4-5-1 Single at a Bar — Derrick awakens, listens, learns, grows, and dreams

Ow. I've got to find better times to start a narration.

"Took you long enough," came the stern voice of a very mature woman.

I let my eyes open to let the thankfully dim light in, and I recognized the same resting room in the clinic of the Garden, and there was the red-head again. Not too many of them in this town, see. She was a soloist at the ball, if I recall. Playing Moonlight Sonata just as snow began to fall when I was dancing with Reo.

"We have got to stop meeting like this," I said as more of my consciousness returned to me. "You'll start laboring under delusions that I'm hospital prone."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," she chuckled. "Not if the stories are true."

Flattery at its finest. I like it. "Stories?" I asked innocently.

"I don't know if 'stories' is the right word for it. There were a collection of young women fighting over the privilege of escorting you here." She was playing with her clipboard and looking at monitors; you know how doctors can be.

"I'd be lying if I said the idea wasn't welcome to me, but I'd also be lying if I said I had the damnedest clue why."

"Well then, and you're probably tired of this question by now, but what's the last thing you remember?"

Little tired of it, yeah. "If I had my choice? I'd say sweet, sweet pussy."

She smirked a bit fondly. Apparently a woman of her age didn't seem to have the usual abhorrence of well-placed sexual humor you come to expect. "You'd be correct."

Score.

"You were found naked and unconscious when we arrived. You were sharing a bed with one Amy Birch, who was likewise in a rather collapsed state. Ring any bells?"

"None, sorry. Was she pretty?"

"I like my women a little older than pubescent, but she gets by." Ooh, she likes women. Or she doesn't have to, but it's always nice to hear, even for a woman her age. I guess that doesn't start until white starts challenging that magnificent red color on her head. "She was also the lucky winner, though she didn't find out until yesterday."

"Winner?"

"Your escort," she explained. "As it happens, there was only stretcher room for the two of you in the carriage my husband went to collect you in. Feeling up to walking around yet? You're in a slightly more favorable state than your first visit."

I gave it a try, pulling a thin linen sheet away and swinging my legs off the hospital bed. My reproductive systems screamed in protest. "My dick hurts."

"That should ring some bells, no?"

Come to think of it, yeah. "I went to a party after the dance last night?" I said rather foggily.

"Yes, and no. That was two days ago. You were exhausted from what I can only guess was one of the more interesting nights of your life, what with you having no previous medical record of being hospitalized for over-exerting yourself."

Oh yeah. That was fun. "Give it to me straight, doc. How long do I have to live?"

She snickered at me, giving her face a kind of brightness you like to see from someone that's been around long enough to know sorrow as well as joy. "I think you'll live, but you'd better start eating real food again. When you didn't wake up yesterday, I had to put you on basic nutrition."

My stomach rumbled; this woman spoke the truth.?udn't any peas or carrots in there, were they? No, don't tell me; I couldn't bear to know. I think I've imposed on your time enough then, ma'am. Unless your lawyer wants to speak to me again?"

"No charges pressed this time, though there was a rather high volume of calls requesting to know whether you'd pulled through, interrogations after your address and marital status, and I think one marriage proposal."

"All in a good day's work, doc. The other girl survive?"

"Awake yesterday, but she's still here. Something about not wanting to leave until she knew you were okay."

I sighed in remorse. "I think I'd better be the one to break the news, doc. It'll give her peace of mind, coming from me."

She laughed even harder. "Get out of here, you tom. Though you might be interested to know my mother wants to have a conversation with you before you leave. Optional, of course. Candy Stetzen's office."

"Doc, always a pleasure."

I'll admit to you, my faithful readers, that I wasn't entirely sure about walking into this woman's office without knowing what I was getting into, but in I went.

"You're Derrick Gains, I understand?"

"That's me," I answered, sticking out my hand, but she leaned forward instead and kissed me on the cheek. I don't even know why I bother with the hand thing around here anymore.

She was tall, coming right up to my nose fully stretched out. Her hair had turned a steely white with age, and she had arranged it right nicely in soft waves around her shoulders. She wore simple clothing that disproved any notions of eccentricity I may have developed about her, her supposedly being an accomplished scientist and doctor from all the certifications on her door that put the psychiatrist's to shame.

The only thing really remarkable about her was that she had giant breasts, or at least giant for a woman her age. Rather than wear huge shirts or dresses to make them disappear, she wore figure-fitting clothes, and her figure was something to look at. Reminded me of the headmistress, actually, but for being a touch older. And as the mother of Doctor Red Hair, she must have a few years in her.

"Quite a night you had, I hear."

"Not bad, if you don't mind me saying."

"I want to help you."

I'd heard it all before. "No thanks; I don't think I'm unfit, repressed, or sadistic, and I don't have a grudge against the female race."

She too graced me with a small smile for my spot-humor. This place isn't so bad. "I'll give you all but the first one."

"Which one was the first one?"

"You only got it up eight times or so, and you were out for forty hours.

"Yeah, well, let's see you try it."

"The last two suspect you fell unconscious before you even got to them."

"I hope someone promised I'd finish the job I started on them when you guys fixed me."

"You finished just fine; you just weren't awake for it. Where were we?"

"You were telling me my performance was lacking."

"It was."

"You're probably lucky we're not of the same generation, then. Or unlucky."

"You don't know who I am or where I've been, so I'll forgive that." Ooh, fresh. I like her already. "To remove your doubt, allow me to inform you that I am the one to develop the first woman-to-man sex change procedure."

Wow. Does that mean... "You're a man now?"

"No, it means I have a penis, or at least I did until I gave it to my daughter. Do you want to see it, or will you believe me when I say I have the experience to know you could be doing better in bed?"

"Better?" I asked, interested now. I leaned forward ever so slightly in my seat. Comfy seats, by the way.

"Here it is: Over the last sixty years, my friends and I have accumulated a substantial amount of data on sex. There've been discussions, experiments, documentations, and products. Making a penis out of the female body to imitate the penile functions was only part of a larger truth; there are quite a few things we can do to expand a person's sexual horizons."

"Do tell."

"I want you to submit yourself to an experiment. No cost to you except the risk, which I keep to a minimum. In exchange, I offer you the fruit of all the research that's gone on here."

Interesting. Very, very interesting. Also, I liked this woman's attitude. She'd been around spunky young bucks like myself, and she saw right through my sarcasm or witty remarks. "What risks, before I get too enticed?"

"Direct surgical operation on your testicles, penis, and surrounding organs and tissue. That always presents a risk of E. coli. Then your body can try to resist the change, which can develop cancer. There's also risk of other less-interesting things, like inflammation, bleeding, spreading of certain fluids to where they don't belong, and it may be that your equipment stops working."

"None of that sounds very fun."

"Which is why you're lucky to be getting me. I've been practicing since I was twenty, so you can imagine I'm pretty good at it, and I didn't always have these nifty tools. All I need to do is enter with a tool as thin as a needle and as flexible as a dolphin's hoo-hoo. Minimal risk guaranteed. Apart from the procedure never being done before, of course."

"Which is...?"

"Wouldn't you rather be surprised?"

"What do I get out of it?"

"Nothing. It's those cheerleaders of yours that'll be jumping for joy, possibly starting with that one who came with you and refused to leave until you woke up."

That had merit, but I didn't want to just give her permission without any information about it. "Can't you be a little more specific?"

"I'd like to, but part of the experience is discovering the benefits for yourself. If I told you everything, you'd fantasize about certain expectations. If you failed to meet them, you won't truly appreciate the changes. On the other hand, I tell you nothing, and you notice little things here and there. Yes?"

"Let's talk more about these benefits."

"Like I said, it's the girls who..."

"No, the other benefits."

"Oh, our information. Have you met my granddaughter Melody?"

Mmm... Melody. "Yes, I have."

"How was she?"

Was? She does get ideas, doesn't she? "What makes you think I...?"

"It was an erroneous question; she already told me. She knows things above and beyond that little taste she showed you, and she wants to show you more. But there's more than just training in bed. Do we have a deal?"

"What's in it for you?"

"Information."

After agreeing to her terms (of course I agreed), I got sent off to see the headmistress because I needed to remain on the grounds all day while I healed (the doctor actually stuck the needle in me then and there; it took her all of five minutes), and she wanted to bid me a rather official welcome, the place being more or less her household.

Turns out, moot point, but only once I got there. "Ah, come in," the headmistress' voice came from behind her door after I knocked on it. I let myself in, and there was none other than little Taylor Made herself, sitting in one of the three chairs in the office. In another chair was the headmistress, the brunette with the deep ocean-blue eyes and big tits. Actually, those tits and her entire body put the poor, girlish Taylor to shame.

I was invited to sit in the third chair, which was grouped with the other two rather than on one side of a desk while the big boss of the room leering from the other. She asked is both if we were hungry, then began, "I'm sure you're both feeling slightly inconvenienced from being brought here, but we boast a little that you can enjoy a bit more privacy in our ward than in the general hospital, no?"

Taylor nodded quickly and looked at me. I nodded also.

"Miz Birch," the woman said to Taylor, who looked frightened at once at being addressed by her real name, "I've been in communication with your parents, and they've agreed that you can recover here for the rest of the day if you so choose, but you're still expected to be at school on time in the morning. Mister Gains here is here for the same reason as you, so I thought you two might..."

"Actually, I'd like to spend some time alone," Taylor interrupted. I stopped myself just short of looking to her in surprise.

"That's fine too," the headmistress said without a hitch. "A private room will be arranged for you to use at your leisure. Meanwhile, feel free to use whatever facilities you care to. Dinner won't be served for quite some time, but the kitchen is always open."

I likewise wanted some time alone. I wanted to depart quickly the office and share a few words with the bedrodden cheerleader before she went off to refresh herself or whatever it was, but she left at once before I could say my departing piece to my host.

I got out into the hall, but she was nowhere to be seen. No huge loss, but it would've been nice to lend her a few kind words, especially to confirm what I'd whispered so sweetly into her ear the night (two nights?) before now that I was finally starting to remember what happened. Man, that was fun.

Why did I even care? Because I said I did, and I don't want to think of myself as a person who doesn't do what he says. But why'd I say it in the first place, I wonder? Because I saw her there, lying with her legs petrified into place, and I felt sorry for her because the train had been run on her but she wasn't able to enjoy it. I wanted to give her something she could enjoy simply because all girls are beautiful and deserve to be treated nicely and because I could give it to her even though I was dead tired.

The headmistress recommended I take a stroll through the garden part of the Garden, which was located at the end of the second hall heading clockwise. The garden was beautiful, charming, magnificent. There was an aging woman there, I'd say the same age as the scientist, also with largish breasts and once-blond hair, only she was a good foot shorter than the first.

I'll spare you the whole conversation because it was very educational, only that it included things like appreciating natural beauty when you got older, things like gardens. Being with the one you love the most. Following through with your investments, which I was getting the hang of. Giving what you had out of kindness to others, not for personal gain or fear of a vengeful god.

When she was done chatting with me, she gave me one of the Garden watches, something of a symbol of trust. Powerful little trinkets, these. Now I knew how serious they were when they told me they could never repay me for my service to them in keeping their two dozen brats alive together with Sally over the course of the fall and surrounding months.

Once that serious business was over, I went to the laundry room to find myself a change of clothes, then there was a public shower where I could... you know, do shower stuff. While I was there, I started thinking if there was a women's shower, and if there were women in there. Naked women. Typical, I know.

Still, up went the old penis. Made me think of something, something that prompted me to make haste to the other end of the building, which must've been a quarter of a mile around.

"Sorry to rush in," I said to the lady doctor on duty.

"Problem?" she asked.

"Yeah, probably a big one. I may have knocked up half a dozen women or so that night," I blurted in a rather uncharacteristic blurt.

"Don't worry about it; it's taken care of."

"You gave all the girls morning-after pills or something?" I asked in surprise. The idea sounded ridiculous, but what else could they have done? Or they were all cheerleaders, so they might be on birth control already. Modern times, and all.

"No, that would've been too tiring. Melody gave you a morning-before pill."

"...She what?"

"Deal with it. Let you in on a secret? Something to cheer you up."

"Hit me."

"It was a virility pill. Perhaps you noticed you had a more substantial night than you would have thought yourself capable of on your own?"

Come to think of it, yeah. But then, there was still that other woman, this one's mom, who said I still hadn't done enough. What the fuck was she used to? Now I'm wondering whether this woman has more sisters if her father put her mother under so bad. "So?"

"Deactivating your sperm for the duration is only part of it. You recharge faster, more blood flow, more fluids, all that. Felt good?"

"It was nice, yeah."

"You're welcome. Anything else?"

"...I guess not."

Later,

I took advantage of my invitation to travel freely around the Garden. I had dinner in the common dining room that sits in the center of the entire mansion. Dree happened to be in on an errand, so he sat with me to share a bit of chatty with me whilst we munched. Danny, the guy he'd got to get me a suit, was also available to bandy words.

With dinner out of the way, the two took off for whatever tasks had brought them here. I went off to seek out more new life and more cuntilization. Garden women seem to turn me on that way.

But where to find them? There were none by themselves in the dining hall, none wandering the round. I actually had to knock on a door to pretend I was lost just to see if there was somebody cute on the other side. After five knocks or so, I found one.

"Umm..."

"Derrick," I reminded the hot young cheerleader. It seems I'd found where Taylor had tucked in for the day.

"Derrick, right. What's up?" She was wearing a flimsy robe around an attractive nightgown that fit her just a bit too well to be some common piece of junk you can pick up in a department store.

"Just thought I'd check on you," I lied. "Didn't feel right leaving without saying something, you know?"

She smiled thinly, but backed up enough to allow me in. The rooms she had been given were attractive and large, large enough to fit my entire apartment in the front room. She invited me to sit and made tea.

I began to feel uncomfortable at her distance. I hope I'm not putting you out," I said apprehensively.

"No, it's nothing," she claimed quickly. It's just... after last night, I don't know if you wanna..."

"I donno, Derrick... it was nice and all, but I think I'd just like to get some sleep. But I'll see you at the next game, right?"

Sure. Maybe in another lifetime. I think I caught myself having gone into Derrick Oversex Drive, torpeeding into the nearest pussy I could find. Or maybe there's no such thing as true love, binding one heart to one other for all time.

Then again, maybe I'm doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm not even twenty-eight, damnit.

The next morning,

I woke up to a head full of... regret, do they call it? When you fuck someone you probably shouldn't? Let me think on it for a moment. Girlfriend? Check. Highschooler? Check. Silent between the sex and the sleep? Check. Feeling that guilty? Not really.

While brushing my teeth and shit, I gave myself a good hard look in the mirror, something I hadn't actually done in four days or so if what they tell me is true. What I saw staring at me in utmost awe was an overgrown face with somewhat lazy eyes from having overslept. The slight reminiscence of lipstick staining my cheeks and neck. Hair dry and poofy.

"What you got yourself into, boy?" I asked my reflection.

"What, like things've been going so well for me, I can't get mines when it's offered?" it answered. And I admit, he had a point.

"And why haven't things been going that well, if you're so smart?" I countered, feeling full of myself.

He set his chin to his knuckles and gave that line of questioning a good long ponder. "You don't think it would have anything to do with getting laid, do you?" he asked in turn.

"A good question, and fair," I answered. "Come to think of it, wasn't it while I was getting my face wet with some nice North Carolina-grown when Becky seems to have flipped her lid?"

"Becky," he said airily.

"Becky," I echoed. Six months ago, was it? Six months ago, things had been going just fine. Finally moved out the nest, had a job and an at least quasi-girlfriend, and Becky and me was on the same side for a change. Then, just like the face in the mirror says, I got me some pussy, and then all hell broke loose. I quit home and even country to go chasing some dream of running as far away as possible. You heard the expression "run to the other side of the world to get away from you," yeah? That was me.

And a fat lot of good it did. I get back to find my girlfriend assets have doubled, my potential side-effect Reo still desires my company, and there's a certain dark-haired beauty that seems to think I'm the town's tincture. It wasn't enough, though. Without my sister cheering me on like she used to, nothing seemed quite as fun like before.

"Maybe you're right," I continued, "but what do you suggest, O varlety thou?"

"If oiling the machinery is a crime," the mirror man answered, "then it would seem the course of action is to cease and desist."

"Then Becky won't hate me anymore?"

"Chicks are weird, man, sisters included. Be nice to her or something, see what's bugging her; maybe she'll come around."

"And stop having sex in the meantime, "I added under my breath.

"Well, yeah."

I thought about it for about eight seconds. "Yeah; fuck that. She wants to have a problem with who I bed? Too fucking bad."

I had long since finished toilet duties, so I set out for home. Carriage here, train ride there, and then there was Bill waiting for me back at his pad in Raleigh.

"Message for you, bruda," he said to the telly as I walked in as though I hadn't disappeared off the face for like a week or whatever. I indeed checked the message ansfering thingy, and it was like the man said: SOMEONE HAD CALLED LOOKING FOR ME!!!!!111ONE

"Reo, baby? You called?" I said into the (rather nifty) watch thingy now adorning my handsome wrist.

"Hi, Derrick! You doing anything?" the sweet lady asked in her adorable voice. Just listening to her makes me think of her tiny yet flexible body and the things I have yet to do with it.

"Not a god-damned thing. What's your pleasure?"

"I was thinking..."

An hour or so later...

It wasn't my idea, so don't ask me. I have certain rules about dating, and one of them is that you don't take someone Downtown for a date unless you're absolutely sure you're going to be with her for several months unless you want everyone talking behind your back. You especially don't take them to Petrozza's, the most romantic (and expensive) spot in town. Reoren had dragged me to the second-worst spot, the tea shop.

"I want you to know that I thought it was really special, what you did for those two girls," she said, referring to the incident at the recent post-dance party at the big hotel up north, where I bedded (on a rather large and comfortable couch) the two along with Reo herself.

"It was a bit of a surprise to me," I replied with a smile around my slice of orange. "I thought Riley and I were enjoying a simple patron-barman relationship."

"Is that how you met her?" Reo asked, her face set aglow from the mystic aura set off by low candlelight and teapots that adorned the tiny shop.

"It was weird," I answered. "She shows up all a-dither, complaining that, in a moment of sanity, she asked out the cutest cheerleader on the squad, only for her to accept, and there she is, not knowing a thing to do with a woman once she got her in bed."

"So you showed her?" she asked, suspended in suspense.

"I told her."

She let the concept soak into her brain for a few moments. "I'd say your advice worked."

"You know," I said softly, taking her warm hands in mine from across the miniature table laden with doilies and sweets, "I make it my business to know what pleases a woman. If you ever have any... thoughts, I want you to feel free to ask me. I've been there and back again if I do say so myself, and there's not yet a length I've found that I'm not willing to help a woman with."

She smiled at me as though the concept of what a complete dog I am just breezed right over her head. "By the way, I was supposed to give you this. Don't ask me why I have it." She handed me a small, decorated plastic shopping bag. Light, it was. No shuffling contents. Clothes. I took a peek in, and I saw clothes. Cute clothes.

"What the hell?"

"Open it."

It was a bag; bags don't close. I reached in and felt yummy softness, grabbed and pulled, and my heart skipped a beat. There were the little white lace panties Reo had been wearing all night, and the bag remained plenty full. I looked to Reo for an explanation.

"Since I came with you, no pun intended, the other girls figured I'd get them to you," she said with more interest than suspicion. "Mine's got my name written on the tag so you don't forget."

"There's just no chance," I said, "I'd remember these; you were just too beautiful, in and out of them." I leaned over and pecked her lips, amplifying her smile.

I set that pair aside and looked for more. There was a blue "cheeky" thing that had "Crisis" embroidered into the hem. A note attached with a safety pin read, "Dear Derrick: just because I didn't wear panties to the party doesn't mean you don't get a pair from me. You earned them. Sorry about Ry'; she didn't know about the rule, so she washed hers. Plenty of opportunities though, right? Love ya, Crisis."

The next pair was Riley's; she had worn a decorative French piece like Reo's, but in purple. Then there were more like Crisis': Form-fitting numbers with varying patterns, all with code names embroidered on the ass. I recognized Sadie and Taylor of course, plus two more I can't seem to remember.

Then, hidden at the bottom, almost small enough to miss against the black interior of the bag, was a tiny pair of black panties that had more lace trim than protective gusset. The note read, "Dear Derrick, Reo told me you were taking up a collection, so I pitched in." I was all too familiar with the short, sassy letters after having seen them all through my childhood. I took a big gulp of tea and of breath before continuing.

"You were the only guy to make me come that night. Sometime after our wonderful dance, I took these off so no one else could try to take them from you, their rightful owner. The stain from our dance is still there, plus I kept them on while I touched myself this morning. Love, Becky."

"I didn't read that one," Reo said quietly. "She told me it was a very serious thing, giving a guy your panties after you make love. I wasn't supposed to interfere."

"We just danced," I said. I was turning the insubstantial fabric over and over in my fingers, feeling something indescribable creeping up inside me. There was also something written on Reoren's face; and it bothered me, not knowing what she was thinking while I handled my sister's panties.

"...She told me she came when you kissed her. Anyway, I hope you like them."

"When I kissed...?" I sputtered in meager disbelief, "What did she tell you?"

She looked angry, but she seemed to come out of it as though it had taken her by surprise. "Forget it; it's nothing. You two is between the two of you, and I don't want to get stuck in the middle."

I put the black panties back in the bag before I succumbed to the sudden urge to glue them to my nose. The other pairs followed except for Reo's, which I folded and put in my back pocket in yet another spasm of manliness. "Well," I said jovially despite the difficult mood, "I'm gonna look funny carrying that around." A bag full of panties isn't quite gentlemanly to hold. Raises questions, you see. I'd ask.

"I'll carry it for you," Reo volunteered.

"You don't want to carry around a bunch of panties to me from other girls."

"I don't mind," she said quietly. "It's proof that there are a lot of girls that think a lot of you."

"Thanks very much, Reo. I don't mind telling you it's a little strange, a girl being so comfortable around a guy that..."

"Have I ever told you I was only interested in you?" she interjected, but not unkindly. A wry and sly corner of her mouth turned up teasingly.

"Umm... no, you never have."

"I decided I was gonna follow your example, date a few guys."

"I don't date guys that I know of."

"Crisis set me up with a couple of the boys at the party," she continued, ignoring my interruption, "and it was kinda nice. I actually felt like I was betraying you a little, but after carrying this around," she said with her eyes on my little gift basket of joy, "the very notion began to seem a little ridiculous. Neh?"

"You're asking me? No, you sure didn't. You can do whatever you want."

"Tell me honestly, does it make you not want me anymore?"

"You mean in bed?"

"In bed, spending time with me, dating me, whatever."

"What man doesn't get... wait; dating?" I sputtered. Have a girlfriend, preoccupied with sister's emotions, might be falling in love with someone on the side; system overload... does not compute...

"Yes, dating."

"Uhh... Would you excuse me just a minute? Bye!" Off I ran to the only place a man can turn to in these situations: the man's toilet. In there was safety, sanctity. Only other men holding their cocks, unafraid of being in the presence of other men doing the same, staring proudly at the boring tile in front of them while they conducted such manly business as our counterpart women will never ever know nothing about. Here is where I shall recover my wits.

"What the fluck?" I asked my reflection.

"Dude, she's hot for me," it answered.

"Yeah, but..."

"Oh, don't go on like a prissy nancy bitch. What in fuck did you want, fucking the shit out of her and leaving her to dry? You think she's not gonna get addicted to how good my underpants garnish looks on her salad?"

I thought seriously on his words. "Didn't we just have a conversation of how this kind of thing, this girl in particular, is causing a barrier between myself and my sister?"

"That we did. And I believe our final argument was 'fuck that shit'."

"An interesting point," I replied. "We do happen to be dating someone at the moment, however."

"And?"

"Touché."

I ran back to the table, retook my seat, and jumped back into conversation. Where were we? "I asked with full attention on the little blond girl on the other side.

"I never thought it was really fair for a guy to think he could keep me from doing what I wanted, so I never dated before I met you," Reo babbled on as though I hadn't left.

"Wow. How'd you get by?"

"If it wasn't for you, I'd never have the balls to say to a guy's face that I wanted to see other guys."

"I bet it'll be a cold day in hell before a guy takes that lying down."

"I don't think so."

"Is that so?"

"Derrick?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we should date."

That took a moment to soak in.

"Derrick, you're supposed to say something."

"Why?"

"Because I'm reaching out to you."

"No, why do you want to date me?"

"Haven't you been listening? God, you're so..."

"Calm down, this is me you're talking you. You'll know I'll listen to you, even if I'm difficult now and then."

Something of a lovesick, sensuous smile infected her lips. "That's why."

"That's why, what?"

"That's why I want us to date: You're genuinely sensitive; I can't let you get away. I already know you get around, so it's not like it changes anything with you or me. We already spend time together, and we even made love once, and it was wonderful. Suppose we just keep doing that?"

"What, making love?"

"Yes of course, but everything in between. Take me places, spend time with me, be there when I need you."

"Like a friend?"

"Yeah, but with you taking me out in the evening, making love to me at night, and me making you breakfast in the morning."

"Every day?"

"No, goof! Once a week or something, or every two weeks. Deal?"

"I donno, Reo... I don't want you to think I don't care for you, but..."

"It's because I'm being so serious, isn't it?"

Actually, yeah. That does put a hamper on it. "Actually, yeah."

"Len told me that might happen." Her brother, Leolen. Yes, I know, Reoren and Leolen. Some idiot pair of parents had a real good laugh over that, I'm sure. "Look, forget about all that. Remember the party. Do you remember?"

"I remember."

"Think of how you made me hurt for you. Remember our kisses."

"You kissing those girls, more like it."

"Yes, that too, everything. That's what I know I'll get with you, and that's what I want. Don't answer; I'll just wait for you to call me up one day to go shopping or walking or talking, and I'll invite you in when you bring me home, and you'll take me to bed; it's that simple. I know you have a lot going on in your life and I don't want to hold you up, but I want you in mine."

Everything Reo was saying was everything my instincts were trained to avoid: Commitment, heart-felt confessions, promises of bliss. Every time I heard it I wanted to believe it, so I simply didn't believe it any more when the delivery never came. But there was something off. Reo didn't play that game; Reo was simply too dispassionate to be in love. In fact, nowhere had she claimed she was in love with me, which is what I usually expect from a woman in such a situation.

I played the conversation over in my head, and despite me being too tired to make sense of anything, it didn't sound so bad the second time through. Maybe I was too used to hearing what I was used to hearing. Reo was certainly passionate but overall her passion was about taking charge of her sexuality, and I was only a part of that. She would never lean on me, so she wouldn't break if I happened to not be there.

I think that's the concept that changed things for me. I went through a lot with Salamandy in six fracking months with no other adult woman to look upon, but this one bit of philosophy explained a lot about my "love" life, and I use the term cynically: Those girls I'd dated in the past all shaped their lives around their next boyfriends: using them as status symbols, emotional supports, entertainment, and a source of product or money. When they lost the boyfriends, they weren't able to function. So they kept jumping from boyfriend to boyfriend, always telling the next what he wanted most to hear to get into his good graces and therefore back into her comfort zone.

Somewhere along the line a girl didn't know she had invested so much of herself into her boy, didn't care, or didn't want to. In all three situations, she still did, and it had an effect that strained the relationship that made the boyfriend (me, for the purpose of argument) at something of a disadvantage, and God help him if he broke up with her for any reason.

I don't even want to think about what guys' problems are in dating. I used to think we were simple compared to women, but truthfully in bothering with them so much, I never really got around to looking at my own species for a change.

"I'd love to date you," I said, looking her in the eye.

"Oh Derrick, really?"

I took her hands again; she was beaming and blushing. "I love being with you, and I'm touched that you trust me so much in bed."

"Don't forget I want you in bed. You and whatever girl you want to bring with you."

While I was pleased at the notion, I was likewise a little disappointed.

"Too much?"

"I'm supposed to drag you down into the mud; you're not supposed to meet me there."

"Why?"

"Because we guys want to initiate women into perversion."

"That's too damn bad, because I have no intention of living my life according to someone else's rules. Take it or leave it."

"I'll take it."

"Then take me, Derrick."

"Where?"

"To bed."

"Now?"

"Right now. Take me home."

"But Bill's home right now, and you don't wanna know what happened last time I..."

"To our home. We still live together, Derrick. Your room is still yours with your stuff, still on a contract with both our signatures."

"Becky..."

"Becky's not home, Derrick. I don't care whatever it is you two have going on, but I'm not gonna..."

"You don't understand, Reo."

"I don't care."

I was still holding her hands, so I couldn't grab them again. I kissed them instead. "I love my sister, Reo. Whatever it is she's angry at me about, there's nothing I can do about it. But when she and I moved out together, when we moved in with you, I had this feeling like I had to protect her. It was mostly our step-dad I was protecting her from, and having you and your brother for housemates has done wonders for her.

"Now, it's me she needs protection from. I'm sad about that, but at least she can be safe from me because all I have to do is stay away, and that means she doesn't have to feel like she has to hide from me in her own home. I'm not gonna shove myself in her face when she doesn't want to see me, okay?"

"How? How can you still love her when she treats you this way?" she fumed, snatching her hands back. "I tried not to say anything, but I felt sick to my stomach when she put her panties in with the rest like she was the fucking jewel of your evening! The things she says about you..." She tore out of her seat and ran out of the tiny building. I got up after her, but she quickly disappeared in the thick crowd of whatever day it was.

"Sir? Sir, your bag?" the waitress was asking me.

I shut cold air behind the door and turned to her; she was holding my bag of "gifts", oblivious to what was inside it. I couldn't help but give her a good looking-at, her a pretty blond (go figure), green eyes, innocent face. Probably a freshman in high school. Not today, maybe not ever again. Reo was gone, but I still had plenty of women to look after. Let this one find her own in her own time.

And then the other part of me showed up: The part that wanted to chase after Reo, to hold her to me until she could hear me soothing her, telling me I loved her and that anything that hurt her had to die, including me if necessary. But that's the trick, isn't it? I can't choose her over Becky, just like she won't choose Becky over me. I can't let Reo drag me around to where Becky doesn't want me to be. Not her home, where she's finally safe and sound.

I paid the check on the Garden's money with a tip twice the size of the bill (support your local business and the people that serve your food) and stepped out into the cold air. I don't know where my burst of chivalry came from, but I doubt it would do me much good. My sister seemed to hate me so much that she'd stoop to shit like the dance and the panties just to make me think about her and how she didn't want anything to do with me.

I love my sister, my faithful audience. I can't discount everything we've been through together just because she's acting a little strange right now. This whole "destroy Derrick" binge may seem more than a little strange to you, but you don't know her like I know her.

She's subject to mood swings, and once she went a whole three months without talking to me because we got in a fight over the telly. I'm at the age now where I can talk out my problems, not make them worse by telling the other person how stupid she is whilst I've done nothing but be perfect. I can only hope she's got the same idea, because even the thought of her not wanting to even talk to me makes me want to die.

Anyways... Here's a good spot to take a break if all this fundamental relationship bullshit is making your eyes bleed. I think I'm step out for a beer or whatever.

It's fucking cold here in winter. You can only spend so much time wandering around town before you have to rush home to hang out in front of the heater for a few hours, and by then it's dinner time, and you're too damn sore and tired to put all your gear back on to go out into the biting winds. And too bad; Reo's tight, wet pussy would have been just what I needed to warm up. Am I a fool, my audience? You decide; I'm gonna go find something to do.

My footsteps took me to the doorstep of Leslie's Boutique of ladies' undergoodies. I've never been inside there; I always wondered if it was like Heaven in there, but I didn't want all the women inside staring at me, all of them thinking I was a pervert.

What the fuck? That's been for ten years now. I'm a grown-ass man to be worrying about what women think; what if I need to buy something for my new girlfriend? Am I supposed to just buy a gift card? My step-father bought one for my last girlfriend for last Christmas; no chance.

I stormed into the place like I owned it. The door jingled, and there was a remarkable young lady about two feet away to bid me welcome. I nodded curtly at her and walked smartly through the store, pretending the intricate articles surrounding me were old hat to me.

Another shop girl accosted me and asked me what I wanted. "Just looking, thanks," I said.

"May I check your bag, then?" she persisted.

My bag? Oh, right. I remembered it had "Leslie's" written on it. What must they have thought? "They're used," I said, pulling out a random pair to show her I wasn't in there to steal their goodies. "Just contrasting and comparing."

"None of these are ours," she said, looking rather disgusted. "I take it you want to improve your girlfriend's..."

"Lenka..." a voice warned from somewhere around the cashier desk.

"Lenka" blushed and corrected herself, "That is to say, you want to broaden your girlfriend's horizons?"

I looked this girl over on instinct. She had a jawline, faint wrinkles around her eyes under her skillful yet modest makeup, structure, dressed like a professional... this girl was in her late twenties. Slight accent, bouncy syllables. Scandinavian, I think. That would explain the colorless hair and the green eyes. Lot of green eyes today.

"They're for my sister, actually," I said, looking her in the eyes.

My audience, let me explain the machine at work here: First, when you're a guy in the local underwear shop, your eyes are supposed to be downcast like you know you're not supposed to be in there, yet I was looking her in the eyes, daring her or anyone else to think of me as an immature boy who couldn't handle the finer side of the other half. Second, I redirected her from thinking I had a girlfriend to thinking I had a sister. Mind you, I didn't tell her I didn't have a girlfriend; it's up to her to think there's no way I would buy underwear for my sister before I would a girlfriend. Third, that I buy clothes for my sister, who's not supposed to be someone I even think about being near-nude. Let her think I'm slightly kinky; it makes it easier later on. Easier to weed out the squeamish ones. This is how you pick up women in the underwear store.

"Well then, how about you show me which is your favorite, then we can go from there?" she said a little too easily, showing me to some things I might like to see her in. Her professionalism was making things difficult.

Actually, fuck that. I didn't have time to care; I was only thinking about flirting with her for fun to take my mind off of my sister. By buying lingerie for her, yes, I know; it's backwards logic.

I dug again to the bottom of the bag, feeling the glory under my fingers as though I was touching the sweet mound it had encased nights earlier. I pulled it out of the bag and unwrapped it so the girl could see it stretched out between my fingers.

Lenka raised her eyebrows at me; after all, she asked me to show her my favorites, and I pulled out the smallest, naughtiest thing in the bag. "This is the kind of panty you would like to get for your sister?"

I kinda liked hearing that in her hint of foreign tongue. "I didn't say I liked it most; these are the only ones that're hers."

"...And the rest?"

"Models from everyone else I'm getting gifts for. Christmas, and everything. For size."

"You said you were shopping for your sister."

"Here I am. I heard this place was the best. I can't have her thinking I'd spend less on my own sister than I would some other girl, can I?"

"It's usually the girlfriend that has the jealousy. There's a note on it," she noticed, and she reached for it. "Instructions?"

I quickly shoved them back into the bag and said, "Yeah, on what to do if any of the cashiers give me crap about buying her underwear for my own sister on Christmas. What can I do?"

"No crap about it; a man's got to love a woman if he buys clothes for her here."

"This is one of the only places in town; surely it's not that uncommon."

"You're missing the point: It's like a requirement for a man to love a woman in order to shop here. Usually we turn them out if they're just trying to get into a girl's pants, buying them nice things from here."

"Obviously not my sister," I lied. The moment I unbunched Becky's panties and saw whose they were, I fantasized about buying her new ones that would make her heart sing, then her begging me to fuck her brains out while she wore them for me. If Sadie finished with me soon enough Christmas Day (fuck; got to plan for that too. When's Christmas, again?), I'd show up at Reo's to give some to her, still hope in my heart. She gave me some hope, so why shouldn't I return the favor? I just wouldn't be being mean about it.

I knocked on the door, but my brain wasn't yet able to accept what I was doing. I was about to confront her, and now that I was really there, I was too scared. Too bad; I already knocked. But there was still time to get away...

The door was opened by Reoren, looking beyond beautiful in a pretty white dress with white flowers embroidered all over; it reminded me of the Christmas dance two weeks earlier. Her shoes were barely-there little straps that held three-inch heels in place and showed off her foot, otherwise encased in nude stockings that detailed countless snowflakes falling softly down her tiny legs.

While her dress was white and elegant like the last one, the last one was huge and poofy; this one was tiny, just enough to reach her breasts (pressing the tiniest swell out over the top) and just covering her ass. The heavy straps were resting around her arms rather than on her shoulders, complimenting the white sleeves of the same style as her stockings.

She yelped in surprise when she saw me, and threw her arms around me ecstatically. "I didn't think you'd come," she whispered, face buried in my chest.

"I'm not staying," I replied, running my fingers over the fine arrangement of locks arranged around her head. She had really gone all-out. "I just wanted to give you... you all, your presents."

She pulled me into the house a few steps by my coat, then leaned up on her toes to inhale deeply of my scent. "Mmm... you smell like pussy," she complimented. Sadie insisted I not shower before I left her that morning.

Reo kissed me a kiss of deep longing, of deep satisfaction, and extreme physical pleasure. I returned it with a hint of sorrow at the situation, but I was glad to be this close to her nonetheless, so I made the best of it.

We parted, and she said, "I'm sorry, but I haven't figured out how to best wrap your present yet. Soon, okay? Like, a day or two?" She was talking pointedly as though something was special about the twenty-sixth or -seventh as though the twenty-fifth was the worst day possible. I gave her a present with her name on it in answer. She opened, and she grinned wickedly.

"Nevermind; I know exactly what to wrap it in now. I'll see you in a day or two yeah?"

"Let the man breathe," a smugly warm voice said from behind her.

The energy between Reo and myself died at once, and she slowly lowered her head and walked away, revealing my sister, standing proudly in her own dress. As black as Reo's was white, with the same style stockings and gloves, only her pattern was red roses on her black dress and Christmas lights climbing up her legs opposed to Reo's mums and snowflakes.

Becky strolled up to me in her heels that matched Reo's in every way but the color, and I saw her hair had also been worked on, ringlets again arranged to fall from nearly everywhere on her graceful head.

I looked past her and saw Reo's brother Leo watching TV from the couch. "Merry Christmas, malchik!" I called to him and tossed a small wrapped thing his way.

"You too," he answered without looking or checking his gift.

"Don't mind him; he's a little tired," Becky said smoothly. Her shoulder straps were also worn at her sides, and I admit I preferred them there so I could see her upper chest completely exposed. For all her tattoos, none of them stuck out of the tiny, tight dress. Her breasts didn't even stick out, though I saw down to her deep cleavage and understood a bit better how large they had become, even over the past year. What a waste, thought I.

I wanted the night to be over with so I could go home and masturbate to missed opportunities rather than stand there with my erection staring my sister in the face, telling her too clearly that her body was as perfect a weapon in her agenda against me as ever. I handed her the gift I secured for her and made to turn away.

She stopped me with a lace-gloved hand on my chest, then unwrapped the gift then and there. Her eyes were unreadable while they took in every aspect of the carefully-wrought cloth. Without looking at me, her delicate hand slid gracefully down from my chest to my hand, which she held with more warmth than I considered her capable of lately; it reminded me again that there was no evil witch taking over my sister; she was still a flesh-and-blood human. A human girl, one that seemed to know my every weakness.

I'm sure I had a stupid expression on my face as she pulled me back, but she stopped after just one step. She looked at me then, and when she read my confusion, I got to feel the soft texture of her glove on the tip of her finger on my chin as she coaxed me to look up, where I saw a rather large sprig of mistletoe, hung just a foot in front of the door. Reoren's doing, I know it.

Her finger gone, I was allowed to look back down. My sister shook any loose strands of hair out of her face in a calculated and enchanting display that sent all her bouncing locks in tight curls dancing through the air. She had wrapped her hands around my waist and stuck out her chest; she waited patiently for me to take the lead in what I knew I was supposed to do.

I don't know why she does this to me, but I don't think she can possibly think it doesn't hurt to do so, her as much as me. She does this, knowing I can't resist her. I had to reach up, touch that glossy hair of hers, pull gently at a long curl and watch it bounce back into its corkscrew shape.

I let my finger slide down to her neck; she leaned her head back and to the side so I could see the choker of black ribbon it was decorated with. My finger slid down to touch her neck there, and just because I knew she wanted me to, I let it slide farther down, feeling the long cleft between her breasts.

Her head was thrown back; she sighed as I touched her chest, then she looked at me straight in the eye with a pout in her lip and her knee slightly nudging my leg impatiently. I leaned forward to her puffed-out chest and kissed it, making her sigh again and pull me tighter. My lips marked her pale skin several places, intending to reach for her neck, but she was rolling her head farther back, pressing her chest deeper into me, drawing my lips down, so down they went. Down, down, until my lips felt her skin texture turn suddenly so soft.

I wanted to ravage her breast, but its clean, fresh-scented beauty allowed my dignified person to only kiss it lightly with steadily increasing pressure. My lips parted from her breast each time with a loud kiss, always to return, helped by a louder gasp from Becky. My hand slid up her side to cup that same breast, to drive it more firmly against my mouth. She moaned on queue, so I squeezed gently.

I don't know what I was thinking, pleasuring her like this. I couldn't think of one single girl I worked so hard on that I got less from. I even grabbed her other breast, licking its surface rather than kissing it once her other one was coated in a layer of my saliva. Then I held them up together, forming an even deeper cleft of cleavage, which I licked from end to breastbone, changing to kissing once I licked her all the way up to her neck.

As my kisses rode higher, her hands rode up my back, and one of mine left her breast to slide up her back as well. When I kissed the side of her chin, our hands met at the backs of the other's respective heads pulled in, forcing our kiss under the mistletoe at last.

In no time at all, we were as deep as physics allowed, tongues working hard together to make up for lost time. When we were securely kissing for all we were worth, I let my hand fall free from her head; she was clutching so tight to mine that it was unlikely she would want to part even an inch. I squeezed her breast with each renewing kiss we shared, unwilling to let it go once I had it in my hand, unwilling and unable.

My other hand was down to her ass, and one squeeze was all it took for her dress to ride over her ass. I clutched bare her ass without thinking, pushing her dress out of my way, feeling no stretch of fabric blocking my rough touch from her soft skin. I clutched tightly onto her breast, kissed her hard.

She moaned helplessly and said, "Pull my dress up." It was more like begging. I squeezed her breast once more, then let my hand slide back down her fine body to the hem of her dress, which I pulled up inch by inch, staring her in the eyes, watching her lose her cool at me exposing her backside to her two housemates, possibly watching us from behind her. I could have checked, but at that moment I had eyes for no one but her.

With the hem of her dress safely around her waist, I ran my fingertips along the exposed flesh of her ass and the sides of her legs. She moved her hands down to mine to grab them. I knew at once the fun was over and that I was about to pay for coming over. But no, I was wrong. She was guiding my fingers to the waistband of her panties, which were actually hard to grasp, as she was wiggling quite rhythmically against my erection.

She felt I had her waistband safe and sound in my duel grip, and she gasped out as surely as if she had taken a hit to the stomach. I thought perhaps she was about to be sick, so I waited, and then I actually entertained a thought that it was a pleasure response. In test, I lowered her waist band down just to her hips, and she gasped again, true as rain.

I looked at her face, skillfully done in a "snowbunny" motif; that is, very light makeup with a thin coating of bright red lipstick; the point was to let the cold weather let a girl's natural color brighten her cheeks. I wanted her to look back at me and understand that I was going to pull her panties down, but she seemed genuinely distracted with, dare I say it, pleasure.

She chewed on her lip, then looked at me at last,saying, "Don't stop kissing me," in her aching voice. So kiss her I did, and my lips meshed with hers further while I lowered her waistband further down her hips. I felt her dress following my hands. Her disposition was increasing with each moment, and when I felt the material begin to peel away from her skin, she could kiss no more. I saw her eyes clamped shut, and she gripped me tightly as she shook unhindered for several long seconds.

She recovered without I guessed what went on. I went to kissing her again as she had asked me to do, but she accepted only one peck before saying instead, "Give me a hand?"

How did I know what she wanted? Because I, like the other way around, seem to know what my sister wants. If only I can give her what she wants. And what I want most of all is to give her happiness. I lowered her panties further down, finally going to one knee to pull them the rest of the way. I couldn't resist giving her stockinged legs a kiss where her panties passed. I took a gentle hold of one of her thighs to assist her lifting her foot up so I could pull one leg of her panties free, then the same with the other.

I got back to my feet, handing them to her. She held them to her face for a moment, breathing deeply of herself. She then opened them up and presented them back to me, saying, "They're yours now. You've earned them," just like the note had said from last time.

I looked at them; how could I not when I was breathing of them as deeply as she had? and there was a large drop of clear white liquid, providing all the proof I needed that according to the laws of this town, ownership of them had now passed to me, a trophy to do with what I wished, and too bad if they were from my own sister.

I took them gratefully, slid them into my back pocket, then looked at her with a smile of soft satisfaction as I held her gently by the hips. Her dress had slid a little bit down her front, but I was being too much the gentleman at the moment to notice, though I did notice a rather powerful smell coming from that area as I rose again to my feet.

She then held the new pair of panties I had given her up for me to see, held aloft by a single careless finger. I took them too, but I knew they were for her; I had just given them to her and she hadn't even worn them, nevermind me having not won them fairly. She turned her back to me, and again I lowered myself down.

One by one I lifted her small feet in my hands, each held in place by a black strap above the ankle, and slid the panties over them, then I pulled them up her long legs. I kissed her calves and then her thighs, kissed the bare skin where her stockings gave way, and just barely resisted the urge to part her cheeks and kiss her on her hot pussy. I kissed her instead on the small swell of her ass, then got all the way upright, sliding the panties all the way into place.

She wrapped her arms up around my head and laced her fingers behind my neck. I helped her dress get properly into place, or as well as I could with her ass grinding against the front of my pants. My hands slid up her front, getting trapped on her breasts, which I squeezed shamelessly.

She sighed in contentment. I gazed at her, kissed her. She moaned back at me, loving my caresses. I took one step farther, pulling her dress down far enough to free her breasts, and finally I held them, filling my hands with them fuller than I ever thought them capable of. I squeezed down the flesh, trapping her nipples between my fingers. I squeezed them as gently as I knew how.

She was kissing me more erotically with every touch I gave her. This time, I knew the games were over. Soon, I'd be lifting her into my arms and taking her upstairs. I didn't know how, but I knew that not only would she be my friend once more, but she'd also be my constant lover. She would belong to me alone, and I'd cast aside all others to keep from distracting me from her.

"Take me to bed now. Merry Christmas, big brother."

...take me to bed now, big brother.

...bed me now, big brother.

...now, big brother...

big brother...

"...Big brother."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, 'I wish I had a big brother now.' I'd love to have these wrapping around me, especially after draining someone else's wallet to get them. I bet a big brother like you'd be just the guy I could ask to spend that much. Here you go; any other assistance required?"

I looked down at the receipt; more than two hundred of my hard-earned dollars had been drained on the an even less significant piece of fabric and string than was gracing the bottom of my special bag. Words like "hand-made" and "one-of-a-kind" wasn't helping to do dull the pain any.

"Guy? You there?" the cashier asked. I looked up at her; it was the same girl, "Malenka," her name tag read.

"Huh? Yeah."

"Need another bag, or are you good with the one you've got?"

"Oh, that. You have anything small? Like, something I can tape shut and...?"

"Oh, I get you. Here." She folded the thing so the gusset was neatly arranged over the string, and placed it on the bottom of a hard bit of paper, which she began folding over until it was a colorful little wafer that opened out the center. "It's got a little hole to tie a note to. They're new this year, so she won't notice where they're from, not unless she's got her boyfriend getting her stuff from here, too."

"I don't think he's got her taste," I grumbled at the thought of Becky having a boyfriend, which I think I remember her mentioning once upon a time.

"Then, like I said, it's good she's got a brother like you as long as she's got such expensive taste. Have a nice day."

Here's another spot for a break time for those with sleepy feet and itchy arses.

I was still in a daze when I walked out. From the price? A little, yeah. But the dream, whoa. What was I trying to tell myself? It didn't matter; I knew I would go see her on Christmas day, and I knew she would be more than happy to break my heart. But it would be worth it just to see how she was dressed, just to touch her still-developing body.

"Derrick?"

"Cindy?"

I was just outside the shop, and a shapely girl had followed me out at speed. She saw my heartbroken expression and recoiled. "No, Sara," she answered, letting me down a little. A girlfriend sure could have come in handy then. "What's wrong?"

I said a few words, but it was mostly babble. The more I tried to arrange a thought, the more nonsensical it came out. In seconds, tears were exploding out of me, and Sara was clutching me tightly, letting me unload on her.

"Come on, let's get you inside somewhere. The bagel shop's close."

We got there, her drying my eyes as we walked, and she found us a secluded pair of chairs around a small table. "Two Charlottes!" she called to the counter rather than leave me to even try to think about food. "What's bothering you? Are you upset Cindy didn't ask you to go to the last dance? I thought you two weren't that serious about..."

I cut her off before she could get any steam built up. I told her about the dance, how Becky had showed up, how Riley popped her strange question to me, how it was a strange journey of sex that never once saw Becky's smile leaving my imagination through every girl I had my way with over the course of the early morning following the dance. How several days later, I thought I was bigger than the whole game she was playing, all until I saw her present of the panties.

How I was hopeless for her to play with how she wanted to, how I was trying to get back at her by buying an expensive replacement to cover her loss, how I just fell into the most surreal daydream of my life involving Becky's passion for me finally winning out over her malcontent.

I don't think I've ever told Cindy about my unhinging lust for my sister. Telling her would be the same as telling Sara, and Sara seemed rather surprised by my whole story. Though I had stopped blabbering and blubbing, she never came up with anything to say. Fortunately for her, the food arrived. We were both served a short mountain of something smelling delicious and wrapped between to large, soft, lightly toasted bagels.

"I wonder what a Raleigh tastes like," I said, completely distracted by the taste of the delicious sammich.

"It's named after an old employee," Sara explained. "She was fucking gorgeous; she worked here before becoming a model. This was her favorite; she invented it herself."

"A model, eating this?" I asked in disbelief. The thing had avocado, cheese, at least three different kinds of meat, delicious sauce...

"Sure. She was the one who got the place Tikki works at recognized.Tikki being the little White Japanese thing that likes taking pictures of naked girls. I'm rather fond of her.?te however she wanted to; didn't exercise herself to death; and every magazine, calender, commercial, or video that featured her had it written in their contracts that her images were to be in no way doctored."

"That's nothing new. 'Few Perfect' has been doing that for umpteen years."

"Not until she came along. You couldn't get printed unless your image was shopped back when she was getting started."

"What's it even matter being a model, then, if you can just print out a picture of anybody however you want?"

"That's what she said; but still, it was way past ridiculous. Now, thanks to her, we models can have our real bodies showing."

"Huh? What's this 'we' models?"

"That's what S... Cindy and I do. Didn't you know?"

"...I thought you guys worked in language or something. So, what does this model do now? In fact, what the hell does a model do when she stops modeling? Marry someone famous?"

"She did, yes, but hardly a year after she started. She died, though. Long time ago."

"Oh. Blond?"

"Red. Not ginger; I'm talking red, deep red. Color you can't get with dye, and I've tried. Pepper has hair like hers."

"Pepper?"

"My sister."

"Oh. I'm guessing that's how you can get into the studio whenever you want, right?" I asked, remembering the time she and Cindy had taken us there right before and after our first dance as an official pair.

"Yep. Another?"

"I'm fine. So, there's something I need to tell Cindy, and I don't know how she's gonna take it."

Sara looked shocked. "Do you wanna break up with her? Is that it?"

"No, of course not." In fact, before she had shown up earlier, I had forgotten all about her and her twin, my official girlfriend. To think I could've just dialed a number and had somebody to talk to. Two somebodies. Sara would've come running just as fast as Cindy, I bet. I really had no preference over either, except that I hadn't yet learned Cindy's true name, if you know what I mean. That was something I had shared with her twin instead.

"Another girl asked me if she could date me."

"I remember."

"Standing days, three, four times a month."

"Derrick, I'm a little surprised with you."

"You are?"

"How long did it take you to call Cindy once you got back from Macedonia?" She looked hurt. Deeply hurt. I'm guessing sympathetic pain runs between twins after all. These two, at least.

"About a week," I admitted, and suddenly I began feeling horrible. Shall we count the ways? No, let's not. Suffice to say, it's all fine and dandy to say,?et's fuck whomever wheneverwhen you've got something particularly delicious like Reo or a building full of cheerleaders lining up in front of your behemoth cock. But when the sweet (did I mention shapely?) Cindy is sitting in front of you (technically Sara, but remember they're very indistinguishable twins), all that reasoning seems to go down the toilet.

Rather than strike me down, she took hold of my hand under the table. "She really misses you. She's waiting for you to call her."

"I'm confused. Didn't we have an arrangement?"

"We... you guys did, you do, but have a heart. You were gone for months, neither of us knowing where you were. I was worried too. I was hoping you'd've let me know, though of course I expected you to go straight to Cindy, not me. How did we find out, Derrick?"

I hadn't thought about that. Again, I hadn't thought about the twins at all. What was left over of my obsession with Becky had been divided between a slew of things. Among them Salamandy, the twins' own sister. "You're right. Where is she, and how do I beg her to even talk to me again?"

"Get down on your knees and apologize to me to, begin with," Sara ordered.

I can't take much more of this weird shit going on. But then again, I didn't have so many friends that I could just turn them away when I slighted them, and I was rather surprised to learn how much Cindy really cared. I think what really pushed me to push my shame of begging in public away was thinking of Becky. Something Salamandy said to me: "What did you think she was going to think when she found out you had the hots for her, the way you treat girls?"

I should've listened instead of cutting her off. Too late; that was then, now is now. All I can do now is not turn Cindy into another Becky. Sara I took to be more forgiving, which should make the experience easier. But as emotional as Sara was being, I was rather scared at the thought of Cindy being any worse.

I was between her legs on my knees and holding her hands in mine. Her gray eyes were expressing a softness I hadn't seen in her. "Sara, even if this is supposed to be just a rehearsal, I want you to know that I never cared for you any less than Cindy, and no matter what I thought about either of you, I shouldn't've neglected to tell you for so long."

Her eyes were tearing up. Was she serious? I really had hurt her. What must Cindy be feeling? And then came the inevitable stupid thought: I didn't think she cared enough to feel anything, therefore it didn't occur to me to care in return. Shows you how much I know, my gentle audience.

"I won't ever take your friendship for granted again, and I'll do you one better: I'll become even better friends with you so that..."

She burst into tears. I took a writing course once, and in it I learned the difference between credibility and verisimilitude. The former has to do with actual credit built up between two people to determine how well one believes the other, while the latter is simply how well one person can convince another through choice words, facial expressions, and attitude.

Sara and I didn't exactly have a rapport, so she shouldn't know how well I may or may not stick to my word, but since I got back from that barren jungle it seems that everyone believes every word I say (putting Becky aside for the moment). No, I don't think everyone's feeling so sorry for me and viewing me as such a hero that I can't possibly lie, but that my time with Salamandy taught me to be sincere.

I've been talking my way into women's pants for five years or so now, yet it's this past few weeks back home where I only say what I mean, and the panties come flying off (literally; I've got a bag full of them).

Sara, for her part, seemed to believe me, and she seemed relieved so.

"I forgive you, Derrick," she sobbed, but she was getting her tears under control now, "only never let it happen again. I'm not asking for much, just that you keep me in mind, okay?"

"It's a promise," I said. And hey, even I believed me when I said it. How could I have ever forgotten someone so beautiful? Granted there was competition competition, but she had always been so good to me in the short time we knew each other. I guess I needed that good kick in the ass to find out just how fragile relationships are. "I just hope your sister..."

"Don't worry about her," she said, waving her off.

"But she..."

"You're my boyfriend; she'll be fine. Where's my kiss?" She pulled me back to my feet by our still-joined hands to lean over her seated figure, but I stopped her before our lips could meet.

"But what about Cindy?"

"I am Cindy, you blind fruit-bat," she said, and she kissed me then to keep me from saying anything more stupid.

I retook my seat, but I felt the need to sidle my chair up against the blond beauty, who turned out to be my number one after all. I actually missed her. "So..."

"I saw the look on your face, and panicked," she explained of her deception. "What are you going to do about this girl?"

Huh? "What girl?"

"Seriously, you have the attention span of a shark when it comes to dolphins," she sighed.

"Becky?"

"The girl you want to date."

"Cindy, I don't even want to think about that now, not after the way I've treated you. I can't think about it."

"Well, you'd better, because it sounds like she's got the hots for you, and if there's one thing you don't need right now, it's to be circled by a flock of angry dolphins. You should go to her."

"And do what? Date her? I'm dating you, and I'm not sorry about it."

"You're not dating me; we both know that. Even if we were, she's offering you something that I can't give you, and I know you need it, even if you're too much the gentleman to tell me. She doesn't even want to be your boyfriend, just a date once in a while, no harm done. All we have, plus sex, and the last thing I'd ever do is tell you you can't have sex because of me."

I regarded her through a lens of ignorance. She still didn't want me in bed? I had been sure it was just her way of telling me she wanted to wait, yet she was exactly the same as half a year ago. I had heard some silly claim that couples should wait at least eight months to do anything serious, never mind sex. I had entertained ideas that Cindy was simply waiting, but by all this time there should have been some opening.

The fact that I couldn't get her into bed had confused me to no end. Other girls I knew less and cared for less had no reservations. It made Cindy seem beyond me, beyond the call of sex. Either something wasn't quite right, or she genuinely didn't need sex to be happy. Weird.

"I won't deny that I want her, but is now really the time to talk about it?"

"No matter how many girls you end up dating, only I'm your girlfriend. You can talk to me about anything. You could tell me if you wanted to have a threesome with Sara if that's what was on your mind."

"I respect your decision not to have sex," I replied.

"Sure, just because you're getting plenty on the side," she giggled.

"Only until you say you want me all to yourself. What were you doing at Leslie's by the way? And why'd you hide until I got out?"

"I wasn't hiding; I just didn't see you."

"I'm rather hard to miss."

"I'm five-foot-six, you asshole! I can't see over those huge racks!"

I tickled her some to calm her down.

"But I was there to buy Sara's gift."

"I was under the impression that the best gifts were hand-made."

"Not when I get to wear them twelve times throughout the next year," she poked her tongue out at me.

"Huh?"

She whispered into my ear, "I bought it to wear for her when she undresses me Christmas morning."

"Oh. Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?"

That got her laughing. "Let's go, handsome. Let's find you a girl."

************

No one picked up the phone at Reo's house and neither of us knew where to look for her, so we just went to Julie's to dump our fat asses on the barstools.

"Glass of Riesling for the lady and the usual for me, my lovely," I ordered from the ever-desirable Jessie. Just looking at her still gave me tingles, but then again so did half the girls at the bar. Cindy more than the rest of them because of how well I knew her, but still. It made me think about everything that was out there, how truly large this world is, what there is for me to accomplish.

Don't forget there's Garnet and probably a town full of ass where she comes from, and the rest of the state besides. What am I doing here in this bar with a woman when I could be single at a bar? Not this bar maybe, but any bar.

"Cindy, do you ever have doubts about being in a permanent relationship?" I asked cautiously. I don't know why I hesitated; she'd more than once told me she was there for me in any way I could think of if I needed her.

She twirled her petite glass in her fine fingers. They and the rest of her was very finely cared-for for the purpose of her modeling career she apparently shared with her twin sister. Besides being the most beautiful creature since birth, she was all those things you see written on bathroom walls: short enough to look up at you and burrow her head into your chest yet enough leg to take hours staring at before you ever see her face, eyes of cloudy sky to match the plentiful curls falling forever across her slender shoulders, a large pair of breasts that are perfect for showing off yet never huge or cumbersome, and of course the golden cup of her pussy that everyone with a ticket to an art show can see but can never ever touch.

And here I am, wishing she wasn't getting in the way of me fucking anything that moved. Geesh; no wonder my sister wouldn't have anything to do with me. Sure, Becky fucks just as hard as I do, though she's the one who's always dating while she's screwing everything with the opposite plumbing.

Back to Cindy and me sitting at the bar. "Why do you think I'm with you, Derrick? Why I'm really with you?"

Her question was a nasty, false puzzle. I had always felt from the beginning like I'd been using her; but though she pretty much told me from the beginning she was using me, I thought her too pure and noble for that. Why? Because you're a stupid romantic fool, Gains. You can't look the truth in the face without pretending you can change her through some miraculous potion brewed up in the cauldron of your nut sack.

"So you can keep doing whatever you're doing without every guy in town hitting on you," I said honestly enough."

"In town? I travel for work, you know. It's just as bad everywhere else."

"But everywhere else you don't have me chasing all the boys away."

"...Yeah."

Dang. Talking to her can be depressing sometimes. More importantly, Reo hadn't chanced by. Also, I was missing hanging with my boys. I know it hasn't been long, yet I feel like the only time I see Bill is when we pass one-another by at his pad, Dree's working more than drinking, and I see more of Sam's sisters than Sam. I'm feeling a bit tied-down here.

"Cindy, do you..."

"...You wanna break up?"

Dammit, no. "I don't want to 'break up', but you gotta understand I just got back from a really long thingy where I had to live a bit differently, so I'm still disoriented. I can barely tie my shoes, I'm so out of it."

"So...?"

"So I... I don't really know." I polished off my brew, then rested my chin on my crossed arms. Cindy kept sipping at her wine politely and watching the big screen.

Then, about eight minutes later, she got to her feet. "You call me when you're feeling better, okay?"

Stupid me that I am, I took a moment or two to think about what she said before I actually looked over to her. All that was there was an empty glass.

"'Nother drink?" Jill asked when she came back down my way.

"Sure." She turned around, gave a little shimmy of ass while she refilled my glass. Why do I feel like I got run over by someone lurking in the parking lot, waiting for me? "Jill, what just happened?"

"You wanna break up with her, but you don't know it yet. Let me buy you one." The words rattled off her tongue like they'd been sitting there patiently, waiting for me to ask for them. She was ready with the bottle again as soon as my glass touched my coaster.

"Oh." The news was somewhat hard to bear, but it felt a little true. I don't know why anyone would wish to part company with someone so obviously perfect in every single way, but once I allowed myself to think about it, I started feeling shackled by Cindy.

I know it's a shitty way to think about her after she just got finished telling me how much she cared; but it was a bit suffocating, having to be responsible for someone's feelings like that. I guess I'm not ready for it. Like she said, the responsibility of being with someone sometimes has unexpected repercussions you may not be prepared for.

Or, I may just want to do something else with my life.

"Jill, what you doin' tonight?"

"Why? Your roommate gonna be home?"

*