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"The Lab" by Becky (TG, MF, FF)

This is a story I will produce a new chapter of (hopefully) every two 
weeks or so.  It contains some fairly mild sex, but if you're under 18 
etc... it's not for you.  Those of you looking for lots and lots of sex 
will probably be disappointed, since it is petty tame stuff for the most 
part.

Feel free to archive or otherwise distribute, provided it (and this 
preamble) is unedited and no fee is charged for access.  This story may 
not be distributed from any site that charges money, is members-only, or 
uses that ridiculous "adult check" thing (or any similar system).

All rights reserved by the author, who can be contacted at 
cyan@anon.nymserver.com

I hope you enjoy it.  Please let me know.

Becky

***

The Lab

Chapter One.

September, 1993.

I met her at a party up above Sunset.  She was standing out on 
the terrace with some lunatic who was ranting to her and another 
woman about global conspiracies and black helicopters and how 
the government was helping the United Nations control all of us.  
She was small, petite, but poised in an Audrey Hepburn kind of 
way.  Late 20's, early 30's like me.  As I stood at the edge of 
the conversation she gave me the smallest flick of an eyebrow, 
as though to indicate that she found this guy wryly amusing.  I 
stood at the edge of the conversation and listened to him as I 
watched her while trying not to appear as though I was mentally 
undressing her, which I was.  Eventually, as the rant continued, 
her look changed to one of mild boredom.  

She was gorgeous.  More beautiful than Audrey Hepburn.  There 
was something in her eyes that seemed to say 'I'm not as fragile 
as you think I am', and while she was slim she was not too thin.  
Short dark hair, a gorgeous neck, creamy white shoulders that 
were interrupted only by the shoestring straps on the dark green 
dress she was wearing.  

She was way out of my league and I knew it.  This was someone 
who was used to these shiny kind of people, who had probably 
grown up all her life among movie stars and fat lawyers and 
sleek women with hollow cheeks.  I was a guy from Detroit.  All 
I'd seen for most of my time in LA the last few years was other 
environmental-rights activists, and they are not often called 
sleek.  

I could see her glass was empty and stepped up to take it from 
her.  Without taking her attention from the boor she handed me 
the glass, as though she was used to having servants take care 
of such things.  I smiled and nodded like I understood how this 
game worked, and she smiled back in a half-apology as she saw my 
response.  I went inside the house to find some white wine.  It 
was full of gorgeous women and men in expensive casual clothes 
and tasteful jewellery.  Lawyers, most of them, I guessed.  She 
was probably a lawyer, too - though the fact that she hadn't 
argued with the loon made me less sure.  Todd, who owned the 
house, had just been made partner at a prominent firm downtown, 
and I guessed most of his friends were in law too.  I knew him 
from football at college.  

It took me a while to locate the kitchen inside the house, and 
then somewhat longer to realise that the wine was in the bar, 
not in the kitchen.  When I came back out to the terrace the 
loon was still boring another woman to death but She had gone.  
I wandered the party but couldn't see her anywhere.  

Eventually I figured I'd had enough of hobnobbing with the rich 
and famous.  As I left the Conspiracy Theorist was still trying 
to convince people that the black helicopters were everywhere.

***

A few days later it was getting on toward dusk as I drove into 
the parking lot of the company where Tom worked.  He and I got 
together every Thursday evening after work for a quick game of 
tennis and a bite to eat afterwards -- at least we had done most 
Thursdays since we'd both graduated some years earlier.  Tom had 
continued working for the drug company he'd been doing research 
for when he was a grad student.  I took the moral high road and 
went to work for an environmental action group as a researcher 
and activist on biochemical hazards.  

I gritted my teeth as I pulled into the lot -- Tom's new black 
Corvette was shining in the sun's last rays as I hefted the 
wheel on my own sorry wreck, a 1970 blue-and-primer Bonneville 
with intermittent power steering.  One of us was making a lot of 
money these days, and it wasn't me.

I grabbed my sports bag from amongst the trash in the back seat 
and headed for the security desk in the lobby.  One of the perks 
of Tom's job was that we got to use the courts at the facility 
where he worked.  Usually after playing we'd wander across the 
road to the fairly sleazy bar opposite, and sink a few beers and 
have dinner while we moaned about our poor track record with 
women.  I was the one who did most of the moaning.  I hadn't had 
a girlfriend since Shelley had left me two years ago, though 
that wasn't for want of looking.  Tom, on the other hand, had no 
trouble picking up women.  He just didn't seem able to keep a 
relationship going for more than a month or so.

The Dawe compound was a collection of bland 1980's buildings in 
reflecting glass and cheap cement block, the kind you find 
spread all over southern Los Angeles.  Only the name of the 
company picked out in blue letters on the cement wall next to 
the front door gave you any clue that the place was the 
principal research facility for one of the largest 
pharmaceutical companies in the world, and that behind the two-
storey facade of this building there were another seven large 
buildings further down the lot.  

I said hello to Tyrone, the guard at the desk.  He buzzed Tom, 
and then let me sign myself in and gave me a visitor's pass and 
told me to head on through.  I had idly wondered once or twice 
at the lax security standards here at Dawe, since after my 
second visit there they always let me through unaccompanied and 
never searched my sports bag, but I guess Tyrone saw me often 
enough and Tom had vouched for me the first few times.

I wandered along the bleak white corridors.  Tom's office and 
lab were deep inside the complex, small windowless rooms that 
reminded me of scenes from that old George Lucas movie I could 
never remember the name of, THX-something.  I was looking 
forward to beating Tom tonight.  Last week I'd been slightly off 
the pace, distracted by some bad stuff at work I think, and Tom 
had beaten me for the first time in months.  

We were usually pretty evenly matched.  Both of us were pretty 
big guys.  I was a fraction over Tom's 6'2", and we both weighed 
around 220 lbs.  Not Goliaths, but we could both punch a mean 
serve, and match one another on the deep court strokes.  I 
always thought I had a bit more control than Tom.  He was 
inclined to recklessness sometimes and I knew how to goad him 
into mistakes.  We both enjoyed the games, and it kept us in 
touch with one another.  I had been afraid when we took such 
disparate jobs that we might have started to grow apart.

I found Tom in his office, just finishing some notes.  I hung 
around for a few minutes while he secured his stuff, and then 
the two of us went out to the sports center.  He was in a good 
mood.  He told me he was working on some really cool stuff, but 
wasn't allowed to talk about it.  I told him about all things I 
was up to at work anyway.  Part of me enjoyed needling him by 
talking about all the evil corporations who were screwing up the 
world.  He still had some traces of the rebellious student 
spirit we'd shared a few years earlier, and was ever so slightly 
guilty about having sold out to the forces of global capitalism.  
But only slightly guilty.  The goading helped distract him from 
his game, though.

The game went well.  We played three sets -- I won the last two, 
distracted in the first by my hair, which I'd let grow a little 
and which kept getting in my eyes when I was serving.  I 
resolved to get it cut soon.  Tom took the loss well, I suppose 
because it had almost gone the other way.  After I ribbed him a 
bit about losing his touch we hit the showers.

The water felt good.  I've always kept myself in pretty good 
shape, at least as good as someone who works all day at a desk 
can ever get.  I dried myself off, and went to the lockers to 
dress.

As I opened the locker a small bottle fell out, and smashed on 
the floor.  I didn't know where it had come from.  It sure 
wasn't mine.  Whoever else had used the locker that day must 
have left it.  From the smell I figured it was after shave.  I 
bent to pick up the shards of the bottle, which had spread out 
in long, evil-looking splinters only a fraction of an inch wide.

Tom came out of the showers and held his nose.  "Pheeee-euw!"  
he said.  "Are you trying to impress the girls, or what?".  I 
hadn't heard his footsteps, and as he spoke he startled me.  I 
cut myself deeply on the thumb with one of the shards, and 
cursed.  

Tom helped me clean up the rest of the glass, and then the blood 
that was still flowing from my thumb.  I ran it under cold water 
for a few minutes but it still bled slightly.  I'd really scored 
it heavily with the glass, and it was a very deep cut.

The attendant had left the sports center by the time we went to 
leave, and there was no first-aid kit in sight, so Tom suggested 
we go back to his office to bandage me up before we went to 
dinner.  

My thumb was still oozing blood as we walked back up the 
corridors.  I was trying to staunch the flow with some paper 
towel, but the blood was still flowing pretty freely.  "I hope 
you don't need stitches", Tom said hopefully, and I glared at 
him.

As we rounded a corner an alarm went off nearby, and in front of 
us a door swung open and a woman slumped out into the corridor, 
gasping.  Some sort of gas or steam billowed from the doorway.  
Tom swooped and deftly caught the woman as she was falling.  

He and I both looked into the room she'd come from.  Inside I 
could see a man's legs sticking out from behind a table.  As the 
alarm sounded and lights in the corridor flashed, Tom tried to 
get the woman to tell him what had happened.

After a few moments the gas began to stop, and I gingerly 
entered the room.  There was shattered glass on the desk, more 
on the floor, and a bluish gel spread over part of the desk.  
Tubes and hoses were also scattered around, along with more 
glass beakers, unbroken.  Behind the desk was a heavy door, of 
the airlock kind we used when I was studying and we were dealing 
with dangerous organisms.  My heart told me this was a situation 
I should be worried about, but my head told me I was on the 
right side of the door, the outside, so whatever this stuff was 
it couldn't be too dangerous.  

I tried to pick my way through the debris without disturbing 
anything.  On the other side of the table, I saw that the figure 
on the floor was a man, perhaps in his mid-fifties.  He was 
lying on his front, with his face turned to one side.  His skin 
was mottled, red and white, I guessed from the explosion, 
whatever it had been.  He didn't look good.  I bent down to feel 
for a pulse.  His neck, and some of his hair and clothing, was 
covered in a clear slime.  It stung the wound in my thumb as I 
touched him, and I recoiled.  I used my other hand to feel for 
the pulse.  Nothing.  He was gone.  

I stood up, wiping my hands unthinkingly on my clothes.  Tom was 
in the doorway, still holding the woman, who was conscious but 
in some sort of shock, staring at the guy on the floor.  I shook 
my head.

I was picking my way back across the debris when a voice in the 
corridor called out "Stop right there".  In the corridor I could 
see four figures in biohazard suits, carrying guns.  One of them 
took the arm of the woman Tom had been supporting and led her 
away.  Another motioned for Tom to follow.  He glanced at me, to 
gauge how I was I guess.  I stared back at him blankly as he 
shrugged, turned and followed the guard.  The other two came for 
me.  I raised my hands over my head and they escorted me up the 
corridor.  As we were walking I looked back and saw another half 
dozen people in biohazard suits entering the room we'd just 
left.

***

They kept me waiting in a small, white room for what must have 
been several hours.  I stupidly hadn't put on my watch after 
tennis, distracted by the cut to my hand, I guess.  It was in my 
sports bag, which I had dropped in the corridor outside the room 
where the accident had taken place.  

There were two simple black folding chairs in the room, and a 
stainless steel sink in one corner with a small white cupboard 
above it.  I was sitting on one of the chairs.  Apart from that 
the whole place was white.  White walls, white ceiling, white 
synthetic rubbery floor covering.  My blue jeans, dark blue 
shirt and a red blood-soaked cloth on my hand were the only real 
color in the room, including my skin color which was probably 
paler through apprehension.  I'd looked through the small 
cupboard, which had a couple of small beakers and some surgical 
gloves in it and that was all.  I'd looked outside, too, but 
there was a security guard at the door and he'd asked me -- no, 
told me -- to wait inside.

Eventually a guy in his late thirties with greying hair came in.  
He pulled the other chair about five feet from mine and sat down 
in it, a clipboard on one knee.

"James Ealey".

"Yes", I said.

"How are you feeling?", he asked, seeming genuinely concerned.  
He had a face that disconcerted me.. Not because of any very 
distinctive feature -- perhaps because there were hardly any 
distinguishing features.  His eyes were neither blue nor brown, 
more a greyish color.  He was about 5'10" tall, not notably 
solid but not thin, either.  I noticed he didn't volunteer his 
name, and that he wasn't wearing an identification badge the way 
Dawe employees usually did.

"I'm fine", I said.  "How's Tom?  How's ... that woman who was 
there?"

"Barbara Andreesen", he said, looking at his clipboard.  "Oh, 
they're both fine", he said.  

"Well, that's a relief, Mr ..."

There was a pause, and I realised he wasn't going to tell me his 
name.  "It's difficult for a lot of people when this sort of 
thing happens in the workplace" he said instead.

I reflected that he was probably right, Tom had seemed a bit 
shocked.  "Yes", I said.  "I suppose so".  

"But we just need to take some precautions", he said after a 
moment.  He indicated my thumb.  "You cut that in the room after 
the accident?"

I looked down at my thumb, still wrapped in the handkerchief.  
"Uh, no, actually.  I cut it in the locker room after Tom and I 
had finished playing tennis".  I looked him in the eyes.  "You 
know, those guys in the suits scared the shit out of me.  
Especially with the guns and everything".

"Yes, I'm sorry about that, they do tend to overreact when 
things go wrong here.  You must understand there are a lot of 
things that are developed here that could be dangerous if they 
were exposed to the world prematurely, and things we keep for 
research into exotic diseases.  So we tend to be perhaps a 
trifle anxious when things go wrong.  Fortunately this accident 
wasn't in a secure area.  I understand you are familiar with 
biohazard safety procedures yourself".

I wondered how he knew that.  Perhaps Tom had told him.  "Yes", 
I said.  "Which is why it scared me".

"Well, we just want to be careful".  He paused and took a closer 
look at my thumb.  "I'll have a doctor look at that and make 
sure the wound is cleaned up", he said.  He stood up, and I 
stood as well.  "Anything else we can do for you?" he asked.

"Well, you can let me get out of here.  And get my stuff.  
Where's Tom?"

"Mr Masterson is in the next room.  You can see him after you've 
seen the doctor".  He began to turn away, then thought of 
something else.  "Mr Ealey, you signed yourself in tonight, did 
you not?"

"Uh, yes, I always do when Tom and I play".

I doubt that you've paid too much attention to it, but when you 
did that you agreed to a non-disclosure agreement as part of the 
terms of your entry.  So -- "

"-- So I can't tell anyone about tonight, right?"

"That's right, Mr Ealey.  I knew you'd understand". 

I did understand.  I remembered Tom had joked about it the first 
time he'd signed me in.  It didn't worry me.  If there had been 
anything illegal about the events tonight the non-disclosure 
wouldn't be valid anyway.  That made me think once again about 
the old man on the floor.  "What happened to the other guy?"

He looked at me blankly for a moment.  "Oh, you mean Mr Winters, 
the man who died?  He had a heart attack, I'm afraid.  Nothing 
to do with any experiment or anything like that, the poor old 
man's heart just picked a bad time to give out I guess.  Pity, 
he was a nice man".

He seemed genuinely sad that Mr Winters had passed on.  I wanted 
to ask him more, but he turned and left.  I tried to follow him 
out of the room, but he closed the door after him and I 
discovered it was locked from the outside.  

I sat back down, and a few moments later She came in carrying an 
enormous black bag.  The woman from the terrace at the party, I 
mean.  She introduced herself as Doctor Adams.

"We've met before", I said, hoping she'd remember.

She looked at me blankly for a few seconds.  She was gorgeous, 
even in the white coat she was wearing over her dress.  

"You were at Todd's last Saturday night.  Seen any more black 
helicopters lately?" I asked. 

She smiled, and my heart skipped a few beats.  "Yes", she said, 
"I was, and I think I owe you an apology for skipping off like 
that.  I was called away suddenly."

I was getting tongue tied here.  I was always hesitant with 
women, especially beautiful women, and she was one of the most 
beautiful I'd seen.  "One of the hazards of being a Doctor, I 
expect", I said, trying to say anything that might seem vaguely 
intelligent, but thinking I sounded like an idiot.

"Yes", she said, and proceeded to unwrap the bloodied 
handkerchief carefully.  I noticed she was wearing surgical 
gloves as she held my hand.  "I wasn't on call, exactly, but a 
colleague knew where I was and something important came up.  
Made a mess of this, didn't you?", she said, indicating my hand.

I wasn't paying attention.  I was distracted by the back of her 
neck when she bent down.  She had short black hair, trimmed at 
the back, and the most delicate neck as she bent over my hand.  
I towered over her, she can't have been much over 5' tall.  She 
was cute, though.  Not in a particularly girlish way, she was 
more sophisticated than that.  Just petite and sexy.  With 
beautiful dark eyes.  I had been entranced by her eyes as soon 
as I saw her by the pool, and now I was spellbound again.

She straightened up.  "We'll need to rinse this thoroughly".  
Businesslike, she led me over to the sink, rinsed my hand, then 
poured some antiseptic over it from a bottle she had in her bag.  
It hurt like hell, and I yelped.  She looked surprised, then 
smiled and wiped the wound clean.  "No need for stitches", she 
said, and smiled again.  I liked her smile.  I could have 
watched her do that all day.

She bandaged up my thumb tightly.  It looked ridiculous when 
she'd finished, about twice as thick as normal.  I wasn't going 
to be able to do a lot of things until it healed properly and I 
could take the bandage off.

"Now I just need a blood test", she said, assembling a 
hypodermic.

"What for", I asked suspiciously.

"Mr. Ealey --"

"-- Jim --"

"-- Jim, I'm sure you're aware that you've just been in an 
industrial accident, in a facility loaded with all sorts of 
things people here would really rather not talk about.  Now, if 
you decide to sue the company further down the track, how are we 
to know what your state of health was when the accident 
happened?"

"You want me to give you a defense against me suing?"  I asked, 
incredulously.  The idea hadn't occurred to me until now, but 
maybe I could sue.  There'd be some kind of settlement at least, 
just to shut me up.  I shook my head, ashamed of myself.  That 
would almost certainly be the end of Tom's career, since the 
company knew we were friends and I was only on the premises 
courtesy of Tom..

"No, I don't want you to give me any kind of defense", said Dr 
Adams.  "I don't work on staff for the company, I just got 
called in tonight.  So it doesn't matter to me either way 
whether you give me a sample or not.  The company asked me to 
get one.  And if it makes you feel better, it's probably safer 
to give me one now, so I can spot anything that might be wrong 
and we can treat it faster".

"What could be wrong?  That other guy said it wasn't a secure 
area so there wasn't any danger".

"And I very much doubt there is", she said soothingly.  "You 
don't have to if you don't want to".  She started to pack up her 
bag.

"No, it's okay", I said, thinking that this was probably 
something else that would reflect badly on Tom.  Plus I was 
prepared to give her anything just to buy time so I could figure 
out a way to ask her out.  

She took the sample, marked the tube, then disposed of the 
needle in a sharps container and resumed packing her bag.

"So, have you finished here now?" I asked her, eyeing off what I 
could see of her under the white lab coat she was wearing.  She 
was slight, but with a good figure all the same.

She looked up at me.  "I've finished here, if that's what you 
mean"

"I, uh, just wondered if you'd like to get a drink with my buddy 
Tom and me, across the road.  I could use one after all this".

She smiled again.  I sure did like that.  "No, Jim, but thank 
you.  I've finished here, but I'm still on call, and I don't 
drink when I'm on call".

"Oh.  Well, in that case..."

"But you could call me another night, when you're not my patient 
any more", she said, her eyes sparkling.  She scribbled a number 
on the back of a card and handed it to me.  Dr. Catherine Adams.  
I smiled back.

"I'd like that a lot.  Which days are you not on call?"

She left after we'd agreed to get together the following Tuesday 
night.  I wandered out of the room, finally, to see Tom sitting 
on a low bench across the corridor, waiting for me.  He had both 
our sports bags with him, and he tossed me mine as I approached.  
"Wild night, huh?" he said, slapping me on the back.  "And you 
thought my job was boring!".

On the way out past security Tyrone made a joke about the size 
of my thumb, and I gave him a weak riposte about using it to 
plug the holes in the company's security.  Tom and I threw our 
bags in our cars, and we went across the road and had a few 
drinks.  It was way too late to eat, and both of us got quite 
drunk on our empty stomachs.  Despite the trauma of the evening 
I was a little high because Catherine Adams, the good doctor, 
had agreed to see me again, and Tom and I cut loose on whiskey 
instead of our customary beers.  Tom went home with one of the 
waitresses.  I ended up sleeping in my car in the carpark rather 
than drive home.  

The next morning I woke at dawn, and immediately wished I 
hadn't.  I was scrunched up in the back seat of the Bonneville, 
with an enormous headache.  My whole body ached.  I hadn't had a 
hangover like that for years.  I gritted my teeth, got into the 
front seat of the car, drove home, had a quick shower and got to 
work only half an hour late, still feeling awful.

Tom rang me about Midday, sounding bright and alert, at least 
much more so than I felt.  Debbie, the receptionist, had been 
diverting calls from me all morning in deference to the way she 
knew my head felt.  Debbie was inclined to that kind of 
lifestyle herself from time to time, so she sympathised.  But 
she put Tom's call through, probably on account of Tom sweet 
talked her or something.  Tom was great at that kind of stuff, 
and shameless about it.

Tom wasn't hungover much at all, and he kidded me about being 
old and not being able to take it.  This was a longstanding 
routine with him rather than anything serious.  I was a whole 
month older than Tom.

"Hey, big time stuff happening here", Tom said quietly after 
we'd kidded for a minute or two more.  "Whoever that Winters guy 
was last night, he was important.  There have been all sorts of 
weirdos in suits looking over his lab all day, and they've 
emptied out the rest of that section while his lab materials are 
being analysed.  I don't know what it was he was working on, but 
the company sure is making a fuss about salvaging his stuff."

I wondered idly whether Tom should be telling me this stuff on 
the phone, given the general paranoia that we'd seen exhibited 
last night by the Dawe security teams.  "I guess you're right", 
said Tom, and I realised I'd been thinking out loud.  "Anyway, 
I'm only telling you because you were there".  He changed the 
subject, and we agreed before he hung up that we'd meet on 
Sunday and I'd help him with some work on the house he'd bought 
earlier in the year, a run-down old place 'with character' over 
in the bad part of Venice.  

By Sunday, though, I still felt bad.  I'd kept a low profile on 
Saturday, taking a few aspirin and having a quiet day mostly 
spent on the couch watching the football.  I had planned to go 
out to dinner with a couple of other friends, Marty and Denise, 
but I cancelled in the afternoon.  By Sunday morning I was 
convinced I probably had some kind of flu.  My headache raged, 
and my joints ached.  I gingerly unwrapped my bandaged thumb, 
because I was worried the cut might have some kind of infection 
that was giving me a fever, but it looked fine.  Dr Adams had 
cleaned it thoroughly.  I re-wrapped it as best I could, took 
more aspirin and called Tom to cancel.

He came around that evening with Carol, a girl he'd been dating 
on and off for the past few weeks.  Carol was gorgeous, if a bit 
vacuous, but she kindly brought along some chicken soup, which I 
gratefully ate.  They didn't stay long as they were headed for 
the movies, but Tom made me promise to go see a doctor again the 
next day.  I was sceptical.  I was never a fan of antibiotics 
unless I was desperate.

The next morning I was feeling a lot better.  Still not one 
hundred percent, but much, much better than I had been over the 
weekend.  I was relieved.  No need to go see the doctor.  
Tuesday I was pretty much back to normal.  One or two minor 
aches in my joints, but I figured that was just because I was 
stiff from laying around the house so much.  I jogged a little 
in the morning and felt even better.  So Tuesday night I went to 
meet the cute doctor.  I cleaned out the Bonneville first, 
getting rid of several months worth of accumulated rubbish.  I 
even had it washed while I was at work.

She looked great when she opened the door.  There was that smile 
of hers again.  I was a sucker for it.  She was wearing a full 
white skirt and a coffee-colored silk blouse that draped across 
her breasts beautifully.  It was unbuttoned enough to give a 
hint of cleavage.  I tried not to stare.  I didn't usually leer 
at women, but she was gorgeous.  Plus I was a foot taller than 
her, so it was hard not to look down her blouse.  

We headed off for a quick bite to eat, and then a movie.  She 
told me over dinner that she liked to be called Catherine 
instead of Cathy.  "Only my family calls me Cathy, and that's 
just because my Dad doesn't realise I'm not fifteen any more".  
Catherine seemed genuinely interested in me, and I sure was 
interested in her.  There was something about her that kept all 
my senses attuned.  It was almost like the first few dates I'd 
been on when I was a teenager.  

The movie was pretty terrible, but I didn't much care.  It was 
good just being beside her.  We went for coffee afterwards and 
we did the 'getting to know you' conversation.  I told her about 
my childhood as the son of a machinist in Detroit, and she told 
me about being the daughter of a rich gynaecologist in Beverly 
Hills.  We came from completely different worlds, yet we seemed 
to have something in common, even if I couldn't quite figure out 
what it was.

As I drove her home to her apartment up on Doheny I was trying 
to psych myself up to do the right thing, play it cool, don't 
rush it.  I usually rushed things, it was kind of hard not to.  
But I felt like I was onto a good thing with Catherine.  So I 
walked her to the door, like a gentleman would, without crowding 
her.  When we got to her apartment she turned, and raised her 
head slightly, and I bent down to kiss her goodnight.  It was 
only a brief kiss, but there was definitely electricity there.  
Her body was humming.  Mmmm.  Strangely I got kind of 
embarrassed after the kiss, and she smiled again.  I said 
goodnight, and drove home, flying.

As I went to bed that night I could do little but think about 
her.  She had me entranced, that was for sure.  I hadn't felt 
that way about a woman, that unconscious connection, since 
Shelley, and even then it hadn't been this strong.  I knew there 
was still a lot I had to learn about Catherine, but I was 
looking forward to learning it.

We saw each other again, on the Saturday.  I asked her to come 
to a party at Tom's.  She was a big hit with everyone there, and 
I felt pretty pleased with myself, being able to show off this 
sexy and smart woman who was with me.  There are few feelings 
quite as good for a man as that.  

The week after Tom's party I started to feel tired a lot.  
Really tired.  I went to bed around nine most nights during the 
week.  Tom and I had taken to playing tennis away from Dawe at a 
club over on the west side since our little experience a few 
weeks earlier.  On this Thursday night I just felt so weary I 
had a hard time playing.  My control was all over the place, and 
my concentration was worse.  Even Tom noticed it -- that was 
rare for him considering he had won our match, so he was puffed 
up about beating me again.  He ribbed me about going soft, but 
then reflected that I really hadn't played at my best.  I only 
had a single beer afterwards at the bar.  That was okay with 
Tom, I think he was embarrassed to see the waitress he'd taken 
home a few weeks earlier.  She looked at him like he was a 
greasy spot in the booth we were in, and he tried to pretend he 
didn't know who she was.

After the beer I had a difficult time driving home.  It was 
tough just keeping my eyes focused on the road, I was so tired.  
I wound the windows down, even though it was raining, and still 
found it hard to keep the Bonneville in one lane of the 10.  I 
must have weaved across the road once or twice, because 
eventually a cop waved me over.  That woke me up.  He didn't 
believe I'd only had one beer, but I tested clean enough so he 
gave me a stern lecture about being careful and let me go.  I 
eventually made it home okay, but I slept in my clothes on top 
of the bed.  I was too tired to take them off.  

My tiredness persisted through Friday, and Saturday morning it 
was all I could do to drag myself from bed at 11.00 am.  
Saturday night Catherine and I went out again.  This time I took 
her to a nice restaurant, an upscale place over in Santa Monica.  
The food was fantastic, and she was her usual charming self.  
She wore a short black dress which showed off her body 
beautifully without being too revealing -- in fact she was the 
classiest looking woman in the restaurant.  Two small emeralds 
in her ears and a thin gold bracelet on her arm, no other 
jewellery -- she almost looked as though she'd never grown up in 
LA at all.  I was entranced, watching the delicacy of her throat 
as she talked, her hands making small graceful movements from 
time to time as she illustrated her conversation with them, and 
the way her eyes sparkled when I managed the odd witty comment.  

At about the time dessert was on the way I started to feel 
myself getting weary again.  After dessert I even found myself 
missing one or two things she said.  Eventually I must have 
given her an inappropriate response to something she'd said, 
because she said sharply "stop me if I'm boring you or 
anything".

I was mortified, and I guess the shock on my face must have been 
apparent to her, because her look of impatience with me changed 
to one of concern.  "Oh, god, Catherine, I'm sorry.  I don't 
know what's wrong with me.  I've just been so incredibly worn 
out lately.  Really.  I mean I just don't have any energy 
lately, and the more sleep I get the more I seem to need.  I'm 
really sorry".

Her expression softened.  I paid the bill, and we left.  
Catherine offered to drive, but I wasn't sure about that.  Part 
of me told myself to be careful -- although I had only had two 
glasses of wine with dinner I was very tired again.  But I had 
some doubts Catherine would be able to manage driving the 
Bonneville, especially since she was so petite and the power 
steering pump had given up the ghost earlier that day.  Still, a 
few miles along I knew I had to pull over.  Catherine took the 
wheel and started driving.  She almost had to stand to turn the 
wheel a few times.

"What's wrong with me?  I'm not usually like this" I mumbled as 
I was drifting off.

I woke late next morning in my own bed, clad only in my 
underwear.  Catherine had obviously used my keys to let us both 
in, but there was no sign of her.  I grabbed a robe and tousled 
my hair to try to wake myself up.  When I staggered to the 
kitchen I found her sitting at the kitchen table, wearing an old 
football jersey of mine which hung on her like a tent.  She had 
made herself some coffee, and when I came in she got up from the 
table to pour me a cup, too.  She set it down in front of me.  
"I don't usually sleep at a guy's house this soon in a 
relationship", she smiled.  "But I didn't want to drive that car 
again, and I figured you were pretty safe last night".  I 
noticed, looking through the doorway into the living room, that 
she'd made the couch up as a bed, and had obviously slept in it 
last night.  

We talked for a while, and I told her that my tiredness had 
started the week before, and was definitely not typical.  I had 
always had a lot of energy, and these symptoms were very 
distressing to me.  She told me I should have some tests done, 
and get another full blood workup and see if there was any kind 
of viral infection or anything like that.  I kept apologising 
for the night before.  What I had planned to be a nice romantic 
evening had turned into a bit of a disaster.  Inside I was also 
mentally kicking myself -- I'd had this gorgeous woman in my 
apartment all night and hadn't even tried anything!

I wasn't tired that morning, though.  I walked over to Catherine 
and put my hands on her shoulders, then bent down to kiss her.  
She stiffened a little at first, then relaxed.  I stood up 
again, and she got up from her chair.  I put my arm around her 
and bent once again to kiss her.  It was intense.  She felt 
warm, and soft, and her skin had a faint muskiness that drove me 
on.  After we'd kissed a few more times I looked deep into her 
eyes.  She met my gaze, then looked down, as though a little 
shy.  Then she tilted her head back to me, her eyes closed, her 
lips slightly parted.  I raised my hand to her breast, feeling 
the nipple respond quickly to my touch as I caressed it.  She 
was breathing more heavily, and brought her hands from around 
the back of my neck to my shoulders.  As I caressed her breasts 
with both hands she let out a soft moan, and I quickly scooped 
her up and took her to my bed.  

I pulled the football jersey over her head and laid her down on 
the bed, then slowly dragged her panties down her legs, teasing 
her with my fingers as I did so.  She was gorgeous, soft skin, 
milky white, not tanned and going-to-be-leathery like all the 
other Westside women I'd met.  The curve of her thighs up over 
her hips was breathtaking.  

I peeled off my robe and could see her taking in my body, too.  
I took off my jockey shorts and lay on the bed beside her, 
stroking my hand over her delicious curves, teasing her nipples 
gently.  As I kissed her I reached into the beside drawer and 
retrieved a condom, and as I fumbled to put it on while still 
touching her with my other hand I felt her take it from me and 
gently stretch it over my shaft for me.  From kissing her mouth 
I moved down to her neck, that beautiful neck, and behind her 
ears.  She let out a deep sigh when I did this, and I noticed 
her adjust her hips.  

I kept kissing her, moving my mouth slowly down her body, over 
her chest to her breast, to her nipples, which were quite large 
and a dusky pink, working at them with my tongue while I stroked 
the inside of her creamy thighs with my hand.  I moved my mouth 
further down, over her belly, her perfectly-formed navel, to the 
dark, curiously soft down between her legs.  She parted her legs 
and I gently put my tongue into the sweet musk of her, licking 
gently until I found her clitoris amid the moist delicate folds.  
After a few moments she moaned a few more times, quietly, 
distantly.  I intensified my efforts and she began to move her 
hips.  As my tongue was beginning to get weary she bucked a few 
times, and grasped my shoulders firmly as she came.  I kept 
licking at her, and she kept coming, again and again.  

The time seemed right, and I felt like I would burst anyway, so 
I moved back up the bed, kissing her taut nipples again as I did 
so, licking the fine sweat that had gathered on her breasts, and 
came into her, gently at first until I could feel her muscles 
grasp me, then more firmly.  She brought her legs up around my 
back as I moved inside her, feeling the rhythm of her hips as I 
plunged deeper, hearing small soft animal sounds from her mouth, 
thinking I had never felt a woman who seemed so alive, so 
passionate.  I pulled back for a moment, so as not to come too 
soon, but she tightened her legs around me and pulled me back 
toward her.  I couldn't hold it much longer, and as she 
tightened her pelvic muscles by moving her legs further toward 
my shoulders I came, staggeringly, in an enormous spasm that I 
thought would take everything from me, that would end 
everything.  She clasped me tightly, and shuddered herself, and 
we collapsed on the bed beside one another.  

We lay there for a long time, both cloaked in sweat and one 
another's scents.  I traced gentle patterns on her breasts and 
throat and drew my fingertips up over her face.  After I touched 
her nipples a few more times she came once more, and begged me 
to stop.  I took her in my arms and held her while the winter 
sun streamed through the timber venetians, making fabulous 
patterns on her gorgeous body.

"So much for being tired", she said softly, and smiled.

We didn't leave my apartment till much later that day, having 
made love several times more and explored one another's bodies 
in that greedy, hungry way new lovers do, both giddy with the 
newness of each other and the sweetness of the sex.  She 
surprised me the second time we did it, sitting astride me and 
bucking like a wild thing when she came, as though she thought 
the world might end and she needed all of me at once.  I hadn't 
seen that kind of intensity before, and it got me more excited 
than I'd ever been.  I took her again after she came, and thrust 
myself hard and fast into her, deeper than I'd ever been, until 
we both came again almost in unison.

Neither of us had eaten all day, so at around 6.00 pm Catherine 
suggested we should head out for a very late lunch or early 
dinner.  We each showered separately -- having had so much of 
her already, I thought the least I could do now was offer her a 
little privacy as she freshened up.  

She was dressing as I came out of the shower.  "I'm afraid I'll 
be a little overdressed for anything casual", she said, as she 
began pulling on the black dress she had worn the night before.  
I suggested we swing by her place on the way out to eat and she 
could change.  

Catherine's apartment was much nicer than mine, the result I 
guess of a superior income.  She mentioned casually as we walked 
in that she had been sharing it until recently with another 
woman doctor who had recently moved out to work in Wisconsin, 
and since she had been too choosy about prospective house mates 
she'd decided to pay the extra rent and live by herself.  I was 
aware that my apartment was kind of grungy by comparison, and 
hoped Catherine hadn't been put off by the housekeeping 
standards.  

I followed her into her room, and kissed her again.  I gently 
undid the clasp at the back of her dress, and then unzipped it.  
It fell to the floor, I started to run my hands over her body 
and she softened again, then gently pushed me away.  "Uh uh", 
she said, smiling mischievously.  "Take it easy, mister.  I'm 
gonna be too sore to walk, soon.  Plus", she added more 
seriously, "I don't have any more protection here.  This isn't 
something that happens too often".

I couldn't believe that a woman as gorgeous as Catherine 
couldn't get any and every man she wanted, but I shrugged her 
comment off.  She pulled herself free of my arms, and crossed to 
her closet.  She retrieved a clean bra and panties from some 
drawers, then selected a dark red dress with a low-cut neck that 
buttoned up the front.  She put it on, teasing me all the while 
with her eyes and her smile, then put on some moisturiser and 
some mascara and lipstick.  She grabbed a little cropped denim 
jacket, and pronounced herself ready.  

I guided the Bonneville over to a little Mexican place on 
Olympic that Catherine suggested, and we stuffed our bodies full 
of food and a few beers.  All through dinner it was all I could 
do to keep myself from leaping across the table and putting my 
head up her dress to taste her again.  Her movements and her 
voice and her eyes all conspired to keep me focused on sex.

On the way back from dinner I asked her if she'd rather be alone 
that night.  I thought perhaps she'd want some more time to 
herself.  But she told me it would be okay for me to stay over, 
but that she really would be too sore to do much more.  She 
commented with a smile that she'd noticed all my tiredness 
seemed to have disappeared.  "If that was a routine to get me to 
stay the night it was a pretty good one", she joked.

Before we went to sleep I brought her off once more, just 
through kissing and licking her, and she we went to sleep 
promptly after that, her small frame wrapped in my arm.  

*** 

To be continued in Chapter Two...


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