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From: Delta <delta*@bc.sympatico.ca>
Subject: Delta: KIN (mf)


Should you wish to comment upon my story, I can be reached by 
E-mail at: 

delta@bc.sympatico.ca 

until late August 1997.  After that comments should be directed 
to alt.sex.stories.d

Comments and critizisms are welcome.

Standard disclaimers:  This is a work of fiction - no character 
within is a depiction of any real person, living or dead.  No 
place or event described within exists outside of the writer's 
imagination.  Copyright retained by the author and this post
is for private use of the reader only.  It is not to be published 
in any form whatsoever, including being made available on BBSs, 
without the express prior consent of author.
     Any readers who are underage in the jurisdiction in which
they reside are asked to please pass by.


Delta.



                         KIN
                       by Delta.

     Never is a long time.
     I don't usually break promises.  Not even ones I make
to myself.  Especially not ones I make to myself.  Funny how
hard, and how easy, it is to overcome that private taboo.
     Nothing is ever the same.  Have you ever been back to 
the old home town - the one you left 20 years ago?  Have you 
ever gone back to visit the old high school; the old college?  
Then you know what I mean.
     The old home town, the old school, the old college, the
old whatever, they are nothing without the people.  It is always
the people who define them.  The fun Roberta and I had passing
notes under the nose of old Mr. Harris; that first date with
Paul at the Burger Palace; the time Ray and I were almost caught
making out by the creek  -  the creek, the burger joint, the
classroom are just a creek, just a burger joint, just a classroom.
You could substitute any other creek, burger joint, classroom and
nothing would change.  It is always the people.  The people I
had known here were gone.  Nothing is ever the same.
     I looked around the campus.  The trees had grown.  Not 
surprising, seeing as it had been ten years.  Ten years is a 
long time, yet in my memory ten years ago is like yesterday.  
Ten years - almost to the day - it had begun.
     As far back as I can remember I've been able to recognize
family.  Ah, 'recognize' doesn't quite do the concept justice.  
I've been able to *feel* the presence of family.  Perhaps 
'family' is not the best word either, for I don't mean blood 
ties.  Perhaps 'kin' is the word I'm looking for.  I guess it 
doesn't matter.  I'm delaying, feeling that perhaps now is 
not the time for this, perhaps I should wait a year or two (or 
three) before telling the story, before doing anything about it.
     As I was saying, I've always been able to feel the presence
of kin, and I could feel it there, then.  I can remember the 
feeling as though it were yesterday.

     As I talked with the others, waiting in the hall for the
first class to begin, I knew it had been a good idea to sign
up for the First Aid course.  Tuesdays and Thursdays, two and
a half hours a night, for the next ten weeks I would be here.
It would be a lot of fun, besides being hard work.  I knew it
and I was anxious to begin.  Then I felt it.  It even had
direction this time - behind me.  It had gender as well, it
was a man - and he had recognized me!  I felt the shivers run
up and down my back - it had never been this strong before.
     I waited a moment, composing myself before I turned.
There was no one there.  He must have gone into the classroom.
We were taking the same class!  Not surprising, really, as it
happens quite often.  Kin tend to find each other.
     I glanced at my watch.  Five minutes to the hour.  Almost
as one the congregations in the hallway turned and began to
file into their respective classrooms.  Community Education
is a wonderful thing, I thought as I made my way into Room 216.
     There he was, sitting in the second row, watching carefully
without appearing to be watching, as his classmates entered.
Our glances crossed and my stomach lurched.  This wasn't merely
'kin', this was a soul-mate!  Yet his face betrayed nothing,
as if he had not felt the same wrenching that I had.  Yet he
had.  I knew he had, for I felt him feel it.  Something was
strange here, but what?  There was nothing for it but to sit
next to him and see what developed.
     "Mind if I sit here?" I asked.  His head came around and
he looked up.  His smile nearly melted my heart.
     "Of course not," he replied, then returned his concentration
to his books.
     It took me a minute, then I got it.  He had recognized me
yet didn't realize just what that meant or that it had been 
mutual.  He probably had no idea that we were soul-mates and 
he was trying to play it casual, trying to figure out what I 
had instinctively known.
     I was about to ease him into a conversation when the 
instructor called for the class's attention, then had us stand, 
one by one, and introduce ourselves and give our motivations for 
taking the class, where we wanted to work, etc. (you know the 
drill) - something I've always hated.  Some had grand plans
of becoming paramedics, others seemed tense and stuttered
their way through the introductions.  Then it was my turn.
     "Hi everyone, my name is Gwen.  I've been working as a
time-keeper in the camps for several years, and I decided that
it was about time I took a first aid course.  It will make it
easier to find a job; employers love having lots of 'tickets'
on their rolls."  I sat down.  It was His turn.
     "My name is Alan.  I've always been interested in 
first aid and I'll take any job I can find," he said without
sounding in the least desperate, and sat down.  Short and to
the point.  I liked that.
     In the introduction to the class, and the slide show that
followed (it was pretty gruesome - lots of blood, but I had seen
some of that before, and not on slides) I noticed Alan 
surreptitiously checking me out.  
     I knew what he was seeing - I saw it every morning in the 
mirror - and I knew it wasn't that much.  My eyes are my best 
feature.  I've always known that.  Not that they are great, 
mind you, but they are a little better than average.  Every 
woman has something about her which is that little bit better 
than average, and with me it is my eyes.  (Some women seem to 
be a little bit better than average in all departments.  I try 
to not be jealous.  I succeed - mostly.)
     I was shorter than average, but not by much; smaller than 
average, not that it mattered to anyone with any sense; and a 
little less pretty than average, which seemed to matter a whole 
lot to those who can't see past the wrapping paper on a Christmas 
gift - and there are more of those than I care to count.  Not that
I ever had much trouble getting men - when you are comfortable
with yourself and enjoy being with others, others tend to 
want to be near you.  Too many of them, however, want to be
near me so they could become closer to someone else near me.  
It is depressing sometimes, but I'm used to it.
     What I wasn't used to was the way in which Alan was looking
at me.  During the fourth class I finally figured it out, and it
shocked me.  
     We were in the half hour break between the theory part of
the lesson and the practical, and I saw him covertly watching me.
Like a flash it came to me.  His was the aspect of a man observing
beauty.  My breath caught and my heart began beating faster.  I
checked the path by which I'd come to my conclusion and it came
up valid.
     It was true!  Alan was looking at me and seeing beauty.  
And it wasn't that 'beauty in the eye of the beholder' nonsense.
He had a discerning eye and he well knew what he was seeing.
Only he wasn't looking at my face, nor at my eyes, nor at any
part of me.  He was looking at the whole me in a way no one
before had ever done.  And what he saw he knew as beauty.  I had
always known this about myself, in spite of what the mirrors
told me, but had never seen that inner knowledge reflected in
another's eyes.
     Thus I was floating in a particularly wond'rous sea of 

well-being, when Marcia approached me.  Marcia is one of those
women I mentioned earlier.  She was short of stunning, yet
very lovely, nonetheless. 
     "Have you asked him?" she inquired.
     "Asked who what?"  It wasn't nice, being jolted back
to reality.
     "Alan.  About joining our study group."  Marcia was a
little peeved at my seeming lapse.  She had formed a little 
study group after the first class, thinking it would help 
us all to do better.  She had approached three or four of 
us, yet had not gone near Alan.  Sometimes he seemed 
unapproachable.  Sometimes he was unapproachable.  Anyway, 
she had prodded me into agreeing to ask him.  I don't know 
what held me back, but I hadn't asked yet, and now here was 
Marcia, peeved.
     Fingers snapped in front of my eyes.  "Where were you?"
she asked.  I shrugged.  "Ask him.  He'll help our group.
He's certainly smart enough."
     "And perceptive," I added, laughing at my private joke.
     Marcia shook her head, puzzled.  "Yes, I suppose so.
So, ask him, already, before the classes become really hard."
     She was right, of course.  If it was to be done, better
sooner than later.

     "Hey, Alan."
     He turned and waited for me to catch up with him, a
slow smile coming over his face.  It was one of those smiles
which doesn't stop at the lips, but involves the whole face,
eyes included.  It was devastating at close range and I turned
my gaze to the newly planted trees.  They didn't look like much 
yet, barely five feet high.
      "Give them a few years and people will be able to sit
under them to eat their lunches."  I waved in the general
direction of the trees.  Alan turned his head to look and I
heaved a silent sigh of relief.
     "Pity we won't be around then."  There was a wistfulness
in his voice, a sorrow which had more to do with something 
else than about the trees.  I could feel it.
     "Some of us are doing some extra group studying.  We
were wondering if you'd like to join."  He looked hesitant.
"It will really be a great help to us all, we think.  This
course goes by so quickly that any extra practice we can 
get now will pay for itself later.  I've talked with others,
first aid attendants who've been through the course, and
they all say that you have to keep ahead.  There is so much
material that if you ever fall behind, you've had it."
     "Okay," he nodded, "count me in."
     I told him when and where and with whom.  He didn't 
really want to go, I could tell, but he would.  He would so
he could be near me, not so he could get near someone
else, just so he could be near me.  Any other time I'd have 
been overjoyed.  Even as it was, I wanted to take him 
somewhere quiet where we could go places that no words can 
adequately describe.
     However, I wouldn't.  I knew that.  There was something
about Alan which frightened me.  I was up until the early
hours of the morning figuring out just what that was.  It was
his intensity.  He was just too intense.  
     Inside of two weeks he'd decided that he was in love with
me, and maybe he was, we were soul-mates after all, and he
was ready to jump straight into a serious relationship, without
being at all prepared for it.  That scared me.  He needed to
step lightly into it, to enjoy all the nuances, the joys which
came at each level of intimacy.  If I allowed it, he'd miss
all that . . . and so would I.  He had some funny ideas, too.  
I just knew that if we 'got together', he'd want to protect 
and cherish me.  I didn't want that, I wanted to go out and 
live life.  I could take care of myself.

     "Gwen?  Is that you?"
     I turned, the echoes of the past slowly fading away, to
see Mr. Williams, our old instructor.
     "Hi Bill," I smiled at him.  "Long time."
     "Must be eight, ten years.  Are you back in town to stay?"
     Bill was in his fifties now, yet looked little older than
forty.  He was an open and caring man, the kind you would want 
working on you if you'd been in an accident.
     "Ten," I agreed, holding out my hand.  He took it and,
instead of shaking, brought it up to his lips.  He always knew
how to lighten up a situation.  "Why, Sir Galahad.  I'd never
have recognized you, but for your manners.  What brings you
to this part of the kingdom?"  We both laughed and he gave me
back my hand.
     "Same old same old," he grinned.  "Another class awaits
with, no doubt, bated breath.  And you?  What brings you back
to our fair city?  By the way, I've heard good things about you,
you make one hell of a First Aid Attendant.  Congratulations."
     "Thanks, Bill."  I was touched.  He wouldn't have told me
unless it was true.  He didn't joke about his calling - well, 
not in that way.
     "So, what brings you back?"
     "Nostalgia.  I'm approaching that age where the memories
of my youth are all I have left [he started breaking up] and
I figured I'd better cement them in my memory while I still 
have one."
     "Gwen, you'll be the death of me.  If you're so bad off, 
where does that leave me . . . no, I don't want to know."  He
glanced at his watch.  "Gwen, it's great seeing you, but I 
have to go.  Want to sit in - for old time's sake?" 
     I shook my head, no.  Although I'd renewed my ticket a
few times, I had never gone back to a previous instructor.  I
always felt that I would learn more from someone different,
a different approach, style, whatever.  Of course that wasn't
why I declined, after all he was only suggesting I sit in
for a class.  
     Bill was good about it.  He merely shrugged.
     "If you're going to be around long, look me up - I'll
treat you to dinner - if you are willing to take pity on a
feeble old man."  He grinned, then turned and walked away.
     Somehow I was sure that there was more, and when he 
slowed again before reaching the door I knew I was right.  
When he turned his face was serious.  I braced myself.
     "He's still in town.  Thought you might want to know."
Then he was through the door and gone.  Trust him to know.
He always seemed to know more than anyone would have thought.

     "Here's the situation, Gwen,"  Mr. Williams's voice was
quiet, though no one could hear him anyway as we were in the
hall.  "You've had a nasty fall and broken your right femur.
That's the biggie.  You are conscious and it hurts like hell,
so that's where you will direct the Attendant's attention.
Now, just to see if your attendant is sharp, we'll give you
another injury.  Your left upper arm has been cut and you
are bleeding into your rain-gear.  The blood is pooling in
your sleeve and isn't noticeable.  The pain in your leg is
masking it, so as time passes you'll get weaker without
realizing the problem.  Got it?"
     "Got it," I replied.
     "Remember - direct attention to your leg.  It hurts
like hell."
     We walked back into the classroom.  All the equipment
had been put away, except for one kit.  This would be the last
problem of the day.  I was the patient and Mr. Williams would
pick an Attendant to work on me while the others observed.
     I lay on my back and waited.
     "Alan.  You're the Attendant.  You've just got word that
Gwen has fallen and hurt herself - she's screaming.  Go!"
     Oh no, not Alan!  I'd done my best to never partner up
with him.  Practical First Aid means a lot of touching and I
had wanted to spare him, me, us, that.  I looked up at Mr.
Williams in time to catch a little grin on his face where no
grin should be and I wondered if he'd done this on purpose.
     "Is it safe to approach?"  Alan was carrying his kit,
his manner professional.
     "Yes.  Good.  Safe to approach."
     "What's the weather?  Anything special as regards terrain?"
     "Warm, light rain, nothing to worry about.  Your patient
is as you find her."
     "As I approach do I find her conscious?"  Alan knew the
drill.
     "She's yelling in pain.  I think you can assume she is
conscious and has clear air passages."
     "It's my leg, I broke my fucking leg," I took the clue.
Everyone was a little taken aback at my foul language, but
Mr. Williams beamed at me.
     "Call for the ambulance," Alan said.
     "You are in a camp, accessible by boat or helicopter."
     Alan was kneeling at my side now, calmly telling me to
stay still, that he was here to help.  "Checking pulse,"  he
called out as he looked at his watch.  My resting pulse is
near 60, but it was faster than that now.
     "Ninety and a little weak," replied Mr. Williams.
     "Marcia.  Bring the Oxygen," Alan ordered, and Marcia
came forward and simulated placing the mask on me.
     "Checking for pooling blood," he called out and began 
feeling under my head, my neck and back even as I protested 
that it was my leg.  I noticed he was sweating a little.  It 
wasn't all that hot in the room, yet I was finding it a little 
difficult to breath normally myself.  We had never been this 
close before.  I wanted to get up and sit down to watch Alan 
work on someone else, but I couldn't do that.
     He found the bleeding arm, naturally.  Alan was the most
thorough man in our group.  "Med-evac!" he called out.
     "Your helicopter will be here in 30 minutes.  This will not
be a scoop and run.  You have time to do a full treatment."
     John was holding my leg steady, as directed, as Alan placed 
a pressure dressing over my wounded arm.  "No smoking.  Oxygen 
in use."  He was a bit late with that one.  John kept my leg 
steady while Alan did a thorough head to toe on me.  
     This is what I had been dreading.  His hands traced their 
way over my scalp, felt their way over my face, checking for
bumps, dents, breaks.  His hands were so warm and I could feel
the energy as it passed through his fingers and palms.  As he 
lightly traced his way down my neck it was all I could do to 
keep from groaning.  My breathing was becoming a little ragged, 
and it wasn't from my supposed injuries.  My god, I was getting 
excited!
     The nearness of him, the smell of his sweat, his breath
were all a little too much.  Having him touch me all over was
a lot too much.
     "Take a deep breath and tell me if it hurts - if it hurts,
stop at once."  He had his hand on my sternum and I breathed
in against it.  It was a quick way of checking for broken ribs.
     "No pain," called out Mr. Williams.
     Maybe not, but Alan was thorough and checked out my ribs
anyway, pushing my breasts up and out of the way when he felt
the sides of my rib cage.  He was blushing a bit when he did 
that, but Mr. Williams would not allow his students to observe
the niceties.  'When you're in the field are you going to let
your patient die because you're too embarrassed to check around
her breasts?  No?  Then you'll do it here, too.'  He was right,
but that didn't make it any easier on me.  
     Thank god Alan didn't notice that my nipples were pushing
out against the heavy cloth of my top - or maybe he did.  Perhaps
that was why he was blushing.
     When he palpated my abdomen I knew I was in trouble.  Such
energy the man had in his hands!  It warmed me through.  It did
more than that, I felt myself becoming wet.  It was my turn to
blush, and when his hands traced their way down my legs and
removed my shoes and socks to palpate my feet, electric currents 
ran up and down my body.
     At last it was over and he moved to treat my broken femur.
It would be a long splint running down from my armpit to past
my foot and a short splint running down the inside of my leg
from thigh to past my foot.
     When he nestled the short split between my legs, just barely
touching my crotch, I almost jumped.  But I couldn't jump, I was
tied to the long splint.  Then, in almost less time than it
takes to tell, I was tied to both splints, sand-bagged and 
covered with a blanket.  From start to finish it took less
than twenty minutes.  Now he was checking my pulse and
respirations again.
     I guess he realized something was up when his fingers
found my radial pulse, but he merely asked me if I were all
right.  What could I say?  I couldn't say:  Everything is fine,
just ask everyone else to leave and then have your way with me;
or, more bluntly: Let's fuck.
     I kept squeezing my legs together, I couldn't help it,
feeling the head of that splint in my crotch, making me feel
so good, thankful for the blanket which covered me.
     Then it was over, and I was being untied and everything 
was put away. 
     "I'll stand a round at the Wine Cellar.  You all did
some good work today.  Keep it up and you'll all have your
tickets without any problem."  Mr. Williams knew how to get
the best out of his students.
     I would have loved to go with them, to hear Bill's 'war 
stories', but I begged off.   Alan seemed a little hurt that
I wouldn't accompany him to the Wine Cellar, but there was 
something I just had to do.
     I sped home and got out of my clothes as quickly as I 
could, put some soft music on the tape player and prepared
to finish what Alan had begun.
     As I lay back, I could almost feel those hands moving
over me once again, fingers tracing their path, but this time 
they stopped and lingered around my mouth, tracing my lips 
until my tongue moved out to intercept them.  
     I sucked a finger into my mouth, wishing it were his,
and swirled my tongue around it, getting it well lubricated.
My other hand touched and teased my nipples, stroked my breasts,
my stomach, my thighs.  I could feel my body quivering with
excitement, waiting so impatiently for what it knew was coming.
     Finally I could wait no longer and my fingers escaped
my mouth and made a bee-line for paradise.  I was ready, very
ready, but I made myself wait, teasing myself, touching, stroking,
moving up and down, spreading my oils around, almost, but never
quite, finding my clit.
     "Oh, god, oh god," I moaned as I thrashed about on the
bed, struggling for release and holding back at the same 
time.  My body was on fire.  Every nerve end was screaming
for release, my body was poised, raised as if to a phantom
lover and time stood still for the moment it took to conjure
up his face, with that devastating smile, the one reserved 
for me only.  For one instant all was quiet, still, then
warmth suffused me and all became motion.  
     I did myself fast and hard.  My breath came in great
ragged gulps.  No more waiting.  My fingers vibrated my poor
clitty until everything exploded, and even then they kept 
stroking as my jerking body turned over, trying to escape, 
kept stroking until I screamed out my orgasm into my pillow.
     Resting, recovering, I wondered why I had not invited
him back with me instead of hurrying home alone to do my
solitary dance.  I already knew the answer:  I wanted to be
fucked, he would have wanted to make love.
     Soaking in the tub, I heard the apartment door open as my 
roommate returned.  She knocked on the bathroom door.
     "I'll be finished in a minute," I replied.

     "I'll be finished in a minute."  The man at the telephone
smiled to me, before returning to his conversation.  
     I smiled back, wondering how I had come to be here.  I
didn't remember coming into the cafeteria building at all, so
wrapped up was I with my memories.  What did it mean, that in
my unconscious state I had wandered right over to the telephone?
     Ten years is a long time.  Only in my memory was it as
yesterday.  What would he think of a voice from the past,
not just any voice, but my voice.  Would he be angry?  Surely
he had the right.  One just didn't push one's soul-mate
into the arms of another woman, then leave without saying
good-bye, yet that's what I had done.

     He needed to learn more about life, I decided, as I
passed the phone to Marcia over his protests.  I let her
tell him of the new meeting place.  It was probably selfish 
of me, but I didn't want to be his first and only true love.  
We both were in our late twenties, yet I knew that his shyness, 
his reserve would have prevented him from becoming involved 
very much.  He was too solitary, and he was looking for that
one true love.  It was too much pressure.  Let him learn 
disappointment elsewhere.  A little wiser, a little older 
and we would be perfect for one another.  Right now, with 
his mindset, it would end in disaster - I was sure of it.
     So, out of some sort of perversity, I pushed him, gently
I thought, towards Marcia.  She thought I was crazy, yet, as
the days passed, she accepted the situation and made her play
for him.
     As for myself, I avoided ever being alone with Alan.  Not
that he never suggested it, quite casually, of course, but I 
wouldn't take him up on his suggestions.  He seemed dumbfounded 
and hurt by this, but I never let on that I realized what I
was doing.
    I never let on, until that last day, the day of the exams.

    It was over.  I breathed a sigh of relief and leaned 
against the wall.  I wouldn't find out my mark for a couple of
weeks, but I knew I had done well.  Fortunately, I hadn't had
Alan as a partner in the tests.  I don't think I could have
kept my cool if that had been the case.  Now for the class
party.
     "Hi."
     "Alan.  How did it go?"
     "Well.  Really well.  And with you?"  He was careful not
to look too happy in case I'd bombed.
     "A cinch.  I had almost the exact same problem as we
practiced during our last session."
     He broke into a smile.  "Good.  Good.  Come on, I'll
buy you a coffee."
     "Nah.  I think I'll wait and see how the others did."
     His smile faded slowly.  "You've been avoiding being
with me lately.  I've been wondering why."
     I looked at him, wondering how I would answer that,
if I would answer that.  My stomach had suddenly become
queasy.
     "Now I'm asking."
     His eyes met and held mine.  I had to look away.  I
decided to let him down as easily as I could.  It was the
least I could do.  I took his hands in mine and looked him
in the eyes.
     "Alan, you are a very special man," I began, but was
startled to see shutters fall behind his eyes, "and any
woman would be really lucky to get you . . ."
     "But?" he interrupted.
     "But, right now, I'm afraid it can't be me."  I was
about to continue but was stopped by a bitter smile as
he shook his head.  I prepared for the protestation that
never came.  Instead I found out that he could be cruel.
     "Why do you women say that?" he asked, disbelieving.
"It's the very last thing a man wants to hear.  And to combine
the 'special' line with the 'any woman would be lucky' line
has to be the . . . ."  Alan shook his head, bewildered,
defeated, then turned and walked away.  He muttered something,
almost under his breath, but a trick of the hallway acoustics 
brought his words to me,  "Not again.  I can't believe it's 
happening again."  The door closed behind him.
     Damn.  I'd screwed up.  I'd fucked up.  Royally.  I had
mistaken his reserve for an innate shyness, an inexperience,
when it had actually been that of a wounded man, wary and
unsure about getting back into the game.  He'd already 
learned disappointment. Damn, damn, damn.
     I arrived at the party, late, to see Alan and Marcia
dancing to the too-loud music in the club.  She saw me and
smiled, holding her thumb up.  I gave her a weak smile in
return.
     As soon as was diplomatic I made my excuses and left,
walking aimlessly down the street.  I ended up in the city
park, under a tree, where I sat down to contemplate the
mistakes I'd made, beginning with that first day and ending
with . . . and ending with coming to the park.  At the sound
of voices I'd looked up to see none other than Alan and
Marcia, walking hand in hand.
     "Here?"  I caught the disbelief in Alan's voice.
     "Here."  Marcia giggled.  "No one ever comes here after
dark.  No one will ever know.  And I love doing it outside."
She was taking off her jacket.
     I closed my eyes in disbelief.  It wasn't really dark,
the moon was full and bright in the late summer sky.  It was
warm and just perfect for what they were planning.  And 
planning was the correct word for it, for Marcia spread
out a blanket that she had been carrying in her oversized
handbag.
     "You're a little minx, Marcia.  No, wait, I'll do that."
     Alan's hands replaced hers and began to unbutton her 
blouse slowly.  He bent close and kissed her skin as it 
slowly appeared.  Marcia's head was back and I could hear 
her breathing catch, then quicken.  Then her blouse slipped 
off and fell to the ground.
     The moonlight slanted off her breasts, beautiful breasts,
to which Alan paid full and dutiful attention.  He caressed
them gently, then took one in his mouth and sucked on it
tenderly, while stroking her body and working on her skirt
with his hands.
     Marcia's breathing went up a notch.  Respirations fast
and shallow, I thought to myself.
     Apparently the same thing had crossed Alan's mind, for
he aided her into a semi-sitting position, resting against
him, for ease of breathing, and gently stroked her neck
and kissed her forehead, her eyes, her cheek, her lips.
His shirt, also, was off by that time.
     Contra-indicated, I thought as Marcia gave out with
a groan.  Alan was clearly not making the situation any
better with his treatment.  Sure enough, I was right, for
Marcia, behaving as any drowning woman might, reached up and
pulled his head down to receive some mouth to mouth.
     I remained quiet.  I was too close to get up and get
away without being seen or heard, and I had disappointed
Alan once today already.  I wouldn't spoil his fun.  I
closed my eyes to block out the sight of Marcia, under him,
where I should have been, but I couldn't block out the
sounds.
     Alan was as gentle as I'd known he would be and tears
rolled down my cheeks unbidden.  A gasp and my eyes opened
again.  Ah, good move, direct pressure to the wound, stop
the flow of . . . .  He was stroking her lightly, obviously
calming an almost hysterical patient.  I could hear the
hysteria in her moans, her little cries.
     It wasn't working.  Her cries grew louder, more 
demanding.  There was only one thing for it - physical
restraint, and Alan moved his body over hers to restrain
her with his weight.  There was a sharp cry, then the 
sounds of pleasure as they . . .
    I couldn't continue with the analogy any longer and I
closed my eyes and held my hands over my ears, hoping it 
would all be over soon, that I would be left alone in my 
misery.
    A long time passed, and when I finally opened my eyes
I didn't expect them to still be here.

     "Gwen.  I didn't expect you to still be here."  Bill
came up to me, holding a steaming cup of coffee.  He looked
from me to the telephone and back again.  He set his cup
down on a nearby table and pulled his pen and a piece of
paper from his shirt pocket.  He wrote something on the
paper and handed it to me.
     On the paper was a telephone number.  I looked up,
wanting to deny that I wanted to use that number, wanting
to hand him back the paper.  I couldn't, I didn't.
     "Marcia?"  My voice sounded strangled to me.
     "They split up, six, seven years ago.  Very amicably."
     I hadn't heard that.  I had heard that they'd moved
in together.  The class had formed some very strong bonds
in the course of those 10 short weeks, and every now and
then information would come to me.  I never sought it out,
but it would come, nonetheless.
     "Call."  Bill was such a sweet man.  I wanted to 
thank him, but couldn't seem to find my voice.  "It's okay,
you're welcome."  He always knew.  Bill was 'kin' too.  He
smiled at me encouragingly, then turned and left me alone.
Alone in front of the telephone, with the paper grasped
tightly in my hand.

     What could I say?  Ten years was a long time.  Would he
even remember?  I couldn't do it.  Besides, what did it matter?
It had long been over.  Sometimes I'd go for whole months 
without thinking of him.  If I met him, heard his voice,
whatever, it would just be meeting another stranger, hearing
another stranger's voice.
     My hand, of it's own volition, dropped a coin into the
slot and began punching in the numbers.  I understood.  I 
needed closure.
     "Hello?"  His voice hit me like a fist in the stomach.
I couldn't breathe.
     "Hello?"  A little irritation in his voice now.  Tears
were running from my eyes.  A voice from the past, it's only
a voice, I tried to tell myself.
     Silence.  Soon there would be that tell-tale click and
it would be over.  I'd sworn I'd never come back.  Never is
a long time.  Ten years is a long time, but his voice was like
yesterday.  I wanted to speak, to say anything, but couldn't.
My hands were shaking and my eyes were closed tight against
the tears.
     "Gwen?"  His voice was soft, questioning, unsure.  Then 
it was strong, sure, more powerful than I had remembered.  
"Gwen.  Don't hang up.  Don't hang up.  Gwen? I've been 
waiting."
     As far back as I can remember I've been able to feel the
presence of kin, and I was feeling it here, now.

End of Kin, by Delta. 

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