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Thank you for your consideration. ------------------------------------------------------ Decision Limited (mf/first/nc?/rom) by Acme Beta Test Email: acmebetatest@hotmail.com "NOW Men Join the Fight for Women's Rights" - that was the headline in the Monday Boston Globe. And David Barrett was proud of that headline. For a reserved man like David, keynote speeches did not seem to fit his personality. His almost effeminate voice would not have been expected to do well under the stresses of making any keynote address, much less addressing the annual convention of the National Organization for Women. Yet the picture on the front page said it all - he was included, he belonged. David was at the podium in that most historic place, Fanueil Hall, from which the American Revolution was launched. Now, he was helping to launch a different revolution, one that would take up the unfinished business from the original, led by John Adams. It was entirely appro- priate that Abigail Adams would be David's inspiration for his support for women's equality. He had used her words from a letter to her husband John, in his speech: "If particular care and attention is not paid to the ladies, we are determined to foment a rebellion, and will not hold ourselves bound by any laws in which we have no voice, or representation." He continued to read from his outline, wondering just how he had been able to make this speech come alive; it seemed ponderous to him now. How had he overcome his innate shyness, his desire for peace and solitude, just this once? For the speech was better received than he had expected. He would have to watch the tape later for clues. He read further from his outline, "You must not rely upon Reagans or Kennedys, God or Allah, to give you your rights. You must take them yourself. I can only help you if you are willing to fight for what belongs to you." He could not compre- hend how anyone could oppose equal rights for women, no matter President Reagan's desire to move forward to the past without Rosie the Riveter. "If he'd had his way in the war, we'd be singing Deutschlanders ber alles' by now," David muttered, running his hand through his unkempt, short brown hair. He had seen firsthand what such visceral opinions held by men like Reagan had done to women throughout history. He didn't have to look far for an example; his mother's circumstances were sufficient example to illustrate the effects of those opinions on many women. She was still a clerk at Cartier's in Chicago. Even though she had worked there for nearly thirty years, knew more about jewelry than anyone there, and was the best salesperson they had ever had, she had never been promoted once. Her manager never told her why, and David could find no satisfactory explanation of this from his moral and scholastic education. He looked at his watch; it was ten o'clock, and the Lake Shore Limited had just left Utica. There were no passengers at any of the lounge car's twelve tables at that hour, save David. They were probably settling in for the night. The lounge car attendant, a short, salt-and-pepper haired black man who looked sixty, but was as lively as a teenager, was busy in the back of the lounge car cleaning up. David's thoughts wandered, considering the train itself. "Would Cary Grant have ridden this train today?", David asked. Comparing the Lake Shore Limited to its predecessor, the 20th Century Limited, was simple. Both trains had the same type of cars, but the train that Grant had traveled on in North by Northwest some 25 years ago was impeccably maintained. The Lake Shore Limited seemed resigned to a lingering death, seemingly too worn out to resist fate; the old windows created moire effects when the light from outside hit them just right, the cars reeked of disinfectant and deodorant like a morgue, the cleaning was perfunctorily done (despite Max's efforts in the back of the lounge car), and the lights were somehow dimmer than they should be. While half-listening to the clickety-clack-clack of the train on its tracks, he peered through his glasses at the October night outside, toward the rising ruddy harvest moon. He wondered what he would do in Chicago before he took the City of New Orleans home to Champaign. He wasn't in a hurry; the big football game wasn't for another twelve days, and he had four more days left on his vacation. "I suppose I should see Mom and Dad for a few days," he said out loud. "Pardon me?" David looked up to see an anorexic Goliath across the table. Actually, the blond haired man who had spoken was nearly eight inches taller than David's 5' 10", and weighed slightly less than David's 200 pounds. He could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty, and looked like a patrician. His clothing implied power or wealth; his ebony single-breasted Palm Beach suit, white cotton shirt with golden studs, red silk four-in- hand, and polished black oxfords amply testified to that. "Excuse me, sir. I was talking to myself." The man looked David over. Although not nearly as handsome or as well dressed as the stranger, no one could mistake David for a bum. Khaki slacks, a dark green polo shirt, and Reeboks - David was ready for anything short of the 21 Club. Then the stranger's blue eyes looked down at the newspaper on the table, and studied the picture. David's brown eyes followed. In the picture, to David's left on the Fanueil Hall dais was Hannah O'Connor, the chair of the Illinois delegation of NOW. Her ruddy oval face, framed by her unbraided, feathery, just past shoulder length auburn hair, could stop a train, David thought. With- out another word, the stranger walked out of the lounge car. David was now fully entranced by the image of Hannah in the picture. She was wearing a shimmering royal blue silk pullover blouse in the picture, which accentuated her smallish round breasts. The blouse's high neckline almost revealed the valley between her breasts. The delicate gold chain necklace around her neck helped draw his attention not only to this hint of her cleavage, but to her short, delicate neck. As he remembered, from his place at the podium, she had worn a matching silken dress, which was of a length that when she was seated, one could just see her per- fectly sculpted calves and knees. She didn't wear high heels, but wore leather loafers instead. He would have guessed that she was about 30 years old. Before the final session of the convention the day before, they had a late lunch together at Quincy Market, across from Fanueil Hall. Although the odor and din from the throngs of tourists tried their best to hide it, history and the smell of the sea filled the place. He had suggested a small stand where they had ordered swordfish sandwiches, chips, and iced tea. Hannah's trim figure, the same height as David's, wouldn't worry much about the calories - she could easily hide another 10 pounds. Despite her superior position (and her expense account), he had insisted on paying for them. She was as graceful as Ingrid Bergman when she walked, even through the milling throng of tourists. They were making small talk when Hannah surprised David: "Do you really believe in women's rights?" "What do you mean?", David said. "I mean, a lot of men say that they do, but then they go back to Neanderthal behaviors when they go home." David furrowed his brow. "You mean when we say that women shouldn't be held up as sex objects, and doing so at the same time?" "Not only that, but claiming that, when they say 'I do', they are entering an equal partnership, but after a while, claiming senior partnership status." David was smart enough to demur, smart enough not to answer without thought. In fact, he was still thinking about it as he sipped his lemonade. His mind wandered once more, this time to his high school days fifteen years ago, when he and several buddies trolled the public library, looking for a chance to talk to pretty classmates. David was familiar with what they had then called the "sports section" - the range of books from Lady Chatterley's Lover to the Kama Sutra, from The Thorn Birds to the Harlequins. As it turned out, David was more interested then in the books than the girls, and more interested in conversation than making out. Now his old buddies were all married, while he still went to bed alone each night, with only a book (either the Bible, Lady Chatterley, or Eva Luna) as his com- panion. "Thump-thump-thump" - the train crossed an old trestle, rousing David from his reverie. He grasped his glass of lemonade and finished it. Listening inside David's head, one would have heard this conversation: "How dare you think about her like that? A sex object? Really!" "Well, she is very attractive, and there's no wedding band on her finger . . . " "But even so, you should be ashamed of yourself! If she only knew, what would she think of you?" "I didn't think of her that way . . . " "Don't lie to me! I felt your heart when she shook your hand after your speech . . . " His conscience often took him to task in this way, but it also had helped him through many difficult problems in his life. It was, in many ways, his only companion. David looked at his watch; nearly eleven o'clock, and the train had just left Syracuse. With a stretch and a yawn, he arose, picked up his speech outline, folded it inside the newspaper, and walked to the exit of the lounge car. The train rattled over a rough stretch of track; as he walked between cars, he had to steady himself with his hand for a moment. Now that he was in the corridor of one of the sleeping cars, he noticed that the lighting was far worse than in the lounge car. The next car was his coach car, where he would sleep. When David was halfway through the corridor, a hand clasped itself over his mouth, and a strong arm wrapped itself around his chest. He was then shoved into one of the compartments. David heard the door close behind him. The compartment was brightly lit, so David could not focus properly for a moment. In a moment, he saw that he was in a standard bedroom compartment. The lavatory was to the left as he faced into the room, and the upper and lower berths were to his right. The shades were drawn over the picture window, so that he could not see out. As David's eyes became fully adjusted to the light, he noticed that someone was in the lower berth, three feet away. Her hands were bound behind her back by a rope, the leftover portion coiled upon her belly like a snake. Her mouth was gagged, but her green eyes were wide open, framed by her mussed, yet still feathery auburn tresses. Apart from a delicate gold chain necklace, a matching anklet on her right ankle, and the coiled rope, she was naked and unadorned. David's mouth gaped as if he were a fish out of water. He swallowed, then tried to speak, but words would not come to his mouth. "Well, Mr. Barrett, what do you think of the lady now?" a voice from behind David said. David recognized it as the man he had seen in the lounge car some moments previously. Even with this knowledge, he still could not respond; his eyes were as firmly held by the coil of rope as a rabbit's eyes would be held by a snake. "I think that you should rape her now. She'll enjoy that." David's eyes were now unfrozen. As he peered into Hannah's eyes, they were widened with the horror of the stranger's suggestion. She was flushed from her face to her feet, and David saw a bruise on Hannah's belly above the coil of rope. Finally, David was able to gain control over his mouth. "And if I refuse?" "Then I will kill you," the stranger said, pressing something cool against the back of David's neck. His body froze, his eyes locked with Hannah's. Then his mind froze as well. He didn't even hear the train's whistle blowing. "Clickety-clack-clack . . . ": David's eyes seemed to be looking through Hannah's, as if the train did not exist; his heart raced feverishly. "Thump-thump-thump . . . ": As Hannah's eyes closed, one could see a tear squeezed from deep within her. But David's eyes were closed now, and his heart raced even faster . . . "Now what do I do?" "............" "Help me! What should I do now?" "............" "I need help - please?" "............" David opened his eyes, but they did not register anything. His mouth gaped open and shut. "Clickety-clack-clunk-clunk!": As the train traversed another bad section of track, David's eyes closed once more. The stranger slapped David in the back of his head. "Well?" Then, after what seemed like eternity, David opened his eyes. His eyes still were locked with Hannah's, but he felt nothing - not even the gun pressed against his neck. He swallowed, tried to speak, coughed, and tried to speak once more. Taking a deep breath, David said, "Hannah, will you marry me?" David gazed into Hannah's eyes. Her expression had been like that of a deer caught in headlights; now, she closed her eyes. David could see her whole body shudder, then her breasts rise and fall as she took a deep breath, then another, then still another . . . "Clickety-clack-clack . . . ": Without opening her eyes, Hannah nodded. "Now take your clothes off, Mr. Barrett," the stranger said. Trembling, David bent down to untie his shoes. Having removed his shoes and stockings, he placed them neatly on the upper berth. Then he removed the rest of his clothing and his glasses. He felt chilled, as his skin became all goosebumps. He hesitated, looking into Hannah's eyes. To David, Hannah still seemed frighten- ed. "Well, what are you waiting for?", the stranger asked David, shoving the gun into his back. Kneeling besides the lower berth, David leaned over to Hannah. "Just relax. I'll be gentle." David said. Reaching behind her head, he untied the terrycloth gag and removed it, eliciting a quiet sigh. As he bent down and kissed her, David heard a soft whirr behind him. Ignoring the sound, he continued kissing Hannah, slowly moving from her lips to the nape of her neck. "Please relax, Hannah," David said. While his lips moved toward her breasts, his hands removed the coil of rope from her belly, then followed the rope to the knot binding her wrists. As Hannah arched her back upwards, forcing her breast to his lips, he untied the rope binding her. As she stretched her newly freed arms above her head, David could sense her body had released much of its tension. David continued moving his lips lower; while sucking on her navel, his hands gently caressed her breasts. "What are you waiting for? I told you to rape her- now do it or die!", the stranger said. David looked into Hannah's eyes; she nodded, patting his shoulder and opening her legs for him. David continued kissing her navel. "It's all right, David," Hannah said. Climbing into the berth, David lay down beside Hannah, feeling his left foot strike something as he did. She embraced him, rolling him on top of her. He kissed her, and his body reacted to her close presence despite himself. As her body began moving beneath his, he heard a crack and a low, guttural groan behind him. Twisting his head to look behind him, he saw the stranger on the floor, as if dead. David carefully disentangled himself from Hannah, grabbed his glasses, and took two steps toward the stranger on the floor. He was unconscious, bleeding from a cut on his forehead. A broken 8mm film camera on a tripod lay beside him, along with a small pistol. Reaching into the stranger's breast pocket, David removed a wallet from it. "Let's tie him up," Hannah said. "Where do you think we should put him?" "Probably the shower room at the end of the car would be best." After a bit of a struggle in the cramped quarters, they stripped the stranger, bound him with the same rope that had bound Hannah, gagged him with the terrycloth that had silenced Hannah, and blindfolded him with his own boxers. Once finished, they put him in the compartment's lavatory. Then Hannah took the stranger's wallet and opened it; "Thomas Kennedy, Hyannisport, Massachusetts." "Is he one of the Kennedys?" "I don't know. You had better get dressed. We need to get him down the hall quickly." "Let me see the wallet for a moment." David quickly rummaged through the wallet. While Hannah looked on, he found a gun permit, the usual panoply of credit cards, pictures of family, fifty dollars, and a telegram. He showed Hannah the tele- gram: "MAKE HIM EAT WORDS STOP DON'T KILL HIM STOP RUIN HIM STOP OUR HONOR AT STAKE STOP YOU WILL GET SEAT STOP EDWARD." She nodded, took the gun permit and tore it in two, then put everything else back into the wallet. After David had quickly put on his slacks, and Hannah her dress and blouse, David dragged Peter down the corridor to the shower room. Hannah walked in after David had put Peter into the shower stall and put his wallet and gun back into his breast pocket. Then they returned to the compartment. "Are you all right now? Did he hurt you?", David said. "I think I'll be all right in a little while. He had just tied me up when you came in. What time is it?" "About twelve-thirty - we should be in Buffalo within an hour." While Hannah took the torn gun permit with her into the lavatory, David exposed the film in the movie camera. He walked back between cars and threw the camera and film after the gun and clothes. When he returned to the compartment, Hannah told him to sit down on the lower berth. Then Hannah locked the door, moved to the chair across from the lower berth, opened the shades, and sat facing David, perched on the lower berth. "Hannah, I'm sorry . . . " "David, why?" "Because I didn't try to stop him. I just gave in to him . . . " Hannah moved to the edge of her chair. As she did, David's eyes were drawn to hers. He tried to move his head, but couldn't. "David, I saw you. I really saw you. You can only see what someone is like when they are under pressure, you know. And you couldn't have done anything else." Tears began to well from David's eyes, and he choked for a moment trying to answer her. He cleared his throat: "I would have raped you, on command, if he hadn't collapsed." Hannah started to giggle. "I saw you kick the camera tripod so that it would hit him in the head. . ." David tried to hold his tears back, but couldn't. "I didn't try to kick the tripod. I'm just a dumb klutz. . . " "NO!" Hannah sprang from her chair and sat beside David on the bed. She turned his head to face hers, holding it gently between her soft hands. "Listen to me, David Barrett. I won't have you putting yourself down. I will not have my husband act this way. I will not allow it." "Where? Who?" "You." Hannah grasped David's shoulders. "What? But how could you? You were coerced!" Hannah removed his glasses and stroked his face with her fingers, wiping away his tears. "No, David, I wasn't. I made that choice of my own free will." "But why did you say yes?" "Why did you ask?" "I don't know . . . " Hannah pulled David's face closer to hers, holding his face once more with her hands. Holding his eyes captive with hers, she said, "I made that choice be- cause I know what you were trying to do, even if you don't yet realize it. And, given what you did to me, what you did for me, I wouldn't change my mind about you - ever." David tried to shake his head, trying to clear his thoughts, trying to understand the import of what Hannah had just told him. But Hannah did not release him, as she continued, "In fact, I would rather give up my work for NOW than you." At that instant, it seemed to David that Hannah was peering past his eyes, trying to reach his soul. Or had she already found his most intimate place? What had she done there? "Are you really sure, Hannah?" "Well, I have to be. After all, Pretty to touch, nice to hold, if you break it, we mark it sold' - and let's face it, I'm pretty and nice. But that bloodstain on the bed will be a bit hard to explain . . . " David swivelled his head, and saw the bloodstain on the sheet. After a moment, he turned his face back to her. With the harvest moon behind her head, a glow seemed to emanate from within her. Through his tears, he looked at her for a long moment, bowed his head, and said, "You're an angel." Hannah chuckled. "I always have needed a private, personal secretary. And I can't think of a better personal secretary than someone who will share my bed, my life, and my work with me." David laughed. Hannah pulled David into her arms and held him tightly. Faces just inches apart, she said, "Ask me again." David wrapped his arms around Hannah, and replied, "Will you marry me?" For an answer, Hannah kissed David. After a moment, David reciprocated. "When do you introduce me to your parents, Hannah?" "You mean Judge Patrick O'Connor, and his wife Mary Daley O'Connor? Probably tomorrow, when we get to Chicago." "Cartier's first - we need to get you an engagement ring, and you can meet my mom at the same time." "I guess we don't need to ask anyone to clout for us to get a quick marriage license, do we?" "No, but your father might clout me on the head when he sees this sheet." By now, David and Hannah were giggling like brother and sister. Hannah said, "I don't think he'll hit you too hard - he needs someone to do both sets of his books." "Speaking of books, we'd better pick a wedding date, a place for the reception, and a good florist." "Don't forget the honeymoon - where would you like to go?" "I don't care, as long as I get to take off your wedding dress for you." "Not in church, I hope?" "No, Hannah. I want to make our first time together special for both of us, and only us." For a few moments, their eyes were silently locked together. Then Hannah broke the silence, "Were you always attracted to me, David? Did you always want to make love with me?" David paused. "Yes, Hannah, I was. I did. I still do." "Lie down, David." David complied. Hannah bent down, and removed his slacks. Then she bent down and removed her ankle bracelet. Gently grasping his right leg, she put the bracelet on his ankle. David sat up, and tried to lever himself out of the berth, but Hannah, still perched on the bed, shifted position so her face was once more inches from his. She rested her hands on his shoulders. "David, do you remember any love poetry from the Bible?" "I think I do." David's brow furrowed, then he relaxed. Sighing, he started, "I am my lover's . . .'" As she gently lowered him back onto the bed, her body following his so that her face all but touched his, she finished, ". . . And my lover is mine . . . * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It’s okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with strangers. But it isn’t okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with strangers!! You only have one body per lifetime, so take good care of it. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Kristen's collection - Directory 10