third night, in fact she doubted she could face another night there. She would check out and return to her apartment. It was time to begin once again. * * * In the bathroom Jean picked up the remains of the three candles and smiled at them. She took a quick look around, there was nothing of hers left behind. That was a dark thought. Tomorrow someone else would call this room `home'. The room itself would forget her. In this time, in this place, she didn't truly exist. Jean avoided looking in the mirror as she exited. Her bag was open on the bed. She dropped the candles in and closed it. All that made this room her home had been removed. It was no longer her launch pad to a better life, it had returned to its former state - simply a room. The knocking startled her. Heart pounding, she flew to the door, looked through the peep-hole, then opened it wide. It was he. "I thought I'd drop by and say good-bye before I le... " Jean grabbed his arm and propelled him into the room, allowing the door to close behind her. She pushed him backwards until he fell onto the bed, almost banging his head on her bag. She jumped on him and began to unbutton his shirt. "Why are you doing this," an astounded, unresisting, Dream asked. "Is it because you think you owe me?" A hand across his mouth stopped him. "Silly man," she contradicted him. "It's because I owe me. Now lie still. Better yet, help me." * * * The Cafeteria was almost empty and the line was short. Jean smiled softly to herself as she scanned the choices open to her. There was lots of everything. The juice cooler's mirrored back reflected her image. There was no comparison with the woman she'd seen there - was it only five days ago? In front of her stood a woman, vibrant and alive. A very youthful thirty-plus, she decided, chuckling to herself. At the till she paid the bill, warmly wishing the cashier a good day. * * * Jean scanned the room. Most of the tables were empty and she chose one of those and sat down. Too soon the place would be crowded and noisy, but that was okay, too. A man across the room had a nice face, she thought, and the words sent her mind into the past. * * * After the first burst of passion had cooled, she had taken his face in her hands and looked closely at it. Inspecting it from all angles until he finally had to ask. "What?" "I have to see it." "See what?" "See what's under the beard. Get up and come with me." "Let me be, woman, you've worn me out." Dream groaned as she pulled him to his feet. Jean grabbed a pillow and set it on the toilet seat. It was one of those long pillows for the King Size bed and it would support his back somewhat as well. "Sit," she ordered and Dream sat. She filled the basin with hot water and let a face towel soak in it for a minute before wringing it out and wrapping it about his face. When the towel was unwrapped the only light in the room came from the three candles he'd given her. "I'll cut myself without more light." "But it is I who'll be doing the shaving," she replied, laughing at his sudden apprehension. She sat on his thighs, facing him and soaped his face then pulled her razor from the basin. Fortunately she had a new blade. He slouched to give her a little more room. With slow and careful strokes she began removing his beard, bit by bit. As each patch came clean she leaned forward and kissed the skin. She took her time in the dim light. She had to be even more careful when, taking advantage of his location he began to caress her breasts, teasing and tweaking her nipples, allowing his hands to run up and down her sides. "Careful, Dream, my Dream, or you'll pay dearly for your actions - in blood, one might say." "You do what you must, I'll do what I must," he replied. Jean felt him beginning to grow hard once more and grinned as a delicious idea occurred to her. She raised herself up, then lowered herself on him, taking him in. His eyes had flicked open, then slowly closed once more. It felt good to have a man in her again, she thought, though it had not been much more than an hour since they'd last coupled. Slowly Dream's face came clean. It was, as Jean had thought, a good face. She decided that the mustache suited him and let it be. "Are you quite done?" he asked as she wiped his face with a wet towel. "Quite done," she confirmed, kissing him on the lips rocking a little to feel him inside her. "Good. Hold on." She held tight as he carefully got to his feet and carried her back to the bed, where they made love once more. He was a gentle lover, as she had known he would be. He was kind and concerned about her pleasure before his own. It was nice, beautiful even, and had pleased her tremendously the time before. Not this time. She turned him on his back and began moving faster and faster on him. She bent down and kissed him, almost savagely, stunning him. He made to speak but she placed her hand over his mouth. "Just fuck me," she ordered. She had to take him out of himself, to send their lovemaking into a wild, abandoned, frenzy. That way he'd forget, he'd have to forget. He'd obeyed and the passion with which they threw themselves at each other had startled them both, she thought. At the end they had collapsed, exhausted, in each others arms and had fallen asleep thus entwined. * * * "Pardon?" Jean looked up, startled at his voice which intruded into her memories. "May I sit here," he repeated. "Of course, Roy," she smiled. "Your mind was a million miles away, Jean. What were you thinking of?" Roy had never paid any attention to her before. She smiled suddenly - that was the other one, the age conscious one, not the new, devil-may-care Jean. "I was remembering my Dream," she replied, smiling at her secret joke. "It's good to have dreams," Roy answered, a bit perplexed as her smile did not match her words. "You are looking very good, Jean, if I may say so." "You may." They laughed together. Roy had kind eyes, the type that smiled when his mouth smiled. Like other eyes she knew. * * * In the morning they had made love again, gently this time, before showering together. As Dream dressed to go she found that she was no longer regretting his leaving. It was what he had to do. And she had done what she had had to do. In one way it hadn't worked, for she caught the haunted flash of a memory cross his face as he turned to go; yet, for that night there had been no pain, no memories, only two people caught up in the joy of life. Somewhere he would find someone who would take the pain from his eyes. One morning he'd wake up and the memory would be there, but without the power to hurt. She hoped it would be soon, yet that, too, didn't seem to matter. It would happen when he needed it to happen. That special someone would come along when he was ready for her, as he had come to her when she had finally been ready to accept what he had to offer. The memory of his eyes floated before her and she wished him well, this Dream, her Dream. The Cafeteria by Delta.