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Date: Mon, 20 Dec 1999 09:10:01 -0500
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<1st attachment, "MMHfull.txt" begin>
"MANHATTAN MAN HUNT" (M/F: Rom.)

   By

   David Shaw david@f-e-mail.com
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   Toni Lindroth nee Toni La Rocca nee Toni Lindroth passed the last of the
newly signed documents back across the desk.

   "Is that it?"

   Anita Ruger, her counsellor in law, nodded.  "All signed, sealed and
delivered.  Your divorce is final and you're a free woman again.  Welcome
to all the joys of being a single NBCR female in Manhattan."

   "NBCR?"

   "No birthday candles required."

   Toni smiled ruefully

   "Over the hill or not, I'll take a break before I start picking up the
threads.  I've been promising myself a good long holiday in Europe when the
chance came.  But before I start packing I'd like to thank you for
everything you've done, Anita.  You've been a great lawyer and a true
friend."

   Anita tapped the papers together in a neat pile with her long
fingernails.  "I hope you feel the same way when you get my bill.  Divorce
is always an expensive option."

   "Is that why you've never married yourself?  It seems odd that a gal as
good looking as you has never gotten herself hitched."

   Anita had a set answer for such questions - one delivered with just the
same sort of painful smile as Toni's.  "Earlier on I guess I was too busy
building a career.  And now - well, now is now."

   "But you like men?"

   "I like them fine - for one thing they're all so predictable.  They make
a pass at me, they find out I'm a female lawyer specialising in divorce
settlements and they all respond the same way: one hand over their wallet,
the other one over their balls and then backing off towards the nearest
exit as fast as they can.  It doesn't help either that my legal associates
keep on referring to me as the Wicked Witch of the East Side."

   "Well that's your own fault for boasting about your apartment's history.
But there's something I'd like to talk about with you before I go.  I guess
I'm finding it hard to open the subject up - I feel kind of shy about it."

   The lawyer raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise.  Toni was tall and
darkly beautiful with a very strong personality and a track record of
running her own highly successful public relations business.  She'd also
gone after her ex-husband's assets with an aggressiveness which would have
made a starving shark look shy.  All in all, it was difficult to believe
that Toni Lindroth could be diffident about discussing any kind of subject.


   "You see, Anita, I'm going to ask you to do something for me which
sounds as if I'm asking a favor from you, but it's not quite what it sounds
like on the surface.  I can't tell you anymore though - I'd just like you
to trust me the same way I've trusted you all through the divorce."

   Anita held her hands out to show her willingness to go along with
whatever Toni wanted.  After all, it was true that she'd become a friend as
well as a client.

   "No problem.  What can I do for you?"

   "I'd like you to look after Beech for me while I'm away, please."

   Anita tried to hide her true feelings.  As dogs went Beech was about as
good as they came, a placid natured basset hound with the permanently
mournful expression of all his breed.  But as far as the lawyer was
concerned dogs, cats and anything else in the way of domestic animals could
pass straight through without stopping anywhere near her.  And especially
not in her beautiful apartment.

   "I'm not really a pet person, Toni.  Not in the city, anyway.  My horse
upstate is good enough for me."

   "Believe me, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.  Beech is totally
house trained and you wouldn't have to walk him.  My dog person would stop
by every night about seven p.m.  to do that.  And it's only for a week or
two."

   Anita gritted her teeth, decided to add an appreciable amount to Toni's
settlement bill and eventually conceded defeat: "OK, but just remember that
I didn't push myself forward for this job.  Is your dog walker usually on
time?"

   "To the second.  Tristan's always on time.  I've got to dash now but the
pair of them will be around to the park tonight to drop off Beech.  OK?"

   "OK." Privately, Anita was wondering how she'd managed to become a
lawyer at all if she could be sweet talked into such a stupid deal.  Conned
by a client!  It was a disgrace.

   Even the passage of several hours and the solace of a martini did little
to sooth Anita's irritation with herself.  A fine thing if she couldn't get
away at the weekend to practice her dressage because of some lousy mongrel.
She stood at the window in her apartment which gave the best view over
Gramercy Park, a view which usually cheered her up but which was doing
nothing for her mood tonight.  The brunette with the sharp eyes and tight
lipped mouth reflected in the darkening glass was doing really well - a
solid legal career, a rapidly expiring use by date and the only meaningful
relationship she had was giving an occasional sugar lump to a horse.  Oh
yes, and now she could look forward to sharing her gossip with a sad assed
basset hound.

   Which reminded her of another thing.  Tristan, for God's sake!  Was she
going to have to try to make sense of some Hispanic girl's explainations in
Spanish about Beech's likes and dislikes?  Damn Toni for letting her in for
this and damn herself for letting it happen.

   The intercom buzzer sounded exactly at seven.  Well, at least the
wretched girl was on time.

   "Hello."

   "Ms Ruger?  I've brought Beech over."

   Anita's spine quivered.  The voice she was listening to sounded exactly
like Sean Connery's when he was still 007.  What the hell?  She selected
the video display, nearly spilling the remains of the martini in her rush.

   Six foot and more, bulging out of a leather jacket at the shoulders and
arms and not a surplus inch around the trim waistline.  Neatly cut fair
hair, a facial profile like an Air Force recruiting poster, and twenty one
or two at a guess.  This was Toni's dog person?

   "Jesus Christ!" Anita whispered.

   "I'm sorry, Ms Ruger, I didn't catch that."

   "Uh - yeah, right.  Come on up.  You know the number."

   "Yes, I've got your number, Ms Ruger."

   And Anita asked herself how come he'd got it?  Was this some kind of
joke by Toni?  Was this guy a strippergram guy and the dog only an excuse
to get in?  But it was definitely Beech's portly shape dragging its ears on
the sidewalk beside him and Toni would never have turned her beloved dog
over to some guy she'd just rented from an agency.  What the hell was the
deal here?  Or was she getting a distorted picture from the surveillance
camera, maybe from the high angle?  Maybe this guy was really only four
foot tall and had more body odour than a dead goat?

   The first question was answered as soon as she opened the door - his
body filled the doorway as if it had been designed for the job without an
inch to spare.  The shoulders of the leather jacket almost brushed the
frame on either side, the tight fitting denim jeans would have made two
pairs for Anita and the top of her head didn't even reach his Adam's apple.
Anita wondered about his other Adam specific anatomy, a passing thought
rapidly overborne by a more immediate concern that maybe it hadn't been a
very smart move to let Terminator Three into her apartment.  But he was
smiling gently at her with that soap-opera-leading-man face.  And when he
knelt down to unfasten Beech's lead the dog licked his hands with obvious
affection.  Then he stood up again and slid off a backpack.

   "I've brought along Beech's basket, some food for him and a couple of
other things.  Maybe you've got somewhere I could put them down where
they'll be out of the way?"

   "Yeah, sure, this way."

   'I wasn't wrong, he does have a brogue like Sean Connery.  Where had
Toni dug this character up from and what the hell was she going to find in
Europe that was better than this?'

   "Tristan.  Is that really your name?"

   "I'm sorry, I beg your pardon, I should have introduced myself.  Yes,
I'm Tristan, Tristan Yorstan.  My mother got the stupid name from a TV
series."

   "Well, nice to meet you, Tristan.  I'm Anita.  Can I ask what TV series
that was?"

   "It was about some vets in Yorkshire.  Tristan was one of them and my
mum decided she'd take the name without bothering about copyright."

   Tristan grinned like an embarrassed kid and knelt down on the kitchen
floor to begin unpacking the back pack.

   "No reflection on your mother, Tristan, but it kind of sounds to me like
that Johnny Cash number about a boy called Sue.  I was expecting a girl to
come round."

   He chuckled: "I guess it's one of those things.  To tell the truth,
every time I look at my birth certificate I feel lucky.  Tristan's brother
in the TV series was called Siegfried.  Being called Siegfried Yorstan is a
heavy load to carry through life."

   He opened a packet of dog biscuits and poured them into a bowl then took
another bowl from the pack.  "There wouldn't be any water at all, would
there?"

   "Surely." She took the bowl from his hand.  "You're British, Tristan?"

   "Ah, well.  British by passport, Scottish by nationality and forever and
always an Orcadian."

   "Orcady - is that a place in Scotland?"

   Tristan smiled and patted Beech's head as the dog began gobbling up the
biscuits: "An Orcadian is someone who lives on the Orkney Islands, Ms
Ruger. Orcady is a planet in the galaxy Alpha Centauri occupied by green
skinned monsters with long tentacles who keep pestering George Lucas to
shoot the next episode of Star Wars in their solar system."

   Anita felt the tension slipping out of her stomach as she smiled back
without reservation: "Oh dear, I've made a fool of myself.  I guess
geography never was my strong point.  And please call me Anita."

   "OK, Anita, the next time you meet an Orcadian you'll know that the
Orkneys are a group of islands just off the northern tip of Scotland."
Tristan was still smiling.

   "If it makes you feel any better, when the Falkland Islands were invaded
we had an urgent phone call from a London newspaper editor asking us if the
Argentinians had landed on the Orkneys as well.  We never did find out if
he thought the Orkneys were near South America or if he was under the
impression that Galtieri was attacking Scotland."

   Anita chuckled, trying to keep from spilling the water bowl.  Tristan
carefully took it from her hands and put it down on the floor.  "There,
that should keep Beech happy for a while.  Will it be OK if I come around
at the same time tomorrow to walk him - or would another time suit better?"

   "Oh - I guess this time of day would be fine.  Would you like a cup of
coffee, Tristan?"

   "I'd love one, if it's no trouble."

   "No trouble at all.  Go through and take a seat in the lounge."

   "The kitchen might be better, my shoes are a little dirty.  Can I sit in
here."

   "Surely.  Yorstan - I don't think I've heard that name before either."

   "It's probably Norwegian.  The Vikings owned the Orkneys until the
fifteenth century.  I suppose they must have been very desirable properties
when the Gulf Stream was warmer than it is now.  There are monuments on the
islands that were already old when the pyramids were being built in Egypt."

   Vikings!  Anita had a sudden picture flash across her mind, an image of
Tristan in chain mail and a sword in his hand, blood stained and triumphant
in battle, seeking the traditional Viking booty of pillage and rape - the
cup on the saucer in her hand rattled and she stared at it in disbelief.

   'Get a grip on yourself, girl!  This isn't happening and you're not
going weak at the knees just because of some Scots hobo who happens to walk
some stupid dog.'

   "That's interesting.  So how long have you been in New York?"

   "Only a month.  I was working as a crewman on a ferry boat between
Stromness and the Scottish mainland but the company went broke.  There
wasn't much else in the way of jobs around and I'd been talking to a guy on
the internet for a while who lived in New York.  He said if I ever wanted
to come over for a holiday I could stay at his place.  So when I came to
work one day and there was no job anymore I decided I'd come over and take
a look at the big apple and see what it was like.  A kind of a holiday
before I went into serious job hunting mode."

   Anita switched on the coffee maker and leaned forward on the kitchen
counter.  "So how come you're walking Toni's dog?"

   "Ah, I'd have to be explaining that when I got here it turned out to
terrible timing.  The guy who'd invited me over happened to have a new girl
friend move in with him almost the very day I arrived on his doorstep,
which was not a convenient situation for anybody you'll be understanding,
with him living in such a small apartment.  The girl herself was very nice
about it and asked me to stay on for a while, but it wouldn't answer.  So I
had a scout around with my guide book and managed to rent a room down in
alphabet city on the Lower East Side.  But what with having to pay rent and
with all the attractions here in Manhattan I was soon running out of money
and needed to find work.  Except that being only a visitor I wasn't
supposed to be working.  It was a real puzzle, especially being so new in
such a big place and wandering around as lost as Crocodile Dundee ever
was."

   "Oh, I see.  Sit down, sit down."

   Anita could have sworn she heard the antique chair groan underneath his
weight as Tristan settled on it and leaned forward to scratch Beech's head.
The dog whined with pleasure: it occurred to Anita that she might well do
the same herself if given the same treatment.

   "So what happened?"

   "Well, I saw all these people walking their dogs and I remembered I'd
heard once of people who were paid to walk pets for owners who were too
busy to do it themselves.  So I thought that maybe I could get a few
dollars together in that way without the immigration people being any the
wiser.  I had some cards printed saying what a fine dog walker I was.  Not
having a telephone number I put my Hotmail e-mail address on them - and I
bought myself a cap."

   Tristan smiled and pulled out a knitted GI cap from his pocket: "Being
that this is New York, I thought that if I had something on my head I could
take it off as a sign of respect when I stepped up with a card and that it
would show people that I meant them no harm - especially all those fine
looking ladies like yourself."

   'I'm a career advocate, you big handsome lug, and flattery is going to
get you absolutely nowhere - except into my pants.'

   "So what happened when you handed out the cards?"

   "Oh, I was very nervous.  I tried a couple of men and they seemed not so
happy about the idea at all but the ladies were wonderful.  Every single
one of them smiled at me, would you believe?"

   'Oh, I believe, I believe.  The big dumb bastard is wandering around in
a city full of women who'd kill to get their hands on a guy like this and
he doesn't even realise he's raw meat in the jungle.'

   "And Toni was one of them - one of the women you gave a card?" Anita
began pouring the coffee.  "How do you like it?"

   "White and one sugar, please.  Yes, when I checked my e-mail account at
a cyber cafe later on I couldn't believe I'd got several answers.  I
thought I'd better start out with just one, to see how things went, and it
was Ms Toni's answer I followed up first."

   Anita put down his coffee on the table.  "And have you walked anybody
else's dog yet?"

   Tristan's eyes dropped.  "Er, no.  Things have been a bit - well, a bit
busier than I expected."

   'I'll bet they have!  Poor Toni, sitting in my office looking all sad
about the end of her marriage and with this hulk trotting around to her
apartment every day to screw her until her eyes pop out.  And if that's a
presumption of guilt it's one I'd back with every dollar I've ever earned
since I left law school - Jesus, look at this kid, he's practically
blushing.  And if Toni's been teaching him everything she knows the poor
schmuck probably should be blushing.'

   "So how long have you been walking Beech now?"

   "Only a week."

   'Only a week - they've been at it each other for only a week and Toni's
had to go to Europe to recover!  And she's sent her dog and her lover round
to me to have and to hold until she gets her breath back.  Or have I got
the whole deal totally wrong?'

   "And how do you like New York, Tristan?"

   "It's fascinating.  I've always liked watching films and it seems that
almost everywhere I go in Manhattan I find a place I've seen on the
pictures.  And I've never seen so many cinemas in one place as there are
here." He paused, his cup suspended halfway between mouth and saucer. 
"Talking about films, can I ask why you have that picture of a witch
hanging up near your door?"

   "Ah, have you seen the movie it came from?"

   Tristan looked at her as if it was the dumbest question he'd ever heard:
"Of course I have.  So has everybody.  It's a still from 'The Wizard of
Oz'."

   "That's right.  It's a picture of Margaret Hamilton who played the
Wicked Witch in the movie.  She used to live in this apartment."

   "She lived here?" Tristan was looking around him with wide eyed
reverence.  "She lived here, in this very apartment?"

   "It was quite a while ago."

   "Yes, but that's nothing is it?  I mean that film will never be
forgotten, never.  And one of the people who was in it lived right here?"
Tristan shook his head as if in disbelief.  "That's New York for you. 
Everywhere else you watch movies, here you seem to be in one, more times
than not."

   Anita smiled at his innocent naivete.  He was really just a big kid - or
at least he probably had been until Toni got her hands on him.

   "Well, if you're really into movies, you should keep your eyes open in
this neighborhood and you may see some familiar faces."

   "Why, are there some movie stars still living here?"

   "Not exactly, but I hear that the Gramercy Park hotel is a favorite
place for British actors and TV people stopping over in Manhattan.  I guess
you won't find Sir Anthony Hopkins strolling around here but, like I say,
maybe a face or two you've seen back home.  The hotel guests are allowed to
use the park.  And that reminds me, I'd better give you a key for it as
well so you can take Beech in there."

   "It's a locked park?  Like the one in 'Notting Hill'?"

   "That's right; residents only.  You've seen that movie, Tristan?"

   "Oh yes - I had a terrible time with watching it.  I ran out of
handkerchiefs towards the end."

   Anita burst out laughing, the struggled to explain why.

   "I'm sorry, Tristan, but ever since you mentioned the Vikings I was
thinking of how you looked like one.  And then, just now, I had this
picture in my mind of a movie theatre full of guys wearing horned hats with
big swords and axes propped up next to them, and all of them watching a
movie and wiping their eyes with handkerchiefs.  I guess maybe I'm a little
crazy at times."

   "No, no, I'm the odd one.  I daresay American guys are too macho to
start crying inside a cinema.  I'm not really a big city person, am I?"

   "Whatever you are, you've certainly cheered me up.  What's life like
where you're living?"

   "Oh, not bad.  No criminals - the Hell's Angels down at the local
chapter house keep all the undesirables away.  The only pests they don't
frighten at all are the cockroaches.  New York cockroaches are the biggest,
meanest, smartest insects I've ever seen.  If they get any bigger, meaner
and smarter they'll be driving the cabs.  Imagine that - four claws on the
steering wheel, burning stogies in two more of them and all the others
making rude signs at the other drivers.  Yeah, and one eye on a stalk
looking back at you and it's saying: 'How 'bout those Yankees, Mac?'."

   Anita giggled, reached out and touched his hand: "You're as weird as I
am, Tristan."

   "No, no, you're not weird.  Toni told me about you - a hotshot lawyer
she says.  As smart as they come.  Which means that you've probably got a
whole lot of work to do and I'm keeping you from it while I'm sitting here
yarning away.  I'd better slip the field and I'll come back tomorrow
night."

   "OK, fine, I'll see you then, Tristan.  And it's been fun talking to
you."

   'What's the matter with you, you mad bitch?  Standing here gabbing away
like a Sunday School teacher!  Grab his cock and haul him into the bedroom
before he gets away!'

   Every movement she made seemed awkward as she opened the door for him.
She'd dried up completely, something which hadn't happened since the first
time she'd stood up in front of a judge.

   'Say something, you idiot woman, no matter how stupid.'

   "I'm sorry you're having so much trouble with the roaches.  Maybe
putting down lot of baits would help."

   "It's not worth making too much fuss about.  I'm only allowed to stay in
the States for ninety days and I've used up quite a few of those already.
But I'll be checking my suitcase carefully when I go home, just to make
sure I've got no stowaways.  Good night, Anita, and thank you for the
coffee."

   "You're welcome."

   "Oh, and there was me almost forgetting.  Toni said to tell you she'd be
on the way to the airport by now but she's sent you an e-mail you should
read as soon as you can."

   "OK, thanks, I'll check it out later."

   He was gone and she was staring at her reflection in the hallway mirror
and wishing she hadn't been wearing her oldest pair of corduroy slacks and
a blue sweater which looked as if it belonged in a welfare donation bin. 
As for that fat ass - well, maybe she should quit doing so much riding.

   'God, I used to worry about looking like my mother but it's worse than
that - I'm starting to look like my high school principal.  A huge nose,
those two beady eyes, this ridiculous hair parting that goes down over my
forehead at forty five degrees - I look like a bald eagle wearing an
oversize toupee!'

   A face crumpled up into long lines of permanent sadness peered around
the kitchen door and whined at her.

   "Yeah, buddy, I know just how you feel.  And you don't even have to get
up in the morning.  In the meantime I think we'd better find out what our
mutual friend Toni is up to."

   She went into her study, switched on the Dell and logged on.  Yep, there
is was with "Walking the dog" in the subject heading:

   "Anita, hi,

   I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you.  I'm not going to
Europe but back to Oklahoma to visit my folks.  Pop's not too well at all
and I've been telling the family I'd come back for a visit as soon as I
could.  Now the legal side of the divorce is all settled I guess this has
to be the time.

   I would have told you this before but it would have been really hard to
explain the situation until you'd met Tristan.  Now I don't know how you've
reacted to him but when he came up to me in the street I felt like dragging
him unto the nearest doorway.  But in the end I did a lot better by getting
him into my apartment as often as I could and once I'd shown him I needed
exercising as badly as Beech does he went to it like gangbusters.  We are
talking serious sexual aerobics here - the first time was on top of the
freezer box and I nearly defrosted a month's supplies of groceries on the
spot.  Honey, this guy is guaranteed road tested and I'll swear that I've
never found anybody like him for laying down rubber on the old pink
highway.

   Now maybe this all doesn't mean squiddly dee to you, Anita.  Maybe he
doesn't do anything at all for you but somehow I doubt it.  Anyway, I have
problems with him.  The truth is that Mom and Pop are straight out Bible
belters and they're finding it hard to cope with the idea of my getting a
divorce at all.  If I came back from separating from Al the loser La Rocca
with a toy boy like Tristan in tow I'd probably get excommunicated or
something.  Not to mention likely putting Pop straight back into hospital
with another heart attack.

   On the other hand if I let Erik the Viking out on the street again with
those damned dog walking cards he'll surely be walking some other bitch's
bitch before Mom's finished cooking my welcome home barbecue.  And even if
none of that happens the government is going to take away my daily ration
of scotch on the rocks by kicking him out when his non-visa waiver period
expires in two months.

   So, rather than lose him altogether, I figured that the best thing I
could do was to find him a good home while I'm gone - and you're it.  Pay
him whatever it takes to keep him around and occupied and put it on my
bill. And I want you to do whatever you can legalwise to let him stay in
the country - and that's on my bill as well.  Take it as high up the tree
as you need to.  As for whatever happens between you and him, I guess
that's none of my business.  But I'm getting sick to death of hearing about
your dressage riding and your Portuguese bull fighting techniques.  In my
opinion, counsellor, it's high time that you got down off your high horse
and did some hand to hand bull fighting for a change.  If you think I may
have something, then go and check Beech's basket and see what's taped
underneath the cushion inside it - then open the attached text file and
follow the instructions inside it.

   And don't I just wish I could see your face right now,

   Toni.

   PS.  Don't forget to e-mail me if anything interesting happens!"

   "Toni!"

   Anita stared at the screen, re-reading the message over and over as she
tried to sort out her emotions.  The most difficult to come to terms with
was feeling ashamed that Toni had read her reaction to Tristan so
perfectly. God, was she really such an open book?  And what was she going
to do now?  Apart from taking a casual look inside that basket of course,
just to see what kind of craziness Tony had thought up.

   It wasn't such an easy thing to do though.  Beech was tired out by a
long journey on short legs from the Park Avenue metro and snoring in his
basket, dreaming of chasing rabbits.  Not that he'd ever actually seen a
rabbit but he was an animal of vivid imagination and generally managed to
visualise some satisfactory substitutes.  Trying to prise him out of his
rest and out of his basket wasn't easy.

   "Come on, you fat slob, get your butt out of there, willya?"

   Beech opened an eye in a face which had gone from its usually melancholy
to an expression of infinite sadness in coming to terms with a world run by
humans who hadn't enough decency to let sleeping dogs lie.  He finally
stepped out from his basket with the grief stricken grandeur of Louis the
Sixteenth descending from a tumbril into a crowd of unwashed sans-culottes.

   "It's OK, you can go straight back to bed in a minute."

   Beech ignored the crass comment with all the disdain it deserved and
went to crunch a biscuit with a strictly non-wagging tail and miserable
mien.  His whole attitude was that of a dog which had broken off diplomatic
relations with humankind for an indefinite period.  Directed at a softer
heart it would have been a good guilt-inducing tactic - against a lawyer's
conscience it was a waste of time.

   "Suit yourself, buddy.  As far as I'm concerned you ain't nothing but a
hound dog, anyway."

   Beech quivered but kept a straight back as Anita added injury to insult
by vandalising his basket.  Underneath the cushion was a neatly coiled
strip of leather held in place with pieces of ducting tape.  She pulled off
the pieces of tape and held up the leather coil.  At first she thought it
was just a spare dog collar for Beech - and then she realised it was much
too big for that.  This was a thick leather choker as wide as her thumb,
embedded with silver pyramid studs and with a big silver restraining ring
double studded to the front of it.

   "Toni!  What the hell are you doing to me?"

   Anita put down the choker but kept glancing at it as she put the cushion
back inside the basket.  "OK, mutt, it's all yours again.  No wonder you
always look so pissed - that mistress of yours is an evil, evil woman.  And
her ears are even bigger than yours."

   The dog sniffed in disdain, walked back to the basket and began making a
big performance out of re-settling himself into a comfortable position.

   "Go ahead, have a good night's sleep.  It's probably more than I'm going
to get."

   Back to the computer, back to the e-mail attachment: "Layme.txt" Very
funny, Toni.  She clicked on it . . .

   OK, Anita, it looks like we have an interesting situation here.

   Now I need to tell you that I've talked to Tristan a lot about you.  He
wants to stay in the US for a while longer and he knows a lawyer like you
could be a real help to him.  What he doesn't want to do is have a lawyer
filing a complaint of sexual harassment against him.  So he asked me to try
and find a way where there'd be no misunderstandings.  Now I'm writing this
without knowing what happened when you met and if there was any chemistry
between you - but I don't think you'd have opened this file if you weren't
getting some hots for Tristan Yorstan (hell of a name, isn't it?  Sounds
like the Swedish Chef on Sesame Street.)

   Still, if you're not interested, put the choker in a drawer and forget
about it until I come back and collect it.  You can have Tristan walk
Beech, clean your apartment, your car, maybe even squire you around to
anyplace you want to go.  I'll pay the wages and he won't lay a finger on
you.  That's the deal and I guess I'd trust the big lug.  I don't think
he's ever been short of feminine company in his life and he's not likely to
be having a frustrating time in Manhatten.

   On the other hand, if you want to be swept off your feet, just open the
door to him with the choker around your neck.  He'll put that leash onto
it, haul you into the bedroom and . . . .  well, I guess you get the idea.
It's a little game Tristan and I play and Beech gets as mad as hell when I
get taken for walkies before he does.  Anyway, between us, we've sure been
keeping that guy fit.

   So there it is.  Now you know how to bring the genie out of the bottle
but forget about any kind of three wishes routine.  I've told Tristan and
now I'm telling you, counsellor, as long as that choker is on you'll be
doing what he wants and any objections will be over-ruled.  That's the way
we play it and that's the way you're going to have to play it if you want
to join in.  You're either going to be a totally unsullied fille d'honneur
or a totally screwed every which way but loose fille de joie.  These are
big girl's games and them's the rules.

   I guess the only other thing you need to know is that playing the
dutiful daughter in Oklahoma is probably going to be as much fun as a
vacation spent cleaning the craphouses in a Mexican nunnery.  I'm going
with gritted teeth and the intention of spending at least two weeks with
the family but don't count on it.  I could be back very much sooner and if
you're still humming and hawing you'll have lost your chance.  To tell you
the truth, hon, if there's no other way to keep Tristan I'll move my entire
goddam business to Scotland and run it through the internet.  And won't I
love breaking that news to the bridges and tunnels set who keep turning up
late for work with hard luck stories about how far they live from
Manhattan.

   So there it is - Tristan needs a lawyer and I think you're a lawyer who
needs Tristan.  He's yours on a strictly loan arrangement because you're
the only woman in town I'd even halfway trust with him and because - to be
honest - I've got no other choice.  I'll also be honest enough to admit
that I'd love to know what happens between the two of you.

   OK, Anita, he's all yours.

   Toni.

   PPS.  I'm backtracking a hundred bucks off my accumulated bill for every
act of gross indecency you commit with my dog person.  I've told Tristan to
carve the notches on your bedhead so there'll be no accounting arguments.
Chou!

   After carefully reading and digesting the file Anita came to three
conclusions.

   The first was that Toni had gotten it real bad.

   The second was that Toni had watched far too many episodes of 'Ally
McBeal'.

   The third conclusion was that Toni had put her lawyer between a rock and
a hard place and all the lawyer seemed able to think about was what she
needed to do to make that place hard.

   Being a calm and rational person Anita mixed herself a fresh drink,
drank it slowly and then retired peacefuly to her bed for some well earned
rest which wouldn't be disturbed by any further stupid thoughts about
Tristam Yorstan.

   At one o'clock in the morning she got up and switched on her computer
again.  There seemed to be very little on the net about the Orkneys except
advertisments for hand knitted sweaters guaranteed to keep out Atlantic
gales.  Anita turned her attention towards the web pages of various New
York lingerie stores and spent a lot of time looking at items of clothing
absolutely guaranteed not to keep out marauding Vikings.

   The following day Anita was happy for once not to have to appear in a
courtroom.  The necessary concentration simply wasn't there.  The only
thing which her mind seemed determined to fasten on was whether to check
out the item of virtual non-apparel which had caught her fancy in the small
hours of the morning.  Assuming, of course, that she was really going to do
what Toni had suggested and turn on an act for a man - a boy - on her own
doorstep.

   Simple, really.  A classic case of plea-bargaining.  I'm wearing this
piece of nonsense and behaving like a tramp because I'm lonely and unloved
and my friends think it's time I was put out to stud for a while.  So which
would you rather do, walk the dog or lay the bitch?  Either way, you get
paid.

   That was one way of looking at it.  The other way was that she hadn't
had a man in her bed for months and it had been years since she'd since a
man who'd made her go weak at the knees just by looking at him.  If Toni
thought she was so frightened of being human maybe she should show her how
wrong she was - to hell with being an ice-maiden.  Anita Ruger was a long
way down the track from being a maiden, her blood ran as hotly as anybody
else's and who cared who knew it?

   In the end she locked her office remarkably early in the afternoon and
went off in grimly determined mood to the nearest Stage Door shop.  A mood
of determination tempered by the legalistic determination that she still
wasn't making any real commitment, only window shopping.

   It was window shopping which ended in the production of a credit card
though, and a subsequent ride home accompanied by a ribbon wrapped parcel
and enough butterflies in her stomach to pollinate a country garden.

   The first thing she did when she got home to Gramercy Park was to check
the time.  It was also the second, third and fourth thing she did.  Anita
decided she needed to take a grip on herself and bypassed her usual martini
for a shot of Smirnoff, the best butterfly killing liquid ever invented. 
She sat and looked at the parcel whilst terminating a few million of her
brain cells with extreme prejudice.  Beech wandered over, feeling a vague
sense of duty to welcome her home and willing to negotiate some kind of
rapprochement with his temporary mistress.

   It was a cautious approach though.  Genetically fashioned to keep both
ears on the ground he was well aware of the air of tension she'd brought
with her.  But she scratched his forehead and he responded dutifully, if
not with the outright joy similar treatment from Tristan had evoked.

   "It's easy for you dogs.  You can just come right out and say what you
want and nobody gives a hoot.  Human beings are different though - we're
not supposed to sit up and beg because we've got something called pride. 
The problem is that the more pride we have the more we usually need what we
can't ask for.  Does that make a lot of sense to you?"

   Beech broke wind - a deep rumble that died away into a strange sounding
whistle.  Anita looked at him with dawning respect and a flapping hand.

   "You're right, Beech, you're right.  I never understood that
philosphical point before - maybe I should have got a dog myself.  Or maybe
I should drink vodka more often."

   Her fingers flicked playfully at one of his outsized auricles.  "Whaddya
say, boy, shall we both sit up and beg for a bone?"

   Beech grunted with seeming approval.

   "Well, OK, but I have to tell you that this isn't going to come easy. 
When I was a student I could get all the guys I wanted just by going to the
beach at Coney Island.  Now I have to go to the goddamned Orkney islands
for sex."

   She re-filled her glass and took it into the bathroom.  By the time it
was dry she was as well, having showered, powdered, and perfumed a body
which now contained an unusually high alcohol content in its blood stream.
A blood stream which was beginning to pound against her ears like Niagra
Falls.

   Anita looked dubiously at her naked relection in the full length mirror.
"If I'm a lot younger than Goldie Hawn, how come I don't look as good as
she does?"

   It was no use worrying about that, nor about the extra pounds which had
somehow crept through her defenses and hunkered down around her hips.  At
least she was still a long way from living in a total ruin of a body.

   "So why don't I put on a glamorous dress and let Tristan take me to a
restaurant and just see what happens from there?"

   'Because . . .  because I'm not interested any any of that stale old
routine.  Because when he walked through my door the first time I took one
look at him and wanted him to grab me.  Maybe it's because there's
something about him that stirs my German genes - maybe a Norseman looking
just like him screwed one of my Rhine Maiden ancestors.  Toni says that if
I'm wearing that chocker he'll just grab me - OK, let's see if he's as good
as he looks and to hell with all the usual courtship rituals.'

   Answering her own question made Anita shiver.  She went into the bedroom
and opened the parcel, carefully lifted out the garment inside and slipped
it on over her head.  Then she returned to the mirror.

   It looked good - really good, she thought.  The Stage Door web page had
described it as a stretch cotton/spandex split side mini-dress.  The sort
of little black number that any lady lawyer would wear to an fashion
conscious orgy - sexy without being vulgar.  A haltered top, a low cut
bodice, a hemline that stopped three quarters of the way up her thighs and
splits on both sides of the skirt which went up to her waist.  With nothing
worn underneath it she was ready for anything that came her way.

   'Hey, lady, are you putting out the welcome mat or what?'

   If this didn't bring Tristan into the breech then nothing would - not
unless she coated herself in porridge.  She giggled and twirled around on
her toes.

   "Hey, Beech, whaddya think?"

   Beech did not strain like a greyhound at the slip.  He looked at her,
yawned and lowered his head onto his crossed front legs.

   "Alright, that's it, buddy.  Tomorrow I'm going to bring home the
biggest stapler in the office and I'm going to clip those big lugs of yours
together over your head.  See how you like that."

   Anita poured another shot of Smirnoff, a generous one, and then went
into her bedroom, opened a drawer and took out the choker.  She seemed to
have grown an extra set of fingers on each hand because there was no way
she could clip it together behind her neck.  Her brain was all skewed as
well because it seemed to take forever before she realised it was a lot
easier to secure the clips in front and then rotate the choker around her
throat.

   Back to the mirror and looking at her slightly swaying image again. 
"Please, God, let anything happen as long as he doesn't start laughing."

   'Do I put on a robe to open the door in?  Or just like this?  Kiss him
or stand back and smile?  Make the first move or let him start, like Toni
said?'

   Ten minutes to seven and all those dead butterflies in the pit of her
stomach were dissolving in a pool of vodka mixed with battery acid.  She
moved around uncertainly, picking things up and putting them down again. 
Then she took down Beech's leash and attached it to the choker ring.  The
dog immediately bounced up at the sight of the leash and began whining with
eagerness in anticipation of its daily exercise.

   "Shut up."

   At the same time the door buzzer sounded.  The video screen was filled
with Tristan's hulking shape in a three quarter length yellow oilskin. 
Trickles of water were visible as he pulled the hood back to show his
ruggedly handsome face.  Streetlights near the doorway were reflected in
the wet sheen of the sidewalk.  At least she could claim she'd decided to
let him screw her because it was too wet to take Beech outside - even if
was the weakest attempt at justification she'd ever heard in her life.

   "Good evening, Anita."

   Her mouth suddenly seemed to be full of dust and grit: "Come on up,
Tristan."

   'Play it cool - put the leash on the dog.'

   She did that, and it wasn't a smart move.  Beech was more than ready to
go out to sniff the roses and everything else as well.  His paws clattered
on the polished wooden flooring as he finally did get down to some serious
straining on his leash.  Instead of standing there waiting cool and
collected, the woman of mystery and intrigue, Anita was becoming involved
in a full scale tug of war with a small but surprisingly strong body.

   "Calm down.  Steady, steady, Beech, steady.  Oh hell!"

   The door bell sounded, she pushed Beech to one side with her leg, opened
the door, Beech went through the gap like a torpedo fired out of a
submarine and dragged her behind him, her hand caught in the leash's strap.
Hitting Tristan was like hitting a brick wall, she went sideways, her legs
stumbled over Beech and she was falling, then caught by an arm which caught
and held her body upright without the slightest effort.

   "Beech, sit!"

   The dog instantly complied to the deep male voice.  Tristan set Anita
straight on her feet, then looked her up and down.

   "God, but this is a wonderful country.  "

   He put his hand in his pocket, pulled out another leash and snapped it
onto the choker ring.  Anita yelped and tried to get back inside her
apartment, only to find that Tristan was still holding her in place.

   "For God's sake, somebody might come along the corridor at any minute.
Let's go inside."

   "No, I've a better idea.  Let's all go for a walk in the park.  Beech
needs it."

   "Fuck Beech, you big fool.  I can't go anywhere dressed like this."

   "Which is a terrible shame because you look drop dead gorgeous.  But
I've a great desire to get some wet grass underneath my feet while I've the
chance, so I want to take a walk in the park, right now."

   Anita cast fearful looks, left and right.  "Let me get inside, please,
Tristan."

   "I'll do a deal with you.  Hand me those keys to your apartment you
leave hanging up by the door and I'll give you this rain coat to put on. 
Then we can all be on our way."

   Anita was so desperate to cover herself up she did as he wanted, moving
back inside the doorway with Tristan following her step for step, but still
holding onto the leash.  Beech whined in disappointment at what seemed like
another delayed walk but remained sitting outside the still open door. 
Tristan took the keys from Anita's hand and jerked her back out into the
passageway, then kicked the door firmly closed.

   Beech yelped in joy and Anita in dismay.  Tristan chuckled and unsnapped
the leash from her choker.

   "Don't be worrying, woman, here's my side of the bargain."

   His huge hands snapped open the restraining studs down the front of the
glistening oilskin.  He pulled it off, revealing an old black and yellow
patterned track suit underneath, then held the raincoat up for Anita.  It
was clammy but warm and most importantly it covered her up decently.  In
fact it covered her up so much she felt like a little girl dressing up in
her mother's clothes.  The hem of the oilskin was hanging around her ankles
and when he pulled the hood over her head it was like hiding in a subway
tunnel.

   "Aye, that'll keep the rain off you.  Now we can go into the park."

   "I sure did a good job of turning you on, didn't I?" Anita sniffled. 
"One look and you'd rather go for a walk in the park."

   "Anita, I took one look at you and wanted you on the spot.  But I'm
getting bored with making out with clinically clean women in high rise,
high tech, high life apartments.  You were telling me, were you not, that
the park over yonder is locked and only residents can get inside?  As it
not as dark as the inside of cow's gut out there, with the wind blowing and
the rain pissing down?  Nobody is going to be in there on a night like
tonight.  Can we not walk on the wet grass awhile and get to know each
other with a little hugging to keep warm?"

   Her voice came out of the folds of the hood in another wail of protest:
"But I've got no shoes on!"

   "Then it's me that'll carry you across the road to the park.  Come on."

   He took her hand in his and again she felt like a small girl as she was
pulled along by a strength totally beyond her own.  Tristan went down the
stairs instead of using the elevator, moving at a speed which had Anita
stumbling.  At the first landing he stopped and looked back to see Beech
eagerly trying to keep up but delayed by his short legs and big stomach in
getting over the ledges, his leash dragging along behind him.  Tristam
laughed, put his hands underneath Anita's arms, lifted her off her feet and
pressed her back to the wall.

   "Tristan!"

   "I've been wanting to this ever since I met you, gorgeous."

   His face was in underneath the hood, close against her own, his breath
was mingling with hers, his lips were against his, his tongue was between
her teeth, against hers, and both tongues were pressing and licking against
each other.  Anita snorted through her nose like a steam locomotive
beginning to move out of a station and her fingers slipped up and down the
steel muscles of his arms.  Then the rough kiss was suddenly broken off and
she was lowered back onto her shaking legs.

   "We've got to keep up with Beech," Tristam said.  "If we're quick we can
overtake him before the next landing and grab another quickie.  How about
it?"

   "How many landings are there all the way down?"

   "Let's find out."

   They did, but nobody was counting.  Anita alternated between mad bouts
of scrambling down the steps with equally insane periods of her feet
treading air and intensely enjoyable french kissing.

   'This is crazy - this is over the edge.  They've probably got
surveillance cameras in here, the co-op board is going to be asking who are
these crazy people we got living here?  We have a fire, we've got to fight
our way out past giant men and dwarves in oilskins making love to each
other all over the building?  In an apartment they want to put on rubber
clothes OK, but on the steps and frightening the dog?  And you're telling
us this is behaviour from a lawyer who never yet melted butter in her
mouth?'

   She couldn't stop laughing, not even when she was out on the sidewalk
with rain drops tapping aginst the hood and wind gusts cold around her bare
ankles.  Tristan had Beech's leash in his hand and transferred it to hers.

   "Here, hold this."

   She was off her feet again, cradled in his arms like a cord of wood, the
rain was blowing in through the front of the hood, making her eyes blink,
and she stared into the face of an old man underneath a raised umbrella,
his jaw opened in astonishment as Tristam stepped past him, Anita held
high, the leash tugging at her wrist as Beech raced ahead.  Then they were
in the dark, out over the road away from the street lights and the tree
branches were rustling overhead like an angry crowd as Tristan trotted
towards the park gate.  When he reached them he put her down.

   "Ooops-a-daisy."

   Anita giggled: "You said 'oops-a-daisy'".

   "No I didn't.  An effete Englishman might say that but an Orcadian would
say something like 'Fur Fria Und Odon'.  It's a tribal custom whenever
we're getting ready to sacrifice a virgin."

   "I'm not a virgin, Tristan."

   "Then I won't have to explain anything that's going on, will I?"

   He unlocked the gate, pushed it open.  The sidewalk was cold underneath
her bare feet.  Anita stared into the dripping and forbidding interior of
the dark park.

   "We'll freeze to death in there."

   "No we won't.  And when we get back I'll give you a nice hot bath and a
good rub down afterwards that'll get your circulation going nicely -
especially to your nipples."

   Anita felt her face turning hot underneath the hood at the prospect. 
Tristan pushed her past the gate.  It was like being put into the starting
stall for a race, she thought.  Her soles stepped on to a gravel pathway
and she gasped with pain, moving sideways to walk on the grass instead.

   The gate closed with a creak and a squeak as Tristam relocked it. 
"Scram, Beech."

   The dog bounded off into the darkness, apparently quite untroubled by
the darkness or the spluttering rain.  The trees and bushs were still
banging angrily against each other, their movement traced around the
perimeter of the park by the flickering appearance and disappearance of
street lights behind swaying branches.  Tristam walked over to a bench
playing hide and seek in the moving shadows, then sat down on it,
apparently untroubled by the wet slats.  He unfastened his velcro secured
running shoes, pulled them off, then his socks.  He carried the socks and
shoes in one hand and reached out with the other to take Anita's hand. 
Together they padded across the saturated turf.

   "You're mad, Tristan, you know that, don't you?"

   "What, because I want to feel some real earth underneath my feet instead
of concrete all the time?"

   "We could have been in bed by now and afterwards you could have left me
there while you walked around out here all night until your feet turned
green for all I care.  I'm a not a nature lover."

   "Ah, but are you a lover?  Toni said that it was her considered opinion
that you were a fine woman but you needed some of that legal starch taken
out of you.  So this seems like a good place to do it."

   "What are you talking about?"

   Tristan turned towards a group of trees off to one side of the park.  A
few shifting rays of light from East 20th street fell onto another park
bench standing in the grass.  Tristan steered her towards the bench.

   "Sit down and relax."

   Underneath the enveloping hood Anita had difficulty in even doing such a
simple thing as sitting down.  Tristam held her hands as he guided her
awkward movements onto the bench.  He knelt down on both knees in front of
her and unsnapped the two bottom studs on the oilskin, then drew it aside
so her legs were uncovered to the top of her thighs.  Drops of rain pecked
at the qivering bare skin.

   "Tristan!  There are buildings all around here.  Somebody might be
looking down!"

   He jerked open another stud: "You'd better keep covered up like little
yellow riding hood then, hadn't you?"

   Tristan opened the oilskin further yet and trickles of cold water ran
down the front of it, falling onto her exposed bush and inner thighs like
icy fingers.

   "Tristan!"

   He leaned forward, pressing his scratchy cheeks between the smoothness
of Anita's thighs, forcing them apart, pressing her back against the bench.

   "Tristan!"

   His lips, his tongue were up against her and he was lifting her legs up,
resting the backs of her knees on his shoulders, the warmth of his body
coming through the damp material of the track suit.

   "Tristan - oh, Tristan."

   His face was underneath the folds of the mini dress, blackness in
blackness, with only his blonde hair to be seen, first ruffled by the wind
alone, and then by Anita's fingers as he tongued her clitoris with clinical
precision and single minded perseverance.

   "Oh, that's good.  Oh, that's soooo good!"

   Even if he couldn't hear the low voiced words of encouragement from
underneath the hood the fingertips urgently massaging his scalp conveyed
their own message.  Anita writhed around on the wet wooden slats of the
park bench, completely past caring about her surroundings as her body
sparked with long repressed needs.

   "Oh, I want to be fucked by you, just you, just you, you big fucking
monster," she crooned in delight, her eyes squeezed shut in delight as
every nerve inside her seemed to be tingling with pleasure.

   A cold nose touched the outside of her right leg, ruing her pleasure:
"Go away, Beech, go away!"

   Beech barked.

   "Fuck off, Beech."

   Beech barked again.

   Anita opened her eyes, then tried to make some sense out of seeing a big
white dog which looked like a ghost in the faint light.  Only it wasn't a
ghost and the white outline had dark spots on it.  A dalmation!  Oh God,
somebody else was walking their dog in the park!

   "Vikki, Vikki?"

   A voice, a man's voice - and a pool of light from a flashlight appearing
like a small fallen moon on the grass, a moon drifting towards the bench,
swinging in search of the dalmation!  Anita beat with her fists on top of
Tristan's head, clenched her legs against his head, released them and
clenched again.  It was useless, he just thought it was the effect he was
having on her.

   The dog barked again, as if wanting to share the discovery with her
master.  Anita drummed her heels against Tristan's back, then drew her head
as far back into the hood as she could and lowered her face.  The
flashlight swung onto the bench and suddenly stopped moving.

   It was a tableau which seemed to last for ever.  Behind her closed eyes
Anita had visions of a thousand heads suddenly appearing from a thousand
windows to gape down at the sexual scene which had suddenly been revealed
below, and each head calling on other heads to come and and look at the
lewd lawyer letting herself be lasciviously licked on their lawn.  She felt
Tristam's head move from between her thighs and the fall of blessed
darkness again as the flashlight was switched off.

   The same voice which had called the dog was speaking to them, falling
and rising in tone as the wind flung the words.  "I'm sorry - I didn't know
anybody was here - I was looking for my dog."

   Tristan answered, in that Sean Connery voice, accentuated into upper
class English english: "Quite alright, old boy, you can play through on
this green.  I'm afraid the lady was too impatient to wait until we got
home."

   "Yeah - right." There was an uncertain pause.  "Vikki, Vikki.  Come
along - sorry, folks."

   The dalmation finally lost interest in whatever these humans were doing
and disappeared into the darkness.  Tristan turned back towards Anita and
carried on his task where he had left off, ignoring her scandalised
protests until she fell into in irrepressible fit of giggles at the same
time as she was being stimulated towards an uncontrollable climax.  It was
a combination of physiological events which had never happened to Anita
before.  But before she'd found a way of coming to terms with them both she
was distracted by Tristan standing up.

   He pulled the waistband of the track suit pants down, revealing a curved
shape vaguely seen in the darkness, more like structural member than
anything human.  Anita cupped it between her palms, discovering a heat and
a throbbing activity within it that belonged to a male animal.  Then her
fingers traced its dimensions.

   'My God, it's larger than anything I've ever seen on anything except a
stallion!'

   "There you are, lassie, one slice of prime island haggis.  A special
treat for a girl who wants to taste the finer things in life."

   She tweaked the foreskin and Tristan moved towards the bench, his hands
on the back of the hood drawing it forward and closer to him, her head
moving closer as well.

   "It needs to be kept out of this cold wind or it might go down.  If I
put it inside the hood, will you help me keep it interested?"

   "Yes, OK."

   Anita steered the uptilted head of the cock into the hood, bending
forward with her lips open to meet it at the entrance.  A mouthful of hot,
incredibly smooth skin, into and over the dip behind it, and as much of the
thrusting shaft behind the head as she could take at first swallow.  Her
nose was brushing against his tightly curled hairs and the man smell flared
into her nostrils, exciting her even more.  Tristan's hands behind her head
gently pressed in encouragement as she vigorously massaged him with her
lips and tongue.

   'I used to be damned good at this once.  Never thought I'd ever end up
as an old maid with so much time between blow jobs.  Jees, I love doing
this with the right sort of guy though.  I wonder if that character with
the flashlight is still around.  Fuck him anyway, and fuck everybody else.
I just hope Scottie here is getting the message that I'm ready to be beamed
up.'

   The big man was groaning with pleasure as his rampant prick twitched and
pushed itself further and further underneath the hood until Anita was
snorting with despair at dealing with any more.

   "OK, Anita, that'll do for a minute."

   He pulled back, put a hand into the top pocket of the track suit, took
something out and tore at it with his teeth.  A small shiny square of
silvery paper blew away in the wind as Tristan discarded it and put his
hands down on his cock, obviously rolling on a condom.

   "Here, see if you can finish this job for me."

   "Sure."

   Anita leaned forward and used her lips to roll the rubber down as far as
she could along the shaft, and then her fingers to finish stretching the
sheath as far as it would go.

   'If this was a fish I'd hang it up on a hook as a trophy and photograph
it.  Remember when the High School did some Shakespeare play and all the
girls kept laughing when there was a line about a lusty horn is not a thing
to laugh to scorn?  Hell, how right that's turned out to be.'

   Then Anita yelped and moved her head back on panic as she felt rough
hair brushing against her leg.  That fucking dalmation again!

   "Relax," Tristan said calmly.  "It's only Beech."

   He was right, it was Beech, a far more energetic Beech than she'd ever
seen before, bouncing around Tristan's legs and apparently fascinated by
what was happening.

   "Now, Anita, would you have a nice warm place where I could be putting
this away and out of the rain?"

   "Now?  Here?"

   "Sure, and isn't exercise in the fresh air supposed to be so healthy and
all?"

   He put his hands on hers and hauled Anita to her feet, then turned her
around to face the bench.  "OK, just kneel down and lean forward over the
backrest.  I want your arse nice and high in the air."

   "Oh, God."

   The hand on her back pushed her forward insistently until her legs were
rubbing against the bench.  Still the pressure from behind didn't relent.
She pulled the flaps of the oilskin clear of her legs and knelt down on the
seat, bent her upper body over the back of the bench, stretching her arms
out to grasp the bottom slats as Tristan's hands lifted her bottom up into
the position he wanted her.  Next, he lifted up both sides of the oilskin,
higher and higher and Anita squeaked as the cold wind blew across her
exposed buttocks, leaving them shivering and rain moistened.

   'I sure as hell bet nobody has ever dared do this to Judge Judy.'

   Then Anita squeaked much more loudly as something even colder than the
wind and the rain nuzzled up between her legs.  A cold wet nose sniffing
around her cunt

   "Beech, sit.  He's just trying to make friends, that's all.  Like me, I
guess.  See if this makes you feel better."

   She tried to look behind her, a useless effort with the oilskin piled on
top of like a fallen tent.  Then she felt something else moving between the
top of her legs, something hot instead of cold, something rubbery smooth
that rose up and into her outer lips and rubbed against them with an
insistance nothing could deny.  Anita moaned and squirmed in anticipation,
then pressed back and managed to get herself around the head of the cock,
her muscles eagerly gripping it.  Tristan laughed and rewarded her with
another inch or so.

   "All the way, Tristan!  All the way!" she whispered.

   Whether or not he heard her he gave her a full stroke of the absolute
fulfilment her body was craving for, his hips slapping against her ass like
hands clapping.  Anita yelped in her own round of applause and clung to the
bench as more strokes filled her up like waves of molten lava.

   "Hey, look.  I can see the moon coming out from behind the clouds.  Just
for a second.  It's the moon and New York city, Anita."

   "Never mind the romance, just keep on fucking me!"

   "You city girls, you're even tougher than the cockroaches.  OK, here we
go, loop-de-loop."

   Tristan's movements quickened up from a walk to a trot to a gallop, his
fingers digging into the front and tops of her legs as he moved her
backwards and forwards in time with her thrusts.  Anita shouted out in joy
and then went into a spasm of absolute pleasure, almost weeping with the
relief, her head falling forward as the erection inside her seemed to get
ever bigger and longer.

   'Toni, Toni, you're not getting this back, not if I have to fight you
tooth and nail to keep him.'

   A shape close to the ground and whining with pleasure approached, then
reared up and licked her face.

   "No, Beech, no, damn you," she whimpered, turning her face from one side
to another.

   The dog hesitated, she gasped with satisfaction as her cunt went into
melt down mode once again and Beech took it as a sign she wanted to be
licked again.

   "Fuck off, Beech - again, Tristan, again.  More - not you, you fucking
animal, Oh God, I'm going mad!"

   'If Toni ever gets to hear that I let her dogboy fuck me doggy style on
top of a bench in a park I'll never hear the last of it - not unless she
goes to the Orkneys like she says.  Imagine going to a place like that just
to get laid like this every night - yeah, imagine that. . .'

   Anita let go of the bench and slapped at Beech: "Sit!  Sit!"

   Then she screeched as Tristan's cock reached critical mass and she
imploded around it into a dissolving mass of jelly only held up by the
rigidity of the rod hammering into her as if he was a human pile driver. 
Her pleasure ululated through her lips and across the park like an Arab
soldier's war cry as Tristan gave a deep chested sigh of ejaculatory
satisfaction.

   A woman was a woman was a woman but a classy woman was an act worth
following.  A lawyer, a top courtroom lawyer, for God's sake.  Back home
Anita would be a barrister with a wig and a gown, maybe even a QC, a
Queen's Counsellor.  Imagine the chances of screwing a sexy looking QC in a
London park!  It was about as likely as getting to play for Manchester
United.  How the hell could a man want to leave a marvellous madhouse like
New York and go back to boring sanity?

   Tristan looked down at the excellently contoured bottom still quivering
at the end of his cock and gave the right buttock a friendly slap.  His
newly found and well learned friend giggled in her throat.

   Unknown to both of them, they were part of a joined experience.  A dozen
paces away a man standing behind a bush and beside a tethered dalmation had
been masturbating himself into his handkerchief as he listened to the
sounds of the love making.  When Anita and Tristan had finished, so had he.
He dropped the handkerchief, untied his dog and quietly walked away until
he'd gone far enough to feel safe in talking.

   "Vicki, I'm going to call the manager of that goddamned hotel right now.
He shouldn't be letting those dirty Britishers of his roam around in a park
that's used by decent people."

   Anita was curled up on top of the bench, her head in Tristan's lap, her
body underneath the covering oilskin in a post coital glow that was like an
unexpected re-run of a long gone but fondly remembered TV series.

   "So I'm supposed to find a way of keeping you in the States, am I?"

   "Oh, that's easily fixed.  Just marry me."

   Anita nearly fell off the bench, then realised he must be joking.  "With
the difference in our ages it would make more sense to adopt you."

   "Whatever - as long as we're together.  Why don't you let me move in
with you for the rest of my ninety days on a no obligation try out and then
I'll ask you again."

   "Why would you want to marry an old hag like me?"

   "For money.  It's always been an overwhelming argument with my ethnic
group.  No Scotsman has ever willingly divorced himself from a regular
supply of cash."

   Anita moved her head and looked up at him quizically: "And what would
you do with yourself if you could stay here - keep on walking dogs for
obliging ladies?"

   "No, no, I've a mind to get myself a leg up in the world.  Twenty two
legs if possible."

   "What the hell are you talking about?"

   "I've got qualifications from the Scottish Football Association as a
coach and soccer seems to be catching on amongst women in the US as a
sport. There's probably a ladies' soccer team somewhere in New York City
looking for a fine upstanding coach to give them a hand."

   Anita snorted with laughter: "Yes, and I can guess where they'd get the
handling.  And where would your wife be playing on the team?"

   "You could be the goal keeper.  You get to stop everything that the rest
of the girls let through."

   "Ha, what a great offer!"

   "Eleven normal girls wouldn't tire me out as much as Toni would. 
There's a lady who's really eager to share out her beaver.  And morally,
she has first call on my services."

   Anita's heart sank: "Yes, I guess she'd marry you even if you were
having an affair with an entire soccer team on the side.  So you'll be
going back to her, I suppose, once she comes home?"

   "I suppose I could, but I don't want to.  I want to stay with you. 
You've got a fine sense of humor, Anita, and I think we've got things in
common."

   "Such as?"

   Anita drew her legs up underneath the oilskin, away from the still
falling raindrops, happily feeling like a little girl again in a contented
and well protected world.

   "For a start, to tell you the absolute truth, I don't like dogs much
myself.  I was only walking them to make a few dollars."

   Anita giggled, then fell silent: "Toni though - she'll be as mad as a
cut snake if you stick with me.  It's bad with her being a client and all.
She could make some nasty scenes."

   "Maybe we can avoid them.  You remember how I told you about how there
was a Tristan and a Siegfried in that TV series, and how I said that being
called Siegfried Yorstan was a heavy load to carry through life?"

   "Yes."

   "Well, my mum didn't pick one of the names, she picked both of them, and
I was the twin lucky enough to get Tristan."

   "What?"

   "Yeah, Siegried is my twin brother.  Nobody can tell us apart - and he's
not engaged or anything yet.  I can have him over here in a couple of days
if somebody would lend us the airfare."

   "You're identical?"

   "Like two peas in a pod, to coin a phrase.  If I were to tell him all I
know about Toni he could go off with her."

   Anita sat up, clutching the edges of the oilskin underneath her chin. 
"Wait a minute, you want me to tell Toni I've got a substitue for you she
can have?"

   "Ah well, maybe it would be more interesting to let Siegfried answer to
the name of Tristan for a while and then to see how long it takes Toni to
spot there's been a switch; by the time she does find out she'll also have
found out that Siegfried can do everything for her that I can.  And if I
can get a job as a coach with a woman's soccer team I suppose Siegfried can
job-share with me - we just won't tell the girls they've got two coaches
instead of one.  That way we can have twice the fun."

   "And what about me - how would I know whether I was getting Tristan or
Siegfried?"

   "I guess you'll just have to keep putting love bites on me in places
where only you know where to look for them.  Let's go home and I'll give
you a bath and a massage and then you can get started."

   "Can I?  Well, yes, I guess I could do that until I get myself a
branding iron."

   Together they walked hand in hand across the grass, often stopping to
break into laughter.  Beech followed on approvingly - he couldn't remember
when he'd last seen a pair of humans enjoy a walk so much.  A pity they
were usually such a miserable looking species.

   THE END

   (Visit http://www.f-e-mail.com for other David Shaw stories)

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