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From: drspin@newsguy.com
Subject: {ASSM} 'Rachel's Remorse' (MF, cheat)
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Date: Tue, 23 Nov 1999 09:10:01 -0500
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Rachel's Remorse (MF, cheat)
by drspin

================================================================================
NOTE: Too many times to be coincidental, a woman has plonked herself in front of
me and said, usually belligerently: 'So why don't you like me?' Invariably the
woman is some distance along the way to inebriation. I always find this
situation difficult to handle, because you can't win. Hence this story.
================================================================================


"So there you are," she said. I turned my head and saw it was Rachel, wife of a
colleague, standing in the doorway of my office. A close colleague. My partner,
my rival, joint holder of the current golden boy title. With me, of course. I
headed the inter-government relations division and he the trade division. We
were the fast guns in a high profile embassy team under a slow hand but
impeccably distinguished ambassador. Tonight's event was barely routine. Just
another function, this one. Trade-based; which meant he was more officially on
duty than I, which explained why I was able to slip away to catch a late night
television interview which, according to my informant, would precipitate a new
political crisis in the scandal-racked administration of this frenetic nation.

"Rachel," I said, suppressing my irritation at being interrupted mid-interview.
I clicked the record button as a precaution, while trying to keep half an eye
and half an ear on the proceedings. "Can I help you?" Training, you see.

She sauntered over to me. The right description. She was definitely sauntering
and, though I only really knew her socially, I had an uneasy feeling she did not
normally saunter. She parked her posterior against my desk and, with a little
leverage, sat on it. She leaned her weight on a straight arm and peered directly
at me. Uh oh. She was drunk. I'd never seen her drunk. No question tonight,
though. She was plastered. "So why don't you like me," she said aggressively.

"Of course I like you," I lied instantly. Well, I didn't actually not like her.
I suppose. I'd never thought about it.

She looked around at the television and shifted her position to block it. She
looked back at me, a frown on her face. "No," she said petulantly. "You don't."

Be pleasant to drunks and try to get rid of them as soon as possible. It's all
in the training. I smiled my easy smile. "Hey now," I said. "Rachel, we only
meet occasionally at events and functions like tonight. But as much as I do know
you, I like you just fine."

She looked at me with suspicion written in her gaze. "And if you didn't like me,
that's exactly what you'd say anyway," she said. Okay, she wasn't stupid. Drunk,
certainly. Stupid, no. She cocked her head. "For example," she said, "do you
think I'm attractive?"

"Of course."

"Not enough words. You have to say more."

"Rachel, it is obvious you are an attractive woman. You must know that."

"But do you, I mean you personally, find me attractive?"

"Of course."

She continued to study my face closely, looking for clues. Too forward by half,
but that's what drinking does for you. Anyway I wasn't lying. She looked pretty
damn good and she always did. Medium height, short brownish hair coloured up a
touch coppery-red by her hairdresser, a sharp face with angles to it and a small
straight nose, a wide mouth, good breasts without being heavy and a slim line
accentuated by a long black dress of some soft material. It hung off her clean
white shoulders with little thin straps.

"You've never made a pass at me," she said with a hint of accusation. "Not even
a tiny one."

"You're a married woman."

"And you don't make passes at married women?"

"I don't."

"What about Fay Ramsey?"

Damn. Bloody embassies. I smiled my easy smile, however. "She's only a little
bit married," I said. Barely at all, actually. She and Bill don't even speak,
let alone cohabit.

"Hmm." She pondered that. "Maybe I'm not so married myself."

I let that pass. My co-golden colleague was a polished womaniser and I didn't
know how much she knew I knew. I presumed she knew it herself because, although
she was drunk she was not stupid. And this was an embassy enclave. Everybody
knew. I would certainly know. It was a question of how much I knew, and how much
she thought I knew.

"I may have had a little too much tonight but I'm not stupid," she said. "Don't
worry. I didn't come here to see you about that."

I smiled at her. My pleasant smile. The one that fills in when you don't want to
say anything.

She raised an eyebrow at me. "You're thinking: So why did she come to see me?"

I smiled. I could do that for hours and hours. It's in the training.

"I'll tell you, shall I?" But it wasn't a question. She went straight on with
it. "I came looking for you because I was feeling a bit sad, lonely and
neglected and I was looking around for somebody to talk to and I saw nobody who
fitted the bill and then I remembered you. So I came looking. But I forgot you
don't like me."

"Rachel, I like you fine. I told you that."

"But you still won't hit on me, right?"

I spread my hands. It could be interpreted as a gesture of regret. "You're a
married woman."

"That means I'll have to hit on you."

"Hey, Rachel, come on. There's a function going on down the hall. What if we
were busted?"

She laughed, and there was an edge of malice to it. "I like this game. It's
called heads I win, tails you lose."

"You'll have to explain that."

She eased herself off the desk and sauntered away to the television set. She
switched it off. No problem, it continued to record. "I'll have to think about
it," she said, her back to me. "Make me a drink. Gin and tonic." She anticipated
my hesitation. "I can always go back to the party and get one and make a
nuisance of myself doing it." I got up and opened the drinks cabinet. Gin and
tonic. An embassy drink, if ever there was one. Mother's misery, they called it
a hundred years ago and more. We called it a leg opener where I grew up. But we
hopefully called most things leg openers in our youthful naiveté. It wasn't till
I grew up I discovered the best leg opener was a simple and polite request.

I mixed a gin and tonic and turned to give it to her. She was standing in front
of the television set, facing me. She'd pulled the straps of the dress down her
arms and her breasts were bare. One arm was across her stomach, holding the
dress to her body. She had a little crooked smile on her mouth, brazen but
embarrassed at the same time. Her breasts were pale-white, nipples as red as I'd
seen. Nicely-shaped, with the upturned tilt of a teenager, which she wasn't.

"Now if I give you this drink," I said carefully, "you'll take it in your right
hand and your dress will fall off."

She smiled a bit more and stretched out her hand for the glass. The dress fell
away and slid to the floor around her feet. She took the drink and sipped at it.
She was wearing pantyhose and underneath tight black high-cut pants. She stepped
away from the puddled dress and out of her heeled shoes.

"Rachel, how old are you?" I asked politely.

"31," she whispered.

I nodded my head slowly and appreciatively. "You're doing well. Very well, in
fact."

"Shall I take off the rest?"

"If I were you, I wouldn't."

"I will anyway." And she did, her breasts dangling and swaying as she bent
forward. She straightened, a pile of clothes at her feet, and stood resolutely
before me like a parade guard. She closed her eyes for a moment and almost lost
her balance. She straightened again, setting her shoulders back. Square on, she
faced me.

Her skin was uniformly white, paler than expected, and she was slim right
through from head to foot, uniformly so, which gave her a younger and leaner
look than you'd expect. And centred within her hips was a broad and wiry thicket
of dusty-brown pubic hair, more than you'd expect to see on a woman not
dark-skinned, swarthy or hairy. It was slightly shocking, mildly deviant, in its
contrariness and the way in which wisps and tufts of it stuck out at untidy and
unruly angles. Erotic, too. Too erotic.

"Say something," she said softly. There was a quaver in her voice. "You have to
say something."

It was no time to be enigmatic. "You are very lovely," I said, with as much
simplicity and sincerity as I could muster. Well, she was. No lie. I hoped it
would do.

I think it did, because she had that crooked smile back on her face. "Well
then," she said. "What now?"

Good question. "Perhaps it would be wise to shut the door," I said, and moved
over to do it. I didn't need to click the lock. A door shut was a shut door in
this place. I turned back to see her wobbling on her feet. She corrected herself
by catching the corner of the desk with her hand and she looked up at me
quickly, a sweep of confusion on her face.

"It's all catching up with you," I said. "It always does. Why don't you lie down
on the couch for a moment?"

She nodded and stretched out on the black leather couch, against which her white
skin contrasted superbly. She rolled on her side, away from me, her buttocks not
quite as trim, firm and young as the rest of her. Nobody's perfect. Tufted ends
of her wildly profuse pubic hair poked through between her legs. Highly erotic.

I stood and watched the naked lady on the couch. I barely knew her. Rachel,
hitherto spotless wife of my tireless rival, a woman with teenager's tits, a big
hairy box and a drink-induced will this night to be sad, mad and bad. What do I
do about it?

I walked around the back of the couch and looked down at her. She was asleep.
She wasn't faking because already her mouth was open and I don't know a female
who would do that knowingly while on display. I looked at what I could see of
her body for a while and then went to the closet to fetch the long winter coat I
wouldn't be needing for a few months yet. I draped it over her carefully and
fetched her clothes, which I placed beside the couch. Then I let myself out and
went looking for her husband.

I found him at the outskirts of the function which was winding its way down.
"Andrew," I said. "Just to tell you Rachel might have had one too many tonight
and she's sleeping it off on my couch."

He looked at me with mild interest. "Oh", he said. "I was thinking I might go on
for a bit of clubbing with these fine people." He waved his hand generally at a
group standing nearby.

"I could drop her home a bit later," I offered. "When she's feeling more sound
and reliable."

"Would you? That would be a great help."

"Sure. Do you want to go check on her?"

"I'm sure she's in good hands."

I could not restrain a broad smile. But his attention was already elsewhere. A
tiny pretty blonde was hovering like a sugar fairy, waiting, and I left him to
it. I returned to my office to check out the sleeping beauty, attention
sharpened further by the illicit nature of it all. Andrew might well have taken
up my invitation to check out her condition himself. Rachel was fast asleep. I
lifted up the corner of the covering coat and saw how she had relaxed in her
slumber. She had folded into the couch and her bum poked out over the edge.
Wires of hair were now protruding plentifully between her legs. Very sexy.
Considerably carnal, in fact, considering this was a lady who would not commonly
be found in such compromising circumstances. I fought briefly with instant urges
and controlled them. This would be all the sweeter for the wait and for the
twists and turns yet to come. I laid the coat down and let her sleep.

There was always paper work waiting for attention. I switched on the desk lamp
and turned off the main lights and set to it, happy enough to be gaining a break
on the next day. Nearly two and a half hours passed before she stirred. I was
watching the clock, waiting. At near 12:20 she rolled over on the couch, and as
I turned to look, sat bolt upright. The coat fell away and her breasts were
showing, which she noticed immediately. She clutched the coat around her
shoulders, covering herself, and looked at me blearily and, I thought, somewhat
fearfully.

"Christ," she said tremulously. "What have I done?"

"You weren't that drunk," I said. "You know what you did."

She was gathering her wits and her memory. "Christ," she said again. "Where's
Andrew?"

"Gone out partying. I said I'd take you home."

"He didn't...?"

"No."

"Christ."

She was staring at me. "You didn't...? I mean, we didn't...?"

"No."

"Not even a little?"

"No."

She looked away. "I didn't think so." A silence developed. "Christ," she said,
breaking it with a note of urgency and rising to her feet and clutching the coat
to her, "I think I'm going to be sick."

"There's the bathroom," I said, pointing.

She was in there for a while and she emerged looking worse than when she
entered. She was wearing the coat buttoned strategically. She looked at me
mournfully. "I have to get dressed," she said.

I pointed to her bundled clothing. "I recommend you take a shower before you do.
You'll feel better for it, trust me."

She nodded, scooped up her clothes and returned to the mini-bathroom. When she
re-emerged she was dressed, cleaned up and improved. "I have to go home," she
said, her voice dull and worried.

I drove her. The trip wasn't long and she didn't say a word. I saw her to the
door. She turned in the doorway. "Sorry," she said.

"It happens," I said, and left. She stood in the doorway and watched me go.

Three days later she rang me. "Look," she said, business-like and rehearsed, "I
can't leave it like this. I appreciate your discretion but I have embarrassed
myself, and unless I have a chance to explain I'll never be able to look you in
the eye again."

"It's okay," I said.

"Not for me. You could take me to lunch today, perhaps?"

I knew Andrew was out of town for a couple of days. "Sure," I said, and made the
arrangements.

The restaurant was small, dim, unfashionable and suitable for the occasion. It
was a local trade place, and the other occupied tables were speaking the local
language. Rachel had set herself to waste no time. "Look," she said, leaning
forward, "about the other night. I didn't intend to do any of that. I admit I
was feeling a bit provocative and mischievous but I didn't mean those things to
happen. I can't believe what I did. I don't normally drink that much." She
stopped and waited, her eyes anxiously roving my face as she searched for a
response.

"I knew that," I said.

"Thanks. I thought you'd say that but I still needed to hear it. Can we put it
from our minds?"

"Oh no," I said. "I can't do that." She cocked her head slightly, coping with a
response she did not expect. "I can behave like a gentleman," I explained, "and
I will be totally discreet. But be fair. I can't put it from my mind because I
have clear and explicit images of you that won't go away."

Flush points appeared on her cheekbones. "I've seen the bodies of many women," I
went on. "But I like your body best."

She seemed to be struggling, not knowing what to say. "I can see you don't know
what to say," I said. "Let me continue while you come to terms with it. I guess
you turned up in my office the other night because you were angry and you'd been
drinking and you wanted to lash out at Andrew and you thought the best way to
lash out at Andrew was to stir up something with me. So you turned up with no
real plan in mind but in a mood for trouble and things got out of hand. But it
turned out reasonably well because nothing really happened except you took off
your clothes and showed me your body. And I won't tell Andrew or anybody else so
it remains just between us. If you can get over your embarrassment at baring
yourself in front of me, we can go on and lead our lives the way we have been.
If that's what you want. I only have one question outstanding."

"Yes?" I could hear her breathing. "What's that?"

"How come you have pubic hair like you do? It's like a wild and overgrown
fertile garden."

She blinked severely and sat back in her chair. "You don't like it?" she asked
instinctively, as a woman would do.

"Rachel, I just love it. I can't stop thinking about it."

She looked at me with wide eyes, the flush points bright on her face. "Christ,"
she said. It seemed like it was her 'bad' word. Then she giggled, dropped her
head and put her face in her hands. "Good heavens," she muttered. "This
certainly hasn't gone the way I thought it would." She lifted her head, a small
smile on her lips. "Do I have to talk about this? I guess I must, in the
circumstances. I guess I owe you." She shrugged her shoulders. "It's been that
way ever since it came along. I hated it when I was a girl. A couple of times
I've...," she looked at me with narrowed eyes, "...trimmed it, you know? But in
the end I've grown accustomed to it and I guess these days I like it that way."

"Girls I know trim it for the beach," I said.

"Ever seen me on the beach? I hate the beach. My skin burns to a crisp."

"Or the pool."

"Ditto."

"So," I said conspiratorially, "your sexy secret garden remains tucked away and
hidden from view."

"Not quite. There's Andrew."

"And me."

"God, don't remind me."

"No other? Nothing extra-marital?"

Her eyes flashed at me. "Once," she said shortly. "It was a fair time ago,
before we came here, and I won't be saying anything more."

I grinned at her. "Does Andrew know?"

"No. And that's it. No more. Good heavens, you are unbelievably intrusive." She
studied my face. She was only pretending to be violated. I could see the
quickening in her eyes.

"It's time to talk about me," I said.

"Is it?"

"You know it is. What did you think and what do you think now?"

"I heard it from others. They say you're cool and confident but also arrogant."

"And now?"

"No change."

"So why did you risk coming to see me the other night?"

"Because it was a risk."

"And?"

"I see," she said. "You want me to say it. Okay, I admit I find you attractive.
God, you really are arrogant."

"And now?"

"No change." She raised her hand in a cautious gesture. "Mark," she said, in a
changed tone, "we have to stop this."

"Why? You're enjoying it."

"Because we're sailing in dangerous waters and you know that as well as I do."

"So a raging affair is completely out of the question?"

"Completely."

"Even though I stopped being married years ago and I'm immediately available?
Even though you find me attractive? Even though I've seen your naked body and I
love and adore it? Even though I'm coming quickly to the point of loving and
adoring everything about you? And even though your husband foolishly neglects to
love and adore you?"

"I never said that," she snapped.

"But you did, you certainly did, in various roundabout ways."

She sighed. "Mark, you must stop this. There's no future in it."

I leaned over the table and propped my chin in my hand. I looked into her
caramel eyes at close range. "In my mind," I said, "I'm looking at your cute
upturned breasts and those stubby red nipples."

"Stop it."

"In my mind, I'm looking at the secret forest nestled between your hips."

"Stop it."

"It's hidden away under the table, under your dress. What colour pants are you
wearing?"

"Christ. Just ordinary white."

"The best kind. In my mind, I'm taking them off. Drawing them slowly down your
legs."

"Mark, stop it. You must stop it."

I sat back from the table. "Let's go to my place," I said.

"Okay," she said, straight away.

Happy Ending (for some): Rachel and I have been together now for four years.
Andrew moved on and Rachel stayed. With me. Funny how things turn out.

ENDS

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