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From: bybernadette@my-dejanews.com
Subject: A ROLL OF THE DICE (F/F, Romantic)
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A Roll of the Dice
                   ==================

      Fiction by Bernadette <by_bernadette@yahoo.com>


 The pilot had just announced that we were flying in a
 southwesterly direction over the edge of the Grand Canyon.

 Unfortunately my view of this massive cracked and scarred
 terrain was blocked by the wing.  I was seated alone in an
 isolated chair near an exit window and there was only one empty
 seat next to me, preventing any of my envious fellow passengers
 from exchanging their seats for mine.

 I'd had been alone most of my life.  Except for _her_.  She
 would not have approved of what I'd just done.  But I had to
 know what it would feel like.  She'd never find out, anyway.  I
 didn't feel very guilty--after all, it was my life, not hers.

 My return flight was a far cry from the inbound journey to
 Nevada, a bumpy ride filled with noisily intoxicated
 soon-to-be-broke gamblers eagerly awaiting their sojourn in Las
 Vegas.

 _"Everyone should drink a Bloody Mary while flying into Vegas,"_
 shouted a woman seated directly behind me.

 Her name was Kathy and she was in her late thirties.  By the
 end of the trip I knew about her two failed marriages and the
 gamble she'd taken moving to Vegas from a tiny Midwestern
 almost twenty years ago.   We were both raised Catholic.
 Then the pilot announced that service would be discontinued due


 to unexpected turbulence.  Kathy quickly ordered two at once,
 and I broke down and joined her. The pressure of flying _and_
 going to Vegas to do what I was going to do was just too much
 for me to handle without a drink.

 The elderly woman next to me with Parkinson's was having
 problems hooking up her headset for the in-flight movie.  After
 I helped her I commiserated with Kathy and watched the Hollywood
 "summer fluff" comedy without mine.  Through the exaggerated
 facial expressions of the actors, I followed the entire plot as
 well as if it were a silent movie.

 About halfway through--when the poor little rebellious rich girl
 had finally fallen in love with the hunk bumbling car thief
 who'd accidentally kidnapped her--the old lady asked me, "Is
 this entire movie going to be in Spanish?"

 Funny, that's how I'd always felt about my life.  As if I was
 watching myself star in a play written in a language that I
 didn't speak in which the main character searches for his own
 nature.

 Of course _she_ played a big role, and I was about to do the one
 thing that she may very well have feared most.  Discovering
 myself was a far bigger wager than anyone around me was about to
 place.


                   *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *


 I saw her in person for the first time as soon as I stepped off
 the flight in Vegas.

 She was standing far back from the gate, leaning against the
 wall and looking about as mysterious as an undercover FBI agent.
 Smiling, but not overly emotional.

 I almost didn't recognize her.  Margaret looked different than
 she looked in her pictures.  Not as glamorous, and yet more
 attractive in a subtle way that excited me immediately.

 We hugged each other tightly.

 "Welcome to Las Vegas.  Here, let me help you with that bag,"
 she offered. "Damn!  What do you have in here?"

 I laughed.

 "I'm _not_ a light traveler.  Got a pair of boots in there, you
 know."

 "You brought your cowboy boots?"  She laughed.

 "How was your flight?"

 "Rough. Bad turbulence. Even the couple next to me commented on
 how bumpy the flight was and they are from Vegas."

 I told her about the inbound flight and Margaret laughed--easily
 and comfortably.  I was beginning to feel relaxed around her.

 Perhaps this weekend wasn't such a bad idea after all.


                   *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *


 The Vegas strip was a sight to behold, an adult Disney World
 filled with bright lights, extravagant structures and million
 dollar gimmicks.  She'd been there one night alone before I
 could manage to arrive, so she pointed out the various legendary
 landmark hotels to me as we passed them: Caesar's Palace, The
 MGM Grand, the pyramid-shaped Lexor, Excalibur, and the
 Stratosphere, piercing the barren desert background like a space
 needle from beyond.

 I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she drove the
 rental car: black shiny hair, full lips and her face calm and
 naturally attractive. She wasn't saying much as my fears and
 insecurities about coming here began to make me a bit nervous.
 She was not only attractive.   She was very, very sexy.

 "You okay?  You seem a bit quiet?" I asked.

 "Sure, I'm fine. This is just the way I am."

 Why she was so much more reserved in person than she was during
 those many hours we had shared, talking on the computer for
 weeks and then on the phone when we could.

 After a few more moments of silence, she asked quietly:
 "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

 I sighed.  There it was.  Despite our powerful mutual attraction
 and all those sensuously passionate conversations, Margaret had
 always expressed some reservations about my situation.  It all
 went back to _her_, of course.  She had been there before
 Margaret and would certainly be there afterwards.  Whether I
 liked it or not.

 As we pulled into the hotel garage, I reassured her that I
 was indeed really ready for the experience, I told her how
 beautiful she was, how excited I felt, and how much I wanted
 her.

 I was ready to take a chance in the city of chances.


                   *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *


 Margaret had made reservations for dinner with some of her
 clients.  I went to the room to freshen up before dinner.  Two
 couples awaited us when we arrived at the steakhouse.  I wasn't
 sure if Margaret had filled them in on our "situation," or
 whether or not they realized we had never actually met before
 tonight.

 No one acted strangely as she introduced me with the ease of
 having known me all her life.

 During appetizers, one of the women politely asked, "And Lee,
 Where are you from?"

 I laughed and winked at her. "Guess!"

 "Oh, I guess the east coast--well, at least originally," chimed
 in her husband.  The couple was from Maryland.

 Margaret giggled and I smiled with delicious pride.

 "No, try again."

 They all looked confused.

 "Born, bred and raised deep in the Deep South," I answered.

 "Really?" asked the gentleman next to me. I was acutely aware
 that I was the only southerner at the table. "I would have never
 guessed . . . the accent . . . so very slight."

 "Well, I'm originally from New Orleans. I teach European history
  at UT Austin.  Been there about eight years now.  So, I guess
  my dialect is a strange mixture of Texan and southern
  Louisiana. To make it stranger, folks from _Nahlins'_ sound
  like they are from Brooklyn."

 They laughed.  I smiled knowing deep inside that they perceived
 me as a novelty.  Perhaps they didn't know how much of
 a novelty this was for me.

 I stole a quick glance at Margaret, sultry and luminous in the
 atmospheric light of the restaurant.  Her eyes danced and her
 smile was mysterious in a way all its own.


                   *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *


 After dinner we decided to visit the historic downtown district
 with one of Margaret's clients.  Vegas had been nothing more
 than a tiny village before the mobster Bugsy Siegal had wagered
 that a large gambling industry could be built there--a bet that
 had cost him his life.  It didn't escape me that _she_ hated
 gambling like most conservatives and would think of me as a
 criminal twice over for going there to meet Margaret.

 The district was dominated by an eight block area covered with
 an atrium in which a "psychedelic" light show with loud music
 took place every thirty minutes.  It reminded me of a sanitized
 version of the New Orleans French Quarter.

 Once inside the legendary "Golden Nugget" I began to get a bit
 jealous of Margaret's attention towards Tom Johnson, her
 associate.  He was quite a bit older than me, less attractive and
 married.  Margaret and I made such a perfect match that we could
 have passed as cousins--both in our mid-thirties, with dark hair
 and smooth, almost flawless, glowing skin.

 My jealousy was probably unfounded--I thought to myself--but I
 was riding a wave of soldering passion and increasing desire.
 All I knew was that I wanted Margaret very badly . . . and in
 every possible way.  "Forbidden fruit smells sweeter than any
 other," as my mother would always say.

 During the cab ride back to the hotel, Margaret continued to pay
 considerably more attention to Tom than to me.  She and I had
 spent many nights on the phone, laughing and planning this
 fabulous weekend get away, so exciting and adventurous. I was
 astonished by her apparent lack of interest, and I sulked like a
 big baby.

 I wandered off to the slots while Margaret and Tom began to play
 craps.  Another simple, yet complicated game based on the roll
 of the dice.  The drinks were free and flowing, and I'd already
 had a bit too much wine at dinner.  A seasoned social drinker, I
 indulged, knowing Margaret drank minimally at best.  Time passed
 and they strolled off to play in the casino amusement area built
 to resemble Coney Island.  I ordered another beer, played the
 slots and flirted with a young tourist from Paris.

 The effects of the alcohol and the fatigue from the long journey
 combined with my anticipation over meeting Margaret took its
 toll.  I decided to call it a night around midnight.

 Part of the agreement was that we would book two adjacent rooms
 but slip our keys underneath the other person's door if we got
 separated as a result of her "business obligations"--an
 eventuality which seemed unlikely to me at the time it was
 discussed.

 I crawled into my bed and fell fast asleep, disappointed.  Here
 I was, taking one of the biggest risks of my life, and my
 would-be lover seemed to have no more than the most casual
 interest in me.

 Her arrival awakened me sometime later.  I must have been there
 for a while, because I'd been dreaming about a recent conference
 I'd attended in London, at which I'd decided to ride the Channel
 train over to France.  Only then had I realized how
 claustrophobic I was when underground for long periods--somehow
 the entire weight of the English Channel seemed to be pressing
 on my heart.  After all these years she gave to me, how could I
 do this to _her_.  And yet I had to get to the other side.

 _"Margaret?"_

 "Lee, you awake? I didn't mean to disturb you."

 "It's okay," I replied.

 Our eyes locked in the darkness.

 "I wanted to apologize for spending so much time and energy on
  Tom.  He's a big client and I have never met him before tonight
  either, and he's leaving tomorrow and we will have the rest of
  the weekend alone."

 She spoke quickly, almost as if she'd rehearsed the apology.

 "It's okay."

 My eyes were adjusting to the darkness.  Margaret was in her
 nightgown.  A sheer, light summer frock.  I could see her bare
 nipples through the delicate cotton fabric, standing erect in
 the shadows.

 Margaret sat perched on the edge of my bed. The silence was
 deafening.

 "Can I kiss you?"  My voice seemed to cut through the air like a
  shotgun rifle.

 "Yes," she answered.

 I was astonished that I asked, and shocked that she agreed,
 especially after the events of the evening. It was unexpected,
 unpredicted and sexually exciting.

 We began to kiss lightly--her lips were soft and intoxicating.

 At that moment, it dawned on me suddenly that I was kissing
 another woman.

 I pushed the thoughts of my mother's mortification to the far
 corners of my mind as I began to run my hands through Margaret's
 silky tresses.

 I blocked out anything and everything I had back home—my community service
organizations, my social and professional clubs, my reputation as a teacher
and scholar, and my identity as a straight woman.

 It all melted away like wax.  The wax dripping from a fine
 hand-dipped candle.  Like the moisture dripping from my own heat
 between the smooth flesh of my plump thighs.

 I was wet, dripping wet for a woman, dripping wet for Margaret.

 I wanted her to put her mouth on me, drink me, and suck me like
 a fountain of pure feminine vitality.  An overflowing wealth of
 sexual pleasure for her to drown her every desire in, probing me
 with her tongue in every way and each crevice of my body and
 soul.

 She climbed into the bed with me.

 "Not many women kiss as well as you can," she whispered.

 "Not many people feel as good as you," I replied.

 Her breathing became harder and more intense as the passion
 between our lips turned from warm heat into burning fire.

 "I've wanted you all evening," I said, surprised at my own
  candor.  I was sober now, the desire stronger than ever. "Have
 you felt it?"

 "Yes, Lee, _yes_.  I was thinking about it all night."

 "I am sorry if silly jealousy got the best of me."

 "Tom??  Now, don't be ridiculous.  He's just a friend, a business
 associate.  And he's a man!  Besides, you looked like you were walking
 around in a stupor."

 "Southern Comfort," I answered, "It's our culture.  And a long,
 tiresome day."

 My hands went beneath the light fabric top of her night clothes.
 I felt her breasts with my hands as my tongue naturally
 followed.

 She began to moan almost inaudibly.

 "Are you excited?" I asked.  "Do you want me?" I was still
 unsure of the boundaries.  This was all so foreign to me.

 "Why don't you feel how much I want you?" she replied as her
 hand guided me.  I stroked her juicy, soaked flesh as the quiet,
 reserved Margaret began to moan louder and louder.

 "Oh, baby--are you sure you've never done this before?"

 "I promise."

 Her hard, aroused diamond felt just like my own.  It didn't take
 any special knowledge to do what I did.

 I circled her with my fingertips in much the way I did it to
 myself, penetrating her with my other hands.  Fingers digging
 deep, finding gold, striking oil.

 Fingers covered with honey, fingers in my mouth, in hers.
 Tasting each other, tongues wanting, legs entwined, hands
 groping.

 She came loud and hard.  I licked it off my hands like icing from a cake.

 Margaret immediately went down on me like a tiger on its prey.
 Her tongue was merciless, she ate me like a starved cat--movement,
 penetration, the sounds of her swallowing filled the air . . . I
 was overflowing.

 I grabbed her head gently, pushing it between my outspread legs
 as far as I could.  I wanted her to suck the life from me, from
 my center, from my core.

 Her mouth couldn't do enough--and yet it did it all--as she
 flicked her tongue and milked me like a young cow.

 My juices spurting over her dark hair like confetti.


                   *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *


 I awoke the next morning--frisky, happy, content and in love.

 Margaret had already showered, dressed and was ready to go
 downstairs for coffee.

 "Sweetheart?" I asked as I pulled her near me. "I'm alive in
  the morning, you know. Very alive."  She had a different
  perfume this morning.

 "Sorry, love, I am not really into it in the morning," she said
  demurely, with a sensual shrug. "I like it at night, so you can
  go to sleep afterwards."

 I wasn't sure exactly what she meant by that, but I figured it
 was a girlie thing.  I like such a man, fully aroused upon
 awakening.

 "Want anything?" She was still somewhat affectionate. Her arm
 lay gently across my stomach. But there was a wall there, almost
 as though we had a one-night stand.  Perhaps we had.

 "Sure, black coffee would be fine, thanks," I replied,
  frustrated and confused.

 "Hey!" I pulled her close. "You okay?"

 "Must you analyze everything?" she replied.

 "I guess not," I answered, letting go of her with a growing
 feeling of helpless.

 Margaret casually left the room for coffee as I rolled over,
 hoping to get a little sleep before we went to spend the day at
 Caesar’s Palace.

 But my mind was racing too quickly.

 Did I really love her, or was this only an illusion?  Was _she_
 right, that God had created men and women to love each other,
 and therefore that this could only be a strange mixture of lust
 and infatuation?  My mother was not a woman of the world and had
 passed away when I was in college, yet her religious convictions
 haunted me like the ghost of Sundays past.


                   *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *


 Later that afternoon, I watched Margaret sit on the bed, opening
 the present I'd brought.

 Like a delighted child, her brown eyes sparked as she tore open
 the neatly wrapped package.  I'd brought her a Louisiana Mud
 Painting--a beautiful white blossom matted in burgundy and
 framed with ornate gold leaf.

 "Oh, it's _beautiful_," she whispered. "I have the perfect spot
  in my house for it!"

 "The Magnolia's the Louisiana state flower.  See how it blooms,
  with petals that unfold, revealing a center filled with
  fragrant pollen."

 "I love it, but you shouldn't have done it."

 "Why not?  You invited me here to meet you.  Accept it as a token
  of gratitude for the invitation.  When I was a kid, this was my
  grandmother's favorite flower. I never appreciated the beauty
  until I grew up and began to return home for visits."

 "But I told you not to make a big fuss over this.  We both knew
  going into it we were taking a big chance, and well, you
  certainly shouldn't have done this."

 "I know."  I sighed.  We'd talked about the issues in such depth
 that at times we both felt as if we'd beaten a dead horse into
 gelatin.  And still . . . oddly . . . I wasn't certain how the
 gamble had turned out.

 Still, I was grateful to Margaret for being patient with my
 concerns and letting me have the chance to know myself.  A
 wave of desire crept over me as I looked into her eyes.

 "Just give me some sugar."

 "Sugar?"

 "It's the southern way of asking for a kiss, Sweetheart."

 I leaned forward to kiss her.  Although she didn't pull away,
 she jumped up after a few minutes and abruptly said, "Why don't
 you lie down and nap? I'm going downstairs to shop a bit."

 I felt an old frustration as I saw the woman I thought I knew so
 well shut the door again.  Being with her sexually had been
 so beautifully different and yet the emotional barriers were
 nothing new.


                   *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *


 We decided to catch a club after dinner the next evening, but
 stopped by the hotel on the way out.  I'd hoped that perhaps my
 affections were going to be reciprocated as we lay across the
 bed, talking intimately about our families and growing up.

 "You know, I was raised in a very unaffectionate family," I
 told her as I stroked her long, silky hair.

 "Really?  You seem very affectionate to me," she replied,
 obviously enjoying my caresses, but giving none in return.

 "Yeah, I guess that is why I crave it so much." I paused. "You
  are such a beautiful woman, Margaret."

 She smiled and thanked me.

 "Can I have some more sugar?"  We began to kiss again, and the
 club didn't seem like such a great idea any more.

 She suddenly moved away. "I need to go brush my teeth. I'll be
 right back."

 I lay on the bed waiting when the phone rang.  It was 10:30 at
 night--who'd be calling either of us in Vegas?

 "Hello?"

 "Is Margaret there?" a female voice asked.

 "She's in the restroom right now," I answered.

 "I will _hold_ . . ." The woman sounded irritated and a little
 sarcastic.

 Margaret emerged from the restroom.

 "For you."

 "Is it a man or a woman?"

 "A woman."

 She took the receiver from my hand.

 There was silence at first. Then Margaret began to cry.

 "Oh, _no_.  You can't be for real. No! *No!!!*"

 There was a pause.  I wanted to comfort her, but somehow the
 distance she'd placed between us made me pause.

 "Was there a lot of blood?  Which hospital did you bring her to?
  What did the doctor say?  They think her neck is broken?  Oh,
  not my _baby!_  Oh, thank God!  Why aren't you there with her?
  Please, will they let you stay with her?  My baby!"

 She was crying and sobbing.  I lay motionless on the bed, feeling
 helpless.

 "Yes. I will. Yes.  Let me know in the morning.  I have to talk
  to Lee now. Bye."

 She hung up the phone and looked at me.  By this time I was
 anxiously standing by her side.  Whatever the situation between
 us, I had to be there for her.

 "My dog got in a fight with another dog while Melinda was
  out walking her.  Ruby was torn apart."

 I took her in my arms instinctively.  She sobbed and wailed like
 a mother whose child had been badly injured.

 Finally, we lay down again on the bed.  Margaret clung to me and
 wrapped her legs around me, kissing my cheek ever so gently.  I
 brushed her soft hair out of her face.

 "Margaret, do you believe in God?" I realized the question had
  never come up before in our many conversations.

 "Yes," she muttered.

 "Margaret--look at me.  You've got to have faith, okay?  Faith.
  Will you pray with me?"

 She nodded, tears cascading down her face like a waterfall.

 "I'm going to ask my guardian angel to give you one of my
 favors," I said.

 "Thank you, you are so sweet."

 "Pray with me, Margaret."

 As a cynic in most contexts, a rare church attendee, and
 a woman who'd just violated her mother's most treasured
 beliefs about sexuality and gender, I suppose I had little
 right to invoke my faith.  But there it was.  Comforting me
 in order that I could comfort her.

 "I'm so glad you're here," she cried.

 I held her close and stroked her face.


                   *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *


 Margaret flew out of Las Vegas the following morning.  Our
 carefully planned weekend had been truncated.  The first and
 last time we would ever see each other came and went in a
 fleeting moment of disappointment and failed expectations.

 When I awoke, she was gone.  Her suitcase, clothes,
 everything --gone.  The painting of the Magnolia blossom was left
 on the bed without a note.

 My heart heavy, I began to pack myself.  I'd decided that being in
 Vegas all alone under these circumstances wasn't very appealing.

 Suddenly the door opened and Margaret walked in.

 "I thought you were gone," I said.

 "No, I just checked out and got my luggage set to go. I wouldn't
 leave you with out a goodbye."

 "Hey, I didn't know, the way this whole weekend turned out to be
  such a disaster."

 "A disaster?"  Her voice rose sharply. "A disaster?  Why was this
  weekend a disaster for you, Lee?!  My dog is half dead in the
  hospital."

 "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way . . . but the whole time, I
 just knew, I knew something wasn't right."

 "You and I both knew we were taking a chance coming out here.
  Neither of us had ever flown to meet a total stranger before.
  Stop feeling sorry for yourself.  You knew what you were
  getting yourself into from the beginning.  Besides, it could've
  never work.  We live too far apart."

 "I know . . . but I'd hoped . . ."

 Margaret sat and stared into my eyes for a long time.

 "I wish you the best of luck, I really do, Lee."

 She walked over and hugged me tightly.  Her lips lightly brushed
 mine.

 "Thank you," I said. "Will you let me know how Ruby is?"

 "I will e-mail you.  Goodbye Lee, and have a safe trip."

 I sat numb in the room as she walked out the door one last time.
 A roller coaster filled with screaming thrill-seekers whizzed
 past my window.  The clanking of change falling from the slots
 could be heard in the distance.

 People taking chances.  A role of the dice.


                   *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *


 The plane landed safely at the Dallas/Fort Worth International
 Airport.  The fierce Texas humidity welcomed me back like a
 strong wind hitting me in the guts.  It was good to be home
 again, away from the noise, bright lights, and gaudy attractions.

 I knew now, that I could love a woman, but not that she could
 love me.  I wondered how long the pain would last--or if it
 would be left behind in the town of chances.

 Funny how the trip back always seems so much shorter.


                   *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *


 Subj:      Re: Ruby
 Date:      98-05-23 23:44:24 EDT
 From:      margaret@abc.com
 Reply-to:  margaret@abc.com
 To:        LeeKnapp@netbet.com

 Ruby came home today, and she seems to be doing better. I think
 she's very happy to be in her home again.  The doctor thinks
 she'll improve quickly now that she's in her normal
 surroundings.  Gracie, my other dog, is keeping a safe
 distance--somehow she knows that her sister isn't feeling well.
 So, the family is back together again and all is well for the
 moment.

 As far as us remaining friends: I harbor no bad feelings for
 you, Lee.  I tried to make that clear on Saturday. But, to be
 honest with you, I don't think that we have a lot in common.
 Certainly not enough upon which to base a true friendship.

 That's just reality--as unfortunate as it may be.  So, I think
 it would be a mistake to promise that we'll be friends.  I just
 don't see that happening.  And I don't think that you do either.
 We can continue to e-mail one another for awhile, but we must
 acknowledge that eventually it will drop off.

 You are a beautiful, kind, gentle and vivacious person.  You deserve
 to have a life filled with love, laughter and happiness.  I hope
 you'll find someone soon that can help give you those things.

 Thinking of you fondly,
 Margaret


 (c) Bernadette 1998

http://www.angelfire.com/bc/bybernadette

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