textfiles/sex/EROTICA/B/breeze.2

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|                    *** DISCLAIMER ***                         |
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| This is a story of pure fiction.  Any resemblance to persons  |
| living or dead, incidents real or imagined, places real or    |
| 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   |
| kind without the written permission of the author.            |
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                             - 2 -


   The year-old bus schedule flapped in the breeze that raced in my
window and out the passenger side.  If I was a little younger I
wouldn't have to hold the paper so close.  If I used a pen that had
some ink in it...  Well, you get the idea.  I felt like a nursing home
candidate as I tried to drive and read the street address I had
earlier engraved along the border of that big sheet of paper.

   I had lived in this town for years but I'd never been in this
section.  It was impossible to tell what kind of people lived here.
They weren't rich.  Not poor.  Just... nothing.  It was the kind of
neighborhood they photograph and put on campaign photos, behind the
candidate.  No one would ever associate this place with any group of
anyone, ever.

   '3414 West Hemlock Court.'  What the heck is a court?  My watch
beeped.  Four o'clock and it's getting dark already.  God, I hate
Winter.  Was I supposed to do something at four?  My heart raced.
Another look at the address.  I'm on Hemlock.  There's '3410.'
There's '3420.'  What'd they do with '3414?'  Ha!  I should have
guessed.  A joke at my expense.  Very expensive.  Damn, I'm stupid.
Why did they go to all that trouble?  Her uncle, right, her uncle.
He's probably laughing his head off right now.  God, it's so easy to
get drawn in.  I've got no control when I see a pair of young legs.
I'm like a crab on its back.  I just keep smiling while somebody
slices off my head.  How do I get out of here?  I need a cold shower
or something.
   
   Ahead of me, brown leaves, now dry from the run of pleasant
weather, blew into the air.  A woman was getting out of her car with a
bag of groceries.  Maybe she can get me out of this nightmare.

   I stopped next to her and cleared my throat, "Pardon me."

   She jumped a mile and a box of something tumbled onto the road.
She retrieved the box.  She looked angry.  What did I say?

   "Excuse me, but I seem to be lost.  How do I get back to Mellman
Road?"

   "You scared me to death."

   "I'm sorry.  Really.  Mellman Road.  Do you know how to get to it
from here?"

   "Mellman, Mellman, let's see.  Ah.  Turn right at the next corner
and go four blocks to Hemlock and..."

   "Hold it.  I thought this was Hemlock."

   "It is."  Then she started pointing all over the place.  "And
there.  And over there.  Pretty funny, huh?"

   "Funny."

   "This is Hemlock Place.  Over there, let's see, over there is West
Hemlock Court and...  I thought you wanted Mellman."

   "Mellman.  Right.  Ummm, do you know where East Hemlock Court is?"

   "Sure.  It's...  It's..."

   This was turning into a nightmare.  It was nearly dark and the
thought of constantly running through the intersections of Hemlock and
Hemlock was almost too much to endure.

   "East.  East Hemlock."

   "East.  Yes.  It's...," as she aimed herself like a compass.
"It's there.  That way.  I'm almost...  eighty percent certain."

   "Eighty"

   "Pretty sure."

   I thanked her and edged the car away.  In the mirror I could see
more stuff as it fell out of her bag.  This was not a reliable
resource, I decided.  However, the promise of unpromised things
propelled me on.  What was that address?  Ah, yes, 3414 West...  Damn,
I asked her about East.  I said East.  I can't believe it.  I'm
screwed.  And I did it to myself.  I blew it.

   As I drove back toward my apartment, I took turns blowing on each
of the palms of my hands.  They both had turned to fingery globs of
sweat and were actually slipping on the steering wheel.  My heart was
beating slow and hard now, a reminder of today's stupidity.  Maybe it
was all a dream.  If you live alone long enough your brain probably
conjures up all kinds of imaginary happenings.


                              -+-


   Last night I struggled through bits and pieces of sleep.  I had
all sorts of fanciful dreams that didn't make any sense.  So at 5:30 I
got up and made myself a strong espresso.  I never get up this early.
I'm not working.  I don't have to get up.  I'm not a deadbeat, just
semi-retired.  Then it struck me.  The map!  I raced into the den and
rummaged through the large cabinet built into the wall.  I was like a
madman.  Where is it?  The thing that I always thought was a totally
useless gift from... from...  I can't remember.

   Found it!  The hyper-detailed charts of this tiny county, detailed
down to the last square millimeter.  Finally, a reason to have lugged
this yellow-pages-of-the-roadways from place to place.  Now, where is
it?  I flipped and flipped.  Okay, the index.  I'm a Renaissance Man.
I can use the index without losing my manhood.  Ah, here it is.  Here
they are.  All of them.  Geeesh!  Half a page of 'Hemlocks.'  East...
no, West Hemlock.  Got it!  Page 622.  Turn, turn, flip, flip.  622.
Hemlock, Hemlock, Hem...  Bingo!  Now, 34-something.  I looked all
around for the bus schedule.  Nowhere!  Wait.  The car!


                              -+-


   This made more sense now, as I skillfully maneuvered my car from
East Hemlock, onto Hemlock Way, and then down West, yes West Hemlock
Court.  Finally.  But now, directly ahead of me, a traditional yellow
school bus turned into the street.  It stopped halfway down the block.
The flashing red lights came on so I stopped too.

   There she was.  Zoe floated to the ground from the last step.  In
one smooth motion she turned and waved to the driver.  As she turned,
her skirt flared out, revealing those long, thin legs that have now
driven me to madness.  As the bus drove off, a kid yelled some sort of
inane farewell out the window.  And now we were alone.  Zoe and me.
Five hundred feet apart.  My heart raced again as I watched her walk
with no particular hurry toward the front door of this tiny house.
I took a breath to appease my lungs just as a loud horn honked
behind me.  I was still stopped in the middle of the street.  I waved
at the macho pretzel-head who flipped me the finger as he burned
rubber to get around me.  I can't imagine anyone like that needing to
be any place important.  Even Zoe turned to watch the jerk speed past.

   I pulled off into an empty spot.  Three o'clock and the shadows
were already long.  I looked up, but she had gone.  My palms were
wet again.  I locked up the car and walked down the sidewalk.  I
stopped and stood on the spot where Zoe had landed.  I inhaled slowly,
hoping to breathe her in, but the breeze was too strong.  Or it was
wishful thinking.  I don't know.  I was running on automatic now as I
turned and traced her steps toward the little house.  There were no
footprints, but I knew where each shoe had touched.

   I mounted the porch and examined the door.  There were no signs of
life anywhere.  My hand trembled as I pressed the doorbell.  Silence.
Should I press it again?  Maybe it rang somewhere deep inside the
place.  Okay, one more time.  Silence again.  I looked around.  The
street and the yards were deserted.  I mustered my courage and
knocked.  Nothing.  I backed up a bit and checked the address.
'3414.'  I was in the right place.  Unless this really was a joke.

   A click, and the inside door began to open very slowly.  Oh, God.
It was her.  Right in front of me.  I could feel my knees giving way.
She was sucking on half of a popsicle.  It was 40 degrees out and she
was sucking on a popsicle.  She turned, still holding on to the
doorknob.  "Uncle Steve!  Someone's at the door!"

   She turned back and looked up at me through hooded eyelids.  I was
transfixed as I watched her move the popsicle in and out over her
cherry red lips.  I suppose they were that red from the cold.  Maybe.

   But now footsteps approached from way behind her.  It was dark
inside and I couldn't make out anything.  Then he was there.  The man
I had met in the mall.  The one with the photograph.  Zoe's uncle.
Whatever his name was.  Steven, I guess.  Zoe backed away as Steven
reached the door.  "Yes," he said.

   "I don't know if..."

   "Yes, yes.  The fellow from the mall.  Yesterday.  You didn't come
over.  We were expecting you."

   We.  He said 'we.'  "I had trouble finding Hemlock.  I hadn't
realized there were so many of them here."

   "Steven.  Steven Swift.  Come in.  Please."  And Zoe vanished as
Steven ushered me in.  "Every time we get a new mailman, mail gets
lost for a month before the new one figures everything out."

   "I wasn't sure you..."

   "I'm glad you made it."

   Now it's 'I.'  I liked the 'we' better.  Much better.  Steven
showed me to the living room.  There was a small fire crackling and
the room was a bit smoky.

   Steven watched me sniff the air.  "There's not enough of a breeze
blowing to get the air moving.  I just lit it a few minutes ago.
It'll clear out soon."

   Only a moment passed, then Steven returned, pushing Zoe ahead of
him like a snowplow.  "This... is Zoe Spencer.  Zoe, this is...  I
don't think you ever told me your name."

   "Alan.  Alan Hydecker.  Just Alan would be fine.  Alan."

   "Zoe, this is just Alan."  And we all laughed.  But then Zoe held
out her hand to me.  Like a slow motion ballet, I reached out and
held it.  Her hand was like liquid velvet.  I felt like kissing it,
but thought better and just shook it.  She took back that small warm
hand and proceeded to rub her palm on her cheek, allowing it to graze
over her still red lips.  Now she moved it down her thin neck, over
her shoulder, and across the front of her dress.  Her palm pressed
against the little mounds that hinted of her tiny breasts under the
fabric.  Then she moved her hand still further down to her hip and
across to where her crotch was under the dress.  She pressed her
finger tips lightly against the dress there.  Now her hand took
flight from her own body and landed on her uncle's arm.  How long did
that take?  Hours?  Days?  No, probably three or four seconds.  I was
not conscious of staring at her until I saw Steven looking at me.  A
slight smile crossed his lips.  Caught again.  Damn!

   The front door slammed open and a young boy dressed in a soccer
uniform and covered with dirt stormed in.  I supposed that this must
be Peter.

   "Fucking jerks!"

   "Peter!" exclaimed his dad.  "You don't talk like that here."

   "Well, they are."

   "Not like that.  You hear me?"

   "Yes."

   "Do you?"

   "I said yes, didn't I?"

   "All right, then.  Alan, this is my son, Peter.  Peter, Alan."  And
Peter smiled at me for a thousandth of a second, then walked over to
Zoe.  He stood behind her and pulled her arms behind her back.

   "Ow!"  And Zoe tried to wriggle free.  I wanted to jump up and
smack him but I held myself back.  Why was he so crude?  "Not now,"
she said, still trying to break free.

   "Why not?  You said you like it when I'm hot and sweaty."

   "Well today you smell"

   "I got into a fight."
   
   "Peter!" cried his dad.

   "Corey tripped me for no good reason.  After the game I got him
behind the fence.  I got him around the neck and hit him twice in the
mouth.  He fell and I kicked him but good.

   Steven was clearly upset.  "I can't believe you did that."

   "Yeah, well he had it comin'."  Now he finally let go of Zoe.  She
ran to Steve.  "C'mon, Zoe."

   But Zoe shook her head.  "Take a shower first," she said.
"Then...  maybe."

   "Fucking prima donna."

   "Peter!" said Steven.

   "Okay, okay.  A shower."  He turned toward Zoe.  "Then you better
be ready."

   Peter stormed off to his room.  Steven shook his head as he
watched his son depart.  "He isn't always like this.  Only when his
team loses."

   "Uncle Steven, his team hasn't won yet."

   "Yes.  Well...  Hmmm.  Alan, want some coffee?"

   I said I did, so Steven went into the kitchen to make the coffee.
Zoe waltzed around the room, allowing her slender fingers to graze
over every object in there.  I sat at one end of the sofa in front of
the fireplace but kept an eye on Zoe.  She orbited the sofa and, as
she did, she periodically checked to see if I was watching.  Seemingly
satisfied, she slid lightly onto the opposite end of the sofa.  She
was dressed nearly the same as when I saw her at the mall the previous
day.  A different dress.  It looked like wool or something heavy like
that.

   She crossed her legs and pulled the hem of her dress up and over
her knee.  She stroked her crossed leg up and down.  She massaged it.
I was staring again and, again, I was caught.  She paused in her
caressing and that pause caused me to look at her face.  And, yes, she
was looking right at me.  She looked away from me and back to her leg
matter-of-factly.  She caressed her leg again.

   "My mother says I have hot blood."

   "Does she," I gagged.

   "I spose when I have a fever it gets hotter.  I don't have a fever
now.  Do you?"

   "Me?  No, I don't think so."

   "Momma feels my forehead if she thinks I have a fever."

   "A lot of mothers..."

   "She had a boyfriend once.  He was going to be my new daddy.  He
thought I was sick all the time.  He didn't feel my forehead.  He said
there was a better way."

   "Better?"

   "He said his finger was like a temperature thing."

   "Thermometer?"

   "Yeah, that.  He used to take my temperature all the time.  I
didn't feel all that sick.  He said sometimes you don't feel sick when
you're sick.  It didn't make any sense.  I wonder if he was a doctor.
Do you think?"

   "Maybe."  I couldn't lie to her.  Not ever.  "No.  I don't think he
was.  A doctor, that is.  Not a doctor"

   "Anyways, one day Momma said he wasn't going to be my new daddy
anymore.  So that was that."

   And with that comment, Zoe slid into the middle of the sofa.  She
pulled her legs up and swung around so she was facing me.  She threw
her arms over her head and plopped backwards onto the cushions.  She
thrust her legs straight out in my direction so that the heels of her
black, laced shoes came to rest on my leg.

   "Five minutes and we have coffee," came Peter's warning from the
kitchen.

   Zoe turned to look over her shoulder and stretched out and, as she
did, her dress rode up so that it was now halfway between her waist
and her knees and all bunched up.  She turned back then slid along the
cushion toward me.  Her knees bent and her dress slid up to her
crotch.

   "Whoops," she said as she straightened her legs and stretched them
across my lap.

   My cock had already begun to strain against my pants, but she
couldn't possibly know that.  Suddenly, I had no place to put my
hands.

   "They're hot now," she said as she propped herself up on her
elbows.  "They are."

   "What are?"

   "My legs.  They're hot now.  Wanna feel?"

   So I almost lost it right there.  I had come this far, knowing that
this was exactly what I wanted to happen.  My hands trembled.  I
looked toward the kitchen.  Zoe was smart.

   "He said five minutes.  'member?"  She reached out and took one of
my hands.  "They're big.  Bigger than Peter's."

   Now she placed my hand around her ankle.  The touch of that young
skin shot through me like lightning.  Slightly cool.  Slightly sticky.

   "It's cold there," she whispered.  She pulled my hand slowly up her
leg.  "Warmer, huh?"

   And, indeed, it was.  She let go of my hand just below her knee.
My hand was on its own now.  She smiled at me and nodded her head.

   "Go ahead," she whispered.  She turned to look over her shoulder.
"Go ahead.  I'll watch."

   Zoe was asking me to feel her.  A 10-year-old girl wanted me to
touch her.  She knew exactly what she wanted.  So I melted into the
luxury of those soft, shiny, tanned legs.  I moved my hand up over her
knee and down toward the bunched-up dress.  Then back again.  Zoe
parted her legs slightly.  I slid my hand under her leg and squeezed
her long thin calf muscle.  It was incredibly supple.  Her legs were
so thin.  I slid my hand around and luxuruated in the smooth shiny
skin pulled tight over the bone.  Now up to her knee again.  Zoe
straightened her leg and pointed her toe.  My hand explored the back
of her knee, warm and sticky from being bent.

   "Go ahead.  Do it."

   My hand slid up over her knee again and onto her exquisitely warm
inner thigh.  She parted her legs a little more.  As she did, the
fragrance of her warm little body streamed toward me.  My heart was
pounding in my ears like a pile driver on hard concrete.  Zoe moaned
slightly and her lips parted, the same lips that only a short while
ago were caressing that half-popsicle.

   My fingers pressed on her velvet skin ever so slightly and with
each pass across her thigh, the tips of my fingers slid closer and
closer to the hem of her dress.  

   But Zoe wasn't paying attention to the kitchen, she was watching
me.  She followed my hand with her eyes and when I felt something that
made her feel particularly good, or in a way that she liked, she would
let her eyelids close slightly.  It was her signal to me, perhaps
even unconscious, and we both understood.

   It was then that, for no particular reason, I slid my fingers
beneath the hem of her dress and toward her panties, yet unseen.
Without a word or a sudden motion, Zoe carefully placed her hand on 
her dress so that it covered mine.  She exerted a slight pressure and
stared at me with that serious knowing look of hers.  Not now.

   Message understood.

   "Here we go.  The best coffee in town.  Maybe the neighborhood.
Anyway, it's good coffee.  Ready?"

   My hand fled from Zoe's thigh like a lizard's tongue that had just
snared a grasshopper.

   "Steven paused and looked at Zoe, her legs parted across my lap,
and said, "Good, you're getting acquainted?"


                            *  *  *

------------------------- (End of Chapter 2) -------------------------
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