("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2010. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Four of a Kind by Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com) *** On a windy and rainy October weekend, on a nearly deserted campus, four university students find themselves and each other during a game of cards. (MF, rom, strip poker) *** Five cards stared up at me while the implications of their configuration suffused my being. Four queens, the heart suit carefully arranged on the left, followed by her sisters, each card a mirror image of the previous except for the suit. The last card, the ace of spades, broke the pattern, but served to complete the hand in mocking simplicity. I never played much poker, wasn't the gambling type, but I knew enough that this hand, the one I held between my trembling fingers, was rare. I had never seen a natural four of a kind, and I likely never would again. Some people spend their entire lives gambling and don't see a hand like this. I sighed. Somehow, we'd all become four of a kind on this lonely, rainy, dark holiday. <-=*=-> The day was dark and dismal, October rain clouds tumbling across the sky like dirty cotton, whipped by a frigid wind that chilled to the bone. I shivered and pushed the battered old suitcase into the trunk of the idling Ford. I slammed the cover and straightened, wrapping my arms about me, shaking as the wind tore through my light jacket. "Petie, my friend, sure you don't want to go home?" Bradley stepped around from the passenger side of the car. He wore a sensible parka, complete with fake fur lining the hood, and cowboy boots. "Don't call me Petie," I said glumly. Brad stopped beside me and cocked his head to the side. His normal wisecracking visage crumbled into a more serious, thin- lipped frown. "You need to tell her," he said seriously. I nodded my head. Yes, I needed to tell her. And if I weren't such a goddamn coward, I would have climbed into the Ford with Brad, travelled the four hours to Apsley, and talked to her like I should have months ago. "Bradley! We need to get going!" Bradley's mother leaned out the driver's window, her hair billowing in the wind, flashing us both an impatient look. Bradley turned towards her, and shrugged. She slipped back inside, furiously cranking back up the window. "I'll be there in a minute, Mom." Then he turned back to me. "There's still time, you don't even need to pack. Come back home. It's Thanksgiving." I bit at my lip, tempted, but then shook my head. Brad sighed and moved forward to embrace me. I stiffened for a moment, then gave in. I felt his palm smack my shoulder, then he straightened. "If you won't go see her, then you should at least call her." Brad shook his head in dismay. "It's Thanksgiving." "I know," I whispered. Brad nodded, as if he understood me. Without another word, he turned and rounded the car. I heard the passenger door slam, and with the spinning of tires on the pavement, the Ford pulled away. I stood and watched even as its headlights disappeared down the curve in the road, turning left at the stone gates of the University. As far as I knew, Brad had been the last of my few friends to leave the school, rushing towards feasts of turkey and parsnips set on long dining room tables, laughter and warmth surrounding them all. I turned and stared up at the empty dormitory, its harsh white cinder blocks reminding me more of a jail than living space for twenty students. I mentally corrected myself. It was entirely possible that for this Thanksgiving holiday, I was the only student left who was foolish enough not to escape this place. Holidays were the hardest -- school slowed down enough to give us time to think. The first drops of October rain spattered to the pavement, dotting its surface like a complicated jigsaw puzzle. After a few minutes, the moisture had trickled into my hair and down my neck. Shivering, I trudged up the path towards the dorm, watching my sneakers until I passed back into the relative warmth of where I now called home. <-=*=-> I stared out the window at the clouds tumbling over each other like cats chasing their tails. Streaks of water, like tears, trickled down the window, obscuring my vision. Trees bent and twisted in the wind, multi- coloured leaves whirling in mini-tornadoes across the manicured lawns and footpaths across the small campus. We'd kissed for the first time on a day like this: stormy, dreary, rain pattering against the basement windows. Karen and I had been friends as long as I could remember -- she had lived next door, and we had spent our childhood together. It had been an October day, around Thanksgiving, sitting around the television watching Gilligan's Island, or something else inane. <-=*=-> "Have you ever kissed a girl?" Karen asked quietly from her end of the sofa. I shook my head, watching the Skipper smack Gilligan with his hat for the zillionth time. Suddenly, she was close, her hands resting entwined against my shoulder. I turned to her, her face hovering only centimetres from mine. Without thought, without considering what it might do to our easy friendship, I kissed her. It was as simple as that, lips touching, her warm breath taking away the pattering of the rain outside. <-=*=-> Oh, I loved Karen in my own way, but something was missing. She wanted different things out of life -- a family, maybe a farm. I wanted to reach the stars. She was there, but we rarely talked any more -- the easy friendship dissolving in kisses and petting. A typical high-school romance. We sat together quietly, watching the sunset, fingers entwined in easy familiarity. It was the end of summer, not cool, not hot, autumn approaching. There were subtle tears filling her eyes, but none had spilled, yet. "Do you really have to go?" she asked. I nodded as the sun began to touch the horizon over the lake. Mist spiralled upwards from the water, shrouding the molten ball of orange. "You know I do, Karen." I wanted to tell her then. I've hated myself ever since. I loved her, but not in the way she wanted me to. And I couldn't tell her. I couldn't as she looked up at me, losing me to the big world outside of hers, trusting that I'd come back. Instead of telling her what I felt, I kissed her, telling her what she wanted to hear. "I love you, Peter," she said simply. I should have told her then. I should have. I should have. I should have. I swallowed, and said exactly what I shouldn't have. "I love you, too, Karen." I could still feel her lips as they brushed my cheek, her breasts as they pressed into me as she embraced me before I left her. "Come back soon," she had whispered as she stood by and watched as I climbed into the car, on my way to University and a new life, leaving her standing by herself on the curb. I didn't even look back as the car moved away from her and towards the beckoning unknown. I don't even know if she waved. <-=*=-> I stared out the window at the rain, the campus awash in what had begun to look like the great flood. The footpaths had become swollen rivers, the manicured grass sodden and empty. My heart ached in indecision. Sometimes, I still hated myself. <-=*=-> The dorm was unusually quiet. Only the quiet laugh track kept me company as I sat in front of the television. Gilligan's Island had transformed into more cerebral humour for me. M*A*S*H graced the magic box, where the antics of Hawkeye, Trapper and Hot Lips ignored the general dreariness outside the large windows behind me. Not many dorms these days were co-ed, but this white- washed cinder block structure housed twenty of us. Twelve girls, eight guys, all living together in controlled chaos. At this time of night, there usually would have been four fights for control of the only television, while four of the guys would be playing Euchre on the old battered card table in the corner. Sometimes, for money, mostly to pass the time. Sometimes, they would be playing Hearts, and occasionally, when they could find four people who knew how to play, Bridge. All in all, a happy community, if not the quietest in the world. Today, as most of them were travelling to distant homes where relatives and girlfriends and boyfriends waited to greet them, the dorm fell into an almost eerie silence around me. I glanced out the window during a commercial. The rain continued to pour over the world, cleansing it, and drowning it simultaneously. I sat at the end of the more comfortable sofa in the common room -- a luxury that was rare for me. The phone hanging on the wall stared accusingly at me. Brad's words haunted me: "Call her at least." I think sometimes I tell Brad too much. But I think he might have sensed it anyway. He was right, of course. I missed Karen terribly. I missed her laughter and her easy friendship, and I desperately wanted to call her. I should have called her. I wanted to love her. I couldn't. Life wasn't fair sometimes. I tore my eyes from the instrument, and returned to watching the antics of the 4077th. <-=*=-> A new episode of M*A*S*H began with the haunting theme music. Suicide is painless. Uh, huh. Somewhere down the hallway, towards the female section of the dorm, a door slammed, and I sensed, more than heard, a whisper of feminine giggling. Presently, the entrance opened to my right, and two girls entered. The brunette, Alison, was familiar -- tall and lanky, wearing blue jeans and a bright blouse. The girl beside her, Claire, was only a little shorter, laughing, with her blonde hair drawn back in a braid. There were rumours circulating around, as rumours normally do, that these two girls might be a little more than friends. They came from the same all-girl Academy directly to our little University. They seemed inseparable. Personally, I didn't believe the rumours, but even if they were true, I didn't care. If they were happy together, what else can one ask for? It would be far better than a fractured lie of a relationship that is more 'typical,' whatever that means. Rumours get started over the silliest things. Girls tend to be more affectionate than guys, that was all. "What's up?" Alison asked me. I smiled and motioned them to make themselves comfortable. "Watching re-runs, you want to watch something?" Truthfully, I was surprised that anyone else was still here, but I didn't mind if they wanted to watch another show. I wasn't stuck on the sitcom. I was barely watching it. Alison settled into the far sofa and Claire stretched out yawning onto the sofa nearest the phone, cradling her head on her hands. "M*A*S*H is good," Alison offered, settling in and turning her eyes to the screen. Claire sighed, and shrugged, doing the same. In the first commercial break, Claire pushed herself up and approached the phone. I closed my eyes and looked away, not even wanting to think about the damn instrument. She dialled and spoke quickly into the phone, her voice lost amongst the blaring commercials. I thumbed down the volume for her. After a moment, she covered the mouthpiece and turned towards us. "Cafeteria is closed for the weekend." Alison and I groaned together. Claire smiled. "What do you want on your pizza?" <-=*=-> We couldn't decide, so Claire ordered two, one with anchovy, the other without. Alison shrugged, willing to eat either. Turning away from the television, I glanced out into the downpour. While the sun wasn't visible through the cloud cover and the rain, its light became decidedly more distant as the invisible sunset approached. Twilight filtered through the clouds, turning the world outside grey and featureless. I squinted. A flash of pale colour moved near one of the footpaths. I wiped at the condensation on the window, ignoring the dampness coating my palm. I peered out. A girl moved through the downpour, her head down and unprotected in the rain. Taking each step carefully, her boots nearly disappeared in the wash of water flowing down the paths. She carried something in her arms, clutching it to her chest. I couldn't tell who it was or what she was carrying. "Who is that?" I asked, my finger pressed against the glass. In a moment, Alison was leaning on my shoulder, her clean feminine scent washing over me, her brunette hair tickling my cheek. She peered through the small cleared patch beyond the streaked rain. I shifted to give her more room. Alison blinked, and then bit her lower lip. "I think it's Carole," she murmured. "Silly girl out in the rain like this. She's crazy, you know." Alison straightened and wandered back to her perch. I continued to watch the girl struggle through the downpour, ignoring the television. Once, the girl nearly slipped and fell, and the crazy urge to laugh descended on me as I watched her retrieve whatever it was she was carrying from the water saturated ground and wipe it off with a bare hand. The urge to laugh fled as quickly as it had come, and I mentally chastised myself. Instead, the thought was replaced by a vision of myself, a knight in shining armour racing through the rain to help the girl up. I shook off the image, convinced that it would have been the knight, not her, who would have needed rescuing. I continued to watch her slow journey. Carole was a strange girl. She wasn't mean, or cruel -- only strange. She kept to herself, never joining the rest of us in the common areas. As far as I knew, she didn't really have any friends, nor did she seek to have any. She was a loner, happy and content to be by herself. From everything I heard and saw, the girl studied, and slept, and really didn't do much else. On the other hand, I'd also heard that she was a genius level intellect -- that she didn't even need to study to breeze through the courses she took. Thinking about it, I realised that I had no idea what she studied, nor what she majored in. Though I always tend to resist blind belief in rumours, the one concerning her intelligence I did believe, though why she attended this University was beyond me. If the rumours were true, she could have attended the best schools on the continent, or throughout Europe, if she chose. Even if she wasn't a genius, certainly she was far beyond my limited mental capacity. One only had to look at my borderline grades to understand that. A typical eccentric genius should wear librarian glasses and dress in baggy clothing. While Carole didn't fit the stereotype, she also didn't seem to place much emphasis on her appearance, almost deliberately toning down her tall, blonde stature. Some days she'd appear in jeans and sweatshirt that almost hugged her body, her blonde hair swept up into an easy ponytail as she breezed through on her way to class. Other days, she'd appear in baggy sweats with nothing tucked in, socks mismatched, her hair unbrushed across her features. I don't ever recall seeing makeup on her or nail polish on her fingers. A book of one sort or the other always clutched in her hands, she was always in a hurry, never stopping to talk, and on the rare occasions that someone cornered her, never talking about herself. Carole was a bit of an enigma, but she didn't bother anyone, and nobody bothered her. The dorm was like that. We accepted peculiarities, because underneath, we were all peculiar in our own ways. Yes, Carole was a strange girl, but despite Alison's announcement, probably not any more crazy than the rest of us. I watched as Carole purposely and carefully placed one booted foot in front of the other, like a robot, moving steadily, if slowly, splashing through the river of a footpath towards the warmth of our dorm. <-=*=-> Carole appeared, following a bluster of wind and dampness as the door opened and shut. She pressed the door closed and stood dripping near the entrance. I glanced up. Her eyes seemed a little vacant, her golden hair plastered in tangles to her head. Across her chest, she clutched a stack of library books that looked as if they had been dropped multiple times in the mud. She wore a light jacket, a windbreaker, that hadn't protected her from the rain, its surface stuck to her like a wet suit. Her pants mirrored the jacket, clinging to her like a second skin. For the first time, perhaps, I noticed that underneath her clothing stood a body that rivalled Alison's or Claire's. Of course, now, Carole more closely resembled a drowned rat, or a lost child, unable or unwilling to care for herself. She shivered uncontrollably as she stood in the entrance, her eyes slowly taking in our presence. Studiously, she bent and pulled off her boots. I was sure that water would come pouring out of them as if she'd stepped from a cartoon tempest. She straightened again, still shivering, her teeth now chattering. She didn't move from the entranceway, almost as if afraid of trailing water through the common room. I swallowed, not knowing quite what to say. What finally emerged sounded inane and stupid, even to me. "Shouldn't you be home for the weekend?" Instead of ignoring me, as I thought she would, Carole shrugged, her thin shoulders pushing her soaked clothing upwards. Unexpectedly, a melancholy look crossed her fair features, and she lowered her eyes to study her wet socks. A quiet voice dragged my stunned attention from Carole. "Jesus," Alison whispered. I watched as Alison pushed herself off the sofa and approached Carole. Gently, Alison extracted a few of the wet books from Carole's arms, and then took her elbow, guiding the girl towards her room. Numb, I watched them disappear into the gloom of the hallway. When I turned back, Claire shook her head and shrugged, turning back to the mindless sitcom on the television. <-=*=-> The petite girl delivering the pizza wore a sensible yellow slicker, and a baseball cap that proclaimed "Domino's" in tall red script. She stood under the overhang, huddling away from the downpour. Her car idled, spewing exhaust in a cloud that fought for supremacy with the rain. She looked damp, but far less so than Carole had. She held out the two covered boxes that looked far too small to be large pizzas. I grasped them and placed them inside out of the rain. "Crappy night," I said, fishing in my wallet for cash. "Not a night suited for man or beast," she replied with the hint of a smile. "Not even Dragons would be out in this." I shrugged, and passed her two twenties. I couldn't really afford it, but I told her to keep the change. I'd overtipped her, but as far as I was concerned, she deserved every penny. She smiled radiantly from beneath her cap, and then turned to disappear into the storm. I watched her go, a latent desire to be that knight emerging again for the anonymous delivery girl. The girl slipped into her car, and drove off, driving far faster than might be safe considering the weather. I sighed, picked up the pizzas and trudged into the common room, thankful for the warmth and the light there. <-=*=-> Claire helped set the steaming boxes on the card table, helping herself to a couple of slices and settling into the sofa, her attention back on Trapper and Henry Blake. Moments later, Carole and Alison reappeared, walking together into the common area. Alison made for the pizzas, while Carole stood awkwardly near the entrance. Carole looked more dry now, her skin almost scrubbed. She wore a pair of Levi's and a t-shirt, far more fetching than the clothes she normally wore. Her hair remained wet, plastered to her head, but the strands bore the easy streaks of a brush or comb, the tangles of the storm faded into straight, if limp, tresses kissing her shoulders. The shoulders of her shirt bore damp patches where her hair had transferred water. I motioned Carole over. Given her solitary nature, I had no idea if she even ate pizza, or if she was a militant vegan. "Have some pizza, Carole. The cafeteria is closed tonight, I understand." I gathered up some pizza and returned to my former seat in the comfortable sofa. After a few minutes of hesitation, Carole walked gingerly over to the food and extracted a single slice of the plainer, anchovy-free, pizza and then settled into the only free chair in the room. A commercial came on selling used cars. I muted the television and turned towards Alison. Between bites, I shrugged. "So, what's your story?" Alison swallowed daintily, and turned her brown eyes towards me. "Story?" "Why aren't you driving into civilisation?" "You want to know why I'm here on Thanksgiving?" I nodded. She sighed, and took another bite. After swallowing again, she nodded, pursing her lips. "Okay. I'll tell you." <-=*=-> "When my parents had me, I think that they were expecting a boy. Don't get me wrong," Alison murmured, "they loved me, and they still do, but I really don't think that they knew quite what to make of me. Instead of 'Mommy', I think my first words were 'Nanny'. I didn't really mind; I suppose I have an independent streak. Maybe it's because I had to develop that way. I don't know. Doesn't matter. "For high school, they sent me to Laurier Academy for Girls. I liked it there well enough, but what it really meant was that they didn't need to deal with me. Claire and I were roommates there." At this point, Alison flashed a smile at Claire, and I was reminded of the rumours surrounding the two girls. I shrugged, and continued to listen to her voice. "I don't think I remember a single time that the family ever got together for holidays. Either Mother and Father were traipsing over the globe, or Father had 'commitments.' Even before school, my Thanksgivings consisted of turkey, and if I was lucky, I got to eat in the kitchen with my Nanny and the maids. I didn't mind, it was as close to family, I suppose, as I got. "So I called them two weeks ago. Surprisingly, Mother was home and talked to me. I mentioned that I was thinking of coming home for Thanksgiving, and she agreed, saying that she was looking forward to it." Alison sighed, and for a moment, I thought I saw a tear forming, but then it was gone. "Two days ago, she called the school, told the Dean that she couldn't reach me but to extend her apologies. Father and her had to go to Hawaii for the holidays." She shrugged, but didn't really look at any of us. "C'est la vie, I suppose." <-=*=-> Claire cleared her throat, and perched on the sofa near Alison. The girls held hands, and again I was reminded of the rumours. Bullshit. I felt terrible for Alison, and I think if I were seated beside her, I would have held her hand, too. Alison composed herself and bit off another piece of pizza. "I didn't want to bring the party down," Alison said easily. "I'm used to it, but you did ask." She forced a smile to her face. Claire cleared her throat again, and tilted her head to the side. "I'm here because I didn't want Alison to be alone on Thanksgiving. When I'd heard that she was going home, I made plans to go home, too. Then Alison's plans fell through, and," she shrugged, "my family understood, even if Alison begged me to go." She shifted herself away from Alison, and leaned back into the sofa. She shifted her feet to lie easily across Alison's legs. "I thought that we'd be the only two in the dorm." Claire flashed me an easy smile. "We spilled. What's your story, Peter?" <-=*=-> I couldn't tell them about Karen, the real reason that I was sitting here listening to the rain with three girls I barely knew. So I settled for half-truths, none of them lies, exactly, but leaving out the single-most important reason that I didn't want to go home. I inhaled deeply, and began. "Did you ever have an uncle that drank a little too much and then talked too loud? At every single family gathering?" Claire shook her head with a small smile, answering the rhetorical question. "Yeah, I had to fight off his hands every single time. He was too drunk to be a real threat, but it kind of grossed me out." I laughed lightly, even while disgusted. Claire didn't seem to be overly upset about her offhand revelation, either. "Well, mine doesn't try to molest me, but he is obnoxious. He smokes, and he drinks, and he tells the most off colour jokes..." Claire interrupted. "Tell us some," she laughed. I turned to her. "You want to know why I'm here, or not?" Claire somehow managed to look abashed, and nodded. "Tell us the jokes later, then, you big baby." I shot her a look, and continued. "Anyway, it doesn't make for the greatest holidays, and Mom and Dad insist on inviting him. Not surprisingly, he's not married, and really doesn't have any other family." "You didn't go home because your uncle is a pain in the ass?" I sighed, realising that I was going to have to elaborate. I felt like I had been suddenly drawn into an escalating game of Truth or Dare. "Truthfully, no. That's only part of it." I put on a fake sheepish look. "I'm a little behind in my classes, and if I want to be here next semester, and keep my scholarship, I need to study this weekend." Claire laughed again. "So you watch M*A*S*H reruns. I like your studying technique." I shrugged. I'd get to studying eventually. <-=*=-> A small voice behind me and to the right saved me from further interrogation. I swivelled in my seat to face Carole. The girl sat in the single chair, her feet resting against the legs easily, her elbows on her knees. Her hands cradled a half-eaten slice of pizza. I could make out small teeth indents where she'd nibbled the tip. "There is no Thanksgiving for me," she whispered. Her voice filled the room, the light from the silent television flickering across her nose and lips. This one sentence was probably more than I'd ever heard her speak since the semester began. "Not any more." We all shifted quietly to regard her. She didn't look at us, but lowered her eyes to her own toes, or perhaps the floorboards underneath. "I used to love Thanksgiving -- the turkey, the hams, the laughter and the closeness. It was like Christmas, but without the presents. An early Christmas." She paused for a moment. I couldn't see her face, but I thought maybe that she would leave it there. I half expected Claire to prompt her, but perhaps Claire felt the same as I. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the rest, a heavy feeling suffused my stomach. Whatever hadn't been spoken by the quiet girl would be far worse than a noisy uncle, or neglectful parents. I shivered, even while the room was warm. Rain pattered against the window, marking time until she whispered again. "He'd drunk two bottles of rye, and twelve beers on a dare," she said. I had to strain to hear her words. "Then he climbed into his Cherokee, and drove ten kilometres without meeting another soul. Somewhere, on a dark side road, fate finally caught up to him. Maybe my parents' headlights were too bright, and confused him, maybe he simply lost control of the damn jeep, maybe he fell asleep at the wheel. I don't think I'll ever know..." her voice trailed off. The lump of lead expanded in my stomach, creeping into my chest. I wanted to tell her that she didn't have to continue. I could see her shoulders shaking, her body quivering, her hair trembling beside her downcast cheeks. Even so, I don't think tears fell, but I couldn't see her face. "So, you see," she finally whispered, "There is no Thanksgiving for me. Not anymore." Stunned, I could only watch as Carole wearily pushed herself to her feet, her socks whispering through the silence. She looked at me for a moment, her eyes shiny, but tears still unshed. Then she lowered her eyes and walked over to the nearly empty boxes. Carefully, she placed the remainder of her single slice back into the box and lowered the lid. I watched as the girl disappeared down the hallway, like a ghost into the night. <-=*=-> "Oh my God, should I go to her?" Alison whispered. Both Claire and I shook our heads slowly. I found my tongue before Claire did. "She's lived with it for a while. Let her be. She'll come back when she's ready." Alison nodded, though she kept glancing back at the hallway as if expecting Carole to stride back through. <-=*=-> I'd thumbed down the volume of the television in an effort not to disturb Carole, wherever she was, and whatever she was doing. Alison and Claire had curled up on the opposite sofa, but they seemed to be watching the mindless drivel as much as I was. I saw pictures flash by without meaning or thought. The only slice of pizza that remained was Carole's half eaten piece that lay lonely by itself in the box. We all looked up as Carole entered. Her hair still looked damp, but the strands no longer clung to her head like wet fur. Her eyes were a little red, but her stride seemed more steady and sure than it normally did. The obvious question died on my lips. Her face broadcast for anyone who cared to look that things weren't all right for her -- what was the point in asking stupid questions? But she seemed in control of herself, and that was more than I was expecting. Outside, the storm seemed to pick up intensity. A lightning bolt lit up the room like a camera flash. The lights and the television flickered, but didn't extinguish. She smiled and held up her right hand. Grasped between her fingers was a deck of cards, a diamond shaped red pattern gracing their backs. Carole swallowed twice, as if wondering if she should even be here. She seemed to come to a decision. "Anyone know how to play poker?" <-=*=-> We set up the battered old card table near the window. Claire wandered back to her room and returned with a silver can of pennies that jingled as she walked. I faced the window with Carole across from me, Alison to my left and Claire to my right. Claire counted out piles of pennies for each of us, until we each had a dollar or so in a stack in front of us. Gambling wasn't allowed on campus. Of course, for all we knew, we were the only souls stirring on campus. Even the dorm proctors had left for Thanksgiving. Didn't really matter. The pennies were really only symbolic. There wasn't real risk involved, and I thought that this was how the girls wanted to play. A quiet diversion, nothing else. Something to occupy our minds. Outside, the storm howled around the building, lightning occasionally crashing, the world reduced to a black sheet of water outside the windows. I thought I saw Alison shiver once as she glanced out beyond the glass. The first four hands played out uneventfully. Claire won two pots, Carole won one and I won the other. As Carole prepared to deal the fifth hand, a bright flash burned across my retinae, leaving multi-coloured bands where the girls should have been. Only a moment later, the building shook as if an earthquake had dislodged it from its foundations. Dimly, I heard Alison and Claire scream beside me, though Carole seemed to take the sudden crash in stride. The lights flickered once, then again, then finally plunged us into complete darkness. Alison laughed lightly, but shakily. "Guess it's bedtime." Then after a pause. "Claire!" After a few seconds, the emergency halogens washed away the complete darkness replacing it with dim pools of light along the two hallways that leaked into the common room. I squinted, but couldn't see the cards in my hand, though I could make out the silhouettes of the girls still seated at the table. Claire pushed herself up. "Be back in a minute," she said. We all watched as she disappeared down the hallway only to return a few moments later with candles in her right hand. She lit each in what seemed to be a blaze of light, dripping wax onto the table and setting each candle into the makeshift puddles and allowing them to harden. When she was done, a small flame burned at each corner shedding only enough light to read the cards. Candlelight flickered over the girls, and for a while, I simply watched them. We played two more hands. Unfortunately, poker without risk is like riding in a flat roller coaster -- there really isn't any point. For me, I was enjoying the company in the blackout, but I really wasn't surprised when Carole leaned back in her chair. For a moment, I thought I saw a glint of impish joviality there, something completely unexpected, especially given the revelations of earlier this evening. However, if the game had taken her mind off her grief, even for a while, I was glad to see the sparkle of life there, even if I didn't really know her all that well. Carole dropped her cards on the table and leaned in conspiratorially. "Do you want to make this game more interesting?" she whispered. <-=*=-> I had been expecting her to suggest using real money instead of the penny markers that we'd been betting carelessly up until this point. I stared at her, actually unsure that she'd uttered the words. This was Carole, the quiet, nerdy, super intelligent, weird girl. It was difficult to shake the image. I repeated her words incredulously. "Strip poker?" She nodded her head. "None of us can afford real money, right?" I certainly nodded at that. "Why not, then?" "Strip poker?" I said again. "You're kidding." Carole cast me a cock-eyed glance in the candlelight. "Are you afraid of something?" I swallowed. "Afraid? Of what?" She hesitated, gauging how far to push me. She shrugged. "Afraid of losing to three girls? Are you embarrassed about something?" She glanced meaningfully through the table to where my crotch would have been. I flushed. This was the same girl that we'd watched struggle through the rain carrying a stack of library books as if they were a lifeline? The same girl that barely said two words to anyone unless severely pressed? "You want to play strip poker." She nodded. "I don't think I'll lose." I glanced at Alison and Claire. They weren't any help. They merely smiled and shrugged. They were willing if I was. Carole spoke again, her voice animated. "We'll still play with the pennies. One article of clothing buys you a dollar's worth of chips. Ten cent bets, maximum. No cheating. Pants, socks, shirts are the only items that you can use -- oh, and underwear of course." Carole glanced at me and shrugged. "Girls get an extra piece of clothing if they are wearing bras, unless there are objections." She paused. It didn't seem fair, but being outnumbered, I didn't object. Carole leaned back in her chair. "Anyone can chicken out at any point. Fair enough? If you don't want us to see your... thing... you can bow out before you lose your shorts, Peter." I flushed. If anyone was going to bow out, assuming that I agreed to the game, it wouldn't be me. But it seemed fair enough, except for the bras counting as clothing. She clicked her tongue, staring up at the ceiling. "And if anyone loses all their clothing, we agree that the loser stays naked until morning." She lowered her head, staring at me. I didn't know why she was challenging me directly -- it seemed that the girls to either side of me might object more so than I. However, Alison and Claire remained silent, their lack of objection implying consent. I swallowed once. Poker without risk was like riding a flat roller coaster. I raised my eyes slowly and captured hers. I don't know why I agreed, but I did. "Okay," I murmured. <-=*=-> Because of the nature of the game, someone always remains clothed at the table. Sometimes two people, sometimes even three if the pots are shared equally, and the loser is literally losing her shirt. More often, one person is lucky, and rakes in the pots, and over time, the three others dwindle. I sat comfortably, four stacks of pennies rising in my pile. I tried not to stare, but it wasn't easy. The candlelight flickered easily off the girls' skin, giving them an ethereal beauty as they gazed at their cards. Not one had complained beyond the expected groans as Claire or Alison had to trade an item of clothing for chips. Alison's jeans and socks lay neatly folded near her bare feet. Claire's shirt, jeans, and socks lay crumpled on the ground. She wore a dark coloured bra that matched her panties. Claire seemed unfazed at her condition, unembarrassed and still betting as if she were still fully clothed. Carole sat across from me. A string of bad luck had claimed only her socks, one at a time. Her bare toes dug into the floor as she concentrated on her cards. I dealt the cards one at a time. No wild cards. No silly rules. Straight poker. We all tossed in the ante before lifting the cards. Claire groaned as she picked up the hand. Alison, still to my right, sighed. I'd been able to read Alison and Claire pretty much all night, calling their bluffs and understanding the difference between pairs and three of a kind merely by the set of their frowns. Carole had been much harder to read. As Carole picked up her cards, her eyes widened a touch, then settled back into her more normal poker face. Carole shifted her weight, peering at her hand, never raising her eyes to mine in an attempt to read deceit. Claire folded, a noise of disgust passing her lips. The cards fluttered to the table. Alison tossed ten pennies into the pot, looking apprehensively at Carole. Carole called, as did I. Alison drew three, Carole drew one, and I drew three. I swiftly sorted my hand, my eyes widening. The pair of twos I held were joined by another two, and a pair of jacks, both black. A full house, lately, had been very difficult to beat. Alison's face fell as she sorted her hand. Carole sat across from me, watching me impassively. "Carole?" I said. It was her turn to bet. Carole glanced at Alison, then at me, and licked her lips. "Want to make it even more interesting?" <-=*=-> "Hey, we had a betting limit," Alison cried and glared at Carole. Carole merely shrugged, staring at me. Butterflies flittered in my stomach. This seemed like a poor idea. If it was a bluff, it was a hell of a bluff. Resigned, Alison shook her head and dropped her cards on the table. "I'm out," she whispered, crossing her arms under her breasts. Carole stared at me, her eyes shiny in the candlelight. "I want to bet four dollars," she repeated. I heard Claire clear her throat gently to my right. "Carole..." she whispered. Carole carefully fanned her cards out on the table, face down, and leaned back into her chair. Her eyes unfocused, and she seemed to be peering into a realm that was beyond our ability to comprehend. I suddenly knew that I didn't want to hear what she was about to tell us. "I called my boyfriend last week," Carole murmured towards the ceiling. Alison's jaw fell, and I wanted to reach over and close it for her. But her reaction was exactly what I felt. Carole had a boyfriend? "I called him to wish him a happy Thanksgiving, even if I no longer celebrate it. It rang a long time. A really, really long time." She paused here, staring at the ceiling where rings of flickering light danced. "Beth picked it up." "Beth?" Claire whispered. "Beth. She's my best friend. Was my best friend." Carole paused again. "I thought I'd dialled the wrong number. She seemed out of breath as she said 'Hello', her voice husky and low. But I recognised her. 'Beth?' I said. I was about to ask her if I had dialled the wrong number." Carole closed her eyes here, her shoulders hitched once, but she didn't lose control. "She said she was sorry, so sorry, and then hung up. I stared at the phone for a long time, then hung it up as the dial tone changed. I didn't call him back." Carole fished in her jeans without looking down. Between her fingers emerged a worn scrap of paper that looked like it had been folded and unfolded many times. She passed it to Alison who held it as if it was made of crystal. "I know what this is," she whispered. "It arrived two days ago, in the mail," Carole whispered. Alison passed it unopened to Claire, who passed it to me. The paper was still warm from Carole's body heat. Slowly, I opened the paper. Within, a masculine hand had scrawled a quick note. In the flickering of the candles, I could make out most of it, though I didn't want to. Dear Carole. Three months. Beth. Sorry. Forgive me. There were more words than that: explanation, regrets. Didn't really matter. It was over for Carole, and had been for a while, even if she hadn't known it. I swallowed and refolded the letter along the worn lines. Wordlessly, I passed it to Alison who laid it atop Carole's cards. "He was sleeping with her for three months and didn't tell me." Then fiercely. "I had to call him and catch him." She paused for a moment. "He was having sex with her even while he was telling me that he didn't 'feel' like it with me. He didn't call me once since I moved up here." Carole swallowed hard. Apparently I wasn't the only one that had hidden reasons for avoiding home on the holidays. She lowered her eyes and watched me expectantly. "I want to bet four dollars," she whispered. <-=*=-> I glanced at Claire and then at Alison. Alison nodded almost imperceptibly, and I slowly turned back to Carole. Gently, I pushed four stacks of pennies into the pot where they stood like four skyscrapers between us. Carole nodded and quietly picked up her Dear Jane letter and returned it to her pocket. Then she slowly pushed her remaining pennies into the pile. The understanding was implicit. She still wore a t-shirt, her jeans and presumably a bra and panties underneath. Four more dollars in clothing. If she won, she raked in the pot and bought back her socks putting us pretty much on even footing again. If she lost... Carole picked up her cards again, squinting at them and swallowing heavily. When she looked back at me, her eyes glistened with unshed tears again. This time, she didn't run from the room. I had the uneasy feeling that Alison, Claire, and I were the only human beings on the planet to share in Carole's life. And suddenly, perhaps a premonition of what was to happen, I didn't want to be there. Carole slipped a forefinger into the neckline of her t- shirt, tugging gently before realising what she was doing. Her face remained impassive except for the shiny wetness coating her eyelids. "Call," I whispered. <-=*=-> "One," Carole said grimly, pushing her discard across the table past the skyscrapers. I closed my eyes. Dear God, she was drawing to an inside straight. I stared at my full house and shook my head. I drew nothing. There was nothing left to bet -- not for her -- so all Carole did was raise her eyes, still shiny, to regard me, watching for anything to give away my hand. It simply didn't matter any more. To her credit, Carole maintained her composure as Alison and Claire shifted uncomfortably watching her and then me alternating like they were watching a match at Wimbledon. There was no hint of discomfort or fear in Carole's voice. "Whatcha got?" she whispered. I swallowed heavily, and fanned out the full house in front of me. Jacks over twos. I watched as her face crumbled for a moment. I'll give her credit for acting. For a moment, I thought that she was going to fall apart in front of us. A bright flash of lightning lit up the room, and after a few seconds, a deep rumble rolled over us. Carole didn't flinch, but Alison and Claire did. "Better than me," Carole whispered staring at my hand. She dropped her cards face down in front of her. The cards lay in a neat fan. "Carole," I began, "you don't have to..." With a grim smile playing across her lips, Carole pushed herself to her already bare feet and stood. <-=*=-> Without any hint of embarrassment, Carole unhurriedly began to remove her clothes. Mesmerised, I watched her. In one fluid motion, she drew her t-shirt over her head, her hair falling in a loose cascade over her shoulder. Carefully, she smoothed the fabric and folded it, leaving it on her vacant chair. Her jeans slipped down her legs, and she stepped out of them, bending to shake them out and fold them to join with her top. She reached behind herself, and fumbled for a moment with the clasp to her bra. Alison and Claire shifted uncomfortably, watching Carole, a morbid fascination in the girl. Carole hesitated, drawing in her breath. To me, it didn't seem as much embarrassment as steeling herself for an arctic wind to kiss her chest. I almost missed it as she leaned forward and allowed the underwear to drop away from her breasts. I couldn't breathe. I glanced at Alison. The brunette sat nearly stunned in her chair, her mouth slightly open as she watched Carole. I returned my eyes to the nearly naked girl across from me. Carole inhaled audibly, then let her breath out as she pushed her panties to the floor. She left them there, only kicking them aside with her foot. Instead of covering herself with her hands, as I'd expected, she lowered her hands to brush at the sides of her bare thighs. She stood proudly, defiantly, her nudity exposing who she really was. She had nothing to be ashamed of. She broke the silence. "Four dollars," she whispered. "We're even." Carole reached forward and plucked one of the candles from the corner of the table. Its light played over her bare skin and hair, flickering, kissing, caressing. In its light, she looked like an angel -- innocent and ethereal. Then Carole straightened, though she didn't raise her eyes to capture any of ours. The silence stretched. I thought that she might sit again, even though she was out of the game, but instead, she glided forward, her bare feet silent against the floor. Only the pounding of the rain outside, and her soft breathing, filtered into my consciousness. I felt her touch before I realised what she wanted. I shook myself, expecting her touch to be cold and damp and sad. Instead, her fingers against my hand were warm and soft. Almost in a daze, I pushed myself up, her fingers guiding me. The candle flickered between us, her skin pale, my shirt feeling coarse against my chest. Her scent, feminine, reminding me vaguely of baby powder, rode above the gentle scent of candle wax. Two chairs clattered back. Carole ignored them, her eyes tracing my chest. I lifted my eyes past Carole's hair. Alison and Claire stood awkwardly behind Carole. Alison touched Carole's bare shoulder. "It's late," Alison whispered. "Thanks for the game." Carole turned and nodded once. Quickly, Alison bent and retrieved her few items of clothing, and Claire mimicked her. Together, they disappeared down the hallway, carrying their clothing. I heard a single door close quietly somewhere, and then silence returned, except for the rain and Carole's breathing. A tug to my fingers set my feet in motion. Numbly, I followed Carole into the dimness of the hallway. I glanced back once. Carole's clothing lay neatly about her chair, lonely. I turned away, hurrying to catch up with the small pool of flickering flame. <-=*=-> Her hands seemed remarkably small and delicate against my shoulders. She didn't push with any real force, but I willingly fell where she wanted me. Her bed was small, a standard single issue that we all had inherited upon moving into this place. I lay half on and half off the bed staring up at her as she stood in front of me, still no attempts at covering her nudity. "I can't dress 'til morning. Rules," she whispered. "Carole..." She shook her head slowly. "Peter. I don't want to be alone. Not with the storm. Not tonight. Please?" I swallowed heavily, staring up into her eyes. Her eyes radiated warmth, even while they reflected the flickering light of the candle as pools of molten liquid. I pushed myself up until I sat on the edge of the bed, my toes digging into the floorboards. Carole stepped back a single pace. I stared at her bare feet. For some reason, her feet, devoid of covering while the rain lashed her window, seemed to emphasise her strength and her vulnerability at the same time. "Carole... I have a girlfriend. Back home. Her name is Karen." I paused, and whispered the name again. "Karen." I thought she'd throw me out right then and there. I would have deserved it. Instead, Carole sighed softly and turned on her heel. For a second, I thought that she was going to pull open a drawer and extract some clothes. Instead, she simply lowered herself into a chair, still naked, and crossed her arms under her breasts as if she were cold. She watched me for a moment as I fidgeted. When she finally spoke, her voice wasn't much above a whisper. "I had a boyfriend back home, too," she whispered. Her eyes lowered to watch her bare legs. When she raised her eyes again to mine, she refused to let me go. "Do you love her?" she asked. Such a simple and damning question. Did I love Karen? I swallowed, knowing the answer to that. Brad knew the answer, and even, I suspect, Karen herself knew the answer. I couldn't tear my eyes from Carole's. I should have been drinking in her body, losing myself in her curved breasts, her toned legs, her flat belly. Her eyes held mine, adamant and searching. I couldn't speak. Slowly, I shook my head. I was no better than the heartless slob that had broken this girl's heart. Lower than snails. Lower than dirt. I didn't love Karen, at least not as she wanted. Carole finally lowered her eyes, and relieved, I let my eyes drop. I didn't ogle her. I stared at a single board in the floor near her left toes, the oak shimmering in the faint light of the candle that still graced her fingers. "Peter," Carole whispered. "You aren't a coward. You have to tell her." I knew. God, how I knew. The spot on the floor I was staring at disappeared as her body slipped through it. Tears filled her eyes as she fell to her bare knees onto the floor and shuffled across the room. For a few moments, she knelt near her bedstand, the flame of the candle flickering crazily across the walls and her bed. Then it stabilised, and she turned. Silent tears dripped down her cheeks, and she made no attempt to brush them away. Slowly, she moved on her knees until she knelt between my thighs, her hands warm through the denim. She rose up, her skin close and soft, her bare breasts touching my shirt. She kissed me, her mouth warm, inviting, and soft. Without thought, my arms encircled her, and she stiffened for only a moment as my fingertips brushed the softness of her back. Her tongue flicked across my lips. I ached. All over. I ached for her. She broke the kiss, and an emptiness filled me. "I don't want to be alone tonight," she whispered. Outside, the tempest raged on, pattering drops of water against the glass of her window. Thunder rolled across us, and lightning pushed its way through the closed blinds to light up the room like camera flashes, temporarily overpowering the single candle. I closed my eyes, the flickering of the candle still visible, even while her image faded. My hands slipped across her back, light as a feather, brushing her sides, and finding her breasts. Carole gasped once, and then pressed herself against me, her lips hungry and insistent. <-=*=-> She paused, hovering over me, her naked body reflecting in the light of a single flame. Her fingers held me upright, throbbing between her legs, ready to impale herself upon me. She swallowed, breathing heavily. Tears still ran unchecked down her cheeks, but it seemed right somehow -- to try to comfort her unthinkable. She cried unabashedly, even while she made love to me, somehow as cleansing for her as the act itself. She raised her eyes to the ceiling, and gently lowered herself onto me, engulfing me -- warm, moist, and full - - in a single motion of her body. For a while, I enjoyed her slow rocking, one body where there had been two before. I watched her beauty as she slowly moved above me, gently, but insistently, stilling my own movements with guiding touches. I didn't mind, and let her find her own path. Gently, I reached up to her, fingertips tracing her nipples, her breasts, her belly, her thighs, her knees, as she moved achingly slow. Up. Down. Rock. Up. Down. Rock. She sighed as my fingers found her clitoris. I could feel her motion, her rhythm, unlike any woman I've ever been with. Tears coursed down her cheeks like ancient rivers. With my fingers guiding her, she increased her rhythm. As unstoppable as a hurricane, I felt her tremble; my fingers stroked her skin, her clitoris, her being. Thunder crashed around us, the building trembling in the storm's fury. Her lips parted, and she cried out softly -- not a scream, but nearly a sigh, encapsulating freedom, pleasure, and release mixed together in harmony. Her muscles contracted around me, and my own eyes closed to the image of her climax as orgasm rushed over me, a stab of lightning followed by thunder, my voice mingling with her sigh. <-=*=-> A bright ray of light woke me. Disoriented, I refused to open my eyes, listening for the sounds of last night's storm, or the familiar ticking of my ancient alarm clock. Neither were present, but I became aware of an unfamiliar softness pressed against my left side. I opened my eyes. Sunlight streamed through the crack in Carole's blinds, striking my face in a painful glare. I blinked. She lay naked beside me, her head cradled in the crook of my arm, her golden hair fanned out across my chest, the softness of her breasts pressing into my ribs. One delicate hand lay across me, the fingers encircling my nipple. I blinked again, gently lifting her arm and slipping out from under her. She snuffled, and turned over, presenting the curve of her bare back to me, the curls of her spine meeting her bottom somewhere under the sheets. Silently, I rose and gathered my clothes from the floor where Carole had tossed them last night. The candle had transformed into a useless pool of wax with a blackened tip of wick emerging. The puddle of wax stood on her bedstand, presumably flickering out sometime in the deepest night. I pulled my boxers over my legs, and leaned down, hopping quietly to slip my jeans over my feet. "Whatcha doing?" Her voice whispered dreamily from the bed. I nearly fell as I turned, my jeans half up my thighs. She'd turned back over, curled up, her hands under her cheek. The bright sunlight slashed across her cheek, but she'd positioned herself so that the beam didn't intersect her eyes that remained closed. Her bare breasts peeked out between her arms, the sheet covering her only to her waist. Her body rose and fell as she breathed there. "Dressing," I said simply. My voice sounded hollow and empty echoing through her small room. "I can't," she said. For a moment, her words puzzled me, then the 'rules' flooded back into my memory. "It's morning," I said. "You're allowed." She smiled without opening her eyes. I wanted to see her eyes. "I don't want to," she whispered. "And my clothes are out in the common room." "Surely..." She shook her head sleepily. Truthfully, I didn't want her to dress anyway. I pulled my shirt over my head, settling it around my waist. I knelt beside the bed. Memories of her moving forward on her knees, naked, and kissing me made my chest ache. Gently, I leaned over and kissed her forehead. She murmured something that I couldn't make out. "I have a phone call to make," I whispered. Carole still didn't open her eyes. She only nodded. <-=*=-> Alison sat easily in the corner of the sofa, a red terry bathrobe engulfing her. Her hair lay in tangled layers about her face, but she looked awake and happy. As I entered the common room, she glanced up from the campus newspaper and flashed me a smile. "Good morning," she said. "Or should I say afternoon?" If she was surprised that I'd emerged from the direction of the female wing, she didn't allow it to touch her face. Sunlight streamed in through the window to cover her like a blanket. She reminded me of a cat stretched out in a favourite sunbeam. "If you're looking for the showers, Claire has a monopoly on them. Even kicked me out. She'll probably be done soon." She grinned evilly. "I'm next, though." If I didn't know better, I would have said that Alison had that just-laid look about her -- something about the set of her body. She glowed somehow. I probably did, too, but it's different with guys. But if she had been laid... who? Again, I wondered about the rumour, dismissing it for the zillionth time. I probably just had sex on the brain. "I-I... have to make a phone call," I said dumbly. Alison nodded, as if she knew what I was talking about, and waved towards the phone sitting like a beacon on the far wall. Alison returned to the newspaper as I determinedly stepped across the room and lifted the receiver from its cradle. The dial tone greeted me with a muted buzz. Trying not to think about it, I pressed the buttons in a pattern with which I was far too familiar. <-=*=-> Karen's voice issued tinny and far away from the earpiece. She sounded happy. "Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?" I swallowed and gripped the handset. "Karen?" I whispered into the phone. "Peter? Is that you?" I paused again. Alison glanced up from her paper, and pushed herself up. Her bare feet whispered across the floor, and she bent as she approached where I was sitting. The terrycloth about her shoulders looked warm and soft. Alison bent and kissed my forehead. "You're doing the right thing," she whispered in my ear. Her breath was as warm and sexy as Carole's had been. I had no idea how Alison might know who Karen was, even if she'd overheard my only contribution to the strange conversation. With that, Alison straightened and stepped soundlessly towards the hallway. Dimly, I heard a shower cease somewhere down the hallway. I stared as Alison dropped the robe near the common room entrance where it pooled near her feet like a fiery puddle. I watched her naked back as Alison walked out of sight around the corner, calling out to Claire as she moved. "Peter?" I shook my head, tearing my eyes away from where Alison had disappeared. "Peter? Are you still there? Peter?" I gathered in my breath, and closed my eyes. "Karen? We need to talk," I whispered. "I know, Peter. I know." <-=*=-> I sat alone where Alison had been, her newspaper crumpled beside me. The sun streamed in to fall across my rumpled jeans. The storm had left the world looking clean and refreshed. A light breeze stirred a few coloured leaves across the green lawn below. In my memory, I could see Carole fighting through the downpour -- the strange, blonde girl who until last night none of us had known at all. I wasn't sure that I knew her either, even now. For a long time, I stared out into the sunshine. <-=*=-> The fan of cards lay like a talisman, beckoning me, calling me. I pushed myself up off the sofa and approached the card table. The three remaining candles had burned themselves into the same puddle as the one that stood on Carole's nightstand. Probably a fire hazard, but we were all still alive. The proctor would have had a fit. Carole's clothes lay innocently across her chair, except for her black panties and socks that stood sentinel near the base of where she'd sat. I glanced at the entrance where Alison had disappeared. No naked girl greeted me -- neither Alison nor Claire nor Carole. Gently, I picked up Carole's shirt, bringing it to my face. I inhaled deeply. Oh, it smelled exactly like her. Feminine. Soft. Strong. Vulnerable. Sweet. Musky. And a hint of woodsmoke. Sheepishly, I lay it back on the chair, smoothing the fabric. My eyes turned to the last hand that we'd played. The hand that had lost Carole her clothes, and gained her something that I wasn't sure that I'd ever fully understand. Five cards lying innocently in a fan, placed there by her fingers. <-=*=-> I picked up the cards, even while my mind screamed at me to let them lie where she'd put them. Somehow, I knew, even as my eyes widened. Five cards stared up at me while the implications of their configuration suffused my being. The queen of hearts, fully visible, smiled at me, followed in turn by her three sisters. The ace of spades sat lonely on the end, mocking me with its uncomplicated simplicity. Four of a kind. We were four of a kind here, alone but not, this Thanksgiving. I replayed the last hand in my mind. Carole only ever drawing one card -- to an inside straight that wasn't. There wasn't a mistake here. I stared at the five cards for a long time. A natural four of a kind. Impossible. And she'd tossed it on the table as if it were a bluff hand, high to the king. Maybe. I blinked once, my mind wandering from Carole, to Karen, to Claire, to Alison, and back to Carole. Then I gently returned the cards to the table, carefully fanning them as she'd dropped them. <-=*=-> I didn't know if she'd want them, or whether she'd even want them delivered by me. Without real thought, I gathered her jeans, her t-shirt, her socks, her panties and her brassiere into my arms. Her scent suffused me, rising from her clothing like perfume. I turned at the door, staring at the five cards that held a secret lying innocently upon the card table. I shook my head, returned to the table and picked up the top card. I placed it face down upon the stack of her clothes, smiling. Then I returned to the hallway, and headed back towards her room. END Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com) /~Crimson_Dragon * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world contract HIV every year. You only have one body per lifetime, so take good care of it! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Kristen's collection - Directory 68