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Subject: {ASSM} A Matter of Need (MF, Rom) Segment 3
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A MATTER OF NEED

Segment 3 of 3

Copyright,1998 by the author.   This material may not be reproduced or
redistributed in any manner.



  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 there thinkin', stupid stuff, you know,
like I'd been sweet and I'd been good . . . . "

     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's fear eased. She
knew what she was seeing now. It was pain from the soul. An old
friend. 

     "Oh baby," she said, "come here."

     She took Barry and pressed his head to 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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