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Subject: {ASSM}  RP "A Matter of Need"  MF ROM (segment 3 of 3)
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Copyright, 1998, by the author

A MATTER OF NEED (segment 3 of 3)


* * * * *

 Barry slept late Saturday morning. Out of habit, he'd woken just after seven,
but without the kids there, he settled back in the pillows and slept until
shortly after ten.
 He still felt groggy as he shuffled down the stairs and into the kitchen. He
thought about making a pot of coffee, but the wait seemed too long. Instead, he
put a cup full of water in the microwave and pulled some instant coffee out of a
cabinet.
 With a slice of bread in the toaster, he sipped at the coffee. Images of the
night before played in his head. He hadn't done anything stupid, he told
himself, but he still felt a twinge of guilt. His mind replayed the images of
peeling paint, scuffed shoes, and, of course, the women. Parts of it had been
fun, but overall the whole thing had a muddy feel to it that didn't match the
sunlight streaming in through his kitchen window.
 And that girl Crystal. How the hell had that happened? He hoped Ted had the
smarts not to talk to anyone at the office about where they'd been, but with Ted
you never knew. And what would he say if he ever saw Crystal on the street? Do
you say hi to a nude bar dancer? Would she even want you to?
 The coffee did its work. His head was clearing. The toast popped up and he
spread it with honey. He took a bite and went to his front door to get the
paper. As usual, the kid hadn't managed to toss it up on the doorstep. It was a
good seven feet away under a bush.
 All he had on was a pair of boxers. Should he try for it, or go back in and get
a robe? He checked the street. It was empty. He looked left and right up the
sidewalk and saw no one. He was about to go for it when he spotted someone on
the lawn between his house and the neighbor's. He backed up quickly and closed
the door.
 They're gonna arrest me someday, he chided himself, and headed upstairs for a
robe.
 It was only after he'd put the robe on that he began to wonder who was out
there. He hadn't seen the person for very long, but long enough to know it was a
woman, and way too thin to be his neighbor's wife.
 He walked to the bedroom on that side of the house, and looked down out the
window. It was a woman dressed in sandals, shorts and a sweatshirt. He'd been
wrong about her being on the lawn. She was in the flower bed on that side of his
house, digging around the plants. From his angle on the second floor he couldn't
see her face, but he could tell she must have been there for quite a while.
There was a pile of weeds next to her, and a bag of peat moss partially empty.
 Who the hell's out there in my garden, he thought, and went back to the bedroom
to exchange the robe for a pair of slacks, a shirt and his loafers.
 Back downstairs, he picked up his coffee, opened the back door and walked out
on the lawn. As he turned the corner around the side of the house, he could see
her. She was still pulling weeds. He walked closer, and then stopped,
speechless.
 It was the girl from last night. Crystal. Her back was to him, but there was no
mistaking that hair and the part of her profile he could see.
 Slowly, he began walking toward her again.
 "Excuse me," he said, loud enough for her to hear him across the lawn.
 Crystal turned and saw him.
 "Good morning," she said, still pulling at a stubborn weed, "you got a great
garden here."
 Suddenly Barry became aware of the neighboring houses; the neighboring world,
for that matter. The last thing he wanted to do was shout anything more across
the lawn. He walked up to her, stood next to her watching in confusion for a
moment, and then spoke quietly, almost whispering.
 "What the hell are you doing here?"
 "I lost a bet."
 "You lost a bet?"
 Crystal picked up a small hand spade to loosen the soil where she'd removed the
weed. She scooped some peat moss out of the bag and worked it in to the soil.
 "A bet?" Barry repeated.
 "Yeah. Don't worry about it. I'll be done, maybe half an hour."
 "A bet with who?"
 She stopped working and looked up at him.
 "Well, who do you and I know in common?"
 "Ted? You had a bet with Ted?"
 She turned back to her work.
 "Yeah. Ted. I lost, so he said I had to get out here this morning and weed this
place."
 "He never said anything to me," Barry said, still completely off  balance.
 "Yeah, I know. He said that'd be the fun part. You know, surprise you."
 "Well, you certainly did that."
 "You're not mad, are you? He was just havin' fun."
 "No, I'm not mad. But I can't believe you went through with it. He couldn't
have been serious."
 "Oh he was serious, all right. But that wouldn't matter anyhow. I make a bet, I
keep my promises. And you get one free morning of weed pulling."
 Crystal looked up at him again, and pointed at his cup of coffee.
 "You got any more of that?"
 Barry stared into his cup, as though he'd find the answer there.
 "I guess so," he said finally.
 "I'd appreciate it."
 Barry turned back to the house. By the time he'd reached the back door, he
could feel anger building at the back of his neck.
 Fucking funny guy Ted, he said to himself, send a god damn topless dancer over
here. Topless, hell, bottomless. Elmo's finest. Son of a bitch.
 He filled another cup with water and put it in the microwave.
 So tell her to leave, he told himself. But he knew he wouldn't. And he knew
why.
 Shit. She didn't do anything. Why get on her case? Fucking Ted.
 Barry watched the microwave countdown from two minutes. A minute thirty. Sixty
seconds.
 The words he'd just said replayed in his mind.
 Gee you're a nice guy, he said to himself. God damn topless dancer, huh? So
what'd she do to you? What do you think she's gonna do, strip and dance in the
garden?
 Barry pushed 'Pause' on the microwave, and then 'Cancel'.
 Hell, she's a decent person. Bring her a decent cup of coffee.
 Barry cleaned out the coffee maker and started a new pot brewing. As he watched
it drip, he remembered how much he and Crystal had laughed while she danced at
the couch. And he remembered how she had looked.
 Foul ball, he told himself. She's not a dancer now. You want to piss her off?
Just act like you're thinking about last night. Idiot. The sun's up, she's
digging in the dirt, she'll be gone in half an hour and that's all there is.
 Barry finished his toast while the coffee brewed. When it was done, he dumped
his instant in the sink and poured a fresh cup for both of them.
 He walked to the back door, opened it, and saw Crystal approaching from the
other side.
 "Oh good," she said. "I thought maybe you forgot."
 "It took a while to brew a fresh pot."
There was an awkward silence as Barry stood in the doorway, a cup in each hand.
 Crystal ended the silence, asking, "You got a hose or something out here I can
use to rinse my hands? They stink like peat moss."
 Barry hadn't thought about inviting her into his house. She was being polite,
not asking to come in, but offering soap and the kitchen sink seemed like the
only right thing to do.
 "Why don't you come in and use the kitchen sink?" he said.
 "Okay, thanks."
 Crystal kicked off her sandals and stepped into the house. Barry led her into
the kitchen, put the cups on his table and sat sipping at his coffee while she
washed. When she finished, he gestured to a chair at the table.
 "You want some toast or anything?" he asked.
 "No, the coffee's fine, thanks."
 They drank their coffee in awkward silence.
 "Good old Ted," Barry said with sarcasm.
 "Yeah, he's a piece of work."
 "Mind telling me what the bet was?"
 "Just a stupid kind of thing."
 "Like what?"
 "Okay, well, you know the first time I was with you guys? You couldn't hear us,
but Ted started talking about how some guys act, you know, gettin' all turned on
while we dance. And I said what did he mean, some guys? They all get turned on
one way or another, otherwise they wouldn't be there. And so he said he bet I
couldn't turn you on. Sorry. I mean, I didn't know you then. Anyhow, I got
stupid and bet him you'd make some kind of a pass."
 "My pal Ted."
 "Well he is, you know. I could tell that."
 "Yeah. I always try to make my friends look stupid. It's what friends are for."
 "I don't think he meant it that way. I just think he wanted you to have a good
time. But then we all kind of got to know each other a little, and things went
different. Surprised the hell out of me when he wanted to collect on the bet."
 "When did he do that?"
 "While you were gone for the beers."
 Barry decided to let it drop. Ted was Ted. And Crystal was Crystal, he guessed.
Sure, she'd think she could snare a guy. Why not? Especially buck naked.
 "Great garden you've got out there," Crystal said.
 "My wife did that."
 "Your wife? Hey, should I be here?"
 "She passed away a few years ago. So Ted didn't tell you that part?"
 "No. Sorry."
 "She put the whole thing together. I dug it up for her, but she picked
everything and took care of it."
 "It needs some work. I guess Ted knew it did."
 "I didn't know he ever even looked at it."
 "You have a lot of weeds. And you need to move stuff  around a little."
 "I like it the way she made it."
 "Yeah, but I'll bet she changed things a little each year. You have to do that
or the stuff dies out. You add new plants and they put stuff in the dirt the
other plants need. Kind of a rotate the crops thing."
 "You do a lot of gardening?"
 "When I was a kid. I don't have any room to do it now. My apartments have some
ground we can use, but it's a mess. A lot of construction crap still in the
dirt."
 "Well, so it wasn't such a bad bet after all. I mean, losing it wasn't so bad."
 "Yeah. I guess I'm havin' fun. Mind if I have another cup?"
 "Go ahead."
 Barry watched her as she stood to pour herself more coffee. The make-up she'd
worn last night was gone, but her face was still pretty. No high heels, but her
legs were smooth and well shaped. And her bare feet were small. And cute. And
feminine.
 "I did have fun, you know. Last night. I'm not a total stiff,"  he said.
 Crystal smiled at him, saying, "Nobody said you were, Barry."
 It was the first time she'd said his name, and the effect  surprised him. It
was far more personal and warm than he'd expected. His throat tightened a bit.
 "And you really are pretty. I mean, just because I didn't make a pass doesn't
mean . . . "
 Barry cleared his throat, searching for the next words.
 "Doesn't mean you didn't want to?" Crystal said, laughing, "Well thanks. That
takes a load off  my mind. I thought maybe I was losing it."
 "No . . . "
 "Hey, I'm kidding. Okay?"
 "Okay."
 Crystal studied the man sitting across from her. Tall. She guessed maybe a
little over six feet. Face okay, but eyes that worried too much. So much better
looking when he forgot about himself and smiled. A tangle of curly dark hair,
thinning a little and pulling back from his forehead. Wide shoulders, strong
thick forearms. Nothing athletic exactly, but there was power in those
shoulders.
 When Barry had invited her into the house, she'd thought about her safety, but
only briefly. She prided herself on her instincts. There was no threat in those
worried eyes, nothing hidden in his voice. Not last night, and not now. Then she
corrected herself. There was something hidden, but nothing she needed to worry
about.
 Strange guy though. He hadn't opened up last night until they'd taken sex and
pinned it away like a butterfly in a box. Something to study. Joke about maybe.
And his friend Ted was another strange one. When he'd told her what he wanted,
the garden thing, she was sure he'd open his wallet and try to lay some large
cash on her for a few extra morning services. She had her 'thanks, but no
thanks' speech all ready, but he never did. What the hell his story was, she
couldn't tell.
 She liked the house. It was the kind of place she hoped she have some day.
Great yard, and the kind of garden she could enjoy. And the inside was nice,
too. A kitchen you could work in. It had one of those island-style ovens with
all the counter space and cabinets surrounding it in easy reach. No clutter and
everything easy to get to. What she could see of the dining room and living
rooms was great, too. The tone of the wood, oak it looked liked, and the fabrics
all blended and accented at the same time. Really nice.
 "Something wrong?" Barry asked.
 Crystal realized she'd been staring. "No. Sorry, I was just thinking about some
stuff.  Really nice place here."
 "Thanks."
 "Is that stuff oak?"
 "Yeah."
 "Mind if I look?"
 "Sure, go ahead."
 Crystal walked through the dining room into the living room. She could feel the
warmth of the room close around her. Comfort and quiet. She could see the garden
she'd been working in through a large double-wide picture window. A breeze
kicked up and rippled through the lawn. The leaves on a huge Century Oak
shimmered in the sun as the wind stirred them. The carpet was thick and felt
good on her feet.
 "Probably why it's so quiet in here," she thought. "You can't even hear the
wind out there."
 Barry stood at the opening between the dining room and living room. She's
beautiful, he thought, she really is. She even makes the room look better
somehow. Quietly, slowly, he found himself wanting her, and wishing she hadn't
been paid to be there.
 "Crystal," he said, "did Ted . . . did he say anything, or . . . give you
anything to be here?"
 Crystal looked at him. Old habits barked up inside her, ready to slam his words
back at him. But his eyes stopped her. There was no accusation. No insult. It
was something else.
 "I'm a dancer, Barry. Not a whore."
 Barry flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he said, "I mean, I didn't want
you to be that . . ."
 "Barry, it's okay. What else are you gonna think? I show up here . . ."
 "And I'm glad you did. Really."
 "But maybe it's time I finish up outside?"
 Barry knew he'd insulted her. And now she wanted to go back outside. But he
felt a need to talk, a need to just have her there with him. It was something he
hadn't felt for a long time, but it was strong now. He tried to think of what he
could say.
 The words wouldn't come. They had to be right, but the more he tried to sort it
out, the more his mind clouded up.
 "I want to say something," he told her.
 The back of his neck was stiff.  It made him feel tired standing there. Tired
and stupid, with nothing to say that would mean anything. He recognized the old
thickness in his head creeping in, telling him it was time to back off, maybe
give her a call some other time if he wanted. If she'd even let him.
 "Sorry," he said, and walked back into the kitchen.
 Crystal watched him leave the room. She was an old hand at mood changes, and
this one had been big. She asked herself if it was a dangerous change, and the
answer was no. A lot of years ducking bad moods, way too many hospital emergency
rooms, two court orders and three abuse counselors had given her a fine line of
judgement on that. The man wasn't dangerous. He just needed to be left alone.
She looked at the front door, wondering if it was wired with alarms that might
still be set. No way to tell. She'd give him a few minutes in there by himself,
and then she'd let herself out the back door.
 Outside, the wind had turned to mild gusts, moving the smaller top branches of
the oak in graceful circles as they bent and returned, bent and returned. It was
like watching a silent movie, the action large but diminished by silence. No
wonder they used to play music while those movies ran. You had to have something
or it all got so unreal. Crystal stepped close to the glass, trying to hear any
hint of the rustle outside.
 Faint sounds came to her. She thought she could hear the wind, and even the
sound of the leaves, small and distant. And music. But she knew there wasn't any
music. That was just in her head. Sometimes when she rode in her car with the
windows down, the sound of the wind had music in it too. There was something
about the constant chord the wind played that let her mind fill in other chords.
And instruments. And voices singing. Sharper and more vivid than simple songs
she could hear in her mind other times without the wind helping.
 There was almost a sensual pleasure in watching the leaves and listening for
the songs in the wind. What was it? She could hear the notes, but nothing she
recognized. And then it changed. She knew this one. It was from one of her
favorite old musicals, " . . . singular sensation, every little move she makes .
. ." Chorus Line. And when the rush of wind was strongest, she could hear the
title word, just the way the singers punched it on the album, "One!" and the
lyrics would begin again.
 The wind eased back and changed direction. The oak swayed in new circles, and
the words grew faint. She listened harder, but it was all a jumble now. She
tried to help it along by thinking the words, but the clarity was gone.
Something, singular sensation, parts of it, but the title word rhymed with
"move" now.
 Gusts of wind echoed the new word, repeating over and again, but still so soft,
she could barely make it out. Like someone shouting in the distance, you knew it
was there, loud and strong, but so faint where you stood. She relaxed her mind,
letting it come, letting it grow until finally it broke through.
 "You," she said aloud, and almost put her hand to her mouth in surprise.
Christ, she thought, had she spaced out, or what.
 Barry appeared in the doorway. "Did you call me?"
 "No, I was . . . I was just singing to myself, I guess. I should probably get
goin' now."
 "Okay. If you think you should."
 So go, Crystal said to herself. But she didn't move. Barry stood there quietly,
looking at her, almost staring at her, and out of nowhere she knew she wanted
him to. Just keep looking, my friend, she said to herself.  Because if you look
hard enough, I'll break you open. I'll scatter your parts, you reclusive nitwit.
 "Can I sit for a second before I go?" she asked.
 "Yeah, I guess," he answered, "are you okay?"
 "I'm fine. I just really like the way you did this room. But you can't get the
feel of  it without sitting. You can tell it was arranged for people to sit and
talk or whatever."
 Crystal walked the sofa, and bent her legs to sit. Then she stopped and stood
up again.
 "Hang on. I got mud all over these shorts."
 As Barry watched, she quickly stripped off her shorts and sat down. Despite
himself, his eyes locked on to the pair of skimpy white cotton panties she wore.
 Crystal smiled at him. "It's okay, isn't it? I mean, it's not like you haven't
seen a lot more of me than this."
 "Yeah, I guess," was all he could manage again.
 "Sweatshirt probably has peat moss on it too," she said, stripping it off.
"There." She settled back in the soft upholstery of the sofa.
 Barry watched her sitting there. The bra she wore was simple, something to work
in without the delicate lace or revealing cut he might have expected. Still, the
beauty of her overwhelmed him. She crossed her legs, and laid one hand on the
arm of the sofa, the other in her lap. As she leaned her head back, her body
arched forward, accenting the graceful lines flowing out from her shoulders and
arms to her delicate hands, and down from her breasts, the line turning at her
hips and curving forward to follow her legs.
 "You're beautiful," he said, and his eyes never left her as he walked to the
chair opposite the sofa. He sat, his eyes looking into hers now. "But why are
you doing this?"
 "I can be here for you, Barry. Today. Now. Or I can leave. Which do you want?"
 "Don't leave. Please. I just don't understand why you're here. I mean, now.
Like this."
 "Barry," she said, standing, "I don't know. I gave up trying to understand that
kind of thing a long time ago. I'm here because I couldn't leave. You're looking
at me because you can't stop. It's enough."
 Crystal stood in front of him as he sat. Still looking in his eyes, she
unclasped her bra, shrugged it forward and off. She watched his eyes find her
breasts and nipples, heard his breathing deepen. She slid her hands inside the
waistband of her panties and pushed them down.
 Barry watched her as she bent sideways to slide her panties down her legs and
off.  Again he was struck by the easy grace of her movements. And then she was
standing in front of him, naked. He raised his hand to her hip, touching the
soft skin, then moved it upward to stroke the side her breast.
 "Last night," he said to her, "when Ted and I were watching the dancers, we
joked about them being artists. But it's true with you. Beautiful art."
 Crystal took his hand and pulled him toward the sofa. He followed, and they
sat. Again his hand went to her breast, cupping it. Her dark rose colored
nipples stood out beautifully against the light pink swell of her breasts. He
slid a finger down and caressed her nipple, feeling the velvet softness. With
his other hand, he stroked her cheek, then moved down her neck to press gently
against the other breast. Soon his fingers were circling both nipples,
delighting in the feel of her.
 Barry's touch was more gentle than any Crystal had ever known. She closed her
eyes and gave herself over to the building sensations in her nipples as his
fingers circled and pressed on them. Soon she could feel herself begin to harden
there, her nipples needing now to be squeezed, to know the feel of this man's
gentle pressure increased, his demand growing, his lust building.
 Barry felt her nipples hardening and slid his hands away. He hadn't wanted
that, the harshness of it. He hadn't meant to make it happen. Crystal opened her
eyes. Barry's head was lowered, his eyes at her lap. She parted her legs to
welcome his touch there.
 For Barry, it wasn't right. The grace of her interrupted that way. She was
angular now, her legs opened too far somehow. He knew what she wanted, and he
wanted to please her, but the beauty of it wasn't the same. He moved his hand to
lay it beside her sex, and felt her move to press her labia against him. He
stroked her then, knowing he should. His fingers traced the outline of her lips,
but the sensation was distant.
 He thought about the need building in her, and knew with a pressured tightening
in his chest that he wasn't the one to do that for her. But what could he say?
With each moment his thoughts scattered further, replaced by a heavy slowness.
Anger and sadness traced through everything he thought to say. How could he tell
her it was wrong?
 Mechanically, his fingers continued their movement on her labia, until slowly
the sensation of her growing moisture found its way to him. He stopped. He
hadn't meant to be cruel this way, and the fatigue settled in, replacing the
tightness in him with empty futility.
 "What's wrong?" Crystal asked.
 "I can't."
 "You can't what?"
 "I can't be doing this."
 Crystal looked at him a moment, trying to understand. But sometimes
understanding was pointless. She'd learned that much. Reacting was a lot better,
and this man was about to get a reaction, she told herself.
 "Excuse me," she said, "but I'm naked here and you didn't seem to have a
problem with that. What the hell is this 'I can't be doin' it' stuff? You
already did it."
 "I'm sorry."
 "You're sorry. Well yeah, I guess you are."
 "I made a mistake. I . . ."
 "I don't believe this. You get me all worked up and then you do a no show? I
don't think so. Not this girl. You do that to me, you damn well better duck."
 Barry's face froze.  His gut pulled in with a shock and threw his shoulders
forward. Crystal watched him, her frustration changing to confusion. He looked
as though he was leaning forward to say something, but nothing came out. Then
without any change in expression, his eyes began to tear heavily, the water
flowing down a face that seemed totally unaware of the tears.
 Crystal began to get worried. She'd wanted to get on his case all right, but
this was something else. His eyes were locked to hers, swelling now and growing
red from the flood of salt water pouring out of them, but his expression was
flat and unchanging.
 "What's wrong?" she said. "Jeez, man, I was just angry for  a minute. Hey. Come
on."
 Crystal found herself rambling, throwing in whatever words came to mind, hoping
something would connect.
 "Maybe sometimes I get carried away. Maybe it's me. You know, I got an ego,
too, and so I'm here thinkin', stupid stuff, you know, like I tried to be good
to you here  and . . . you know . . . sweet, and . . ."
 Barry's face crumpled like a wet paper mask, his forehead sinking, eyes closed,
lips parted loosely. His jaw began to work slowly, side to side and down,
opening his mouth wide. A deep rending cry built in his gut and coursed up
through his stiffened neck to blast out of him, spewing a spray of tears and
spittle, "Jesus!!! What is this!!!"
 As Barry's hoarse cry rose in volume, Crystal began to understand what she was
seeing. It was pain from the soul. An old friend. And she knew from deep in her
own experience that words were useless.
 "Oh baby," she said, "come here."
 She pulled Barry to her and pressed his head against her breast. "I don't know
where you are honey, but I'm here and I'm stayin 'til it's okay. You hear me?"
   As he leaned against her, Crystal began stroking the back of his head and
neck, her fingers massaging and soothing the tightened muscles. With her other
hand she unbuttoned his shirt enough to stroke his upper chest in slow gentle
circles.
 Barry's breathing was still ragged, but he was quieter now, a deep fatigue
settling over him as the pressure in his chest ebbed away.  He let himself drift
in the relief, his eyes closed, a flow of pale color filling his mind.
 Slowly, the colors deepened, dark brown and black, flecks of blue that turned
to a deep green. And something moving into his vision and out, dark against the
texture of the green. Legs. His own legs moving as he walked. And the green was
grass. It  was an image of himself, his eyes looking down as he walked on the
grass, his hands in the image now, a cup of coffee in each.
 And he saw himself standing near Crystal as she worked in the garden. But it
was wrong. He hadn't brought the coffee out. They'd gone inside. Barry closed
his mind to the image, trying to change it. There'd been only one cup in his
hand. And then she'd asked if he had more, and he'd gone inside.
    But as he watched, Crystal stood, took the coffee from him, and brought it
to her lips. A strong wind pulled at his slacks and fluttered the rim of the
straw sun hat that shielded her face. It was all still wrong. They'd never stood
this way. And the hat. Crystal hadn't worn a hat.
 Crystal sipped her coffee, and put her hand to his chest. She began to stroke
him there, and as he watched, it was as if he could feel the soothing warmth of
her touch. He began not caring that it hadn't happened. The gentle pressure of
her hand was too important.
 She spoke, he thought, but the wind was strong now, and her voice was caught up
in it, spilling away in a gust. He tried to hear the words again, to call them
back, but the wind was too strong. And now a new gust caught the sun hat,
pulling it away, tumbling it across the grass. He turned to chase it, but it was
far away so quickly, lost in a distant confusion of colors, dark brown and
green.
 He needed to find it for her, worried she'd be upset. Her favorite hat, the one
she always wore. But it was gone now, and her touch was so soft, so wonderful he
couldn't tear himself away. Couldn't turn to run, chase the colors, bring back .
. . what was it?
 He found he couldn't remember. Even just a moment ago, something so important,
but he knew it had been there, something tumbling deep and away, forgotten now
in the colors. Something she'd touched perhaps, or held out to him, or was it
something she'd told him, deep in the wind?
 "It's all right," Crystal whispered.
 Barry heard her through the wind, and focused on the sound of her voice. He
felt the gentle movement of her hand on his chest again. He opened his eyes.
 Crystal moved her hand to his chin, lifted his face up from her breast and
kissed his forehead. His eyes were heavily swollen, but as he looked at her, she
could see a change.
 Barry felt the light warm sense of Crystal's kiss linger on his skin. His eyes
were level with her mouth, and her soft dark pink lips were parted slightly. As
he inhaled, the scent of her breath filled him, and the softness of her mouth
drew him upwards to her. He kissed her, lightly at first, and then more deeply,
his lips sliding against hers to relish the lush texture of her skin.
 Crystal was surprised at his kiss, but she could not turn away from the need
she felt building in him. She returned his passion, moving her tongue against
his lips.
 With a final lingering tenderness, Barry broke away from the kiss to look at
her.  The electric sensation of her nearness pulsed through him. Every nuance of
her body became a new hunger; the wonderful scent of her neck, her shoulders,
the beauty of the light golden hair on her arms.
 Sliding his mouth across her cheek, he pressed his lips to her ear.
 "I need you," he whispered. "The sight of you, your touch, everything. Please.
Is it all right?"
 "It's all right," she whispered back.
 He leaned back a moment to remove his clothes, and then leaned forward again to
caress her mouth and cheeks with his lips. His hands delighted in the smooth
skin of her hips and back, and then slid forward to the soft swell of her
breasts. Barry lowered his head, kissing them softly. As he felt her arousal
begin, he looked up at her.
 "Yes," he whispered. "I need this . . . you . . . your body with mine . . . let
me be with you."
 "Love me," she answered.
 Together they began to kiss the full length of each other's bodies, exploring,
tasting, and losing themselves in the joy of knowing each other's arousal.
 After a time, he brought his lips to hers again.  Kissing her deeply, he moved
his hand to her thigh. He caressed her silk-smooth skin for a moment, and then
moved his hand to the warmth between her legs, delighting in the soft folds
there.
 As her moisture grew, she put her hand against the back of his, increasing the
pressure, heightening her desire.
 The scent of their love-making filled the air, driving them to even deeper
hunger. And when the pressure had built to beyond what either of them could hold
back, he pressed himself against her, and they gave themselves over to the
passion that filled them.
 All thought, all sense of place and time was gone, crushed in the blind need
for release, until exhausted, they fell away from it.
 Breathing heavily, their bodies limp, they lay apart.
 As her breath eased, Crystal turned her head to Barry. His eyes looked into
hers, resting there for a long, searching moment. And then without breaking his
gaze, he rose on one elbow to kiss her forehead.
 They moved together again and lay quietly, Barry stroking her hair as she
relaxed her body against him.

* * * * *

 Outside, the wind had settled to gentle wisps. The sun had risen high enough to
filter its light downward through the upper branches of the oak trees.
 Softened by the leaves, the light fell through the windows into the living
room, lending a warm glow to Crystal's shoulders and arms as she lay against
Barry.



End

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