444 lines
19 KiB
Groff
444 lines
19 KiB
Groff
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| *** DISCLAIMER *** |
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| This is a story of pure fiction. Any resemblance to persons |
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| living or dead, incidents real or imagined, places real or |
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| imagined, is purely coincidental. |
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| IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, DO NOT READ FURTHER. |
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| No part of this story may be reproduced on any media of any |
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| kind without the written permission of the author. |
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- 2 -
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The year-old bus schedule flapped in the breeze that raced in my
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window and out the passenger side. If I was a little younger I
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wouldn't have to hold the paper so close. If I used a pen that had
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some ink in it... Well, you get the idea. I felt like a nursing home
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candidate as I tried to drive and read the street address I had
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earlier engraved along the border of that big sheet of paper.
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I had lived in this town for years but I'd never been in this
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section. It was impossible to tell what kind of people lived here.
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They weren't rich. Not poor. Just... nothing. It was the kind of
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neighborhood they photograph and put on campaign photos, behind the
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candidate. No one would ever associate this place with any group of
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anyone, ever.
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'3414 West Hemlock Court.' What the heck is a court? My watch
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beeped. Four o'clock and it's getting dark already. God, I hate
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Winter. Was I supposed to do something at four? My heart raced.
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Another look at the address. I'm on Hemlock. There's '3410.'
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There's '3420.' What'd they do with '3414?' Ha! I should have
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guessed. A joke at my expense. Very expensive. Damn, I'm stupid.
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Why did they go to all that trouble? Her uncle, right, her uncle.
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He's probably laughing his head off right now. God, it's so easy to
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get drawn in. I've got no control when I see a pair of young legs.
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I'm like a crab on its back. I just keep smiling while somebody
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slices off my head. How do I get out of here? I need a cold shower
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or something.
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Ahead of me, brown leaves, now dry from the run of pleasant
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weather, blew into the air. A woman was getting out of her car with a
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bag of groceries. Maybe she can get me out of this nightmare.
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I stopped next to her and cleared my throat, "Pardon me."
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She jumped a mile and a box of something tumbled onto the road.
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She retrieved the box. She looked angry. What did I say?
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"Excuse me, but I seem to be lost. How do I get back to Mellman
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Road?"
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"You scared me to death."
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"I'm sorry. Really. Mellman Road. Do you know how to get to it
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from here?"
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"Mellman, Mellman, let's see. Ah. Turn right at the next corner
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and go four blocks to Hemlock and..."
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"Hold it. I thought this was Hemlock."
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"It is." Then she started pointing all over the place. "And
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there. And over there. Pretty funny, huh?"
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"Funny."
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"This is Hemlock Place. Over there, let's see, over there is West
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Hemlock Court and... I thought you wanted Mellman."
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"Mellman. Right. Ummm, do you know where East Hemlock Court is?"
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"Sure. It's... It's..."
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This was turning into a nightmare. It was nearly dark and the
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thought of constantly running through the intersections of Hemlock and
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Hemlock was almost too much to endure.
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"East. East Hemlock."
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"East. Yes. It's...," as she aimed herself like a compass.
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"It's there. That way. I'm almost... eighty percent certain."
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"Eighty"
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"Pretty sure."
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I thanked her and edged the car away. In the mirror I could see
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more stuff as it fell out of her bag. This was not a reliable
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resource, I decided. However, the promise of unpromised things
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propelled me on. What was that address? Ah, yes, 3414 West... Damn,
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I asked her about East. I said East. I can't believe it. I'm
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screwed. And I did it to myself. I blew it.
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As I drove back toward my apartment, I took turns blowing on each
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of the palms of my hands. They both had turned to fingery globs of
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sweat and were actually slipping on the steering wheel. My heart was
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beating slow and hard now, a reminder of today's stupidity. Maybe it
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was all a dream. If you live alone long enough your brain probably
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conjures up all kinds of imaginary happenings.
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-+-
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Last night I struggled through bits and pieces of sleep. I had
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all sorts of fanciful dreams that didn't make any sense. So at 5:30 I
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got up and made myself a strong espresso. I never get up this early.
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I'm not working. I don't have to get up. I'm not a deadbeat, just
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semi-retired. Then it struck me. The map! I raced into the den and
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rummaged through the large cabinet built into the wall. I was like a
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madman. Where is it? The thing that I always thought was a totally
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useless gift from... from... I can't remember.
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Found it! The hyper-detailed charts of this tiny county, detailed
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down to the last square millimeter. Finally, a reason to have lugged
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this yellow-pages-of-the-roadways from place to place. Now, where is
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it? I flipped and flipped. Okay, the index. I'm a Renaissance Man.
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I can use the index without losing my manhood. Ah, here it is. Here
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they are. All of them. Geeesh! Half a page of 'Hemlocks.' East...
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no, West Hemlock. Got it! Page 622. Turn, turn, flip, flip. 622.
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Hemlock, Hemlock, Hem... Bingo! Now, 34-something. I looked all
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around for the bus schedule. Nowhere! Wait. The car!
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-+-
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This made more sense now, as I skillfully maneuvered my car from
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East Hemlock, onto Hemlock Way, and then down West, yes West Hemlock
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Court. Finally. But now, directly ahead of me, a traditional yellow
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school bus turned into the street. It stopped halfway down the block.
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The flashing red lights came on so I stopped too.
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There she was. Zoe floated to the ground from the last step. In
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one smooth motion she turned and waved to the driver. As she turned,
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her skirt flared out, revealing those long, thin legs that have now
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driven me to madness. As the bus drove off, a kid yelled some sort of
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inane farewell out the window. And now we were alone. Zoe and me.
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Five hundred feet apart. My heart raced again as I watched her walk
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with no particular hurry toward the front door of this tiny house.
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I took a breath to appease my lungs just as a loud horn honked
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behind me. I was still stopped in the middle of the street. I waved
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at the macho pretzel-head who flipped me the finger as he burned
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rubber to get around me. I can't imagine anyone like that needing to
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be any place important. Even Zoe turned to watch the jerk speed past.
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I pulled off into an empty spot. Three o'clock and the shadows
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were already long. I looked up, but she had gone. My palms were
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wet again. I locked up the car and walked down the sidewalk. I
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stopped and stood on the spot where Zoe had landed. I inhaled slowly,
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hoping to breathe her in, but the breeze was too strong. Or it was
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wishful thinking. I don't know. I was running on automatic now as I
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turned and traced her steps toward the little house. There were no
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footprints, but I knew where each shoe had touched.
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I mounted the porch and examined the door. There were no signs of
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life anywhere. My hand trembled as I pressed the doorbell. Silence.
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Should I press it again? Maybe it rang somewhere deep inside the
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place. Okay, one more time. Silence again. I looked around. The
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street and the yards were deserted. I mustered my courage and
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knocked. Nothing. I backed up a bit and checked the address.
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'3414.' I was in the right place. Unless this really was a joke.
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A click, and the inside door began to open very slowly. Oh, God.
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It was her. Right in front of me. I could feel my knees giving way.
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She was sucking on half of a popsicle. It was 40 degrees out and she
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was sucking on a popsicle. She turned, still holding on to the
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doorknob. "Uncle Steve! Someone's at the door!"
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She turned back and looked up at me through hooded eyelids. I was
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transfixed as I watched her move the popsicle in and out over her
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cherry red lips. I suppose they were that red from the cold. Maybe.
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But now footsteps approached from way behind her. It was dark
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inside and I couldn't make out anything. Then he was there. The man
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I had met in the mall. The one with the photograph. Zoe's uncle.
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Whatever his name was. Steven, I guess. Zoe backed away as Steven
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reached the door. "Yes," he said.
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"I don't know if..."
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"Yes, yes. The fellow from the mall. Yesterday. You didn't come
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over. We were expecting you."
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We. He said 'we.' "I had trouble finding Hemlock. I hadn't
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realized there were so many of them here."
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"Steven. Steven Swift. Come in. Please." And Zoe vanished as
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Steven ushered me in. "Every time we get a new mailman, mail gets
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lost for a month before the new one figures everything out."
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"I wasn't sure you..."
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"I'm glad you made it."
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Now it's 'I.' I liked the 'we' better. Much better. Steven
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showed me to the living room. There was a small fire crackling and
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the room was a bit smoky.
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Steven watched me sniff the air. "There's not enough of a breeze
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blowing to get the air moving. I just lit it a few minutes ago.
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It'll clear out soon."
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Only a moment passed, then Steven returned, pushing Zoe ahead of
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him like a snowplow. "This... is Zoe Spencer. Zoe, this is... I
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don't think you ever told me your name."
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"Alan. Alan Hydecker. Just Alan would be fine. Alan."
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"Zoe, this is just Alan." And we all laughed. But then Zoe held
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out her hand to me. Like a slow motion ballet, I reached out and
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held it. Her hand was like liquid velvet. I felt like kissing it,
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but thought better and just shook it. She took back that small warm
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hand and proceeded to rub her palm on her cheek, allowing it to graze
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over her still red lips. Now she moved it down her thin neck, over
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her shoulder, and across the front of her dress. Her palm pressed
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against the little mounds that hinted of her tiny breasts under the
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fabric. Then she moved her hand still further down to her hip and
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across to where her crotch was under the dress. She pressed her
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finger tips lightly against the dress there. Now her hand took
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flight from her own body and landed on her uncle's arm. How long did
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that take? Hours? Days? No, probably three or four seconds. I was
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not conscious of staring at her until I saw Steven looking at me. A
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slight smile crossed his lips. Caught again. Damn!
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The front door slammed open and a young boy dressed in a soccer
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uniform and covered with dirt stormed in. I supposed that this must
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be Peter.
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"Fucking jerks!"
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"Peter!" exclaimed his dad. "You don't talk like that here."
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"Well, they are."
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"Not like that. You hear me?"
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"Yes."
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"Do you?"
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"I said yes, didn't I?"
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"All right, then. Alan, this is my son, Peter. Peter, Alan." And
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Peter smiled at me for a thousandth of a second, then walked over to
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Zoe. He stood behind her and pulled her arms behind her back.
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"Ow!" And Zoe tried to wriggle free. I wanted to jump up and
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smack him but I held myself back. Why was he so crude? "Not now,"
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she said, still trying to break free.
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"Why not? You said you like it when I'm hot and sweaty."
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"Well today you smell"
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"I got into a fight."
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"Peter!" cried his dad.
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"Corey tripped me for no good reason. After the game I got him
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behind the fence. I got him around the neck and hit him twice in the
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mouth. He fell and I kicked him but good.
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Steven was clearly upset. "I can't believe you did that."
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"Yeah, well he had it comin'." Now he finally let go of Zoe. She
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ran to Steve. "C'mon, Zoe."
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But Zoe shook her head. "Take a shower first," she said.
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"Then... maybe."
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"Fucking prima donna."
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"Peter!" said Steven.
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"Okay, okay. A shower." He turned toward Zoe. "Then you better
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be ready."
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Peter stormed off to his room. Steven shook his head as he
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watched his son depart. "He isn't always like this. Only when his
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team loses."
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"Uncle Steven, his team hasn't won yet."
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"Yes. Well... Hmmm. Alan, want some coffee?"
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I said I did, so Steven went into the kitchen to make the coffee.
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Zoe waltzed around the room, allowing her slender fingers to graze
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over every object in there. I sat at one end of the sofa in front of
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the fireplace but kept an eye on Zoe. She orbited the sofa and, as
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she did, she periodically checked to see if I was watching. Seemingly
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satisfied, she slid lightly onto the opposite end of the sofa. She
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was dressed nearly the same as when I saw her at the mall the previous
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day. A different dress. It looked like wool or something heavy like
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that.
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She crossed her legs and pulled the hem of her dress up and over
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her knee. She stroked her crossed leg up and down. She massaged it.
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I was staring again and, again, I was caught. She paused in her
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caressing and that pause caused me to look at her face. And, yes, she
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was looking right at me. She looked away from me and back to her leg
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matter-of-factly. She caressed her leg again.
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"My mother says I have hot blood."
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"Does she," I gagged.
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"I spose when I have a fever it gets hotter. I don't have a fever
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now. Do you?"
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"Me? No, I don't think so."
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"Momma feels my forehead if she thinks I have a fever."
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"A lot of mothers..."
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"She had a boyfriend once. He was going to be my new daddy. He
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thought I was sick all the time. He didn't feel my forehead. He said
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there was a better way."
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"Better?"
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"He said his finger was like a temperature thing."
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"Thermometer?"
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"Yeah, that. He used to take my temperature all the time. I
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didn't feel all that sick. He said sometimes you don't feel sick when
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you're sick. It didn't make any sense. I wonder if he was a doctor.
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Do you think?"
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"Maybe." I couldn't lie to her. Not ever. "No. I don't think he
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was. A doctor, that is. Not a doctor"
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"Anyways, one day Momma said he wasn't going to be my new daddy
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anymore. So that was that."
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And with that comment, Zoe slid into the middle of the sofa. She
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pulled her legs up and swung around so she was facing me. She threw
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her arms over her head and plopped backwards onto the cushions. She
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thrust her legs straight out in my direction so that the heels of her
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black, laced shoes came to rest on my leg.
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"Five minutes and we have coffee," came Peter's warning from the
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kitchen.
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Zoe turned to look over her shoulder and stretched out and, as she
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did, her dress rode up so that it was now halfway between her waist
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and her knees and all bunched up. She turned back then slid along the
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cushion toward me. Her knees bent and her dress slid up to her
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crotch.
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"Whoops," she said as she straightened her legs and stretched them
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across my lap.
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My cock had already begun to strain against my pants, but she
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couldn't possibly know that. Suddenly, I had no place to put my
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hands.
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"They're hot now," she said as she propped herself up on her
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elbows. "They are."
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"What are?"
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"My legs. They're hot now. Wanna feel?"
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So I almost lost it right there. I had come this far, knowing that
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this was exactly what I wanted to happen. My hands trembled. I
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looked toward the kitchen. Zoe was smart.
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"He said five minutes. 'member?" She reached out and took one of
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my hands. "They're big. Bigger than Peter's."
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Now she placed my hand around her ankle. The touch of that young
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skin shot through me like lightning. Slightly cool. Slightly sticky.
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"It's cold there," she whispered. She pulled my hand slowly up her
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leg. "Warmer, huh?"
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And, indeed, it was. She let go of my hand just below her knee.
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My hand was on its own now. She smiled at me and nodded her head.
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"Go ahead," she whispered. She turned to look over her shoulder.
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"Go ahead. I'll watch."
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Zoe was asking me to feel her. A 10-year-old girl wanted me to
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touch her. She knew exactly what she wanted. So I melted into the
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luxury of those soft, shiny, tanned legs. I moved my hand up over her
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knee and down toward the bunched-up dress. Then back again. Zoe
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parted her legs slightly. I slid my hand under her leg and squeezed
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her long thin calf muscle. It was incredibly supple. Her legs were
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so thin. I slid my hand around and luxuruated in the smooth shiny
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skin pulled tight over the bone. Now up to her knee again. Zoe
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straightened her leg and pointed her toe. My hand explored the back
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of her knee, warm and sticky from being bent.
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"Go ahead. Do it."
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My hand slid up over her knee again and onto her exquisitely warm
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inner thigh. She parted her legs a little more. As she did, the
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fragrance of her warm little body streamed toward me. My heart was
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pounding in my ears like a pile driver on hard concrete. Zoe moaned
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slightly and her lips parted, the same lips that only a short while
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ago were caressing that half-popsicle.
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My fingers pressed on her velvet skin ever so slightly and with
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each pass across her thigh, the tips of my fingers slid closer and
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closer to the hem of her dress.
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But Zoe wasn't paying attention to the kitchen, she was watching
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me. She followed my hand with her eyes and when I felt something that
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made her feel particularly good, or in a way that she liked, she would
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let her eyelids close slightly. It was her signal to me, perhaps
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even unconscious, and we both understood.
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It was then that, for no particular reason, I slid my fingers
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beneath the hem of her dress and toward her panties, yet unseen.
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Without a word or a sudden motion, Zoe carefully placed her hand on
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her dress so that it covered mine. She exerted a slight pressure and
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stared at me with that serious knowing look of hers. Not now.
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Message understood.
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"Here we go. The best coffee in town. Maybe the neighborhood.
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Anyway, it's good coffee. Ready?"
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My hand fled from Zoe's thigh like a lizard's tongue that had just
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snared a grasshopper.
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"Steven paused and looked at Zoe, her legs parted across my lap,
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and said, "Good, you're getting acquainted?"
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* * *
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------------------------- (End of Chapter 2) -------------------------
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------------ (Comments, pro or con, are always welcome) --------------
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