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bryangsimmons-blog · 6 years ago

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Winter’s Present

Silver

____________

Where love and death have played amends,

Knowing there's nothingness at the end.

Then you'll say, "Do you wanna pretend again,

That we're in love?"

She wasn't like the other girls. They'd approach with their sexy or their sweet, their vulnerable or their confident. They all had their ways of suggesting that it was something just a little more than fee for service, and some, you could tell, had a natural talent for making every emotion seem real. Ian didn't care. He tipped all the girls well at the stage, and that soothed the ones he never chose, which was almost all of them. He wasn't concerned with the intellectual knowledge that for the most part, the dancers had little but contempt for the patrons. He laughed to himself. "Patrons."

Ian walked over to the bar and said, "Hi."

The woman, who looked quite young, giggled and returned the, "Hi."

"I haven't seen you here before."

"It's my first night. I thought I'd get here an hour or so before I go on to get the feel for what I'm supposed to be doing."

"You've never danced before?"

"Oh, I've danced, I've just never stripped, or danced for anything but my own pleasure."

"Well, young lady, I could make your first day an easy one by taking you in back for your whole shift."

"You must have deep pockets."

"I do."

"I might have to take you up on that, but the club has a rule, no privates until the girl does one round on stage. Oh, and if I were a lady, I don't think I'd be about to do what I'm about to do." She started giggling again, "I've never even been to one of these places before. I'll probably look ridiculous."

"So what possessed you to seek employment at this fine establishment?"

She laughed harder this time, "You're a funny old guy." She paused, "Now don't you make me laugh up there. I mean it. I'm having a hard enough time as it is."

"Nervous about being naked?"

"No, it's the trappings, and the hokiness. Look what I'm wearing. Believe me, I'll be happy to take it off."

"And the shoes?" Ian asked.

"That's the worst. I'll probably need a wheelchair to get to classes tomorrow."

"You could take those off too."

"Have you seen any of the girls take off their shoes? It's probably some rule they just forgot to tell me about."

"Any one of the dancers would take off her shoes for a $50 tip. Watch." Ian approached the stage, and the dancer disengaged, and went to where she knew the money was. He stuck a fifty in her garter, pointed discreetly, and whispered, "Shoes." She made quite a show of removing her shoes. Ian walked back to the bar.

She said aloud, though out of his earshot, "Maybe you can afford me."

Ian sat next to her again, and asked her if she'd like a drink, and she told him she wasn't 21, but he could buy her an "overpriced soda" if he wanted, and then told him not to. "The last thing I need is to be up there dancing, feeling like I have to pee."

Ian's face conveyed interest as he said, "You seem nice."

"Well, I hope you don't mean 'nice' in that nice girls wouldn't do this, nice meaning not slutty, because any of these women might be nice or otherwise, and if you're saying that I'm better than them because they're not nice girls, and I seem like I am, then you're a sexist, and this conversation is over."

"'Slutty' isn't in my lexicon, and if it were, I'd be the one who was degraded. I might be sex obsessed, and obviously I'm paying for sexual titillation, but I can assure you, there's not a smidgeon of contempt for the dancers. I just adore women's bodies, head to toe, and as imperfect as the whole strip club thing is, it gives me a much needed fix."

"So you're telling me that you're a female body junkie. Do guys admit that?"

"I just did. I like everything about female bodies, with all five senses. Does that make you uncomfortable?"

"No. It's nice, and maybe you're nice too, in the way that you say you're saying that I seem nice, but I need to mingle, give some attention to the other guys, maximize my earnings."

Ian saw her working the room. The other strippers were often assertive, even sitting on men's laps, uninvited, but most often appreciated. She didn't spend much time with any one man, and while Ian couldn't hear the words, he could tell that she was tacking in a unique way. She left nearly every one of them laughing.

When it was her turn to dance, Silver--that was the stripper name she's chosen from the list of suggested names than none of the other dancers were currently using--turned to Ian and mouthed, "Don't make me laugh." The name was absurd, because she had light brown hair that Ian would soon learn was her natural color.

When the music started, she had no idea what to do. This wasn't the song she'd chosen, and it wasn't really danceable. She danced her way over to Ian, who had positioned himself next to the stage and glared. He responded with a smile, and 3 fifties in her garter, as he chuckled and looked at her feet. As she'd said, she got undressed quickly, removing her shoes first.

You know you've got it, Ultra.

I haven't felt this way since high school.

Her stripping was completely inept, and she had zero experience with the pole. It was more like watching a college girl dancing around her dorm room, taking her clothes off in preparation for a shower or to get into her nightclothes, and there was no tease all. She opened herself wide, and so close that you could tell that she didn't use that spray that most of the strippers do, and which Ian found a bit repulsive.

Touch me, electric and I melt.

This was the girl next door, the really cute girl next door, the one who made you ache that her bedroom wasn't on the side of the house that faced yours.

Truly, Angoras should surround you and choose you as their queen.

The audience ate it up. She was the only dancer Ian had ever seen at the club who was completely unshaven, but she wasn't hiding anything, as she bent over and left very little to the imagination. Even the dim lighting, which was meant to obscure, to leave them wanting more, was no match for her look-at-me-and-take-a-mental-picture performance.

Touch me for real and take my heart.

'Cause I'm just dumb enough to think.

When she walked off, after picking up all the cash that had been tossed on the stage, she put her panties back on, and carrying her shoes and the rest of what there was to her outfit, walked over to Ian. "It's $30 a song, and for an extra $20, you can feel up my boobs. No touching anywhere that a bikini bottom would cover."

Ian asked, "How much for the rest of the evening?"

Silver smiled, "You weren't kidding."

"No."

She answered, "A thousand."

Ian smiled. She walked over to the cashier to get an envelope, and after accepting ten $100 bills, she sealed the envelope, wrote her name on it, and dropped it in her mailbox. She signaled to one of the bouncers to accompany her into the private room.

As they walked in, Ian said, "Good evening, Darren."

The bouncer replied, "Good evening, Sir."

"Darren, I've paid for this young woman's services until midnight. You know I'm a gentleman, and while I realize that it's your job to glance over from time to time, I'd appreciate as much privacy as possible.

The two fifty dollar bills were received with an exaggeratedly professional, "Thank you, Sir."

"And would you mind flagging a hostess to fetch us a bottle of wine? Something with bubbles."

"Yes Sir."

Ian sat on the couch, and Silver asked, "Am I supposed to sit on your lap?"

Ian laughed, "Why don't you just sit next to me? We've got more than three hours, but while we're waiting for the drinks, let me have a good look at that beautiful face of yours." He brushed her cheek lightly as he pushed her hair back behind her ear, his finger tracing the rim of her ear before moving back, and gently massaging her through her hair. "So beautiful."

“You know this is kind of embarrassing me.”

Ian snuffled and asked, “So, you’re not embarrassed to spread your butt cheeks in the faces of a bunch of salivating horndogs, but you’re getting all blushy about a man telling you that you have a beautiful face?”

“Yeah, you’re looking at me like I’m some kind of paradigm of human perfection. Besides, I like showing people what I have between my legs. It’s a thrill. If it weren’t for all the other bullshit, it’d be really hot. Oh, and about the butt thing, one of the other girls told me that if you show a little pink, the guys tip more, but if you put your ass in their faces, they go crazy. What is it with guys? Straight guys, it’s girls’ buttholes. Gay guys, it’s boys’ buttholes. Buttholes.”

“I assume that’s a rhetorical question, but I'll answer anyway. In the context of this environment, it's like you're sharing the most private part of your body. It plays on the fantasy of the woman being unconditionally accessible.”

The hand that wasn’t playing with her hair began to touch her hand, which was resting on her knee. He was tracing her veins with his fingertips, then he started feeling the individual bones in her hand, working his way down each finger, then back, almost to her wrist. He cupped her fingers and bought her hand to his face. She could feel his breath on the back of her hand, and his lips moving on her the way his fingers had. “I suppose you’d be more comfortable if I were manhandling your breasts?”

She thought for a moment, then said, “No, and if it weren't for the thousand dollars, I'd be on my way home. It's pretty obvious that you were responsible for that crazy song too. Why'd you do that?”

"Because you're my fantasy girl, and with the tips you got, I'd say almost everyone else's as well. You should be thanking me. I don't think I've ever seen so many guys throwing that many bills, but I do apologize."

"You ruined my joke."

Ian was curious, "Joke?"

"Yeah, I was going to use Brown Sugar, and it took some persuading to get the DJ to agree. He said only Black girls dance to that, and that it didn't make sense. I gave him my nicest little girl, 'Please,' and he rolled his eyes and said he'd do it, but that I owed him one. Do you fucking own this place?"

"I guess I could, at least own a share, but then I couldn't touch the girls--and that's an awfully weird joke. This isn't a comedy club." Ian paused, "Besides, that's the weakest song on the album."

The server returned with a bottle of California Brut, which Darren opened, and poured. “For the lady.” He may have known, but probably not, that he was serving someone underage.

They both smiled, and Silver said, “Thank you.” Of course, he wasn’t in on the "lady" thing.

As he handed Ian the glass, “Sir.” Ian thanked him, and he went back to his chair.

“So, what are you studying?”

“Excuse me?”

“In school. What’s your major?”

She gazed at Ian with a somewhat puzzled expression, but saw no real reason not to answer honestly, “Sociology, maybe Anthropology. I’m a freshman. I’m just taking intro classes.”

Ian looked at her somewhat sideways, “So you can’t decide whether you’re a Socialist or a Communist?”

She gave him a look that feigned offense, but her eyes betrayed amusement, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“A failed attempt at humor, so I guess we're even. I was a Soc major too, and the one Anthro class I took was taught by a Marxian, but don’t think that because I’m a rich guy I’m hostile toward Liberals. I’m rich because of dumb luck, not because I exploited the proletariat.” Now, her eyes narrowed. Ian continued, “I won the lottery.”

Her face softened, “So you got lucky.”

Ian nodded, “I’ve had enough bad luck too. Will you lay your head on my shoulder?” He stroked her hair, as he pulled her close and whispered, “Just let me pretend.”

Over the next hour, few words were spoken. He touched her everywhere that wasn’t forbidden, places she hadn't been touched in a long time. It was affectionate, not at all what she’d expected. She felt like a cat being pet, and she purred. She thought, “What the fuck? This feels good,” but when he put his hand on her tummy, she said, “I really have to pee.”

When she returned, she sat down next to him and bluntly asked, “Are you married?”

She wasn't even certain why she'd asked, as there wasn't any indentation on his finger, but there was no mistaking the hint of sadness in his voice as he said one word, “Widowed.”

She sensed the genuine grief, and said, “You really loved her.” It wasn’t a question.

His eyes didn’t quite tear, but she could see the hurt in them, and the slight twitch in his cheeks, as he quietly replied, “Yes.” His lips clenched, wavered a bit, and then he attempted a half smile, "She's dead and I'm still married."

"Wow," she laughed nervously, "heavy."

Ian thought a while, and said, "I'm sorry, everything happened pretty quickly. I even thought about what I'd do if I were rich, and it was all about girls...or women. Like I said, I'm not sexist. I don't think of women as girls in any other way, but the word, 'Girl,' thrills me. I don't mean any disrespect."

"Well, to me you're just a boy. Whatever men might want from me, I don't know,” and she thought, "What you're supposed to say is some version of, 'I'm sorry,'" but instead, changed the subject, "What album?"

Ian brightened a bit, "Sticky Fingers." He noted the coincidence, her asking about his marital status, and that album being the go to music for lovemaking with his late wife, and he most often skipped Brown Sugar. Perhaps it wasn't the very weakest song, but the idea of a human being whipped was so much the opposite of loving touch, whereas Sway was the perfect introduction of the incubus, an angel so reluctant to fall from grace, but one destined to succumb to carnal knowledge.

The private rooms were well insulated--only the muffled thump of the bass was audible--and had their own sound systems. "Darren?"

The bouncer replied, "Yes, Sir?" Ian pulled out his phone, "Sticky Fingers, and please skip Brown Sugar." Darren dutifully complied.

After the album ended, Ian put his arms around her and held her, and she reflexively arched her neck and lay it on his shoulder. Through her soft hair, he whispered in her ear, "Thank you."

She turned around and laughed, "I just got paid three hundred dollars an hour to get back rubs."

Ian nodded, "I call that a bargain, but I assume that it's almost time for you to turn into a pumpkin, and again, thank you. That was the first time I've felt real joy in a long time. "

Silver kissed him on the lips.

It was rather chaste, like a goodbye kiss after an old fashioned first date that had gone well, and she asked, "Will you walk me to my car?"

Ian answered, "I'd be honored.” Ian turned and said, “Darren."

Darren turned his head, "Yes, Sir?"

"The lady asked that I walk her to her car. Would you chaperone?" Ian handed Darren another fifty.

"Of course, Sir."

As they turned to leave, Ian took out a money clip and removed two more hundred dollar bills. Silver expected him to hand them to her, but instead, he pocketed the bills, and handed her the money clip. She gave him a quick hug and whispered in his ear in a husky voice in parody of Darren, "Thank you, Sir." They squeezed each other tightly, laughing. It was Darren's job to be obsequious to guys like Ian, one he'd done quite well.

"I'll wait for you by the door."

Silver offered her arm as they walked out of the club. She thought, "Lady." After she unlocked the car, she offered her left hand to Ian, who raised it to his lips, "Good night."

"Good night."

As the men walked away, she rolled down the window and shouted, "The Who." Ian looked back and smiled. The guys shook hands, and Ian clasped his left hand over Darren's. Silver faked receiving a phone call because she wanted to see what Ian was driving. When he got into that little Fiat she'd assumed belonged to one of the strippers, she said aloud, though no one could hear, "Could this be any fucking weirder?" She pulled out after him, and saw his vanity plate. Then, not wanting him to think she was following him, took a turn that wasn't hers, went less than a mile, then hung a U.

It was one in the morning, but she had to call Eric. "What's up, Winter? Is there something wrong?"

"Dude, you're not going to believe my night."

It was two hours earlier where Eric was, so Winter didn't see any reason not to account every detail of her night at the strip club. "I knew when I was up there on that stage, never again."

"But you went in the back room with him."

"Shit, Eric, it was a thousand dollars, and here's where it gets better. He gave me his money clip, and that had almost three hundred more dollars, and something else, a personal check for another thousand."

Eric asked, "Do you think it's real?"

"Well, I can't see why it wouldn't be, and we'll see tomorrow when I go to his bank to cash it. Also, because it's a check, it has his address, which I'm sure he wanted me to have. He knew I was never going back to that club."

"So you like old guys now?"

"I like money."

"You aspire to be a high priced call girl then."

"I wasn't kidding when I told the guy that I liked getting paid $300 an hour to get back rubs, and while I figure he'll expect a lot more than that, you know me, I never get tired of fucking, and he's got the magic fingers. He touched the inside of my thigh for a long time, and it was hard to resist reaching down and inviting him to break the rules. Just a few inches."

"Damn, Winter, now I'm going to have to wake up Chloe."

After a silence, Eric went on, "You're going to love her, and we'll be home on Sunday. We're taking the train, and Dad's picking us up in Kirksville. You should come along. We'd all fit nicely in the back seat."

Winter giggled, "I'm sure we will."

"Another thing I haven't told you; we're getting married sometime over break."

Winter didn't know what to say but, "Wow, that was quick, did you get her knocked up or something?"

Eric laughed, "Why yes, yes I did. Seriously, she's pregnant and we're both thrilled. She's a lot like you, except, you know, she's not my sister."

"So you think I'd like to get pregnant at nineteen? That'd sure throw a wrench into my new career."

There was a pause, and then Eric said, "We're taking the train through New Mexico. Remember how stunning the desert was? On the way back to L.A. we're stopping for a week in Santa Fe.” There was a silence, and Eric asked, “Winter?"

"Yeah, I was just thinking."

"Me too," said Eric, "Kansas."

"Go wake up your pregnant girlfriend."

"Bye."

Winter

____________

It was a three hour drive to meet the train, so they left about 6:30, and went through the drive through at Burger King. Winter got lost in her own thoughts--I usually don't eat like that, fast food breakfast, and I'd lobbied for McDonald's because I was mostly interested in another coffee, but Dad was driving, and (admittedly) better food won out over better coffee. I had one of those crescent roll things with extra sausage. Drives with my parents aren't bad.

As soon as NPR started crackling, Winter's father, Richard, stuck in one of his mix CDs. It started out with the 3rd movement of Brahms 4, by the Berlin Phil, then some New York Dolls. After that were his favorite Rossini overtures, and then, no surprise, Sugar, Sugar. Yeah that one. Dad always joked that Sugar, Sugar perfectly expressed his "deepest, innermost feelings." No wonder why Mom fell in love with him pretty much instantly. Eric always chimed in with comments like, "This man is wise," or "My father is the most spiritually evolved man on the planet," or some other silly way of seconding the notion. That apple didn't fall far.

I had been happy enough without a father, though we really were pretty poor. I had only met Dad a few times when Mom told me we were moving in with him. "I'm getting laid off, Winter." I asked her what we were going to do. She said we were moving in with her boyfriend, and that we really didn't have any better option.

Natalie: You know how I think that everything happens for a reason?

Winter: No. I know that you think that, but not how, or why.

Natalie: Smartass.

In retrospect, she hit that one out of the park. About a week after we moved, some government grant, or contract, or something...I don't know, but she went back to work. I was nervous at first, but I got my own really nice room. Mom and I had shared at the apartment. They put me upstairs, in my new dad's old bedroom, and turned one of the downstairs rooms into a master bedroom. They were newlyweds, or soon to be newlyweds, Eric said, and that's why they wanted the two of us as far away as possible. Several years on, the newlywed thing doesn't appear to have run its course.

When the train arrived, Eric and Chloe were among the first ones off. "Mom, Dad," said Eric, "This is Chloe."

After an exchange of perfunctory pleased-to-meet-yous, Eric said, "And this is my sister, Winter."

Winter looked Chloe up and down, then said, "Damn bro. You said she was gorgeous, but all I can say is you're lucky you saw her first."

Dad said, "Winter!" but he was holding back a laugh.

Winter turned to Chloe and said, "If it wasn't a biological impossibility, I'd want you to have my baby." Then Winter winked and flashed a little sideways smile, and Chloe lost it. Everybody did, even Mom.

Eric was poking Chloe in the arm and saying, "Dishes, dishes." When the merriment died down, Eric said, "I told her that when she met Winter that she'd be laughing within two minutes, and that she'd fit in great with my family because she laughs all the time. She said she bet she could keep herself from laughing, and said she'd even double it to four. We bet dishes for a week." He turned to Chloe, "You didn't make it past one."

Eric got the middle of the back seat, and Winter put on a fake pout and said that she was sad because Eric didn't trust her. Chloe followed that by asking Eric, "Is your sister really that girl crazy?"

Eric looked toward Winter, then back to Chloe, "Girl crazy, boy crazy, crazy crazy. She likes the word, 'gusto,' but I prefer crazy."

On the drive back, they detoured in Columbia, Missouri's big university town, and stopped at a pizza parlor. "Let's get the Masterpiece," said Winter. Chloe said she thought that sounded great. "I'm so relieved," said Winter, "because you always worry when a new person comes into the family, that there's going to be something really weird about them, and vegetarian is weird."

"Don't listen to her, Chloe," said Eric. "Her best friend is a vegetarian." Chloe locked eyes with Winter, and sensed acceptance. It was as Eric had assured her. Winter trusted his judgment without doubt. They sat at a table and waited for the pizza.

"Well there has to be something because you're way too pretty for my brother."

"So, Mom, Dad, I've got some happy news. Chloe and I are getting married next week, and there's a reason why I'm the only one who's having a beer."

Winter jumped up and exclaimed, "I knew it. She's an alkie!" Winter and Chloe both laughed themselves silly. The other three didn't.

When some degree of order had been restored, Eric continued, "We're having a baby, and we're both as happy as we could be."

Natalie looked like she was about to burst, and she threw her arms around Chloe, "I'm so happy too. When Richard and I met, we fell in love that fast. Except for these fine children we produced with other mates, I almost wish we'd met when we were your age."

Winter added, "She used to say it without the qualifier, until I objected, and pointed out the implications for my existence versus non-existence. I am exceedingly fond of my existence."

On the drive back to St. Louis, they mostly just talked, with no music or radio until Winter requested Sugar, Sugar. Richard was happy to comply. Everyone but Natalie sang along. After it ended Winter asked her dad how he felt about the song. "Winter, you know how I feel. It's the one song that really describes my deepest, innermost feelings."

Winter looked at Eric, and he said, "And your son has also chosen to follow that path to bliss."

"Hey, speaking of bliss," Winter asked, "where's the wedding going to be?"

Chloe answered, "We're just going to the courthouse. We'll have another, more formal wedding in a few months, but we want to make it legal before the end of the year. It works better for taxes."

Winter spoke just softly enough to seem like she was thinking aloud, but made certain that Eric and Chloe could hear. "So little time to identify and expose her fatal flaw, and save my brother from whatever it is he needs saving from."

Fast

____________

"Now that you're going to be my new sister, I want to get to know you," said Winter, as they sat on the bed in her room that was going to be Chloe and Eric's bed until they left on their honeymoon. Winter had insisted that they take her room because it had the queen bed, and Eric's had only a double. Eric had left them alone together to get to know one another.

Chloe made a point of surveying the bed, "Obviously Eric does trust you."

Winter gave her a big smile, "I've never tried to steal from him before. We were just on yesterday. I get giddy when I'm happy, and seeing Eric so obviously in love made me happy. Besides there's another girl I'm pretty taken with. I asked about you though. Where are you from?"

"California, just north of San Francisco, a small town called Mill Valley. After high school I went to Stanford, then grad school at UCLA, where I met Eric."

I know, but what about you?"

"You want my background? I was a tomboy, and I was all about math and camping, and going to the beach. It's not a beach like people think about beaches. The water's too cold to play in, but I liked to watch the ocean waves, and there were seals. I never dated anyone in high school. I saw too many guys treat their girlfriends like crap."

On cue, Winter piped in, "There's girls."

"An option for you, but not for me. I know you'll think, 'my loss,' but I can't imagine wanting to kiss another girl. We're not all as omni-sexual as you apparently are."

"That's OK," said Winter, "even I'm not as <making air quotes> omni-sexual as I'm reputed to be." Winter thought about what she'd just said. "That's actually not true at all. There aren't that many people who know I'm not lesbian." She saw curiosity well up in her future sister. "It kept the wolves from circling, and since I'd figured out that I liked female bodies too, it made it easy to be casually friendly with other kids. The guys who were nice to me never thought they had a chance of getting any."

"You're funny."

"Especially to myself. I think I'm the funniest person I've ever met, and what's also funny is that some people have actually had the nerve to suggest that I might be compensating for some trauma or another, and I thought, 'Yeah, the trauma of having to suffer fools like you with your trite ideas about shit.' Chloe, I've never had any trauma more than not being able to go to a classmate's birthday party because my mom couldn't afford a gift. Then we moved in with Dad and Eric, and I felt rich. I was enough of a loner that I didn't mind switching to a new school. The other kids thought I was crazy, but they never picked on me, partly because I always made them laugh, but I think they also knew that I'd rip their faces off if they fucked with me. In high school I hung with one girl. We were kissing friends, and there were these two lipstick lezzies who were more casual friends. I never let any of the guys at school suspect I was bi. My friends were all bi too, but unlike me, they were scared of boys. I was queen bee because I was the only one who'd dared to do it with a guy, so I had the arcane knowledge to get them hot, and I could be both girl and boy."

Chloe had only one word, "Amazing."

"Like I said, it kept me from getting hit on."

"You're so exactly the way that Eric described you," said Chloe. "It made me love him even more when he told me that his sister was his best friend."

"We were best friends. He was my only close male friend. Like I said, I had one really dear female friend too, and that was enough," said Winter, "but I'm happy that he has a new best friend." Winter beamed at her. "He's drop dead crazy about you. We both knew he'd end up falling hopelessly in love."

"I'm not too pretty for him, and I do have flaws, but I gather that you're giving me your blessing."

"Hopelessly wasn't the right word. I should have said intensely, but that was his dream, and Chloe, you've made his dreams come true. Now you have two responsibilities, two lives, Eric, and you two's baby. Three really. Don't ever give up on yourself."

Just then, they heard Eric's footsteps coming up the stairs, and when he entered the room he said, "So, I hope you two had a nice talk."

Winter noticed the mugs of beer in his hand, "Give!" Eric handed her the beer, and she said, excitedly, "Dad bought a keg."

Eric turned to Chloe, "Sorry, sweetie." Chloe said, "Not at all," looking down and patting herself, there are more important concerns than beer right now."

Winter chirped, "Not for me."

It was a dry hopped American pale. Winter drank half the glass, then buried her nose in the mug. When she emerged, she gasped, "God I love hops."

Eric turned to Chloe, "She really likes beer."

"Loves beer," said Winter. "Daddy bought a keg." She drained the glass and announced, "I'll be back."

When Winter returned, she had a mug and a large pitcher, both quite full. She sat the pitcher on the desk, "So you're going to take me?"

"Yeah," said Eric, "but only because I know you'll go anyway."

Winter said, "Hey, the guy checks out. He really did win the lottery, and he's who he says he is. His bank cashed the check. It took me less than an hour to learn a lot about him. I drove by there too, and that little blue car was there. You know what I always say, 'Live life with gusto!'"

"You do say that from time to time."

"I live it, Eric. And new sister, welcome. Now, I'll take my leave, and leave you two lovebirds to your pleasures, and me to mine." Winter picked up the pitcher, held it aloft, and asked Eric if he'd like a top off, which he did, then she left the room."

Chloe said, "It was sweet of Winter to let us have her bedroom. We've never had a bed this big before."

Eric walked over and locked the door, and said, "We only have two more days to be naughty, and then we'll be married."

"Well," said Chloe, "we'll just have to come up with some new ways to be naughty."

"That's up to you, baby, I've told you that I'd do pretty much anything that didn't involve animals or other guys."

Chloe tried to say it with a serious face, "Or dead people," and she cracked up.

"That's a Winterism. You've only been around my sister for half a day, and she's infected you."

"She's into dead people?"

"OK, I'll cut it out. Let's enjoy this big bed."

Winter slept until almost noon. She was a little dehydrated, and had to pee so bad it hurt, but otherwise felt well rested. Once she dealt with those two issues, she thought, "Good morning, world," then when she saw the time, she added, "what's left of you." The beer had been good to her, distracting her from thinking about what she knew was going on next door. She wasn't jealous, because she loved Eric deeply, and was well on her way to loving Chloe. Sweet Chloe. No, Winter was just horny, and nothing took the edge off better than beer.

When she went downstairs, the house was empty, and no one had left her a note. That was OK, because last night she had resolved to go by herself. She reasoned, "What's the guy going to do, rape me? Kind of hard when I'm going over there with every intention of fucking him silly anyway." Besides, she had no right to ask Eric to sit in a car for what could be hours, waiting for her. She reached into the cabinet and took out a large tumbler, and filled it up with ice. She thought, "How nice that the fridge makes ice. Those kids, the ones in the dorms, most of them were so happy to be out of their parents' houses." She opened the door and poured about two inches of half&half, then grabbed a blackberry yogurt. She slowly added coffee to the glass. It wasn't hot, just still warmish, so it didn't melt too much of the ice. "The fridge gives ice, and cold water. Mom's a good cook and Dad's even better, and Dad buys beer."

She knew that her classmates probably drank a lot more than she did, but they drank bad beer, and sugary crap, and they ate bad food too. They went to bad parties with bad music, and they'd fuck people they'd never fuck if they weren't drunk. Alcohol worked well--at least better than anything else--as a substitute, but never an adjunct. She'd learned not to even try to get herself off after more than one or two. She thought, "I'll move out when I get married, but I love my home."

She considered what she was going to wear. "Hmmm? Simple, classic, and not much." The guy had revealed a lot about his tastes, and she wanted to play to them, so it ended up being white cotton panties and white shorts, white ankle socks and brand new white aerobics shoes, no bra, and to top it off, a public radio pledge drive t-shirt. She took a hotter shower than usual, and didn't use any shampoo on her hair, and soap only on her underarms and feet. She used the electric on her legs. It was cool that they made them so they worked in the shower. Combing her hair out was a little harder without the conditioner. She wanted to arrive with her hair still a bit damp because that might make him think of her in the shower. Winter studied her own face in the mirror. Except for that night at the club, makeup had hardly touched that face. She spoke to the mirror out loud, "Every little detail, impeccable."

Lalalalala, faux love.

When she got to the house, the little blue car was there. She walked directly to the front door and rang. Her legs were cold, shorts in December.

Ian answered in less than a minute, "Come in."

Winter said, matter-of-factly, "You've been expecting me."

"Not expecting, but hoping. Come in and sit down. Would you like a drink?"

"No thank you," she said.

"Then I'll just get us some water for later." Ian left the room.

The living room was large, and there was a wood fire in the fireplace. The chairs, loveseat and couch looked new, and expensive, but everything else looked old. Maybe or maybe not antique old, but old, and not in the greatest of shape. Nothing was broken, but there were scratches and nicks. It was very pretty furniture, and must have been pricey when new. Nothing about the room said playboy.

Ian returned with a tray with a pitcher of water, two large glasses full of ice, and a plate with a few halved lemons and limes. He didn't pour either of them a glass, but just set it on the coffee table, and guided her to the loveseat.

"My real name is Winter, Winter Williamson."

"And mine, as you no doubt know from the check, is Ian, Ian Meadows, and let me tell you, you are so much more beautiful without that stuff on your face."

"There you go with the beautiful face thing again."

"Fine, then every single inch of you, from the top of your head, to the tips of your toes is beautiful."

"You haven't seen every inch, but I bet you'd like to."

Ian answered, "Of course." Winter stood up and appeared to be starting to remove her shorts when Ian said, "Sit down, silly. Do you have to be somewhere this afternoon or something?"

"No. My brother is getting married tomorrow, but it's a courthouse wedding, so I've got about twenty-four hours. I came over here because I know you want to fuck me, and do Lord knows what else, and that I'll leave both laid, and with a wad of large bills, but you want to make nice first and that's fine."

"I do want to make small talk, and everything else, but I want to explain my proposition first. Yes, I'd like you to stay for the next day, and yes, I will send you on your way with a large amount of money, but then I'd like you to come back, and sleep with me, make love with me, talk to me, and let me explore every part of your body for the next few years, the rest of the time you're in college. I want to care for you, and cook for you, make homemade chicken soup for you when you're not feeling well, and pamper you in every possible way."

Winter wasn't going to let that one go by, "I don't think they make Pampers in my size."

Ian laughed, "And I want you to make me laugh. I want every flaw you have that I have no way of knowing at this point. I want to love you, then let you go a very rich woman."

Winter looked down pensively, then looked at him bright eyed, "So you want a little sister with benefits."

Ian laughed so hard that Winter was actually worried he was going to have a heart attack, which led to her recalling the comedy expression, "killed," which started her laughing too. Eric had told her a few years before, "You know, Winter, the pun is the lowest form of humor."

Twice, Ian began to compose himself, then looked back at her and busted up again. "You may be the most delightful woman on Earth." And Ian started laughing again as he repeated, "Little sister with benefits."

When Ian finally settled down, Winter asked, "So, you said you'd leave me a very rich woman, how rich?"

Ian answered, "A million dollars."

Winter shot back with, "You're low balling me. Three million, and I don't have to sleep here more than three days a week. I won't date any other guys, but I do get to have a girlfriend."

"Will you share?"

"Sure, but only if she wants to. I'm not going to whore out my girlfriend to you."

"You have a girlfriend?"

"Not right now, but I hope to, and I want the money in increments in case we decide to become exclusive. I'd rather have her than any amount of money,"

Ian was intrigued, "So there is a particular girl?"

"Uhuh. I think I might be in love."

"Well," Ian said, "far be it from me to get in the way of true love. I accept your terms."

"Good," said Winter, "because I'm sitting in a puddle right now, and I'm shaking horny. Can I take off my clothes, or do you want to talk some more?"

Ian slid his right arm under her legs, and put his left around her back, then lifted her off the loveseat and carried her to his bed. He pulled down her shorts and panties to just above her knees, and pushed her legs almost to her chest. He was kissing her gently, but she knew that what he was mostly doing was smelling her. His tongue kept teasing, but never landing on the place she needed it.

She gasped, "Get these things off," and he pulled off her shorts and buried his face in her, but he was still teasing. She arched her hips and pulled his head hard into her. He finally hit the target and the paroxysm began.

Winter thought, for just a moment, "I'll suffocate you for doing this to me," before her arms relaxed.

Ian slid up the bed and wordlessly asked for her mouth. He didn't last a minute.

They lay on their backs, occasionally looking at each other and smiling, and Winter said, "You owe me a fuck."

Ian kept the same happy expression as he turned his eyes back to the ceiling, "Yes, I suppose I do."

Winter broke the silence, "I need to call and let my family know I won't be home tonight, or they'll worry." Ian pointed to his land line. Winter looked at him strangely, then thought, "Well, I'll have his number then, so she walked around to Ian's side of the bed and called Eric. "Hey Eric, Winter."

"What's up?"

"I'm spending the night at my client's house," and giggled.

"How'd it go?"

Ian could only hear Winter's half of the conversation.

"Mixed. His mouth is as good as his hands, maybe better, but I can't tell whether he's a decent lay. Seems he got a bit over-excited, though I do have that effect on guys."

"No, crazy, how much is he paying you?"

"A lot. Listen, I'm not on my own time right now." She looked over at Ian and her face twitched in what he thought was the cutest way. "I'll be home tomorrow, noonish."

"The wedding's at two, in case you want to come, and what do I tell Mom and Dad?"

"That I'm spending the night with someone I just met. Say, 'someone.' They'll assume it's a girl, and won't ask. Give everyone my hugs. Bye," and she hung up the phone.

Ian's head moved horizontally in both amusement and astonishment, "And who was that?"

"My brother. The one who's getting married tomorrow." Just then, her phone rang. It was Eric.

"Listen, Winter. Let me talk to this guy. I want to warn him that I know where he lives."

Winter offered the phone to Ian, "It's for you." Ian took the phone, bewildered.

Eric spoke sternly, "I'm her brother, and I just wanted to let you know that I know who you are, and where you live, and if you hurt her, I'll kill you."

"Understood, but if I harmed your sister, I don't think I'd deserve to live anyway." There were several seconds of hesitation, and Ian handed Winter her phone.

She said, "Bye, Eric," closed her phone, and asked, "What's for dinner?"

She'd asked so matter-of-factly that Ian felt at ease, "What would you like?"

"Hmmm," said Winter. "We could start with a green salad, romaine, with really good tomatoes, and homemade Caesar dressing, jumbo shrimp with cocktail sauce, a T-bone or porterhouse grilled medium rare, and for dessert, fresh berries: blueberries, blackberries or raspberries, no, all three, with cream, and some good drip coffee, Sumatra, with half&half. Should I order breakfast now too?"

Winter expected him to be taken aback, but Ian merely asked, "And libations?"

"No thank you, sir. It would impair my job performance, and I'm certain that we don't want that."

"Of course not. So we're making dinner together," said Ian. "That makes me happy, and you have good taste in food."

"And you," winked Winter, "in women."

Ian spent quite a while on the phone, then told Winter that the groceries would be delivered soon. "I have what we need for the dressing. We could start that now."

"Anchovies?"

"Of course," and Ian retrieved a tiny can from the fridge.

"Hey," asked Winter, "if I took that entire can of anchovies, and chewed them into a mush, then asked you to tongue kiss me, would you?"

Ian replied in the same manner as she had when asking what was for dinner, "In a heartbeat, but then we couldn't make a proper Caesar dressing."

They did make the dressing, and Winter teased Ian about how persnickety he was about getting every bit of the egg white off of the yolks. She'd never had homemade Caesar dressing before, and she had asked for it partly because it seemed bratty, and because Caesar dressing was never quite fishy enough. "Extra fishy."

Ian hadn't seen the request as the least bit unreasonable, and the dressing turned out to be delicious. It wasn't Caesar exactly, but more like a creamy anchovy dressing. Ian made it in a large mug with a stick blender, and grated in imported Parmigiano. After they'd tasted it, Ian led Winter to a large sun porch that had a commercial looking grill and exhaust hood. "It burns wood. I buy hickory, but there's cherry, peach, apple and plum wood from the trees in the back yard. Which would you like your steak cooked over?"

"Beef? Hickory, of course. Were you testing me?"

"No."

"Good, because even though I have good taste, I have something more. I taste good."

Ian laughed because he thought of Charlie the Tuna, and Winter's extra fishy desire. He was about to explain all that, but the doorbell rang. Winter watched the exchange, and figured that Ian must have tipped the delivery man unusually well by the expression on his face. Everything Winter had requested was there, plus a few other things. Winter helped take the groceries to the kitchen, and after putting the perishables in the refrigerator, noticed something she'd never seen before. "The front of your dishwasher has a window."

"It does."

"Why?"

"So one can watch the process of the dishes being cleaned."

"'One,' meaning you."

"Obviously. It's my dishwasher, but I'm happy to share."

"So, you stand there and watch your dishes wash."

"No, I sit. That's a much better angle. Standing is for the clothes washer."

"Ian, that's weird."

"It's eccentric, especially when you consider that they don't sell that model in North America, so I had to have it shipped from England. I'm too rich to simply be weird."

Winter tore lettuce while Ian cut up the tomatoes. They each had a fairly large salad. Winter was not interested in waiting until the steaks were cooked to have hers, and Ian followed her lead.

They both finished their salads, and a few shrimp, then went to the sunroom to grill steaks. Winter thought, "I'm going to like this being rich business," because the steaks were beautiful. They were small T Bones, but cut thicker than usual. When she saw how nicely marbled they were she said, "Not quite so rare. Maybe almost medium." Ian grilled both steaks that way.

Ian asked, "Do you want butter or olive oil?"

"Just salt and pepper is fine. Hey, I've got a question. I understand the pepper mill, because it keeps the pepper fresher not having it pre-ground, but why the salt mill? Salt doesn't get stale or anything."

"I like salt ground more finely than regular table salt, not gritty. Try it."

"It's like the salt in the little packets at McDonalds."

After the steaks, they had coffee on the couch. Ian explained about Charlie the Tuna, but Winter already knew about that. "My dad and I have watched every old '60s TV commercial we could find. Lots of old TV shows too. The cigarette commercials were freaky. They had cartoon characters, and even doctors advertising for them."

Winter walked to the kitchen to retrieve the berries, and much to Ian's surprise, sat on Ian's lap and offered him a blueberry. "Here," she said, "now you feed me one."

After a few repetitions, Ian looked at her, speechless, but with an expression that said, "Wow."

Winter answered the silent question. "I don't do anything half-assed, and I've gotten the notion that you're the same way. No one pays more than $17,000 a week just for sex, at least not for long." She smiled, "Not even with me, and besides, it would be tedious to try to do this job anything but well." She held up a blackberry, "Open," and she put in the berry, but didn't remove her finger for several minutes. When she did take it out, she used it to trace his lips for a moment, then said, "This is a win-win. No one else would pay me half this much, and you couldn't find better than me at twice the price," then added, "probably not at any price."

"How?"

When he hesitated for just a second, Winter put her finger over his lips and said, "Shush. I know what you were about to ask, but it doesn't matter. Think of me as an old soul in a young body. That's enough, isn't it?" She kept her finger on his lips and pressed harder. "I'm not sharing my past with you. I'm sharing my present, and if we're both lucky, a few years of my future, and I suspect that you've figured out by now that I'm all about enjoying my life, so take me to your bed. If you don't, it'll start seeming awkward, and I hate that. And take me by the hand. Don't ever pick me up again. I'm your equal, at least your equal, and it will never be otherwise."

When Winter drew away the finger and let him speak, all Ian could think to say was, "You're priceless." He said it almost in a gasp.

Winter said dismissively, "Please, I haven't had a guy in," she reflected and thought aloud, "more than four months." Ian walked her to the bedroom, not by the hand, but by the arm. Winter mused, "There you go. You're making me feel like a lady." Then suppressing a laugh, she said to herself, "A lady of the night."

They were both fairly full from dinner, so Winter accepted the offer of back rubs. She was impressed with the strength of his hands, and how he was able to feel the subtleties, and identify the places that needed the most attention. When it came to the main course, Ian worked her over for quite a bit longer than she'd expected--even longer than she'd have preferred, and woke up in the morning wanting more. This time was gentle, and the shallow penetration maddening. By the time he finished, she was even a bit sore, and she said, "I need to take a bath." Ian knew what that meant, and felt sorry that he might have hurt her, and not because he feared her brother. Winter saw that in his eyes and said, "Don't apologize."

The tub was large, and there was body wash that said, "Cinnamon Buns," and that smelled exactly like freshly baked cinnamon rolls. She lay back and closed her eyes, then remembered the girl she'd seen crying. She thought, "I'd give anything if she'd just let me hold her, and I don't know her from Eve." The hot water made her skin feel especially alive. Just a few more days to be a teenager, and Cupid finally got me."

Winter lingered a long time in the bath, and when she emerged, she wrapped herself in the huge towel, and headed for the bedroom to don her yesterday's clothes. She hadn't expected to spend the night, so that's all she had to wear. Ian met her in the hall with a glass of orange juice he'd just squeezed, and there was a savory aroma. "You made us breakfast," she said as she took the glass, and tasted the juice. Ian followed her, and watched her dress with an adoring gaze.

Breakfast was nice. There was more orange juice, coffee, and Ian asked her how she liked her eggs, and how many. "Three and over easy, wait, over medium. I know you freak on jizzy egg whites."

Ian laughed and said, "The things that come out of your mouth."

"You love my mouth."

Ian agreed, "I love your mouth."

Ian made the eggs and brought them to the table, after asking Winter to get the two dishes from the oven, one containing fries potatoes and sausage patties, the other, uncovered, had heavily buttered French bread toast. They were in old fashioned Corning Ware, just like she'd grown up with. Ian went to the fridge and got a plate of avocado slices. "Sorry I'm so inept at getting things served. I never really got the hang of that. Oh, forks, and a spoon for the potatoes. See?"

Winter called the meal, "Excellent," and said she never thought of making breakfast toast from a baguette. "I guess the reason that people don't usually do that is because it's messy," and flourishing both hands, added, "Crusty detritus everywhere."

"I have a good cleaning lady. Very thorough, and there's a bonus."

Winter's eyebrows raised, "A bonus?"

"She makes me home made salsa. Taqueria style."

"You have homemade salsa and you didn't serve it with breakfast?"

Ian put on that he had just gotten a well-deserved scolding. "It won't happen again."

Wagging her finger, Winter said, "You see that it doesn't." Winter crossed her arms. "It makes me wonder what other goodies you're keeping from me.” Then asked, “Actually, can I taste it?"

"Now?"

"Of course, now." She followed him to the fridge, and from in the back, where she hadn't looked earlier, Ian took out two translucent squirt bottles, one with red, the other, green. Winter noticed a third, "Is that crema?"

"Sort of. It's regular gringo sour cream shaken up with some half&half."

"You have chips?"

"No, but I could fry some easily enough. The oil's probably still half hot from the potatoes."

"I'll just use a spoon." Winter tasted both, and declared the green to be, "Heavenly," and the red even better. "My brother would die for this."

Ian said, "Take him a few bottles when you leave. Julia just made it last week, so there's probably six or eight bottles of each in the freezer. Tell him it's a wedding present from your new employer--the one he isn't going to have to kill."

"Tell him yourself."

Ian looked puzzled, "Excuse me?"

"I'm going to my brother's wedding, and I want you to be my escort." Winter saw the obvious humor there, and the fact that it hadn't been intentional had her vibrating with laughter as she congratulated herself, "Oh, good one."

Ian took a second to get the joke. "You don't have an off switch, do you?"

"Nope."

"So you're serious? You want me to go to your brother's wedding with you?"

"Sure. It's just at the courthouse, and if you don't come they'll just have to hit up some stranger to be the other witness. You might as well be the stranger, 'cause you're probably stranger than any of the other strangers who'll be there. Then after, you can take me clothes shopping."

"Already? Shopping?"

"You can pick out my clothes. I get a veto of course. Are you telling me that won't be fun for you? Besides, what's this, 'already'? You know I'm fast."

Wearing White

____________

"In most ways I've adjusted to having money, but it's still a little hard to pay for parking. I used to park on Central, just north of the library and walk the two or three blocks," Ian said, as they drove into the parking garage.

Winter had dressed in all white. She said that most of the other women would probably be wearing white, "and I just want to fit in." Having gone by her parents' house, she had run in briefly to change, leaving Ian waiting in the passenger seat of the car. Winter had insisted upon driving. She said she'd be embarrassed to be seen in a car like that with a man driving, but Ian figured that she really just wanted to drive his zippy little car. "They just left, so we're doing fine on time," said Winter, and Ian noticed she had also put on lipstick.

She drove fast, and Ian had pointed out, "You could get a ticket,"

Winter replied, "And you could get me a lawyer."

"True."

They entered the building through a metal detector, and approached the middle-aged, female officer at the information desk. Winter had removed her jacket and handed it to Ian. Her simple shift dress was stark white. They inquired where, in Winter's words, "the place where you get married" was, got directions, and were told that the judge began the ceremonies in about thirty minutes. Winter said to Ian, "I have to check my face," and turned to the officer, "The ladies room?"

When Winter returned, he said, "You look lovely."

Winter smiled coyly, and looked sideways at the cop, who said, "Your father's right. You look lovely."

Winter's eyes got huge as she feigned shock, "Father?" she said, covering her open mouth with her cupped left hand and gasping audibly. Then, affecting a slightly rube-ish dialect and shaking her head from side to side slightly, "If you're my father we shouldna been doin' what we were doin' last night."

Ian almost fell over he laughed so hard, and after a second of shock, the officer saw Winter laughing as well, and she lost some of her dignified composure, "You two have a great day."

They walked up the stairs holding hands to "the place where you get married" room, and peeked in, but no Eric. They laughed some more, and agreed that if they were ever again mistaken for father and daughter--which was likely--they'd repeat the scenario from a few minutes earlier, because, Winter said, "That one could never get old."

When Eric and Chloe showed up, Winter said, "See, Ian? I told you. Isn't she hot?"

Ian laughed again, and said, "Excuse me, but I think I have laughed more in the past 24 hours than in the last year." Ian extended his hand to Eric and they shook firmly, "I'm Ian, the guy you're not going to kill."

Eric thought, "Yeah, he is older, but he's got a good grip." Then Ian took Chloe's offered hand, and brought it up horizontally, holding it there for just a second, then gently lowered it.

Chloe glanced at Winter in a way that said, "You don't see that very often," to which Winter said, "He very likely would have kissed it, but," and making a fist, she pointed with her thumb, "Killer here's probably still got him a little spooked." Ian buried his face in his hands and shook.

"It's alright, dear," Winter said, as she patted him on the back, "It's alright to cry. It's a wedding."

With a gesture, Ian excused himself to the restroom, where he blew his nose into a paper towel. He looked over at the mirror and thought, "I do look like I've been crying."

Eric walked into the restroom, looked at him and asked, "You OK?"

"I'm fine, I just had to blow my nose. Is she always like that?"

"Oh, the jokes? No, but she'll get on a roll, and it can last for days, then she gets intense about something else." He paused, "So you're really doing this? You're paying Winter to be your girlfriend?"

"Essentially, though she had a different phrase," Ian had started to laugh again, and he shared.

"What?"

"It was only one of many zingers she had, but yes, she agreed to be my pretend girlfriend. Once the money was right, she didn't seem to have any reticence."

"Listen, I really want to talk to you about this, but after the wedding."

As they walked out of the men's room, Eric heard a familiar voice. It was Chuck, from swim team, "Eric. Long time, no see. How you doin'?"

"Great, but I only have a few minutes. Listen, I'm in town on break. Let's get together for some beers in a few days. You won't even believe what's happened. I'm getting married."

"You, what!?," and Chuck looked at Ian, then quickly away. "You live in California now, right?" Ian got it right away. It took Eric a second or two, "No, dude, I'm not marrying him. Come on, I'll introduce you." They walked down the hall to where the girls were standing.

Chuck said, "Hey, Winter.

"Hi, Chuck."

Then Chloe turned, and Chuck looked at Eric, stunned, "Her? You're marrying her?"

"Yep, in a few minutes."

Winter looked at Chuck and said, "I know exactly what you're thinking, but he saw her first and called dibs."

Everyone laughed, and oddly enough, it was Chuck who couldn't stop laughing. When he did, he said, "We all assumed, you know, you never dated any girls or anything," and they laughed again.

"Listen," said Eric, "I'll call you, but I'm about to be late for my own wedding."

After the ceremony, Winter suggested getting something to eat. She asked Chloe, "Do you like Mexican?"

"I grew up in California. It's impossible to not like Mexican."

Winter asked, "Where are you parked?"

It turned out they were both parked in the garage, and Eric agreed to follow them to the taqueria. On the short walk, Chloe asked, "So you didn't go out with any girls before college?"

"I don't know why that's surprising, you didn't date in high school either. I didn't go out with any girls from our high school, at least not openly. You've heard the saying, 'A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell.' Well, I was a gentleman. Besides, it wasn't just stupid dances or who's dating who stuff that I avoided. I had close to zero to do with anything and everything in high school except the school work, with the exception of swim team, and that was only because I loved to swim." He shook his head, "I didn't realize that the guys thought I was gay." Eric thought for a moment, and couldn't remember any of the other swimmers seeming uncomfortable around him in the locker room or showers, and it pleased him. "I bet Chuck made a few phone calls this afternoon." Eric affected an exaggerated Chuck, "And you shoulda seen this chick. She was hot, like model hot."

"I won't look much like a model pretty soon."

"You could be a maternity model," said Winter. "They have those you know."

Winter drove reasonably, explaining to Ian, "Because we're being followed, and I don't expect you to hire lawyers for my whole family." It didn't take long to get there. It was mostly highway. Ian had told her that before the lottery he didn't eat at the taqueria often because the portions were small, and the prices kind of high, but before Julia, that was where he bought his salsa. It was an odd time of day, so the place was almost empty, and they'd chosen a table in the far corner. The conversation was mostly about food until Winter had finally had enough, "So, which awkward thing do we talk about first? Your pregnancy out of wedlock, or my new status as a courtesan?"

There was silence.

"No suggestions? OK, I pick the more awkward one. Let's talk about me. I've been thinking about what to tell Mom and Dad, and I think that I shall tell them that I have been hired as the personal assistant of a well off older widower. I will, of course, not reveal how personal my duties are to be. I hate lying to them, but they'll be much happier not knowing. They would worry, and speaking of worrying, I have one word for you, Eric, 'Don't.' I know what I'm doing." She looked at Ian, then back to the other side of the table. "We've already had sex a few times, and that was good. He's prepared me two delicious meals, and if I want, I can have a girlfriend on the side. I know you're dying to know how well I'm being compensated. I've done the math, and it's somewhere in the neighborhood of seventeen thousand dollars a week. So you see, even if the working conditions were poor, which they're so far not, I'd want to do it for a while, and this gentleman knows that it's up to him to make me want to stay for the full term that we agreed to, which is until my graduation. It is my job to be so utterly delightful that he will also want to continue the arrangement throughout my college years."

Eric shook his head again, and said, "Wow."

"Yes," Winter continued, "'wow'. Eric, I expect you to help me with Mom and Dad. They know how protective you are of me, and assurances from you will go a long way. You can tell them about Ian coming to the wedding, and about this lunch, and that Ian seems like a very nice gentleman, which I believe to be true, and you should as well. If all goes as planned, in three and a half years, I will reveal the truth, and I expect that they'll be understanding. Your turn."

Eric said, "Winter, I don't know what to say."

"Well, you could begin with how you and Chloe met, because we're through with the talking about me portion."

Chloe started. "I'm a teaching assistant in the physics department, and Eric's psych class was in the same room, right after my class." I noticed he was always waiting when class got out, and came in as my students were leaving. It became obvious to me that he was always getting himself at angles where he could check me out without me being able to tell. I finally told him that he wasn't fooling anyone, and if he wanted to have lunch with me, he should just ask, so he suggested the day after tomorrow. We'd agreed to meet in front of the student center, and when I showed up, he was already there, and he had a quilt and a picnic basket. He'd brought strawberries, Gouda cheese, a baguette, a spicy salami that he said was from home, and one of those aluminum sports bottles filled with sparkling wine."

Eric interjected, "I wasn't 21 yet, and nobody looks at those and thinks, 'alcohol.'"

Chloe continued, "We didn't know each other well enough to know what to talk about so we took the easy route, and talked about clouds. It kept getting sillier and sillier. At the end of the date, I suggested that I take the picnic basket, and I'd bring it back Tuesday."

"She made fried chicken. If I wasn't in love before..." Eric regarded Chloe affectionately. "Then Thursday I brought stuff to make tacos, and we ate in the cafeteria because we needed the microwave."

"When Eric said, 'tacos,' he didn't add that he'd spent all morning frying tortillas and little pieces of tilapia, mashing and frying the beans he'd slow cooked all night, chopping lettuce, and making fresh pico. We spent that night together at my apartment and he never left. That was early October. A few weeks later, I told him I was late and he told me he'd never been happier, and asked me to marry him, and I said, 'Yes.' We even decided if I turned out not to be pregnant, that we were going to try."

"That makes what I'm doing seem so practical. Don't you think so, Ian dear?"

"I already thought what you are doing is practical," said Ian.

Eric said, "Well, let's blow this taco stand then," and was the first to chuckle.

Winter said, "I bet you thought that up when we pulled in, and have been waiting impatiently to say it. However, the rest of us have been conversing civilly while you were wolfing down your burrito."

Ian paid. He told them that it was silly for anyone else to even consider paying, though Eric really wanted to at least contribute to the tip. "When you've got the kind of money I have, it changes your perspective. I'm not going to let it change the dynamics of relating to other people, and it would be less comfortable if you felt like you should contribute hard earned money, when mine basically just fell out of the sky. I don't feel entitled. I got lucky, and I don't want to keep that to myself."

"Ian means his luck, not his money. He wants to be generous with luck," Winter looked at him inquiringly, "Right?"

Ian had to consider before answering, which he seldom did, instead thinking to himself, "What is this creature called Winter? How the fuck anyone could read a mind like she did? And she did it casually, on the fly."

"Sorry to mess up your taco stand thing, but before we leave, we need to plan. Everything needs to hang together. There can't be any inconsistencies. They have to buy every word. Ian needs to be explained to Mom and Dad like I said. It has to come across as natural, and the last thing they'll think is what the four of us know to be true. They think I'm lesbian, and just keep up the hints about boys to mess with them. They'll never suspect for a minute if everybody is together, like, on script. "Chloe," and she looked directly at Chloe, "You know how much we love our parents, right?"

Chloe merely nodded.

"I loved Dad almost right after we moved in. I decided to adopt him, to make him my dad, even before they suggested it. Calling him, "Dad," almost immediately wasn't just the silliness that Mom thought it was. I knew this one was a keeper. He'd do anything for her, and he had Bread records."

Chloe didn't know what "bread records" were, and she asked.

"Oh, Bread was this silly band that was over the top romantic. They made Englebert Humperdink look like Tom Jones."

Chloe had no idea who either of those two were, but extracted some meaning.

"The point is this, Mom and Dad would be disturbed if they knew the whole truth, and I love them both, and so does Eric. You know, we decided together, early on, that we would never do anything to get in the way of those two. You see? They're our heroes." Winter stopped herself, but had to add, for Chloe, "Eric is Richard junior, and just like Mom, you chose well."

The bill was paid, and the exorbitant tip was on the table. Eric was stunned. Winter was really doing this. As they left the restaurant, a gust of cold air hit him. He hadn't thought in a while about Winter being named after the coldest season. She was just Winter. That was her name. She looked right at Eric as she asked, "So everything's straight, right?"

"Seriously, all on the same page." She remembered words she'd read in a book she'd found lying around, but didn't say them, "Don't fuck up."

Sex Kitten

____________

Winter's birthday was only a few days away, and she knew there would be a party. Eric would make sure of that. He'd told her that he'd always be in her debt, and celebrate her birthday like it was the most important day of the year, because of his 18th. Winter had arranged to have her best friend, Maryl, spend the night, which was a frequent enough occurrence anyway, but that night their plans were much bigger. For the previous two years, Winter and Maryl had been "best friends with benefits." That was Winter's phrase. They weren't exclusive, especially not Winter, and there were a couple of other girls they fooled around with, but Winter and Maryl loved each other, and said it, though only in private. Everyone pretty much assumed they were lovers, but they never acted like anything but platonic friends in public. Winter had insisted. "No 'girlfriends.' Just, 'best friends.'" Her family, of course, knew, but she'd made it clear to them that this wasn't to be public knowledge.

Eric had thought that Winter had done the most unselfish thing imaginable, that she had shared her girlfriend. Winter had explained to him, "Eric, she's not my girlfriend. She's my friend, and yeah, we have sex, but heck, neither of us are gay, though you're one of the very few people who know that, which is the way I want it. And it's like this, you and Maryl are my two best friends. I love you both. It made me so happy that you two were happy, and she was long overdue. A girl's first time ought to be with a guy who's nice, and one who is good at keeping secrets.” Winter laughed derisively. “Most of the goofball guys probably get more kicks out of bragging than actually doing it."

For the next several months, in fact, until Eric left for college, Winter would facilitate trysts. It was easy because there was a door between the two bedrooms. It was normally locked, but could be unlocked. After they'd finish, Maryl would return to Winter's bed. The last time had been the best. Winter knew Eric was leaving in a few days, so they made plans, and Winter insisted that Eric and Maryl sleep in each others' arms, and that she'd make sure to wake them up in time to keep up appearances. That episode, thought Winter, was her best gift, because it was thoughtful. She'd known both of them well enough that she could imagine what each of them felt and would find fulfilling. She'd allowed them to experience each other in an unhurried way; she allowed them to taste something more than the easy body love, and to part with sweetness on their lips.

Eric wasn't swimming in cash, in fact he felt like a poor college student without a job, and living on a budget, because that was reality. He and Chloe weren't worried about money. Her family had plenty, and spent it freely. He'd never gotten any hint that they thought he wasn't worthy of their daughter, which seemed almost peculiar to Winter. The whole pregnancy thing hadn't bothered them either. They hadn't jumped up and down like Mom, but respected Chloe's feelings, and her decision to have the baby, and to marry its father. It was still it, too early to tell a he or she. "It" had been the name of the pregnancy, and they'd talked about how sometimes pregnancies didn't take, and about how if it didn't, they'd have to get pregnant again. They'd joked about calling it "It." Both of them were familiar with the Addams Family, and Cousin It was mentioned. Chloe had said, "I hope it isn't one of those, that kind of an it." They'd giggled and done their best imitations of Cousin It.

Eric said if it was "that sort of It," and was "born already all Itty and stringy," that would make diapering a challenge. A few weeks later, "It" became "The Baby." Eric was glad that Chloe didn't mind that he wanted to spend so much time kissing her tummy, even though sometimes it tickled.

Her only real complaint was, "You should be studying too," and when he'd said, "Talk to me about physics," she just laughed. He didn't have a clue about physics, and she knew that.

He hadn't told Chloe about Maryl, and why he felt so strongly that he needed to do something special for Winter's birthday. Eric thought there was a good chance that she'd be at whatever party he could organize. Winter had told him that Maryl had a boyfriend now, and that he was "very, very nice." He might be there too. Probably would. He didn't expect that it would be awkward seeing Maryl. It couldn't be. They liked each other, and what happened was pure, and beautiful, and, Eric thought, "Managed by Winter."

"It should have been obvious," Eric realized. The idea of worrying about limited resources ignored the obvious seven hundred pound gorilla. Ian was rich, and of course he'd be part of the event anyway. Whatever their crazy arrangement, Winter liked him, and Eric had decided to like him too. He'd been introduced to Dad, and it turned out that the two of them were a lot alike, apart from Ian's admittedly stuffy mannerisms. "They'll probably become friends."

"Chloe?"

"Yeah, baby."

"I always try to make Winter's birthday special."

"That's sweet."

"I'm going to cook something up with Ian."

"So, you don't want to kill him anymore?"

Eric snickered, "Can you imagine me actually killing anyone. I'm a softie. Lemme have that tummy."

She pulled a pillow over the area he wanted to nuzzle, "Tickly."

Eric kissed her cheek instead. "I'm going to call him."

Ian answered the phone. Winter was there, but she was in the back bedroom, practically the other end of the house, Ian presumed, still reading. "Hi, Eric."

"You know Winter's birthday is in a few days, right? Well, she expects a party."

"She does? Well then let's have a party. Winter is, in her own words, 'exceedingly fond' that she's alive, maybe even more than I am, and I'd love nothing more than to celebrate it. Does it need to be a surprise?"

"No. Like I said, she'll be expecting it. Can we do it at your place?"

"Sure, and as many guests as you'd like."

"Not many. Winter doesn't have many friends. Probably just family, and one friend, who'll probably bring her boyfriend, and maybe the friend's parents, so," Eric did the math, "ten, at the most."

"Great. If it's not a surprise, why don't you come over and we'll plan this party. I'd like it to be perfect too, and I don't know what she likes, what sort of party she'd enjoy."

When Winter heard the door, she put down the book she'd been reading, and headed for the front room. When she saw Ian and Eric shaking hands she said, "Well isn't that a sight to see? What's going on?"

Ian answered, "We're planning a birthday party for a very special person."

"Well as long as he's not here to murder you."

They all shared a laugh. "No, really. I'm glad to see you two getting along, doing something together, especially something for me. I'm glad I heard you come in, because now I get to pick the food."

They sat down, Winter making a point of sitting very close to Ian. She addressed Eric, "Have you seen his barbecue room? Ian's got a barbecue room, an inside one. I want barbecue. Ian does this thing with barbecue sauce that he told me about but he hasn't made it for me yet. He puts capsaicin extract in the sauce, then puts it on so it can cook in, and then he dilutes it with more sauce. It makes sense. You get the hot into the meat, and the sauce on the surface doesn't burn your lips. And we can have berries with whipped cream, and beer. You want a beer, Eric?"

"Um, sure."

"You, Ian?"

"No thank you."

Winter went to fetch Eric a beer.

"So you have an indoor barbecue room? That's pretty cool."

"It's one of the few indulgences. It's not solely for barbecue, it's a kitchen, though there's a normal kitchen too. It's got a smoker, and a grill for steaks that are both vented. I cut fruit wood from the trees in the back yard, and I get hickory from my sister's yard, though sometimes I break down and buy it. Are you a barbecue fan?"

"Huge. My dad cooks on wood sometimes too. He'll be jealous."

"Then I need to tell him that he can come over any time he likes and use my set up."

Eric looked at Ian seriously, "Aren't you worried they'll figure out? You know, about what you're doing?"

"No. I'm not sloppy, and Winter's not either."

Winter returned with a small, plastic pitcher of beer, but no glass, and handed it to Eric. "Live life with gusto."

He winked and said, "Thanks," took a deep drink, then to Ian, "Thanks."

Ian smiled, "You're very welcome. So what else, Winter? Heart's desires. Anything for the most delightful soon to be not a teenager."

"Spinach. Your cheesy spinach. Make huge amounts. Huge. A gallon. Two gallons. It's the best thing ever. Eric, did you invite Maryl? She'll think she's died and gone to heaven, and if she can come, there has to be asparagus. We're asparagus sisters, Ian. My friend and I, we'd eat asparagus until we were stuffed, then later we'd both have stinky asparagus pee."

"Winter, you almost made me spit beer."

"And corn, cut off the cob, with butter."

Ian said, "Why don't you make a list, and I'll do all the food? What kind of a cake would you like?"

"Oh, my mom makes that. Homemade German chocolate, and the right way, with pecans, not walnuts."

Eric finished his beer and stood, "I ought to get going. I'll take care of the invites. What time should I say?"

Ian thought, then asked Winter, "What six? Six-thirty?"

"Six thirty sounds good."

After Eric left, Winter hugged Ian, and kissed him on the cheek. "I like that you're friendly with my family. I really love them."

"While you were getting the beer, Eric told me that he was concerned that my getting involved with your family would lead to them figuring out more than you want them to know, but I told him that neither of us is sloppy."

"I swear. Eric should know, and anyway, the fiction is so much more plausible than the truth. It'll be hilarious when it does eventually come out."

"Then I'll look like a dirty old man."

"Ian, you are a dirty old man by most folks' ways of thinking."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome, because I couldn't be happier with how seamlessly this is going. How about you? You think you're getting your money's worth?"

"So far."

"I want to make sure, so let's go to that bed of yours, and you enjoy my soon not to be teenager body for as long as you want because I can't have other guys, and I don't even have any girls right now." As she led him by the hand she told him, "There's this girl at school, and I think I'm in love."

"You've said that numerous times."

"I've never been in love. I've been in lust, and I've really loved, you know, like loved the person too, and it was nice, but this is different. You've been in love. It's hard, isn't it?"

"It's rewarding too. Nothing is better, but yes, it can hurt. I find it astounding, the insights you have, the curiosities. Are girls these days that casual about sex? You seem so mature and matter of fact about sex, but you've never been in love. Didn't that ever feel wrong to you? I don't mean morally wrong, but that's, it's, atypical. How did you get this way? I'm..."

"Ian, I want to say this in the kindest way. I told you that my past is closed to you. I have my reasons. People could get hurt. They could really be hurt. People I love. I know you're thinking maybe I was abused. I wasn't. No one has hurt me. Accept me. I have a lot to offer. You don't just get my body. You get more. You want more, and I give more. I can tell already that you're a person who values integrity, and not just your own. When I told you not to ever pick me up again, it wasn't about my body. You have to respect me. You can ravage me seven ways to Thursday, and nothing, I mean nothing; I won't reserve anything about my body from you, but you have to respect my privacy. Please, don't screw this up." Winter paused, "Don't pry, OK?"

"Winter, I'll try in every way not to hurt your body, but I swear to you that I'll never hurt your mind, and I think I had started to, and thank you for being so gentle with me. I have my own sadness. You can't know. God, I loved her, and it's no one's fault. Now I feel like I owe you an apology for disappointing you physically, as absurd as that is."

"Oh, you're thinking about that owe me a good fuck thing. That didn't mean anything. It was just the exact right thing to say, so I said it."

"You don't have to sleep with me tonight."

"Yes, I do. I don't need to have intercourse with you, but I need to sleep with you because you need to sleep with me. Easy job, right? And if you just want to cry on my shoulder, or just talk, that's fine. I'm here to satisfy you. Everything. Everything except maybe your curiosity. Did you expect anything less?"

"I did expect less. I expected more from myself, but less from you, or better put, the hypothetical you. I was thinking about fucking hot, young women, reliving grad school, but with far more selectivity. I wanted a harem. Winter, I promise not to fall in love with you. That would end up destroying me. I know she's dead. Dead. I'll be dead way too soon."

"Well, you're not dead yet."

"I dream about her. It frightens me when I remember, but my dreams fade quickly. Do you believe in afterlife?"

"No. That's all Easter Bunny to me."

"In my dream last night, she told me, 'You be nice to that girl,' meaning you. It was the only dream I remember where she was speaking of the future, at least that I remember. I don't remember most of my dreams, and I don't believe she's a ghost, or in Heaven, or exists at all anymore. Like you said, 'Easter Bunny,' but when you are as close as we were for so many years, it's unimaginable that someone could just be, poof, gone, even though that's rationally the way it works. I still feel like a victim. I lost a woman I loved so deeply. We were mismatched in so many ways, but it worked. She was so white bread, you know, sexually, and I was like I am. I always wanted things I knew better than to ask for, and so I didn't ask. I didn't even really hint because I loved her, and in her limited capacity, which isn't even fair. See? I feel guilty even thinking that."

"Thinking it, or saying it?"

"Thinking it. This is therapy. I should say whatever I need to. I've been a little off, and I do want to talk about my past."

"I'm a good listener."

"I was self-aware early on, and when I was, I think, four, there was a girl the same age, and we quite naively investigated each others bodies, and it was pretty thorough. Around that same time, I saw a thing that hit my psyche like a medicine ball in the chest. Through the slats of some wood shutters, I saw my brother kissing a girl, and really kissing. I thought, 'that!'"

"And you've been orally fixated on female bodies ever since." Winter said it without inquiry. "It's been how many days, and you've managed to work your tongue into every little nook and cranny, except inside my ears, which turned out to be too tickly, eyes, which are an obvious, 'no,' and my nose, which is almost surprising, but I'd prefer you not. It wouldn't cross the line of what I'd be willing to let you do, but I wouldn't enjoy it, and I have enjoyed all the rest. A woman likes to feel delicious. At least I think most of us do."

"Thank you for saying that."

"The quantity is way over the top, or would be if we were lovers, but this is my job."

"So you feel overworked. Should I hire additional staff? That was the original plan."

"No, because then I'd have management responsibilities, herding sex kittens, but I know you have more to say."

"Thank you Doctor Winter. So, it wasn't that I was sexually precocious. It was intensely sensual, all five senses, and it terrified me. Reflecting on it, it seems perfectly wholesome, but I knew it wasn't normal."

"What were you afraid of?"

"Rejection. Humiliation. And it wasn't most girls, but some, and my craving was so intense. I told myself, willed myself into latency. There was intent. I told myself that if I got spoiled on having access to a girl's body, then that was taken away, life would be Hell."

"Wow, you thought it out that much?"

"I did. It was my only weakness."

"You seem less scared of women than maybe any guy I've ever met."

"I wasn't ever scared of women, or other guys for that matter. I'm especially not afraid of strong women, like you." Winter struck a bodybuilder's pose, and Ian went on. "When I was nine, ten years old, I could look the school principal in the face, and he was a huge, hairy guy who could probably have crushed my skull with his hand. He was the hairiest man I've even seen."

Winter looked away, then said, "And armpits, but I think you just haven't gotten around to that."

Ian laughed.

"Bad experiences with antiperspirant?"

"Do you read minds?"

"No. You told me how sexy you found it that I didn't shave. Listen, later, if you want, I'll wash really well, and you can enjoy that part of me."

Ian smiled, "And now I'm a beneficiary of fortune, and I'm paying a woman to let me touch her."

In a perky voice, Winter suggested, "We could do commercials for the lottery."

"You're crazy."

"No. I was kidding. If I really meant it, yeah, that'd be crazy, though you have to admit, one look at me."

"I'm sure the fine folks in our Missouri Legislature would love to send the message, 'Play the lottery. Win a sex kitten.'"

"They don't have it in them to think, 'sex kitten.' If they knew what we were doing, they'd think I was the worst kind of whore, even though you're rich, and they love rich people. But they hate women more, especially ones like me, because I'm not a whore. I'm getting rich not being a whore." Winter looked mildly disgusted, though Ian knew it wasn't with him. "Like I'm any different than your maid, or the kid who mowed the yard yesterday, or folks who give haircuts, or a surgeon. Yeah, surgeon. Look at that whore. Shameless. She just took out that fellow's gall bladder." Winter started laughing, "I am sure glad I don't have to take out your gall bladder."

"Me too.

The Party

____________

Winter had pondered on how she could bring this disparate group together, and Ian's pool table seemed ideal. Certainly, it would exclude a few from the actual playing, but only because of their lack of interest. The casualness, and more than that, her own focused attention on something other than her own personal situation would avoid awkward questions and silences, and the telling of less than the whole truth.

The large dining room table was set, and Julia was taking care of the asparagus, beans, corn, and spinach, and would handle the serving. Winter was confident that Ian would handle his end, and that Eric and Chloe would stay on script, or at least improvise well enough. They'd arrived with little fanfare, and Chloe had given her a thumbs up, as she'd said, "We're ready."

There was also the fact that the basement, the billiard table, had never been a location for a sexual encounter. In the basement, alone, a place where she'd never had a reason to feel unsafe, she remembered a scene of a woman being abused on a pool table, and understood why Ian had never made sexual overtures in the basement. He'd had no idea whether she had seen those scenes, but she was sure that he had, and rape wasn't a component of his sexuality. He got off on making a woman feel secure. It wasn't just that he was a good guy, but that was something that turned him on.

As Winter ascended the stairs, she heard a knock at the door that signaled the first guests arriving, and hurried her steps. Maryl was expected, but she hadn't brought her boyfriend, or even her parents, but Delia, Delia without Brenda. Eric hugged Maryl, and then gave Delia a slight embrace, during which she made eye contact with Winter in a way that suggested a blush. Winter knew it was time to lighten up.

"See what Eric found?" She pointed in the direction of Chloe, who was setting the table. Then she turned to Eric, and said with obviously fake disgust, "Overachiever."

Chloe, who had been walking their direction to greet the newly arrived guests, heard what Winter said, and burst into laughter."

"Hmmph,” said Winter. “She even has a great sense of humor."

"By great sense of humor, she means that I laugh at her jokes. Hi, I'm Chloe, the one that Eric found. He had to go all the way to California to find me." Chloe shook hands with Maryl and Delia, then went into musical theater form, singing to Winter, "You wish they all could be Mi-i-sour-ah girls."

They'd all descended to the basement, other than Eric, who'd stayed upstairs to answer the door, and were all immersed in laughter when Ian made his appearance. He had been in the kitchen, taking care of last hour food preparations. Winter introduced him. "This, ladies, is my employer, and the master of this estate. His name is Mr. Meadows, but his given name is Ian, and that is what he wishes to be called." Ian smiled, and let Winter have her fun. "He is a very erudite man, with refined tastes, but also quite eccentric, with a droll appreciation of life's absurdities."

Chloe had turned away in cooperation with Winter, knowing her face would have spoiled Winter's ridiculous characterization of Ian, but finally started laughing uncontrollably. Winter and Ian both laughed too, and Winter explained that Ian was really just a recently widowed former librarian who had hired her to help him with his memoirs. Ian shook hands with Winter's friends. "Like Winter said, my name is Ian, and I'm pleased to meet you both. I'm sure you're more used to my new girl Friday's craziness that I am. Excuse me, woman Friday."

Winter wasn't quite finished, "Back in Ian's day, they used to call grown women, "Girl," and he's having some trouble making the adjustment." Now, Winter felt that she'd set them all at ease with each other, and excused herself to greet new arrivals.

Ian asked, "So, do you want to play pool."

Delia answered, "Sure. Can Maryl be on my team?"

"Of course," said Ian. He knew that Chloe hadn't played much, and Winter had told him that she and her friends had played a lot when they were in high school. "Nine-ball?"

Delia's replied, "Absolutely."

"You sound confident," and Ian noted that while she looked much younger than the others, she had an air of confidence, a brashness, and he suggested lagging for the break. Delia said that she wasn't used to a full size table, and requested that she be allowed a few practice shots to get the feel of the table, and Ian told her to take as long as she wanted. While she practiced, Ian shared an experience from his youth.

"When I was, I think, 14, I stayed for a few days at my grandmother's house in a small town, and there's only so many things that a grandson, and grandmother whom he's not particularly close to, have to talk about and do together, so I went out to explore the town. When I saw a pool hall, I thought that I could keep myself amused for an hour or two, so I went in. There were pay tables, and you had to put in two quarters to release the balls, and so I wasn't trying to pocket shots. I was practicing caroms, and combinations, and the two other guys who were there were noticing that I was missing, but not watching closely enough to understand the difficulty of my attempts, and one of them approached me and asked me if I'd like to play him."

"I said that I would, and suggested that the loser could buy the next set of balls, but he told me that it wasn't any fun if there wasn't any money on the line, and I thought that these guys were intending to try to take money from a kid, and that was shitty. It was even worse than what my father had done, which was to invite over his coworkers, and have them play for money against me and my older brother, and I won pretty consistently. I think I did it mostly out of indignation that the assholes were trying to take my money, but I agreed, and asked, 'What do you want to play, 8-ball?'"

"I knew full well that the game everyone gambled on was 9-ball. Predictably, the guy said, 'We usually play 9-ball.'"

"That's when I had them. 9-ball was my game, and I asked, 'Is that anything like 8-ball?' I made them explain the rules of the game, and finally asked, 'So it's just like rotation, but the only thing that matters is making the 9-ball?"

"I hustled them. I didn't lose one game, and they kept insisting that I play double-or-nothing. At first, I won in quirky ways, looking like I'd just gotten lucky. I kept saying that I had to get back to my grandmother's house, but they kept insisting, and I kept winning. By the time that I left with $27 dollars more than I'd arrived with, they were aware that they'd been hustled, and all the way back to my Bobo's house, I prayed, “God, please let me get back without them jumping me, and I'll never gamble again.' I've never played even penny poker since, but years later I thought it was safe to spend a dollar, or two on a lottery ticket when the jackpot was really high, and I, as they say, hit the jackpot."

Maryl knew he'd won the lottery, and of course, Chloe did, but Delia, who had heard every word, miscued, and blurted, "You've got to be fucking kidding."

Maryl answered, "He's not, Dee."

Delia locked eyes with Ian, "So what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to try my ass off to beat you at pool, but if your aim is anything like your touch on the cue, that'll be pretty challenging."

Delia won the lag, but that was mostly a matter of pride. She broke, and though the 5 was pocketed, and she got another shot there wasn't much she could do with the 1. Chloe took the next turn, and Delia gave a knowing look to Ian. It was obvious that he preferred the lay that Maryl might leave him, and knowing that was a respect for her demonstrated skill, she was pleased. Ian advised Chloe to hit the 1 hard, freeing it from its position along the rail, where Delia had deliberately placed it, thinking it unlikely that Maryl could use it to pocket the 9, which was blocked in an awkward way by the 3.

Upstairs, there was no competition. Winter and Eric got out plates, and she reminded him again of his essential role in making Ian seem harmless. "I know you have this silly feeling of obligation about my birthday."

"You did a very generous thing."

"No, Eric, I didn't. Get it through that thick head of yours. Maryl was never my girlfriend. It was a small favor that cost me nothing, and I did it as much for Maryl as for you, and I got all the thanks I needed just by knowing that my two best friends were happier. You just help me keep my secret, and keep helping our parents be cool about Ian, and I assure you that we're more than even. OK?"

"I still want you to have a great birthday."

"As well you should. You want every day of my life to be happy, and I want the same for you. Hey, is it hot to see Chloe and Maryl in the same room?"

Eric looked down, and snickered, then glanced up with his head still lowered, "Yeah."

"Not awkward?"

"No."

"Good man." Winter had considered, "Good boy," but thought that might be demeaning. She'd used the phrase once or twice with Ian, but Eric was still too close to boyhood, whereas Ian just found it playful, and it wouldn't have been funny because Eric had been absent when Ian had made his, “woman Friday," comment. When they heard the knock on the front door, Winter dispatched Eric to let in the only other invited guests, their parents. Winter surmised that Eric's opening of Ian's door furthered the feeling of trust and normalcy.

Natalie Williamson was toting a large plastic cake carrier, and Winter knew what it contained. She set it on the table, and after warm greetings, and happy birthdays, Richard asked, "Where's Ian?"

Winter answered, "He's in the basement with Maryl and Delia, but don't worry, Chloe's chaperoning." Her parents both laughed, and Winter felt confident that the evening would go well. The four descended the stairs, and Delia acknowledged them, but was obviously concentrating on her impending shot, and Ian put his finger to his lips to silence them. Richard understood why. The only balls left were the 5, 6 and 9, and a 5-6 combination was almost impossible. The five was reasonably easy, but leaving herself on a good lay for the six was iffy, and there was a makeable, though difficult, 5-9 combination off one rail that could have pocketed the 9.

She tried it and missed, and cried, "Damn!" Now, Ian was left with a similar shot, off the same rail, and he finished the game.

Delia shook his hand with admiration, "Good game."

"I'd say. Do you have a table at home?"

"No, but I've played at Winter's house."

Natalie laughed, "She's probably used that table more than any of us, “and turning to Delia, asked, “Where's Brenda?"

Delia was stiff upper lipped as she answered, "She had to move," but Natalie could see that the lightness had passed from her face.

"I'm sorry, sweetie, where?"

"Cape. Her mom got offered tenure track at Southeast."

"Well that's not so far."

"Far enough. We've been meeting at state parks, Hawn, St. Joe, but the next two years are going to be rough, and with those two gone," she motioned to Winter and Maryl, "I don't really have any school friends."

Maryl interjected, "We're still friends."

Delia smiled, "We are, but I was talking about school."

The older folks didn't migrate away from the conversation, not so much out of curiosity, but because the young woman who was speaking kept them there by her frankness, and her extroversion, just enough eye contact with everyone to want them to understand and feel her plight.

"Hey," said Winter. "Think about it this way, you get to have a long distance romance, and the kids at school aren't shit if they don't like you. I like you, and I have very high standards."

"Thanks."

"I'm not finished. When you sit alone, be proud, and self assured, and so glad that you have this kickass love situation in your life that isn't about anyone else, and you'll only attract the attentions of high quality persons."

Winter suddenly thought about her own situation. She'd thought about telling Delia that no one is attracted to despair, but she, herself, was besotted with a girl whom she'd once seen crying, and more than once seeming in pain.

Winter raised her voice, "Speaking of high quality persons, I am fortunate to be in the company of all of you, none of whom fails to meet that description, and I am the birthday girl. Let us ascend yon stairs, and," Winter said as she grabbed Delia's hand and walked hurriedly, "get to the food." Ian bounded behind them, not worrying about how goofy it looked, because he felt responsible for the quality of the provisions, and he headed for the kitchen.

Julia could tell that he was nervous, and said, "Don't worry, Señor. I've got everything under control. Should I start the espárragos?"

"Si." Ian removed the large Corning Ware casserole with the spinach from the oven, and took it to the table. Winter returned to the kitchen with him to help him bring the rest.

"Feliz cumpleaños, señorita."

Winter correctly deduced that feliz cumpleaños meant happy birthday, and replied, "Gracias, señora." Julia was busy sautéing the asparagus in clarified butter, and the timing was nearly perfect. As Ian and Winter lay the last of the other components on the table, Julia poured he asparagus into a large serving dish, and brought it to the table, and Winter announced, "Dinner."

Julia then returned to the kitchen, and fetched three large squirt bottles, with green and red salsas, and Ian's sour cream concoction. As she set them down in front of the guests who were gathering around the table she said, "The colors of the Mexican flag. A gran comida," and smiled warmly at several of the guests.

When her eyes fell on Chloe, the young woman returned her affection, "Gracias, Señora Muller. Todo es perfecto," and Julia was obviously pleased. Earlier in the day, Chloe had insisted on helping her with the prep work, thinking it might be fun, since Chloe was fluent in Spanish, and Julia had given her another reason to respect Ian.

“Señor Meadows, as part of my compensation, is paying my tuition. I was a teacher in Mexico, and when he learned that, he encouraged me to to get my teaching credentials. I begin classes in January. In two years, I will be qualified to teach both Art and Spanish, and he only asked for one favor, that I continue to prepare my salsas for him.”

Ian hadn't participated in any of the cooking other than the beef for the fajitas, which was thinly sliced strip loin, and in a separate dish, the onion and bell pepper accompaniment, both done on his indoor grill over shagbark hickory. Ian informed Maryl that the vegetables, and in fact, everything other than the meat itself, was strictly vegetarian.

Winter realized that passing items around the table was impractical, and suggested that they rotate, buffet style, before settling themselves into their chairs, and she reminded them to save room for cake, "Even you, Ian."

The meal went as expected, and the real hit was the cheesy spinach. Eric doused his with green salsa, and Winter joked, "Spinach not green enough for you?"

The highlight of the meal, other than the food, was when Winter started feeding Maryl, who was seated to her left, asparagus spears, and when Maryl returned the gesture, Winter received hers with an over the top sexiness.

Her mother laughed nervously, "Winter!"

"Oh, Mom, I'm the birthday girl. I claim privilege."

Natalie regarded Ian, because he was really the only person there who might have been taken aback, and Ian laughed, as did the rest of them.

After dinner, they had the cake, accompanied by fresh whole milk, the good, organic kind that required shaking. There were no candles, and no "Happy Birthday" song, as Winter had insisted, along with no presents, and Winter thanked them for their compliance, saying, "Obligatory gifts are just awkward. I love every one of you, and just your being here makes me so happy, and thank you too, Ian."

Ian approached her, and in a business-like fashion, shook her hand, "You're very welcome, and deserving." Ian addressed both Natalie and Richard seriously. "Your daughter is a very good writer, I'd even say gifted. My memoir would be quite dry without her assistance, and she's a hard worker. You should be proud."

Winter rose, and curtseyed with pretend skirt. "Ian's life is interesting and funny. He just doesn't quite know how to get that across on the page. I'm his ghost writer." Winter made spooky ghost sounds and gestures, and didn't stop until she'd gotten laughs from the whole crowd, wiggling her fingers threateningly to the few who had been resistant. Everyone was still laughing when Maryl's phone rang, and she politely absented herself from the room to take the call.

It was her boyfriend, and when she returned, she told Delia that she had to go as soon as the meal was finished.

Delia wasn't ready to leave, and Winter figured that she wanted a rematch. Delia asked Natalie, "Can you give me a ride?"

"Sure, but we're not staying late either."

Eric said, "We can drive you home, no biggie."

After dinner and cake, Winter walked Maryl to the door, and kissed her goodbye.

Ian engaged Richard, offering to show him his indoor smoker. Natalie followed, and Winter was left alone with Delia, who asked, "Can I stay with you tonight?"

"I guess so, why?"

"You know why."

"Girl, you know I never say, 'No.' We can stay here, and before you ask, Ian's cool."

"He knows?"

"Delia, everybody knows. Even your parents might assume, but what about Brenda?"

"What about her? If it were some girl I'd just met, yeah, she might be freaked, but it's you, and it's just sex."

"Call your parents."

Delia's dad was fine with her, "...spending the night with Winter."

After the others had been shown the barbecue arrangement, and rejoined them, Natalie and Richard said that they were ready to leave as well, and Winter informed them that she and Delia were having a sleepover. Natalie asked Ian, "Is that OK with you?"

"Of course. This place is huge. The rest of you are welcome to stay the night as well." As expected, they declined the offer. Ian added a flourish, "You two, behave," pointing at the girls, "no pillow fights. I'm fine with slumber parties, but the feathers stay in the pillows."

"We promise," said Winter, exhibiting crossed fingers.

Richard laughed, "They've always been well behaved."

"What my father means is that the pillows stayed reasonably intact."

Winter hugged each person closely before allowing them to leave, and after they drove away, she suggested more billiards. Ian's heart pounded as he agreed. There was sexual energy present, but he could sense that none of it involved him. Anyway, this day belonged to Winter, and she asserted herself by insisting, "No 9 ball. A few friendly games of 8 ball."

In the first game, Winter got beaten handily by Ian, but in the second, Delia was in command from the break. Two stripes had gone in, and she put in three more before missing a nearly impossible shot. Ian was left with no shot at all, and elected to send many balls flying, mostly solids, but knew that he was probably merely hurrying his defeat, and that is what happened. Delia ran the table. This time, Ian offered his hand and repeated her words from earlier, "Good game," and excused himself, feigning sleepiness. "Goodnight, ladies."

Delia waited until Ian was all the way upstairs before asking Winter, "He isn't really sleepy, is he?"

"That's very unlikely. We work way later than this all the time."

"So he knows why I'm staying?"

"He doesn't know, but he's not stupid. We've told each other a lot of personal things. He has to, because of his memoir, and when a person is that open with me, it makes me want to share too, so he knows I have sex with women. In fact, he assumes that I only do girls, and that's convenient. But he's totally cool. It's very likely that he assumes we're going to do more than sleep, but I do really want to make sure about Brenda."

"Winter, like I said, it's you. You're not going to steal me away from her, and I don't know where we'd even be without you. You've been like our guru, our teacher, and I wouldn't be surprised if I learned something tonight that I could take back to her. Winter, I love her. I've always loved her, since we were little kids."

"I know, and she's so darling. Do your parents know yet?"

"Mine do, but we've followed your example and hers just think we're best friends. They know we fool around, of course, but not that we're in love. I told Dad, and he was really positive, but Brenda figures her folks might think she's too young, and I guess she knows best."

Winter said, as dryly as she could, "I think I'm in love too."

Delia seemed surprised, "A guy, right?"

"No, a girl."

Now she was thoroughly intrigued. "What's her name?"

Winter answered, "I don't know."

"You what?"

"A girl at school. I'm as shocked as you. I've seen her a few times, and I don't know what happened. It just kinda did. I love really easily, but I've never felt...well, I've never felt this thing before. When did it happen with you?"

"When I learned she was leaving. Winter, I love everything about her, and since you and Maryl moved on, it was just us, and we were fine. I guess it didn't make sense that I had so little to do with you and Maryl last summer, and I'm sorry, but my whole life became about trying to be with her. You really don't have to do anything with me tonight."

Winter thought that was the worst idea, and crafted a reply. "Bite your tongue, girl. No don't, because after I give you kisses, you can do me." Winter bit her bottom lip, and offered her hand. "It's lesson time." As they made their way to the bedroom, Winter shared an observation, "Sweetie, everyone loves being on the receiving end of oral sex. It feels so good, but giving is wonderful too. It's about emotional connection; you can feel what the other person is experiencing. Take that back to Brenda, and give her my love. Make it as much as you can like she was the one who'd been with me, hearing me say those words, and feeling these kisses."

Winter went into male mode. Ian had given her insights into the placing of hands, a higher level of sophistication, and she used her left hand to simulate those first naughty reachings, Delia's thighs on her shoulders. The distinction between giving and getting blurred deliciously.

When Delia awoke, it took her a moment to remember where she was. Winter was still sleeping, and the memory of their first interaction, how she had admired her and decided to make the overture, made her happy. She'd put her hand into the tiger's mouth, and hadn't been bitten. Brenda had thought she was out of her mind. No one would walk up to Winter, especially when she was with Maryl, and challenge her, and they were two years younger; Winter could tear a person a new one with just a look, and her words were fierce. The incident in the hall where she'd kissed Maryl was legendary, and they'd never been seen kissing anywhere again.

When she'd walked up to them and told Winter that she wanted to be her friend, Winter had burst into laughter, but Delia hadn't sensed any contempt, and stood her ground. Finally, Winter's laughter subsided, and looking puzzled, she asked, "Why?" Delia replayed her memories in her head.

"Because you seem nice." Now Winter and Maryl were both laughing, and as Winter recovered, she saw Brenda, who was looking at the ground, beet red with embarrassment.

"You two are freshmen, right?"

Delia nodded affirmatively.

"And you two," Winter's fingers were in the victory position, and she used them to gesture, her index finger pointed to Delia, and her middle to her friend, "you want to be friends with we two," making the same gesture to indicate herself and Maryl, "because you think we're nice?"

Delia said, matter-of-factly, "Yes."

Winter laughed again, then smiled and said, "You know what? We are nice, and you have a Hell of a lotta guts. You're not doing this on a dare either."

"Of course not. I'm not insane."

"Go console your friend. We'll be over in a minute."

Winter and Maryl had taken a moment, then walked over and stood next to her and Brenda, and asked seriously, "Are you two lesbian?"

Delia had looked her straight in the face, and giving her what was almost a dirty look, asked, "Does it matter?"

Winter had smiled at Maryl, then Delia, and bit her lip before she said, "Right answer."

Delia examined Winter's face as she slept. Two years older, and she was even more beautiful. The gentle kiss on her forehead wasn't intended to wake her, but it did. Winter stretched, then smiled as she said, "Good morning."

Delia returned the good morning, then said, "I was watching you sleep, and I was thinking again about where I'd be right now if it wasn't for you." With little pause, Winter answered, "Right now? Probably Kirkwood," and added, "and I would be too." Winter had woken up happy. Sex with Ian was good, often great--if sometimes excessive--but Delia's body had been refreshing, and she'd felt in control. "Ian will be pleased."

"With what?" asked Delia.

"The condition of the pillows, of course."

They both laughed, and Winter said they should get dressed, because even through the closed door, she could smell bacon. "Bacon."

Once Winter called attention to it, Delia noticed as well. "He's making us breakfast?"

"Certainly. He's a gentleman, and you're a guest in his home. Like I told you, he's cool, and nice, and he's filthy rich. If you wanted caviar, he'd make every effort to find it."

"Who eats caviar for breakfast?"

"Well, lox, then."

"What's lox?"

"Just put your shirt on. I need coffee," said Winter, as she opened the door.

"I have to use the bathroom.

"You know where it is, and you know where the dining room is. Like I said, I need coffee." Winter left hurriedly, and gave Ian, who was on the couch, engrossed in the newspaper, only a perfunctory, "Hi," on the way to the kitchen.

He followed her, and asked, "Did you have a pleasurable night?"

Winter could tell that Delia wasn't near, because she'd have heard the creaking of the floor boards. "Very pleasurable," and she kissed him. "Thank you."

"I like seeing you happy." He held her close, and the embrace was only cut short by the sound of Delia's footfalls on the hardwood floor. They entered the dining room and Ian greeted Delia by asking if she'd like a coffee.

She said, "Yes, please."

Winter asked, "Cafe au lait?"

"Um, sure."

Ian went to prepare her coffee, and Winter seated her. When he was out of earshot, Delia remarked in an almost whisper, "Some gig."

"You always knew I was destined for greatness," then shot out her hand and tickled Delia's ribs just enough to elicit a squirm and a giggle.

Ian, hearing the playfulness, called from the kitchen, "How do you want your eggs?" Getting no response, he brought his guest her coffee, and re-asked."

"Scrambled is fine."

While Ian finished preparing breakfast, Winter asked about how Brenda was doing.

"Except for missing me, fine. She's pretty, and from St. Louis, so she's automatically popular, and next year, she's planning on moving back. We'll be OK."

"Moving back where?"

"My parents' house. Can you imagine my dad saying no?"

"What about Brenda's folks?"

"They're past the, 'She might grow out of it' stage, but they aren't ready to let go, or at least she thinks they're not. I'm sure if we spelled it out to them, they'd be glad for us, but she wants to wait, and it's less than a year. I'll wait, but I hope to fuck she doesn't meet someone else."

Ian brought the eggs, and bacon, along with buttered cracked wheatberry toast to the table, and apologized for the lean offerings with, "I hadn't planned for guests."

During the meal, Ian didn't ask questions, having been admonished not to do so. Delia ate heartily, and thanked him for what he'd provided. Ian just shrugged, and Winter said, "We had some time for girl talk."

Those words hurt Ian. Winter should have known better than to utter them, and he spoke sternly, "There shouldn't be girl talk or boy talk. I'm not saying that sharing private thought between friends is in any way wrong, but to suggest that anyone be excluded because of their plumbing offends me, and I'm sorry Delia. Winter understands my feelings on this, and it's not about me. I'm not feeling left out because of me, but I know in my heart, and in my mind, that in-group/out-group secrecy results in hostility, and historically, women end up losing."

Before Winter could come up with a reply, Delia said, "You sound like a radical lesbian."

"But obviously I'm not. I'm fine with my body, and there's no self-loathing. People just need to get their shit together."

"Ian has had a chip on his shoulder since sixth grade, when they separated the boys and the girls for sex-ed. He wanted to go with the girls."

"Miss Williamson, your girlfriend will have to wait for the book, just like everyone else."

"Sir," said Delia, "We're not girlfriends, just friends."

"Dee, Ian was using the word in the old-fashioned sense. He's older than he looks, and he's a Marxian, you know." She wanted to turn the subject away from sexuality.

Delia laughed nervously, "You're a Communist?"

"He's a conflict theorist."

"Well phrased, Winter. Succinct. Delia, I feel that it's time for a female revolution. I may have been on the receiving end of male privilege in some small sense, but I've always loved women, and preferred them to males. I would have made a very good, as you say, 'radical lesbian,' because I'm certainly a radical feminist, and understand the need to bring an end to patriarchy, but I'm at home in this male body, and have no patience for bigotry. In fact, the few lesbian women I know,” his eyes flitting to Winter, “are less distrustful of me than most straight women. That made Winter a good choice for helping me with my memoir. I can tell her my most private thoughts without her thinking that I have nefarious motives for doing so, and she goads me in a way that I can't imagine a fellow male would be capable of."

"You're an odd man, Ian," said Delia, narrowing her eyes, but with curiosity rather than suspicion, "and that's not an insult."

"No offense taken."

Winter started laughing, and when Delia said, "What?" Winter just waved her off. It had occurred to her that Delia could have used queer instead of odd, and with the whole girlfriend thing, Winter couldn't resist.

"He's queer as folk." Winter said it while still laughing, and Delia heard it as "queer as fuck."

Ian busted up, and high-fived Winter hard enough that she said, "Ow," though she was still laughing.

"Was that an inside joke?" Delia asked.

Ian started laughing harder, but managed to say to Winter, "The things that come out of your mouth."

If they'd been alone, Winter would have hugged him. Instead she endeavored to explain her "queer as folk" joke, knowing that a dry explanation of it wouldn't be funny, but Delia was curious, and had never been shy about her fascination with Winter's mind--her thought processes--and she'd always been just enough younger that it wasn't awkward, the mentoring. Winter took the time to explain every nuance of her quip, and Delia listened, genuinely interested.

When the lesson concluded, Delia asked, "And he got that?"

Ian answered, "I did." What wasn't shared was the history behind Ian's retort about Winter's mouth.

Delia's time to leave had come. Winter was driving her home, and she thanked Ian for his hospitality. On the way out the door, Delia said, looking backward, "You know, if she ever quits, or dies or something," Winter was pushing her out the door as she yelled over her shoulder, "I'm a good writer too."

Winter opted to drive her friend home in her own car, and once inside, unlocked the passenger side door. When Delia clicked her seat belt, Winter said, "You see what I meant. He's cool, but as you said, I've got a good gig, and I'm not on death's door."

"It was funny, right?"

"Hilarious. I'm so glad Maryl brought you, and not just for last night. You're a dear friend, and you contributed so much to the party, just by being you."

"I wouldn't be me if it weren't for you."

"And I can say the same. You've made me more brave."

"With Ian?"

"In general, and you stay that way." Winter referenced the speedometer, and slowed the car. "Brenda needs you. You're a lifeline. I know you say she's popular, but if those kids ever figure it out, you know, that she's--Winter thought about saying queer--it's not going to stay that way. And don't worry about her meeting someone else, at least another girl, and in the unlikely event that it's a guy, well, you know, you just have to accept that, but that's not going to happen either."

"I guess it's just that I'll be missing her over break. Her family is going to Pennsylvania until after New Year's, and then school starts back."

"You're not out, are you? I mean at school."

"We never were, Winter."

"Sure, but that was different, and it seemed right at the time. We had each other. Why don't you hang with the gay kids? They're not going to hold it against you. Jeez. That was my thing, and we were never outright rude to them, just distant, our own little clique. This should have occurred to you by now. You can be the new girl too."

"With a mysterious past."

"Think about this," said Winter. "When Brenda moves back, there won't be any doubts. You'll be heroes, heroes for love; Juliet and Juliet who didn't have a tragic end. You two never were a younger version of Maryl and me. Hey, before I forget, does Dan still sell weed?"

"You get high now?"

"No, it's for my parents. Now that I have a job, I'd like to buy them some for Christmas."

“I'll give him your number. He's got some serious shit.”

No more words were spoken until they pulled into Delia's driveway. "You take care," said Winter, and they clasped hands, all four hands in a gesture of bondedness.

As Delia opened the car door, and when her foot hit the pavement of home, she felt like balling her hand in a fist of solidarity, but instead, leaning back into the car, used it to softly stroke Winter's face. Delia remembered that Winter had told her that she felt her face to be the most personal part of her body. "Bye."

Winter replied, "Bye you," her lips twisted with nostalgia that was real, but she understood that she'd moved on. Delia, and indeed Maryl, were part of her past. There was another girl who had replaced them, one she felt needed her, and she felt love sick, anticipating the possibility of heartbreak. It wasn't a sure thing that she'd give her the chance. Carnality was easy. One kiss and she was certain she'd have an inroad; Winter's kisses were perfect, irresistible. Even the half-assed ones she gave to Ian, and every other object of her desires, were prized, but now she craved something more.

On the drive back, she indulged herself by kissing her own hand, in practicing mode, taking care that the other drivers didn't see. This was beyond what she felt comfortable sharing with anyone, even Ian, whom she knew would understand. Practice kissing was so immature, and it made her feel weak, but she was feeling just that, weak, vulnerable.

Sex would distract her, and she presumed she'd be getting that, and she could share her feelings with Ian, leaving out the part about physical auto-romanticism. She'd crossed a line with herself, and needed time to digest before disclosing. She had briefly considered driving home, but decided against that. Ian was the safer choice.

It came to pass that there was none of the diversion of Ian's desires. He seemed to sense her mood, and said he wanted to cuddle her. After a few moments she said, "I see why Delia likes you."

"She likes me? Why?"

"Because you're a good person. You were completely not bullshit with her, and you seemed like a kindred spirit."

"How so?"

"Because you're not afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Yourself."

Ian didn't want to dispute Winter's characterization. He wished that her words were true. "Can we just go back to sleep?"

"You were awake most of the night too, I gather."

"Yeah."

Winter took his hand, and walked him to his bedroom. They each removed their clothes, and it occurred to Winter that she could double dip, losing herself in the perfecting of her kisses, while also performing her duties for Ian, and she tried to find a reason not to explain the whole business, and failing, told Ian that his back was going to be used for practice kissing, and that if he got too turned on, he should feel free to have his way with her.

Ian kissed her briefly, and said, "I won't interrupt your studies." Then, after however many moments asked, "Winter?"

"Yeah?"

"This is the kind of novelty that only you, only you," and he craned his neck to give her another small kiss.

"I'm glad to hear that. I was just trying to be efficient."

Ian lie fetal on his side, and Winter conformed her body to his, and used his skin the same way she'd used her own, as a canvas, and she imagined bringing another dimension to the plane, creating the perception of depth, without even the slightest penetration, and the limitations seemed ideal. She didn't want to dig into this girl's mouth, but to kiss her with every bit of love she had, the nerve endings on their lips connecting, electricity, connection, and she understood the line from the song that Ian had inflicted on her at the club. He'd played it for her a few times since then, and she understood the lyrics.

Touch me electric, and I melt.

It was good that Ian had showered while she was away, because there was no scent of male to interfere with her suspension of disbelief, nothing but the gender neutral fragrance of cinnamon buns. Winter painted with her mouth, layers of oil laid down in the most subtle brush strokes, bringing lips into relief, re-creating in her mind the one physical feature that had most stricken her, a mouth, contorted and pleading.

She took Ian at his word, and didn't reach around to check on his condition, but held him close in her love sickness, knowing that he'd felt these same pains and longings. Maybe, like he, she'd build up immunities, but she sensed that this was a virus that could never be excised. It would always be there, lurking, waiting for its moment. She almost wished to be slapped across her face, but the man next to her could never do that, and he was the last person she'd choose anyway. That pondering gave her release. Eric was a newlywed, and a murder charge would play Hell with his conjugal bliss.

Ian really had intended to fall asleep, but Winter kept on-and-off kissing his back, and he rolled over and asked, "Can we go to your room?" She looked at him and smiled. As they walked down the hall, Ian said, "You know why I couldn't sleep last night."

"Well, duh. What I want to know is, how many times?"

Ian laughed, "Probably seven, maybe eight. Hey, I am what I am."

Remembering the earlier conversation, Winter wondered if he knew about the song. She asked, and he had. "Ian you're fun, and you're about to get funner. I mean for me, but especially for you. You, Ian. You don't get used up, do you?"

"My interest? No. There's some latency, and I'm not unidimensional, but you are awfully yummy." They'd gone down the hall hand-in-hand, and bumped shoulders against walls, drunk with lack of sleep. Entering Winter's bedroom, Ian sensed unfamiliar pheromones, the traces he'd hoped to find. Julia had changed Ian's sheets the previous day, and he assumed Winter's as well, a fresh palate, and Ian unembarassedly asked which side Delia had slept on.

"That one, but I'm going to do you one better. I'm going to tell you everything we did, and show you approximately where we were positioned while we were doing it."

"Not to discourage you, but do you think that's fair?"

"There's no way she'll ever know, and Delia owes me a lot of favors. I'd say she even owes you. You had to forego your nite-nite. Just enjoy. I'm good at this."

She was.

Turkey Claus

____________

When Winter suggested that the two of them accompany Eric and Chloe partway back to Los Angeles, she'd not known if there'd be resistance. Ian's only challenge was, "It's their honeymoon."

Winter countered with, "I know, but I'm only talking about being with them for the first day or so. They're going to Santa Fe. I was thinking that we could take the train all the way to Gallup, and rent a car, then drive around Arizona and New Mexico. I told them, and they were fine with that, and I upgraded them to first class."

"So you bribed them?"

"Ian, there was no contingency. I'd already bought them the sleepy car, and they both liked the idea of us going along for the first day or so. If Eric thought I was horning in on his event, he'd have told me. We don't patronize each other. Besides, we get to be around Chloe one more day."

"You're suggesting that merely being in the presence of an admittedly attractive female is enough of a motivator to, I don't know, to do whatever?"

"Sorry."

"Apology accepted, but my problem, my hypersexuality, isn't the totality of who I am. I can, and do, have platonic relationships with females."

"I said I was sorry. This thing we're doing is so ill defined, and you are the way you are. And anyway, you shouldn't have jumped to the conclusion that it was all about you. I said, 'we,' not you. I like girls too, and Ian, look at me."

"I am looking at you."

"That's what it is, isn't it? You're feeling embarrassed about our arrangement, and you shouldn't be. I want this to work, and I want it to be enjoyable for both of us. That's why," said Winter, gesturing with both arms, "unless you have some reason why you don't want to--I don't know, fear of scorpions or something--we should kick around the Southwest together for a few days."

"I'm not afraid of scorpions, and I think they hibernate this time of year, but won't it look odd?"

"I'll tell my parents that some of your fondest memories are of New Mexico, which is true, right?"

"It is."

"And I'm helping you with your memoir."

"That's the story."

"So everything hangs together. This will be a memory lane thing for you too, because I specifically want to go to some of the places you described, especially the Petrified Forest and White Sands. I know you went there with your wife, and you might have some sadness, but you can cry on my shoulder. I mean literally. In the short time we've known each other, you've impressed me as a really kind person. I'd enjoy comforting you, and helping you heal."

"You're kind too."

"I am. Now, the tickets are one way, so we can stay however long you want. School doesn't start again for three weeks."

"You already bought the tickets."

"Remember, Ian?" Winter pointed at herself, "Fast?"

"When do we leave?"

"The day after Christmas, which you're going to love. It's funny the way we do it. It's totally a repeat of Thanksgiving--turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, the whole thing. Dad has been doing it that way for years."

"Did your parents invite me?"

"They didn't need to, I am. It'll be fine. Ian, they didn't raise the kind of daughter who would let you spend Christmas alone, so it'll seem perfectly natural, and I've established with them that I can't really talk about anything about you, because you tell me things you don't share with anyone else, and that's true too. No matter what you say, it won't conflict with what I've told them, because I don't tell them." Winter crossed her arms, and gave herself a self-congratulatory nod as she said, "The memoir thing was brilliant, if I do say so myself."

"Should I bring anything? Wine, maybe?"

Winter grabbed her phone off the end table, and as she flipped it open, gestured to Ian to wait a moment. "Hi, Dad." "Hey, you didn't buy a keg for Christmas, did you?" "Good, because Ian's bringing one." "I'll tell him." "Love you too. Bye." Winter folded the phone, and tossed it back on the table. "He said to tell you not to get a tapper or ice, because he has a rig, and that his only holds quarter barrels."

"Good, because I don't want to lift anything heavier than that."

"Ian, one more thing. There is almost zero chance that they'll guess what's really going on, and if somehow they came to suspect that there was some hanky-panky between us: number one, they wouldn't ask; number two, they'd assume that it was just something that grew out of the intimacy of the memoir project, because that's way more plausible; and finally, my parents are pretty sex positive. They don't use those words, and they're not all militant like you, and I guess me too, but I don't think they'd be upset. They'd just be surprised, very surprised, and more by you being male than the age difference. It's funny. I've always called myself bisexual, and have even said repeatedly that eventually I'll settle down and marry some nice man, but I don't think either of them believe it. They think it's another of my running jokes. So now you know that it wouldn't be the end of the world, lighten up, and get to know my dad."

"Unlimited beer," said Ian.

"Yeah, and I'm going to be there too. Besides, there doesn't even have to be lots of talking, because I know he'll be content to listen Rock'n Roll. You like a lot of the same stuff. By the end of the night, you two'll be back slappin' drinkin' buddies."

"Your father doesn't really get handsy when he drinks?"

"Ian, dude," Winter snorted," "you're going to fit right in, and no, he doesn't get 'handsy'." With feigned exasperation, Winter repeated, "'Handsy'. You know you're by far the handsiest person I've ever been with, and I might add, the kissiest too."

"That sounds good."

"Don't have to ask you twice." Winter took off her shirt, and her left hand massaged her right shoulder for a second to indicate a tight muscle place, "Right here." Ian started kneading firmly, and Winter asked him, "Why do you think so many people are skeptical when a person says they're bi? It's not like bragging. I mean it would be, and maybe could be, but it's not like it gets you any respect."

"That's changing, Winter. I've always envied bisexuals, not in a jealous way, or at least not resentful. I think it's hard for both gay and straight folks to understand. They have to get outside the box of their own attractions, and when bi persons end up pair bonding, they think you've finally grown up and found your true self, that you'd been that way all along, and you just needed to grow up. It reminds me of the vaginal orgasm myth."

Winter turned her head to look at him, "It is like that, and I'm glad that you flew off the handle at me the other day, with Delia, the 'girl talk' thing. You were right, and so was I."

"How?"

"It was about you being unafraid, but the thing you weren't scared of is the truth. You know there are little lies that are necessary, right?"

"Of course."

"You need to accept that what we're keeping from my parents really is a little lie, and it's not your lie. It's mine, and it's a technicality, my technicality. I'm the one with something to lose. You do get that?"

"I can't take any pleasure in dishonesty."

"Of course not. I don't either, but almost, and not even almost, no one tells everything."

"You're asking me to be false."

"No, I'm asking you to be true, and a big truth is that a big reason that this is working is that it's not just about me pleasing you physically, but you pleasing me, and you like that. I'm starting to regret talking to you instead of just...ooh yeah, right there. Talk less, pet more."

Ian understood what was going wrong in his head. He'd allowed himself to wallow in situational fantasies where Winter had less agency, less of her own life, and all he could do in this moment was to give feel good back rubs, with no goal other than bringing her body comfort, massaging away any tensions, including those that he might have induced. Winter wasn't giving up anything of herself, and Ian realized that he could never ask that of her. Her wages were a ticket into her world, and it was a package. He might divert a certain number of hours, but Winter belonged to no one but herself. It was clear. Other than the sexual obligations, she expected equal power in their dealings, and he thought, "That's what I've always wanted anyway."

Ian directed every touch toward her desires, avoiding erogenous areas with the same discipline he'd practiced on Lauren, with her migraines, but extending outward with his hands, straying away from the back, neck and head. Ian had little idea where Winter wanted this to go, but she seemed more than compliant. He momentarily risked breaking the spell to explore his fascinations with the details, the minutiae of her body, but it wasn't working perfectly, and he refocused on her need for affection, his touchings washing over her like the smooth waves in an isolated lagoon.

Winter became completely passive, but it was obvious that there was no resignation, only contentment, and Ian again proceeded to map her body, to gain knowledge. Each finger was unique, and every little bone a thrill to touch. Winter knew that he wasn't evaluating, not holding her to any standard. That first night, in the artificiality of that circumstance, she'd gotten a lighter version. Then it was the adoration of her face that seemed overly personal, but the session turned out to be not as intrusive as it had seemed those first several minutes. I knew exactly what I was signing up for.

Ian fell asleep, spooned against her back. He was snoring when the phone rang, and he woke with a start. Winter handed him the phone, and he answered, "Hello?" "Hey, Ethan." "Well, happy Christmas to you too." "I'm doing fine." "I am. In fact, she's lying next to me right now, as naked as the moment she was born."

"Give me that phone," demanded Winter. "Ethan, Hi, this is Winter." "Pleased to make your acquaintance as well, but I want to set things straight. I'm wearing a ring on my pinky finger, the left one, I have nail polish on my toenails, and a small, but very pink scrunchie in my hair, none of which I was born with." "I just don't like it when he exaggerates." "Is that what he told you? I'd like to think that's true." "Your father is motioning for me to return the phone. You take care."

Winter handed the phone back to Ian. "You see what I meant?" "Only half believed me? As I recall, the only time I ever deceived you was with Stripey, and you were three. Remember 'way up high'?" "I'm not certain that I'm comfortable with the word, 'excuse,' but yeah." "Everyone's well. How are you doing?" "OK, you were never much for long phone conversations." "Bye, I love you."

Winter wondered aloud, "Stripey?"

"It was a rubber salamander. We used to play this game where he got on top of the couch, and I'd be holding Stripey. He'd tumble down, and I'd employ a sleight of hand where I'd make it disappear, and ask, 'Where is Stripey?' Then I'd say that we'd better look for him. As we looked all over the house, I'd secret it somewhere, and we'd keep searching, and end up finding it somewhere. I'd ask him how he thought that Stripey got there, and he'd come up with these magical ideas like, 'He went under the floor.' He never figured it out until I finally, after many months of playing the game, revealed to him how I'd done it."

Next, Winter asked, "What about, 'Excuse'?"

"He told me that I was a pretty decent excuse for a dad."

"So, what's he doing in Japan?"

"He's a part-time student, and a semi-pro skateboarder. He's really good, but the only reason he can afford to do it is that he has money of his own. Maybe that's not fair. He's got sponsors, but that money wouldn't cover his comfortable lifestyle. He seems happy, but he took his mother's death even harder than I did. I never minded that he was more connected to her than he was to me until she died."

"You seem pretty comfortable with that."

"Why wouldn't I be? It seems like the natural order of things, and not only because my relationship with my mother was healthy, and it wasn't with my Dad, and I'm not downplaying the importance of fathers, but females just tend to be more affiliative."

"It seems kind of sad that it didn't bring you closer."

"In a way, it did. The first several months, and even until he left for college, we were closer than we'd been since he was three or four years old, but one thing that we could do for each other was to trust that we were both strong enough to move on, that she had given us that strength. In that way, we were holding onto her in exactly the way we both knew she'd have wanted. Winter, “I never wished that I'd died instead, but that would have been easier on him, and I know that, accept it; I don't blame him one bit for valuing her life over mine. We both loved her more than we loved each other, and Winter, I'm well aware of the temporary nature of our relationship, if we can even call it that, but what I told my son is that you are a spectacular human being. If you want me to do Christmas with your family, who am I to question your judgment?"

"You're so wordy."

"And handsy, right?"

"Right," said Winter, "and you do know what they say about idle hands?"

"I know there must be ways to find out."

Winter gave Ian a funny look, then remembered the night they'd met, and her mind flooded with connections. "What I meant was, we need to pack first. Then you can be as handsy and kissy as pleases you."

The plan was for Ian to arrive at some unspecific time between noon and two. Winter had helped put the barrel of beer into the car, which was in the garage where he surmised that it would stay cold, but not dip below freezing. When he arrived a little after 1:30, he used the brass knocker, rather than the doorbell. Richard answered, and invited him inside. Winter was at the dining room table with her mother, her brother and his wife, and a Scrabble board. The game had just begun, and there were only two words on the board. Natalie had played first, scoring 40 points for LATEX. Chloe had played on the X, making HELIX on a double word score for 30. When Winter saw Ian, she asked everyone to hold off play while she showed him her tiles. He bent down and she whispered something, while looking at the board, and he smiled. Eric, who was seated just to her left said, "I don't like the look of that," and being cautious, merely played ZORI, for 31.

Winter quickly rearranged her letters. They weren't using a timer, but had agreed to keep the game moving. Then she punched her fist in the air and exclaimed, "Yes!" Starting just below the O in ZORI, she placed an N, then a P, and an A on the double letter square, before spelling out NONPAREIL. "That's 33, plus 50, for 83."

Eric seemed perplexed, "You couldn't have known I'd open that up. What else did you have?"

"Nothing in particular."

“Then what was the secrecy all about?"

"Tell him, Ian."

"She said to watch how nervous you'd get when you saw her whispering to me."

While Ian was speaking to Eric, Winter and Chloe shared smiles that erupted into laughter.

When Ian turned around, Richard said, "Welcome to the funhouse."

Ian answered, "And I have a large can of beer in the car." They left house through the sliding glass doors in the back of the dining room, where just outside, Richard had positioned a dolly for the keg. "Your daughter has a way with words."

"Yes, she does. She's told me that she can't talk about your personal life because of the memoir, but do you mind if I ask how that's going?"

"Not at all, and it's going well, albeit slowly. She insists on focusing on introspection, rather than narrative, and I think it'll be quite unlike anything I've ever read. Sometimes it's almost like a therapy session. Her idea is to delineate as much as possible the events as I experienced them, and my later perspectives on my past, and has reminded me numerous times that I'm not famous, so the bar has to be set much higher than usual." After opening the passenger side door, and unbuckling the seat belt, Ian took out the keg, and placed it on the hand truck.

"What is it?" asked Richard.

"Tasmanian hopped IPA."

"Does Winter know?"

"I'm sure she does. I needed her help loading it into the car. Anyway, you'd asked about the book. The idea was to record the interesting events of my life, and it was mostly supposed to be funny, but Winter said that to fully engage the reader, I had to make it easy for one to put himself in my place, and that comedy without tragedy risks making me a caricature. She even used the words, "'gonzo', and 'goofball'."

"Ouch," said Richard.

"She was right, though. It might be difficult to reconcile other aspects of my life with, as she called it, 'mild mannered librarian'."

Ian slid the door open for Richard. The beer fridge was in the corner of the dining room. He hadn't noticed it on the way out because the spigot had been concealed by a faux leather cover. Once placed inside, Richard hooked up the tubes, and moved a lever. After a sharp, hissing sound, Richard said, "Success," and closed the door.

Ian thought, "Indeed." Winter had told him to wing it, and the previous evening, while she was here with her family, doing the Christmas Eve things, he had mused on how it would be if the memoir was the real raison de l'emploi, rather than a ruse. Then he'd taken it to the next level, a suspension of disbelief, where the project was a reality.

Winter had a term for this, "Situational fantasy." Only two days before, she had encouraged him to reveal his sexual fantasies, saying that this was something she needed to be a success, and after disclosing to the extent he felt comfortable with, she'd declared him to be, "French vanilla." She'd also said they were well matched, in that their daydreams were relationship-oriented, with the assumption that the mechanics of sex were absurdly simple, and the physical sensations nearly always enjoyable.

She'd gotten him to open up about dominance and submission, again, with the idea that this was "need-to-know," and said that she was glad that he was, as she put it, "well balanced," and that his occasional wanderings into depersonalization were normal, socio-biologically hardwired, and that the main threat to their arrangement lie in any inability on his part to keep perspective on what her role was in his life. He'd felt that he was in a strange sort of probationary period. Winter had told him up front that she was at least his equal, and every day had proven that more true.

Richard asked, "Want to help set the table?"

Ian, quite pleased with not being treated as a guest, smiled and said, "Sure."

"They're going to be a while, and the turkey is done. Winter said she told you about our Thanksgiving at Christmas tradition." Richard laughed, "Tradition. We've been doing it for about a dozen years. That was several years before I'd met Tally. None of us liked ham, and we usually made a turkey anyway, but Eric suggested that we have the meal be a second Thanksgiving, because that was his favorite holiday, and so I just ran with that, and even camped up the whole thing." Richard motioned, "C'mon, check this out." Ian followed to the kitchen, and on the counter was a turkey centerpiece wearing a Santa hat. Richard picked it up and headed for the living room, announcing its arrival with a, "Ho, ho, ho."

Winter jumped up from her chair, and started strutting around like a crazed turkey, yelling, "Gobble-Gobble-Ho!, Gobble-Gobble Ho!"

Richard joined in the chant, holding the absurd centerpiece aloft as if it were an object of veneration, and Ian added his voice, "Gobble-Gobble-Ho!" Winter ignored Eric and Natalie, while she focused her attentions on Chloe, and Richard and Ian cheered her on.

In spite of her husband's silent pleas to resist, Chloe rose to the occasion, stepping high and flapping, "Gobble-Gobble-Ho!"

After things settled down, Richard suggested that the Scrabble game continue, while he and Ian took care of the dinner. "Was that spontaneous?" Ian asked Richard.

"No, but it was two years ago. I think you just witnessed the establishment, or cementing of a new tradition." Then he stuck his head out the archway and declared, "No more will the sane half of this family have the faintest of hopes of quashing the ritual of the Turkey Claus."

Winter affirmed with a stern, "Gobble-Gobble-Ho."

Ian put out the dishes and flatware, while Richard fetched the bird. It was rather small, and the meal wasn't as extensive as the typical Thanksgiving feast. The stuffing was done in the turkey, and the sides consisted of Southern style green beans with potatoes, with plenty of bacon, cranberry sauce, corn, and bread, with plenty of butter. Before slicing the turkey, Richard cut off a wing tip for Ian, "Winter said you love these." As everyone made their way to their seats, Richard asked, "Who's having beer?"

Winter waved her hands as she said, "Me, me, me, me."

Eric replied, "Maybe later," and with Chloe and Tally, opted for the iced green tea.

Richard retrieved three very large mugs from the freezer, and Winter swooped. She filled her glass and took a drink before turning to face her father with a foam moustache, barking out in a gruff voice, "License and proof of insurance, son."

Winter, Ian and Richard had claimed the side of the oval table that was nearest the beer, and the meagerness of their dinners more than suggested that they weren't intending to fill up on food. Eric had gone the other route. With his drumstick, he reminded Winter of pictures of Henry the VIII, something she didn't hesitate to share. Chloe wasn't far behind, with her eating-for-two situation.

Ian's plate was topped with a wing tip, over a large serving of green beans. He had carefully dodged the chunks of potato. Winter noticed her mother glancing at his plate and said, "I know I'm not supposed to speak about your personal life, Ian, but my mom seems concerned to the point of distress. You see everyone, Ian is leading a double life, and his alter-ego is a supermodel."

Ian gestured to Eric's overloaded plate and declared, "Better that than a bulbous, 16th century monarch with a penchant for beheadings."

Ian had finished first, and Winter made small talk until Richard finished, then she stood, extended her arms in ceremonial fashion, and lifted Turkey Claus from its honored spot, and placed it on the top of the beer fridge, then reaching behind, unplugged it, and began to roll it, first into the living room, then taking a sharp left. "Where," Ian asked Richard, "is she taking the beer?"

"I have my suspicions, but I say we'd best follow." Richard knew exactly where she was headed. That morning they'd moved the sound system from the living room into the guest bedroom, which he used day-to-day as his office, though he did as little work there as possible. For someone who dealt with computers for a living, Richard's home computer was an entertainment device, and most of that entertainment was what he referred to as, "useless knowledge."

Ian was all for going with the flow. Winter was juggling fire, and it occurred to him that creating a bond between he and her family, if done well, would optimize her own experience, and that the only reason she'd do that, bother to, was to further the likelihood of carrying their agreement to term. Winter had called herself, "fast," and while she'd used that word in jest, he knew that she'd seldom fail to play with language in her own head, and brightened when others picked up on double meanings. She was fasting him, involving him in her life, asserting independence while happily acceding to her role as sexual playmate.

Ian noticed that there was a daybed along the wall that had a window. It was made up for sleeping, and he assumed that was intended for his use. There was a desk with a computer, and a pair of speakers that were overlarge for the midsized room. Ian surveyed his surroundings as Winter plugged in the rolling beer dispenser. There were three chairs, two of which matched those from the dining room, and it seemed likely that they'd been brought in for this occasion.

"We're rockin' boys. DJ Winter is in the house. I've taken the time and care to compare your collections, and have drawn only from material which you both own to generate a best-of-the-best. Best to me, that is, but I'm sure you'll enjoy." Winter went to the computer and pulled up her folder. "Gotta go," said Winter, and she left the room and closed the door behind her. When Johnny B. Goode began, even Richard was surprised at the volume. When the song ended, Winter opened the door. She'd brought new frosted mugs, and filled one for each of them. "To fine men, strong men, whom women ought not fear." The vessels were clinked, and Winter again left the room without any explanation.

The mood in the room was uneasy, and then a song so familiar caught the downdraft. "Hello darkness, my old friend." When the song ended, Richard, almost apologetically, said, "Ian, I don't know what she was thinking."

"I do. We're both widowers, and we've known loneliness."

"I caught that,” said Richard, “but I've never known her to be that insensitive."

"She's doing her job, and I guess she's a bit too green to make the distinction between on and off the clock. My feelings, Richard...I ask her to make me remember, and not just to help me, but to make me." Ian breathed deeply, and exhaled with a drawn out huff. "She also told me that she thought we'd enjoy each others' company."

Just then, the door opened, and Eric walked in with a large glass that looked to Ian more like a flower vase. He gave a slight nod to Ian, then headed for the tap. He filled it to near the top, then battled the foam like a child with an ice cream cone on a hot summer day, finally leaning back to catch the overflow on the front of his shirt as he said, "Whoa." Winter, who had followed him into the room, pointed at the stain and said, "You have twenty-one year-old college boy written all over you." Eric would have cut his losses and escaped with what was well over a pint, but Winter blocked him. "Not so fast, brother. It's uber-rude to snatch a beer and duck out, and since you stubbornly refused to sing for your supper, I insist that you dance for your drink." Eric looked to his father, and got exactly the support he was expecting, as Richard sidled in front of the egress. Eric rolled his eyes, but they were smiling along with the rest of his face. Winter tapped a few keys and when the song that was queued up blasted from the speakers, she lip synched the lyrics. Eric had wisely set down his drink, and was dancing as minimally as he thought he could get away with, but when the second chorus began, Winter became aggressive, pretending to shove him as he became self-protective, "Hey, Carrie Ann. What's your game now? Can anybody play?" Then Winter jumped back, lifted her heels to give herself a scant three more inches, and pointed at Eric as she shouted, "You're so, so like a woman to me."

Chloe had opened the door several seconds earlier, but no one but Richard had noticed until she pealed, the sound of which made Eric seem to cower before Winter's accusation, and he fell back, his father having to break his fall, and both of them ending up backing onto the daybed. Winter clapped, then high-fived first Ian, then Chloe. Richard tousled his son's hair as he scrunched himself into a cross-armed submissive posture, his eyes flitting back and forth between Winter and Chloe, suggesting a need for protection.

As the final chord sounded, Winter hit the space bar, and Eric, still cowering, turned to Richard and asked pitifully, "May I be excused?"

Richard gave Winter a questioning glance, and she said, "Aw, let him go. If I had a girl like her, I wouldn't want to be in here either. Don't forget your beer, Eric."

Eric hugged his sister, then shook Ian's hand before retrieving his glass. Chloe, still grinning, fluttered her fingers, "Bye," before taking her husband's hand and guiding him to the quieter areas of the house.

Eric closed the door on the way out, and Winter asked Ian, "You want to get high?"

"Weed?" Ian asked.

"Well, yeah. You're obviously not driving."

Richard hadn't expected this. Winter had, he guessed, assumed that he had some when she'd offered, but he didn't. "Winter, I don't have any."

"I do," said Winter.

"Where'd you get it?"

"Dad. Just because I don't like to smoke doesn't mean I don't know where to get it.” Winter unzipped her purse, and handed the bag to Richard. “Merry Christmas. So Ian?"

Ian shrugged and said, "OK."

Winter got up and opened the door, saying, "I'll go get Mom."

Natalie was on the living room couch reading. She heard footsteps, and turned to see who it was. "Dad and Ian are going to get high and I've got great music lined up."

"You what?"

"C'mon, Mom. It's Christmas, and you're out here by yourself. We're done with being loud."

Natalie was surprised, and the way that her daughter had phrased the invitation made it clear that Winter wasn't partaking. Winter extended her hand, and said, "I love you, Mom," then led her down the hall.

While the other three smoked, Winter punched up her mellow set, then reconsidered, deciding instead to play the entire album, "Can't Buy a Thrill." The music was perfect for the mood, and there was the additional aspect of the title, something that she knew Ian wouldn't fail to note, and she paused the music at the end of the A-side.

"Oh, some good news," Winter said. "You won't have to drive Eric and Chloe to the train because Ian and I are going with them as far as New Mexico. I'm going to help him document his last vacation with his family."

After a brief silence, Ian said, "Don't think that Winter's being flippant about my grief. I need her to be dispassionate. I greatly value her objectivity. She's never been unkind."

Winter wasn't hiding the fact that she was quite pleased with herself. "Ian's high."

Natalie was thinking that she should say something about having raised Winter better than that, but started laughing, and said, "We're all high, and it's not much of a gift if it was for your own entertainment."

"You're right, Mom, and I confess to the ulterior motive. Ian said that it made him stupid, and Mr. Meadows might well be the smartest person I've ever met, present company excluded, especially me." Before anyone came up with a reply, she started the music again, and "Reelin' in the Years" preempted any reply. Without leaving her chair, Winter acted out every emotion she was able to derive from the song, going into character, mouthing lyrics, and transfixing the others with the density of her emotions. When the album ended, she told them that she'd been cautioned, "The guy said this was seriously potent," and added, "I guess I should have mentioned that. Any requests?"

Richard answered, "Traffic."

"Excellent choice, Dad." Winter was feeling pleased with her purchase. Marijuana made her feel icky, but she enjoyed its effects on others in just this setting, with deep music and no expectations. "High heeled boys."

Boy Talk

____________

Winter had gone back with Ian on the pretext of organizing his papers. She felt conflicted, not about whether to deceive her parents, but how much it was alright to let herself enjoy her playing of the game. On the drive back to Richmond Heights, Ian had told her in detail about the conversation with her father while bringing in the keg, and about his preparation, and she'd been impressed. He'd spoken of process, but not content, and this complimented Winter's quip at dinner. Ian's snappy response to that had gotten not only a round of laughs, but a high-five from Eric, and an approving smile directed past Ian. By degrees, Eric was giving her venture his blessing, and it wasn't just time, but being around Ian, and coming to an understanding that she, herself, had intuited so quickly. Ian was as he'd presented himself, no less, and only more in that he could keep up with her cognitively.

Now, back in his own house, Ian seemed to Winter even more sure of himself, but in a way that let him self-deprecate with a wink. He'd been nearly a day without her body, and hadn't slipped out of character once while at her parents'. "You were quite the showman back there. My family likes you, and Dad's totally bought into the narrative. You notice how he didn't talk about the past?"

"No, but I don't talk about the past much either."

"You don't, but you can, and not for me. I know all I need to know about you, but you know I'm here for you to talk to, and you can be sure that I'll never break trust with you. It's like this--I want to have three million dollars, and I'd like it to be easy money. A little over three years, and I'll never have to take orders from anyone. After today, it's all going to be easy from my end. You've passed the test. You don't care about prestige; you're not interested in parading me around, and you get along splendidly with my family." If Delia only knew.

"I had a good time, but my god, that pot."

"My present to my parents, but that was then, and this is now," said Winter, as she got undressed." It's Boxing Day, but no gloves. No shirt, no shoes, not even skirt, and I'm at your service. So don't be nervous."

"Ian, I am, and you are not green eggs and ham."

When Winter and Ian returned, it was in Winter's car, and she explained to Eric that Ian's little Fiat was too small for the luggage. Natalie was engaged with Chloe, and Ian approached Richard confidently. "I'll have her back safe and sound."

"And if I were speaking to your father,” said Richard, “I'd give him those same assurances. Come inside for a minute." Ian followed, and once inside the door, Richard produced a joint, and fired it. Ian felt that he couldn't decline. Richard was sharing Winter's present, one given for ambiguous purposes, a gift that gave twice.

When the two emerged from the house, it was obvious to all why they'd taken a leave. The other three travelers were waiting, seated in the car. The back passenger window was rolled down, a conversational aperture for Natalie, and the engine was running. Winter reached over from the driver's seat, and pushed open the door, and Natalie laughed as she gave Ian a soft shove, guiding him in with her left hand protecting the top of his head like a gentle caricature of a cop taking a cooperative arrestee into custody. Ian clumsily buckled himself in and twiddled a farewell.

Winter pulled out of the driveway and when she reached the first stop sign, she looked over at Ian and said, "You didn't have to do that."

"I think it was bonding, like he'll trust me now," said Ian. "I hope he doesn't expect me to be his new dope buddy though."

"He's got Mom for that. I think he was just being nice. You've made a good impression." Winter glanced back for just a second, "Don't you think so, Eric?"

"Think so, what?"

"Think Ian made a good impression on Mom and Dad?"

"Yeah, Ian, you were great. We're getting pizza again."

"Everyone knows that, Eric," said Winter.

Eric replied, "Ian might have forgotten. He seems really high."

"OK," said Ian. "I'm just going to close my eyes and keep to myself for a while." He felt sick, not in his stomach, but everywhere, his heart beating in his swimmy head like Marsha Bronson's daiquiri.

When they finally got off the highway, Ian opened his eyes, and Winter said, "I see you've returned to the world of the living just in time to experience a ghost town."

“Hardly,” said Ian, “though your hungry brother might have a shorter wait for his pizza.”

At the pizzaria, Ian paid, and this time no one questioned anything but Winter's choice of toppings. Eric and Chloe split a double sausage, but Winter ordered extra sauce and cheese with anchovies. “I've never had anchovies on a pizza,” said Ian.

“You'll love it.”

“Mama bird?” asked Ian.

“No, Ian, you're going to have to eat like a big boy.”

Chloe asked what they were laughing about, and Winter replied, “You don't want to know, just believe me. You don't wanna know.”

On the last leg of the drive, Eric drove, and Winter and Ian shared the back seat. When Winter started getting touchy, Ian went with it. In front were the only two people who knew, and he wasn't about to reject Winter's playful kisses, especially after she'd said, “Hey, we both have fish breath.”

Ian hadn't been embarrassed so far, and Winter had initiated. There was no one present who didn't have knowledge of their carnal doings, but the appearance might seem less than pretty. Still, in this setting he felt comfortable. The couple in front, he was reasonably certain, couldn't get their minds to a place where Winter was working in their presence. It was more believable that she just wanted to kiss, and this old man was the one that she happened to be with. When Chloe turned around and laughed, her expression was warm, even approving. She'd quietly become a Williamson, not so much in her affectations, but in her ease with open affection; Chloe didn't seem to have changed at all, but had merely settled in like a cat, with minimal kneading, and by extension was embracing Winter as an equal, a person who had navigated adolescence successfully. Winter nosed Ian away as she said, “I haven't lost a brother. I've gained a friend. Maybe a sister, but at least a friend.” Chloe returned a smile, then turned her attention away, and Winter whispered in Ian's ear, “See? It wasn't about you,” then transitioned seamlessly into something that was about him, as she backed away just far enough that he could lip read the words, “Love the one you're with.”

She wiggled her shoulders as she said it, and Ian knew that this was merely casual body love, no more than he'd expected, but no less. It perfectly expressed what they had, the practical, the convenient, but also the limits. His regrets over accepting Richard's tokes faded because he found himself in a good place, the back seat of a car with a woman who was sharing kisses.

As they boarded the train, Winter reminded Ian, “Pretend.”

“I never,” said Ian, “asked for anything more.”

After they'd been guided to their berths, Winter sent the menfolk off to the snack car, saying, “I could reassure everyone that I’m not a seductress, but I’m not much of a liar. I do, however, promise to behave.” Ian’s bottomless pockets appealed to Eric.

Ian motioned to Eric to follow, and when the two men placed their order, a six pack of Sam Adams, Ian's demeanor and generous tips allayed any concerns with over-serving, even when Ian returned shortly for a second round, as they hadn’t given any indication of rowdiness. Their mutual love of trains, both for transport of commodities and persons, was a point of agreement as they lubricated themselves to the state they needed to achieve. Ian started, “Eric, you do know that I’d never harm Winter?”

“I know that she believes that, and that’s good enough for me. Winter always gets her way. You’ll get what you deserve.”

Eric was drunk, and it had opened him, “Women are just…they need to be kissed.”

“That they do, Eric, and not merely in the obvious locations. Parts of the body like ears, and toes, the inside of knees; if those are neglected, that’s a waste. Hey, before they stop serving, I’m going to buy some more beers.” When Ian returned, he had another 6-pack, and when Eric gave him a questioning look, he said, “I think we’re both beyond getting any action tonight anyway.”

Eric laughed, and said, “Way beyond, and you’re as crazy as she is, even though you're all English professor.”

“Librarian,” corrected Ian, “but I also ‘live life with gusto’, in my librarianly way, of course.”

After one more bottle, Eric was obviously ready for the bunk, and Ian handed out the remaining beers to other appreciative passengers. He had to steady Eric when passing through the transitions between the cars, where they were received without disdain by women who were ready to sleep spooned closely with men who expected no more, but after Chloe had escorted her brother away, Winter asked, “So what’d you two talk about?”

“How dare you ask? It was boy talk.”

Winter offered a high-five, and Ian slapped her hand softly. “Well, I guess it would be unethical to interrogate you in your present condition, so let’s just cuddle,” and she again thought, “Easy job.” It got easier still when Ian expressed his desire to massage her legs, and she wondered if he was thinking about Chloe. Winter suppressed a laugh. She was.

Ian had easily accepted her no sex after alcohol condition, even though it hadn’t been part of the original pact, but he didn’t count anything that didn’t involve genitals as sex, and touching and kissing the rest of her body was fair game. He seemed bent on giving pleasure every time, and her coos, the occasional comment, “Oh yeah, right there,” and even finger points and verbal requests tendered positive results, and this wasn’t seduction. He wasn’t shy about the benefits he was purchasing, and she gave him no reason to be, but they both knew that there was a place in her heart that was elsewhere, and one in his as well. They were both in love; Ian’s love tied to his past, and hers to the future. Their present was only body love, more than hook up, but less than bonding; it was caring and affectionate, but devoid of destiny, and Ian wasn’t privy to her thoughts, as his body touched hers, his strong fingers probing the muscles along her spine, then scratching, and caressing gently. He used the insides of his forearms, the softest part of his body, to touch her smoothest skin. Winter suppressed a snicker. If Delia only knew.

Before the love bug had bitten, this arrangement would have been almost ideal, and the aged aspect of Ian’s body was overwhelmed by his skills, and his single-minded interest in physicality. He wasn’t interested in trophies or conquest; Ian only cared about kissing, and not about telling. It was easy to be passive, to accept whatever his desires, and relax. Winter was weary, at least as much as she could be, of always being the assertive partner, and Ian’s desires were familiar, surpassing even her own. “You want to slide inside me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Stupid question. Huh?”

“No,” said Ian, as he slid down and repositioned himself, “but it makes me wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

“If you’re really a college student.”

Winter got the drift, and came back with, “Only stupid answers, like if you’d said, “’No,’ which you did.”

They were both chuckling, and Ian said, “No, I mean yes. I said yes, but then I said no, but…”

The slight pause was enough for Winter, “I didn’t mean there. God, Ian, you’re such a politician. ‘No, I said yes before I said no, but I really meant yes,’ but here please,” Winter said as she used her hand to guide him, “not there.”

It ended up being not anywhere. The right place, but the wrong time, and Ian said, “I'd rather wait until morning, but it'd be nice if you cuddled me to sleep.”

Dawn was beginning to break when Ian woke up having to visit the facilities, and when he returned, Winter was conscious as well. “Now?” she inquired.

Ian shrugged, “It's morning, right?” The better part of an hour had passed before Ian said, “Good morning.”

Winter agreed, “A good start to the day.” Winter was already fumbling for her own clothing as she told Ian, “Get dressed,” and as soon as he'd covered himself sufficiently, she slid open the door and went to rouse the others, and finding their quarters vacant, turned to retrieve Ian, but he was already in the hallway, and she motioned to him to hurry. They made their way to the dining car, where Eric and Chloe were at a table, waiting to break their fast, their food having yet to arrive. Locking eyes with Chloe, Winter said, “Hey, lovebirds,” then positioning herself at her brother's side of the table said, “Scooch over.”

Chloe had already made room for Ian, and Eric hurried to avoid the sideways hip thrust that he anticipated would follow his noncompliance with Winter's order to scooch.”

When they settled, Ian turned to Chloe and said, “I'm, I mean we're not intruding on your honeymoon?”

Chloe just smiled, and Winter answered, “Ian, honeymoon implies that there's an end. We Williamsons,” she said, as she wiggled a hand with her pointer to the sky, “don't operate that way.”

“Ian,” said Eric, who had really only fully crawled out of his hangover, “it's fine. Everything seems like the way it's supposed to be.”

“God,” said Winter, “you sound like Mom.”

“Well, you sound like Dad.”

“Mom.”

“Dad!” Eric retorted emphatically, but knowing that he'd never outlast Winter.

“Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom.”

Chloe nudged Ian, calling his attention to the server who was waiting to deliver the plates to the newlyweds. He was obviously unperturbed by the goings on, and gave every indication that he was charmed, something that Winter noticed, and it made her even more playful. “I'll have what she's having.” Winter's inflection was close to perfect, and the waiter was obviously struggling to maintain composure.

“The scrambled eggs, potatoes, croissant and bacon?”

“Yeah,” said Winter, with a wink. “That too.”

After Ian ordered, and it was just the four of them, Winter said, “Chloe, I saw that look you gave me, and while I might be quite full of myself, there are far worse things to be full of.” Chloe shot back, “Marilyn Monroe, right?”

“Exactly, but I have prettier breasts, and Ian is both better looking and richer than that baseball player.”

“Better slugging percentage too,” Ian added.

Winter replied, “Big deal. You found a pitcher who only throws you fastballs.”

Scorpions

____________

Eric and Chloe excused themselves to their compartment after breakfast, and Ian suggested the observation car. Winter apologized, “I know I've made this about me, and not just the past few days, but all of it.”

“You're adjusting, and I'd never ask you to lose yourself anywhere but in bed.”

“I don't lose anything there.”

“You don't lose anything anywhere, Winter. Nothing seems to lessen you, but you let yourself go.”

“I like sex, Ian, and while you're, well, not my physical ideal,” she shrugged, “you're my only option right now and you seem to enjoy my body even more than I do. I'm not a prostitute, or even a stripper,” and she splayed her hands in resignation, “except for that one time, and sex is better with you than it'd probably be with the guys at school. I'm pretty sure of that, even the really pretty ones, and we both believe in equity, so let me do my job, make a week or so about you. Let me be proud.”

“This might not be easy.”

“Ian, there's no shame in tears, only in selfishness, tears for guilt, but never guilt for tears, and you've cried on me before. It wasn't for guilt. It was for loss. Grief, Ian, tears for Lauren. I'm not a replacement, but I am part of your moving on.”

Through the windows of the train, the world loomed large. Life was everywhere, but Ian thought about the graves that must be scattered about the hills, lives of those younger than himself, ended by the harshness of pioneer life, not scorpions, but worse. They were taken by hunger and thirst. The mothers and fathers feared the hazards of childbirth, death for the woman, and despair for the man, often left with motherless children to feed and bereft of that one special thing that made the deprivations bearable.

His silence prompted Winter to ask, “What are you thinking about?”

Ian shared, and then added, “It was, I guess, about birth control.”

“Don't stop, Ian. I want to hear this.”

“Well, you know I've had a vasectomy, so we can do whatever.”

Winter was trying not to openly laugh, though she didn't hide her amusement as she said, “And we do 'do whatever'.”

“I was wondering if the pioneers who ventured here, if they avoided intercourse, at least during times that could result in pregnancy, and one more mouth to feed, or if they satisfied each other in other ways. When I was barely a teenager, I was curious whether my parents had oral sex.”

“Didn't you kind of figure?”

“No. I was the youngest of five, and I was no doubt an accident. Add to that my parents never seeming to be particularly loving toward each other, and given the prudery of Americans, it could have gone either way. When I was older I thought about the absurdity that every generation thinks that they were the first to discover oral sex, or at least for it to be mainstream. Don't laugh at me, Winter. It makes me feel old.”

“I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with you, except you're not laughing, Mr. Diddy Wah Diddy.”

At that, Ian did laugh, “I don't know what that means,” but he stood and beckoned Winter, glad that they weren't traveling coach.

Seeing the honeymooners off was a pleasure in itself. Winter hugged them both deeply, then Ian offered a hand, first to Eric, who grasped it firmly, and nodded with the impression of solidarity, and then to Chloe who surprisingly refused it, and instead offered open arms for a brief but firm hug. After they had disembarked, Winter turned to Ian, her nose brought near to her pursed lips for a scant moment before reverting to her happy face, “I think my new sister likes you.”

“I like her too, and your brother as well.”

“That's good, because I was thinking that it might have been too much for you, all the my family stuff. You know that before I met you, I'd never been away from them, and it's not that I mind staying with you. I like sleeping with you, and I know that we agreed three nights, and they haven't asked, but can we make these nights count?” Winter led Ian back to the privacy of the roomette.

“Toward your obligation? Certainly. I'm not inflexible, and I wouldn't enjoy sleeping next to you if I thought that you were worrying, or uncomfortable in any way.”

“Thanks, Ian, and I'll make it up to you, you do know that?”

“I'll expect it, because you are an honorable person. I hope that we're past any formal terms, and while I love falling asleep with you, it's waking up with you that I really value.”

“That's what I was thinking. I could come over in the mornings, early. Un-showered of course.”

“That aspect is not negotiable, and arrive in your yesterday's clothing as well.”

“Dressed for work.”

“Dressed for play.”

“Same difference. I'm a working girl now, with a good job, and considering my duties, your expectation that I smell nice is perfectly reasonable. I'd feel very complimented on my natural body fragrance, but I understand that you'd feel the same way about many other women.”

As they shut the sliding door, Ian answered, “You are correct that there is nothing about your appearance or smell that sets you apart from so many others; it's your personhood that makes you spectacular, personhood because personality isn't inclusive enough. There's something at the core of your being that I find delightful.”

“Ian, whenever this ends, sooner or later, I'll always be your friend. You'd want that, right?”

“Certainly. When you move on, for richer, or more richer, I'll move on too, but friendships don't have to end when the sexual aspect goes away. You told me upfront that there's an amorphous woman you've fallen for, and I wish you the best. I hope that she becomes the love of your life. Winter, you deserve that, and if I felt any other way, I'd be a cad.” Winter began to laugh, snuffling quietly, and Ian asked, “What?”

“Cad rhymes with dad, and you two are so alike, but I'm on the same page, Ian. We both care about each others' future. That's true friendship. So it seems that you really are just paying for sex.”

“I'm paying for companionship, with sexual availability, which was what we agreed upon. Friendship is a thrill you can't buy.”

“But it's not without selfishness. I brought you out here for you, but helping you deal with your past is going to make this easier for both of us. You put on a strong face, but you haven't finished grieving. My dad, Richard, threw himself into his work.”

“Your father's choices were far more limited, and as you stated, I'm not finished with grief. I'd love to fall in love again, but in the interim there's you. “

“I'm a transition, Ian. If you go on to replace me with another girl, you're not likely to find one with my ethical constraints. There's no such thing as luck. Meeting me was an accident, a fortuitous accident. We jibe well, and I'm sure that you could be happy, but a succession of concubines, no.”

“I don't even get what you just said.”

“And you won't until you're able to put Lauren into the past, me into the present, and get yourself ready for the future.”

“The future after you.”

“Yeah, that one. You're a catch, Ian, and once I get you fixed up, you'll be irresistible.”

“So it doesn't matter what I want?”

“Ian, you want your face between my legs, and for me to stop lecturing you.”

“Pretty much, though I do value your insights, however clouded by your own situation.”

“What 'situation'?”

“First love, Winter. I'm far more experienced with romance. I understand that it can't happen with you, but you don't need to rub it in. You're a surrogate, and a fine one, the finest even, but just as I can't allow myself to determine your future, or engage in situational fantasies where I do so, you need to understand my reality.”

“Your second adolescence.”

“The fascination never subsided.”

“And I'm a freshman anthropology student who has identified a new species, Homo paniscus.”

“You're inviting me to groom you?”

Winter shot a suspicious smile, “That depends on what you're grooming me for.”

“Non-existent nits?”

“Go for it, Ian, but no hands, OK?”

Ian thought about how perceptive Winter was in the physical realm. He had emotions that she couldn't understand, but the invitation to kiss her head was like the offer of a nearly empty bowl of whipped cream, lightly sweetened, and with an aroma as pleasing as vanilla, an almost empty vessel handed over to a child who was sure to treasure the traces of deliciousness, nothing wasted, the bowl was sure to be licked clean. The “no hands” stricture soon fell away. Ian knew that Winter was merely pursuing novelty, and why wouldn't she? By all indications she'd have preferred he be female, at least bodily, and he was certain that his aged body, however well preserved, wasn't a plus. Aside from the money, his assets were mental. She had turned away from his face, as if he were penetrating her skull with his kisses, denying him access to her forebrain, the one thing that made her special. That part was priceless. The rest of her body was freely accessible, and he was relatively certain that it wasn't about his face, that she didn't find his appearance or his mouth off-putting in any physical sense. It was shyness, or better stated, too personal. She seemed to be protecting herself, or even possibly protecting him, but no doubt reminding him that this wasn't a romance, but something destined to end, and as Ian wetted her scalp with kisses, he thought of cinnamon buns, “Better this than nothing.”

Just before they disembarked in Gallup, Ian made a brief call, and the car was there within minutes of their arrival.

The following morning, they headed for the Petrified Forest, and after paying the entrance fee, they drove to the place where Ian remembered stopping to hike when Ethan was five. Winter had been fascinated by Ian's description of the colors, and the erosion, and how it struck him as a crunched up model of the terrain of the Ozarks, something familiar to them both. It was bitterly cold, but not windy that day. They had parked on the right side of the road, and crossed hand-in-hand, traversing the flat portion that was littered with small pieces of the petrified wood that had lent the park its name.

The gradual ascent, and the comfort of walls, following the creeks and hollows, was comfortable to Ian. The fear that Ethan would somehow scramble up to heights that would endanger his welfare was only a memory. That fear now seemed absurd, and he knew that expressing it had limited all three's enjoyment of the trek. The idea that he'd lessened that experience for his loved ones troubled him, as did the lack of a real memoir that paid tribute to the wonderfulness of Lauren. Winter was a joy, but what he'd had with Lauren was purely natural, and time, the same time that had formed these surroundings, had taken her from him far too soon, taken her from Ethan, and from the world, but worse than that, had ended a life that merited happiness. The survivor guilt was flooding back, he understood Winter's purpose. Whether it was some generous spirit in her, or merely a desire to keep him from bailing on their pact, he wasn't going to repeat the past. Whatever Winter's motive, she meant to heal.

When they reached the top, or quite near the top, Ian hesitated. Even though there was no danger, the summit frightened him, but Winter was taking him there, and he forced his reluctant, almost trembling legs to climb those last few steps, as he accepted her assistance. When they were seated atop one of the highest places, what seemed like the closest thing to a mountaintop that Ian could deal with, Winter said, "We can't change the past," and she held him as he cried.

"Can we go home now?"

"Anytime you want, Ian. I work for you, remember, and you're not disappointing me. You're a real person, with real feelings, and you hired me to be your personal assistant. I'm not a prostitute with a heart of gold who pities you while having contempt for you. I respect you, and I take pride in my job."

"Thank you, Winter."

"I'm a compassionate person, Ian. I thought this would be good for you, and it probably has been, but if you've had enough, of course we can go home."

On the drive back to Gallup, where they had already reserved the motel, Ian again started to apologize, but Winter cut him off. "I don't expect some fancy vacation, or any vacation at all, less than one month into my employment. If at some point you feel ready, I'd love to go to some of the cool places you got to go with your wife. It's like this, I'm OK with you being unhappy. You cried in my arms a few hours ago, and that was fine. You gave me a gift, and you didn't know that; it was a little more insight into being in love, and how it feels to love a person like you loved her, and still do."

"I'd hoped I was stronger."

"We both did. I assumed that you'd put more of the grief behind you than turned out to be the case, so what happened today maybe needed to happen for you. I'm not being damaged. I'm learning. It isn't love that means you never have to say you're sorry, but having acted in good faith. I had the best of intentions bringing you out here, and if I was mistaken, I just was. And you, Ian, you tried to roll with it, because you're well intentioned as well. What we have shouldn't, and don't have, is much self-sacrifice on either of our parts. I've felt for years that being decent wasn't about bodies, but about being considerate." Winter smiled, "You know, I almost said, 'not being an asshole,' but that's a body shame word."

"You're a highly evolved person, Winter, nearly devoid of bovine excrement."

"There you go. Put all that nonsense onto a scape-bull, and send it on its way."

"Your sentience," said Ian, "is your most attractive quality."

"Not my lady parts?"

"You see that rock formation? It's pretty, and the next one might be a bit less pretty, or a bit more, but they're basically interchangeable. I was praising the non-interchangeable part of you."

"Ian, if our thing ended sometime soon, and it's going to end eventually, I know I've asked you already, but really, would you still want to be friends if there were no sex?"

"Without a doubt, but that possibility, or eventuality, just provokes more urgency. I want your body because it is delicious, and the temporal limitations make me crave it more." The response seemed to please Winter. "I know where your mind's at. You've mentioned it often enough. I have the resources to get my fix, and it's not your body that's unique. I was never under the illusion that I was going to get the whole package." Ian looked deeply into her eyes in a way that would have intimidated almost anyone else, even though it was for a spare moment. "Cinnamon buns, Winter. No one can expect one person to fulfill all his or her needs for human interaction, and doing so can make the other person feel cramped. Every culture has an however loose set of definitions of definitions for that primary bond, none of them perfect, and each individual person has their own expectations. I don't let societal norms, some set of components based on patriarchal traditions, dictate those combinations. You could leave right now, ask to be dropped off at a motel in Gallup with enough money to safely get yourself back home, and while I'd be profoundly disappointed, I wouldn't for a moment regret our times together."

"Most women would be blushing right now."

"No, Winter, most women wouldn't have made heads nor tails out of half of what I just said."

"They'd have gotten the feeling, and Ian, whatever else, however our lives go, let's stay friends."

While keeping his left hand on the steering wheel, this time keeping his eyes on the road, he offered her his right, which she took and kissed, and Ian responded, "Most men would be blushing right now."

When they got back to the motel, Winter called Amtrak, then told Ian that there were no rooms on the train until the day after tomorrow, and asked, "Do you want to catch the train into Albuquerque? There's not much to do here."

Ian surprised her with his reply, "No, let's go to the lava beds. The worst that could happen is I'll get all weepy again."

Winter called Amtrak back and made the reservations for Monday morning, then called the motel office to inform them that they were staying an extra day. She found Ian in the bathroom, where he was brushing his teeth, and told him about the itinerary. "We don't get the cabin until Albuquerque, and we have to go back to coach at K.C. and it's one of those little roomettes. That's all they had, and if I recall correctly, you were saying something earlier about my body being delicious."

Ian gave her a toothpastey grin. "See? I like the way that you think too."

In the morning, Winter, still very much asleep, grasped Ian's bicep, and nuzzled against his shoulder. As he fully awoke from his half dream state, and looked over at the alarm clock, he saw that the large red numbers read 5:07. So much had changed in the past three years, yet here he was in the same sort of accommodations, bending his head to drink in the fragrance of a woman's scalp through hair flavored with whatever cheap fragrances from the little bottles of shampoo and conditioner du jour, an essence peculiar to this motel chain. It didn't displease him, and he knew this was mostly because it reminded him of vacations past, and when the word, condiments, came to mind, he smiled, closed his eyes, and slipped back into sleep.

A good night's dreaming most often washes away the memories of trivial thoughts, but perhaps those that survive the purge reveal themselves as having some significance. Ian noted that breathing in the smell of Winter's hair was a particularly satisfying aspect of his life. It had been that way, come to think of it, with Lauren, but there and then, it was part of a much larger package. With Lauren, it was a marriage. They'd had achieved that whole body merging, however incomplete. Winter's essence was different, neither better nor worse, but not as thoroughly examined, and Winter had taken to using the Cinnamon Buns exclusively, which allowed him to discern the differences. The age difference played a factor, he thought, because Winter generally fell asleep first, and woke later, allowing for this discovery.

He felt a mild disgust, but not sensually; it was the memory of his father saying, "Nothing makes a man forget one warm body like another warm body." There was some truth there, but Winter wasn't a replacement. She was another person, someone to be appreciated for her own characteristics, whatever his history. Her dreams, both the dreams of her slumber, and those life aspirations that were called dreams were unique. Her future had a connection to Lauren, through him, but there was no forever here. The Fates had cast him in a three year production with a leading lady who was more than a starlet. He adored her, and she knew that, and used it to her advantage, while staying close to the terms, both stated and implied, of her limited servitude.

He had to laugh at himself, because an eternity of moderately priced motels, one after the other, with a series of delightful women seemed appealing, though he knew that Lauren, however much she'd appreciated temporary lodging, would have found that lifestyle suffocating, and Winter would as well.

There was enough light filtering through the gaps in the blackout curtains to locate the small coffee maker, and brew himself a cup, but the noise of removing the cream from the cooler, the ice sloshing in the water, roused Winter. He heard the tell-tale sounds of stretching, and a gentle request, "Coffee," and as he'd done innumerable times before, Ian delivered the first cup to an appreciative woman, but without the word, "sweetheart," because she wasn't, and he knew, could never be.

It was time to play grownup. As he handed her the cup, the room continuing to lighten from the dawn, he touched her shoulder and said, "Good morning," and left her side to brew another batch. This time, he switched on the bathroom light, closing the door all but a crack to illuminate the vanity. He tossed the depleted pouch in the trash can, and replaced it with a fresh one, and filled the reservoir.

As the final sputterings signaled, he removed the cup, added cream, and rejoined Winter. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, feet dangling, and before sipping, he lowered his face to her head and again drank in her fragrance. "It never gets old? Does it Ian."

"Body love? No. It ebbs sometimes. Life's necessities call, and personal disagreements interfere, but I think what you're asking, if you're asking at all, is does the need or capacity for intense physical affection wane with age, or maybe partner fatigue? I've never experienced that. You're just fucking with me, aren't you?"

"Could you wait until I finish my coffee?"

"Hmm? Projecting innuendo, desire or resignation," Ian mused. “It's hard to tell with you, though my guess would be a mix of all three, and I certainly want you to relish your coffee, as it was prepared with affection, and giving you pleasure obviously brings me joy."

"Touché" said Winter, and she sipped her coffee far too noisily for its temperature, something Ian noticed, and it reminded him of the cold outside. His adventure with Ethan in the lava beds was comfortable, not even hands in pockets, but today would highlight the desolation following that long ago eruption, and reflected on the tiny sliver of geologic time in which life had returned, placing that against his own recovery from his cataclysm.

It was hard to say the words, and Ian wanted to say them convincingly, "Winter?"

"Yeah?"

"Always choose love over all else. I'll hold you to that."

"We've already said those things, Ian, and I wasn't, as you say, 'fucking with you'. You've had life experiences that I haven't. It's part of the deal that we honestly try to leave each other better off, and when you speak about your love for Lauren, I learn from that. Whatever you choose to share. I feel like we're equals, and it isn't about negotiating, tit-for-tat, like I'll show you this if you show me yours, like with what you called, 'body love'. That's easy for both of us, and gets easier." Winter set her empty cup on the table. "I like my body, Ian, and I like that you like it. It doesn’t feel the least bit vain either. I know that any woman who is above a certain threshold of physical attractiveness, that anything beyond that doesn’t make much difference, and you really love female bodies, while not resenting women for having half the money...” Winter knew she didn’t have to complete the sentence.

“True,” said Ian, “except women don’t control half of the money, and get the short end of the stick in almost every way in the vast majority of cultures.”

“You’ve made my point, but don’t turn down the compliment. We have a reciprocity predicated on mutual respect; we’re on the same page here.”

Ian came back with words that he knew she’d recall, “You seem nice.”

Winter countered with, “Maybe you’re nice too.”

The car they'd rented was overlarge for Winter's sensibilities, and she was puzzled. “Why such a large car? Have I gotten your testosterone levels up?” “I’m sure you have, and thank you, but you haven’t made me daring enough to drive a lightweight car in the crosswinds we might encounter. The gusts are unpredictable. Ethan and are I both lucky that we survived.”

“What? asked Winter.

“We’d hiked down into a dry stream bed, a wash, and suddenly a wind came upon us, and a piece of sheet metal just missed.” Ian took a deep breath, then exhaled through his lips, “Scorpions, Winter, I’ve spent too much time being afraid of the wrong things.” Winter didn’t share her fear, but it was there, and all of the interactions with Ian’s wistfulness just intensified it.

“Ian,” she said, “you just want to go home, right?”

“I do.”

Ann

____________

Winter had quietly dropped all of her classes other than Philosophy and Political Science. She'd reasoned that she didn't need college for earning power, since she'd soon be wealthy, and that it was fine to go to part time, since she now had a full time job. If Ian asked, she planned to tell him the truth, even though she knew he'd disapprove. She did spend a considerable amount of time on campus, and while some of that was devoted to excelling in those two classes, her primary reason was her pursuit of the blonde girl. She'd observed her three times, and the mean girl had been nowhere in sight. For the first time in her adult life, Winter was afraid of her own feelings. She'd felt intense needs, and even frustrations, but background confidence and determination were always there.

For some reason, her capacity to plan, to scheme, seemed deflated. She wanted so much for this to be pure, not of her own manufacture. She was glad that about a month ago, Delia had shown up at her birthday party. It was helping give her courage now. Certainly if the fifteen year old could have approached the unapproachable, Winter could do the same with a stranger who seemed like she'd be sweet.

Winter had been shaking the dice, blowing on them, almost asking for favors, and now the day had come where it was time to throw. The girl was standing alone. She had no books, and no other encumbrances other than a small purse, and it was an uncharacteristically warm January day. "Come on seven."

Winter strolled across the courtyard and stood in front of her love interest. She smiled, starry-eyed, and said, "Hi. My name is Winter."

The girl seemed surprised, but not put off, and she extended her hand, as she said, "My name is Ann."

Unexpectedly, Winter took that hand the way Ian had Chloe's, and while holding it, almost in the manner of a proposal asked, "Do you believe that a person can fall in love with someone they've never met? Because I think I'm in love with you."

Ann felt Winter radiating good will, kindness and complete honesty, and she silently thanked Jesus for answering her prayers to be loved as she laughed and offered her mouth. They kissed, but kept it brief. It was still too long for a greeting between old and dear friends, but not so overtly sexual as to cause problems, and it seemed that no one had taken notice. In the ensuing conversation, Winter learned that Ann lived on campus, and that she was from Chicago. Ann explained that in the fall she'd had a roommate, but that woman hadn't returned after break, so for now, the room was all hers.

Winter was feeling confident after rolling her natural, and decided to take that as an invitation. "Can we go there and kiss some more?"

Ann was surprised, but laughed and said, "Sure."

On the walk to her room, Ann asked, "Do you do this all the time?"

"Go to girls' rooms to kiss? Not as often as I'd like."

"No, walk up to someone you don't know and profess love."

"I've never done that...this, because I've never felt this kind of love for anyone. You're the first."

Ann's room didn't look collegy. There were no posters, no clothes thrown around, no empty pizza boxes or beverage containers. Winter thought it rather resembled one of those motels that rent by the month, and she shared that impression with her new friend. "It looks like a grownup lives here," and then quickly tittered, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I know what you meant, and I take it as a compliment. I've seen other dorm rooms. I was fortunate because they paired me with a girl who wasn't here very often. I think she just got a dorm room because her parents were zillionares, and this place was a cover for her sleeping at her boyfriend's place."

"I live with my parents. I figured a dorm room would be Hell, but if I had a roomie like you, it wouldn't be bad."

"So now you want to move in with me?

Winter laughed. "No, I didn't mean that, just that you seem more civilized than the other girls. Anyway, I love living at home. My parents are great."

"I wish I could say that."

"You don't get along?"

"I haven't spoken to them for months. They're super fundamentalist, and I don't measure up to their moral standards."

"Because you like girls?"

"Oh, they don't even know about that. They don't like that I don't go to their church anymore. They don't approve of my political opinions. They don't like the way I think. I just didn't turn out the way they wanted me to. Coming here to school crossed another line.”

“Moving away?”

“No. My father hates the Catholic Church, and he saw me accepting a scholarship to a Catholic university as another betrayal. He thinks everything is about him."

"Wow. That is out there. My parents are completely fine with me liking girls. I like boys too, but not many people know that."

"My experiences with boys haven't been good, but to tell you the truth, my only relationship with a girl wasn't either."

"The one I saw you with last term?"

"Yeah. Her name was Ashley. I guess it still is. She's goes to Wash U, and that's where we met, but I don't want to talk about bad things. We were going to kiss."

Winter smiled, "We are going to kiss." She kicked off her shoes and lay back on one of the twin beds, and Ann joined her.

Winter's kissing was nothing like Ashley's, and Ann had no idea how to react other than passively. This wasn't lust. Winter kissed Ann's mouth and face for what seemed like hours, and Ann thought, "Ashley would have had her hand in my pants before five minutes. I'm not going to make this girl wait any longer," and she gently pulled away and started removing her clothes. Winter reciprocated.

They both smiled as they admired each others' bodies, and Winter asked, "Is there anywhere you have to be today?"

"No."

"Can we be together all day?"

"Yes."

In the weeks since she'd met Ian, Winter had developed a real fondness for slow, almost neo-tantric touching, nothing hurried. This time, she'd be on the giving side. "I've got to call my employer and let him know I won't be there today."

"You're calling in sick?" It was more a statement than a question, but Winter didn't want to leave it uncorrected.

"Not sick. Just not available. He's cool. He'll be happy for me."

Ann looked puzzled. "Happy for you? Where do you work?"

"I'm a personal assistant for a wealthy, older gentleman. It pays well, the hours are flexible, and he genuinely will be happy for me." Winter went into her purse and pulled out her phone. "Ian, hi." "I'm not going to be there today." "No. I'm fine. More than fine. I think I'm in love." "Yep." "I'll be by tomorrow morning." "Bye."

"You just told your boss you're in love."

"He's not my boss. I just work for him. It's not like a regular job."

"What do you do?"

"Oh, this, that and the other. Whatever he needs me to do. Really, mostly just keep him company. He's a widower. I make him laugh. You know, in addition to being a good kisser, you'll find that I'm awfully funny, so I guess one of my duties might be described as jester. Winter put the phone away and walked back to the bedside. "Have you ever had a full body massage?"

"No."

"Well I have, but I've never given one. This is a day of firsts, and it's our first day, Ann. First, I'll start with your feet."

Ann interrupted, "My feet are probably smelly."

"We shall wash them."

"Tell you what, I'll just go take a quick shower."

Ann got out a towel and grabbed her robe before leaving the room and heading down the hall to the shower. Winter called Ian again. She told him in some detail about the imminent massage, and that Ann was showering. "She's sweet, Ian, and she really needs someone right now. She's estranged from her family, and doesn't really have anybody. Thank you for being understanding about today."

"Winter, I told you, I believe in love."

"I told her you'd be happy for me."

"She knows about me already?"

"Only what my parents know, but if this works out like I think it will, I'll have to tell her." when Winter heard the door opening, she ended the call.

When the door opened, and Ann entered in the robe and slippers, and with a towel, turban-like on her head.

"I see you've returned with daisy fresh feet." Then, Winter got a doubtful look on her face. "Daisies don't smell good." She pondered for a moment, "How about cherry blossom fresh?"

As Winter began kissing her toes, Ann said, "No one's ever kissed my feet."

Winter stopped only for long enough to say, "Welcome to my world." After ten minutes or so, she switched feet, and in the transition said, "There's probably going to be a lot of places kissed for the first time today, and the first shall not be the last."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that I want to kiss you again tomorrow. Relax, and let me love on you."

Many hours later, they both lay on their backs, exhausted. Ann's world had been transformed since colliding with Winter's just that morning, and she mused aloud, "I wonder when I'm going to wake up."

"If you'd like," Winter suggested, "in the morning, with me next to you."

"I was kidding, but this has been the most perfect day I can remember."

"There's a love song called Perfect Day."

"It can't end perfectly though, because I can't let you stay here. If the school found out, I'd be in trouble. I could lose my scholarship."

"OK. I'll go home tonight, but what if tomorrow I move in officially?"

"You're not kidding. You do know it's really expensive."

"Ann, I can afford a few thousand dollars, and I've got the perfect justification for wanting to do so. My job is so close to here. Unless you don't want me to."

"Winter, I don't want you to leave tonight, but you have to. Tomorrow, maybe you won't."

"Good. Let's celebrate. Dinner. On me. Anywhere you like."

"There's a Greek place close. I've never been there, but it's supposed to be good."

"Greek it is."

Winter was famished. Breakfast had been a grapefruit and a giant iced coffee, and lunchtime was spent making love, with little thought of sustenance. No wine, no bread, but plenty of thou. At the restaurant she ordered olives and feta, and a gyro salad, and stressed to Ann that money wasn't an issue, and that she should order anything she pleased. Ann told the waiter, "I'll have the same."

Winter added, "Oh, and the dressing on the side, please, and my salad with no cucumber. Also, would you bring everything at the same time? And could you bring us a pitcher of water? We don't want to be disturbed for refills." Winter's sincerely warm smile, coupled with the twenty she proffered, elicited a, "Yes, Ma'am," from the server, and after delivering their repast, the staff ignored their table for the rest of their stay.

When the waiter left, Ann asked, "Are you rich?"

"Rich enough, and we're celebrating. Besides, this counts for two meals because we didn't have lunch."

"So you're really moving in tomorrow?"

"That's the plan. I'll just have to go into some office or another and explain my situation, and tell them that I know another student who doesn't have a roommate. I'll say that I recently got a job in Richmond Heights, and I'm sure they'll be fine with it. Ann? May I call you Ann?"

Ann burst into tears of laughter, but it was tinged with other emotions, "You've been calling me Ann all day, and that's my name."

"I'm sorry, but I'm as overwhelmed by this as you are, maybe more."

"If you were a guy, I'd be running out the door."

Winter said, "I understand that. If you'd been a boy, or if I were a boy, I'd have taken things a lot more slowly." Winter bit her lower lip. "Hey, if this doesn't work out, Ann, we're just a couple of bi chicks who'll part with however much sadness, but we'd let it go, and wouldn't be looking over our shoulders for a stalker, but I'm pretty confident. I've never been in love before, and I'm willing to accept heartbreak. I've never run from my feelings, and you're not running either, so let's make a run at it, let love run its course, run toward our feelings instead of running away. Right now, the orange groves are in full bloom, and we can run through them, ducking together when passing under the low branches."

Ann couldn't believe what she'd just heard, and all she could think of to say was, "I bet you say that to all the girls," even though she assumed that wasn't true.

"No, Ann. With all the other girls," and she added, "and boys, it was just about sex, bodies, and I love that so much, but with you, it's more. I don't know how to say it, but it's more."

When the food came, it looked so sumptuous. Winter offered Ann an olive, which she placed adoringly into her mouth. Ann took it, but then said, "We can't do this in public. It's bad enough that I kissed you out in the commons, and hopefully that went unnoticed."

"You're completely right. I've been little kid giddy all day. Well, not all day. There were a few hours there where." Winter cut it short because she'd detected a guy at the next table who seemed to have his ears focused more on their conversation than that of his fellow diners. She smiled at him in a way that he knew he'd been caught, and he smiled back apologetically, but Winter gave him an almost imperceptible air kiss, one that said, "You're probably a nice man, and are happy to see and hear about this new love." "You're right, Ann. We should be more discreet."

After Winter dropped Ann off, she didn't drive to her parents' house, but to Ian's. He hadn't expected her. The house was dark except for one table lamp, and there was gloomy music that was playing loudly enough that Ian wasn't aware she'd arrived. She listened to the song of male despair, and there were three more that followed. The last one began, and Ian finally noticed that she'd arrived, but instead of greeting her properly, he sang along with the macabre dirge, one so tragic that she was hesitant to announce her own joy, at least until she'd determined Ian's mood. He'd sang directly to her, and when the music ended, she confronted Ian, "What was that?"

"Darkness."

"I guess it's good that your little ray of sunshine is here."

"I'm not depressed, Winter. I use art to adjust my emotions. Surely you get that."

Winter made funny faces at him until he laughed. "You've obviously done a terrible job, but Underdog has arrived just in time."

Ian laughed. "You look more like Polly Purebred."

"I don't look like either." Then she said, "God. Don't tell me that you get turned on by anthropomorphic cartoon animals. That crosses so many lines."

Ian extended his arms to her and implored her to share her day. She seated herself on his lap, and recounted every detail, but left the part about moving in until last. "You know I have to tell her in the morning, first thing, before I go to the office. I have to tell her, and I'm scared."

"Why don't you call her now and make arrangements for breakfast?"

Winter agreed, and called Ann, and after the call ended, said, "That was our first phone call." Ian noted that the last words Winter had said were, "I miss you too, Ann."

"She has a nine o'clock class, so we're meeting at seven."

"We'd better get some sleep then." Ian walked her to bed, and kissed her good-night. When she offered to put him to bed nicely, he said, "You need your sleep. Grasping her arm gently below her elbow, Ian said, “Big day tomorrow."

Winter woke up a few minutes before the six o'clock alarm, and turned it off so it wouldn't wake Ian. After a quick shower, she made herself an iced coffee to go, then out the door, into her car, and toward the future.

Ann was waiting outside, and like all the students from northern climes, she was dressed as if it were a warmer day. She got into the car with an open expression that melted Winter's heart, almost as if she hadn't really expected Winter to show. When Ann spoke, she seemed different, even better, like she'd slept on the events of the past day, and was embracing the possibilities of new love.

Winter had never been to the diner that Ann had suggested for breakfast, but the coffee was excellent, and the food quite good. It stuck her as strangely coincidental that the place had a New Mexico theme. Ann ordered pancakes, but Winter saw something called Jonathan’s Famous Fiery Scramble, and chose that, hoping that it really was "fiery," and would give her a hit of endorphins. "Ann, there's something I have to tell you before I move in with you."

"What?" asked Ann, with a mouth full of cornmeal pancake.

"It's about my job. I told you the truth, but not the whole truth. I said that I was a personal assistant, and that's true, but I didn't tell you how personal."

Ann's eyes widened, but all she managed to say was, "You?"

"Yes, Ann. I'm a courtesan, a very, very highly paid companion."

"But how? Why?"

Winter recounted the whole story while Ann listened, not saying a word, but when Winter told her that highly paid meant three million dollars over three and a half years, Ann said, almost in disbelief, "Three million dollars."

"I'm paid weekly, and before taxes that's a little over seventeen thousand dollars a week. The dorm fee? I make more than that in two days."

"I don't know what to say."

"Ann, I hope I don't have to make the choice. I really like my job, but if I had to choose, I'd choose you. Just say the word, and I'll end it with Ian." Ann looked at Winter, then away, and back again, and burst into tears. Winter tried to console her. "I'm so sorry that I've hurt you." Ann's bottom lip was protruding, and tears were falling off of her cheeks.

"You didn't hurt me, Winter” Ann's body was now shaking.. “You've known me less than a day, and you just told me that if you had to choose between me and millions of dollars, you'd pick me. Me. Of course I still want you to move in, and I won't ask you to give up your job. I love you."

"And I love you, Ann. I was so worried that you couldn't accept this, and I almost felt that I wasn't honest with you yesterday when I told you about my job, but it was so sweet. I wanted to have you for that one day, and I wanted to give myself to you."

Ann continued to cry, and noticed that Winter had been surveying the scene. After a few moments, she said, "I'm not embarrassed about crying in public," and she shrugged, "I'm used to it."

Winter accepted that declaration. She wanted to accept every aspect of Ann, and she recollected Ian's words about wanting all of her faults, as well as her strengths, the whole person. What she said was, "This weekend, I want you to meet my Mom and Dad." Then, "Hey, you know what just occurred to me?"

"What?"

"We don't even know each others' last names. I'd like to introduce myself, Winter Sue Williamson."

"Elizabeth Ann Schultz. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"So you could have been a Beth, or a Betsy, or a Liz, or a Liza, or even a Betty."

Ann giggled, "But I'm an Ann."

"My Ann."

"Your Ann, and you're my Winter. It's weird. Your name is Winter but you're the warmest person I've ever met."

"Cold name, warm heart."

"It's a beautiful name. Like freshly fallen snow."

"Mom named me Winter because I was born just after midnight on the first day of Winter. My middle name was just because she liked the sound of Winter Sue. She said it sounded all Southern, like Bobbi Jo or something. When she told me that, it made me think about Bobbi Jo, and why you could give a girl two boy names and have that be a girl name. I thought that maybe the two boynesses canceled each other out."

Ann was now laughing as hard as she'd cried. "Like multiplying negative numbers."

"Exactly. Eventually, though, I concluded that Bobbi Jo probably stood for Roberta Josephine, and figured that I'd dodged a serious bullet," said Winter, as she noddingly added her laughter to Ann's.

"You told me you were funny." They looked at each other across the table for a very long time, and Ann finally broke the silence. "Do you have a favorite book?"

Winter had to think. "No, but I'm crazy about Shakespeare, and I love Dickens."

"A Christmas Carol always makes me cry. If I start thinking about it, I'll be blubbering again."

Winter almost told Ann that Ian had said almost exactly the same thing, but didn't voice it because she needed to keep the two of them separate in her own mind.

"My parents didn't approve of the story. They thought it was heretical because it had ghosts, but the ghosts in A Christmas Carol were like angels. It was just that they were called ghosts. They couldn't get past that. Scrooge finds Jesus' love, and he's changed."

"Ann, it's one of the most wonderful stories ever. A person rejects selfishness, and embraces generosity. Whatever one's religious beliefs."

"Do you believe?"

"No. Can you, are you OK with that?"

"You've made me believe even more. Are you OK with that?"

"I am."

"I prayed for you, Winter."

"Thank you."

"No, I mean I prayed for someone like you, someone to love me. Jesus gave me you. I'm sure of that."

"A tall order to live up to, but I'm game."

On the way back to school they agreed that there would be no public displays of affection, not merely on campus, but anywhere in public. When Ann went to class, Winter went to the office. She paid for the dorm for the rest of the semester, and was told that she could also renew for the summer, but since she'd gone part time, full time students would be given preference come fall. Winter was assuming that in May, they'd be getting an apartment. She could certainly afford it since she was keeping her job. She and Ann had planned to meet for lunch, cafeteria lunch. The room came with a meal plan, and Ann liked the food.

It was just before ten when she got to Ian's house.

He asked, "How'd it go?"

"I'm here, and I'm happy."

"What was her reaction when you told her?"

"Bewilderment. It was sweet, Ian. I told her that I'd end it with you if she asked me to, and she cried. She said that the fact that I'd rather have her than all that money, well, she could hardly believe it, and she gave our covenant a thumbs up. Oh, covenant reminds me. She seems pretty religious, Christian religious. She said she was sure that I was the answer to her prayers."

"That seems rather bizarre."

"She obviously believes in a God who isn't anti-gay."

"Does the religion thing change your feelings for her?"

"Not at all. I'm in love. That makes me even hotter to you, doesn't it?"

Ian didn't answer.

"I know what you want to do. You're practically drooling."

"No, I'm not."

"No, you aren't really drooling, not physically at least, but I am right. You want to smell me and taste me, even more than usual. I'm all gooey for Ann, but she's in class all morning, and it'd be such a waste."

Ian offered his hand and they headed to the bedroom. "You're here and I'm happy too."

"Good. This is my favorite part of the job."

"Not the salary?"

"OK, my second favorite."

When the day came to introduce Ann to her parents, Winter went into coaching mode. No one had ever betrayed her confidences deliberately. She placed her loyalties carefully, and convincingly persuaded each person she'd shared with to accept her need for privacy. The intensity of her love, and her giving spirit, had always been enough; loyalty was assumed, because Winter made each person feel integral to her life. She impressed upon every confidant, "We don't hurt."

"My job," said Winter, "my parents don't know the scope of my duties. I made up a story about helping Ian write a memoir. I hate asking you to lie for me, but you understand, right? They've always given me, I guess the best word is, 'agency.'"

"I do," said Ann.

"They've assumed that I've had a girlfriend for the last several weeks, and that's why I've been away from home a few nights every week, so if they ask, we've been together since mid-December, OK?" Ann nodded, and Winter added, "I told my mom that I've found my one true love."

"It's so weird, going to a girl's house to meet her parents."

"It won't seem weird at all to them. Now, if I brought a guy home, they'd find that queer."

"Winter."

"You'll get used to it. Are you ready?"

"I am."

"And Ann, in my family it's not considered impolite to kiss, or otherwise show affection around each other. Would it make you feel uncomfortable if I kissed you in front of them?"

It took Ann a moment to answer. "That first day, well, Tuesday, when you said, 'Welcome to my world', you weren't exaggerating. This isn't the planet I grew up on."

"Like I just said, you'll get used to it. Hey, you know what day it is?"

"Saturday."

"Well yeah," said Winter, "but it's also Groundhog Day."

"You believe in Groundhog Day?"

"I believe if every day were exactly like the day we met, that I wouldn't complain."

"Little kisses are fine,” said Ann, “but not making out."

Winter clarified, "We don't get all hot around each other. It's just that affection is like, 'awww,' instead of 'ewww.' And Ann, they'll love you. How could anyone not?"

Ann didn't protest. Winter had said, "Welcome to my world." She'd even spoken those words herself, a minute ago, almost in disbelief. "Maybe in Winter's world," Ann thought, "I am lovable."

Because her parents were expecting them, Winter didn't knock, but just entered the house, Ann in tow. Winter's parents were in the front room waiting for them. Ann was worried that this was going to be awkward, and the introductions had included hugs. She didn't know whether Winter had sensed her anxiety, but probably she'd had the introduction planned, as she looked around the room furtively and asked, gesturing with both hands, "Where are the decorations?"

Winter had drawn all attention to herself, and all three regarded her with puzzlement, and she faked bursting into tears, "How could you? It's Groundhog Day! Ann, this is worse than the year they forgot Columbus Day."

When the laughter died down, Ann, wanting to make conversation, said, "It smells really good in here."

Natalie replied, "There's a cake in the oven."

Winter wasn't going to let that go unanswered, and this time dancing as well as employing her hands, sang, "They knew we were coming, so she baked a cake,” flinging her pointer at her mother on the word, "she."

The tension was broken, and Richard asked Ann, "So, you're the woman who has finally melted our Winter's cold, snowy heart, her Spring."

Winter cracked up, and Natalie finally asked, "OK, what is it now?"

Winter spoke seriously, "I know what kind of cake that is. It is, right?"

"It's German chocolate."

Again, Winter went into musical theater mode, dropping her voice down an octave, and punching her fist in the air, she sang, "Springtime, for Hitler," and Richard joined her in the words, "and Germany." The two of them hugged, and Natalie rolled her eyes at Ann.

Winter took note, and said, "Alright, Mom. I think I'm finished."

"Well good, because it's time to check on the cake, and after I take it out, it's payback time."

After her mother left the room, Winter got a worried look on her face, "Ann, when she says that, it always forebodes something frightful. Hold me darling. Protect me."

Ann just smiled, and waved her off.

"I guess you're accustomed to this behavior by now," said Richard.

Ann knew that she was supposed to give the impression that she had known Winter for far longer than she actually had, and replied, "She told me I'd get used to it."

Natalie returned from the kitchen, announcing that the cake was out of the oven. She was carrying a familiar box, and Winter huffed, "Ha. Baby pictures. That's the best you could do? I'll have you know, she's already seen me naked."

Richard stood abruptly, and shook his fists, "Where's my shotgun, ma?"

Natalie set the box of photos on the coffee table, and motioned for Ann to follow her back to the kitchen. "The cake's still too warm to frost, but I thought I'd better get you out of there, and besides, I'd like to get to know you. You have to be a pretty special person, because Winter has never had so much as a crush on anyone."

"It really doesn't bother you that I'm a girl?"

"Ann, Winter is lesbian, so of course you're a girl. It's bodies, sweetie. Winter prefers female bodies, just like I like males. My daughter has healthy relationships with men, obviously. I mean, listen to them out there, and her and her brother are good friends, but her sexual attraction is to women. I've never known her to make bad choices."

"But she chose me, and I'm afraid that she'll get bored with me someday. I mean, like you said, listen to her now, being all funny and vivacious, and I'm in the kitchen with her mother, holding back tears."

"I'm in this kitchen too, and the difference is that I know that Winter's father loves me, and he loves me forever, Ann, even though I'm in the kitchen having a meaningful conversation, while he's doing what he's doing. She sees something in you. I don't know what, you seemingly don't know what, and I doubt that Winter could put her finger on what it is either. Let love happen. It worked for me."

"Thanks, Natalie."

"Call me Tally, and if you're ready, we can go out there and dig into Winter's baby pictures."

"Is the cake ready, like cooled enough to frost?"

"Close enough, girl."

"This is foreign to me, Tally. She's everything to me, and I've never had anyone."

"First loves are scary, Ann, but I've never seen Winter like this. She outright told me that she feels like you're the one, and she is meticulous about telling me not to share if she wants anything kept private.” Natalie pursed her lips and said, “First Eric, then Winter, and you're both pretty, blonde physicists. I think it might not be a coincidence."

"Except I'm not a physicist. The physics and math are really pre-engineering. My advisor has a connection at Rolla. I have three more years undergrad, then I'm hopefully transferring there. I want to design bridges, or sewage treatment plants, or maybe even nuclear reactors, infrastructure things"

"So you won't be spiriting my daughter away from me anytime soon."

"I'd never take her away from you."

"I was kidding, sweetie, and Rolla is only an hour and a half away. Less if Winter's driving." Natalie insisted that Ann finish the cake.

"It's all crooked."

"Substance over style."

Ann thought, "This family, these people, don't seem to care about anything superficial. A malformed cake wouldn't be disappointing." She anticipated gentle teasing at her incompetence, but got none, as the call for cake was answered by a rush to the table, and cuts that left the remnant looking no worse than any other cake that had been similarly assaulted.

The childhood photographs of Winter didn't feature her naked, and Ann learned that the time she'd spent in the kitchen had given Winter the opportunity to organize the jumbled collection into a loose chronological order. As they sat together on the couch, Ann to Winter's right, and Natalie to her left, with Richard on the floor facing them, the memories evoked feelings of intense affection that Ann could feel coming off Winter in waves, even as her attention was directed elsewhere, and Winter had the sense of presence to place her hand on Ann's forearm, however briefly, resting more than caressing. Love was welling up in Winter, and it was flooding the room. Even as pictures were shown to her, Ann felt outside the bond, and she knew that Richard felt it too, as he gave her a smile that she returned with her whole mouth. Ann was fighting off envy, not wanting to pollute the moment with self pity. This hospitality wasn't fraudulent. Winter's family was a place of love, and she'd been handed a golden ticket.

As the time line progressed, there were bicycles, campfires and canoes, all images of a youth rich with freedom. Winter, twelve, perhaps thirteen, standing atop a rock outcropping that appeared to jut up with no discernible footholds for ascent, posing akimbo, was the same person who'd taken her hand, bedded her so softly, and day after day, went about the happenings of those days with no pertubations. Winter was the executive of her life, balancing the present and future.

Ann hadn't noticed the camera on the end table until Winter reached for it, extending her body across her mother's instead of asking that it be handed to her, the daughter's side briefly pressing against the mother's breasts, Winter's face passing inches from Tally's, and it almost seemed like it was done purely for intimacy's sake. It would have been far easier to ask that the camera be passed to her, or to get off the couch and retrieve it herself, since after grabbing it, Winter stood anyway, and walked right past where the object had been.

“Ann, I want to take pictures of you looking at pictures of me. If you see any that make you all cooey—and please note everyone, that I said cooey, not...” Winter was doubled over laughing at her own joke.

Natalie's melodious peals, and Richard's deep belly laugh were perfectly parallel, Ann thought, to the words she'd heard earlier, “It's just bodies.” This was the kind of impropriety that would have ended the evening in her old world, and though her delight was tinged with a generous sadness for her own parents, she was glad that they'd orphaned her. Little Annie was in a better place now, and while she barely laughed, every part of her face smiled.

“I meant,” said Winter, “that if you come across photos that you think are cute, you should hold them out, showing them to my Dad, and I'll stand back here.” Winter backpedaled several paces. “That way everything will be in focus. Pretend I'm not here.”

Natalie shaped her lips at Winter in a way that said, “Yeah, right.”

“Okay, then just ignore the camera,” and Winter sang to Richard, “All you gotta do is...”

He finished the line in a basso, “Act naturally.”

That was advice that Ann took. It animated her to the point that when Winter made funny faces at her, she gave Natalie's shoulder a gentle shove. This was good touching, safe affection, answered with a smile; it was spontaneous, not at all a test, but if it had been, everyone had passed.

After the pictures had been snapped, Winter announced, “I have to get this one home. She has an early, early class tomorrow. She's like Benjamin Franklin.”

“A womanizer?” asked Richard.

“No, Dad, a person of science who understands the value of a good night's sleep. Au revoir,” said Winter as she kissed her mother on both cheeks, and then her father.

Ann followed suit, and once outside the door asked, “Does your family usually say good-bye that way?”

“No. We usually just kiss one cheek. We've never done the French thing, but after I said, 'Au revoir,' it seemed appropriate.”

“Do you speak French?”

“No. I mean I had to take it in high school, but I was never any good at it. I did well enough to pass.”

“You'll have to take a foreign language to graduate.”

Winter opened the car door for Ann, assisted her in, then closed the door and walked around to the driver's side. Once seated, she said, “Ann, if I can keep Ian happy, a college degree will be pretty extraneous. Speaking of which, you remember that I have to sleep with him tonight. He's been awfully understanding, but it's my job. You're still okay with that?”

“More than okay. I'll miss you, but I really do have an early class.”

Winter dropped Ann off at the dorm, and proceeded to Ian's house.

Lady Bear

____________

Ann cried hard, and Winter held her close. When the crying lessened to a sob, Winter raised Ann's face, and gently kissed the salty tears. "The first time I saw you, you were arguing with another girl. Then some days later, I saw the two of you again, and I could tell you were more than friends. The third time, the girl was obviously being cruel to you, and you cried. I wanted so much to hold you just like this, and kiss away your tears, but I figured it was only a matter of time until you'd get sick of being hurt, and I tried to make sure I'd be the one to make it all go away. All during break, even with all that was going on, I thought about you, that I wanted to be your white knight, and you, you'd be my princess. When school started back up, I noticed that you were always alone. I racked my brain trying to figure out how I was going to meet you, and I came to the conclusion that I should just be perfectly honest, because the worst thing that could happen is that you'd tell me that I was creepy, and to stay the Hell away from you."

Ann said, "That took a lot of courage. You just walked up and introduced yourself, and when I offered you my hand and said, 'I'm Ann,' instead of shaking my hand, you lifted it up and held it and asked me if I believed in love at first sight."

Winter corrected her, "Not exactly. I asked you if you thought someone could fall in love with a person they'd never met, because I thought I was in love with you. You laughed."

"I thought you were crazy, Winter, but in that moment every other 'I love you' I'd ever heard, it was like they were hollow, and I kissed you. That surprised me almost as much as what you did, because I don't kiss in public, especially not a girl, but I couldn't not. I think today all the crap from the past just kind of came back, and it feels like maybe I got it out of my system, at least for a while. I am sorry."

"For what? asked Winter.

"For crying like that."

"But it gave me the chance to kiss away your tears like I imagined all those times." Ann began to cry again, but Winter knew these tears were happy ones, and they were for her. It was early, but they both fell asleep, woke in the darkest hours to commune, then back asleep, satisfied.

Ann awoke in Winter's embrace, and assumed she'd slept there pretty much the remainder of the night with only slight repositionings. Winter's face was expressionless in her slumber, but Ann knew that when she awoke there would be that glow of love in her eyes, and in her words. Ann knew if she asked Winter to move somewhere where they could be together forever, she'd give up anything, the money, anything. They could live under a bridge together, that was the gist of what she'd said. None of that exactly, but that kind of love. “She told me, 'Just say the words, and I'll end it with Ian', but I can't. Can't. He gives her things that I can't. I keep rehearsing in my head, just the way that Winter told me she did. How can I tell her that I just want to be there too? To be included.”

Ann nudged Winter awake, "Winter?"

"Ann," said Winter, then pursing her lips, "come here and love me."

They kissed until Winter seemed to have her fill, then Ann asked, "Can I go with you today?"

Winter sat up, "To the zoo? With Ian?"

"Yeah," said Ann.

"So you want to meet him?" Winter asked. "I guess I knew that had to happen eventually, but I was concerned that when you see him it might be hurtful. He's not unattractive, even though he's older. I've gotten used to him, and enjoy him physically, but I can see you being put off. Up to now the whole thing has been abstract to you, but if you spend time with us, I'm just afraid you'll feel, I don't know, feel something that makes you unhappy. He thinks that too, and he knows how I love you." Winter kissed her again, then whispered, "Everyone who matters to me does."

"I won't be jealous," said Ann. "I know what he means to you, and what I do. Maybe he just doesn't want me around because he's afraid I'd cock block."

"No, Ann, if that were the reason, he'd tell me. It really is because he cares for me, and he knows how I can't stand to see you sad. Otherwise, I'm sure he'd love you to be around. He knows I sleep with you every night that I don't spend with him, and he's made clear that he doesn't want me to shower, or so much as wash my face before I go to him, because he doesn't want me to wash off a molecule of you."

"That's hot."

Winter laughed, "You're full of surprises. You never impressed me as the type to be turned on by lechery. He asked me to bring him your panties too."

"Did you?"

"Of course not, and he apologized for asking. You don't work for him. I do. Speaking of which, I need to get over there. I'll call you after he finishes with me. I can't tell you when. Sometimes it's a quick blow job, other times it's the full body inspection, and whatever else. I'm sure he'll be OK with it, but it's his time, so I do need to ask. I really have to go," and Winter finished pulling on her clothes before she turned toward the door.

"Um, aren't you forgetting something?" Ann asked.

"I'm sorry. How could I leave without kissing you and telling you how much I love you?"

"Well there's that," said Ann, "and then there's these." Hanging from Ann's extended index finger were her yesterday's panties.

"You're sure?" asked Winter, her eyes wide. Winter put them in her purse. She again walked to the door and as she opened it to leave, turned her face toward Ann, shook her head slightly and said through a smile, "You little whore." As she walked to the car she thought, "That was my best one in weeks."

On the short drive, Winter strategized. It was a fairly warm day for early February, and she didn't want to spend any more of it than necessary inside, being cat-washed by Ian. "The quick blow job it is then, and I have the secret weapon."

When Winter got there, Ian was in the living room listening to the radio. When she came in, he got up and walked over to the radio, and turned it off. "Reporting for duty." She saluted, and they both laughed. They sat on the couch and he kissed on her neck, her shoulders and her breasts. Winter wanted to get on with things. She and Ann had already satisfied each other so well bodily the night before. Anxious to see how the zoo was going to go, she said, "Lie back and let me give you a present." Luck was with her, since he was wearing nothing under his robe." He was already hard, and she started to work on him with her right hand. She ordered Ian to close his eyes, and with her left hand, retrieved the panties from her purse, put them over Ian's face, and gently held them there. Then, affecting a younger voice, "They're Ann's."

It was almost as fast as the first time. He held her head with both hands as he exploded in her mouth. The first thing he said was, "Thank you." She knew what he meant. He never thanked her after sex.

"Don't thank me, thank Ann."

His expression betrayed the slightest embarrassment as he asked, "She was OK with it?"

"She offered. Also, she wants to go to the Zoo with us today. Is that OK?"

Ian smiled, "Right now if she asked me for the Moon, I'd be hard pressed to turn her down."

"No Moon," said Winter, "just the Zoo."

As usual, Winter drove. She'd freely admitted that she just liked to drive his car, and she wasn't embarrassed by Ian driving it, just amused by the fact that he'd chosen such a feminine color scheme. When they pulled in front of the dorm, Ian relocated to the back seat. As Ann approached the car, Ian thought, "Except for the missing wings, she could be an angel." She was wearing a sundress that wasn't exactly pale yellow, nor cream, but something in between, and a wide brimmed hat. She walked to the passenger side, paused, then opened the back door and climbed in with Ian.

Winter said, "He got into the back so you could sit up front. He's always such a gentleman."

"So I've heard, but I think I'd like to get to know this gentleman of yours." Ian couldn't help but look her up and down, and his gaze lasted overlong on her legs, which were covered in soft blond hair. Ann noticed, and said, "They've never been touched by a razor. Winter said you liked women just the way God made them."

"Well, I'm not sure if I mentioned God, but that is correct, and as far as I can tell, in your case, God made no errors, and it seems I am in your debt."

"It seemed only fair. I've certainly tasted you enough times."

Winter spoke up, "Ian, she's never like this. She's messing with you, and I feel a bit like I'm being mocked, albeit in a good way. She's right though, and I've been thinking that you should pull out every now and then, both for Ann, and for your own benefit." The little car filled with mirth, but both Ian and Ann blushed a bit, which further amused Winter. "I'm serious, Ian. I love feeling you ejaculate inside me, but a girl would like to taste all girl now and then." Winter was on a roll, "You could take your penis out of my vagina and ejaculate on my tummy. That'd be hot, right?"

Ian and Ann looked at each other, and almost in unison raised their shoulders and moved their heads side to side, all smiles, as if they were both thinking, "Only Winter."

Winter let Ian and Ann make small talk as she drove the short distance to the zoo. They didn't need each others' vitaes, because they were each curious enough to have gotten that much from Winter. As they pulled into the parking lot, Winter started where she'd left off some minutes before. "I think the scientific sex words are way hotter than slang. They're more specific. That's why they make people squirm. You two are both a little uncomfortable with me saying ejaculate. I know you are, and you need to not be. It's something that male bodies do, and I like it, and I have orgasms. I don't just, "come." It's more than that. We all have orgasms, and we don't just come to them, we have them, and relish the feeling while it's happening. We go through the whole process, and it's good." Winter found a parking spot. "Used to be, people were uncomfortable with 'vagina,' but now they use vagina when they really mean, 'vulva.' See? Vulva is a beautiful word, but it's too beautiful. If I just had a tube for the semen to go in, and the baby to come out, I wouldn't be what I am." Winter had parked, but no one was getting out. "Saying vagina like that is insulting to women. It's like denying every other aspect of my vulva, and I'm not OK with that. I'm not just some receptacle. My vulva is beautiful, and you both love it. I don't want either of you to ever say pussy or even vagina unless you are specifying vagina." Winter looked back at Ian, "I don't call your penis a cock. You're not a rooster. People use euphemisms because they are ashamed, even if just a little. Even if just a little isn't alright. I'm not ashamed that I enjoy my vulva, and Ann," Winter craned her neck to look back at her, "I love every little part of your vulva, and both of you feel that way about mine." Winter smiled, "I know you do. You show me, and it's glorious. Don't ever diminish anything by using shame words. Clitoris is beautiful too. Clit sounds cold, and like you're ashamed to say the real word, not either of you even, but everyone. Shame words hurt women, and they diminish men. They make sex seem dirty, when it is really the purest, cleanest thing there is, if you can take the dirtiness out of your mind, and when I share my body with another person, there's nothing dirty, and that's the case with you Ian, even with the money thing. If I thought having sex with you was icky, it wouldn't have happened more than once. I won't ever let anyone take away my birthright, and you never tried to, Ian. If you ever do, I'm gone, but I don't think you will." Ian didn't know how to answer.

Ann broke the silence, "I've never heard anyone say things like that. I don't know what you mean about dirty, but I know about being ashamed. The shame wasn't in me, but it was put on me. I felt like I was supposed to feel it, but I didn't." She turned to Ian, "You know I was raped?" She waited for an answer.

"Winter told me that, and it pains me to think that anyone has ever hurt you, and it's worse to know that it was a man, I mean, like that. I've never hurt a woman in that way, and while I think that sexual aggression exists in all males, no decent excuse for a man would ever act upon it."

As they got out of the car, the subject went back to words. "You know, I also take issue with people calling intercourse, 'making love'," said Winter with conviction. "That's only one way to make love, and I'm not talking about other sex things, but about creating love, and expanding love. Touching can bring love into existence. It doesn't have to be sex. When I hug my mom, that makes love. When I smile, and sincerely thank someone who hands me food at a freakin' fast food joint, I bring love into existence. When I do anything unselfish, even if it didn't cost me anything, I make love."

After a thoughtful pause, Winter said, "I'm sorry I got so heavy. Let's get on with our day." She knew that she'd made the other two uncomfortable, and that she'd have to make up for that. "Ian has tickets!" she announced, as they exited the parking lot. "We can ride the carousel, and the little train. Oh, Ann, have you ever ridden the train?" Winter embraced Ann, and Ian looked in awe at the comfort that Winter gave, and its effectiveness. Winter seemed to take Ann's uneasiness into herself, and transform it into pure love. Pity was cast off so quickly, and replaced by hopefulness, as they jaunted toward the gate, Ian mostly going through the motions while the girls seemed almost giddy. Winter finally noticed his mood and said, "It's all good." Ian wasn't sure that it really was, but admitted to himself that it should be, and steeled himself to make it so.

Winter continued to cut through the fog of the uneasiness she'd sown, "They have baby goats, and a carousel, and sea lions, and the sea lions are almost like people."

Ian wondered what had set Winter off. Maybe it was just the stress of having he and Ann together for the first time. It was nice that she'd thought to praise him, and her take on words was didactic. Winter's anger seldom surfaced, but it was always in the form of righteous indignation, and never about her own life. She'd told him that nothing really bad had ever happened to her. It was probably all the stories in the news about girls being hurt. She'd mentioned what had happened to Ann, and he couldn't know what they'd spoken about last night or early this morning.

The women had gotten a ways ahead, and Winter was pointing at the train that was just starting to move, then she looked back and motioned for him to hurry up. They kept walking, and didn't stop until the bears. Ian's tensions vanished when he caught up and heard Winter's words, back to form. "They need to get that one a lady bear."

They walked past the bears and the penguins until they reached a colorful carousel, where the seats were in the shapes of various animals.

Winter whispered in Ann's ear, "Watch Ian when he's on the ride. You know how I notice things. Well, Ian intentionally positions himself to check out girls. I mean, even with me there he does. Not little girls, but teenage ones, and especially the young moms."

Ian asked, "What are you two whispering about?"

"Oh, I was telling Ann about how you like the carousel early in the morning, when there are lots of women to check out. You see, I've observed you twice in this environment, and it easily could have been the same event." Winter started laughing. There was no one close enough to hear, no one else. It was just they three. "You scope out all the women and intentionally orient us so that you can see them." Winter continued to laugh as she recounted, "Ian, I think it's charming. You don't leer. You're so careful not to, and I almost wish that I hadn't said those things in the car, because I noticed that you, and you too, Ann, found it a little much, but I need to say things. That's what I do. I say things. I say things that I figure need to be said, and I don't let myself not say them because the timing might not be right. If I try, it's almost always wrong, so I don't try."

"What I was telling Ann wasn't a confidence. The whispering was more for drama than anything else, and I'm glad you asked. Do it, Ian. Look at that one." Winter pointed and snorted. "She's hot and she's got two kids. You're thinking, 'Fecund,' and she's got a little boy and a little girl, and you're thinking you wished that you could have," after coughing out a laugh, "impregnated her. I mean it Ian, charming."

Ian didn't try to prove Winter wrong. He didn't feel called out, but validated, and went with Winter's suggestion. The woman wasn't his preferred physical type, and Winter knew that, but she was pretty in her own way, and had a unique face. "Yeah," she thought, "but what he's looking for is novelty. Tiny nuances excite him," and she did her little scrunch up face like a rabbit thing that she'd said more than once made her less pretty but "so cute."

Winter understood that Ian didn't prioritize the carousel experience because it was free for the first hour. He may, and she was certain did, back before the lottery money, think he was getting a bargain, but for that hour it was generally dense with scenery, and he was so visual, a thing that women hold against men. They slap their husbands. The guy is getting a kick out of a fathering fantasy, with some woman whom he knows is already taken, and most likely well loved by another man, maybe one who looks at other women too, but he comes home every day. If it wasn't so absurd, I'd have to scream. Winter had felt like she needed to explore that, and had concluded that attractions were so much a hodge podge for most people. They must be. Even seemingly unappealing people mate, and they look content. I love that, and somehow both of them know that they should be walking ahead of me, letting me have this. They both have pretty much unlimited access to my body, but both of them can also share my mind, at least in stages. I have to portion it out carefully, more than I did today. That matters.

For an instant Winter thought, "Have I just handed my girlfriend off?" Then she realized how silly that was. Ian wouldn't be capable of taking Ann, taking her away. Ann was so hers. Why shouldn't they like each other? That made everything easier. Besides, Ian doesn't take, and the things he said to Eric, they were true; it was never about fear. People almost never kill for good reasons, and good people don't kill at all, except when given no alternative.

When they saw the chimps, Ann's exuberance shone, "Look at them! It's like recess."

Winter had caught up, and addressed Ian, "Great day, right?"

Ann was fascinated with the chimpanzees. "They're at recess."

Winter was still facing Ian. Ann was out of earshot for her quiet words, "It's good that Ann is here, right?"

Ian said, "Sure."

Winter knew that it was more than that. Ian didn't expect anything more than what he'd said he had. She puzzled while they observed the exhibit. An older, widowed librarian, his longing for what could have been. This is interesting.

Ann was happy, perky happy. She said, "I've seen chimps a few times, but I've never seen them like this. It was always inside, and they looked like they were in a prison." Winter walked directly, only two paces to Ann, and held Ann's face between her hands, "Sweetheart, this is about as free as any of them get to be, and that just about breaks my heart because they aren't objects. They're all hairy, and they have weird butts, but...I just said butts and but; butts are funny. They're just funny, like they need that." Winter herself was the only one amused.

Ann was all about enjoying the chimps, and told Ian, "That one is you." It was a large male, and very obviously male. "And that one is you, Winter. See her? She's so free, and climbing up that tree. Now I have to pick one to be me."

Ann could slip into childlikeness so easily, and that made Winter happy. She'd obviously hung on to herself through the medieval inquisitions of her post adolescence. Even her steadfastness in faith was impressive.

Winter had quit using the words, "damned," and "God," unless she literally meant them when she realized that Ann was Christian, and really Christian. Ann didn't go through the motions of dutifully going to church, and while the whole thing seemed foreign, Ann's faith seemed to improve her. I don't want a carbon copy of me.

It seemed to Winter that Ian and Ann were really hitting it off. They were both imitating the chimps, and a little boy was pointing at them while his mother smiled. After they'd had their fill of the chimps, they moved on to the seals, and Ann read aloud a sign describing the differences between seals and sea lions. When she finished, Winter told her, "Just wait until you see the sea lion show. It's one of the best things ever, and you'll think that even more than I do."

Ann gave Winter a tiny hug that Ian interpreted as saying, "I love that you know that about me."

Ian had to inform them that the sea lion show was only in the summer, and Winter said, "Something to look forward to."

Ann looked at Winter and mouthed, "I love you." She knew that Winter expected them to be together in the summer, and every summer after.

Winter answered aloud, "I love you too." Ann gave her a look, then looked around at the other folks, seeing if any of them had caught the exchange, and Winter said, "We'll be out of the dorm in a few months anyway. Besides, I tell people that I love them. I grew up that way. There are so many varieties of love, Ann, and that word, with all its ambiguities, is my favorite. I'm a word person, and that's my favorite word." Not wanting Ian to feel ignored, all Winter could think to ask was, "Have you thought about lunch?"

Ian offered, "Burgers at my place?"

Winter thought for a moment, as if she were considering whether burgers sounded appealing, but her real hesitation was about taking Ann to the place where she went to have sex with another person. It wasn't infidelity. Ann never conveyed the slightest jealousy, and the Zoo was being fine, even after her crazy sex words rant. "Sure."

As they headed for the car, it looked increasingly like it was going to rain, and as they hurried their paces, Ann agreed, "Sounds good to me too, and I'm really looking forward to seeing your dishwasher."

"Because you can't believe it exists? asked Ian.

"No. Because I want to see what happens inside the dishwasher."

"Oh, good grief," said Winter.

"That's what you get for falling in love with a physics major."

"You could at least have done me the courtesy of looking like a physics major. Maybe a slide rule or a pocket protector, or glasses."

"Winter, my vision is fine, and they haven't used slide rules since, well, since Ian was a boy." Then she asked, in a suspicious voice, "How do you even know about slide rules?" They'd all been pretending to be serious, but the absurdity caught up with them. "I guess I really should have been a boy."

"Oh no, I already have one of those, and the last thing I need is one more," and Winter gave Ian an affectionate shove.

When they got to the car, Winter chose the back seat, and Ann joined her. Ian said, "I guess I'm driving, then."

Winter replied, "Obviously."

"If you two start necking back there, it's going to distract me."

Ann wasn't familiar with the word, "What's necking?"

"He means kissing. Back in Ian's day, the boy would suck on the girl's neck, and leave what they called, 'a hickey.' Girls liked it sometimes because it showed they'd gotten kissed, and they could show the evidence, like blood on marital bed sheets, but then they'd try to cover it up. Mom told me about it, and Dad confirmed that they did that, but neither of them could explain why."

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Ian admitted that he'd given a few hickeys, and explained it away by saying, "It's just something we did; it was normal, or normative, or...don't make out in the back seat while I'm driving, OK?"

Ann said, "We promise."

On the short drive home, Ian barely paid any attention to the women, but made occasional comments about efficient navigation, the order of the stoplights, and other aspects of his driving that were mostly ignored. When they pulled up in front of the house, Ann said, "Nice place." Ian popped out of the car quickly enough to offer Ann a hand, which she took, and said, "Thank you." Winter made a split second decision not to wait for Ian to come around to the passenger side, or get out herself, but elected to take the middle path, and scooted across the seat to the proffered hand. It was always funny when he pretended to be old fashioned in this way. He wasn't. It was partly that it was quirky and funny, but she knew that it was also because he liked touching female hands.

Cinnamon Buns

____________

Ian wasn't one to ignore opportunities, and his approach was thought out. After their first night together, she asked him about the Cinnamon Buns scented body wash she'd showered with, and he'd told her that it served several purposes. "Above all, it cleans, and it also works well as a shampoo. Also, it reminds me of Lauren, which is bittersweet, but mostly sweet. It was her favorite. Then there's the fact that it smells great, and I can afford it. Finally, and this is important Winter, it reminds me to live my life in a certain way. See, I used to be overweight, and when I decided that I'd rather be hungry than fat, I had to give up many things, mostly carbohydrates. Of course, that meant that cinnamon buns were pretty much out of the question. One day, in the shower, where so many profound epiphanies are reached, I thought about my desire for the cinnamon rolls, which had been brought to mind by the fragrance, and something clicked. There were two ways one could feel. One was that the scent was frustrating, because it reminded me of what I couldn't have, but on the other hand, if I gave up the soap, then I'd not only be losing the pleasure of tasting, but also the pleasure of smelling. My mind flooded with the knowledge that so much in life was that way, and so often the choice made was, 'all or nothing'. I promised myself to always go for the smell of cinnamon buns, and as a symbol, to never take another bite of one."

Winter had told him that he was the only person she's ever met who was able to parse complex ideas the way she could. She was remembering these things as they walked, holding hands, to the front door. When exiting the car, Ian had extended his right hand to Ann, who was not letting it go, and was gently guiding Ian away when they noticed Winter hurriedly scrambling to go out the driver's side door, and Ian gave her his other hand, and this time it was he who'd held the hand just tightly enough to request what Winter had wanted anyway. She grasped Ian with her right hand before slowly drawing away her left.

When they were a few steps from the front door, Ian released Ann, and fished in his pocket for the keys, and Winter looked at Ann, smiled, and silently mouthed, "I like my job," and Ann giggled.

Once inside, Ann surveyed the furnishings. It was just as Winter had described. Nice looking, old wood furniture that was in good, but lived-in condition, and newer, expensive looking chairs, couch and loveseat. He had a large television, which Winter had said he seldom used except to play movies and DVDs of the quirky TV shows he liked. Ann wanted to look at his DVDs, but before anything, Ian gave her a tour of the house. He straightaway took her to the kitchen, because here was a woman who could appreciate his fancy dishwasher. He'd thought it interesting that Winter's brother thought it was cool, and her father even more so, while every female who'd seen it—even Chloe--obviously found it odd, if not absurd. When Ann saw it, she said, "That is so cool, Ian."

"We'll fire it up after lunch. At first, it's all steamy, but then, when it gets hot, you can see the workings." Then he showed her the refrigerated compartment that had a door to the outside of his house, so he could get deliveries of perishables when he wasn't home or didn't want to be disturbed, and explained that the outside door was padlocked, and the grocery store had a key. "I have an account there, but I leave the tip inside the other box, the one for items that don't need to be kept cold." Next, he took her to his barbecue room, a transformed sun porch with a giant range hood, and elaborate exhaust and fire suppression system. He said that the building inspector for the city had laughed, but the inspector from the county issued the permits, and he went on to explain in some detail how it all worked, and that the ideas were all his, but the technology was way outside his skill set, and had been designed by someone who knew what he was doing.

Ann asked, "So the air quality sensors send readings to the computer, which adjusts the fan speeds? Ian, that's brilliant. Have you considered patenting the design?"

"No. I don't need any more money, but if you are so inclined, you can look into patenting it. I'd be happy to pay the fees. You could probably do it as a practicum, though I'd require that you be completely honest as to our respective roles."

"Of course. Ian, I'd never try to take credit for someone else's ideas, and learning the patenting process, that's a valuable skill. Winter told me that you're someone who cares about personal integrity. She really respects you."

"And I respect her. Why don't you keep her company while I prepare lunch."

Winter was sitting in the living room, reading, when Ann joined her. "Ian has cool toys."

Winter closed her book. "He does, and I could tell he was getting a thrill out of showing them off. You seem even more overwhelmed than my dad." Ann explained about the practicum, and that he'd let her own the patent if she wanted, and Winter said that she wasn't surprised. "He really does feel that he has more than enough money, and I guess he does."

"Can I look at his movies?"

"Sure," said Winter, as she rose to guide Ann to the drawer that housed his collection.

Ann pulled out each DVD, and examined them, commenting that she wasn't familiar with many of them. "What's this?" Ann showed Winter the case.

Winter rolled her eyes and smiled. "Ian's mermaid show. He only watches it for the cute girls. He even admits it. He's got Roswell too. Major crush on Liz."

"He's got good taste."

"He has an overactive libido, but I guess I shouldn't complain." Winter looked away for a moment, then said, "You really like him."

"Why wouldn't I? You do."

"Because he's having sex with your girlfriend."

"Winter, I've told you that I'm fine with that. I know you love me, and that's the one thing that's happened to me in my life that matters. You just told me that you love your job, and I believed you." She began to cry, and Winter was glad that Ian was busy cooking. "See? I've never had a man in my life who liked me, and treated me like... I mean there were teachers who respected me, and were nice to me, but that's their job. You have Ian, and your dad, and you said that your brother is good too. I've never had any of that." Winter took Ann to the couch, as she continued to cry. "It's hard, not envying you. Please don't make it harder."

Winter held her as her tears subsided. "I won't."

By the time Ian called them for lunch, Ann had recovered, but Ian, noticing the redness of her eyes, asked if there was something wrong. Ann said, "I'm just very emotional. I cry a lot." and Ann laughed, "I have issues."

Ian said the thing that he thought would be most supportive. "I cry too, and we all have 'issues'."

As the meal was ending, Winter said, "Isn't it time for your nap, Ian?"

Ian knew that Winter was suggesting alone time with Ann, but Ann said, "Oh, no. Not before the dishwasher," and they all three laughed. After loading the plates, Winter exited herself.

Ian moved two chairs into the kitchen, and he and Ann watched the dishes being sprayed by the rotating arms. Ann shared her observation that the spinning was due to the off center positioning of the jets, and Ian told her that he already knew that. "There's a pump that powers the water."

"Well, duh," and she poked him with her finger.

"Ann?” asked Ian.

"Yeah?"

"That whole nap thing, it means Winter wants some private time with you, and I'm happy for you two, really happy. She loves you so desperately, and I might fall into sleep myself, just musing on your love." Ian rose, and Ann craned her neck to keep eye contact. Ian slowly brought his face close, and planted one gentle kiss on her forehead before departing for his bedroom. Ann took a moment to reflect, then walked dreamy-eyed toward Winter, who had re-opened her book. Ian had passed silently, with only a pleased expression directed toward Winter.

In his room, alone, Ian tried to conjure images of the two women in sexual activity, but it wasn't working, and in truth, that wasn't what was happening in the other bedroom. Ian did fall asleep, and Ann did as well, her head resting on Winter's shoulder. Eventually, Winter dozed, waking once, and wanting to shift for her own comfort; she instead lay in stillness, eyes closed, and drifted back into slumber.

Ian woke, and saw that the clock said 5:18. It took him a moment to digest that the time was PM, and that he'd slept only a scant few hours. He got out of bed fully dressed, but shoeless, and when he entered the living room, there was only Ann. His eyes flitted in several directions, and Ann, anticipating the question, said, "Winter's still sleeping." Ann detected the slight nervousness in his demeanor, and said, "She's OK with us."

Ian was startled, "Us? There's an us?"

"That we get along, that we like each other. It's weird what you two are doing, but it's only weird between you two. I think it's peculiar, and funny, but there is an us. We both have Winter, and there's only one of her."

"She truly is a singular person." Ian said it completely dryly, and it took Ann a second for it to register before she reacted.

"That's so exactly what she'd have said."

Ian agreed, and Ann told him, "I was looking at your videos. Can we have movie night?"

"That sounds fun. Did you have something picked out?"

"This." Ann showed him A Midsummer Night's Dream.

"Good. I've been wanting Winter to watch that with me."

"But you haven't had time, and it's because of me."

"That's true, but now that we've broken the ice, I'll get to spend more time with her, with the two of you."

Ann giggled, "Your video collection is funny. You really like pretty young women. "

"Are you suggesting that the reason I like you is that you're pretty?"

"No, and I'm sorry if it sounded like I was, but it probably makes you like me more. People are like that. Winter thought you'd like me, and not because of how I look, but me, and I trust her judgment. She was worried that I might be uncomfortable around you because you have sex with her, but I'm not. I spent years being told that sex was bad, by people who think about sex in bad ways that demean women, and want to punish women for liking sex. I didn't even buy into that when I was little. I might be inexperienced, but I'm not naive. You're not like those people, Ian. Whatever you are," and Ann shook her head, "you're not that."

"She talks about me?"

"We talk about everything. We're in love." Ann exhaled through her nose in lieu of a chuckle. "Better than even odds that Winter wants us to be having this conversation. Ian, I don't think you're the least bit perverse. Know that. Really. Everything about this day has been positive for me; it seems like one of the most important days of my life."

"Did you get any sleep?"

"Probably about two hours."

"Me too, and she's most likely awake. I'll go get her."

Ian walked to the guest room at the end of the hall. Ann had left the door open, but Winter could not have overheard the conversation, and she was asleep. Her gentle snoring was familiar. Ian kissed her to wakefulness, and she purred before asking, "Where's Ann?"

"In the living room. She wants us to watch a movie tonight."

"Really? We were looking at your collection earlier, while you were cooking. Did she pick anything out?"

"A Midsummer Night's Dream, and before you ask, she chose it herself, with no prompting from me."

Winter looked at the clock on the nightstand. "It's almost six. You know what I feel like?"

"More and more every day."

Winter threw a pillow at him, "No, what I feel like doing tonight. How much beer is in the keg?"

"It's almost full. I've had maybe, five or six. So you want it to be a movie and beer night?"

"And toasted ravioli. I saw a big bag of raviolis in the freezer, and we can bread them with panko and fry them up." Ian offered both hands, and she accepted, ending up standing, and in his arms. After a brief hug, they headed down the hall to Ann. Ann greeted her with another embrace, and Winter joked, "You two make me feel so popular."

"It's funny that you said that," said Ann. "We, Ian and I, were talking about how there's only one of you, and deciding that we want to be good at sharing."

Winter lifted her eyebrows and said, "That sounds like fun. I was talking to him as well, and we decided that beer and toasted ravioli would go nicely with the movie."

"Toasted ravioli sounds good. I've only had it once, but no beer for me. I would like to drink something though."

"Ian, Ann's never gotten tipsy. She's an alcohol virgin."

"I've tasted beer and wine, and they were both awful, but I had a sip of margarita once, and that was actually pretty good. Do you have stuff to make those?"

"The best,” said Ian, “and I can mix them up really light on alcohol. You want your first experience to be a good one. Also, I make them with sweetener instead of sugar. More than half of the hangover thing is a sugar crash. I can show you how to make them. C'mon." They all headed for the kitchen, and Ian got a bag of limes out of the fridge. He halved eight of them, and by the time he finished, Winter had assembled the juicer attachment on the Cuisinart. In less than two minutes, he had what he needed for a gallon of margs. He explained to Ann about tequila, and the proportions of the liquors used. "I usually use twice as much vodka as tequila, and the tequila has to be excellent quality, but since I'm going extra light on the alcohol, I'm going to go 50-50. Instead of orange liqueur, I use orange extract, again, the highest quality stuff." Ian carefully measured the sweetener with a tiny spoon, then finally added the water. "I know this is way more that you'd drink tonight, but it freezes well."

Winter had filled three short glasses with ice. "Even though we're drinking beer, we have to taste it. Quality control." Ian poured a very small amount in each glass, just enough for a tasting. Winter took a sip and said, "This is great."

Ann smiled, "I could get used to this."

"Ian's committing a crime, and I think that's sexy," said Winter.

"That twenty-one thing is asinine. You can volunteer to get get your balls shot off when you're eighteen."

Winter laughed at Ian's predictability. Meanwhile, she had started to whisk eggs for the ravioli. She and Ian worked well as a team in breading the frozen squares, something that Ann called attention to. They nearly filled a baking sheet, and let them sit to thaw before frying them. "So, they're fried?" asked Ann. "How come they're called toasted? Toasted isn't fried."

"It's a St. Louis thing, Ann." Winter was being silly. "Something a Chicagolander can't be expected to understand." Winter put a big wet kiss on Ann's cheek, and as she pulled away, Ann motioned in Ian's direction with her eyes.

Ian noticed, and said, "You two can kiss or whatever else, all you want, just not while I'm driving," then he added, "or operating dangerous machinery." Ian had opened a jar of marinara and emptied it into a saucepan.

"The cheese grater?" asked Winter. Ian smiled. "After you get done, you can come to the living room and watch us kiss. You're OK with that, right Ann?"

"Winter, when you're kissing me, I'm oblivious to my surroundings, but I want my drink now."

"Sure," said Winter, and she poured the half melted ice out of Ann's glass, and put in new ice, before getting out the pitcher and pouring. "I'm waiting until after kissing, because I think that tequila and beer would probably clash, like one of those gross beer margaritas they make at bars."

"Have you ever had one?" asked Ian.

"No, but I've never had a sardine sundae either."

"Eww," said Ann. "The sardine sundae, not the margarita," which she was just finishing. She handed it to Winter, "Refill?"

Winter cautioned, "You're going to end up drunk."

"I thought that was the idea." Even as lightly as Ian had mixed the drinks, Winter knew about drinking on an empty stomach. Ann would be feeling it very soon, if she wasn't already. His tasks completed, Ian followed the girls and took them up on the offer to watch. "I've never done anything in front of anyone before. It feels naughty."

"Naughty is good," said Winter.

Ann nodded, "Naughty is good."

The kissing was pretty, but Ian's thoughts were on the wetness. He knew that Winter's mouth tasted wonderful, and was imagining what it would be like to taste Ann's, and it was making him hard. He tried to turn his body so that it would go unnoticed, but that very act, moving into a slightly awkward position alerted Winter. Her hand shot out and brushed against him. "Ian is thinking naughty thoughts, Ann."

"Ian is going to fry the ravioli," he said as he walked away, but he didn't go directly to the kitchen, but to the barbecue room, where he removed a large beer stein from a freezer, and poured a full mug. When he turned around, there was Winter. Ian wondered how she could have traversed the creaky dining room floor without him having noticed.

"Sorry."

"It's OK, Winter." Ian was surprised when she kissed him with open mouth. She was sharing, sharing the traces of Ann's body, and Ian was hard again. Winter took away his beer, and put it on the shelf in the freezer. She took his hand and pulled him into the pantry, turned on the light, and closed the door. Ian said, "Winter, we have a guest."

"She's not a guest, and she knows what I'm doing. Ian, come on, you know you'll be uncomfortable all evening otherwise. You get to put it where Ann's tongue was a few minutes ago." That line convinced Ian, and Winter easily coaxed him to a great orgasm. "See? Now, we can drink. Ann's already feeling it. She's extra giggly.” They exited the pantry, and retrieved Ian's beer, and got Winter a matching one, before going to the kitchen to fry the ravioli.

"I preheated the oven for a frozen pizza too." Coming from the other room weren't the giggles that Winter had spoken of, but something more like a shriek.

Winter went to investigate while Ian started frying, and when she came back to the kitchen she said, "Mermaids, and she's got the pitcher on the coffee table. At this rate, she'll be on it herself, wearing the lampshade, before we even get to dinner, much less the movie."

"I really couldn't have mixed those drinks much lighter. There has to be some placebo going on. You can go back in there with her while I finish up."

"With the mermaids? No thanks. I'd rather stay and finish the cooking."

"Cool," said Ian, taking her at her word. "Call us when it's ready."

To Ian, Ann didn't seem drunk. She wasn't slurring words or seeming uncoordinated. She was just uninhibited and goofy happy. "Ian, the best part is the opening credits." Ann replayed the opening, singing along in a cute voice that made Ian want to hug her as he laughed, but he restrained himself. When Winter yelled that the food was ready, they turned off the TV and returned the disc to its home.

Winter had removed the pizza from the oven several minutes earlier, and had left the most recently fried raviolis in the kitchen. She was protecting the others from burning themselves. Her parents always did that because Eric had little self-control when it came to pizza. "So, Ian, it looks like you have a mermaid friend."

Ann asked Winter, "You remember that first day, when I thought my feet would be stinky?"

"I remember."

"Well," now Ann was sounding tipsy, "it occurred to me that those mermaids must have horribly stinky feet because every time they go to wash them, they get tails instead, so they never actually get washed feet."

"It's not just feet, Ann," said Winter. "They can't wash any lower body parts. Another thing, when they turn into mermaids, where do their clothes go? Then when they turn back, the clothes come back. That part is really implausible. It ruins the show for me." Ian was trying to laugh as soundlessly as possible so as not to drown out the wacky banter. "You know, Ann, all this talk about unwashed female bodies has probably got Ian all hot and bothered again."

Now Ian lost it, partly because he had been having thoughts along those lines. "Stop, Winter. It hurts."

"Then go ahead and adjust it. We understand."

By the time they got to the movie, its humor didn't quite measure up to their own, but all agreed that it was, as Ian said, "Darling." They had paused it numerous times for refills and bathroom breaks, and Winter, with Ian to her one side, and Ann to the other, felt very well kissed.

As Ann had gotten more intoxicated, she became more sexually provocative. Finally, all but suggesting a three way. Winter and Ian, each for their own reasons, were having none of that, and convinced her that she really needed to call it quits for the evening, and lie down. They walked her back to the guest room at the end of the hall, and she fell asleep almost instantly upon hitting the bed. The other two had yet to have their fill of beer, and toasted the events of the day. "I wonder if she's going to feel ridiculous in the morning. Ian, you brought out something in her I've never seen. She seems to really like you."

"I like her too, and you know we both like you."

"Sorry about her teasing you tonight. I know that's hard on you, I mean difficult. That one wasn't intentional."

"I didn't think she was teasing, but I don't take advantage of drunk women. Men who do that should be horse-whipped."

"We need to be really gentle with her. She's delicate. I know she didn't seem it today, but she is."

"I'm glad she had a good day."

"I know you do. You're a good man, Ian, and as much as I'm in love with Ann, sometimes I miss falling asleep with you. You've been so sweet the way you insist that I almost always sleep with Ann, and I know that's not motivated by your girl body thing, but because you really do believe in love. Oh, and that reminds me," Winter said as she got off the couch and retrieved her purse from the dining room table. She reached inside and removed Ann's underwear, and handed them to Ian. "She says you can keep them as long as you want, and I told her that she has earned herself an unlimited panty budget, and I told her about the Moon."

"So you two were in there making fun of me?" Ian said with a smile.

"In a sense. Ian, she told me that she doesn't think you're a perv. She thinks you're like men ought to be about womens' bodies. She's smart. It's in different ways than we are. You and I are a lot alike, and however long our thing lasts, I hope we part as friends, and that we don't ever completely cut ties."

"I love drinking with you, even though it means no sex, and I'll always be your friend, even if there's no sex. Winter, I have enough money to pay for extraordinary sexual experiences with very skilled professionals who can make the experience seem very real, but I'm instead, here, right now, with you, because whatever the artificiality of our arrangement, there's friendship, and genuine kindness. You say that I'm a good man. You say the words, 'good,' and, 'nice,' and 'sweet', repeatedly. Those aren't sex words."

"No, Ian, they're descriptions, ones I'd be perfectly comfortable using to my potential replacements. When that time comes, assuming that you stay all those ways, I'll just tell the truth, you're a good, nice and sweet man with a voracious sexual appetite, and you pay well."

"That's all accurate."

"And that you're cuddly. Let's go to your bed." On the way, they stopped at the bathroom. As Winter sat to pee, Ian knelt and kissed her face. When she finished, she tore off three sheets, which she folded, then leaned forward, bumping heads, and wiped herself front to back. She stood up, leaving her shorts halfway down her thighs, and reaching back, raised the seat. "Your turn."

Ian unclasped his trousers while Winter positioned herself behind him. Any shyness that Ian had was overcome by the fullness of his bladder, and Winter took hold of his hand, playfully directing his stream to all parts of the bowl, washing down every surface in child's play, both of them knowing that while sex was close to impossible that night because of the alcohol, body privacies had been breached.

Sandy Beach

____________

Winter was killing time. She was at the computer reading about random subjects on Wikipedia and Pub Med, while Ian was taking a very long bath with his cinnamon buns. It was Friday, and Ann had two classes, whereas she had none. Best to spend those times at Ian's, her body accessible, and he'd indeed availed himself. While the money was always there in the back of her mind, Ian usually made it easy to keep it in the background. He'd had years to learn that women needed more arousal. Most women. Winter couldn't complain, or if she could, it'd be that he often took too long to get to the sex, too long for a guy at least. Now she was recalling how she'd recently told him that he was like a lesbian with a penis, and he'd taken it as a great compliment. What she didn't say was that sometimes she wished he'd be less lesbian, and more penis. After all, she had Ann.

In the time Ian had been in the bath, she'd accumulated far more knowledge about pomegranate seed oil that she'd ever have use for, though it would give her something to talk to Ian about. When they'd discovered that they both enjoyed looking up almost random, usually useless facts, Ian had bought a second computer for the living room and a matching monitor. They'd sit next to each other, like an old married couple each solving a crossword puzzle, and every so often sharing comments or questions about the content.

She checked her email, and there was nothing new, then the weather. When she saw that Friday was supposed to be really warm, she got up and headed for the bathroom. Ian was adding hot water, and he'd been liberal with the body wash, so the area smelled heavenly. He turned off the water so he could hear Winter. "Ian, it's supposed to be nice weather Friday. There's this crazy heat wave coming on that's only going to last Friday and part of Saturday. Can we go camping?"

Ian was surprised. It was only mid-March. "Sure. Do you have somewhere in mind?"

"One of your wilderness places. I haven't been out in the forest since before I met you, and I've been telling Ann how wonderful the woods are here. I know it'll be way too cold to get into the water, but how about that place on a creek that you call Sandy Beach?"

"We can't get a vehicle down there. The road's really washed out. That'd mean a couple mile hike down the mountain. I'm up for it, and I know you are, but do you think Ann is?"

"What? Are you nuts? She's in great shape."

"No, Winter, I mean do you think it'd be fun for her?"

"Of course, and Ian, we need to buy a Jeep, and get it modified where it can go anywhere. Huge tires and winches. We can get rid of my car. You do realize how ridiculous it seems, a woman of my means driving around in a nine year old economy car."

"That's not a bad idea, though we do need to keep your car, and you need to drive it when you visit your parents. The rest of the time, whichever of us is driving, or if we both plan to, the one driving the furthest can take the Fiat."

"Boy. That was easy."

"It was a good idea. The reason I hadn't bought something like that already was that there really wasn't anyone to go out in the woods with. There is one condition, though, to buying the Jeep."

"What's that?"

"You need to promise to drive it like a granny. It's fine, the way you drive my car, but the better a vehicle is suited for off road use, the worse it is for the street. I don't want you, or anyone else getting hurt. OK?"

"I already knew that. So you're really buying us a Jeep?"

It made Ian happy that she'd said, "us," because that suggested that she'd planned to stick around. "If we look online, we can probably find one today. That'll solve the problem of getting down to Sandy Beach. We can get two winches put on the front, and one on back. However bad the road has gotten, we'll be able to get out."

Winter stood behind Ian while he searched. She wanted to be able to offer her input, but it wasn't necessary, as Ian found what he was looking for rather quickly. Seeing that there was a white one sitting on a lot, with a white hard top, he picked up the phone to inquire if it was still available, and when he was informed that it was, he said, "Let's go." Winter was surprised when he said, "Let's take your car."

"Why?"

"To give them the impression that we might just barely be able to afford to buy, and because it will get them thinking about us trading in your car, which we aren't going to do, but we want to set things up to get the best price." As the door closed behind them, Ian kept speaking, "Even when we tell them that we don't want to trade in your car, they'll assume that we need financing, which they also profit from. The checkbook, and my ability to pay cash comes last. Pay attention. This is a life lesson that will serve you far past our liaison."

"In my negotiations with car salesmen?"

"You're amused by my frugality?"

"No, Ian. What I find funny is your strange take on pragmatism. You're quirky, and the ways that the lottery money has changed you, or better put, not changed you, is interesting, and it's amusing. I'd like to say that I'm laughing with you right now, but I'm not. I'm not laughing at you either, and I'm not laughing at all. We're pot and kettle."

"We are, and what I was cautioning you against was being un-careful with money. Nobody deserves to be wealthy, and you know that, but getting used to spending might make your future less happy. I don't mind you spending my money freely, but when you leave your resources will be finite. Substantial, but finite. My own sense of well-being is dependent on leaving you better than I found you, and then there's Ann."

"If you weren't fucking me, I'd have trouble not confusing you with my dad."

"Two men who care about your future."

"Oh, take me Daddy. Fuck me, then teach me how to buy a car."

Ian was consumed in laughter, and Winter joined him, grasping his waist and gazing up imploringly, "Spoil me Daddy. Spoil me for all other men."

"First things first."

At the car dealership, it went pretty much as Ian had intended. Winter drove, and they parked close enough that the salesman knew which car was theirs, especially since Ian excused himself to retrieve his "stronger reading glasses" from the car. Rather than speak about the upcoming weekend's plans, Ian used the words, "By the time camping season gets here," to establish his time-frame for actually buying a Jeep. At one point, he asked Winter, "What time does Ann get off school? Because she'll be wondering where we are if we're not home."

"I think she's in class now," said Winter, "but she's good about checking her voice mail."

Ian called, and within earshot, indicated that he didn't expect them to be late meeting her. He'd established a buyer's market. They test drove the Jeep, and loved it. On the drive out, Ian had told her that this was the point at which Winter could act excited, while he'd say they needed to really think about it, because it was a big purchase. "It's not exactly what we wanted, though it is white, and that's nice." All of these maybes set up the bargaining, and as Ian had told Winter, at some point in the negotiations the salesman had to "get approval" from his manager because the deal was unusually good, and when he returned, he had a price that Ian was happy with. They signed the contract, and Ian had $1000 earnest money charged to his credit card, after turning down the offer to have Winter's car appraised for trade-in.

Ian had told the salesman that he needed to go to his credit union to get the balance, and it was suggested that they could drive the Jeep, and deal with getting their own tags on it after they returned. Much to the surprise of the folks at the dealership, they were back in not much more than a half an hour, with a cashier's check for the balance. They completed the rest of the routine, including getting temporary tags, and were ready to leave, but for one detail. "Tomorrow," said Ian, "we get those winches installed, but tonight, tonight I spoil you," and he kissed her on the lips, closed mouthed but for several seconds.

Winter had steeled herself for this, "You're already spoiling me, Daddy."

Ian waited until this had thoroughly percolated up through the salesman and his manager, before saying, "She's not really my daughter."

Then Winter went off script and added, "He just likes to pretend." Ian turned away, and went straight for the Jeep, without looking back, and Winter winked a smile at the salesman before heading for her car. Ian drove away, but Winter called Ann, who had already walked more than halfway to Ian's, and told her about the new Jeep, and the camping excursion. The conversation was brief, but it had put Winter enough behind Ian that when she arrived, he was already showing Ann the new purchase. Winter practically leaped out of her car and pointed at Ian, "Gotchya!" Then she explained to Ann how she'd embellished their planned routine.

Ann listened, then said, "You're naughty."

Winter answered, "I know."

"Ian?" asked Ann, "what's the place we're going to?"

"It's about three hours from here on pavement, and almost another hour on gravel." Ian and Ann went inside, leaving Winter, who was busy inspecting the underside of the new Wrangler. "Is it true that you've never been camping?"

"Never," answered Ann, "but it sounds like fun, and I can tell that Winter is pretty amped up. You've made her happy. She told me that she asked to go camping, then asked you to buy a Jeep, and you just did it. You're pretty sweet on her."

Ian corrected her, "Pretty sweet to her. She does, after all, have a girlfriend."

Ann gave Ian's hand a squeeze, "You get to have feelings." She didn't take her hand away, and Ian accepted the invitation to the limited physical intimacy. They didn't lock eyes, both sensing that might cross lines, and while they didn't move their bodies closer, Ian didn't reject the proffered hand. His instinct was to caress, and his fascination was centered less upon physicality than it had ever been with Winter, with whom feelings had a different set of limitations. The interaction was brief, and when Winter came through the door, they appeared to merely be conversing.

They hadn't moved but a few paces inside the door, and Winter gave them both curious looks as she passed, "Now all we need are winches."

Ann gave Ian a questioning look, and he shouted, "And scullery maids." Winter shot back a smile before seating herself at the computer, and Ann directed Ian to the loveseat, where he explained to her that the winches were not wenches.

The way they played with words excited Ann. She knew about winches, and if the vehicle were to get mired, she'd be useful, with her knowledge of vectors, but the casual innuendo was seductive, though it was only one aspect of Winter and Ian's banter. Word play peppered their planning for the trip, and Winter proposed that they might want to go wading. Ian told her, "You might change your mind when you feel the water," but agreed that they buy the footwear just in case. They decided to outfit the women with scuba diving boots and orthotic inserts. Ian already had those, and his were custom fitted, but close approximations could be purchased, using a machine at a pharmacy. "They don't provide much ankle support, but otherwise they're great. Lauren and I have hiked miles up and down the creek, and the inserts protect the feet from pokey rocks."

Winter was obviously happy about the trip, and Ian's acquiescence to her desires. She kissed him on the cheek and said, "Let's go," and they were off to shod themselves for the adventure.

Ann was fascinated by the scanning machine. You stood on it in only sock feet, and it determined which of the pre-made inserts most closely matched your soles. They took their new purchase to the local diving store to try on the boots, where Ian explained that they needed to fit the boots with the orthotics, and the use they'd be put to. "We want the ones with the thickest bottoms, the most durable," he explained to the man behind the counter, who turned out to be the owner. Winter asked for his name.

"It's Dave. So, you hike creek beds. Do you fish?" asked the man. Winter started giggling. She was recalling what Ian had told her about hiking the creeks, and how you would never see anyone else more than a quarter mile from an easy access, save for smallmouth bass fisherman, and was delighted that the day had given her two opportunities for humor.

"Ian, here," and Winter motioned with her head in his direction before turning back to Dave, "He used to hike creeks with his late wife, and they liked to be naked, so it's funny that you asked that. He said that they never had to worry about anyone complaining about them being naked, because the only other folks out there, and there weren't many, were smallmouth anglers, and if you weren't a bass, they didn't really care much about you one way or another." Winter was shaking her head in a silly way, "and since we're obviously not fish..." Everyone laughed.

"It's pretty cold," said Dave, "to hike naked."

"We're not hiking naked, at least not for a few months," said Winter, "but we might pull up our pant legs and cross the creek where it's shallow. It's supposed to get warm on Friday." Dave directed them to the area with the footgear, and Winter again elicited laughs when she said, "You're going to enjoy this. I have very pretty feet."

"I'm sure you do, ma'am, but health codes require that you try them on with socks."

Ian kept up the farce, "I must apologize for my companion. She's quite the exhibitionist."

Ann resisted the urge to add one word, but was able hesitate for only a fraction of a second before she exclaimed with well played shock and admonishment, "Daddy!"

After they left the store, Ann was congratulated by Winter for that word. “We’re becoming a troupe, performance artists, and in a sense, we are fish, big fish invading small ponds who flop out, grow legs, and drive off in a really kick-ass Jeep.

They’d set the alarms for five, but Ian had woken earlier, entered the girls’ room, switched off the clock, and roused them with mugs of coffee. They were easily awakened, and Winter commented, “That smells so good.”

Ian elicited smiles when he replied, “This whole room smells so good.”

Ian left to give them a few minutes to clock their wares, but everything was already packed, and they were soon on the road, the Burger King drive-thru their first destination, then back onto the highway. The women were together in the back seat, and with no admonishments against kissing, but these were highways that Winter had traversed, and Ian was taking them further into the past, into places that were once peopled, not ghost towns, but only because they were never towns proper, hollows named, then abandoned. Winter had studied the topographic maps. There were schoolhouses, with schoolchildren, the errant ones brought into line with the violence inherent in the idea that freedom spoiled children, and that the hickory switch was improving. “Oh, Ann,” she thought, as her love waxed, “it could have been so much worse.”

The drive was nice. Ian had set the cruise control to 7 MPH over the posted limit, and the highway was uncrowded. “Interesting,” thought Winter. The music he picked was two albums that had been spoken of on the night they met, and he had omitted two songs on each. She knew that it increased her value to Ian that she was so familiar with his preferred music, and it might have played some part in him not haggling over her salary demands. That aspect of herself was something she knew made her priceless.

Dad not only paid for a good college, but he prepared me for probably the most lucrative job I’ll ever have. Men who share their knowledge with women want to share their privileges.

The music had ended, and Ann started, as she noticed that they were exiting the highway, and she asked, “Is this where we turn? I thought we were going almost to Rolla.” Ann had noted the green distance signs, and the exit number seemed too high.

“Cheap gas, right Ian?” asked Winter.

“Indeed,” he replied.

“Again, educating me in the ways of frugality?”

“It’s a virtue.”

That one sentence woke Ann to a new level. She'd slept through nearly half the drive. The austerity she’d experienced had nothing to do with which gas stations had the lowest prices. That word, “Virtue,” was mostly reserved for girls’ bodies, objects to be kept pure in a battle between aggressive boys and unsoiled girls. Everyone, or almost everyone, got less, but nothing was reserved, nothing saved. Only years wasted. Opportunities for the feelings like those between herself and Winter, gone—downstream in time, or she wasn’t sure if it should be upstream, but no matter. You could never paddle fast enough to get there, to alter the past, and she remembered her dream. Winter and Ian were there, and they were together, and she was a fairy, a young fairy, and she’d chosen them. They were her first humans. The parents who cautioned her were hers, but they were more like Winter’s parents. They trusted her foray into involvement with the short lived, and had merely told her to be careful. “I just had the craziest dream. I was a fairy.”

When they stopped in front of the gas pump, Winter went inside, and Ian pumped the gas. Ann rolled down the window and said, “You and Winter were there.”

“Where?” replied Ian.

“In my dream. I was a fairy, and you were people. I think I was about to do some kind of mischief, like in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but then I woke up.”

“Ann, since the first day I met you, there hasn’t been a moment that I’ve been anything other than happy that you’re in Winter’s life, and in mine.” When Winter emerged from the store she saw them embracing through the window, and it made her smile.

After they got back on the highway Ian said, “Winter, it seems that Ann is a fairy. She’s here to bring magic into our otherwise ordinary lives.”

Winter looked at Ann suspiciously, and narrowed her eyes as she said, “That would explain my almost unnatural attraction. Ian, do you think it’s wise to go into the forest with a known fairy?”

“I’m afraid that we’re about to find out.”

Ann had never been this far from the city, and when they stopped at the sawdust pile, she exited the vehicle, stretched, and surveyed the surroundings. When the other two joined her she asked, “A fire did that?”

“It did, and I hope that the inside looks anything like it did last Autumn.” They tramped around to the opposite side, where Ian had said they could get into the crater, and Ian said, “It's pretty much the way that I remember it.”

“Wow,” said Ann. “Can we go inside?”

“Sure,” said Ian.” He led them around to the side where he had less than a year before dug an ingress, and he slid in, then offered arms to receive the women.

Winter wasn't surprised, but was amused by his intentional setup of an opportunity to touch Ann, one that came across as incidental, and though one misstep on the obviously slippery surface would have landed Ann in his protective embrace, he held her at a distance; he helped her down like a loving father would have. Winter could have leaped in behind her, but waited for Ian to receive her as well.

The evidence of fire was unmistakable. White ash covered some of the surfaces while other areas were burned nearly black. They soon climbed back out, vowing to return, because Winter had reminded them that it was nearly 11:00, and the hike they'd planned wasn't a short one. The backpacks had been carefully provisioned, and Ian, over Winter's objections, had taken the lion's share of the weight. They left the gravel road just south of where they'd parked, with Ian in the lead, and the second time they caught up to him, he was fiddling with his hand held GPS. He'd given Winter one too, and it was tracking their movements, but she seemingly hadn't removed it from the sleeve of her pack.

Ian passed each of them a bottle of water, and Winter thanked him, then said, “I am really hot.”

Ann smiled at Ian, who said, “Of course you are.”

Winter responded by removing her backpack, then everything else other than her shoes.

Ian objected. ”Your body is perfectly wholesome, but if you don't put those jeans back on, we can't go much further. The sticker bushes would tear your legs up.” Ian looked to Ann for support, but she had already begun to undress.

“It's too far anyway,” said Winter, “and you know that. Besides, I want to drive my new Jeep, and think of the derrieres.”

“Winter, you spoke French,” said Ian, as he snatched her arm and applied kisses.

“Gomez.”

Ian removed his backpack, and stored his clothing inside as he heard Ann tell Winter, “I like being naked.”

On the return hike, Ian's ethics were challenged. On one hand, he wanted to exploit every opportunity to position himself to view those parts of Ann's body that had been hidden from him, but the mere chance that he'd be noticed doing so, and might lessen Ann's experience, constrained him. He knew that there was no wrongness in his desires, and he knew that Winter wouldn't fault him, but this wasn't the occasion, not the time. She was no longer Winter's faceless lover, an easy object of lust, but a known and loved friend, though on the other hand, she did seemed to be displaying, climbing over logs and rocks not six feet in front of him, maneuvers that she had to know were revealing. Ian let them get quite a ways ahead, and when he caught up, they were inspecting a patch of mosses.

“Look, Ian,” Ann said. “I was imagining what it would be like to be really tiny. It's really pretty out here.” Ann kissed Ian's cheek and said softly, “Thank you for bringing us to this place.”

“Winter brought us here. I just drove.”

“Thank you for driving then.”

“If you like his driving, Ann, you're going to love mine.”

Ann pulled her face to one side in a half smile and said, “It isn't a competition.”

“Of course it isn't, silly. I was just being silly, you silly-silly, you.”

They hiked back up the hollow with Ian tramping in the lead, and when he saw the gravel road, he advised them to dress. Winter's reply was swift, “My bare butt on the drivey seat of my Jeep. I'm on a roll, and the sooner we're rolling the better. Ann, back seat, and Ian, you're shotgun.”

All of Ian's concerns about Winter's driving were allayed by her performance, which was slow, and deliberate, not at all manic. Even the final descent into the vale, straddling a ravine in the washed out road, didn't elicit fear, but praise, “Good driving. You scratched up the driver's side of the Jeep pretty thoroughly.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you prioritized keeping the tires where they belonged even with branches grinding against your side, and you didn't flinch. I declare you quite the Jeepster.”

As they crawled along the old stream bed, Winter scanned the path ahead before turning around and singing to Ann adoringly, “Girl, I'm just a Jeepster for your luh-uh-uh-ove,” and looked ahead for a moment before returning her attention to Ian.

Ann's gaze was fixed on Winter, and she didn't catch Ian's silently mouthed words, “I'm gonna suck you.”

They came to a stop on a level, well packed surface, and when Winter set the parking brake, Ian climbed down, and Winter leaped to the ground to open Ann's door. She extended her arms and said, “Slide on out.” She was smiling large, and shot a knowing glance to Ian, who had been slow in making his way to the door at Ann's right. He flashed a parody of the bunny scrunch through the closed window.

As Winter received Ann, she held her and shook with mirth. “What? asked Ann.

“Ian made a funny face at me.”

“Why don't you ladies have a look around? The creek's right over there. I'm going to go dig a few catholes.”

“What are catholes?” Ann asked.

Before Ian could answer, Winter encircled her waist to lead her away and said, “I'll explain.” Their feet crunched on the gravel as they made their way to the creek, and Winter shared the ways of the woods. “People have to poop, and there aren't any restrooms out here, so you dig holes. Ian is really practical, so he pre-digs holes beforehand.”

“That's so considerate.”

“It is, baby, but it's also efficient.” When they reached the creek, and Ann saw the stones at the base of the bluff she teared up, and Winter held her. “I know, it seems unspoiled, but I intend on spoiling you.”

“With Ian's money?”

“It's my money, Ann. I earn it. Ian even jokes about spoiling me for other men, and there's even a grain of truth there, but you, you've spoiled me for every other woman too. We can get by on love. If you want me to quit?”

“No. I was only crying because it's so pretty here. I don't need the money. I'm going to be an engineer. I'll design railroad trestles, or water treatment plants, or hydroelectric dams. I don't need your money. I only need you, and anyway, I like Ian. He's my friend. That's what you wanted, right?”

Winter sidestepped the question. “Ann, you've already built a bridge to my heart. That's all that matters.”

The Sun was low in the sky by this point, and while the two had sat admiring the stream, Ian had assembled sandwiches, baguette sections piled so high with roast beef and Havarti that Winter declared them Dagwoodesque, and smashed hers between her palms before taking the first bite, and Ann remarked, “You'd never survive in Chicago.”

“What, they kill you if you squoosh your sandwiches?”

“It just isn't done.”

“Then I'd be content to be a pariah, and I can't imagine why this one would want to stretch my mouth.” She motioned toward Ian's frontside, and Ann looked a bit mortified until Ian laughed. “Ann, Ian is my baby bear.”

“But I'm the one with the Goldilocks.”

They finished their repast, and Ian busied himself with setting up the tent, leaving the women to converse. Ann asked, “Can we lie together under the stars?”

“Like in your book?”

“You read it? asked Ann.

“Some of it, but that part, yeah.”

Ann lay naked in the fading sunlight that was dappled by the trees, "This should be perfect," but she hadn't really been truthful. She'd told Winter that she'd at least felt love from her parents, even thorough the disapproval, but that wasn't exactly the case, at least in the later years. If her father could see her now, he'd hate her. He'd likely blame her mother, who had been her only feeble advocate, and she'd take his side because he dominated her, so indoctrinated her with the idea of a vengeful God who saw sexual aberration as evil that she would have to forsake her daughter for her husband. Even if their communal nudity had no sexual components, having to wear clothes was punishment for humans losing their innocence, and it had been a woman who was responsible for that. Ann didn't believe the story was literally true, and she'd talked about that to Winter, who said that she thought stories like that were written by men who wanted justification for oppressing females. Winter had also pointed out that what was considered sufficient covering of the body was culturally relative, and that the cultures that required the most covering were always the most repressive, and those that allowed minimal or in some cases, no clothing, tended to be more female friendly.

Winter hadn't gotten worked up angry, but she made it clear that she considered requiring women to cover their bodies to be hostility. She said she believed that in the most repressive cultures, men had sold women on the idea of modesty, convincing them that seeing female bodies caused men to be damaged by impure thoughts, and that the women were really better off than in Western cultures where men didn't respect women. She called those women "bearded ladies," which Ann realized she didn't get at all, but Winter had been on a roll. She seemed to be trying to walk a fine line between condemning Abrahamic faiths and offending Ann's sensibilities, but this was something Ann had confronted long before. She saw it as God impatiently waiting for humanity to grow up.

Ann loved Jesus, and believed that Jesus loved her. He was, and had been her only refuge. Jesus loved everyone. He was part of God, the perfect part. She knew this went against what almost all Christians believed. God, the Father was imperfect, consumed by jealousy, and was cruel, and capricious, even causing humans to fail, then taking delight in their punishment. To her, there was no other way to read the Bible, but he loved his son, and Jesus often prevailed upon him to act with love. Jesus was, and is, perfect, so perfect that he offered his life in a gamble to prove that love was the most powerful force. His father loved him, and allowed him to prove that love can transcend even death. His father loved him, and respected him, even though they disagreed. Ann had concluded these things through the silence of the Quakers' worship, and this had been too much even for them. Her heresy was the only way to reconcile the Jesus she knew so well with the Old Testament God. She knew never to mention this to her father, or his church, and had concluded that while they professed to follow Jesus, they were still stuck in the fear of his father, and thought it was right for a father to rule by fear. Suddenly, her mind was flooded with self-pity, Winter's father loved her even though she wasn't really his daughter. Ann thought, "I can't believe this is happening," and at the same time, "I can't let myself cry. Not now."

They had brought along a large tent, but had chosen not to use it. Winter told Ann, "It keeps the bugs off."

Ann had said, "I'm not afraid of bugs." When they told Ian that they wanted to sleep sans shelter, and Ann announced with some pride her bug hardiness, Ian told them that there were very few nighttime bugs, even in the summer. The bad bugs were the midday horseflies, and while the day had been warm enough to shed clothing, it was only March. Horsefly season was still quite many weeks away.

Winter and Ian were lying at her sides. They were naked as well, but she knew that they weren't feeling her anguish, her vulnerability, her confusion. They were merely feeling the movement of the Earth, as their portion became shaded from the sun, and the air slowly cooled around them. Winter took her hand, and Ann closed her eyes and thought, "Winter loves me." She was surprised when Ian grasped her other hand.

Winter rolled toward her and kissed her cheek, and Ann said, "Love me."

Ian released her hand, and Ann said, "No, both of you. Love me." Winter and Ian both embraced her, holding her close, and she felt Winter's foot caressing her leg. Ian put his face next to her hair, but resisted the urge to taste her head, and instead parted her hair with his nose and barely kissed her behind her ear, and losing control, he said softly, "I love you."

Winter was taken aback, but only for moment. Ian had never said those words to her, but she knew why. That would have crossed a line, a rule, but spoken to Ann, those weren't words of passion or romance, or even of the desire that Winter knew Ian had. He'd meant it. He had come to understand what she knew the first time she saw Ann. As desirable as she was physically, Ann needed to be loved, and loved gently. It was Ann who was truly the little sister, and to them both. It made Winter want him, but this evening belonged to Ann.

The Sun set quickly behind the hills, and Ann lay in stillness as first Ian, then Winter, following his lead caressed the soft blonde fur on her arms. Oberon seemed to be showing her favor, and compassion, filling her companions' hearts with unselfish love. The forest was nearly silent with no sound of whip-poor-will or cricket obscuring the faint sound of the water ceaselessly spilling over the stony shoals.

Ann fell asleep in Winter's arms, and Ian walked to the truck to fetch covers. They slept close, huddling, with Ann in between.

Ian woke first. The dew was falling like rain from the trees. The drops were loud on the space blanket, and wondering, he checked the time. It was almost six o'clock, still an hour before sunrise. There was no moon, and it was profoundly dark without the flashlight. He dug his clothes out of one trash bag and shoes from the other, and got dressed--dressed being shorts, a tee shirt, socks and shoes. They'd put everything that needed to stay dry in, or under plastic. Ian had anticipated the dew, and while he understood the physics of the process, it never lost all of its wonder, how rain can fall from a clear, starry sky. He pulled the tarp part way back, and retrieved a handful of small sticks, and a few grocery circulars. Scratching around in the ashes, Ian located a few orange, glowing coals, wadded up the paper, applied the sticks and blew a few times until the flames came, then went back to the pile for larger pieces.

It was good that they had driven out in the morning and done all the prep work; they'd gathered plenty of wood, and even found an ample supply of hickory for grilling that was segregated into its own pile. Ian had constructed what he called a "latrine system," that consisted of pre-dug cat holes, a cleared path that was marked for both day and night, with blue ribbons tied to small trees and solar lights made for suburban lawns, a shovel, a plastic zipper bag with toilet paper, and a pint bottle of alcohol for washing up. Blue ribbons were also tied to sticks that had been stuck into the ground to mark each hole, to be removed when the hole was used. He'd then brought stones, as large as could be carried comfortably from the nearby creek, and built the fire ring, while the women broke up the firewood.

Winter was at home in the forest. For the past several years her family had gone camping every chance they'd gotten. Ann was Chicagoland North Suburbs and knew nothing about camping. She hadn't even been a Girl Scout, that organization having fallen into disrepute with her father, and was amazed at how effortlessly Ian and Winter were transforming a little sandy area near a creek into a home. Winter found a forked tree, and showed Ann how to use it to break off pieces of larger branches, so they would fit nicely in the fire. Ann, of course, understood the leverage, but this only increased her delight when she could both feel and hear the wood crack, and a short piece either fell to the ground, or occasionally ejected several feet from the break.

As the dawn was breaking, Ian heard the crackling of the space blanket, and heard soft voices. The girls were awake, but he wasn't going to disturb them. He wanted their time to be special. This was Ann's first experience with wilderness--if you could call it that when they had a Jeep parked fifty feet away--and whatever was happening under those covers might be remembered fondly for their lifetimes. The minutes passed without boredom or loneliness, as there was ample wood to feed to the fire. As the sky went from black to purple, Ian could make out the silhouette of the Jeep, and remembered that he had a jacket in there. He tried to open and close the car door as quietly as possible, but he'd been noticed, and saw Ann, her head poked out of the blankets, smiling at him. He walked over and fished her clothes out of the bag for her, and Winter popped out too, and Ian said, "I guess I'd better put on the coffee."

Winter agreed, "You'd better," and also accepted clothes from Ian, dressing quickly in the morning chill before she excused herself to the latrine system.

Ann confronted Ian right away. "You could have had me last night," she said, as they ambled slowly toward the fire.

Ian answered, "I thought I did."

"No, had me. You know what I mean."

"I'm not obtuse, Ann. When you said you wanted to be loved, neither Winter nor I heard that as a euphemism."

"You do love me."

"Of course I do," Ian said. He extended his arms, inviting an embrace, and Ann complied, her voice soft in his ear, "You'll get your chance." They held each other for a long time, and were only beginning to loosen their bond when Winter bounded down the path, announcing, "Just in time for morning hugs!"

The hugs were close, and enjoyed, but it was a light-hearted thing. Winter's comic relief was transformative, and brought the focus back to the more mundane issue of breakfast. "I'm sorry that I can't provide you ladies the breakfasts to which I have accustomed you to, but I'll do my best."

Winter and Ann sat on a fallen log, and Ian concluded that they hadn't paid any attention to what he'd just said. He'd provide the food, and after a short repose, they'd walk. Walk. He thought about every step they'd be taking, every crunch of the former year's leaves and mused, "I'm falling into dreaming of Babylon, and there's work to be done."

As warm as it had been when they'd arrived, the temperature had dropped overnight, and although it would have been a stretch to call it cold, the fire attracted them. There was a light fog poised above the creek, and the forest was quiet. Ian walked to the water's edge, filled a pot, and returned to place it upon the grate over the fire to heat, then set up the coffee apparatus. He poured some of the water into the bottom half of a double boiler, and set both on the edge of the cooking grate, and went to the cooler to pour milk into the top half, and thought that some might find this regimen fussy, and too much to mess with out in the woods. They'd be all about getting on with their day, beginning their day, but Ian's day had already begun, and he was in his element. When Ann had woken, and given him a smile, his Sun had risen. He didn't mind the least that the women were sitting on a log, conversing, not offering to assist in any of the breakfast makings, because they looked content, happy to be where they were. He saw Winter point at something, and Ann laughed in response. He didn't know what had aroused their interest, but it wasn't him. Maybe, or maybe not, he'd ask later, but probably not. He knew they'd just share, and it would be mundane, and it would make him seem pitiful, desirous of being a fly on the wall. Not to Ann, of course, but to Winter. Better to focus on a perfect pour.

Ian was pleased with the quality of the coffees he'd prepared, and felt that the way they'd been received validated his assumption. Winter had taken one sip, and her subtle reaction was a clear thumbs-up. Ann just seemed appreciative that he'd lovingly handed her a cup, and he turned away to fill his own, again leaving the lovers to relax, while he went about cooking.

The breakfast was simple, home fries and scrambled eggs with avocado slices, and Ian delivered the plates, sitting in the sand in front of them with his own, and as they ate, they planned their day. "I'd like to explore the woods some more after breakfast," said Winter, "because it's not supposed to get any warmer than this. Maybe we could hike up a hollow."

Ian thought about the topography, and was glad that he'd bought them all scuba boots, though he'd been doubtful when Winter had suggested they might hike the creek, as he answered, "There aren't really any hollows close to here on this side of the creek, a peculiarity of this place, but here's where the wading boots come into play. We can cross a little ways downstream, and change back into shoes on the other side, but the booties should be fine for a short hike. There's a hollow we can go up over there, and it probably has a little water in it. I don't think we want to get our shoes wet."

Winter agreed, and Ann said, "You called them booties. That's cute. I want to wear the booties."

Just being out here on such a premature spring interlude would have been more than enough for Winter. One year ago, if she'd had the means and opportunity, she'd have wanted to be exactly here, wetting her feet in the creek to the confluence with an Ozark hollow, and if she were unaccompanied, the surroundings themselves, their beauty, and the fragrance of the forest would have been friends enough. But she wasn't alone. She had Ann, and the hiking of the cleft was sure to delight her.

The creek was a smaller version of a river, but the little intermittent stream was a dollhouse version, and there were details. You could look at the mountain on the other side and see shelves and crags. There were places on Earth with tall waterfalls, but here, all those things were represented on a much smaller scale. Winter knew that Ann understood the concepts of geology, and how such things came to be, far more than herself, but she hadn't seen the manifestations firsthand, and Ann had an attraction to miniatures. She'd been primed by the previous evening's stargazing, and must have been thinking about her book. The sky out here was probably larger, more filled with detail than any Ann had ever seen, though she had curiously not commented upon that.

Winter was poised to share the smallness, the tiny mosses, trickles of water that they could experience together, merging their two persons even more, as there was nothing so tiny that they couldn't grasp, and blow up into a landscape for their love, one that had started out little, but was growing day by day, and she had to admit to herself that Ian had never come between them. He'd been nothing but kind to Ann. His sexual requirements had even diminished, and he'd told her that it was more important that she share slumber with her openly declared, "love of her life," than himself, but she didn't see that as a sacrifice. Ian was generous, and made no secret that he, as he'd described on that first encounter, was the recipient of "dumb luck."

Their arrangement wasn't impractical, but casual, and the comment that she'd made months before, that he was generous with luck, flippant words that had confused her, even as they'd left her mouth, concorded more with her mother's concept of reality than with her own, that things happen for a reason. Winter disliked the word, over-thinking. It implied complacency, and resignation, and there were situations where it took one's attention away from participation, relishing the pleasures of the moment. They were ascending to the pinnacle for no reason other than to get there, and then what? However unlikely, this could be the best day of any one of their lives, and Winter thought, "Especially Ann's." "Hey you two, wait up."

Ann stopped, but looked back with a big grin, and waggled her butt as she replied, "Hey you, hurry up." When Winter caught up, and it was up, because they were far above the creek, she gave Ann a quick sideways hug, and Ann broke away contented. Ian, she noticed, was breathing hard, and she knew why. It wasn't the exertion, his heart was hale. The altitude aspect was troubling him, but he wasn't going to let that ruin the day, Ann's day. Every spark in her mood seemed to enchant him, and she wondered why this delightful person hadn't been pulled close much earlier by someone who, like her, would hold on for dear life, or like Ian, was content to bask in her glow, with or without hope of consummation.

As they stood almost equidistant from the summit, Winter suggested a race, and Ian asked, "What's the prize?"

Winter smiled and said, "A kiss, Ian," and he took off like a hare. Winter was sure that she could outrun him, but Br'er Ian's jump, and Sis' Winter's overconfidence had made this a race. While she'd wasted moments joking with Ann, and pointing, Winter had become the hare. None of her quick scramblings, entering and leaving the obstructions of the intermittent stream allowed her to gain much ground on the surprisingly swift tortoise.

Ian was king of the hill, and Winter thought it only fair to wait until they'd both caught their breaths to bestow his reward. Ann's squealing and clapping from below called for more than an obligatory peck, and Winter swooned as Ian took her in his arms and kissed her mouth like a soldier who'd just returned from war, with none of Scarlett's resistance, or deference to the Production Codes.

Ann was making her way up the hill hurriedly, still clapping and with a look of pure joy, and Winter pushed Ian away, her hands on his shoulders and said, "Oh, Rhett, no man has ever kissed me that way."

"Winter Sue," answered Ian, in the fashion of Clark Gable, "you know in your heart that no other man ever will."

Ann had summited. The Sun was overhead, and her long yellow hair glowed as if she were taking all its radiance, and reflecting it, a youthful, mortal Galadriel set against a background of trees barren of leaves, a bringer of spring, bearing a message of rebirth. That was what Winter saw, but what floored Ian was the tiny slice of time where her mouth opened, and her tongue extended slightly, touching her incisors as she said slowly, with conviction, "That was one of the best things I've ever seen."

Winter considered bowing, but wanting to stay in character, instead curtseyed, and when her legs straightened, Ann took two steps toward her and declared, "I am no man."

Winter was laughing uncontrollably, to the point of coughing, bent over to the point that she hardly noticed Ann ribbing Ian with an elbow, while she huffed, and puffed in an effort to get out the words, "We have to stop watching so many movies."

As they transcended the hollow, the temperature falling even as afternoon approached, Winter felt the magic around her, the hilltop events succumbing to rationally explainable coincidence, and the peculiarities of the day pushed back, not forgotten, but stored for analysis, both in dreams and wakefulness, a magic that was slowly fading, and she drank in the clean smell of the hills, reflecting on the lives of the folks who had managed to survive out here. They weren't here for the beauty, and had left, but the hollow they'd raced up had a name, one given by those pioneers. Ian's ancestors on his father's side had scratched out lives out here, but they were on a plateau, rich land, compared to these hills, where nothing could be extracted but trees and white-tailed deer, wild turkeys. None but those and the ubiquitous squirrels had any value for their sustenance. She guessed they'd been loggers, the men of course, but what had the lives of the women been like?

There had been alternating hand holding, with the false justification of helping them down the hill, when in reality, at least to Winter's mind, it slowed their progress, but seeing Ann so happy, looking back contented as Ian escorted her, guiding her steps with gestures, seeing him point, suggesting footholds, and seeing Ann's neoprene booties land just there; this trek was beautiful in a way that she'd have trouble describing, even to herself. Winter wasn't indulging in self admiration for her embracing of expansive love, even though that was the very thing that removed the obvious distraction. It was Ann. Her body wasn't particularly special. No one's was, except to its inhabitant, but every step she took tugged at Winter's heart. Her past had left her with no immunity to love-sickness, and even when they held each other as closely as was physically possible, sometimes Winter wanted more.

With every other lover, it had been about the touching of surfaces, and that was astounding. There was the silky smoothness of girls, and the rougher textures of boys, all good, and all the cuddling, the spooning with Ian where he ran his practiced hands over her body, and as good as that was, Winter had never felt what she did for Ann.

After they crossed the creek, Ian took charge of the cleanup and loading, and one wave off sufficed. The time on the mountain was past, and Ian was aware of that.

Our Tricycle

____________

"I know I've told you bits and pieces, but everything has really come into focus. I told you that I was raped, and that's true, but I'm still a virgin in my heart. What that fucking animal did to me... no, he wasn't an animal. An animal might have forced himself on me to gratify his lust. See, I don't believe that rape is always about violence and power. I think that's something everyone says so the woman won't feel shame, and maybe that's a little white lie that works for some girls, but I wish that what happened to me had been animal. I'm not saying that it would have been good, but this wasn't an animal gratifying some biological urge. It was a human, and the only thing I felt was that he wanted to hurt me."

"He'd asked me to a school dance, and he felt I'd disrespected him by turning him down. He acted like he was OK with it, and was nice to me after that, and said that it was fine, and we could still be friends, and I trusted him, but the first time he thought he could get away with it, he raped me. It was violence. It only lasted maybe ten seconds, I mean the part where he was inside me, but it wasn't about him using me. He wanted to hurt me. He wanted to take something from me, but he didn't take anything. He wanted to damage me, to ruin me. He wanted to rape my mind."

Winter said quietly, "I'm so sorry, sweetheart.

"But he didn't. He just made me think, think about the whole thing. What did he get out of it? He didn't even come. He just put it back in his pants and walked away."

"I didn't feel dirty, you know, the way they say you're supposed to feel, but betrayed. I thought that maybe there was a part of all boys that felt that way about girls, and then Ashley. I thought that a girl would never, then she hurt me too, and I wanted to just die. Then I could be with Jesus. I could rest. But then you, Winter, you were there. I'd kept going through the motions, but you gave me hope, and Ian, you gave me something too. You're the first man who's ever loved me, the real me, and no girl should have to feel that way. It should have been my father."

To Ian, Ann seemed like an angel. Her skin was so white, and so flawless, especially her shoulders. He thought, "You couldn't paint this, couldn't represent it, except in a sculpture of pure alabaster. It looked like it had never seen the sun. She was the one who looked like Winter, the season, like the smoothest newly fallen snow, the description Winter had relayed, and almost as fragile, or perhaps more so. You'd need spectacles stronger than these..." He'd remembered the first time he saw her, and thinking all these things, and the word, "gracile". Ian anguished, "Personhood aside, how could anyone vandalize such an object?"

Ian almost instantly felt bad that he'd even let himself go there. He didn't blame himself for his intense feelings about Ann's body, but for thinking of it as separate from her, "Ann." Ian's thoughts ran fast, and he realized that she had looked at him expecting a supportive response, but he was off in his own head, patronizing his own thoughts and feelings while he should have replied, even if clumsily, then thought, "What could I say? I'm her father's age, and I have a strange relationship with her, not incestuous, nor exploitative, but strange. And it wasn't their fitful approach to becoming closer sexually. That was good. It was all so good, but he knew that the money was the string that bound him to the triad, or as Ann, in her sweetness had called it, our "tricycle."

A few days earlier, she'd detected some moroseness, and correctly assumed that he was having trouble with his feelings for Winter. "We're like a tricycle, Ian. I was thinking about what we have, the three of us, and the words, 'love triangle.' Then I thought, no, because in a love triangle, as least one person always ends up hurt. Then I thought, 'tricycle.' Tricycle makes me happy. It makes you think of little children on a sunny day."

Ian counted himself lucky that Ann seemed to interpret the distress on his face with mere empathy, and concern for her feelings. Now she was saying much the same thing as she'd said then, "Ian, don't feel so much pity for me. It hurts you, and it doesn't help me. I'm really mad, and it isn't with you."

Winter had entered the room only in time to hear the last few sentences, and thought for an instant, "Could it be me?” then dismissed that as a stupid musing. Ann wasn't angry with Ian or her, but she was angry. "What the heck did they do to her?" Winter thought to herself. She hadn't been satisfied with being a latecoming observer, and spoke, "I was thinking it was just the gay thing, but it's more, right?"

Ann nodded, "It's more, but if they could accept you, what we have, I could forgive them, but they won't. After I left their church and started worshiping with the Quakers, they treated me like an alien. They thought I'd rejected God, when what I'd really done was finally accept the gift. Jesus loves me Winter. He loves you too. He couldn't not. See?" and tapping between her breasts, "He's in here, and He's in you too, and Ian. That's why you can love like you do."

Tears filled Ann's eyes, "You take that love and you multiply it. People like my dad, they push it away. They want a God who punishes. That's what they believe in punishment, and what I have to do, no one is going to love it, not Jesus, not you, not Ian, but see?" and she cried even harder, "You'll still love me. I know you will. I have darkness inside, and I need to give it back to the person who put it there. I hope I can salvage something with my mother. She's so passive, and seems like she really believes that she's supposed to obey, and that God meant for men to be in charge. One time she told me that she quit selling makeup when these women told her that she should revere her husband almost as she revered God. It was a few years ago, and it seemed rebellious at the time. I think I over-agreed with her, because she backpedaled it. Ian, I think you're hard on yourself just because you're a boy."

"I'll give that some thought when I get over my astonishment at being called a boy."

"I mean you grew up a boy, and in more old fashioned times."

Winter saw an opening. "Ian had to walk to school, and it was uphill both ways. Miles, miles through deep snow. And his shoes had holes in them." They both looked at her like she was on drugs, and she noticed. "Not the time for comic relief. I'm sorry, sweetie. Ian does seem old fashioned, in an almost ridiculous way sometimes," and she embraced him from the side and kissed his cheek, "Like an archetype of librarianship. But there I go again. It comes naturally to me, and I'm sorry. I'm not as good with comforting you as I wish I was."

A minute before, Ann had been in pain, crying, confronting years of wasted existence. The absurdity was magnified because Ann thought, "Not good at comforting? She really means it. She feels like she hasn't given me enough. I need to not cry. I need to tell her to keep being exactly the same person, her hopes bouyed by the love she felt. They'll wait for me.” Her face tightened, but no one took that as an opening, and Ann's introspection continued uninterrupted. "Winter apologized for not being generous enough." This bouncing back between anguish and humor was something Ann had never felt. New feelings that she wasn't ready to share. "I'm fucking pissed." She looked at Winter, and saw love without strings, and the words in her mind were a silent prayer, "God, thank you for giving her to me," but that was followed by, "I could have been Winter, had Winter's life. Why not me?" She thought of Job.

By now, both Winter and Ian had surrounded her from both sides, holding her gently. She noticed their touch, but even more its unobtrusiveness. It was like that first night in the forest.

Ann had gotten to the edge of rage. As she calmed, she thought about sharp steel. Ann wasn't a stranger to anger, but it had never dominated her. Forgiveness had always been easy in childhood. There was one boy who'd seemed terrifying in first and second grade. He'd scared her, but he'd changed; things happened in others lives that weren't always obvious, and her thought returned to the present, "There is redemption. Sometimes I feel I'm not worthy of Winter, or Ian, but me being unhappy hurts them." She addressed Winter, this time out loud, trying to hide her distress, "But didn't they have horse and buggy?"

"Buggy? Gosh no, Ann. There weren't even horses yet."

That did it for Ann. She couldn't have Winter's childhood, but she could share her now, and they all three laughed at the absurdity of the horses line.

Winter had asked Ian if he minded the jokes about his age, and he'd told her, "Quite the contrary. The older I feel, the more pleased I am with myself for having procured such a stunning, and young, courtesan."

Winter waited for a reply, then casually disclosed, changing the subject abruptly. "I've never had a girlfriend, or even a boyfriend. I've felt intense physical longing, and complete physical satisfaction, and it all turned out fine. I was on top of the world, but it was missing something. I didn't even know that until you."

"And I doubted you."

"Ann, you didn't doubt me. At least I don't think so. It was just a few seconds. You were wondering if I could accept you, all of you, and the answer is yes."

Ian excused himself to get a glass of water, wishing that he could momentarily return as the proverbial fly-on-the-wall, but feeling ashamed for his voyeuristic longing that could never replace the real privacies he'd shared, and those he'd merely been too cowardly to request. He lingered in the kitchen, fighting the intensity of his emotions, battling despair, and the feeling that nothing could compensate for past deprivations.

"I'm sorry, Winter. It's just so strange, living here, the whole arrangement. Is Ian ever mean to you?"

"No. Never. There's the weird dynamic where I have to give him sex, but that's it. Has he hit on you?"

"No. I mean we fool around, like cuddle and kiss and stuff, mostly with you, but I think I'd have to be the one, if actual sex were to happen. Or you."

"Do you want that?"

"No. At least not at this point, but I might, I don't know, in the future. We could have that first night."

"We were drunk, especially you."

"I know. A lot of times that's when stuff happens."

"Not here it doesn't. Ian wouldn't, and I wouldn't. He's said that he thinks that, 'Men who take advantage of drunk women should be horse whipped.' That's verbatim."

"Horse whipped?" Ann started laughing. "Horse whipped." Ann made a whinnying sound, then, "Ow!" She whinnied again, this time with an intensity, "Ow!" and she twitched as if she'd been lashed. They were both tittering, and Ann suggested, "Let's play horses."

Winter, it seemed, was well practiced at horse sounds, as they moved around the living room on hands and knees. The game went on for quite some time, and after a few minutes of cheek to cheek love, Winter making soft horse noises all the while, they noticed Ian. Winter looked across the room at him and neighed, then they laughed again, Ann on her back like a bug that was having trouble righting itself.

"You two can't know how cute you are."

Winter smiled, "I have a pretty good idea."

Ann hadn't quite caught the inflection, and asked, "What?"

"A pretty good idea how cute we are, but another is taking shape. Two ideas actually, both of them good. There's," and she gestured with her left hand, "frozen custard, or, on the other hand, there's frozen yogurt."

Ann voiced an opinion. "The yogurt place has fresh berries."

Ian nodded affirmatively. "Can we walk?"

Ann said, "I'd rather walk too."

Winter said, "Then it's settled. We walk to yogurt."

On the journey, Ian was congratulating himself silently on having suggested that Ann move in. It was lovely having her there. He didn't mind that she absorbed so much of Winter's attention. He wasn't getting less sex, probably more, and Ann never showed even a hint that she minded. It was almost as though she had..."Like she thinks it's nice; almost the way I feel about the two of them, but it couldn't be anywhere near that. They're in love." They were several paces ahead, almost jaunting hand in hand.

Winter understood, and had even pointed it out to him.

Ian hung behind, musing, "I get to smell, and even taste, the body of a woman who's in love. That part's not fake. And I get to smell Ann too." Ian had taken over the laundry duties, and often buried his face in Ann's clothing, breathing in the complexities, the fragrances of her body. He was careful to supply all the toiletries, choosing only fragrance free, or scents that were beautiful in their own right, the nicest being the cinnamon buns. He often laughed to himself about how most folks would think he was deviant, and he guessed he was in the strictest sense, and many would add perverted, but the only ones who knew were Winter and Ann, and Ann had given Winter her panties to take to him.

When Julia noticed that there was only folding and putting away, never washing or drying, he was sure she assumed that one of the women was doing the wash. After Winter had moved in, Ian had told Julia that she was his personal assistant, and because Winter had her own bedroom, and it was obviously used, why would she have thought anything beyond that? Then Ann moved in. Weeks before, when Ann had been introduced as Winter's girlfriend, Julia had been friendly, and called Ann, "Seniorita." She played up her Mexicanness when she was happy. It meant she liked you. She was a legal resident, married to an American citizen, with three children who had all been born here, and her English, while accented, was flawless. She'd freely shared those details, and they'd talked about the things on the citizenship test she'd be taking soon, and Ian had told her that she probably knew a lot more about American history than most people who were born here. When he'd told her of his love for Mexican food, and that he bought salsa, she'd shown up a few days later with three different salsas she'd made for him. That was the first time she'd called him, "Senior." Since then, making his salsa, and occasionally tamales, had become part of her regular duties."

"Ian? Are you brooding?" It was Winter.

"I don't brood, and certainly not while admiring two very shapely posteriors, but I was absorbed in thought."

Ann giggled.

"I'm glad that was amusing, because it wasn't precisely true." The women stopped, and Ian was forced to as well. "I wasn't looking at your butts. I was looking at the totality of two beautiful young women who are so in love. That's even better."

Ann regarded Ian, "You're a very romantic man. I can tell."

"Yeah, I'm a softie for the whole in love thing, but I think that--with permission of course--I will spend the rest of the walk admiring your derrieres." It was mostly a jest. Ann was wearing a knee length skirt, and Winter one of the several tennis dresses that she'd had him buy her months before. Now that the warmer days had arrived, she wore them almost like a uniform.

She'd explained to him that while she didn't play tennis, "I do have a fondness for croquet, and I just look good in white." She did.

Ian wasn't through, "Love is sexy."

Winter turned her gaze to Ann, and completed that thought, as she replied, "And sex,” Winter said, as she pursed her lips slightly, “is lovely."

Ann blushed.

Ian thought back to the day Winter had shown up at his door, all in white, with a "Wait, Wait...Don't Tell Me" tee shirt. He'd known instantly that her clothing had been calculated, and she'd not long after confirmed that was the case, but she also made the point that it was anything but dishonest.

Eric had acquired the shirt, and she'd known exactly what he'd paid, though, she'd explained, maybe he didn't know that she knew. It had been a present for her nineteenth birthday. Winter had said, "That shit's funny," and it occurred to Ian that she'd never used the word, "shit," but just the one time. That was part of her "shame words" thing, and now that she was with Ann, she had also excised "blasphemy words" from her lexicon. She never said, "God," or "Jeez," anymore, not even when they were alone.

Winter seemed so in control of everything but her words, her words, but not her declarations.

When they got to the crosswalk, the light had just turned to orange. Ian observed the little squeeze Winter gave Ann's hand before coming to him, putting an arm around his waist, and kissing him on the cheek, "Enjoy?"

Ian could tell she wasn't toying with his feelings, but conveying sincere happiness. Part of it was doing her job, but it was plain that he'd pleased her. He'd given her the time to share with Ann, and she knew that he really did get a thrill from just seeing them walking several paces ahead, lost in their first love high. "She catches the child every time. The child in Ann, and the child in me. She doesn't want to let anyone come to harm on her watch." When the light turned, Winter continued to support Ian as they walked across the street.

As soon as they reached the other side, Winter's hand gently pulled away, and Ian said in amusement, "Girl Scout."

Winter didn't miss a beat, "Ian, it's boy scouts who walk elderly gentlemen across the street."

Ann doubled over. Winter made reality into something magical. As she laughed, something broke, and she was glad it had broken. The broken part had broken, the barrier, worrying that it might not be quite true. Seeing Winter be so kind to Ian had flipped the switch. Winter really did have it. Her capacity for love was expansive. Ann thought about what she'd said about the fast food workers, and expected to see her give love to the person at the yogurt place, with no regard to anything else other than that person's humanity, and she brought that out in almost everyone. The employees at the school cafeteria had so easily succumbed to her charms. Even the grumpiest of them, a woman about Ian's age, softened when she saw Winter. The second day they'd eaten in the cafeteria, Winter's phone rang, and she just let it ring in her purse. She had been deciding between two side dishes, and had inquired what was in one of them when it rang. The woman had brusquely asked her, "Aren't you going to answer that?"

Winter had said, "No, I'm already talking to somebody. Whoever it is, they can wait." Without even realizing how meaningful her words might be, Winter had told this person that she was "Somebody." She lived the Golden Rule, treating others the way she wanted to be treated, even if that wasn't what that person would have preferred, and she did it seemingly without deliberation. She wasn't so much thoughtful; it was a complete lack of callousness. It simply wasn't in her nature to treat a person as an object.

Ann wasn't aware that Ian was feeling that same awe over Winter's generosity of spirit, but she'd seen him receive it when Winter had inquired as to whether she'd made him happy. Winter did want to make him happy. It was her job to take care of him, to care for him, but she didn't just care for him. She cared for him. When Winter had described Ian, she'd expected an older man, possibly somewhat infirm. He was anything but that. He probably could have dashed across that street, not only unassisted, but confident. It occurred to her that Ian might have been downplaying his vigor, a virility that Ann knew was there. On the occasions that they'd cuddled and kissed, he was never aggressive, just loving and playful. They'd become friends that first day, and he'd placed an affectionate kiss on her forehead, a kiss that wasn't demanding, not even invitational in any sexual way, and didn't seem like a thank you for her gift. She knew from Winter that he was an intensely sexual person, but one-on-one with her he was just loving and affectionate. He'd even admitted to her that he was in love with her, in addition to being in love with Winter, and had added that he didn't expect those feelings to be reciprocated, but Ann had told him that she loved him too, though maybe not in the same way, and he was fine with that.

They didn't often use the word love around Winter, and it wasn't about sexual possessiveness. They'd had several three-way sessions, though nothing beyond kissing and nibbling. each one initiated by Winter, and pretty much orchestrated by her. Winter kept the focus on the two-on-one aspect. She was clear that it was meant to be purely affectionate, about experiencing pleasure, and to minimize the sexual tensions of living together; it was a body thing, fun, but never intimate, shying away from boundaries that Winter obviously didn't want crossed.

In one day, she'd plopped into Winter's world, a world where intense bonds happened in an instant. It was a fairy tale, like Little, Big, but without overt magic. She felt that she'd found her people, her home, her Edgewood, and Ian seemed the perfect appendage to Winter. They were so alike, not superficially, but in their thinking, their sentience. Winter had explained to her about the interchangeability of bodies, told her that the part of her that was loved was the non-interchangeable portion, but this living arrangement, the propinquity, however convenient, bore risk, and that seemed to have fallen outside Winter's calculations.

Winter looked over her shoulder, and noticed that Ann had fallen behind. She slowed her pace, and extended her arm. Ann took her hand and said, "I was checking out your butts," which elicited smiles all around.

Inside the yogurt place, they were like kids in a candy store, though none of them added candy, only fruit. Ian had smuggled in a vial of heavy cream to mix in, and explained that he thought it was wrong that the sugar free yogurts were also all fat free. "I'm through with accepting dictated either-ors when there's an easy work around."

All three savored their treats, and the happiness they were sharing made Ann reference her thoughts about the comfort of their living arrangement, and she said, "My life keeps getting better. Thank you, both of you."

"Ann, my life is better too," Ian said. "Pretty much every day, and seeing you happy and sunny brings us both joy."

Winter didn't know what to add except, gesturing with a finger, "What he said."

On the way out, Ian put a twenty into the tip jar, and when the chill from the frozen yogurt, coupled with the fall in temperature hit them as they left, Winter instinctually pulled Ann close. Again, Ian walked behind. There was no drama re-crossing Big Bend, though Winter looked back at Ian, and gave him an air kiss as she prepared to run across the street with Ann. He easily kept up, and after they were all on the other side, both of the women looked back again, before resuming their closeness.

Ian hung back until they neared the house, then hurried ahead to open the door. After they were inside, Ian announced that he had reading to catch up on, and excused himself by offering his hand to each of them, the covering the returned hand with his other in succession. Winter was unperturbed by the duration of his grasp knowing how Ian prized those seconds where he was touching a female hand, but when it was Ann's turn, he held her even more overlong, just short of the time that would seem awkward to Winter, and Ann knew that this was prompted by her facial expression. They too had a secret.

Queen of Love

____________

"I'm strong enough to do this now, and I have to give them a chance. You hear about anti-gay politicians who change once they realize that their child is gay. I know he's not a politician, but he's a deacon, and if he stood up for me, it might help some other kid. I've prayed on this, and I know Jesus loves me, and he loves that I love you, and that you love me. You don't know it yet, and maybe you never will, but the kindness that you and Ian have, that's the Christ in you. You just don't know it."

Winter listened quietly. Ann went on, "I know that everyone has Jesus in their heart, even them. What they did to me is hard to forgive, and I struggle. I'm so angry when I think about it. They stole years of my life, and tried to make me hate what I naturally am. They made me feel like I was a mistake, and not their mistake, but God's mistake. Oh, they didn't know about my desires, but they hated people like me, and I knew that if they really knew me, they'd more than just despise me. Even when I got raped, I knew if I told them, or anybody, they'd think that it was me."

"You were raped. You told me that, but," Winter asked, "you felt that you couldn't tell anyone?"

"Yeah. Really raped once, but afterward everything I did with boys seemed like rape. I never let a boy get into my pants again, and I wouldn't wear dresses or skirts. Boys wanted me because they thought I was...I don't know what, maybe pretty, and I know they told their friends that I was doing things that I wasn't. I actually tried it with one of them, but he barely... He wasn't sensitive. I told him. Winter, if he'd just backed off and told me that he'd wait until I was ready, who knows, but it was that conquest shit. I should have known better, but I needed to be touched. My body isn't a thing. It's got a person inside." Ann's face tightened, and she started to cry, "Thank you, Winter. You saved me. You freed me. I'm...I'm not going to have to die." Ann took several deep breaths, "Winter, and I won't give anyone my tears except you and Ian, unless they earn them, but I have to give my parents the chance, one last chance."

Winter wanted to kiss the tears from Ann's face, and to apply soft kisses to her closed eyes, but instead pulled Ann's face into her shoulder. She whispered to her, "And Jesus. Give your tears to Jesus."

Ann looked up her and brightened, "So I've made you believe?"

Winter said, "No, but there's something special about you, and if anything in the universe argues for the existence of a loving God, it's you." And then Winter, lowering her voice, repeated, "It's you."

At first, Winter was surprised by Ann's religiosity. She'd told Ann that her best friend in high school, Maryl, went to church, and even sang in the choir, but she didn't evangelize, and Winter had never seen her pray or anything. She'd told Ann, "I asked her once if it was weird, with everyone assuming she liked girls, but she said that her church wasn't like that, and that she'd never heard anyone there ever say anything about gay people," but Ann had said that the church she grew up in thought gays and lesbians were inspired by the Devil, and tricked by him, and that they'd burn forever in Hell.

Ann didn't attend church, but she did believe, and she said it was in spite of, rather than because of her parents' religion. Shortly after she turned seventeen, Ann had told her parents that she wasn't going to their church anymore, but was worshiping with the Quakers.

"Quakers. Like the oatmeal guy."

Ann said, "Yeah, but they don't dress like that anymore. It's more like plaid flannel shirts, or tan jackets. Really regular. Most of the women didn't really wear make up to worship, even the old ladies. My dad was horribly angry that I wouldn't go to his church, and said that the Quakers weren't real Christians. I think some of them weren't, but they acted more like what I thought Christians should than anybody. You know why they're called Quakers?"

"Yes," said Winter, "I know pretty much about their history. I was just joking about the oatmeal guy. I didn't know about plaid shirts though."

"Well," Ann continued, "they don't seem to be afraid. They're the least afraid people I've ever met. It's my dad's church where everyone is afraid. They see evil in everything, and the Quakers see good."

Winter nodded. "I know what you mean. The fundamentalists believe in evil, and see good as the absence of evil, and the Quakers see evil as an absence of good. I believe in both, but I think people blame a lot on evil that's really just stupidity, lazy thinking, though I guess one could call laziness a very mild form of evil, or seen another way, a lack of goodness."

"You should major in philosophy."

"It's funny that you mention that, because I'm thinking that I've decided to major in theater, if or when I go back to full time. Ian wouldn't be OK with me quitting school, but I'm sure he'd be OK with that. He says it turns him on that I'm into Shakespeare. Remember the movie?"

"I remember the vodka too. I got really silly. I didn't grow up with alcohol like you did."

"Not until we moved in with Dad and Eric. Well, my Mom would have wine occasionally, but she never offered it to me, and I never asked. I was fourteen before I touched a drink. Dad would sometimes buy kegs of beer, and Eric said Dad didn't mind if he had some now and then, as long as he didn't go near it when he had friends over, and didn't drink too much or too often, and Eric was sure that applied equally to me. The first time I smelled beer, really smelled it, in a glass, I wanted it. It was like coffee. I wasn't sure that I liked the taste. I made that glass last a long time, then I took a nap. It was a Saturday afternoon. I only slept an hour or so, but I woke up feeling really good. It's a wonder I didn't develop an unhealthy interest, but for some reason, it only seemed appealing to drink once every week or two."

"I think beer tastes nasty."

"I bet you've only had bad tasting beer."

"I took a sip of yours, and I was glad I had that lemonade to get the taste out."

"Anyway," Winter said, "Ian got us all a bedroom on the train."

"He can't go five hours?"

"Hey, it's fun on the train. Really fun. You get on top, and just lay there relaxing, trying not to move except the way the train moves you. It's tantric. You can have first go."

"So you've done this before? With Ian?"

"With Ian, but he wasn't the first."

"Who?"

"Another guy. I swore to him that I'd never tell anyone about it. It would hurt people if it got found out." Winter added, "He's married," and changed the subject. "But hey, will you set the alarm for five? I have to go give Ian his nite-nite."

"Need these?"

"No, but I'm glad you took them off anyway. Ian's easy at bedtime." Then Winter thought, "Ian. 'Bedtime.' Maybe that's a bad choice of words."

Winter made short work of Ian. She kidded him again about how quick he was, but he insisted, "It's not me, it's you. That doesn't happen with anyone else."

It took a little longer because Ian wanted to do her too, but Winter never minded that. She walked back down the hallway thinking, "Now Ann."

"You're back so soon."

Winter explained the time line, adding, "I swear, Ian must be the only guy in St. Louis who doesn't know how to think about baseball."

Ann didn't want any foreplay. "I was imagining what was going on with you, and I managed to keep my hands off, but it wasn't easy." Ann pulled Winter's face into her, but Winter was in Ian mode.

She thought to herself, "I'm going to go slowly, take her to the edge more than once, but it was more the response of Ann's body that set the tone, her body alternating between arching upward, and slightly pulling away." When Ann finally cut loose, taking her head with both hands, Winter knew, "That was worth waiting for."

She peered up at Ann and smiled, then nuzzled her nose in Ann's pubic hair, "How lucky was I to find the only other girl left who doesn't shave? It's soft, and it smells so good. And it's one more thing to love."

"I think that's a game that two can play. Swing around here." Many soft kisses later, Ann said, "You should let me have him more often."

"I'd just suggested that you actually fuck him on the train tomorrow. Just the two of you. Intercourse, Ann."

"Sure, but it's like you're the gatekeeper. I know you say that it's because it's your job, and I'm your girlfriend, and both of those things are true, but there's more than that. Ian loves me, and I love him, and Ian loves you too. It started out as weird, but it all happened really naturally. At least it feels that way to me."

"It isn't natural between Ian and me. He pays me, and I have sex with him, and I really can't say, 'No.' I mean not without a reason."

"But you tell me that the sex is always at least pretty good. Why would you want to tell him no anyway?"

"It's the fact that I can't. It's like that saying about wishing one could afford an elephant. I don't want the elephant, though because of our arrangement, I could already buy a whole parade of them. That's what they call a big herd of elephants, a parade."

"Do you and Ian lie like this and talk?"

"No. Ian doesn't talk. He just listens." Winter started laughing, "Just kidding, Ann. We do talk. He's smart and interesting, and he gets my jokes. I just said that because, well, he's so completely ridiculous sometimes. A few weeks ago he had me sit on his face while I read Shakespeare to him. It wasn't even sex. He wants my body even when he isn't horny, which isn't very often anyway, and I don't feel like I can turn him down, however absurd the request. It even felt good, at least until one of my legs got a cramp, and then he felt bad, not because we had to stop, but because he thought he'd hurt me, and then he massaged my legs and feet, and that got him started on feet."

"But you like it when I kiss your feet, right?"

"Of course, baby, but you just kiss them. Ian goes way past that. He grooms them. I swear he's part cat. Every single toe, and in between. He's stopped short of using his teeth to trim my toenails, but I figure it's only a matter of time, and I can't put the brakes on because he's paying me."

Ann lifted her head from Winter's thigh and moved 180 degrees to face her, "Why don't you get him to marry you then? I know he would. If you told him you loved him, and I know you do, you'd already have half his money, and all..."

Winter put her hand over Ann's lips, "I hope to get married one day, but not Ian, you. Now let's go to sleep."

Winter had just proposed to her, or close to it, and Ann was confused. The way she'd done it was in her sleepiness, and Ann didn't react. She hadn't thought that Winter would ever leave her, but now there was the assumption that they were engaged to be engaged. Winter hadn't asked, and she was seemingly using Ian's body as she felt that Ian was using hers, not quite understanding that behind the hardy mask was a man not fully healed, and that Ann, herself, didn't need a male body as much as she needed unconditional love.

Ann woke up with the alarm, and woke Winter by rubbing noses with her, "Eskimo kiss."

Winter answered with, "Great big kiss." After minimal ablutions, they went to Ian's room. He was listening to the radio, and when he saw them, put his finger to his lips like he did every time he wanted to hear the rest of a story. Winter thought, "Just like Dad."

After the segment concluded, Ian said, "OK, there's coffee, and the backpack is by the door."

It was about a mile to the Metro station, but Winter knew there was no question that on a beautiful morning, they were hoofing it. Ian loved walking, and he loved the train, even the little Metro. He was excited about taking their first Amtrak together as a threesome, all sharing one compartment, and Winter thought, "He doesn't even know what we have planned for him." Ian had said that he wanted to get to the station early because he'd said that he didn't want to miss breakfast on the train.

They boarded at the first opportunity, and headed for the dining car after Ian had handed off his pack to a porter to take to their compartment, and Andrew Jackson's sideways gaze had its effect. As Winter had said, Ian didn't want to miss breakfast, and they hadn't. Even though it wasn't as good as they'd gotten accustomed to, there were choices, and the dining car, though well lit, somehow had the feeling of fine dining.

Winter imagined a bygone age. They were in the lap of luxury, with white tablecloths, an exquisite hotel on metal wheels, and she sat up straight, all attention on Ann, this loved being who had placed the trust she'd had left in Winter's life story, and who was cheerily ordering blueberry pancakes, seemingly able to immerse herself in this moment, in spite of the journey's purpose.

Ann had seated herself beside Ian, and that wasn't unnatural. She'd even pushed him over with her hand, claiming her space. “Perhaps,” Winter thought, "She's marshalling strength."

When the food arrived, the relaxing silence between them dissolved, as if the server had woken them from their individual worlds.

The dining car was situated between the coach section and the sleeper cars, and they walked single file down the little stairway, and through the snack area. The porter that Ian had given the twenty to was right there, and showed the three to their compartment. Inside, on a little table, were the backpacks, and there were bunk beds. There was a small couch, and Winter said, "I call middle," and plopped down exactly there. Ian sat to her right, and Ann, to her left. Ian started stroking and kissing Winter's hair. Ann spoke first, "I've never been in one of these before. This is really nice--cozy," and she looked over the compartment dreamily, then sat, relaxed, with her hands folded in her lap.

"Ann?"

"Mmm, hmm?"

"Ian is nibbling on my ear lobe, and it occurred to me that I do have another ear." They all laughed, but Winter scolded Ian for laughing too loudly in her ear, "Ow! Are you trying to burst my ear drum?"

"Payback for all those times you got people to blow soda out their noses. Eric told me about that."

"So that's what you two talked about. What else did he tell you?"

"Not much. He mostly wanted to know about me, and I was very forthcoming, completely truthful. He really cares about you. I didn't at all get the sense that he had a macho attitude, like he had to defend you for his own honor, and that he really respects you. Then we talked about sex."

"What? You told him about what we do?"

"No, Winter, not that. We talked about it in the hypothetical. There were no, 'This one girl,' and, 'That one girl,' but otherwise pretty graphically about pleasing women. I've never had quite that frank of a conversation with another man about sex, but it was easy. Seems he enjoys womens' bodies much like I do, or I did back when I was younger and more ardently curious. Nothing I'd done with you, or he with Chloe was ever mentioned. He seems quite the gentleman when it comes to his feelings about women; he's a gentle man, in spite of his threatening to kill me. I was left with the impression that he is quite a catch, and is likely to make his bride very happy. And, he said he was relieved that as strange as our arrangement was, I seemed like a decent guy, but reminded me that he expected me to treat you well."

"Wow," said Winter, who then thought to herself, "That's exactly how Eric described the conversation."

"I also seem to remember that we spoke about kissing ears," and Ian smiled in Ann's direction.

Winter laid her head back while they both kissed on her ears, she could smell bacon on Ian's breath, and blueberry on Ann's. Eventually they felt the train begin to stop at a station, and it seemed as though they both concluded her ear kisses in a remarkably coordinated fashion. When she opened her eyes, she noticed that their hands were clasped across her knees, and understood that there had been a communication, however subtle. Then she laughed, and Ann said, "What?"

"Nothing. I'm just happy." Winter thought it better not to break the sexiness by revealing that she had thought, "One ear good, two ears better," in a twisted paraphrase of Animal Farm. She felt that this wasn't being dishonest, because people said, "Nothing," all the time when it really was something, and she was sure that she'd remember to tell them about it later when humor was more apropos. Still laughing, Winter said, "And as hard as it is, and I'm sure it is, I will now take my leave," and she got up, opened the compartment door, and left with no further explanation.

Ian turned to Ann and looked at her with puzzlement.

After Winter left, Ann began to remove her clothes, and when Ian, still somewhat in shock, didn't, she said, "She left us here alone," and it dawned on Ian that Winter had intended that they have an opportunity to make love, and Winter had already made love. She'd made him love her even more. Winter was a goddess. She created love, and with that notion, Ian began to cry as he undressed.

"I know why you're crying. It makes me cry too," and Ann teared up with him. Ann told Ian of the plan, in detail, as they held each other on the couch.

"She fancies herself a playwright."

"I was thinking actress. Did she tell you about the theater thing, that she had chosen her major?"

"She did. She thinks she's obligated to stay in school, and I'm fine with that. By this point I really couldn't insist, and I want her to have a future that isn't completely predicated on having money."

"You'd marry her, wouldn't you?"

"No. I'm not worthy of her, and she might love me..."

"She does."

"She's not in love with me, and I'd never let her cheat herself, or sell herself short. That's why I want her to stay in school."

Ian removed his clothes as well, and they both sat there naked, until Ann said, "Winter wants us to do this."

In Winter's script, he was inside her, holding still as the wheels of the train rhythmically bounced over the tracks, but instead, Ann pressed her most sensitive area onto his penis, and she did move, but just a little. Ian held her tightly, and as she finally felt herself finally getting close, she slowly worked her way upward, wanting him inside her body, but when she felt her hottest place pressing against the end of his penis it was like rubbing herself on Winter. Ann dug her fingernails into Ian's shoulders, and as she lost herself, she felt him spasm.

The messiness between their bodies was hot, but Ian pulled her up by the arms and looked in her eyes, pleading for something, and even he had no idea what it was.

"You're my first man."

"What?" asked Ian, "The others you consider boys?" After the words left his mouth, he was disgusted with himself.

Ann's face came together in a scrunch. Between the football shaped opening of her lips Ian could see clenched teeth. Ian was starting to feel afraid. Here was someone with whom he'd just shared the rarest of orgasms, and she was radiating hate. And it was Ann.

Her jaw trembled, and there was vitriol in her eyes, "They were jerks!" She spat out, "Jerks," as if it had been a much stronger word, then burst into tears, as Ian held her above him with his hands below her shoulders, "I'm so, so sorry I ruined this for you." Her tears were dripping on his face. Her nose dripped on him too, and when she noticed, she squeezed her nose with her left hand, and wiped it on the sheet. "Really," she said through a grimace, "It was beautiful. Don't ever stop loving me. Please, don't ever stop loving me."

Ian lowered her until his left cheek pressed against her right, both soaked with her tears, "Of course I'll never stop loving you, and Winter loves you too."

Ian encircled her back and massaged her arms just above her elbows as she finished her cry, and she said quietly, "Please don't tell Winter. Only tell her the happy parts, at least for now."

Ian whispered. "Of course," and they lay together in what seemed to Ann complete innocence, as she tried to put out of her mind the real innocence, the real end of her childhood that seemed even more inevitable.

Ann pushed herself up, and they both laughed at how their tummies where glued together. She offered a hand, and pulled Ian out of the bunk. "We're all sticky with sex stuff, and I think I got snot in your hair."

Ian laughed, "Are you, by chance, mocking Winter?"

"Yeah,"

Her voice was so cheery that Ian thought, "She's back to her old self," and Ann concluded, "But only in the nicest way." Then she giggled. She'd remembered Winter's words on the trip to the Zoo.

Ian played along. "I'm Autumn, and you're Spring, but we're both becoming Winter."

Ann had never let go of his hand, and she pulled at him, "You're going to get into that little shower with me."

"We won't both fit."

Ann was insistent, "We'll make us fit."

Ian thought, "She's not mocking Winter, she's trying to be like Winter," then, "No, Winter just changes people. She's got something that's contagious; her brashness, her punniness, her zest for life is her gift. It's like she always says, 'Live life with gusto.'"

The showering was clumsy. They soaped each other, and took turns facing the water to rinse. Under other circumstances it could have led to something more than the playful silliness it did. They dried each other off, and Ian watched Ann get dressed. "You really are a dirty old man."

Ian peered at her with an exaggerated look of questioning, "Well if it be so, then the fault is thine, for thou art the one who hath bathed me."

"You know what I mean."

"I do, and I recall reading somewhere that when a woman undresses in front of a man, there is always some pretense of unnaturalness, however small, but not so when she is dressing, as the man has already seen all the hidden places. Ann, your clothes hide your beauty from others, and I feel so privileged that you've shared it with me. And your clothes, every second they spend next to your body, they are improved, imbued with your essence, your fragrance, your pheromones, and there's nothing dirty about it, nothing unwholesome. I'm, I mean, I don't feel like a freak for feeling that as intensely as I do. Many men feel the same way, but they haven't parsed, one might say, 'overthought,' those feelings."

"Like Winter," said Ann.

"Winter overthinks too, but she does so in real time. She doesn't need to reflect."

"Do you think I'm smart like that?"

"Not in that way, but I don't think I'm as smart, no, smart isn't the word. I don't think I'm as sharp as Winter, and anyway, sharpness is only one aspect of being a person, and you're young. You haven't had the experiences that Winter has, or certainly that I've had. I appreciate your mind, Ann, the totality of you. And smart? You're studying physics, and mathematics, and excelling. You should never doubt your intelligence, and while I'm in awe of Winter's wittiness, I mean, everyone is, right? And Ann, I understand why she fell in love with you." Ian paused, and then said, "In the big picture, I'm the third wheel."

"But that's OK, Ian. Remember, we're like a tricycle."

Ian smiled, "And we know which one is steering. We'd better go find her. She has to be going completely crazy wondering exactly what we're doing. She said she'd be in the observation car. Do you know where that is?"

"Mmm, hmm."

"I'll be along in a minute." As soon as Ann left, Ian found the porter, and handed him another twenty. "Would you mind changing the sheets on the lower berth, please?"

"Right away, Sir."

It had taken Ian less than a minute to find the porter, so although Ann found Winter before him, he wasn't far behind. She was playing solitaire in the observation car. When Ann approached, Winter beckoned her with a finger and pecked her on the cheek, then she whispered in Ann's ear, "Where's Ian?" Before Ann could answer, Ian arrived. Winter looked up at him and asked, "Before we go back to the room?" Ann assumed that it was her turn to play solitaire, but Winter wanted an accounting of their tryst. They told her everything except the hurtful part, speaking in near whispers, and Winter asked quietly, "Do I have to put it in myself?

Ann surprised them both when she replied even more softly, "Listen, I was raped, and you know that, and Winter, I know you think that virginity is artificial, but it isn't to me. I want a re-do, and I want it with both of you. I was going to do it with just you," she said with her eyes on Ian, "but I'm glad everything happened the way it did today." She stared at the roof of the car, and spoke as if it were only they three, "I know I'm going back to Skokie to bring an end to my childhood, to burn the bridge."

Winter interjected rather emphatically, "Well, I'm glad you said Skokie, and not Chicago, because I like Chicago a lot, and it'd be sad if I could only enjoy it without the love of my life, and Ian loves Chicago too, don't you?"

"I do, Lauren and I used to take the train up here at least twice a year, but we took the cheap train, no dining car."

Winter interrupted again, "I swear, all you ever think about is food!" She said it loudly enough that other passengers took notice, and when Ian and Ann both cracked up, Winter figured that they all thought that it must have been some kind of an inside joke. "And you've never taken me anywhere. I hope you're going to take me to the museums. Chicago has such wonderful museums." She'd been getting louder since her first words. It wasn't true that hadn't ever taken her out of town, but she was giving her audience the impression that she felt deprived. Ian wondered if she was trying to set up the father-daughter joke, but that didn't make sense. Winter went on, "Yet I do feel like a queen," then turned to face Ann, "and you, Lady Ann, thou art my love, and my very breath."

Many of the other passengers nearby were now listening.

Ann asked, "Pray tell, what is thy province?"

"Ah, Lady Ann, I am Queen Winter, Queen Winter of Love. My domain is that of the heart, and of the loins. All those who yearn for gentleness and the flames of carnal passion, those are my subjects. Yea, even those who have given themselves over with abandon to the passions of the night shall call me liege, and Ian..."

Ann rejoined, "Yes, my Queen?"

Winter began to giggle, "Ian is still," and she couldn't say it. She wasn't going to humiliate him in public. Gesturing toward him with palm toward the heavens, "Ian is still my consort, a companion worthy of a queen. He executes every office, and does so with grace, but also passion," and looking at Ian, "My prince, thou fulfillest thy conjugal obligations most satisfactorily," and then suddenly changing her dialect to a silly imitation of South Jersey, "So why'd you wait so long to take me to Chicago?"

A few passengers began to applaud, and Winter stood as she surveyed her audience with her head held regally high, then dipped slightly, her hands pinching very wide imaginary skirts, and nodded with both her head and eyes, and the applause demanded an encore. She turned to Ian, and said, "You shall take me back to my apartment," extending her hand, then flipping her pointer toward him, "and bed me, in accordance with thy station. I offer no apologies to these," and sweeping her hand briskly to the side and raising her voice to be heard over the laughter and clapping, "as even a queen has her needs."

The walk back was joyous. Between their chortling and the rocking of the train, all three banged against the walls numerous times. They passed the porter without incident. Once inside the cabin, Winter began casually removing her clothes, and looked at Ian, "Do you want to miss lunch?"

Ann had never seen people fuck in the light of day. Winter got on top, and got her orgasm, then they rolled over, and Ian pulled her legs up. Winter pressed her toes against the upper bunk and Ian dived into her. It looked almost violent, but Winter was obviously enjoying it. It was surreal, sitting and observing something so primal, so essential to the survival of her species, but one shrouded in mystery. They knew she was there, obviously, but they didn't seem to be playing for her, only for themselves. It didn't seem as intimate as she'd expected, but then she thought, "It can't be. They won't let it be. Winter won't let herself love a man that way. She doesn't hate men. She loves her brother, and her father, and she's as open and friendly toward men as she is with women, but that one special thing isn't there."

Then it seemed clear. Winter had told her as much. She said she'd finally found the person she could give her heart to, "And it's me. It isn't about me being a girl--having a female body--it's me." When Ian's body tensed and shook, and Winter smiled, Ann smiled with her, and for the first time let herself be fully bathed in the light of communion of bodies, male and female, and it reinforced her feelings that Winter's special love for her wasn't a carnal thing; she'd concluded, and it had been affirmed that the 'special thing' wasn't her femaleness. It was her.

When they acknowledged her presence, she beamed at them, "That was nice." Ann knew that they thought she was talking about the physical act, but her joy was more about her own freedom, freedom from isolation, the freedom that Winter had shown her.

Winter spoke first. "Ann, what time is it? If I've made Ian miss lunch."

Pointing back and forth between them Ann said, "Well, you can't go like that. You two get decent while I get us a table." Ann opened the door a crack, and peeked out, then exited. Winter and Ian dressed hurriedly, and the only words spoken were Winter's, "I love the train."

When Winter and Ian walked into the dining car, Ann was being seated at the only available table. Ian assumed she had greased a palm, and thought, "Good job." He asked Ann, but she said, "No, the guy said we were probably their last group because we're almost there."

They all three ordered salads, and Ian got a burger as well, minus the bun, "Heck, I wouldn't want to get too fat to enjoy my new lifestyle." Winter co-opted all of the forks, and used them to make a sculpture.

Ann said, "You're just a little girl,"

And Winter said, "No, you're just a little girl."

Ann bumped shoulders with Winter, "Little girl," said Ann, and countered, but harder.

"Little, little girl." Ann's last motion had rocked the table, and Winter's sculpture collapsed, "See? See, what you've done? You're a vandal, a destroyer of art. I'll never be able to replicate it." Winter shook her finger at Ann, "History will judge you, as you have robbed posterity of a masterpiece." Ian noticed the laughter first, and recognized a young couple, thirtyish, who had been one of the witnesses to Winter's earlier drama. He smiled at them, and Winter, then Ann, also turned around to share the merriment. They were almost to the station when the couple approached their table.

The man said, "I'd just like to thank you. We've been on this train for more than a day, and you brought us some cheer. He had a Texas accent that he was obviously trying to minimize, and Winter immediately took a liking to him.

Winter asked them, "Are you two in love?"

The woman visibly blushed, but the man answered, briefly looking over at the woman they'd later learn was his wife, "Yes ma'am, we are in love."

Putting several factors together, Winter assumed that this had been the first leg of a round trip, and she bubbled up, "Oh, good! Because Ann and I are in love too, and we want to give you a present!" The pair from Texas literally backed away slightly, but more from the raw intensity of Winter's declaration than anything else. Earlier, in their explorations, she'd seen them in coach seats. "We want you to have a sleepy car for the way back, and don't refuse the present, because there's no time like the present, and so little time we're given on this Earth for love, for being in love. So, you meet us by the ticket counter, OK?"

The three hurried back to the chamber they'd shared because Winter said she really wanted to be at that ticket counter.

While Ann used the restroom, she told Ian, "It's...well you know how I don't believe in that whole purpose thing, but stuff happens, and Ann thinks almost everything happens for a reason. I gave up those illusions years ago, while the other kids were still giving up Santa, but still, love seems magical, like how you still love Lauren because you remember all of those years you loved her?" The conversation changed as Ann opened the bathroom door.

"I'm going to run ahead and catch the Texas folks," said Winter. "I'm not letting them refuse my present." Winter got off the train and walked straight to the ticketing area. She knew this station well. All through high school they'd taken the train to Chicago, though they'd never gotten a room. Winter waited, and the Texas couple soon showed up. They introduced themselves. His name was Daniel, and hers was Marilyn. Winter told the woman that her best friend in high school was named Marilyn, and added, "But we all called her Maryl." They stepped together to the counter, and when the Amtrak guy asked if he could help them, Winter said, "Yes, I'd like to upgrade these tickets to accommodations." She motioned for Daniel to hand him the tickets. While the ticket man did his thing, Winter looked at Marilyn and asked, "So, what brings you to Chicago?"

Marilyn answered, "Family."

"Yeah, us too. I mean we're going to have fun, and go to the art museum and stuff, but mostly it's so my girlfriend can tell her really uptight parents that she's in love with me, and her parents can tell her she'll burn in Hell, and she can tell them to eff off, and then we can go to the museum." Marilyn and Daniel laughed loudly, as the ticket man told Winter that the only thing available was a bedroom, and she answered, "A bedroom it is then," and handed him her credit card and driver license. By the time the new tickets were ready, the laughter had subsided.

Winter handed Daniel the tickets, and he bowed formally, "Thank you, your Highness."

Winter smiled as she asked, "Group hug?" It wasn't awkward. It was like they were old friends. They embraced for no more than two or three seconds, and then shook hands and said their good-byes. As Winter turned, she mused silently, "That was my first act of beneficence toward my subjects since I ascended the throne," which called attention to the fact that she had to pee.

When she neared the first class lounge, she noticed that Ann and Ian were outside the doors, and Ann said, "Let's get going." They bought passes and walked the few blocks to the purple train. Winter told the other two that her family had loved riding the trains. When they'd come to Chicago, they'd ridden the trains just to be riding them. The purple line was the one that went to Wrigley Field, and it was fun to ride that train when there was a Cubs game because her family always wore Cardinal caps when they were in Chicago. None of them were particularly interested in baseball, and when Winter had gotten free tickets from the summer reading program at the library, she found the atmosphere at the ballpark almost horrifying. Her dad, who'd taken her, said he felt pretty much the same, but it was he who was behind the whole Cardinals cap thing. He thought it was funny. Her dad had said that the baseball rivalry was a friendly one, and it really did seem that way, and that Chicago and St. Louis just like each other. Pretty soon there's going to be a high speed train connecting them, but I like the train we took. It has a dining car and a bedroom.

Ian had shared with Winter that heights made him nervous, and she could see that in his movements as they ascended the steps to the platform. She teased him about his lack of manliness, but only good naturedly; things like his love of pastels, the girly little Fiat, and his sometimes flowery language were endearing. She loved telling him, "You're so gay," because he was probably the most actualized heterosexual she'd ever known, and she herself was thoroughly bi, but she never said anything hurtful.

None of us do. We have a no hurting thing going on, and except for the fact that I have to spend a significant amount of time satisfying Ian's need for girl flesh when I'd really rather be doing something else--but that's my job. There are people who work in all kinds of conditions, hot kitchens, sewage treatment plants, in the blazing sun, hunched over picking fruit.

Winter was in her own head, "And there are so many people, most people maybe, who'd think I'm being degraded by letting an old man lick my toes and play with my butt for money. They'd think I'm selling myself, when they sell just as much of themselves, and they feel trapped, and afraid. Afraid like Mom was, and if it weren't for meeting Dad, and getting her job back..."

"Winter, this is our train." It was Ann. Winter saw that Ann and Ian had arms hooked that were slowly becoming untangled. She had been too engrossed in her own thoughts to know whether Ian had told Ann of his acrophobia, whether Ann had just sensed it, or whether they were just being cuddly, but in any case, it was sweet. Ann was sweet, is sweet.

They got on the train and sat down on the sideways seats. Winter insisted that Ann be between them. She wasn't avoiding Ian, but wanted to be next to Ann, and didn't want to interrupt her affectionate interactions with Ian.

"You know Ian," said Winter, leaning forward and speaking across Ann, and taking up where she'd left off minutes before, "it occurs to me that the Amtrak is as good as it could possibly get for you. Two beautiful, horny girls, a tiny bedroom, and a dining car. I'm really surprised this is the first time you've taken us on the train." There was a boy sitting at a right angle from Ian, and the boy made eye contact with her and smiled. He was perhaps 16 or 17. The smile had no smirkiness, not a hint of misogyny, and she recalled the first evening with Ann, at the restaurant where she'd been overheard, and she assumed her royal duties, "I liked the fact that we had no privacy from each other." It made her happy to think that the boy would probably think of that moment for years while he masturbated, and maybe while having sex with someone else. She had no sexual desire for him. Her motives were pure, and being caught up in that thespian spell she lowered her voice, but not so low that he couldn't hear, said, "I love how the three of us can love each other so much," and just for a second made eye contact with the boy. Then she thought, "I told Ian that I love him, but I didn't really," and even though she was sure that neither Ian or Ann hadn't given the boy a second thought, she didn't feel like she was deceiving them because could tell them what she'd done after either they or the boy had gotten off the train.

Their stop was next, and Winter announced it. When they got up, Winter gently touched both of their backs, guiding them toward the door at the front of the car, and looked at the boy with her lips conveying the tiniest kiss, and he smiled at her with pure tenderness.

She'd be his Lily. She knew that, but also thought, "This guy is going to be fine. He'll remember the blessing I gave him. I feel like a goddess, but queen will do. Goddess might hurt Ann, and I don't hurt."

They transferred to the Yellow line, and when they sat, Winter remarked, "I've never been on the yellow train." Winter told them about the boy, and Ann giggled.

Ian resisted any outward display of amusement, "And you call me a dirty old man. You are a very naughty girl. You ought to be spanked."

"So, you want to spank me?"

"No, of course not. I was just trying to be funny. I've never spanked anyone, not even my son, and of all the things I'd like to do with your bottom...and they are legion, spanking is not on the list."

Winter started laughing uncontrollably, and though there was no one sitting close, she pulled them all together, "I bet you have more words for them than Eskimos do for snow."

Ian laughed so hard that he teared, "I'd have to create a whole new language."

When they got off the train, Ian called the car rental. The driver was there inside of ten minutes, not long after the girls walked out of the ladies room. They drove back to the rental office and all got out. After the polite rental guy told them they didn't need to go in, and left, Winter pointed to the little pink Chevy and said, "I'm driving."

"No, you're not. I'm the only registered driver, and they don't allow anyone under 25. I'm big on youth rights, you know that, but that's their rules, and these folks give a lot of money to the symphony, so I always give them my business."

Winter acted irritated, "You asked for a little pink car, didn't you? and when Ian neither confirmed nor denied, "You did, didn't you?" Ian admitted that he'd scoped out the cars in Chicago, and had arranged--at extra cost--to have them relocate their girliest car for his use. Winter was impressed, "Touché'."

After they'd been on the roa some time, Ann sasked, "Ian, would you mind stopping somewhere before the hotel? It's only a few blocks."

"Of course not, where?"

"My old church, and school. There might be other places. I don't know. Places I have to put behind me. I'd like to go in and see the sanctuary one last time, but I know they'd recognize me, and the pastor would show up. I don't owe him shit."

The drive was short, and Ann asked to be left alone. Winter and Ian stayed in the car. Ann got out and walked across the street. She knelt on the grass and prayed.

Winter had never seen Ann pray in public, and Ian had never seen her pray at all. Winter leaned over from the passenger seat and rested her head on Ian's shoulder. She was coming to him seeking comfort for her emotions, not stiffness in her back or shoulders, nor a Charley horse in the leg. All the sex, the humor, everything, was dwarfed by the one thing they shared with no reservation, their love for Ann. Ian stroked Winter's hair and put one long, soft kiss on her forehead. He knew the way she was sitting couldn't be comfortable for her, and leaned toward her to share a bit of that, and he hoped, prolong the intimacy. This was one thing thatWinter didn't share with him, and every second was blissful. When Winter sat back up, Ian took charge, both helping her up, and restraining her, such that the whole process was gradual, and maximized the tenderness. Winter looked at him in a way that didn't speak, "I love you," but instead just, "I'm at ease with you," and that was more than a baby step.

Soon after, Ann stood and made her way back to the car. She didn't look distressed, just tired. When she got into the back seat she seemed to be gazing into a distance while she spoke to the two in front, "We can go now. We can go to the hotel."

The only words spoken on the drive were between Ian and Winter, and involved navigation. When they arrived, Ian popped out and hurried inside. After a short silence, Winter turned around and said, "Ann." It was almost a question, except it was followed by, "I love you."

Ann shook her head before she replied, "I hope you can still love me tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that. You might be all I have left."

"I love you forever, Ann."

Ann exhaled audibly through her nose, and with a sorrowful look said, "Winter, you don't even believe in forever."

Winter was speechless in every sense of the word, and was glad when Ian returned with the keys. They parked, and Ann seemed almost back to normal, just a bit dulled.

The room had two double beds. Ian had assumed that he'd be sleeping by himself, but Ann said that she needed to be alone, "Not completely alone. I love knowing that you're in the room, and please, go ahead and play," all the while thinking about how it was Thursday, and she was running out on Jesus, and tomorrow she'd be denying him as she knew she'd have to. The lovers in the other bed, she knew, were saved by grace. "They have the light inside them, and tonight all I have is dark."

There was no play that night. When Winter heard Ann's snoring, she cuddled up to Ian, resting her head on his shoulder as she had hours before and whispered, "Do you think she's OK?" Ian felt Winter's pain, "She's sleeping." Winter looked up, "She said we should play."

"No. She actually wants this. She wants you to lie on my shoulder. She gave us permission to play, but just like that night in the woods, what she really needs is to be loved, and held, just at a distance."

"So you're turning down your nite-nite?"

"I'd rather kiss."

"Ian, you know that kissing when we're not having sex, I know it sounds weird, but that feels like cheating on Ann."

"You can't blame me for trying."

"Yes, Ian, I kind of can. You know I feel that way, and I know you pay me a lot of money. You're good to me in so many other ways, and I take my responsibilities seriously. If you wanted five blowjobs a day instead of one or two, I'd dutifully comply. If you wanted to fuck me in the butt, I'd probably even, yeah I'd even do that. I wouldn't like it, but I'd deal with it. When we're fucking, and sometimes you go for my mouth like you do, hungry, exploring every part of my mouth with your tongue, and sucking as much saliva out of me as you can get, that's OK. That's lust, and I like it. I like you, Ian."

"So you're trying to turn me on, so you can get me to focus on something else. It's working."

Winter felt him, and he was rock solid. "Everything I said is true, and Ian, you're my friend, and I do care about you, but you have to understand that I'm in love for the first time in my life, and it's not you. I'm not your girlfriend. I pretended to be girlfriend, but now I belong to someone else, and I want to be hers for the rest of my life. You're my friend, friend with benefits, but not my boyfriend."

"I do understand, and if I ever cross that line again..."

"You won't, and you won't for the best of reasons. You're a gentleman in every sense of the word."

Art

____________

Ann was preparing for what she expected would be one of the worst experiences of her life. She was breathing deeply, but she wasn't asleep, and had heard every word. After today, in all likelihood, she'd be an orphan. She at least hoped they could part civilly. She'd give them one last chance to suffer her as she is, or at least to accept that she'd found love, then it would be over.

When they neared the park, Ann split away from Winter and Ian, who tarried for a few minutes while she found a bench. The meeting wasn't to take place for half an hour, but she wanted to give the impression that she was alone. Ian and Ann ended up occupying the next bench, which was perhaps thirty-five, forty feet away.

When her parents finally arrived, Ann stood and said, "Hi." The fact that her father merely nodded didn't bode well. There were to be no pretenses, and time didn't appear to have softened his heart, so she began her exercise in futility, "Mom, Dad, I know you're not happy with some of the directions I've taken in my life, and I don't expect you to agree with me, but just to accept me."

Her father spoke, "So you want to come back?"

"No," said Ann, "I just want it to be OK with us. I don't expect to be close, just not hostile."

"Considering that you've done nothing but rebel against me for the past three years, I think I have the right to be upset with you."

"Dad, I wasn't rebelling against you. I'm finding my own path, finding out who I am. My relationship with Jesus is still there. I don't even expect you to like me Dad, or approve of my choices, and I didn't accept my scholarship to hurt you. I'm just different."

Even from a distance, Ian could see the contempt in the man's demeanor. It was clear that Ann had been correct. This wasn't going well.

"I'm queer, alright?" As she spoke those words, she felt false, because she knew that it was the wrong word, intended to deceive, to make the argument that she'd had no choice, the appeal that had won the day with the more fair-minded majority. "I'm in love and it's with another woman, and I know you think that's sinful, but I'm just asking. I mean, nobody's perfect."

"Perfect? I think you've done a perfect job. You've dishonored us, rejected everything holy, and turned your back on God, and you expect me to accept you?”

“Yes, and no. I don't expect you to think what I'm doing is right.”

“It's not right, Ann, and you're not right.”

“Right? Ann blurted. “You damned well bet I'm not right, and it's because of you.”

“How dare you speak to me that way you Sodomite bitch. You live your life however you choose. You can go to Hell, and I regret the day you were born."

Ann burst into tears. He'd told her that she was a mistake, or even worse, that God had predestined her for Hell. Her plea was almost audible across the distance between her past and her future, "Mom?" Ann's entire body was shaking, and Ian, while he couldn't see her face, was horrified. He wanted to intervene, and Winter sensed that.

She shook her head slightly and put her arm in front of him, in a gesture that said, "This isn't our fight."

Ann's mother just looked away, and the hurt became anger. Her mother's complicity was verified, and Ann snapped. Now louder, more insistent, she barked out, "Mom, you know. I know you do." Through clenched teeth, she poured out her wrath. "You knew. Those walks he'd go on in the middle of the night. Yeah, he'd close the front door, nice and loud, but you heard that he hadn't left. He came to my room. You want to know why I can't let a man touch me?"

Ann's father yelled, "You liar, you godless liar!"

"Don't bother," Ann shrugged. "She knew," she practically spat the words over her father's ranting, "You knew, Mom, and you could have protected..." Ann's words were drowned out by her father's words.

"Fucking liar."

Ann glanced back, and Winter released Ian, who strode toward toward them hastily, with clenched fists, his eyes locked with Ann's father's. Ann faced her mother, "Fuck you, Mom! Fuck you like he fucked me," and she turned and walked straight toward Winter, passing by Ian, who glared at her father, daring him to make one move toward Ann. Ian wasn't a large man, but Ann's father sensed the threat of violence, and felt the urge to flee, instinctually grabbing his wife's upper arm. Ian stopped when he sensed that Ann has passed out of danger. When Ann and Winter had gone some distance, he followed.

Ann walked, but she didn't speak until they got to the station. "We're going to the art museum." Ian called the car rental, and arranged to have them pick up the car at the station, and when they got on the El, they found a spot where they could talk privately, at least far enough from the other passengers that no one would hear anything but snippets.

Winter asked her, "What happened back there?"

Ann said, "I told my mother that my father molested me."

Winter looked anguished, and said, "I'm so sorry. You never told me. Baby?"

"I'm not a baby, Winter, and I'll never be innocent again. See, it wasn't true." She gritted her teeth, and her face contorted into something bordering on ugly. "He never touched me. He never touched me at all. He never touched me in all the ways that a father should have touched his daughter. He never told me that I was his beautiful little girl, and he didn't have any dreams for me beyond handing me off to another man, and that was to glorify himself. You can't know how it felt to be me, because you were loved. I'd planned it, but I'd hoped that I could just walk away, and then, then he told me that he wished I'd never been born, and my mother turned away like she agreed. I cut loose."

"But Ann," said Winter, "Nobody lies about that."

"I know, and I was never a lying child. That was the plan. Ian, you heard what she said to him. Well, my hearing is pretty good and I heard it too. It was, 'Don't touch me'. There's justice there."

They changed trains without conversation, but once they were seated, Ann opened up. "I'm sorry you two had to be part of that, but it was just like Winter told those Texas people. I told my parents to fuck off, and now we're going to the Art Institute, and I'm excited. You know why?" Not getting an answer, she said, "Because I've never been there--one more thing that was forbidden." She turned her face to the window, wordlessly asking for more of the space she'd been given.

Winter and Ian made small talk, much of it centering on Ian's phobias, and his transcendences, both keeping in mind that Ann, while not engaging, might be listening. Once they were at street level, on the sidewalk, Ann insisted on holding hands, with her in the middle. They snaked through a Chicago Friday afternoon with Winter in the lead. Winter smiled at folks headed in the opposite direction, and in many places she'd have felt defiant, announcing her freedom, but here, in the Loop, no one looked at their little triad with disdain, and Winter always elicited warmth.

When they had to stop at a crosswalk, Winter, in her best Dorothy, said, "Ian, I have a feeling we're not in Skokie anymore."

Ann got the reference, but Downtown Chicago was gray, and her mood subtracted what little color the streets offered, like a fish swimming past the lures of gaudy commerce. When they crossed Michigan Avenue, Ann felt the sun, and knowing that she was about to enter a forbidden sanctuary, tightened her grip on her companions. Her old world was gone. As they paused at the bottom of the steps, Ann spoke. "I know it was ugly, what I did, and I hate that you two had to see it, because you're all I have left."

Winter looked at Ann as lovingly as ever, and embraced her, and Ian was there too, on her other side. As his cheek slid past hers she sensed his maleness in the scratch of whiskers, and he said exactly what her father should have said. It was soft, intended for her ear only, and quite inaudible to Winter over the hubbub of the people and the traffic, "No matter what, I'll always love you."

As her two lovers fell away from her, Ann thought of the word, "lovers." It was a good word. Winter never used it but she should. That's what they were to her. They loved her. Only an hour after seeing her at her most unlovable, there they were, loving her. "So, let's get in there. I want to see all of the wicked things this great Gomorrah has to offer."

Winter had another interest. "What I want to see is a restaurant, or snack bar, anything. I'm sure Ian must be famished."

As they laughed together, Ann dared to think, "This might be OK."

Rejoining hands after crossing Michigan Avenue, they processed up the stairs, and then casually disengaged to enter through the glass doors. Once inside, the tension faded. Instead of merely buying tickets, Ian bought Winter and himself a membership, then insisted on buying Ann her own as well. He knew it was impractical, and before the money he'd never have done such a thing, but it was symbolic. Now Ann was free to walk through those doors at will.

Winter had spoken the truth when she'd said he was hungry. "Since I'm famished, I get to choose." Ian knew exactly where he was going, and it was to hamburgers. No frou-frou decorated plates, but substantial food.

Ian ordered a double burger. He'd considered getting two of them, but then thought about the evening, and the possibilities in the burrito department. Winter thought that sounded perfect too. Ann asked Ian if she could just share his fries, and he said, "Sure."

Ann was subdued, but didn't seem upset. She only ate a few French fries. Ian realized that it was late, and they didn't have much more than an hour until closing. He thought he'd first take Ann to see American Gothic. That would make anyone smile, partly because it was familiar. When they approached the painting Ann asked, "Is that the original?" Ian explained that there were no copies in the museum; everything on the walls was the original. Winter got he and Ann to pose in the positions of the characters in the painting. She insisted that Ann looked more like the woman than she herself did, to which Ann responded, "Thanks a lot." They walked slowly, stopping to look at anything that interested one of them, but Ian was headed for Lauren's favorite painting, Nighthawks. Winter recognized it right away, and was quite taken with it, but it was new to Ann. She smiled and said, "It's so, like it's another world, another time. It reminds me of Superman. That's Clark Kent, and next to him is Lois Lane."

Ian was looking forward to showing them his favorite paintings, a Bouguereau and a Lefebvre. The two paintings were both nudes, and they were displayed side by side. They were stunning placed together that way. When they walked into the room, those two works stood out, and Winter said, "Wow." It was all she said.

Ann approached the large paintings, first the Bouguereau, where she lingered for several minutes, then the Lefebvre, and she started to shake. Luckily, there was an open bench, and she sat, almost falling back, still trembling, her face contorting. Tears streamed down her face, but she wasn't crying. When she finally spoke it was in a growl of rage, "You see what they stole from me? They took that!" The word, "that," transcended rage. It sounded like pure hate, as she pointed, her hand shaking almost violently.

She slowly began to relax, and her tremors subsided, replaced by long, slow breaths. After several more minutes, she inhaled noisily through her nose, exhaled through her mouth, then said with resignation, shrugging, "It's over."

Winter was relieved, and scooted close, putting her arms around Ann, and said softly, "Sweetheart." Ann didn't reply, but gently rested her head on Winter's shoulder.

Ian, on the other hand, was disturbed, and resolved to not let her out of his watch, as he thought, "Now I'm the catcher." He hailed a cab, and after tossing his heavy backpack that was the only luggage they had into the front seat, he slid in next to Ann. When they were safely inside, he said, "The Palomar please." He regretted not having gone there with Lauren. She'd agreed they couldn't afford it, but had waxed about the "spa lady" amenities, and he thought, "We really should have gone." But then his mind flew to the butterflies. One flap of a wing, and this future might never have happened.

Ann again rested her head on Winter's shoulder, eyes closed. When they got to the hotel, Ian tipped the cabbie well. The driver had refrained from conversation. Maybe that was his style, but more likely, Ian thought, he'd sensed their desire to be left to themselves.

Under other circumstances, Winter would have had much to say, but Ann was exhausted, and no wonder. The check in went quickly, and when they entered the room, Winter thought, "I'm going to like being wealthy."

When Ian closed the door, Ann spoke, "I'm glad we waited. My first time, I don't want it to be just with Ian, I want it to be you too, Winter. I not only want you there, I want you completely involved, just as much as any of us. Earlier today, my old life ended. Now, I wait, and tomorrow we consummate. Think about it, Winter. If anyone can pull this off, it's the Queen of Love."

Winter knew the Queen of Love thing was farcical, and of course Ann did as well, but Winter was good at sex; she was skilled in the mechanics of it, and never felt like she was out of control, always conscious of every little detail of what was happening physically. That's one reason why it worked so well with Ian. He was like that too, always conscious of what his body was doing and feeling. They felt what was happening to each others' bodies too. Sexually, he was a kindred spirit, and though her experience with males was limited, she instinctively knew that few men were like that. She'd even tested him with her shame words rant. It wasn't dishonest, but she'd laid it on thickly. She'd wanted to hear him say the word, "vulva," and hear exactly how he said it, whether there was any embarrassment. He'd passed the test and then some. She'd almost laughed at how he waxed about every tiny detail. He'd called her on the test, describing in detail everything he was doing to her, and using only scientific words.

The night they'd met, in such an artificial setting, he'd admired every aspect of her face, and she was the one who'd felt shy. Maybe this is payback? But he was just doing what she'd requested. He'd even put on his reading glasses. Holding her legs apart, he described her anatomy, told her everything he loved about her genitalia, and it was everything. When he raised his head and said, "Your vulva is beautiful, delicious, and fragrant beyond belief, indeed the center of my universe,"

Winter hugged his head with her legs, "I feel like Lady Chatterley."

"Ann, like Chloe, has chosen well."

Ann had indicated that she again wanted her own bed, and in what seemed to be less than a minute, produced soft snores.

Winter cuddled with Ian in a way that she hadn't since Ann had come into her life physically. Ian accepted that, and now they talked about it in whispers. "You love her, Ian."

"Of course I do."

"We need to make this perfect."

"I'll do anything, Winter. You know that. I've turned down every opportunity. The last time was accidental, but it was less about you than her." Ian waited for Winter's words, but finally said, "I love her too. Love, Winter. Ann seemed fragile. Maybe I'm just comparing her to you, but after what she said, I think I got it right."

"I think you did too." She kissed him gently on the lips. "I think I can spot it in men, the ones who love women. My dad, Eric, you, and that guy on the train. I don't even remember his name,” but then thought for a moment, oh, Daniel. Ian, your little harem fantasy, you'd have ended up unfulfilled. You know that, right?"

Winter had gotten inside him, his conflicts, his desires for female flesh, and his aversion to taking, and it astounded him that Winter was whispering this to him with Ann in the other bed, absorbed in her dreams.

"Ann's not a virgin, Ian. You won't hurt her, and I'm not just talking about the rape, but she's had women's fingers inside her, and not only loving ones. It's got symbolic meaning to her. She needs to feel loved by a man's body, and Ian?"

"Yes."

"She told you that she feels that you are the only man who's ever loved her. This isn't some stupid hymen thing. It has to be love."

"I understand that."

"I know you do. I haven't quite figured out the mechanics. Come to the bathroom with me."

Ann had fallen asleep. Winter peed and asked Ian if he wanted sex, but he answered, "Right now I want you thinking about Ann."

"I'm not surprised, Ian. We both know we could have really hot sex right now, and she's dead to the world."

"I want to give you room to strategize."

"I already have. Let's go to bed. Let's cuddle. You can be my Ann, and I can be your Ann. That whole pretend thing of yours, it's not so pretend." Winter and Ian both removed their shoes and lay on the bed without pulling back the comforter, and she said, "What I mean is, I was wrong last night. There's nothing wrong with us being affectionate."

Ian kissed her cheek as he stroked her hair, then lightly massaged her neck and shoulders.

Pillow Talk

Ann didn't nap long, and after stretching and yawning, she took off her clothes. Since the camping trip she'd been completely comfortable with communal nudity around Ian, and it was suggestive of nothing in particular. Winter and Ian milled around the room, and Ann could sense the anxiety, "Ian, I get it. I'm on suicide watch." She waited for confirmation, and the silence was all she needed. "Don't worry. I'm just in mourning. I have more to live for now than ever, but if you want to shadow me until you're convinced, that's fine." Ann smiled slightly, "Ian, I'm free. A year ago, I was afraid and unloved. Now I'm free."

"Well, free makes me think of money," said Winter, "which we have plenty of, so where's the room service menu? I'm not so hungry I could eat a horse, but maybe a pony, or a miniature horse. You know Ann, they're not the same thing. You knew that, right, Ian?"

"Yes, I did."

"Girls," explained Winter, "are supposed to want ponies. I wasn't the kind of little girl who would have thought to ask for a pony, or think about even wanting one, but if I was, and I'd had, I'd have wanted a miniature horse instead, because they're a miniature version of something bigger, and that's always cute." Ann was smiling now, and Winter bunny-nosed her, "And then there are unicorns. How trite is that?"

Ann laughed, "Are there girl unicorns?"

"Obviously, there must be, otherwise where would the little unicorns come from?"

Ann thought for a moment, then said, "I've never seen a baby unicorn."

"Of course not. They're not born with the horn. I mean, they couldn't be, right? It's like, childbirth is bad enough without a pokey thing on the baby's head." They all laughed, but Winter seemed to find her own joke especially funny, because she had more. "I bet that even Ian wasn't born horny."

"I beg your pardon," said Ian, but he said it with a smile.

"Don't beg, Ian," replied Winter. "A simple request will suffice."

"Ian," asked Ann, "Do you think they have humor in Heaven?"

"Well," and Ian paused for a long while, "I've spent little time speculating on the afterlife, but there is a well-known polka that suggests there isn't any beer, so perhaps not."

"Then I guess I'm going to stick around."

"For the beer?" asked Winter.

"Yuck, no. You two can have the beer. It's the delicious irony."

"Delicious," said Winter. "That's the magic word. Where's the room service menu?" She called the number for the kitchen and ordered a round of salmon, and requested four halved lemons. "If there's an extra charge, that's OK, but fish just isn't very fun when you're worrying that the lemons will run out."

The woman on the other end of the line was charmed by the lack of a certain obnoxious quality that often accompanied unusual requests. There had been a jumpiness, not sing-song, but playful, in the way that Winter had spoken the words, "just isn't very fun," and she was clearly breaking protocol when she called Winter, "Sweetie," followed by assurances that there would be enough lemons.

Suddenly, Ian felt a wash-over of pain and absurdity, foreboding and assumption, temporal realities. By her very spectacularness, Winter was Reelin' in more than seafood. He'd fallen off the trawler, or was it a tiny fishing boat, but in any case, he was in the water, buoyed by the strength of his resolve, but wondering whether keeping his cool had immunized him against the shock, or left him with too few reserves to last long enough in the frigid waters for a rescue that was anyways uncertain.

When the knock came, Winter, made circular hand motions toward Ann, a swirl, then a motion toward the bed, and Ann slipped in and covered herself.

Winter motioned him in, and after he'd set the aluminum covered entrees on the unfolded tray, Winter proffered a generous tip that elicited a, “Thank you, Miss. Winter noticed a slight hesitation between the "thank you," and the "miss."

“You got it right. It is, miss, but my name is Winter," as she extended her hand and said, "and please just call me Winter."

"Charles, and the pleasure is all mine."

Ian and Ann were trying not to laugh as the man shook her hand, looking puzzled that a guest had treated him with such familiarity. "You have a great night, Charles," Winter said, as she handed him a fifty dollar bill.

"Thank you," and there was again that pause before he nodded, "Winter."

After he left the room, Winter explained, "That money might make a difference in that guy's life, and I didn't want him to think that I was thinking that I was better than him." Then, focusing fully on Ann, Winter said, "I want to put fish in your mouth."

Ann asked, "What?"

Winter clarified, "I want to feed you that salmon with my fingers. I want to feel your tongue taking it from me. You're not a baby, but you can be my baby, right?" Ann didn't answer, and Winter proceeded to take the fluted paper cover off one of the glasses, into which she squeezed a few lemon halves. Then she poured the juice onto the fish, using her fingers to strain back the seeds, then mashed the fish gently to allow more penetration of the lemon, and to separate the fillet into sections, one of which she placed in the opened mouth. Ann lifted the fish from Winter's hand, and the sides of her tongue, soft and wet, brushed Winter's digits, Winter withdrawing slowly as Ann's lips barely pursed around them.

After a few repetitions, Ann said, "You just like an excuse to put your fingers in my mouth, and I think Ian deserves a turn." As Winter was agreeing, Ian turned, and took the few steps to the bathroom to wash his hands, and when he got back, he fed her some more bites.

Winter laughed, and explained about the anchovy kiss, pleased that Ann had gotten over her moroseness. While Ian attended to Ann, Winter surveyed the room. It looked so clean and welcoming, a place where one could either continue in contentment, or begin anew. It seemed fresh, pristine, un-lived in, though obviously it had been lived in many times. Life had taken place there, but no one seemed to have left any mark; a virgin landscape for each succeeding guest.

By the time that Winter was finished musing on the nature of high end hotel rooms, Ann had wiped her mouth, through, at least this time, with playing baby bird, and she and Ian were cutting up about something. She did insist on sleeping alone, and allowed herself one more impure thought before her life was to change, “I'm probably not the only one sleeping alone tonight.” She didn't share, knowing that Ian would approve, and Winter wouldn't; she so much wanted for them to be in harmony. Ann gave first Winter, then Ian good-night kisses that included large smiles, and went back to her bed, where she fell asleep easily.

Winter turned off all the lights except the bathroom, and the eyes of the wakeful soon adjusted. The first thing that Ian said was, “So, what do you think?”

“I think that we need to give Ann what she asked for, and we need to be impeccable. We need to prepare. I've got the concept, and I'll figure out the mechanics. You can have some input, of course, but the other thing is that you need to be ready physically, and you know what I mean. You can't go into this cold, and by cold I mean, too hot. We don't need a repeat of what happened on the train. Poor planning on my part for that one, though Ann feels that it was perfect, perfect for the time.”

“I'm listening.”

“You're a good listener, Ian, so I'll be blunt. You orgasm easily, and your refractory period is remarkably short for a male, so we're going to have really good sex tonight, and again in the morning.” Winter giggled, “You should have been a porn actor.”

“I'm not suitably endowed for that line of work.”

“Good point, but in this case that's ideal, and I was just kidding you. I like your penis. I like it so much that I'm going to put it inside my girlfriend's vagina. I'd just like it to last more than a few minutes, and I don't want you thinking about baseball. I want you fully there, because that's what Ann wants. I love her, Ian. I want to make her happy, and I want, I mean I want to somehow let her know how much I love her.”

“I won't disappoint, and I'm sure that a quickie in the morning will suffice.”

“This is weird, Ian,”

“I know what you mean, but for the time being, we're going to put my money and your obligations on the back burner. Tomorrow belongs to Ann. I told you that I believe in true love, and if I can facilitate, help, I'd do anything for Ann too. We both know that I'm at a different stage in life. It'd be bordering on delusional for me to think that these relationships will have any permanency. I'm just along for the ride, and it's thrilling, but I will bow out when the time is right.”

“I know you will,” Winter whispered, as she grasped Ian's hand and held it against her face. “Slide all into me, but quietly,” and she turned away, bringing her right knee high. After they finished, Winter said, “You passed the audition.”

“I played for long enough?”

Winter nodded before saying, “Good-night.”

A Pink Line to Burritos

____________

Winter woke to an unusual mix of sounds. Ian was breathing loudly through his nose, and Ann was snoring. She flashed back to a slumber party, Maryl breathing audibly next to her in the bed, while Delia slept on an inflatable bed, dead to the world, next to Brenda, who was like a contra bassoon on steroids. Winter knew that Delia loved Brenda, whatever her flaws, the way that she, herself loved Ann. If Ann snored like that every night, I'm sure that I'd find it endearing.

Slipping out of bed, Winter made for her clothes and hurriedly dressed. The clock read 4:10, and more sleep was likely, but only after she took care of business. She quietly closed the door behind her and took the elevator down to the lobby.

“We're in a room with two queens, and we're extending our stay one more day, but we'd like a king bed if one is available.”

“So you need a suite?”

Winter splayed her hands as she answered, “That'll work.”

“It's in the system. Stop by the desk in the morning, and we'll reprogram your keys.”

“Thank you.” Winter made her way to the elevator, longing for sleep. but glad that she'd had the energy to secure a room with a large substrate. She entered the room quietly, and didn't realize that Ian was awake until she undressed and got into bed beside him.”

He whispered to her, “Where did you go?”

“Down to the front desk. I got us a room with a king bed for tomorrow. I need room to work.”

“You are an artist.”

“We both are, Ian, and I've studied under you, but it's more than that. You've extended my definition of body love, but it's more than that. I understand what you said about desiring flaws, appreciating imperfections, or perceived imperfections that are just differences. Ian, I love Ann without any reservations. I've seen her at her worst.”

“You're so much like Lauren. You don't understand retribution.”

“No, Ian. I do. I get angry, and I lash out, and I get as much satisfaction out of that as the next person, but I don't plan to hurt people. You don't do that, right?”

“I've thought about it, and I've shared those thoughts, mostly with Lauren, and it was the one thing that she didn't like about me. She was pure sugar, with only a dusting of spice. Women learn, or grow to tolerate male aggression, at least when it's not directed at them, and that's all good. The problem is when females give up, and resign themselves to powerlessness. Ann is a person. She doesn't belong to anyone. Not you, way less to me, and not at all to those awful parents.”

“I don't want her to belong to me, Ian. I want her to belong with me.

“Winter, those were sweet words. Love isn't about possession. It's so much more. I've been pretty feminine with both of you, and I haven't had to really try, especially with Ann, but neither of you are purely feminine. You accept my masculine characteristics, but what both of you seem to desire from each other is purity. If I were more selfish, I'd encourage that. It'd make me less dispensable, but I really do believe in true love, and you do have reservations.”

“So now you're the mind reader?”

“I hope I'm wrong.”

“You're incorrect, Ian, but you're not wrong. Nothing you said was wrong, and I feel informed. What we're going to do, it has so much potential for being embarrassing, but it won't be.”

“Not even the kissing part?” asked Ian.

“Ian, I was never embarrassed about kissing you. It just felt wrong after I fell in love with Ann. Not morally wrong, but my affection was for another person. Like I said, I didn't mind lustful kissing, but I'm your courtesan, not your girlfriend, and if we're not fucking at the time, kissing is really personal, especially the way that you do it, and the way that I do it. You notice that I didn't say, 'we,' and that's what I mean. I'm not going to pretend that I'm in love with you. That cheapens love. You're helping Ann through a hard place, and I love you for that, and it's OK that you two kiss, because it's really affectionate. This whole thing has become about Ann feeling that half of humanity isn't against her because she's a girl.”

“You think I'm going to back out?”

“Why would you even say that? Ian, you couldn't do that if you wanted to. You couldn't bring yourself to hurt Ann. Just don't see this as bonding. If you lose perspective, I'll have to end our arrangement sooner than I'd prefer.” Winter tipped her head and exhaled through her nose. “I hate that we have to have these maintenance conversations.”

“Probably, “said Ian, “because you have to articulate the uncomfortable truths, while I mostly agree. I accept that you're running the show, and don't insult my intelligence by denying that. It's O.K. Winter, because I trust you, and everything you said makes me trust you more.”

“You're fishing for kisses.”

“I wasn't, but if you're offering.”

“I'll kiss you, Ian, and you can lick all over inside my mouth, know me carnally, but there were times when we kissed that I could tell that you were having inappropriate feelings. I try like Hell not to hurt people who don't deserve it.”

“Winter, if me being hurt would hurt you, then I won't let you hurt me. What I mean is that you're not doing anything to make our eventual separation more painful. I know what you're worried about, and it's not just me, it's you. You have an unselfish nature, and that's part of your identity. You're a proud person with a kind heart and an aversion to shame, and you only feel shame about the things that people should. As far as me,” Ian asked, “do you really think that there's much chance that I'd be happier, not only now, but long term, if I'd never met you?”

Winter smiled as she said, “We need to brush our teeth.” They quietly slipped out of the bed, and only turned on the bathroom light when the door had been closed. Winter sat to pee while Ian applied the toothpaste to his toothbrush. Winter accepted that they were living for that day, and for the next, and whatever the subsequent days would bring wasn't in need of their attention. Ian loved her mouth, adored it, and this wasn't cheating on Ann. Ann didn't impose that rule. And if Ann is happy. After they both brushed, they returned to the bed

“Kiss me like you'd like to kiss Ann.”

“What?”

“We're both outside our comfort zones, and we need to not be. Just this one time, we have to be unified. I know what I'm asking. You'll be taking an emotional risk in return for something you've always wanted.”

“Sex with two women?”

“Sex with two women who are both emotionally present. No amount of money could buy that.”

“So we pretend?”

“We immerse ourselves in our roles, give Ann what she needs. I'm taking on risk too.”

“You're not assuming any risk, Winter. That's the bullshit that I had to deal with when my son was twelve years old. I'll do whatever you want, and if getting to kiss you is part of that, I couldn't be happier”

“I'm sorry.”

“Please don't exploit my weakness, Winter. I understood why you took that away from me, and I accepted it.”

“I meant it, Ian. I'm sorry. I got this idea in my head that kissing was, like once you were in love, but that's, like it doesn't make sense, but kissing, the way you do it is so personal, and it was distracting.”

That's a relief,” said Ian. “I was afraid I'd developed some sort of halitosis.”

Winter cupped her hands over her mouth to muffle her laughter as her body convulsed. She didn't want to waken Ann. When her hands fell away she said, “Kiss me, you fool.”

What followed was neither lustful, hungry kissing, nor the thing Winter was still uneasy with, but playful kissing, with licks and nibbles and giggling, a back and forth physical banter, like an unorganized game of tag where neither was ever sure who was it. She'd never done that with anyone other than Maryl, and while she'd made the first parry, and first lunge, Ian was right there with her. He was being every bit as silly, kissing the tip of her nose every chance that he caught her off guard enough, while she played that her nose was ticklish, which it wasn't. For a time, moments that couldn't be measured in minutes, her past was put out of mind, and even her future barely intruded upon her present.

After they wound down, Winter asked, “You know how I was concerned with distraction?”

“I'm listening.”

“That was diversion, pure fun. You see the difference?”

“I do,” said Ian, and he stole another kiss on her nose.

“Ian, I'm going to try to stop worrying. I worry about you, I worry about Ann, and sometimes I even worry about me. That's not who I am.”

“Alfred E. Neuman?”

“I was thinking more D. H. Lawrence.”

“Constance?”

“Too obvious, Ian, try again.”

“A woman in love?”

“One more guess.”

“Friends and Lovers?”

“That might be right, Ian, but again, not correct. “Fun. 'Jolly escaped asses.' Tomorrow shouldn't be perfunctory; it needs to be a romp. I don't understand what Ann did, but I have to accept it, and I'm glad that you're here. You almost had to be. I guess that I'm glad that everything went down the way that it did.” Those were Winter's last words before she fell asleep.

It had been a long exhausting day, and Ian was glad that Winter had woken with a sense of purpose, explained that her inhibitions about kissing were emotional, and when that was behind them, she'd sparkled so playfully.

Ann's hand on his shoulder was enough to bring Ian out of his almost awake state. She led him to her bed, leaving Winter to snooze. It was cold in the room, and Ian had guessed that Winter had woken up in the night and turned down the A/C. They got under the blankets in Ann's bed, and Ann said, “We're both naked.”

Ian replied, “No we're not. We've got covers on.”

“And we're both under them, together, and when Winter wakes up, she will be too. This is morning, Ian, and after today, sex will never be wrong, love will never be wrong, and I won't be wrong for feeling this way. I know what's wrong,” Ann shook her head and smiled, “and it isn't me. I want you to do the things that you do with Winter, and it's more than a do-over. What happened to me happened, but it didn't count. It was like being punched in the face, but less personal, and probably less painful. I need to see if it feels good with a man who wants it to feel good.”

“And I'm safe.”

“You are Ian, and I'm not asking you to do this if it'll cause you distress. Would you still love me if it only happened once?”

“Ann, I'd love you if we were at the opposite ends of the universe, and my love isn't about getting to enjoy your body in any one way or another, or even at all. If I had to choose between a sexual relationship, and just holding each other and crying in each others arms over the joys and tragedies of being human, you know, Ann.”

“Let's wake up Winter.”

“With kisses?” asked Ian.

Through a muffled laugh, Ann answered, “Of course with kisses. See how she's sleeping? You could kiss the back of her head, and I'll kiss her face.” Ann's brows were twitching in the way that accentuated her wide smile.

“So, you get the good side?”

“All of her sides are good, but I get the best side because I'm her girlfriend.”

“I guess you are the birthday girl.” As they approached the bed, Winter opened her eyes and said, “You two.”

“How long have you been awake?” asked Ann.

“Maybe a minute; it's hard to tell. I just heard you talking about kissing me awake, and I was already awake, but I'd be happy to play possum.”

“Ew,” said Ann, making a face, “possums are gross.”

Winter started laughing, and she couldn't stop. When Ann laughed, Winter looked at her intensely, and transformed her hands into claws, twisting her face into her best approximation of an opossum before falling to the bed, limp and motionless, and sticking her tongue out the side of her mouth. She maintained the face as Ann dived at her, and bit her tongue, mostly with her lips.

Ann said, “I'd love you even if you were a possum. Wait, no I wouldn't. How 'bout I love you anyway, even though you sometimes make funny animal faces?”

“You don't like my bunny face?”

“Everyone likes bunnies, Winter, but nobody likes possums. I mean, nobody would want to kiss one.”

Winter replied through a particularly pitying pout, “How sad for possums.”

Ian rejoined, “I'm very glad that I'm not a possum.”

Ann grinned at Ian, then at Winter, and said, “I'm ready.”

“Good,” said Winter, “because I got us a new room, one with a king-sized bed. You two get all our stuff together and give me your room keys, or the other way around.”

Ian motioned, “Our keys are on the table.”

Ann waited to ask until Winter had left, “A new room?”

“She got us a room with a large bed in the middle of the night, while you were sleeping.”

“Ian, this is really not about that virgin stuff. I mean, like I said, it's not a do over. I thought it was, but really it's about me needing to have something that I never got to have. I've got catching up to do, and I don't mean to Winter, but to where I might have been if I'd had a life more like hers. I'm not jealous anymore.”

Ian answered her, “Adoration isn't jealousy when there's love, and Ann, something I thought about recently might help you. Think about it this way. If anything about your life had been different, in all likelihood you wouldn't even know that Winter existed.”

“If I thought about that, I'd cry, and this morning isn't about me crying.” Ann hugged Ian, and kissed his cheek. Then they hurried to gather their possessions for the move, and Ann was just shoving the toiletries into her purse, and Ian leaving the tip for housekeeping, when Winter's knock came. They were out the door and soon opening another. When that one shut, Ann immediately began undressing.

“Go ahead, Ann, make yourself at home,” said Winter.

“I told you I was ready,” said Ann, as she balled up her panties and threw them at Ian, before heading for the bedroom, where she turned down the blankets, and got into bed. By the time that the others entered the bedroom, Ann was in the middle of the bed, covered only by a sheet.

After disrobing, Winter and Ian climbed in on either side of Ann, and Winter went into creative mode, recalling for a second how she'd almost laughed when the desk woman suggested the “Artist Suite.” That had seemed perfect for what she'd had in mind.

“Remember how you two were going to wake me up? That's how we'll start. Ann, you'll be me, OK?” Ann merely smiled. “And Ian, you follow my lead. Let me guide every movement.” Winter turned Ann to face her, and Ian put his face into Ann's long, blonde hair, knowing that within however many moments, he'd be inside her.

Winter kissed Ann softly, and with both hands, touched her face. She waited until Ann's breathing slowed to let her right hand slip down to the neck, then shoulders. Winter alternated touching with hands, and with her wrists and forearms; the yang of her hands, exploring taking in the mysteries of another's body shared times with the yin of her soft, hairless inner arm. She grasped Ann's breast firmly, then let her fingertips slide across Ann's side, and off her body, while her arm's softness followed. Her hand found the top of Ian's shoulder, where she applied downward pressure. He got the idea instantly, and his kisses slowly moved toward Ann's neck. Winter's kisses moved south in unison. They could have almost been kissing each other through Ann's body. When Ian reached the small of the back, Winter indicated that this was where he stopped, while she continued down, lifting Ann's left leg, and putting the knee over her shoulder. Winter's hand traversed the thigh, again followed by her arm, and when her fingers slipped off, the hand went to Ian's chest. Her hand ran down his body while she shared the wetness of her mouth with Ann's.

They were ready. Winter grasped Ian's penis close to his body and pulled him to Ann in a way that demanded compliance. Ian repositioned himself, and as Winters lips left Ann's she was wriggling him inside the slipperiness, and when she was sure that he was far enough in not to chance sliding out, her hand moved to his hip, and she began to move her two lovers' bodies together. Once she had established the rhythm, Ian continued, as she planted soft kisses on Ann's tummy while stealing glimpses of her facial expressions, which became almost blissful.

Now, it was time. Winter got her tongue involved, trying her best to exactly double Ian's tempo. When she felt Ann start to come, she used her arm to bear hug Ian's buttocks, pushing him in as far as she could, and that was it for him as well.

When they'd all caught their breaths, Winter looked up at Ann and smiled. Ann returned the smile, but she was also shaking her head, almost in disbelief. Winter kissed her way back to Ann's face, where she found another questioning expression. She answered Ann with a hint of coyness. “You get this side because you're my girlfriend.” Ian didn't pause to object.

By the time they'd finished and showered, it was nearly eleven o'clock, and Ian had announced that he was finally going to get his burrito. They checked out, and slowly ambled to the El station. When Winter heard that they were taking the Pink train, she said, “Of course.”

“What?” asked Ian. “It's the one that goes there.”

“It would be. You know, I managed to get us a room for the way home.”

“Right now, I'm thinking about burritos.”

Winter gave his arm a slight shove, “You know what, Ian? I actually believe you.”

Making Love

____________

Winter was looking forward to spending alone time with her mother, even though it meant digging holes. They shared a love for plants, but also for soil. She planned on waiting until they were in the midst of planting before mentioning that she was considering proposing marriage to Ann, because she thought that would be really funny.

She gave Ann a quick kiss, and headed for the front door, but when she turned to say goodbye, Ian gave her a "where's my kiss?” look, and she returned, and gave him a longer kiss, closed mouth, but she raised her left foot, bending her leg at the knee and thought about the Andrews Sisters. "I feel like I've just kissed a basset hound." She smiled but held her laughter until she was out the front door. The other two delayed their laughs as well. It was a game.

After Winter was gone, Ann stared at Ian in a way that prompted him to say, "What?"

"I want you to fuck me." In the few days since they'd returned from Chicago, there hadn't been anything sexual between them. It was almost as though the virginity thing had been just a necessary thing, a stage in Ann's own liberation; it had bonded them in trust, but, Ian thought, it hadn't changed the sexual dynamics. This proposal did. He fumbled in his head for a reply, and Ann repeated, "I said I want you to fuck me."

The terry cloth robe wasn't doing much to hide his interest, and Ann made clear that she noticed. All Ian could think to say was, "What about Winter?"

Ann pinched her chin, and slightly shrugged her left shoulder, "Winter's not here, and besides she'll be happy."

"You seem confident of that."

"Yeah, I am. Winter loves me, and she loves you too. How could she not want us to make love?"

"Winter doesn't love me. We're just comfortable with what we have."

Ann shook her head in a diagonal, "Of course she loves you, Ian. She's not in love with you, like she is with me, but she loves you. She loves you like she loves her brother, and her father, and maybe even her mother. You don't understand her capacity to love because you two have this thing where you can't say it, and both of you are so formal about it. You've got your arrangement. You agreed not to fall in love, and she's kept the bargain. I know that you've fallen for her as much as I have.” She waited for him to recover enough from his obvious embarrassment that he could connect as she finished her thought, “You played too close to the event horizon. You know what that is?"

"I do."

"And anyway, Ian, Winter's not in charge."

"She...she"

"No, Ian, she's not. Sure she makes most of the suggestions, and we go along with them because she's good at planning, and thinking ahead, and she has good ideas, but Winter is good. She's good. She didn't call herself Queen of Sex," Ann snickered, "though she could have. Put it together. She called herself the Queen of Love, and remember her words tirade? Remember?"

Ian had composed himself, "Her vulva thing?"

Ann laughed, "Yes, her vulva thing. Ian, she thinks sex is beautiful, and is just one way to make love. She thinks that it can bring love into existence. She'll be making love today, planting flowers with her mother. They'll dig holes, put in roses, make things prettier. That's how Winter thinks of making love. She's so unselfish, and you are too. Don't think I've forgotten that night where I asked you to love me, and you gave me exactly what you thought I needed."

"I love you."

"I love you too, Ian, and Winter loves you. She just won't say the words because you agreed you wouldn't, but she does. She didn't know how sweet you are, but she said no love talk because she didn't want to hurt you." A tear finally fell from Ian's eye, and Ann said, "See? You love her too, just like me."

Ann waited for his response, and all she got was, "I can't say that."

"I know you can't, but that pact was with her, not me, and you should both put it in the past. And you two have said the word. You were just careful about the context. Like I said, it was about not hurting, and before she even knew you, how nice you are, she had you promise not to fall in love because she doesn't hurt people. I can tell you this though, there isn't going to be any more hurting. You're our friend, Ian."

Ian finally gave up, and started to sob. He was recalling Ann's tricycle. She was wrong, he thought. There would be hurting. And now twice the hurt because I'm in love with both of them. If it was a tricycle, it was one of those strange ones, with the two larger wheels in front, and a larger one in back. He was that back wheel, the third wheel. Besides, the time of tricycles was what? A few years? Then they'd be riding big girl bikes, finally pedaling away on a bicycle built for two. It's...no, it will be like losing Lauren all over again.

"Cry with me, Ian. Just let go, then make love with me. Love me, and this time in every way, all the things you want, and don't worry about hurting me. I want all of the things that the words, 'Love me,' mean. Think of all the meanings at the same time." She sniffed and wiped her eyes, "If you think it's too soon, just love me any way you can."

Ian suddenly remembered an incident from the past, that American Beauty movie. He'd been sitting next to Lauren, and when the guy had second thoughts, and couldn't do it, Ian became infuriated with the movie, with the character, and finally with himself for allowing any identification with this guy, and blurted out, quite loudly, "What a fucking pussy." Folks in hearing distance had laughed, even Lauren.

Ian answered Ann, "I don't need to cry."

"For a change, I don't either."

They looked at each other lovingly, studying each others faces, both with measured smiles. Ian gently held her head in his hands and kissed her forehead, knowing intellectually that directly behind was the part of her brain that contained her mind. He wanted so much to kiss there, and tarried there for a long time, while Ann relaxed in his arms, and then moved on to other parts of her face. All of the parts of women's bodies fascinated him, but faces, he knew were almost fetishistic to him, and Winter had noticed that right away. He could have kissed her face for far longer, but, there was that mouth. He knew he was being given free rein to Ann's body, but mouth kissing was something special.

Ann had said, "Just let go," but he wasn't going to push that. However much time she perceived they'd have before they tired, Winter returned, or they merely gave into genital gratification, he wasn't going to selfishly focus on his oral fixations, and he left her mouth far sooner than he'd wished to.

There was her neck. Girls washed their bodies so thoroughly, and they shampooed their hair, but they so often overlooked their necks, and being kissed there made them swoon. Next were the shoulders. Ann was so slightly built that he again thought, "Gracile," but there were breasts to be entertained. They looked into each others eyes as he felt them, wanting to delve in, feel any and all aspects of their inner structure through her soft skin.

"They're for giving milk to babies."

It had been years, decades, since any woman had said words that had excited him that much. He needed to calm down. All he said was, "Back rubs," and helped turn Ann over. As he started massaging her shoulders, he kissed her cheek. As his fingers moved on her shoulders, he heard a peep that indicated that he wasn't operating too slowly, and that was a relief. When he pushed his thumbs into what he knew were the right places, just to the sides of the vertebrae, the pitch went down a few octaves. He had to be careful, he thought, because Ann, despite her protests, really was more physically fragile than any girl he'd touched since he was what? Fourteen? Thirteen?

That girl had caught his eye. She was younger, almost too young and underdeveloped to be sexually interesting, but she had a softness that Ian couldn't resist. He'd taken her home, kissed her sweet mouth, and gently touched her breasts. He'd given her flowers, gone to her house, and smoked weed with her older brothers, but had concluded that she was too young, not necessarily chronologically, but she wasn't sexually mature, or maybe she was, but she wasn't cognitively mature. She'd enjoyed the touching, but Ian felt like he would have been using a child for sexual gratification, and found that disturbing.

One thing that Ian took pride in was that he'd never taken sexual exploitation very far, had always put the brakes on. It wasn't until he was much older that he really thought about why. When he'd first analyzed it, he thought that it might be because he'd loved his mother, and disliked his father, but as he aged, he thought about his relationships with women, the loving ones and the ones that were merely sharing bodies.

Ian realized that he wasn't paying attention. He was reliving a past that however memorable, shouldn't be distracting him from the now. Ian moved his hands down, and pushed with his fingertips in the places he knew worked, then reached over high, leaned back and brought her leg over his head, his face falling upon soft fur with joy. He had her legs pushed up by the thighs, gripping her with his hands, but then lowered them slowly, and held them around the sides, gripping them close to his chest.

Ann remembered what Winter had said, "He's like a metronome, and somehow he never misses a beat." The little touches of his tongue were a perfect, unwavering andantino. She could feel the ever so slight addition of saliva to her own increasing wetness as his hands moved up the sides of her body, then closed on her breasts. After a while, his left hand moved down, over her ribs, the right side of her tummy, and into her hair. His finger, she thought the middle one, was moving closer to his tongue, as his hand applied gentle pressure, while the other hand, which had been tickling her nipple, moved to the center of her chest. Her hips began to heave upward in rhythm. She was crushing his nose into her; what she wanted was his tongue, hard on her, but he wasn't altering the pressure, however hard she ground into his face. It wasn't until the contractions started that he licked harder. She was convulsing, and before she knew it was happening, he was already inside her, and she felt her right leg pulled up forcefully, while she was being lifted by a hand in the small of her back. He was trying to kiss her mouth, but she turned her face to the right, and felt his warm breath in her ear. He was trying to get as far in as he could, but there was no room until something in her body shifted in a way she'd never felt, then another sensation. His hands had moved with lightning speed to her shoulders. Her mind raced to one of Winter's words, "ejaculate." He was pulling her body down while she was feeling herself being injected, filled. Ann could feel herself grinning, as Ian's body became heavy.

Ian took several deep breaths, and smiled softly, "Sorry that was so, you know, fast."

Ann could feel him going soft inside her. "It was perfect, Ian."

"That makes me so happy."

"I can feel it getting little. 'Big, Little.'"

Ian told her that right after; that was when it was smallest.

"Can I play with it when it's little?"

Ian rolled off of her, and lay on his back, "You can, but if you play with it, it won't stay little for long."

She did, and it didn't. The second go lasted far longer, and there were not only kisses, but eye contact. Ian stroked her arms and shoulders. He touched her breasts briefly before running his hands down the length of her sides, and onto her legs, where he massaged her thighs before moving on to her knees, banking knowledge of her body against what he assumed was finite.

When Winter returned, the two retired to their room, and Ann shared what had happened in her absence, Winter wanted details. Ann gave her a play-by-play of the physical aspects, but shied away from speaking of love. She'd been correct. Winter was happy for them. “It's like a symphony, Ann. The first movement...”

Solomon

____________

When Winter woke, she opened her eyes to see Ann smiling at her, and she smiled back even larger, both to return the love, and because it amused her that Ann was chewing bubble gum first thing in the morning. She hadn't blown any bubbles, but the smell was unmistakably bubble gum. Ann spoke first, "I was just watching you sleep. You're so beautiful to me, and so good."

"I want to wake up like this forever. Ann?"

"Hmm?"

"Let's get married. We can go to another state. Will you marry me?"

"I've been expecting you to ask me that, and I've thought, and prayed, and thought, and prayed."

"And thought and prayed some more, right?"

Ann laughed, "Yeah."

"Well?"

"Winter, you know I love you, God knows I love you, and I want the whole world to know I love you, but there are a couple of things."

"What things."

"Like your secret. Ian told me that you have a secret. We can't start out with secrets. I don't expect you to share every feeling, or desire with me, but you know? You have to show me trust, plus I'm curious."

Winter felt a tinge of anger toward Ian for mentioning her past, but flared her hands in accedence, and said, "OK." Then she proceeded to tell Ann about things she hadn't shared with anyone else. She spoke quietly, even though she knew that Ian would never violate anyone's privacy by eavesdropping outside a bedroom door.

When Winter finished, Ann faux-blushed and said, "You naughty girl."

Winter asked sheepishly, "Do you?"

"Think less of you? No Winter. I wouldn't want you to be different."

"What's the other thing?"

"Ian."

"Ann, I was willing to end that any time. You know that he'll always be our friend, but he never expected it to be permanent."

Ann began to cry, and Winter held her until she was somewhat composed, then Ann said, "No, Winter. It's not like that at all. I love Ian, almost like I love you, and he..." she could hardly choke out the words, "and Winter, he loves me. I need you both." Ann cried more then said, "He's the only man who's ever loved me." Winter held her until her breaths became slow and deep, and Ann continued, "I know you've read the Bible. Do you remember Solomon?"

"Yes, Ann. He was a king, David's son. He had boatloads of wives and concubines."

Ann laughed amid her tears. "There was something else about him. When he became king, he was young, and God asked him what he wanted, and he said he wanted the wisdom to know what was in people's hearts." She was crying again. "He could have asked for so many things, but he asked for that, and God gave it to him."

"I don't understand."

"Do you know the story about the two mothers?"

"No, well kind of, but no."

"Two mothers had babies, and one of them rolled over on her baby and suffocated it, and so she switched babies with the other mother, who was still sleeping, and when that mother woke up, she knew that the dead baby wasn't hers, and she knew what the other mother had done, so it was one of them's word against the other. So they were brought to Solomon to decide, and he said that it was simple. They'd take a sword and cut the living baby in half, and give each mother half."

"Ann, that's awful. I thought Solomon was supposed to be good."

"He was, and when he suggested that, the mother of the dead baby was OK with that." Ann was still crying, now to the point where her lower lip protruded as she said, "But the real mother just said to give the baby to the bad woman, and Solomon knew who was the real mother."

Now Winter's eyes were filled with tears, and she had an idea where Ann was going. She wiped her nose on the sheet and said, "Ann."

"And if you ask me to give up Ian, you wouldn't, what we have isn't real. You can't cut me in half. You need to be the good mother. The one who really loves me."

"I am, Ann. I am."

They held each other closely, their tears wetting each others' faces, and Ann's crying gave way to peacefulness. "Really?"

"Really, Ann. We can stay with Ian as long as you want. Nothing has to change. Let's make this a completely happy thing. We don't have to share anything we've said with him, except that I proposed, you said, 'Yes,' and we're happy, because we are. Is that OK?"

Ann nodded affirmatively, "Mmmm."

"Well let's go tell him then. You know he'll be happy. He does love you."

"He loves you too."

"I suppose he does, but today is about us."

They found Ian in the living room, reading the newspaper. When he saw Ann's face, he asked, "What's wrong, Ann?"

"Nothing's wrong. Winter just asked me to marry her, and I said, 'Yes'."

Ian stood and extended his arms in Ann's direction, and Ann leaped into them. He hugged her more closely than he ever had, pressing their whole bodies together. When they completed the embrace, Ian grasped her arms, "I suppose I'll be standing in for your father."

Winter wanted to hug them both, but when she saw Ann's distant gaze of deliberation, she held back, and Ann's answer, directed only to Ian, confirmed her intuition. "You've never wanted to own me, so you'll be perfect."

Now Winter felt like she could join with them, and understood their bond, and Ann's insistence that she do nothing to break it. She went to them, and held them, using her elbows to push their bodies toward each other, even while their heads turned to her, and she thought, "Anything, and everything for you, Ann."

Wearing White Again

____________

"I'm thinking Santa Fe,” said Winter. “Maybe outside somewhere, or maybe Jemez. I know, we could get married naked at the hot spring."

Ann seemed amused, and Ian said, "I don't think she's kidding."

"It's crazy, and it's not like we're going to have guests. I mean, we could just do it at the courthouse, but the hot spring would be more fun. You want to do that?"

"I do,” said Ann. “I'm imagining the announcements, all the whispering at that church, 'Did you hear that Ann Schultz is marrying a girl?' The hot spring idea is great. We can put in that we're getting married nude too. Ann the estranged daughter."

Ian said, "I'm wondering if the paper would publish that. Not because of the gay aspect, but the word, 'estranged,' I mean journalists know what words mean, and it's pretty obviously a jab."

"If they object," said Ann, "We'll tell them we'd be fine with leaving that word out, and that we only put it in out of consideration, not wanting to give the false impression that the marriage had my parents' blessing."

Ian headed for the typewriter. He removed the cover from the old Selectric he'd acquired years before in a trade for a small electric piano. There was really no practical reason to have it, but Ian felt that typing was closer to writing, and Winter had completely agreed. It was one of those times, early in their relationship, where they'd felt kinship. The sound of rolling a sheet of paper onto the carriage tended to sharpen the writer's resolve. He carefully pecked out the text of the wedding announcement.

Mr. Ian Meadows, of Richmond Heights, Missouri, wishes to announce the engagement of his dearest friends. This July, in Santa Fe, New Mexico, Winter Sue Williamson, of Richmond Heights, daughter of Natalie and Richard Williamson of Kirkwood, Missouri, will be joined in marriage to Elizabeth Ann (Ann) Schultz, of Richmond Heights, estranged daughter of Lisa and Thomas Schultz, of Skokie, Illinois. After the ceremony, Ann will assume the name, Williamson. This will be a clothing optional event.

Ian pulled the paper out of the typewriter, which he turned off and re-covered, before taking his work to show the women. "I'll try to get it in a bunch of the Chicago papers. It'll be accessible enough to accomplish your goal."

"Can we have a picture of the two of us together?" asked Ann.

Ian answered, "Of course, and we'll make certain that it's a very pretty one, which will be easy. I'd better get on it right away. I don't know how many weeks in advance one needs to submit to the papers, but we can get it out online pretty quickly. Ian had returned to the desk, but now he was at the computer. What's your parents' zip code?"

"Why?"

"So we can target the ad to that area."

"You should do three, 60053, 60076 and 60077."

It wasn't too many minutes later that he turned around and said, "It'll be coming up as an ad on search engines within a day or two of whenever we choose."

"Oh, Ian, I just had the best idea. Those ads on search pages, they don't have standards for those, so we can really camp it up," Ann said, as she slapped her thighs. "We can have the picture of Winter and me, with a caption that says, 'Is Ann Schultz really marrying a girl?'."

"Twisting the knife?" asked Winter. “Ann, I love you, but is that really necessary?”

"I think Ian called it, 'cutting out the cancer.'"

Winter rolled her eyes, "You two," and left the living room with a single wave, and Ann sang her out with a cutesy rendition of The Good Ship Lollipop, while recalling Ian's words from only a few months before, "There's an us?" Winter had no choice but to pass them again, and this time Ann serenaded her with The Candy Man.

Steaming coffee cup in hand, she strode past, intending to give no indication that there were others present, but words have their times, and she stopped for a moment, and looked over her shoulder, "If you two are considering careers as wedding planners, you might want to not quit your day jobs," and continued on her way.

After Winter rounded the corner, Ian said, "She's right, you know. As the parent of the bride, I ought to be," his face trembled as he said one word, "undertaking."

Ann wished that she could ignore her commitment, and tell Ian of her insistence that he be a permanent part of their lives, but she understood the paradigm where she was the bride, the junior partner. Winter, as they say, wore the pants. She had no words to comfort Ian, and for the first time, felt awkward in his presence. She knew that he wasn't pandering to her, but Winter had seemed to suggest that something was wrong. She did give Ian the courtesy of leaving him with the words, “I need to go see what's wrong.” Ann arose from her chair, "Good-night, Ian.

As loving and generous as she was, Winter had a controlling streak, and didn't always share her schemes, but in this case, and as usual, she’d been convincing. In their room, alone together, Winter had insisted that the banns Ian had put together be scrapped. Winter was sitting up on the bed, one hand holding a paperback, the other buried in a pouch of pistachios, and her headphones had given her no notice of Ann's approach, but she quickly slid them off and asked, "What's up?"

"OK. Let's get married."

"Ann, we are getting married,"

"Like you said, right away."

"If you're pregnant, I'll kill 'im."

"You silly, what I'm saying is that you were right. This isn't about the past. It's about our future."

"Well I take back what I said about your and Ian's wedding planning venture. Elopement consulting could be a new niche." This was her wedding, and Ian wouldn't be giving Ann away. No gently holding one hand as she offered the other to Winter.

Ann assented, understanding that she and Ian had gone too far. Winter had already compromised. What she couldn't verbalize, she could demonstrate, and they could accept it or not, but they surely would because Winter loved her desperately, needed her, and Ian simply loved her, and strived to love her as selflessly as he could manage, having rejected all-or-nothing.

"Winter, I don't know whether to kiss you or scream."

"But I'm sure you know which I'd prefer."

Winter woke up a little before 3 am, and she noticed light coming down the hall from the living room. Ian never left the light on when he retired. After using the bathroom, she strode to the living room, and he was still seated at the computer. He explained that he'd managed to find an officiant, an Atheist minister with credentials she'd purchased for $25, who was willing to meet them at the hot spring.

"With all your money, you hired a discount minister."

"Whatever folks say about Santa Fe, finding an officiant for a nude wedding was no easy task. I stayed up half the night, and did my best."

"We're not intending on getting married nude, Ian. I think you misunderstood. It was a funny idea, but it went sour."

"I didn't know that. I assumed that none of the churchy folks would want to do it, and likewise the judges. It wasn't about money, and certainly not about my preferences, but it's completely up to you and Ann. She thought getting married at the hot spring sounded nice. I was just being what I thought was helpful."

"If she'd been stuck on that, you know I'd do it, but I'd rather have the wedding in town. You two have had your joke."

Ian smiled, "But I've already published the online banns. Has Ann really changed her mind?"

"Yes. We're getting married in Santa Fe, not Jemez." Ian looked hurt, and Winter said, "You didn't do anything wrong. I just rethought and I thought that I'd made that clear. It was my idea to begin with, but it became too much about revenge. Ann needs to put her past into prospective, and not taint our wedding with hostility. She's embarrassed, Ian, and not only for herself, but for you." Winter grasped his hand firmly, and said, "You've only wanted Ann to be happy," and as Ian's other hand closed over hers, she reacted and said, "You'll be giving both of us away, giving us your blessing, and affirming your belief in true love.” Winter hesitated before dropping the bombshell. “We're just going to fly out there, civil ceremony, and you'll be the one to receive us. Just you, at the airport. I haven't told my parents or Eric. Ann was adamant about that. You're special to her, and I guess that's her way of showing you that." Winter could sense his pain, and yet had the resolve to stay silent. She'd already said more than she'd intended to.

Ian mustered up strength as well, and said sincerely, "I do believe in love."

This time Winter's kiss was more, and she said, "Go to sleep, Ian."

"O.K."

She led him down the hall, stopping at his door for another kiss, but with no offer. They were both tired.

Things were soon scheduled for the wedding, and they were departing the next day, Ian having done all of it, all the while feeling like a rocket stage, giving everything, then destined to be jettisoned, to fall away, unneeded. This love had been launched, and while he felt sure that Ann would always be connected, she'd be a married woman. He knew that Winter would never ask Ann to break from Ian, but she, herself, would be freed from service, the contract that had no strings anyway, broken. Lying alone, slapping himself with the adage, change is hard, was little comfort, and he entertained the idea of baking up a batch of cinnamon rolls, as an expression of the loss that he knew was immanent. Winter would understand, but told himself that he both had no right, and that it wouldn't change things, except to possibly make the transition more rough.

He'd soon be back to the place he was before Winter, before last autumn, a cold day that presaged winter, but Winter's present, her conferring, perhaps unwittingly, of his capacity to love her, without ever asking him to put Lauren in the past, had given him hope for an unlikely future. It was his own fault that he'd run with it in his mind. Whatever his resources, Winter had always been out of his league. The Cygnet Committee giveth, but there was Hell to pay.

The separation seemed to have already begun. No one had shared his bed since Chicago, but for maintenance sex, which Winter felt obligated to, and obviously enjoyed, but always left soon after. He'd woken alone for the longest stretch in months. Ian had been hoping for a swan song on the train, a bachelorette party where he was the toy, but their plans to fly out alone had put the kabosh on even that.

Winter surprised him, opening his bedroom door, no knock. "Want some company?" Ian nodded. She grinned as she said, "Ann's asleep, and I put her to bed nicely. Now it's your turn. Heaven hath no kindness like a woman in love."

Ian didn't pose questions about the future. Winter was here. She was present, and her attention didn't seem to be elsewhere. She seemed filled with love, and it didn't matter to Ian that he played only a small part in those feelings, a facilitator; in this moment, he was "a rose in a fisted glove," and that was enough. If this was to be good-bye, it would be a good one. He knew that he'd given her reasons--apart from the wages--to seek him out, mostly for physical pleasure, but also for friendship, though this visit seemed motivated by the former. There had been no discussion of severance, but the economic incentive had to end. Winter, as she'd stated before she'd even approached Ann, had pronounced herself priceless, and he wasn't going to punish the Queen of Love for her choice. His wedding gift, the balance of the contract, would set them up for life, and he pushed all thoughts of grief and loss away. He'd make love to Winter with measured abandon, enjoying the moment, but keeping his focus on courtship, which was concordant with his nature, as dim as the prospects had now become.

"You're woolgathering, Ian and, I'd offer you a penny for your thoughts, but," Winter said, as she splayed her hands. Ian beckoned her, and she let the terry cloth robe fall to the carpet.

Ian's acrophobia didn't extend to others, and that was progress. He'd even entertained the prospect of flying himself, but he knew that Winter didn't want him there. It wasn't really a fear of heights, but of falling, of those seconds knowing that life was over and that one misstep, one accident might end his life in horror, placing a stamp on an eternal recollection, time slowing, there never seeming an end to the consciousness of nothingness, and Winter's disinvite hurt. Still, he couldn't blame Winter. He'd acted childishly, and while Ann had as well, she had an excuse, and for the first time in over a year, he felt truly embarrassed.

The kisses given in the line leading to the screening for contraband were sweet, and Winter said, “You take care of yourself. We'll be back in no time.”

It wouldn't be, “no time,” unless that meant a time of emptiness, and he guessed that he'd gotten full of himself. Winter was spring and he was autumn. It was time to let go.

It was not much past mid-day when Ian opened the front door of his house. His first move was to the telephone. The receptionist put the call through to his attorney. “Ian, what can I do for you?” “Good morning, Kelly. I need you to do something for me. Could you transfer the remainder of the three million to Ms. Williamson's account as soon as possible?”

“Of course, Ian, but why?” Kelly wasn't only his lawyer, but one of Ian's oldest and dearest friends. They spoke every few weeks, often about matters purely personal, but she handled Ian's money; even his utility bills came to her office, and she knew more about his feelings for Winter than Winter herself.

“Kelly, I just dropped Winter and Ann off at the airport. They're flying to New Mexico to get married. It's over, or at least winding down. None of this is her fault, and don't make the payment severance, because it isn't. It's a gift to a friend, a wedding present. I want her to know that I love her, and want her to have a wonderful life, because I do. She helped me so much, but she's moving on.”

“I'm sorry,” said Kelly. At the other end of the phone was only labored breathing. Kelly could tell that he was on the edge of tears, and offered, “Like some company?”

“You're a sweet friend, Kelly, but what I need is to cry this out, you know, so I'll be able to just look happy for them when they return. Just transfer the funds tomorrow, late in the day, after their marriage. I want it to be community property. Designate it as equally divided on the tax forms.”

“Have your cry, Ian.”

“Good advice from an excellent attorney, and a true friend.”

The soundtrack seemed obvious, two Cream songs, and when he thought about Winter's name, it only reenforced his decision. He'd be brave when it was required, but the goddess was fickle, and had made her choice. He'd be waiting to receive them, feeling not only unworthy of companionship, but the song, like his longstanding complaint of couples who used Joy of Man's Desiring for their weddings. He and Lauren had had a first dance at their reception to Sound of Silence, and looking back, that was even more arrogant, but the lyrics rang true.

The extra seconds he'd given himself between the songs were enough to regroup. Ian was in his home, but a part of him had been left at the airport, in the White Room, a place where hope and despair battled to make peace, and when the song ended there was nothing left to do but cry in grief.

Change is Hard

____________

Ian was waiting at the airport, and the flight was on time. As requested, he was there to receive them, to welcome them back to their new life. His heart sunk when he saw their obvious bliss. He wanted to feel unselfish, and was surprised when Ann let go Winter's hand to run to him. “We're back, Ian, and back for good.”

Ian was allowing himself to hope when Winter caught up. She looked at him sternly and said, “We don't need your money, at least no more than we have already. I wasn't testing you, but if I had been, you've passed.” Ann stepped back a few feet, but close enough to hear every word. “Ian, Ann told me everything, and right before we left the motel, I checked my account.”

“Winter, I had no right in the first place.”

“But you did. You had every right to enter into our arrangement, and everyone has a right to their feelings. There was never even the hint of exploitation. Yeah, there were a few times when I was obligated to have sex with you when I'd rather have been elsewhere, but everybody does that. They do it for love, or reciprocity, and in the worst case, even economic security. I was never afraid when I was with you, or at least not afraid of you.” Winter turned and said, “Get your sweet little butt up here, Ann.”

Ann complied, and pushed herself between them, grasping Winter's hand, then Ian's. “Ann, what I'm saying is that the only time I've felt real fear was during our courtship, and by that I mean the first day or so. That first night away from you, I was lovesick. I know that you both know that, but I'm going somewhere with this.” Winter slowed in her steps, and gradually came to a stop. “I've been monopolizing the conversation. It's your turn, Ann.”

Ann disengaged hands, and took five steps forward while Winter waggled her finger, silently mouthing the words, “Cute butt.”

Ann turned and spoke, “Ian, we're not leaving you. You know how Winter gives presents? That was her wedding gift to me. At first it was only for me, but then she said the words, 'Love is expansive,' and that rang so true. The fact that she's fine with my love for you makes me love her even more. Possessiveness isn't love, it's a cage.”

Ian needed confirmation from Winter, who bobbled her head slightly as she said, “They say that change is hard, whoever they are, but things have changed. They changed, changed again, changed back, did all kinds of flippity-flops, and now they're where they are. You did it, you know. You've shared your luck.”

“Not my money?”

“Ian, I now have enough money to live comfortably, but I'm pretty much stuck with you, and I'm not unhappy with that. I love you, and I can say that now. We both know that it's not the way that you love me, but that's already begun to change.” Winter suddenly felt struck by her surroundings. “This is too crazy. We're standing around in an airport, negotiating our futures.”

The Letter

____________

"Now that that's all settled, it's time to come clean to my parents, and I've come up with a plan. First, I make plans to come over and talk with them, and tell them it's important that they both be there. Then, instead of me showing up, a delivery person arrives with a keggy and a little cooler with a few bottles of bubbly on ice, and tells them they're from me. Then he'll return in a few minutes with a large envelope containing one letter, and two more envelopes. The letter will instruct them to make themselves comfortable, and to have themselves some beer and wine before opening the envelopes, one addressed to Mom, and one to Dad. I can write that cover letter myself, and will write the others too, if need be, but those, I need you to approve of every word. If anything isn't exactly right, we need to make it right. I was thinking it was a thing we could do together, as a family."

Ian suggested, "Maybe you could write a paragraph or two at a time, then let us read it." Ann nodded affirmatively.

"OK," said Winter. "The cover letter will tell them that I have big news, but not to worry, because it is 100% good news, even if they might not realize it until they've read almost the whole thing. I'll explain that the letters are identical, and ask them not to discuss the content until they'd read every word."

"Then, in the letter I will first talk about the day I saw you, Ann, and how I saw you again and how I knew that you were my future. Then, I'll describe meeting Ian, and striking up our bargain. At that point, I'll let them know that Eric already knew, and had known all along. I'll tell them that I enjoyed my new job, including the intimacy, and that Ian, I soon began to genuinely care for you. I'll go on to describe my first encounter with Ann, which is something they've heard before, but it's part of the chronology. I'll tell them how kind you were, Ian, not only to me, but to Ann, and how supportive you were of our love. Somewhere in there, I'll give more reassurances about how well things turn out in the end, and how our relationships with them were real, in spite of the secret, and ask them to understand that it was far better to keep this from them temporarily. Does that sound right?"

Ann answered, "It sounds true. Winter, you are so blessed that you have parents that you can tell the truth to, and they'll still love you, but I'm blessed too, because now they're my parents too."

"I'll add that, Ann, how you feel blessed to have married into such a loving family. That's good. I'm also going to write about how affectionate and intimate you two became before your relationship became sexual. You know, I don't think I've ever really told you how much that made me love you, Ian. With all the sexy fireworks going on around you, you put Ann's well-being ahead of all else. I'm going to tell them that, about your gentleness, and your unselfishness, because really, the whole point of doing it this way is to get them to accept the three of us as a family, you, Ian, especially you."

"You have a remarkable talent for defusing awkwardness,”said Ian, “but this one's going to be tough. You're writing a letter, not a short story, and there's the fact that your father and I have become more than chummy. I'd say he's become my best male friend."

"I know that, but he feels that way about you too. He won't want that to be soured any more than you do, and I'll make the case that there's no reason why it should be. You haven't violated me in any way, and he always respected my right to be sexual in any way I chose to be. They're good people. They're not going to think badly of you, but I want to, as you said, defuse any awkwardness. I want them to embrace this the way they embraced Chloe, and if I can get this right, they will." Heck, they're getting grandchildren they weren't expecting, but that comes later. Winter resumed the narrative, "I'll talk, I mean write, about the Chicago trip, and how you and Ann bonded. Of course I won't go into details about the sex, but the fact that it happened, and that I had a part in instigating it. That's a part of the tale."

Winter bunny-nosed Ann, who grinned, adding, "The further in we went, the bigger it got."

"Another good point. Perhaps I'll describe the night where we held you close, under the stars. Ann?"

"Yes."

"Do you mind if I tell them about Solomon?"

Ann began to cry, "Of course not. That's the biggest part of the love story." Ann grinned through a tightened face. "When you said we could be three, I felt like one. I knew that Ian could let me go, but when you gave me that, Winter, you freed me. I'm afraid there are more tears, but they're happy ones." Ann's voice conveyed optimism, "It's you, Winter. I sound like you."

"No, you sound like you. We've all grown to be more alike because we want to match, to understand each other more, to merge, Ann. You see the sentimentality you've brought to Ian, don't you?"

Ian rejoined, "Winter, it wasn't just Ann."

Ann gave him affirmation in a glance, then turned to Winter, "Ian is almost as sentimental as I am, maybe more so. He just didn't show it to you as much until the rules went away. I want my contribution to be about that. I want you both to open up completely to each other before we do this. You two, together, you've freed me, and I want to free you from the last..."

Ian provided the word, "Vestiges."

"Thank you, Ian." Ann assumed a pensive pose, her thumb underneath her chin, and forefinger touching the bottom of her nose. She felt, or noticed for the first time that she had two sides to her nose.

Winter took a deep breath, and sighed, "We really have to work on the letter."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Ann knew that Winter hadn't forgotten those words. "It's not about voyeurism. I've seen you have sex. Finish."

Sometimes Ann amazed Winter, "Now?"

"Now, tomorrow, next week. It has to be real. I don't care about your statement to society. I need to feel like this is permanent. It can't be more about your family than ours."

"I'm there, Ann. And Ian, you fell in love with me that first night, right?"

"I did."

"In spite of that, you were willing to let me go, and send me off with all that money. You didn't know about Ann's insistence that you had to be there too."

"He didn't, Winter."

"It's only money, and I have plenty."

"That's not the point. You were sending us on our way, with no expectation that we'd be more than friends with you. You've earned my love, but I'm not giving it to you out of a sense of obligation, or because that's what Ann wants. You really have melted my heart, and I give you more, offer you more than my body."

"I want all of you."

"Ian, its like this, I want you to father my babies, but I don't just want your sperm. I want you to wake up in the middle of the night, and bring our baby to nurse. I want you to change diapers. " Winter started laughing, "I know that's not sexy, poopy diapers, but Ian, I want to look at our children and see the resemblance. I want you to rub my legs when I've got your baby growing inside me."

Ian knew, had to admit, that Winter was rather skillfully pushing his buttons, but he got that this was drama for Ann, and Ann picked up on it too, and she said, "Winter, I know you're messing with me."

"I am, but nonetheless, it's all true, and Ann, I get that you want to know that my feelings for Ian aren't a weak link. You want security. I think Ian knows that I love him, and I told you too. If you really want to watch us kiss, or have really sweet sex, you don't need to make that a condition of anything. Telling my parents is the biggest declaration of love I could make, because I care what they think. This letter to them, it isn't about asking them to accept my choice or accept you, because they already do. It's about asking them to embrace Ian in a different way, and to be glad that everything happened as it did."

Ian reminded Winter, "You know, as good as that all sounded, you know my baby making days are behind me."

"Get it reversed." Ian just looked at her, and Winter repeated herself, "Get it reversed. The surgery works in 95% of cases, and that only an average. You can afford the best surgeons."

Ann agreed with Winter. "You need to do it, Ian. You're our guy."

"I gather you two have talked about this already."

"We have," said Winter, as she pushed her smiling face toward Ian's. "And now we're talking to you. Besides, you know getting pregnant sex is the hottest thing in the world. I know you think that. I bet you're already getting turned on just thinking about it." Winter's hand determined that the conversation was indeed having that effect. "Come feel how hard he is already, Ann."

Ann walked over to Ian, the lowered herself to her knees and tugged the zipper down. Before he knew it, he was in Ann's beautiful mouth. Meanwhile, Winter was giving his own mouth wet kisses, punctuated by talk of impregnation. "You're going to make a baby inside me." Winter licked his lips. "And you're going to make a baby grow inside Ann's body too."

Ann choked a bit on the intensity of Ian's orgasm, and Winter laughed. "See, Ian? I've got your number." She kissed him again.

Ann stood up, "You have a license for that thing?"

Now they all three laughed, and Ian said, "I'll do anything you want."

Winter gave Ann her queenly pose, and said, "It is the bonobo way," and then to Ian, "and I want you to change your last name to match ours."

"Really?" he asked.

"Sure. A few years ago, I changed my name to Williamson, then Ann did when we got married, and soon it will be your turn. It's part of the babies thing. I'm sure you can see how it will make things easier, and you did say, 'anything'."

"'Anything,' not everything. I'll consider it, but you might have to bonobo me again."

"Oh, I'll bonobo you alright."

Ian sidestepped. "Winter wanted to get lunch a while ago. Have you had lunch yet, Ann?"

"No."

"How about tostadas? he asked. There are three avocados that seem perfect."

Winter suggested the assignments. "How about you fry the tortillas, and Ann, you can warm up the beans and get everything out, and I'll make the guac?" Everyone agreed, and set about their tasks. Winter was done before the others, so she got out plates, then asked Ian if he wanted a beer.

"Sure, but not until the food's ready."

"You, Ann?"

"Well, since you two are drinking, I'll have spritzers."

Winter knew that Ann didn't have a tolerance, so she made her drinks lighter on wine. It'd be fun to write the letter tipsy, though that would mean revising tomorrow, and she needed to call Eric right after the meal. As hungry as they were, at Winter's suggestion, they didn't stuff themselves. She'd reminded them that this was the kind of food they could nosh on later, and that she wanted to get to work on the project at hand. As soon as they finished, she called Eric, but he didn't answer, so she tried Chloe.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Chloe."

"Hi, Winter. What's up?"

"Is Eric there?"

"We're at my parents' house, and he's out in the pool. You want me to get him?"

"No. You'll do."

Chloe giggled. "Winter, what do you need?"

"What I need to know is when you can come back to St. Louis for a day or two, because I'm ready to tell my parents about Ian, and I want you two there, I mean, here. Obviously you're there, but I need you here. My here, not your here, which to me is there."

"I guess whenever, as long as it's soon. Though isn't it kind of soon for that?"

Winter was impressed. "Eric married smart."

"You never figured out my fatal flaw."

"You're perfect, and how's Little John."

"He's perfect too, and he travels well."

"What time can you be in SF, so I can book your flight, and when do you need to be back?"

"We can stay about a week, and we took the train up here, so we can fly back to LA. Tomorrow afternoon is fine."

"Perfect. Love you, Chloe."

"We love you too."

"I'll call with details. Bye."

"Goodbye."

Winter hung up, and announced that the letter had to be composed right away, because Eric and Chloe would be arriving soon. They'd both heard her end of the conversation. She excused herself to book the flight, and when she returned she told them that she'd gotten them non-stop tickets, and they'd need to pick them up at Brentwood station sometime after seven tomorrow evening. "Ian, call the Tap Room. We need a keggy tomorrow," and then she added, with a sincere smile, "please." Ian made the call, and stressed the importance of it being ready early. Luckily, it was someone who was familiar with him, and knew that he tipped for VIP treatment.

Winter said, "This is going to be fun."

Ian said, "Fun for you, but it's going to be hard for me. Richard and I are friends."

"I didn't mean that part, but composing the message. I need to do it before I run out of steam, or beer."

"There's plenty of beer."

"And I need to use it judiciously. I meant my capacity to maintain, and not get sleepy or sloppy." Winter insisted on using the desktop, and writing in a large font. The other two first peered over her shoulder as she began to type, but soon realized that this was Winter's letter, and put their trust in that. After several fits and starts, Winter decided that the beer and the letter weren't so compatible, and that the beer was going far better than the writing, so she decided to put it off until morning.

Winter woke in the middle of the night with a bladder that needed emptying, and felt ready to tackle the letter. She considered using the computer, but instead opted for the typewriter, an old Selectric that was covered, and that she'd never seen Ian use, but she assumed had to be in working order. This had to be real, her thoughts in real time, irretractable words on a page, written carefully, serially with her thoughts. She was coming clean about something dirty, a lie. She knew that the lie, however necessary, was the only thing impure. Whatever way this had begun, she was now in a state of union with two persons, and they all three shared that. There had been no hostility, no betrayals, and no serious jealousies. There was trust.

Winter was ready to type:

Last December, after a conversation with a girl in one of my classes, I did a silly thing. She told me that a girl as pretty as me could make a lot of money at a strip club on the East Side. She said she made over $1000 one night, and I was intrigued. I know it seems crazy, imagining your radical feminist, nudist, bisexual, and by all indications, lesbian-leaning bisexual daughter even entertaining the idea of dancing in a strip club, and it would have been a mistake, but that's where I met Ian, a lonely, rich widower, who took quite an interest in me. I made it very clear that this was my only, my first and last time having anything to do with a strip club. This gentleman, Ian, covertly slipped me contact information.

I know that you'll be doubting yourselves about your acceptance of Ian, and the friendship that has developed, especially between he and Dad. Don't. Don't pre-judge Ian. He has been as honest with you as the circumstances permitted, and what he feels for you is genuine.

Ian did indeed hire me as his personal assistant, but it was more than that. I became his paid girlfriend, a courtesan, and the pay was extraordinary. For my services over the following three and a half years, he was willing to pay three million dollars. It has been paid to me in monthly installments, and in addition, I have had unlimited spending money. I never felt exploited, or that I was in any was selling my self. We agreed to set emotional limits to the relationship, and both made efforts to stick to those. Ian accepted my love for Ann, and as you know, gave us a home, and in this whole process, Ann fell in love with Ian, and in fact, predicated our marriage on my acceptance of Ian as a permanent part of our lives.

Ann is very different from me. See, I grew up never having doubted being loved, and I want to thank you both for that. Mom, while there were privations, and I felt like the poor kid, I knew that I was treasured by you, and that treasuring was better than any treasure. I'm crying writing this. Tears of love for you, Mom. You gave me the capacity for this much love. And Dad, I grew up without a father. None of Mom's boyfriends were really anything to me, but when you became part of my life, every instinct in me told me that you were it. You were my Dad. It was so easy becoming your daughter. I'm still giving happy tears, Dad. If I were writing instead of typing, they'd be falling on the page. You shared yourself with me, the music, the old TV shows we watched together, and while you pontificated on morality, or ethics, you never tried to restrict me, and never passed judgment on me for my sexuality.

Neither of you did, and I am confident that you won't now.

It's not me, and it's not Ann whom you have to come to a complete acceptance of, it's Ian, but to understand our relationship, you need to understand Ann's childhood.

Oh, and I want to add that I originally wanted to write this as a group project, but the other two felt that it was my thing to do, and though I insisted that they have veto, they'll be reading the same words, maybe a day before you, but the same words.

Mom, you gave me the best childhood. You got the cheapest apartment in the best school district, and it was all you could afford. I always felt like the poor kid because we only had just enough money to get by, but see, Mom? That made me proud. You were all about doing the best for me. You didn't waste money on Barbies or fancy clothes for me, but you baked cakes from scratch. You took me to the Botanical Garden and the Zoo, and the Art Museum. You gave me beauty and freedom. You couldn't have been a better mother.

Ann didn't have that. I can only imagine what she'd been like if she'd had, and I guess she does too, but we can't change our pasts. Ann's parents were exactly the opposite. She never lacked creature comforts, but never felt loved, and when I met her, she was in despair, and it was her pain that I was attracted to, her need for love, though it didn't hurt that I found her drop dead gorgeous. I'd never been in love, in spite of being an intensely sexual person, and Ann filled a place in my heart that I didn't even know was there. I felt weakness and need for the first time. For practical reasons, I had no choice but to come clean about my arrangement with Ian, and she fully accepted it. I told her that if she just said one word, that I would end it, and she knew, was able to believe, how precious she was to me. I moved into her dorm room, and it was intense. Probably a lot like you two, and I even thought that at the time because my only experience with romantic love was my mom and dad.

I tried to keep my job separate from Ann, but when they met, she was quite taken with him. I understood why at the time, but especially in retrospect. After the semester ended, we moved in with Ian. They slowly explored a physical relationship, and Ian took it so slowly. They both wanted more, and I think it was so complex, the reasons why they didn't consummate, that even we don't understand. It was me who insisted, and it wasn't about freeing myself from some portion of Ian's sexual needs. I love them. I love them both. I didn't want to be the cause of them not sharing love. It was still more that a bit weird with Ian, but I couldn't deny Ann anything. I knew that Ian didn't have it in him to harm her, and Ann's need for love was the obverse of my capacity to give.

It didn't seem strange to me to propose marriage to Ann after only a few months. Just like you, I knew I'd found a life partner. Ann had one condition, and that was that Ian be a permanent member of our family. My heart was fully in her hands, and she offered me a parable. I only vaguely remembered the story from the Bible where there are two women with babies, and one of the babies dies, and the mother of the dead baby switches babies with the other. The one who wakes up next to the dead one knows what happened, but the mother of the dead baby insists, and so they go to the king to resolve the conflict. The king, Solomon, suggests that the live baby be cut in half and each woman could have half. The false mother is so perverse that she agrees, but the real mother says, “No.” Then Solomon knew who was the real mother, and Ann said that my sharing her with Ian was proof of my love. I was blown away. Ann had bared her heart to me, and I couldn't break it. If I'd refused, I would have been the bad mother, the one willing to see her cut in half. At that moment, I knew that I had to embrace Ian as fully as I could, if not for me, for Ann.

Ian didn't know about that conversation, and after the wedding, I noticed that he'd transferred the rest of the balance of our agreement to my account. It was his wedding present, a parting gift. He'd expected to be alone again. Of course I don't throw people away casually, and I would have been friends for life with Ian, but now it has to be more. I can't know the trajectory of Ian's and my relationship if it weren't for Ann, but I feel like we're sitting pretty now.

It was you who gave me the capacity to give myself in love, so much that I can extend it to more than one person. You gave that to me, and I am grateful. My love for Ian grows, and that's a joy. You see, he's in all likelihood going to be the father of your grandchildren.

I'm not merely asking you to accept the situation, but to be gleeful. You two got lucky. We three did too. I'm so happy that I managed to get these things on paper that I'm laughing through the tears. It's Sugar, Sugar, Dad. Sing it with me. You too, Mom.

Sleep on this, and then come over tomorrow, threeish.

Love, Winter

Winter printed out four copies of the letter, and asked Ian and Ann to read them in toto before reacting. Ian finished first, and when he set down the papers and smiled at Winter, she put her pointer to her lips and shushed him. Ann wasn't much behind, and when she finished asked, "You cried that much?"

"I did, sweetheart. Married people are supposed to grow more alike." Winter said it with so much gentleness that Ann joined Ian in silence.

Winter surprised both of them when her first words were, "Let's run. Run free."

Ian hoped that Winter would clarify, so he wouldn't have to ask, but that wasn't the case, and he gave her a questioning gaze. Winter did something with her lips that was different from anything Ian had seen as she said, "I mean literally, run. Minimal clothes, running shoes, run."

Ann had never seen Ian run, and by her expression, she indicated her concern. Winter caught the drift, "Ann, don't be silly. Think of the timeline. If I were trying to kill him off, it wouldn't be now. Besides, he can fuck like a rabbit until both of us are sore, and anyway where would you rather." Winter stopped herself, but not before the others could complete the sentence. Ann looked horrified, but Ian laughed, and she decided to reach, and that same forefinger that quieted Ian before, did so again without contact, "Women should make sure that their male lovers run." Ian was now just about collapsing in laughter. "See Ann? That's how that guy's gonna die. Laughing. It's better than the alternative."

Ian was still laughing, but managed able to ask Ann, "Would you get my portable defibrillator?

Ann said, "Your what?"

"It's on the nightstand. Winter knows how to work it."

No such device existed, and the joke fell flat on Ann, but it was worth it because he'd never seen Winter laugh that hard. Ann turned as if to head for the bedroom, but Ian managed to get out, "Ann, no, it was a joke." Winter's suggestion about running, however, was not a joke. Ian asked Winter, "So where are we running to?"

"How about Oak Knoll?"

"When Ethan was little, I used to take him there, and they had this long slide, and I used to slick it down with that plastic protectant stuff that has silicone. Slick as snot. He was like two, and we'd go down the slide with him on my lap."

Winter asked, "So when are we going to get to meet the little fellow?"

"He's your age and stands over six feet tall, and I don't know. I haven't seen him for right around a year."

Winter's eyes got big and she snorted, "Right around a year? Who are you, Jed Clampett?" Then she realized that there were similarities beyond Ian's Ozark dialect. "You know, Ann. The first time we met, Ian said, "Yer so purty, I'd liketa take you home 'n bend you over a sawhorse."

"No, he didn't."

Winter stayed with her Ozarks voice, "Well, he was a-thinkin it. See? I don't put much stock in that librarian business. I think he done made that up. Ian was a hillbilly 'fore he come inta that money." She tilted her head to the side, and lowered her right eyebrow, "Sure as shootin'."

Ann wasn't really getting the jokes, but Winter's goofiness was enough to welcome her into the laugh-fest. "So you really want to run?"

"Run. Walk. Jump around. I want to frolic." Winter could tell that her running idea wasn't getting any traction. It was close to a hundred degrees, so she moderated her plan. "OK, back yard, and we chase each other around with the hose."

The other two acceded, and Ann put on a bikini, and Ian his little white Speedo, but Winter merely stripped down to panties. Ian cautioned her, "We have neighbors."

"And we have a lawyer. Besides, the neighbors will be too busy trying to find their binoculars to call the police, and it wouldn't come to that anyway. Rich people have to do a lot worse than go topless in their back yard to get into trouble."

Ian knew she was correct.

Winter broke off three sticks, and had first Ian, then Ann, pull one from her hand. Ann got the longest one, so she was the first chaser. Ian had to show her how to put her thumb over the hose to get a forceful spray, and she instantly turned it on Ian, who took off surprisingly fast, but it was a feint. While Winter let her guard down, Ann changed her target. She pursued Winter, who lost her footing in the now slippery grass, and found herself being sprayed hard on her tummy. Winter kicked her feet in the air, and rolled, but finally cried, "Uncle." Ann dropped the hose, and took off before Winter could grab it and take her revenge. Winter made a move to pursue Ann, but Ian was an easier target. He'd seen Winter fall, and not wanting to get hurt, took an intentional dive, but made sure to end up face down. Winter stood over him and soaked him, but she'd gotten too close, and left him an opportunity to grab the hose. They struggled for possession while Ann shrieked with delight.

Ian said, "Winter!" and it was so emphatic that she loosened her grip, and Ian had the hose to himself, while she had fallen atop him. His left arm was around her waist, while he stuck the hose into the back of her panties. When she struggled to get away, Ian let her go, but maintained a firm grip on the hose. The game was over.

Winter said, "I think I lost."

Ian kept the end of the hose in his hand as he walked to the spigot, and cut off the water. When he returned, Winter didn't look like someone who'd lost. She was on her back, with her hands clasped underneath her head, and Ann was sitting cross-legged next to her in the wet grass. He didn't fail to notice that her incisors rested on her lower lip. She was thinking, and he was pretty sure about what. It might be Ann, or it might be himself, more likely both.

Certainly it was both. They escorted Winter inside, and took her straight to the living room couch. She smiled, knowing that they were both intent on loving her up, It was Ian who bared her bottom, and looked at her questioningly, but Winter merely rolled her eyes back dreamily. Ian lifted one leg, glanced at Ann, and she raised the other. They knew they were going to give kisses, give Winter what she needed, but first they kissed each other, as if to bring their mouths into complete coordination. Ian had both hands on Winter's thigh, grasping, encircling, when he suddenly took his left hand and pulled Ann's face to his own, while using his right to pull Winter's leg onto his shoulder. Ann was positioned more underneath, and they were more kissing each other than Winter, but they were right there, and when they switched their attention, in nearly perfect rhythm, Winter's legs became less manageable, but Ian had her. He grasped under the knee that was on Ann's side. Winter lunged toward them, but they didn't break stride, even when Winter's inner thigh bashed almost violently onto Ian's shoulder, then his neck, then the side of his head, so intensely that his hand was unable to defend against the pain. When her body relaxed, Winter breathed, "Consolation prize."

Ian replied, "Chiropractor."

"Did I hurt you?"

"A little," but Ian kissed and massaged Winter's thigh affectionately. "If my neck's a little sore, I'll just remember how it got that way," and he returned his mouth to the source of the musky sweetness. He'd pulled Winter's legs against the sides of his head, covering his ears to the extent that he couldn't clearly hear the others' words.

"He's nursing," said Winter, at which Ann chuckled.

"No, really. It's like candy to him."

Ian knew who'd said the word candy, but he hadn't been able to discern which of the two had said, "nursing." He thought it must have been Winter, but it would be so cute--and funny--if it had been Ann, because if Winter had said it, it would have just been her stating what had been obvious to her almost since they'd met. Ann was only several months, and at the same time a lifetime behind in her understanding of him vis-a-vis Winter.

Winter wouldn't reveal her past. He knew intellectually that children who were sexually exploited sometimes ended up becoming accepting of a highly sexualized lifestyle, and were tough, unshockable, but it was almost beyond belief that such a child would end up as emphatically positive, as free as Winter. She'd said that she'd never been hurt, and he believed her. Perhaps she had been like he had been like himself, except more courageous, and he thought, "With more to offer," and the notion crossed his mind, "I want to be Winter," but after saying it to himself, revised it to, "I wish I could be like Winter."

When he lifted his head, both women were in a moment of silence, and what Ian said aloud was, "I wish I was your mother."

Ann found Ian's statement bizarre, but Winter was touched. "That's a beautiful song," and then adopting the same inflections and wide-eyed affectation of shock as she had on Eric's wedding day added, "but if you were my mother..." She paused for the forthcoming laughs.

This time Ann got the joke, but the background needed to be explained, and she asked, "So, what was that all about?"

Winter was still recovering, but managed to get out, "It's a song. We should put it on the playlist for the reunion. Ian, I'm sorry that you're a frustrated bisexual."

"But I'm not."

"I don't mean that you have hang-ups."

"You mean my revulsion toward male bodies. I was born that way, Winter."

"But you're displeased by it."

"Quit messing with him, Winter."

Ian said, "It's OK, Ann. Do you know what glam rock is?"

"Sure."

"So do I," said Winter. "It's where straight guys pretend to be bi, or even gay, and other straight guys eat it up. My dad's big into it. Way more than Ian even."

"I want to hear the beautiful song."

Ian said, "OK," gave Winter a tummy kiss, and popped up to find the album.

He seemed to be having trouble locating it, and Winter pounced. "See, Ann, if he'd really been a librarian, he'd have his records organized. I still say, 'Hillbilly'." Soon, there was the pop of the needle, and when the music started, Winter told Ann, "This isn't the song. He put on the whole side," and after pulling her skirt on, asked Ian to dance with her.

Ann tried to hide her amusement. She was thinking that they oughtn't dance that way at the party, because it really did make them look father-daughter, and it was obvious that Winter interpreted her grin as joy, because she didn't ask what was funny. After the first song, they sat back down, one on each side of Ann, and Ian kissed the side of her face as Winter said, "You're going to cry."

"And you two are going to comfort me. I hope you never get sick of that."

"Your tears are like honey to me."

Ann rolled her eyes at Winter, who answered, "Well, they are to Mr. Body Fluids."

Ann had tried to communicate to Winter that it bothered her when she joked about Ian in a demeaning way, but Ian always found it funny too. It bothered her though. It was like Winter was asking her to gang up on him, and Winter shouldn't be thinking that way right now. We need a united effort. It was obvious that Ian hadn't heard Winter's newly coined moniker. The music was too loud, and his hearing wasn't the best. Before she turned away from Winter, Ann smiled in a way that was so sincere, could only be interpreted as, "Be back soon. Feel like giving Ian some love right now."

The song that had just started seemed sexy to Ann, and while it surprised him, the suddenness of her face on his, her mouth demanding to be kissed, Ian was completely receptive. Ann had gotten to her knees on the couch, and had his head laid back. Maybe, as Winter had stated, Ian couldn't think about baseball, be she, herself, could think about lemons. During the long instrumental, Ann felt herself giving something that cost her nothing. As the song concluded, Winter nudged her, a signal that the next song was the one.

By the conclusion of the first chorus, Ann had made the connections, and was indeed weeping, and she pulled both of her lovers close. The song was tragedy, and reminded her of her old life, an existence that she knew must be excised from her mind, not in the details, and not forgetting, but in valuing the approval of ones who could never accept her. When the record ended, Ann asked, "Winter?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you mind if I call your parents, 'Mom,' and 'Dad'?"

"That's sweet. Of course not."

"I never knew what to call them."

"Why don't you ask them? I'm sure they'll be flattered. It'll be a good prelude to me telling them about Ian's name change." Just then, Winter's phone rang.

Winter hung up the phone, "That was my mom. I'm going over to help her pull weeds, and obviously to set up tomorrow. Anybody want to come with?"

"No thanks. I've got yard work here that needs doing."

"Winter looked at Ann and raised her eyebrows."

"I'd have to get dressed."

"That's true, if you were helping us, but you could come over and swim, you too Ian."

Ann sighed, "But then I'd have to get dressed, get undressed, then get dressed again. That's three times the dressing." Winter liked that Ann had adopted some of her ways of speaking. She usually did it in a teasing way.

"Three times the lazy. Well don't wait dinner on me. Looks like I get a parents’ one tonight." She asked Ian, "Mind if I take the Fiat?"

"No. We're not going anywhere."

Winter went to Ian and put her hands on his arms, just below the shoulders and massaged him for several seconds, then said, "I love you," and kissed him. They looked in each others' eyes.

Ian said, "I love you too, Winter."

Then she turned her attention to Ann, "And I love you too, baby," and rubbed noses with her before giving her a quick kiss. She grabbed her purse off the chair and was out the door with a, "Bye," before either Ian or Ann fully understood what had transpired.

"Has she ever said that to you?"

"Not like that. She's told me she loved me a few times, but it always seemed platonic, or informational. She's said, 'You know I love you,' and, 'That's why I love you,' and that's only recently. She's never..." and Ian's expression was like a young boy who'd finally gotten his first real kiss. "I hope that's the new normal."

"I think you'll get your wish. She's decided, Ian, and Winter doesn't backpedal." Ann paused for his reply, and when he offered only a dreamy contentedness, she asked him to play the other side.

Ian's motions in the course of dealing with the record seemed almost slow motion, and as he faced the turntable, he pinched his chin between his thumb and middle finger before carefully flipping the record, and placing the needle on the spinning disc. Before returning to her, he turned up the volume. His expression hadn't changed, and the bounciness of the music prompted Ann to start dancing, and non-verbally suggest to Ian that he join her. She was delighted by the extent to which he complied. He silently mouthed the lyrics, and his motions were exaggeratedly rock star. After the first song, they laughed together, and when the second song started, he was back to the same mode, but was camping it up. She didn't know whether he was putting on extra because of Winter's comments, but it was sexy, so like Winter's dramatic performances, but more detailed. Ann was thinking, "He looks more like thirty." His facial expressions conveyed a complete understanding of the lyrics, and the feelings behind them. There were dramatic flourishes that did seem stereotypically gay, but also aggressive motions, movements of the body and hands that seemed overtly masculine, and when the second song ended, Ian proffered a hand, and when she took it, he pulled her toward him, and looked her directly in the face with confidence, before he encircled her waist with his left arm and rested his head on the opposite shoulder. It was going to be a slow dance.

The piano began, and Ann was expecting a tale of romance; a tale because it so soon announced itself as big. What she heard, with Ian holding her close was something very different.

God ain't jive.

For I can see his love, as it runs alive.

Ian didn't lead, didn't dance, but just held her as she marveled at how the lyrics paralleled her spiritual journey. She'd heard Christian Rock, but it had seemed silly, childish, and the groups affected pop culture appearances and mannerisms that insulted both her intelligence and her tastes. This was so different. It challenged. It celebrated the freedom she'd always felt in His love. As the song reprised, Ian released his grip, inviting her to face him as they both moved to the triumphant refrains that disdained narrowness, and invited everyone, even those like this dear man who didn't believe, into her God's family, the tears ceased, and she separated from Ian bodily, not pushing him away, but merely by loosening her hold on him, and he reciprocated. She took two steps backward, and thrust her fists into the air.

Ian did something unexpected. He lunged at her waist and lifted her off the floor, but she kept her fists raised in victory. As the song concluded, Ian set her down, but she wasn't done. They danced to the final two songs, then both collapsed on the couch.

"I want more."

"More Mott the Hoople?"

"More, what?"

"Mott the Hoople. That's the name of the band."

"What does it mean?"

"I think it means that all the good names for bands were already taken."

"You have more?"

"Lots, but let me fire up the computer instead of playing records. Winter's hillbilly comments have a grain of truth. I've never bothered to organize my vinyl, and I can do a best of on the computer. She was also getting at something else that's true. There was a lot of playing up the gay, and glam was appreciated as much by straight folks as gays. None of my male friends who were into it—well, except one--ended up coming out as gay or bi, but there were universal themes. The only overtly gay song that Mott the Hoople played was 'All the Young Dudes,' and Bowie wrote that." While saying this, Ian was putting together a play list. One thing he had organized was the texts of lyrics. There had been so many of them that had been unclear, and like everyone, he had thought one word was another, so he printed out lyrics to each of the songs so Ann could follow. Ann was playing with him from behind, her hands in his hair, and her kisses on his neck, but he knew this wasn't foreplay, but just sweetness. Ann wanted music. He thought about saving 'Roll Away the Stone' for later, not wanting to exaggerate references to Christianity, but rejected that idea as patronizing.

Ian played the song, and sang it directly to Ann, who was sitting on the couch, though the volume of the stereo was loud enough that his voice was buried, and he camped it up in the female vocal parts. As the song ended, he told her that he'd left a full minute between songs, and waited for a reply, but Ann was beaming. Ian extended both hands, and Ann let him assist her up, and when Ready for Love began, he pulled her toward himself and let her fall away in rhythm. His body followed every subtlety of the music and lyrics, and when the vocals changed, he became a different character, pleading, just on the edge of pressuring, male desperation, and then calmness, thoughtfulness.

Ann couldn't relate it to her own life experiences with mating, which had been only really bad, or really good, but understood that so many others played in those gray areas, where infatuation, thrills and heartbreak were the norm. Winter had told her that she'd opted out by choice, and she understood that she had as well, but for different reasons. The song had tailed off into an instrumental, and Ian kissed her as they stood, swaying slowly to whatever rhythm there was, and the kissing continued through the silence, and the next song. Then Ian announced that he was going to play the records after all because the sound system was far better that the one hooked to the computer. They spent all afternoon, dancing, laughing, kissing, listening, and eventually singing along to Mott the Hoople.

The Vapors

____________

When Winter jetted into her parents' driveway, her father was there, mowing the front yard. She waved, and Richard made a motion with his arm, indicating that her mother was in the back yard. She nodded, and walked around the side of the house where Tally was on her knees in her herbs. It was looking like a storm was on its way, and Winter imagined a shortened stint of weeding. "Hi, Mom."

Tally looked up from her task, "Oh, hi Winter." Winter sat a few feet away and began pulling grass that had invaded the edges of the herb garden. "Where's Ann?"

"At home. Ian's doing the same thing you are, and Ann, presumably, is helping, though she was seeming pretty lazy-pants before I left."

"Can you stay for dinner? We're eating early because we skipped lunch. Spaghetti meat-a-bol." There had been an old Italian lady who'd lived in the apartment across the hall, who had enjoyed Winter's company when she was twelve and thirteen years old. She was a widow, and seemed to have no friends, and family who visited only occasionally. Winter liked her. She liked her thick Italian accent, her foreignness, her descriptions of her childhood, and the stories of the frightfulness her family had suffered as dissidents under the dictatorship. She'd been in the resistance, and Winter thought, or at least felt, that she was privy to things the old woman had no one else to tell, to share with. Winter listened, but there was another draw. Those meatballs were like nothing else, and Carla had happily shown her mother every nuance of their preparation. While Carla was almost certainly gone, her meatballs and sauce, intense with tomato and bay leaves, lived on.

"Carla kicked ass."

"From what you told me, she was a war hero, but she didn't talk about that to me. She just said that I should learn to make her meatballs. You meant a lot to her."

"I love reflecting, Mom. People get too busy or distracted. It's things like remembering Carla that make life magical."

"You? Magical?"

"Yeah, I'm growing up, or maybe growing down, getting grounded. No not grounded. I haven't lost my wings, just become stable in my flights, and making connections that aren't purely logical."

"You sound more like me than you."

"I know, Mom, maybe more like you than you."

Natalie smiled large. "I have to hear this."

Winter worried that she couldn't continue this conversation while staying on course, but this was one of those times that she felt compelled to speak, to share her insights. "You know I took philosophy last semester, and we," Winter hesitated, "we talked about the problem of free will."

"Free will can be a problem," joked Natalie, then she said, "Sorry."

"The problem is with causality. The future is determined by the things in the past that make it happen. Now, I've known all of this for years, and it's the reason why I never believed in the magic, could never believe that anything ever happens for a reason. While the rest of the class was probably, at best, thinking about what was going to be on the exam, and there were some really dumb questions in that vein, I had an idea. I thought about meaningfulness, and your belief that things happen for a reason, and I realized exactly why that couldn't be. I started laughing, and the teacher, who really likes me, asked me if I'd mind sharing, so I told her that I'd realized that the problem was the a priori assumption that time was perfectly linear. Predictably, she asked what was funny about that, and I told her I'd also thought of something I thought up the day before, which was, 'I'm bound and determined to believe in my own free will.' That got her laughing too, and a few others, who might not have even gotten it."

"Class clowning again?"

"Not intentionally, but let me go on. I explained that when anyone suggests that anything happens for a reason, what they're really expressing is a belief that the future can influence the past. It's the future reaching into the past and saying, 'In order for me to be X, you must be Y.'"

"So, Winter, you believe the future has consciousness?"

"No, Mom, I'm not saying that I believe that. All I'm saying is that the difference between things happening for a reason, and things happening because they absolutely had to happen is a belief that the future can, on occasion, affect the past. I stayed after class and talked to the teacher, who was trying to convince me to major in philosophy, but she was also genuinely curious. What I ended up telling her was this. You know how badly we sometimes wish that we could change the past. It's the source of so much anguish that we can't. Well, what if someone in the future has found the chink, and was able to, in limited ways, alter the past, add the necessary conditions for a certain reality, a book that needed to be written or read, an acquaintance made, someone who had to have lived, or died?"

"Maybe she's right, and you should major in philosophy, though I don't know what someone can do with a degree in philosophy."

Winter thought to herself as she removed a long, trailing section of Bermuda grass that ran along the inside of the border of the flower bed, "By this time tomorrow, you'll understand that I don't have to do anything. It's already done, set into motion, the future, that part of the future, pre-determined." Winter felt like she had to answer. It was perfect. She thought briefly about what purpose her words might accomplish, what ripples they might leave in the pond, and she thought about Ian. Ann needs him emotionally, but I need his intellect. We talked about all of this time stuff, and he was right there with me. Winter realized in the present that the future Winter would be kicking herself for the past Winter having neglected an opportunity for humor, and she said with a slight laugh, "Probably the sort of thing that I'm doing now. You know, with Ian."

"How is that going?"

"Great. Do you and Dad have plans for tomorrow afternoon?"

"Probably more of the same. It looks like the storm is going to be here in a few minutes." Richard must have noticed that as well, because the sound of the mower had ceased, and he was wheeling it into the shed. Winter and Tally made it inside with plenty of time to spare, but Richard went to retrieve the line trimmer, and had to run to the house in a downpour.

Once inside, he greeted Winter, then headed for the computer to check the radar, and announced from the other room, "Looks like the really nasty stuff's missing us."

Tally asked, "What about Ann?"

Richard had come into the kitchen, where Tally was putting water on for the pasta. "If she's at home, it's missing her too. Hey, why isn't she with you?"

"She figured it was a choice between pulling weeds with Mom, and pulling weeds with Ian, and I bet it's because she thought she could weasel out easier with Ian, you know claim some feminine malady like the vapors that she'd never get away with with another woman."

"With-with." Her dad had gotten her. "We're so glad to see you. How's married life?"

"About the same. I mean, it gets better, but incrementally, and it doesn't get old, does it?" After a second, she declared, "Ha, you should both have been racing to say 'no' first. Trouble in Candyland?"

Richard didn't hesitate to reply, "Not in that department," and walked over to Winter's mother and kissed her, not lustily, but certainly not chastely. Winter laughed, and not out of embarrassment. Quite the opposite. It was the drama, the lack of self-consciousness. She and Eric had walked in on them kissing passionately so many times in that first year or so, and they'd broken apart from some sense of propriety. One evening, at dinner, Eric had told them that he and Winter were happy for them, and that it wasn't like they were having sex in front of their kids. They were married, and other kids kissed openly in front of them, so they shouldn't feel like they were doing anything wrong.

Winter had supported him. She'd gone on to state that she thought they set a great example for a happy marriage, and how stupid it is to think that it's more acceptable to argue in front of your kids than to kiss, and that it never made either of them uncomfortable. They'd gone on to joke about the television standards from the 1950s where marital bedrooms were shown with two twin beds, and had all agreed that kisses were far more wholesome than fights.

Winter set the table, while her mother tended to the noodles, boiling them Carla's way, with no more water than necessary, and when finished, straining them in a colander and tossing them with olive oil. Richard returned with new clothes, and gave her a hug, as Tally brought in the sauce and set it on a potholder, then returned to the kitchen for the spaghetti, which she'd left in the colander set over the pot they'd boiled in.

"Sorry there's no salad."

"Mom, I get plenty of rabbit food at Ian's."

"And the cheese is just Kraft."

"I'm not company, silly. I used to be just Winter, and I still am."

The supper was uneventful, as Winter had hoped, and as the family wound down from the repast, Winter again asked, this time directing the question to her father. "Are you both going to be here tomorrow?"

Richard looked to Natalie, who shrugged affirmatively and answered, "Yeah."

"Good, because I have a surprise for you, and you have to be here tomorrow afternoon. It's important. Dad, I know you don't like surprises, but it's for both of you, and Mom does like them."

"You're in a family way."

"Yep, Ann's knocked me up." The laughter bordered on painful "I hate to, as they say, 'eat and run,' but the woman who miraculously impregnated me awaits. Don't get up. I'll show myself out."

The storm had blown through quickly, and the temperature had dropped to the point where it was comfortable, so Winter put the top down. She thought about the weather being unusually welcoming for August in St. Louis, but felt certain that before the end of their stay, Chloe would get to experience the pressure cooker.

Performance Issues

____________

When Winter got out of the car, she could hear music, and thought, "Boy, they must have it up loud."

Ian and Ann were in the living room, and they were dancing. They noticed her, and both in unison, sang, "I know, what she wants. Just a lick on your ice cream cone."

She watched them almost in disbelief. This was her Ann. She didn't jump around like a maniac to Rock'n Roll. When the song concluded, Ian quickly turned the volume all the way down and let the record spin nearly silently, and Winter asked, "What have you done to Ann?"

Ann answered for herself, as she raised her eyebrows and smiled, "I've been Honaloochied."

Winter tried to hold back her laughter as she said, "Oh dear. So, one crazy Ian wasn't enough?"

"Nope. Hey, check this out. We rehearsed it for you. Ian, put it on."

They proceeded to perform to Roll Away the Stone, with Ian singing the lower lead, and Ann singing the high parts and harmonies. It occurred to Winter that she'd never heard Ann sing-- other than those few bars of Good Ship Lollypop, and Candyman--and she sounded good. Ian, not so much. He hit the pitches right on but the tone wasn't as appealing. Their mock stage act, though, was great. They moved like rock stars. When it was over, Winter applauded, and said, "You're going to have to repeat that for my dad."

"That sounds like fun. Winter, we had so much fun this afternoon. I have a new thing in my life."

"Mott the Hoople?"

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure it's going to be a lot more than that. Rock'n Roll."

"Good grief, it appears that for better or worse, you have indeed been Honaloochied, but you know, Rock'n Roll is a powerful thing, and I know how important your spirituality is. I'm not saying it's the Devil's music, but it has an almost mystical quality, I mean the purist stuff; it's quasi-religious. I know Dad feels that way, and Ian, you know you do too, at least a little."

"I did when I was your age."

"My point, exactly. Ann is my age."

Ann sighed, "Winter, I love you, and I know you are being completely unselfish, but think about this--my parents could have threatened my faith. They were the only ones who had close to that power, and they did cause me to do the one thing in my life that I really need forgiveness for, but I've gotten that grace already, and you helped me. It really isn't your role to be concerned about that aspect of my life. I've never asked you to understand it, and I don't need you to defend it. I guess we need to talk about theology, and I need to explain to you how God is to me. I'm a heretic, Winter, but for now we have, as they say, bigger fish to fry."

Winter agreed that she'd overreached. "Maybe I'm overly protective of you, but you seemed so vulnerable."

"I was, and you and Ian were there for me, but you know that I haven't just recovered; I've blossomed through bonding with you, and I don't need your protection so much anymore, but I still need your love. You see the difference?"

"I know that with you, I go into a different mode. I so much want to see into your mind, and that's not fair."

"It's not about fairness. You just haven't realized how much I've grown, and how much stronger I am. You're trying to look after me more than you need to, and Winter, my faith survived my parents. It survived getting raped. It survived Ashley too, and since I got together with you, and then with Ian too, it's gotten deeper. I have so much to be thankful for, and it's the same, well, analogous, to the thing with you. Jesus was there for me, for comfort when I was weak. I don't need so much comfort anymore, but I still need, and treasure His love, and I want you to connect with my mind, as much as you want to. I'll share anything I have with both of you," and directing her gaze to Ian, she repeated, "both of you, and I know that you'll love me whether I'm strong, or I'm weak, and today, I'm trending strong in a big way."

Winter was receptive. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry that I doubted you."

Ann laughed, "You didn't doubt me. You're doubting yourself. You can't believe how much you've done for me, but you have." Ann put her fears to rest by giving Winter a dose of her own comedy, as she raised clenched fists, shaking them level with her chest, and asserted in a brusque Cossack voice, "I am strong! Strong like bull!"

Through her wide smile, Winter managed to say, "OK," but she was thinking more than, "OK." She noticed that when Ann had made her strongman gesture, that she had flexed every muscle in her arms. She wasn't just professing strength, she was feeling it. "You're right that I was selling myself short. I wasn't giving any of us the respect we deserve. We kick ass. I was thinking about the questions we might get from Mom and Dad, and one obvious one was about jealousy. We really don't have any of that, and part of why people are curious is that they assume that one male and two females is going to have the male as dominant, and the resentments are between the females. In our case, I have to admit that I was somewhat in that wear-the-pantsy role, but it's become less and less, and I wanted that. I really do try. I did doubt that we could achieve what we have so fast, but I guess we've been working on it all along. With us, there should never be any jealousy. Jealousy happens when one person thinks about another person, and thinks, 'We both want something, and the other person has it, and I don't.' I look at you, Ian, and if I ask myself, 'What is it that Ann gives you, that she doesn't also offer to me?' and the answer is, 'Not one single thing.' Ann, I consider you and ask the same thing, 'What is it that Ian gives you, that he doesn't offer me?' Again, nothing. We're all three different people, and our needs aren't identical, so it comes down to offering. Whether a marriage is two, three, or maybe even four, it's about giving, sharing nicely. As long as everyone is on board with that, it works." Both of you got there before me, and I'm not used to that, but I'm there now, there as in here. We're all here, and there isn't a single thing that my parents could ask that I feel that I couldn't answer, and that's good. It just dawned on me that I say, 'that,' a lot but I guess that's neither here nor there."

Ian tittered and said, "You do say, 'that,' more than most people do. I do too. Do you know that I do that?"

"I know one thing, Ian. I'd rather be full of that-that than full of do-do." As usual, matching wits with Winter over wordplay was almost an automatic forfeit. Winter regarded Ann with curiosity. "I just played something back in my head. You called yourself a heretic. No one does that."

"I did, and it wasn't a joke and certainly not self-effacing. It's what I am. I know you both thought, or think, that I'm pretty regular Christian, at least really liberal Christian, and I let that ride because so much has gone on between us that explaining would have added one more thing, and it doesn't really matter anyway. Ian, you know a lot about religion, especially for an Atheist."

Ian corrected her. "I'm a non-believer, Ann, agnostic."

"And you know enough to make the distinction. Thing is, that whole perfectly good, omnipotent God, and the existence of suffering was never adequately explained to me. I didn't buy it. It would have been enough to make me think like you, and please stop pretending you're not an Atheist, it seems patronizing. Anyway, I can't be an Atheist, because God is real. I believe in evolution and science and everything, and I won't make the point that there had to be a prime motivator, and insist that it's my God, because I can't see beyond that veil, but there is more than material reality. Any being or beings able affect physical reality have to obey causality, so they'd have to be working at a quantum level, and able to understand every level of abstraction between quantum changes and end results."

"This is really interesting, and I'm actually following what you're saying." Winter said this with a surprised demeanor. What she meant was that she followed the logic.

"To me, God the Father isn't perfect, or all loving, but like us, imperfect and selfish. The Old Testament never portrayed God as kind, but jealous and cruel. Jesus came to protect us. He was willing to put his life between us and a God who had become increasingly angry. But Jesus was pure. He surpassed every test, including being willing to die. See? Jesus expected to die to free us from tyranny, but pure love is the one thing that can't die. I guess I can add you two to the list of folks who think I'm nutty. You see why I call myself a heretic?"

Winter was dumbfounded, but Ian understood, and agreed aloud that this was the most logical synthesis of the paradox he'd ever heard. "So the next time I call myself agnostic, you'll believe me?"

Ann searched for an answer, but Winter saw an opening and said, "So an Atheist, an agnostic and a heretic walk into a bar," then descended into laughter.

"Kisses for love, Winter," said Ann, after the laughter subsided.

"Love for kisses, Ann," then Winter added, "and Ian, get your face over here."

Noses present a challenge for two lovers, but more so for three, and that fact wasn't lost on any of them, but foreheads were even more problematic. The idea was sublime, but the mechanics less so. Ian backed off first, leaving his hands in their hair, massaging their heads while he watched them kiss, and he resisted the urge to kiss their cheeks for the first few minutes, but then alternated those kisses between them, and wasn't pushed away, or in any way made to feel obtrusive. He'd been invited. Kissing their faces was both more intimate, and more playful than anything sexual could possible have been, and it seemed that Ann had been correct. The barrier was down, dropped, discarded. Winter wanted his face close to her own. She'd decided that he was more than an adjunct to Ann, or an enzyme to catalyze her relationship with Ann. He knew that had primed the pump, but whatever had led to their extant state, they were there, and he hoped that Richard and Tally would see that.

When the kissing concluded, Winter reminded him that she expected a quality rendition of Roll Away the Stone. "Exaggerate it, Ian. Get all glammy. No beer for you until you perform, OK?"

"I have performance issues?"

Winter scrunched her face. "Only your singing, dear."

Just then, the computer woke up and reminded them that their guests would be arriving soon. Winter said, "I'd better go alone. I don't know how much stuff they'll have."

Winter parked in the garage and walked down to the platform to meet their guests. They weren't on the first train to arrive, but were on the second. Other than the stroller, the only luggage they had was one rolling valise, and two backpacks. Winter smiled briefly at the parents, and said, "Hi," before pushing her face into the stroller, backpedaling a few steps before Chloe stopped pushing and laughed. Winter made eye contact with her baby nephew, and thought she detected a smile. She kissed his tiny nose, then stood and greeted Eric and Chloe more properly, kissing each on the cheek as she hugged them. "How was your trip?"

"Great," said Chloe. "He only fussed when he got hungry, but Mama was there with the mammaries."

As they wheeled the stroller up the ramp, into the parking garage, and onto the elevator, Winter thanked them for coming. "It's going to be easier with you there, but it isn't just that. It's going to be a big day for me." Winter couldn't help but laugh as she told them, "I'm finally coming out to my parents, 'I like men too!'" She said it with a flourish that reminded Eric of her favorite phrase. Everyone was smiling as they secured Little John's car seat, and Eric let the reality of what had happened sink in. They'd both ended up in love, in stable bonds. His was the conventional one, but hers wasn't so different. She'd said that she supposed that she'd end up with a man, "a mature man" but neither of them had expected that he'd be that much older.

After they were in the car and strapped, but before the car had even begun to move, Eric asked, "So, what's for dinner?"

"Why am I not surprised that your first question was about food? It's fried fish, and you have the following choices; salmon, cod or tilapia. Ian is also making his cheesy spinach, which I'm sure you remember fondly, and there's a whole quart of green salsa. There's lettuce, and lots of homegrown tomatoes for salad. Plus, there's a whole keg of beer, and if you two want some private time, I'll be happy to watch Little John. That about covers your male needs, doesn't it Eric? The big three?" Chloe giggled, and Winter shrugged, "It's true."

Eric didn't dispute that characterization, but Chloe added, "It was true before the baby, I guess, but he's a really devoted parent. You notice who's in back."

"I was just teasing, Chloe. I think the world of my brother, and truth be told, I'm more hedonistic than most guys. I appreciate how supportive you've both been, and I need you to do one more thing."

"What?" asked Chloe.

"Tomorrow afternoon, you need to turn off your phones, because I'm pretty sure that my parents will try to call. Do your folks know you're in St. Louis?"

"No. They're in Vermont, and I haven't spoken to them since before you called."

"Good. If they do call, don't tell them, OK?"

Chloe asked, "You think your parents will call them?"

"They might, and I'm sure you think this whole thing is crazy, the way I'm doing this, but it's important to me."

"I know it is, Winter, and something you should know, Eric told me."

"Told you what?"

"About your friend, Maryl, and what you did."

"I did it as much for her as for him."

"I know that, but it was thoughtful, and it helped make him the man he is."

Eric was hearing this all from the back seat, as he was cooing with his child, and as Winter was parking the car, Chloe looked back at him and said, "And you're a fine man."

When Winter opened the car door, she said, "They're doing it again."

"Doing what?" Eric inquired.

"Listening to Mott the Hoople, really loud. Don't bring the baby in 'till I get them to turn it down." When Winter entered, she discovered that it was even more absurd. Once she was noticed, she made a gesture that was unmistakably, "Turn that down," and Ian hurried to comply. When Eric and Chloe entered, with baby in tow, Winter shot a finger at Ian, "This man...this man is Hell bent on morally corrupting my wife." She addressed Ian sternly, "The Divinyls, how could you?"

Ann shot back melodiously, her hand stroking her face while her hips moved enticingly, "I love myself. I want you to love me." Everyone was laughing, and Eric had even set the baby carrier on the floor.

Winter crossed her arms. "In the course of one afternoon, these two have conspired to turn a wholesome polyamorous home into a den of iniquity." When the laughter began to subside, Winter said, "Welcome to my world, not a future that I could have imagined, but as they say, the truth is often stranger than fiction."

Finally, proper greetings were exchanged, and fish preferences stated. Winter and Chloe both took notice of the handshake between Ian and Eric. It was anything but perfunctory, and while very masculine, there was affection. It was obvious that Eric had given his full blessing to Winter's choice. Ann soon paired off with Chloe, no doubt to speak about things the others wouldn't understand, and left Winter with the baby, leaving the two males to each others' company. They'd bonded already, an experienced older man with a young newlywed, waxing on their love for women, but that was played out.

Ian didn't want to get into major drinking, because he wanted to reserve that capacity for the main event, but beer was an obvious commonality, and he'd have the morning to recover. "I have beer."

"You always have beer, Ian. Beer and pussy. Why else would any guy buy a lottery ticket?"

Winter called from the living room, "I heard that, and Eric, I'd appreciate you refraining from using that word in my home. I realize that you were merely using it as a shorthand, and hadn't meant to suggest that the rest of a woman's body is peripheral to her genitalia." She'd gotten them laughing so hard that Ian had elbow bumped Eric, and she sprung, shouting angrily, "And don't you get elbowy with my brother on the same day that you have debauched my wife." By the time that Ann and Chloe returned, concerned that there was a real argument taking place, Winter was doubled over, and Chloe picked up the carrier, and she and Ann walked down the hall to the bedroom, and Chloe closed the door behind them, one she'd left open before so she could hear if her child cried. He hadn't, even through Winter's drama.

Once inside, Chloe removed her blouse, and asked Ann to bring her baby to her. It was an intimation of friendship and trust, and Ann sensed that. She unbuckled Little John, and lifted him out carefully, placing him in Chloe's arms, guiding his head to her breast. Ann watched the nursing intently. Chloe seemed pleased, and said, "Being a woman has its joys, and I don't know if Winter shared this with you, but we had a conversation about breastfeeding, where she opined that everyone should see it."

"When was that?"

"Last Christmas break. Before she met you. Winter is pretty intense about her opinions."

"She's right, though, and Ian is too. There really is a war against women. She doesn't talk about it much with me, but Ian does, and I've lived it, though fortunately that part of my life is over." Ann surveyed the room. This was her life now, and it was good. Winter is there, next to me when I wake up every morning. If she wasn't, I'd cry, and sometimes I do anyway, but when I can, when we all sleep together, and I can hold Ian, it's manageable. Chloe moved the baby to the other side, and Ann said, "It's noticeably smaller."

"He's a hungry boy."

Ann shook her head in a yes as she said, "They're all hungry boys, at least in this house."

"And we wouldn't have it any other way."

Winter, meanwhile, was being one of the boys, drinking beer and cutting up with her two favorite men, all participating in preparing the evening's meal. Ian's beer fridge was on wheels, an idea he'd gotten from her father. It was a boxy thing with a tap on the top, and he'd moved it out to the barbecue room, where the fish fryer was. "I have a fryer dedicated to fish, since I fry fish once or twice a week."

"So, Winter found a guy who's as fish crazy as she is."

"Ann," said Winter, "is the limiting factor. Before she moved in we had it almost every other day, and not just fried fish, but sashimi, and shrimp. Ian will even eat crawfish. He's an honorary Coon Ass. Tell him, Ian."

"I had this buddy, one of my oldest friends, and he'd lived in New Orleans for a few years, and had friends there, so we had a place to stay for Mardi Gras. We drove down one year in my old Toyota. It was so rusted out, that I had to put two-by-fours underneath the driver's seat, but it ran fine. It made it to New Orleans, and we met up with his friends. The car was originally butter yellow, but there were rust spots all over it, and when we arrived, I noticed a couple of cans of spray paint in the back seat. One of them was bright yellow, and I sprayed all the rust spots with that, then I took the red can and gave it demolition derby numbers. I painted two big, red thirteens on the front doors. The locals went and bought us a bunch of boiled crawfish, which they called, "mudbugs," and they demonstrated how to eat them. You break the heads off, and suck the stuff out of the heads before eating the tail. I ate about a half a pound of them, and drank a six-pack of a particularly nasty local beer, and they conferred the status of honorary Coon Ass. I've never sucked the heads again, but I do like crawfish on occasion."

Winter said, "A few weeks ago, we went to this place called Little Indian Creek. It had a rope swing, and while Ann and I were jumping into this tiny little pool, Ian was talking with a local. “The guy didn't have a fishing license, so he had his kids catching crawdads to boil at their campsite, but he was pulling some of the larger ones out of their bucket, and eating them alive."

"And it wasn't to shock me," said Ian. "It seemed completely normal. I was glad he didn't offer, though looking back, I guess it was just the Missouri version of sashimi."

Winter added, "We'd planned to camp, but all the sites were taken. We could have gone home, but it was such a nice day."

"So where did you go?" asked Eric.

We walked upstream, found an isolated hollow, and slept like babies, but we had so much stuff that we left one cooler down by the creek. It only had a few beers in it, but it had our eggs for breakfast. When we hiked down to get it in the morning, someone had stolen the beers, which was no big deal, but they had smashed all our eggs."

"That'll teach you to put all your eggs in one cooler," said Eric, as he backed away, expecting a punch from Winter.

"Ian, dear, we should just buy some land on a creek."

"And isolate ourselves from unique cultural interactions? Never."

"You know, Eric, Ian has hillbilly roots. He's taken to whittilin'."

"Sculpture, Winter. A large cherry tree died, and I cut it down."

Winter interrupted, "Like George Washington."

"Honestly, Winter, must you demean my newly found talent?"

"You mean your new girlfriends? Show him, Ian, or should I say, 'Geppetto'? He's making women, Eric, wooden women, with no potential for insolence."

Eric laughed, "I see why you'd feel threatened."

Winter crossed her arms, "Boys," and announced that she was leaving them to seek out female company, but both men knew that this was merely drama, and Winter's departure was about solidifying the incipient bonds between them. She had praised Ian's carvings, and had encouraged him in his hobby, calling it, "constructive sublimation."

"Would you like to see them? asked Ian.

"I would."

Ian rose, and guided Eric toward the basement. They descended the stairs, through the poolroom, and passed by the laundry area, and into a room Eric had never known was there. Winter wasn't there, but when Eric saw the underground studio, he imagined what she'd have said. "This, Eric, is Geppetto's man cave."

The description fit. There was sawdust everywhere, and evidence of half-done projects, not so much the sculptures, but wood for cooking as well, and miter, table and band saws, plus a machine that Ian called a jointer. When Ian flipped on another switch, it illuminated the far side of the room, where there were figures, obviously the ones that Winter had feigned jealousy toward. They were less than life sized, but well proportioned--none Renaissance fatty, but neither Barbie shaped. The hips were fully developed, but not overlarge. Eric was drawn to one. It could have been Chloe, pre-pregnancy, but she couldn't have been the model, and none yet had faces, but rather large, untouched rectangular blocks that he knew were destined to be heads, with enough volume to allow for any shape, and they sat upon shoulders similarly uncompleted, as if the works had been shaped from the ground up, which drew his attention to the feet. Some seemed close to completion, others only crudely carved. "I see why Winter's jealous. Ian, this is, I don't really have words for it. Did you use models, or can you imagine? Can I show Chloe?"

"Thank you, Eric. I thought you'd enjoy them, and I'm sure Winter did too. I got the idea from her, and she modeled, but it was mostly Ann, and I don't mind at all if Chloe sees them, but it might be a tad much for your parents. The whole relationship revelation will be tough enough."

"You put it on, don't you? The professor thing. You're as down to Earth as the rest of us, but you speak all Victorian."

"Eric, my boy, I feel as if I'm in a romance novel. It's gentle one, where the bodices are willingly unlaced, though there is a shade of conflict, and some suspense as well."

"Winter," said Eric, "isn’t easy."

"She's easy to love, and difficult to manage, so I've never really tried. The scales tipped very early, and everything's been on her terms."

"With you, but there's Ann. I read the letter. Do you trust her?"

"Eric, Ann's integrity is everything to her. She's not Winter's weakness, not really. Ann is Winter's joy in life. I'm an adjunct to their love story, but it is exactly that, a love story. Eric, Winter gave me a gift. She allowed Ann and me to fall in love because she doesn't believe that love is zero sum, and it isn't. With our circumstances, the time that we have on our hands, no one is getting used up."

Eric laughed, "I guess not in your case, if you have time for this," and he walked toward the wooden women.

"You can touch them. There's no life there, just shape, other than the patina you place there. Velveteen bunnies in exquisite detail. They were made to be touched. The next level of art, tactile."

Eric was still laughing. "I'm not going to feel up those statues."

"Then you can busy yourself with examining my power tools while I fetch the ladies," said Ian, as he headed upstairs to do what he'd said.

Ian wasn't surprised that the women were seated in the dining room, speculating about the goings on downstairs. They soon devised a plan where Chloe would march down noiselessly, with others following soon after with quiet footsteps. She didn't catch Eric touching the sculptures, as he had taken Ian's suggestion to admire the woodworking devices. Winter had hurried to be next, and seeing the couple before Ian's lathe, she proclaimed, "A man's man. Next thing you know he'll be off to fight fascists or chase a whale or something."

Somebody Else's Daughter

____________

When the doorbell rang, Richard wasn't surprised. Ever since her marriage, she no longer entered their house as if she lived there. They'd told her it wasn't necessary, but she'd continued to do it, and Richard figured that it was an independence thing. He was surprised when instead of Winter, he opened the door to a sharply dressed young man with a briefcase in one hand, and the other pulling a rather large cooler. "Mr. Williamson?"

"That's me."

"I was instructed by your daughter to bring this ice chest to your living room."

"It's right in here. Where is Winter?"

"I don't know, Sir, but she gave me quite explicit instructions."

Natalie had heard voices and walked into the room. "Who's that?"

"I am a courier, Ms. Williamson, and I was instructed by your daughter to bring you drinks and snacks, and to ask that you make yourselves comfortable and enjoy. He removed two wine glasses and several containers containing various treats. There was sashimi, caviar, various cheeses, and a box of crackers, which the man opened and placed on the coffee table. He uncorked a bottle of wine that he'd retrieved from the cooler, poured a glass, and handed it to a puzzled looking Natalie. He then turned to Richard and asked, "Wine or beer, Sir?"

Considering all of the other aspects, Richard assumed that whatever the beer, it would be something special, and he answered, "Beer, please."

The courier reached into the cooler again, and pulled out a growler, uncapped it, and filled Richard's glass, then handed it to him. He returned to the valise, and removed two large envelopes, then said, "Before I leave, there is one other thing. These are two copies of a letter from your daughter, that should explain," his hand swept over the coffee table, "all this. No need to get up. I'll show myself out. Good day, Sir." Then, smiling at Natalie, "Madam," and he was gone.

Winter's parents both pulled out their letters, which read:

I know this seems strange, but I have big, big news. I want you to relax, have a few drinks, and nosh on the yummies. In a half an hour or so, you will be receiving two more letters. I ask that you each read your copy all the way through before you discuss the contents. Now, like I said, drink up, and relax. The news is good news.

Love, Winter

Natalie asked, "What could she possibly be up to? And this must have cost a pretty penny."

"I'm sure Ian paid for it. He's awfully fond of her. I think he'd do about anything she asked. Tell you what, I'm going to trust Winter, and follow her wishes, especially the drinking part."

The food was delicious, and the drinks potent. By the time the courier returned, both were laughing without even having to say words, laughing at the humor that Winter so often left in her wake. This time, when Richard answered the door, the courier merely handed him two envelopes, one marked, "MOM," and the other, "DAD," and left without a word. Richard returned, and handed Natalie her letter, then seated himself some distance away. They took out the pages, and began to read.

Within half a minute, Richard was laughing. Natalie was not. She was crying. When Richard got further into the letter, he also began to weep. Richard read it straight through, and set it on the end table, waiting for his wife to finish. It took Natalie a long time to read through the tears. When she finally put it down, still crying, she managed to get out, "I think we did a good job."

Richard agreed, "I think so too. She's happy, sweetheart. Boy, Ian is one lucky dog."

"Richard." said Natalie, now half laughing.

"I have to admit that if I had been in Ian's exact situation, I'd have done the same thing. Not with my daughter, of course, but with somebody else's daughter."

Now Natalie was laughing harder. "You need to tell him that tomorrow. 'Somebody else's daughter.'"

"She loves you so much, Tally. She acknowledges the sacrifices you made for her, and I understand why she kept the truth from us. It had to have been hard on her too. She was always so open with us. I think she told us as soon as she thought she could, and I think she is expecting that we'll take it well, but here's no getting around that it's going to be a bit awkward with Ian at first."

"What, for the first thirty seconds, maybe a minute?" asked Natalie. "We just both hug him really tightly, and tell them we're happy for them. When they started this thing, he didn't know us. We were just the hypothetical somebodies who had a daughter. After all, he didn't have to become friends with you. You just had a lot of common interests, and it was pretty gutsy of him, I mean to have a relationship with you that he knew might end badly. Like Winter said, until fairly recently, he thought that their arrangement would just end, and he had to have known that Winter," Natalie stopped, and seemed pensive. "No, they wouldn't have needed to tell us yet. Ian has scads of money, and three million dollars isn't that much to him. It could have been explained as a bonus. You know we'd have bought that, so maybe it wasn't risky, but he likes you, Richard, and you like him. The way that I see it, no one did anything wrong.

They held each other, and as they decoupled, Natalie said, "What got me the most upset was thinking about Ann. I knew she'd had a break with her parents, but she never shared the details of her childhood. I'm remember her asking if she could call us 'Mom' and 'Dad,' and that seemed natural." Natalie was starting to sob again, and Richard held her. "It must have been hard for Ann. Winter is tough, and I think that Ian is too.” There were a few seconds of silence, almost reverent. “That poor girl. Winter would have landed on her feet no matter what, and she certainly did. Oh, Richard, we need to love Ann. Winter thought this was about accepting Ian, but it's about loving Ann."

"Tally, it was about love, and mostly about your capacity to love. I couldn't believe it when we got together, that someone like you wasn't married already."

"I could say the same thing about you, and Winter said it. She said that we'd gotten lucky. We did, and I accept that they feel that way too." Natalie smiled. "I'd bet she's already told Eric. You know I hate trite phrases, but those two are as thick as thieves."

"We're going over there tomorrow completely positive. Tally, I love you more than I did, even five minutes ago."

"Does that mean good leg rubs?"

"Of course." As Richard began to massage her calf, and caress her knee, Natalie suddenly began to laugh again, and he asked, "What?"

"I just remembered what she said yesterday. She was talking about majoring in philosophy, and I said that I didn't know what kind of job you could get with a philosophy degree, and she said the sort of thing she was doing with Ian, knowing full well what she was saying. She was giggling while she said it."

"Winter's jokes have always been about what's funny to her, and I'm pretty sure that she's hoping that we aren't stewing about tomorrow." Richard's sentences became punctuated by kisses, as he said. "I love this place...this one's even nicer." His hands were massaging, one above, and one below Natalie's knee. She knew where he was headed. "Mmm, yummy, baby...The lighting's great in here... Pretty, Tally...I still can't believe it."

Natalie had no doubt that he was no longer thinking about Winter, but only her body, and she was glad that they had an empty nest. Winter and Eric had separated, been sent off into their own places of joy, and the whole house was their private sanctuary. The living room floor was now a suburb of their bed, and she opened her legs fully to kisses, thrilling to have her nectar taken by a man she knew would return for more, and not just for the physicality, but to touch her emotions--to connect. She'd never really thought about the kids before during sex, assuming that it would be distracting, but what Winter had written gave her a feeling of power, and an intense love for the man who had adopted her, and helped shape her. It made Richard seem so sexy. She was with a man who loved women, and she was the woman he loved. She brought her legs together, and Richard accommodated her by lifting his shoulder.

Winter had written, "threeish," but the knock came pretty much right on the hour. When she opened the door, she smiled as she said, "Welcome to my home."

Natalie extended her arms, and held Winter close, as Richard slipped past and went straight for Ian, offering his hand, which Ian took, and they shared expressions of trust. Then Richard, before letting go Ian's hand, addressed his son, "I figured you'd be here."

Winter had disengaged from her mother, and headed in the direction of her father and Ian, while Natalie made a beeline for Ann. She hadn't cried with Winter, but she looked at Ann and started to sob, "You know how loved you are?"

They cried in each others' arms for a long time, seeming uninterested in everyone else, and Ann said, "I do," then, "You understand, don't you?"

"We're happy for you, sweetie. We're happy."

Little John squealed in Chloe's arms, and the timing was perfect, as she said, "He's used to being the center of attention." Winter winked at Chloe, assuming that she'd tickled the baby.

While Winter joined the women who had thrown themselves into cooing mode, Richard presented his own icebreaker, and Eric said, "He's right, Ian. They're all somebody else's daughters."

"One would certainly hope that's the case." Ian had said it in a way that was recognizably Winter. He'd caught her vocal inflections, but her facial movements as well.

"Ian?" asked Richard, "you do know that Tally and I are fine with Winter's choices. She's never given us any reason to doubt her judgment. You had already become almost family."

Ian thought for a moment before asking, "You mean the name change?" By the reaction he got, bewilderment, he knew that Winter hadn't mentioned that. Of course she hadn't. He'd seen the full contents of the letter, and there had been no mention, but there was no backtracking from his words, and they'd find out soon enough anyway. "She's asked me to take her surname, yours Richard, and I've tentatively accepted, pending your veto. It does seem practical."

Love Kiss

____________

Winter woke, and when she looked at the clock, it was only a few minutes past midnight. Ann was snoring softly. She soon realized that sleep wasn't returning anytime soon, and headed to the kitchen for something to drink. Ian's light was on, and he was in bed reading. She stood in the door and said, "Hi. I was just going to the kitchen. Want anything?"

Ian smiled, "No thank you."

"I can't sleep. Would you like some company?"

"I'd love your company."

"I'm going to make a drink." Winter left, and soon Ian heard the sound of the juicer, and rethought.

He got out of bed, put on his robe, and joined Winter, "What're you making?"

"Lemonade with vodka, whatever that's called."

"I think it's just called vodka lemonade. Let's make a big pitcher."

Winter went to the fridge and got out a large bag of lemons, which she halved, before handing them to Ian, who pushed them hard against the rotating cone of the juicer.

"Trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?"

Ian laughed, "No, I'm taking advantage of the fact that you obviously feel like drinking to get to drink with my dear friend who very seldom drinks."

"I drink beer."

"That's different. Beer is a total experience to you. Vodka lemonade is about the alcohol. When is the last time you remember getting really hammered on beer?"

"I've never gotten, as you say, 'hammered on beer'. Alright, let's do some serious drinking."

They mixed the drinks in the pitcher lightly, and Ian added extra vodka to his first glass, and drank it straight down, which caused Winter to look at him funny. He said, "Hey, you said serious drinking." They took the drinks into the dining room, and for the next however long, whatever two or three more glasses were, Ian talked about drinking. She knew he'd done a lot of it in his earlier years, but his tales about cheap beer by the case had really surprised her.

"A whole case? In one day?"

"Pretty much every day. I had quite a tolerance."

"Didn't it taste awful?"

"I suppose it did, but I wasn't doing much tasting. I don't do it now because I only drink beer that tastes good, but I could pour down a can almost without swallowing. I'd easily drink the first five or six in well under a half hour. In not much more than an hour or so, I'd have downed a whole 12 pack." He also talked about his teenage drug use, and how the years thirteen through sixteen were completely saturated with marijuana, and any time they could get it, alcohol. There had been LSD and minor hallucinogens as well, and Winter was surprised that in the months they'd been together, he'd never shared that aspect of his past, and she recounted her own.

"That's so different than how I grew up. I mean, I drank beer, and got buzzed, but once every week or two at most, and in moderation. I've only gotten really drunk a few times. When we first moved in with Dad and Eric, maybe a week or so after, I saw Eric pour himself a beer. He was 14 or 15 at the time. I asked him what if his dad catches him, and he told me he was allowed, as long as he was responsible, and that he was sure that I was also allowed, which turned out to be true. About once a month or so, Dad would buy one of those mini kegs, the exact same ones as you, and it would last a week or two, then he'd drink bottled beer. I was picky. The bottled beer tasted wrong, and I'd only drink it if we were sitting around a camp fire. Most people have to teach themselves to like beer, but not me. It did take me a while to get used to alcohol, and to know when it was time to stop. I tried pot, but I didn't like it at all. Some of my friends smoked it. It's funny, but Mom and Dad sometimes did, and Eric and I didn't, and I just mentioned camping. Well, that was the only times they ever smoked in front of us, out at the creek, or in the woods, and they never offered to share, and we never asked. Eric had told me that he was about the only guy on the swim team who didn't get high, and that it made the guys silly, and kind of stupid, but that after he said he wasn't interested, none of them ever tried to get him to smoke, and my friends were the same way. Maryl and I didn't smoke, but the other two did, and everyone was fine with that." Winter realized that she was getting tipsy, and talking about her high school years. Time to put a plug in that. She thought about how best to change the subject, "Ian, will you brush my hair?" She knew that would do it, and it did. "You sit there while I go get the brush." She hadn't left a pause for him to recover from his surprise at her suggestion.

"That sounds lovely."

When she returned, she handed Ian the hairbrush, and sat down in front of him. "You know, Ian, it made me happy to hear you call me a dear friend because that's what you are to me. I think you're my new best friend."

"That's good, because we're sharing a girlfriend, and in your case, wife."

"We're all three pretty much married now. Ann made that pretty clear, but I think you understand the dynamics as well as I do." Ian had started brushing her hair, and it felt good. Winter continued, "Do you realize how unreal it is that we've gotten this far without a single fight? I mean all three of us. There have just been a few brief little misunderstandings that were cleared up right away. You always hear about relationships being hard work, but this one's been a cakewalk. You're an unusual male, at least for a polygamist."

Ian found that word amusing, as Winter had intended. "Unusual in that I don't want to be in charge?"

"Yeah."

"Winter, you know I hate patriarchy as much as you do."

"And that's not unusual?"

"I don't think it's rare for a man to love women, and the social justice thing, so many men have that."

"Yes, but you're really militant about it. When I saw that Femen shirt, I about fell out. You know, they wouldn't approve at all of our arrangement, but I was a free woman, and I still am. Hey, which one's your favorite?"

"Which one what?"

"The Femen chicks, your biggest crush."

"Who said anything about crushes? I think they kick ass, and I agree with much of their ideology, though I think they go overboard with the over-sexualization, and religion stuff, but I attribute that to them being Soviet; Marxian Materialism and the strange relations between the Orthodox Church and state, the church being frowned upon in Soviet times and far too cozied under the oligarchs."

"I got about half of what you said."

"That's why you should go back to school."

"So I can be a rich woman with a thorough understanding of Karl Marx?"

"Yes. And I do love the way they fight. I just admire them."

"Of course you do, but there are quite a few of them who are seriously beautiful. So who? Sasha? Maybe Oksana?"

"I'm not even dignifying that with a denial."

"You probably think they're the two sexiest women on the planet."

"No, that would be you and Ann."

"What would you do if you got a call from me saying I'd ripped my shirt off and gotten arrested?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course, I'd post bond and get you the best lawyer. Why? Are you planning to do that?"

"No."

"So this is like the anchovy kiss question."

"Pretty much."

"You're bored."

Winter turned her whole body and looked at Ian apologetically, "Not bored, and not with the brushing and you kissing the top of my head. That's all nice, but I'm getting the sense that you're kind of sad."

"Earlier, I was thinking about mortality. Right now, my life is as perfect as it could be. I'm even pretty much sexually satisfied."

"I should hope so. You said that as if you're surprised."

It's not something I'm used to, or even expected. It's been, probably, since high school; the whole young, learning together, no rules thing." Winter knew exactly what he meant. Ian took a deep breath, "I know I'm like an addict, always needing a more intense high, but with you and Ann, I think I've got the optimum dose."

Winter was puzzled. "I thought you said that in grad school you had five women at your beck and call. That wasn't enough?"

"No, it wasn't. There were only two of them that I was actually attracted to, but there being five kept both of them from getting possessive, and none of them were a total turnoff. It would have been bordering on cruel to have the man slut exclude anyone. I think they knew which of them I was most interested in, but there was no romance, and not a whole lot of affection anyway. I was the only game in town. The other two guys in the program, one was obviously gay, and the other was dorky to the point that he seemed out of place anywhere but a parents' basement, with a few other guffawing guys playing some multiplayer game with dragons. I'd joked that I wanted to be promiscuous, but I fell in love too easily, and that's the way it had been to that point. Then, in library school, I was promiscuous, and found it dissatisfying, especially emotionally."

"If you don't mind me asking, what about with your wife?"

"I don't mind. That was emotionally wonderful. I loved her, and adored her body. The sex was great. We were good at physically meeting one anothers' needs, and it was so affectionate, but psychosexually, she wasn't a freak."

Winter laughed, "Like me."

"Like both of us."

"But before Ann, it wasn't enough? I wasn't enough?"

"Quality wise it was more than enough. Quantity?" Ian mentally kicked himself for saying that.

"Damn it, Ian. I've never turned you down, and it's your own freakin' fault for not asking."

Ian shrugged, "I felt that excessive sexual demands, anything beyond two or three times a day would have had a negative effect on our friendship."

"You're crazy. You were paying me a fortune to keep you happy, and more specifically, to satisfy you sexually."

"True, but sex was only part of the picture, and I'm embarrassed telling you things like this, but it's like that whole thing about never being to catch up on lost sleep. For years I've felt like I was chasing something that was already gone, and for so long that was cumulative. Too nice to take, and too proud to grovel sufficiently, but always doubting my ability to preserve my dignity by not acting too far outside ethical constraints, I was always walking a fine line." Ian drained his glass, and said, "You know what they say. That's why God made vodka." Winter was still listening with empathy. "And with you, there's so much that's so wonderful about you, so I struck what I saw as a balance, and considering how things turned out, I think I played my hand well."

"Well? Well, I suppose you did, but, well, we are going to have some make up sex, and I don't mean like after we've been fighting because we haven't fought. Well, we're going to start making up for all those times you didn't ask. Now, I want you to take me and do anything you want with me, within reason of course. No animals or anything."

"And no dead people."

Winter spoke almost sternly, "No animals, no corpses, and no food that I find icky. Like whipped cream is fine. Tapioca is not."

Ian went hurt puppy, and Winter rolled her eyes and sighed noisily, "You were thinking tapioca." He so quickly got me. He sets up my jokes.

Then Ian pointed out the real flaw, "We've been drinking."

Winter became sincere. "With what you told me, you blew that rule out of the water." Winter gazed at him for a long time, "I see why Ann loves you. You're the biggest horn-dog freak I know, but you put affection ahead of that, and it's time you got some of that love back from me. You took it so easy on Ann--not wanting to hurt her--that I had to give you a boot in the ass. And then you tell me that you held back from asking me for more sex that you admit you wanted because you valued my--I don't know what to call it--but the part of me that's isn't about sex."

"You said it yourself, that no one pays that much money for sex."

"But that's the thing, you would, if you had to. You feed on female bodies, in the most benignest of ways of course."

"You're drunk."

Winter had only heard Churchill's voice in bad recordings, in school or on PBS, but she did her best, "And you are a man with a voracious appetite." Winter couldn't finish. She'd been trying to contort her face into Churchill, and had realized that she had his face mixed up with Alfred Hitchcock's, and that was too much.

After she had composed herself enough to speak, she explained that to Ian, who kissed her forehead while laughing. "An enigma. The patriarch, father of many generations, Hell bent on abolishing the patriarchy. See? I'm not drunk. Not yet. I'm going to pee, and you get me a big glass with ice, and pour so it'll be cold when I get back. When she returned she declared, "Now I'm going to get drunk. Surprise me."

"I hate to disappoint you, but there's nothing new, nothing we haven't done already. It'll just be the same ol', same ol'. No ravishment," and he added, "at least since you're outright rejecting anything that involves tapioca."

Winter bunny nosed him, "I know one thing we haven't done. It's something Ann and I do. We call it, 'love kiss.' I once asked her if she'd done it with you, and she said, 'No. You'll know when the time is right.' I didn't know what she meant, but we were in the middle of kissing, and after, I forgot to follow up. When I thought about it later, I assumed she meant that I'd tell her when I was comfortable with her being that intimate with you, sharing something that was special between us with you. Now I know. She meant that I had to do it first. I had to be the one to break trumps. I've laid down the two of spades, Ian. Take the trick."

Winter's love kiss was about gentleness, softly breathing into each others' mouths, brief brushing of lips. There were no tongues digging in and exploring, and no closed eyes. There was no room for feelings of furtiveness. This was a replay of the trepidation of a first kiss, but exaggerated, acting out pre-lust, but without the fumbling sloppiness, the timorousness of, "Am I doing it right?" All that taken to new heights.

Winter still felt a tiny twinge of awkwardness, but knew that was left over from a paradigm that had been transcended by Ian's words, coupled with being intoxicated. However matter of factly he'd said them, it translated into, "I love you."

They kissed for a few minutes, then Winter asked Ian why he let himself think about mortality, or anything else that brought him down when he could be thinking about her, or Ann, and how much he adored their bodies.

"I wasn't going to mention this, but it's because I have an appointment with Kelly on Friday to talk about estate planning." As he said this, Winter saw the happiness leave. "I want to make sure that you and Ann get as much as possible, and Uncle Sam, as little. I don't know what inheritance taxes will be by then, whenever then is, hopefully sky high, but I want you two to have wonderful lives, and several generations into posterity."

"If we were more practical people, we would have thought this wealth management thing out beforehand, and you could have married me. It's not like it would have made a difference in our dealings with..." Winter stopped and gradually choked up, "Ann's... Yeah. It would have made a difference. I mean I gave her everything that day. It was so beautiful, and I'm sorry that you weren't there." Winter's clenched mouth opened. "Kiss my tears, Ian. They're not just for Ann, they're for us too. My pledge to you. Drink."

Ann's tears were abundant, but Winter's were rare, and as far as he knew, never given to anyone but Ann, and not a drop was wasted. It had all happened so suddenly. Winter had never cried in front of him. It was a confirmation of the bond.

After many minutes in Ian's arms, Winter started giggling, "I love you Ian, but suddenly I am seriously sleepy. Please don't burn the house down, OK? You know I don't have a job anymore."

"And you'll be here in the morning."

"Unless you succumb to arson."

"Good night, sweet one."

"Good night, Ian."

Winter fell asleep on the floor after Ian had taken a pillow from the couch and put it under her head, then brought a cover from the hall closet. He wrapped the blanket around her and kissed her eyebrows before he headed straight for Ann, excited to tell her that her imperfect tricycle was in a better state of repair.

Ian went to Ann, got into her bed and nuzzled her into wakefulness. She was surprised to see him, and asked him where Winter was. He recounted the night, and when he told her about the love kiss, she said, "Love kiss me now."

"Not now, Ann. Maybe tomorrow, and certainly soon, but I so much want to sleep next to you."

"Too drunk for kisses?"

"Never." In Ann's lexicon, kisses didn't mean kissing.

Several minutes later, when Ian had returned to her neck and ears, Ann offered Ian more, but Ian mumbled, "Sleep."

Bigamy

____________

Predictably, Ann woke first. She got out of bed, put on her robe, and went to the living room to cuddle Winter. She didn't intend to wake her, but when she kissed her softly on the cheek, Winter, without opening her eyes, purred, "Mmmm. Ann."

After they spoke for a while, Ann said, "I'm so happy, baby. Now we can really be a family. I told you he loves you."

"I'm throwing myself into loving him too, romantically I mean, but it's going to take some time. I was trying anyway--for your sake, and our children's--but now I want to for myself."

"You just rest, and let me make you coffee." Ann kissed her cheek again, and made for the kitchen, glad that Winter seemed not hung-over, but just tired from staying up late. She thought about how Ian had never asked to be the center of attention, and how Ian had told her that Winter had said she had some making up to do. They could wake up Ian in the nicest way. The coffee maker began to sputter as the microwave finished the two cups that were filled almost halfway with milk. As she topped up the cups with fresh brew, she reflected on "church coffee." That was what one of the women at her old church called it. It was better than what her parents drank at home. That didn't even smell good, but Irene, one of the older women at church, had invited her to have a cup of the coffee her Sunday school class made, with real cream, and after that, every Sunday, Irene had offered, and she'd gratefully accepted. Ian's coffee was even better, and Ann had gotten used to Winter's way, which was half whole milk, and half coffee.

When Ann brought Winter her coffee, she also offered her idea. Winter knew that Ann had never watched pornos, and found it intriguing that Ann had come up with this idea in the absence of such, but agreed to her plan, not telling her that this was, or had become, she wasn't sure which, a standard male fantasy. Two female mouths that wanted each other anyway, and one penis. He'd never have asked for that. Winter explained all that to Ann. Ann was curious where Winter had seen "sex movies."

"On the internet," Winter explained, "Why are you interested? Most of it's crap to the point of being an actual turn off, but some of the stuff marketed to women is pretty nice. I prefer the real thing."

"I'd be embarrassed."

"Embarrassed to think of yourself as the type of person who watches porn, or embarrassed to see strangers' bodies doing the things we all do?" When Ann didn't answer, Winter had other angles. "Embarrassed to be human in a world where sexuality is treated so crassly? I tell you, sweetie, there's so much worse in the world. Fear of sexuality, and mostly female sexuality, is the primary focus of more poorly evolved cultures. Women are treated like animals, property. They're recognized as sentient, but those savages don't see being a boy or girl as an accident of birth. Some force with intent..."

Winter had happy cried with Ann a few times, but this was different. Ann recognized the tears of anger, of outrage, and now knew how it was that Winter had come to accept what Ann had done to her parents. Winter had stopped speaking abruptly. Ann knew there was more.

"Women do it, Ann. They destroy other women's sexuality. They perpetuate what was done to them." Winter was thinking about FGM, but kept that to herself. "You can't know how much I respect you for having the courage to make the break. Ann?"

"Yes?"

"You're my hero."

Ann wasn't sure exactly what Winter meant, but the words that formed in her mind were, "Jesus had to be a boy, and God had to be a man. I stopped thinking like that, but that's the way it was," and she explained that to Winter.

Winter thought about the pre-Abrahamic goddess religions, but said nothing. Human brutality existed in nearly all cultures, and she knew that it was her own coreligionists who had perpetrated the most wrongs, at least in raw numbers. She thought about Carla, and how she'd fought for freedom, and that she'd said to her that freedom was about owning oneself.

Ian said, "Go ahead and park in the same place as we did for Eric's wedding. It's just a couple of blocks, and the appointment is for up to two hours. I don't want to have to mess with the meters."

As they walked out of the parking garage, Winter took Ian's hand, they exchanged warm smiles, and he said, "I'm looking forward to hearing your idea."

"Just a few minutes."

"You're going to behave, right?"

Winter held up two crossed fingers and said, "Scouts' honor."

The receptionist looked glad to see Ian, as she said, "Good morning Mr. Meadows." She pushed the button on the phone, "Mr. Meadows is here."

From the phone a voice said, "Send him in."

The receptionist opened the door and motioned them inside. The lawyer greeted Ian like they were old friends, "Ian."

"How are you, Kelly." They embraced tightly.

"Great, you?"

"Wonderful."

Winter looked over the sixty-ish woman. She was wearing a gray wool suit that included a pleated skirt and her gray hair was pulled into a bun. Winter said, "Hmmm? First name basis. Should I be worried?" Winter's eyes twinkled as she half held back, and the lawyer laughed at the absurdity, and Winter laughed along, knowing that this was what Ian had meant about behaving.

"You must be Mrs. Williamson."

"Winter."

"That's a beautiful name."

"Thank you."

So, let's take seats. Would you like anything other than water? Coffee?"

Ian said, "Water's fine," and Winter indicated her agreement.

"Kelly?

"Yes, Winter."

"I've been thinking about this whole business for a few days, and I've come up with a plan."

Kelly asked, puzzled, "You have?"

"Yes. It's quite complicated, so if you'll just indulge me for several minutes, you can tell me if I've missed something. O.K.?"

Winter began, "First we show up at the Secretary of State's office demanding that the State of Missouri recognize Ann's and my marriage. When he refuses, we file suit against him in Federal court on whatever grounds; 14th Amendment, Article IV, whatever."

"That'd be a waste of time and money, Winter."

"Ah, it might be if our goal was to win. It isn't. I want the Missouri Secretary of State and the state's attorneys to argue that my marriage has no legal standing as long as I am a resident of the State of Missouri. Then, when they indicate that they're going to put up a fight, we back down and drop the suit.. The next day, Ian and I apply for a marriage license, and within thirty days, certainly before year's end, we marry. We open joint accounts, put my name on the house, file taxes as married, but not change a single thing about our personal lives, which are fine, and only getting better." Winter reached in her handbag and got out two pages that were folded in half, and handed one to Ian, the other to Kelly. "This is a copy of Missouri's bigamy law."

Bigamy.

568.010. 1. A married person commits the crime of bigamy if he:

(1) Purports to contract another marriage; or

(2) Cohabits in this state after a bigamous marriage in another jurisdiction.

2. A married person does not commit bigamy if, at the time of the subsequent marriage ceremony, he reasonably believes that he is legally eligible to remarry.

3. The defendant shall have the burden of injecting the issue of reasonable belief of eligibility to remarry.

4. An unmarried person commits the crime of bigamy if he

(1) Purports to contract marriage knowing that the other person is married; or

(2) Cohabits in this state after a bigamous marriage in another jurisdiction.

5. Bigamy is a class A misdemeanor.

When they had both finished reading the document, Winter continued to explain. “I assume that Missouri will eventually be forced to accept same sex marriages from other states because the whole Article IV, Full Faith and Credit thing is so obvious, but the challenge is not going to come out of the Eighth Circuit. At that point, the State of Missouri will be in a funny position. I don't intend to appeal, sue again, or in any way try to get my marriage to Ann recognized legally, but I will be very open about considering us to all three be married to one another, and by then, there may even be babies. Oh, and I've left out something. As soon as possible, we need to have plans drawn up for an addition to the house."

Ian glowed, "You're pregnant?"

Kelly laughed. Ian had told her about their intention to have his vasectomy reversed, and knew that it had yet to happen.

"No. not yet."

"Well then I'm confused,” said Ian. “Why do we need to add onto the house? It's huge already."

"You'll understand in a minute. Ian, remember a couple of days ago when I asked you if you had given any campaign money to anyone in city government, and you said, 'No.'"

"I do. It was a curious question, and after I answered, you just walked away."

"You've also told me how generous with donations to civic groups: Friends of the Library, Historical Society, Garden club, you name it. Richmond Heights is somewhat in your debt, but the politicians aren't, so it won't look a bit off. We're going to convince the Planning and Zoning Board for one itsy bitsy variance; that is to allow the addition--which will have its own kitchen and bath, to have its own address, and be issued its own occupancy permit. The occupant will be Ann, so legally, we won't be cohabitating. Put that little technicality together with Lawrence, and we are completely immune from Federal bigamy charges under the Edmunds Act."

Kelly looked at Winter in awe, and Winter seemed pleased, but she wasn't finished, "The news gets contacted, and the Missouri Attorney General now has a problem. He's a smart lawyer, and understands that the law, as written, can't be used in this case. We are, in the strangest way, grandfathered in, unless the legislature modifies the bigamy law, and even then the courts might think this comes too close to a Bill of Attainder, especially since I'm so politically outspoken, an outright radical, and the law would have only one known target. The law couldn't influence anyone else's future behavior because our circumstance couldn't recur. If the State did, somehow, mange to compel me to dissolve one of my marriages, it would be the second one, and divorce or annulment settlements are not taxable."

Kelly said to Ian, "You did tell me."

Ian spoke. "She had four days to come up with that."

"It took me two."

Kelly was trying to find words, and finally asked, "How do you know all those things?"

Winter answered matter-of-factly, "I'm bisexual, so of course I know about Lawrence v. Texas. It's our Brown versus Board. The rest I found on the internet." Winter winked at Ian, "I have a knack for making plans."

Kelly was visibly impressed. "You should be an attorney."

"I might one day. Constitutional law is interesting, but I don't really need to have a job."

"Ian told me that you are the most remarkable person he's ever known, and I see why."

"He usually says, 'delightful,' but I'll take remarkable."

"I'd ordinarily advise against anything of this sort, but Ian has convinced me that you're completely trustworthy."

"He told you about Ann and her Solomon thing?"

"He did, but now that I've met you," Kelly hesitated. "Winter, I deal with disingenuous people. It's my job, but I've learned to read my clients, and you're not a gold-digger. I still think you're too good to be true, but there's no lack of veracity in you, and if this is what Ian wants, I'll do it."

"Are we agreed, Ian?, asked Winter. “My plan, and making it happen right away?"

Ian addressed his lawyer, "Kelly, try to find a glitch, and if you can't, yes. As soon as possible. Spare no expense."

They all arose, and Ian extended his hand to Kelly. When Kelly offered a handshake to Winter, they grasped right hands, but Winter closed her left over the clasped hands and said, "Your trust is not misplaced, as my word is my honor, and I shall never betray my fiancé, as every moment that passes, my love becomes stronger. He shall father my children, and in sickness or health, I plight my troth." Winter finally released Kelly's hand, then added, "We can leave out the for poorer part."

Ian was laughing to the extent that he felt the need to sit, and Kelly interjected, while laughing as well, "You're going to give him a coronary."

"Before our nuptials? I've already considered that. Kelly, I'm not stupid." Winter had tried to say it seriously, but that only made the inevitable joining of her own merriment more intense, and they all three hurt with their physical reactions to her witty comeback.

Kelly was snorting as she beckoned them to leave. Her hand said, "Go."

As they left the office, Ian reminded Winter about his admonishment to behave, and Winter said, "I like her."

They were alone in the elevator on the way down, and Winter wanted to kiss. "Hey, cooperate." By the time the doors opened, there was no appearance of impropriety, and as the exited the building, Winter said, "I want a Calfburger."

Ian felt himself slipping into the past; Lauren, and the others, all gone. Looking across those tables at women he'd loved, and Ethan in his baby carrier, set atop one of the larger ones. The pickles, the onions, and the water fountain that didn't quite work. He guessed they never bothered to fix it because who expects a drinking fountain in a dining area anyway? "They closed."

"What?"

"Out of business."

"Horsemonkey."

"A new expletive?"

"Mmmm hmmm."

"The language really needs another?"

"It does, Ian. Ones that aren't about bodies or blasphemy."

Ian thought for a while about coming to that same conclusion. "All of the curse words do seem to fall into one of those two categories."

"And that's not right. First, I quit using the body degrading words. Then, when I met Ann, I got rid of the blasphemy words. You almost never say them."

"I try not to be crass, and that's part of managing my anger, but not just that. Generic insults don't convey much meaning." He thought back to a time, years earlier, and shared, "One time I was driving, and a mail carrier braked suddenly, and I had to stop because there was oncoming traffic. When I was finally able to pass, I yelled across the car, through Lauren's open window, 'You're not a very good postman!' It was angry, and Lauren wasn't fond of angry outbursts, but that amused..." Ian almost said, "Heck," but caught himself, knowing that heck was a synonym for Hell. He explained the pause to Winter.

"See? I think those words too, Ian, and I understand they'll come out under stress, but they shouldn't even then."

They had reached the parking garage, and Winter again offered her hand, as if the transition from sunlight to shade gave permission for intimacy. She led him by hand to the driver's side and he opened the door. The juxtaposition of Ian's chivalry with her being put in the driver's seat amused them both. After Ian got strapped in he asked, "Where for lunch?"

"I guess home. We really should tell Ann."

"That Kelly found the idea plausible?'

"No, the whole thing."

"So she has no idea that you're trying to enter into a plural marriage?"

"Ian, we already have a de facto plural marriage. This is just legal stuff. She'll be happy. It's exactly what she wants, and you know that. Ann made the decision. I just figured out how to make it work."

They parked in front of the house, and Ian got out. Winter stayed in the car until Ian opened her door. Ian assisted her out of the car, and what Winter was thinking was, "You're a very lucky man," but as she hugged him she only said one word, "Ann."

As they entered the house, Ann, who was on the living room couch, asked, "How was the lawyer?"

Winter replied honestly, "She was nice."

Then Winter proceeded to explain the whole scheme to Ann, who listened to the whole accounting, then merely said, "That's crazy. I mean it's crazy good, but this whole thing, our lives are like that, and you seem to instigate most of the craziness."

"We're all three plenty crazy: Ian with his crazy band, you with your crazy book, me with my impromptu skits. We're certifiable." Winter looked to Ann and saw an expression that she'd never seen. There was hurt and anger, and she wondered what she'd said, then she understood, "No, sweetie, your fairy book." She waited until the pain left. "Even if I had a problem with your faith, which I don't, I'd never belittle you that way. Come here and hold me." Winter spoke softly into Ann's ear, "Whatever you think, whatever you believe, it's good baby. It has to be, because it's you. You're good, Ann."

The hug ended, and Ann had become more casual. "You can't say that everything about me is good. You saw what I did to my parents. If I were as good as you think I am, I'd have just walked away and wished them well."

"And you almost did. Who could imagine them being that awful?"

"I could, and I did, and I planned it."

Ian had been on the sidelines, but now he was emphatic. "You didn't do anything wrong, Ann." Both women turned their attention his way, and he wasn't finished, "You cut out a cancer in your life. That 'own your daughter' shit, it's a sickness. And the break you made, it's like when the Romanians executed their dictator, then immediately abolished the death penalty."

When Ann merely nodded, Winter added to Ian's words, "Ceausescu." Then Winter addressed Ann. "Ian is right. You had to do it. You don't need to feel guilty. Divorce of any sort is painful, but your wrong is nothing like theirs, and you've created a new family. You did it Ann. You're free. Accept that. Your prayers have been answered."

Winter had asked Ann to go on with her own dreams, dreams that were seemingly coming true anyway. She had no idea what had thrown her into her mini funk, and made her think Winter might not respect her, but it was over. "I guess it's us against the world."

"Not really, but we're going to make it look that way. It's really about tax avoidance, but that never gets spoken outside of we three."

Equality

____________

When Ian woke, Ann was beside him, but Winter was absent, which wasn't notable, since the only one who had regularly scheduled obligations was Ann, who needed her sleep, so Ian grabbed his Walkman from the nightstand, and put on the news, and the news seemed relevant, and worth getting out of bed for. Winter was at the dining room table, finishing the second of two boiled eggs.

"Winter, did you hear that the IRS is going to let same sex married folks file back taxes for three years if they were married in one state, but moved to another that doesn't recognize their marriage? I know that doesn't affect you and Ann, but might it have any impact on your scheme?"

"Ian, I'm sorry to make you deal with this again. It's uncomfortable for me too, but you broached the subject. I heard that last night. Things are changing, and for the better, but we need to be married before the end of the year so we can file jointly. If we don't, I'll have file as married to Ann, and that adds another complication. This means that you need to get the zoning variance, the plans, and the construction started ASAP. If you're comfortable with me dealing with the architects, I can do that, but we need that separate address, and if you can deal with the contractors, that'd be ideal."

"Never a dull moment in Winterland."

"Certainly not since that fateful night where I met my betrothed."

"So, now I can openly call you my fiancé?"

"In the appropriate circumstances, and if it amuses you, of course, but I'm already mated to you. That letter I wrote to my parents, I meant every word. I want you to be the father of my child. Ian, I'll tell you truthfully, I may never be as starry eyed with you as I am with Ann, but we share so much, and I love you. Every relationship is unique, and being in love isn't one thing, but a collection, an amalgamation of feelings. You and I, we can parse and analyze like few others can because we do that, but we're not masters of our futures. Our shared experiences, and the way we've lived our lives have gotten us what we have, and I know that I'm moving in the right direction because talking about my feelings for you is getting me hot. It's not just your talents." Winter put on a fake shy, and she and Ian shared a moment of amusement.

"Winter, that night at the club, I called you my dream girl. I wanted to live out boyish fantasies with you, but when I got to know you--and you're so easy to know--I wanted more, and dreams don't last this long."

"We could indulge in your situational fantasies, but I'm not your therapist anymore. You already have me. You're so difficult sometimes."

"So you get talk, but I don't?"

Winter went into Shakespearian mode, "Nay, but now I would prefer that thy mouth be otherwise occupied."

Ian answered in kind, "Truly, until our marriage is solemnized, I shall have to woo, but to kiss thy nether regions is a joy for which I claim no sacrifice, as its pleasures are mine own, and thy expressions of appreciation, should they be, are reward aplenty."

Winter applauded, then directed Ian toward the couch, then his aforementioned area of interest.

The next morning, Winter made an appointment with an architect for later that day. Every one she'd called couldn't see her for at least two weeks, and that didn't jibe with her time frame, so she drove into downtown Clayton with a list of addresses, and strode into offices, gently demanding an audience. The first two firms she approached told her that they couldn't help her, as they didn't do residential, but the second of those not only gave her a lead, but made a call on her behalf.

The receptionist's name happened to be Sue, and after explaining her need for immediate attention, and being informed that this wasn't that sort of architectural firm, Winter shared the story of her name, because although she was frustrated, the woman seemed truly sorry that she couldn't help her. Friendliness paid off, as Sue asked her to wait a moment, before disappearing down a hallway, and she was gone only a few minutes before returning with a handwritten address for another architect, and words delivered with a smile that could have been Winter's own, "I'll call them, and let them know you're coming."

"Thank you, Sue, and hey, do you like chocolate?"

"I do. Why?"

"Just checking, bye." The next day, she found out why, as she received a large box full of very high quality chocolates, with a card that merely said, "Thanks, --Winter Sue."

The other office was only a few blocks away, and when Winter introduced herself, she was told that she was expected, but that it might be as long as an hour, and was offered coffee, which she accepted. After about twenty minutes, she was invited in to see the architect. Without explaining the relationships, nor the tax implications, she explained her needs, and that she could pay for every possible resource to be put into making this happen, "faster than anything you've ever done." The man laughed, and Winter did too. "As my fiancé once told me, people with as much money as we have aren't crazy, but eccentric."

"The only way to do it is to use already developed plans. The only structural things we'll need to do are the connecting passage, and its interfaces. I'll need to see the existing structure, and the lay of the land."

"Do you have any other obligations for the next hour? We're only a few minutes away."

"I guess not."

"Then let's go, you can come over and take a look right now." Winter handed him one of Ian's business cards, and explained the simple directions. "I'm parked on Central, so it'll take me a few minutes."

"I'll be there in a half hour."

Winter got back with eleven minutes to spare, and shared her progress with Ian, who said, "Good job."

"Don't say, 'good job,' to me, silly," and she kissed him. "That's what you say to children."

Before Ian could craft a reply, the doorbell rang, and Winter went to answer, to welcome in the architect. Ian stood and offered his hand, "Ian."

"Roger, Roger Burns."

"Winter told me that she explained the urgency of the project, and that you thought it doable."

"It is, but I'm not going to give you any guarantees. It is conditional upon the weather, and the permitting process. The terrain poses no obstacles. It's essentially flat. Might I ask why you need it completed by the end of the year?"

"You might," said Winter, giving him her heart-meltingest smile. "And it seems like you just did, but that's not really germane. Roger, we're only asking that you try, and that you'll take pride in achieving the deadline. Ian can expedite the permits, and interact with the day-to-day relations with the workers, but I'd like you to personally deal with the general contractor, for a fee, of course. I don't know how things are usually done, but that'll work, right?"

"We haven't discussed costs," said Roger."

"No, we haven't," said Winter, "but I assume that you're an honorable person. I tend to assume that about others, because I'm a person of integrity, and Roger, I saw that sideways glance. Ian is indeed a lucky man, but I'm also a lucky woman. You're lucky too, because I want you to charge us double what we'd have paid you for a typical job of this sort, plus a considerable fee for dealing with the contractor. Are my instincts correct?"

"I won't gouge you, but I will need an advance."

"How much?" asked Winter, as she retrieved her checkbook from her purse.

"Ten thousand's fine."

Winter wrote the check for twenty thousand, and when she handed it over, it was with one word, "Earnesty, and an additional four thousand for every day that you can complete the work before Christmas, contingent upon the work passing inspection for occupancy."

Roger shook hands with both clients, and Winter walked him to the door. When she returned to Ian, he said, "I don't think that 'earnesty' is a word."

"It's a combination of earnest and honesty. I think he got the gist, and that makes it a word. If they don't finish before the wedding, we'll just get two hotel rooms. Trust me. I'm not going to be convicted of bigamy."

The very next day, Roger returned with several other men, and before they left, stakes had been placed. Ian had called mid-day, and his dealings with the city had gone well. As Winter had predicted, his generosity had paid dividends. Ann was given a role as well, bringing sandwiches and coffee to the men who were working outdoors, while Winter discussed the plans with Roger, who was unused to negotiating with women, especially one who stressed building code compliance over aesthetics. A green gables was being prepared for Ann, but one that she'd never really reside in. It was a fiction, a phantom dwelling, quarters for the spirits of a fading morality.

Ian arrived early in the afternoon, and seeing Ann conversing with the well-dressed men upped his satisfaction with the day. He'd been dreading dealing with the bureaucrats, but they'd been personable, and he'd felt quite pleased that he'd stayed put, that the money hadn't driven him west into what was a tundra of Whiteness. As the bird might fly, he was only, he surmised, a half a mile from the home he'd shared with Lauren, where Ethan had grown into his adulthood, and where the trees he'd planted had grown on, scraggly and poorly pruned, giving their fruits mostly to the same birds that visited his new orchard.

Ann, Ian knew, had noticed his arrival, but she no longer felt hurried to give him her smile. Flirtation was in the past. They now made love so easily, and it was Winter's version. Every time they communed it built upon their love, and the sex was always themed that way. Winter could be a lioness, exhorting him to aggression, but Ann craved affection. The presence of other males made him want to pull Ann away, to take her to the sanctuary of a secluded bedroom, but seeing her free, confident--free, free even from needing him stayed him, and he reminded himself that possessiveness was the weakest expression of love, and marched into the house, where he greeted Winter and Roger, and without explanation headed for the bathroom for a tub full of cinnamon buns.

"Winter?"

Yeah, Sweetie?"

I've been thinking, and praying, and in worship this morning, someone stood and spoke about openness and trust, and it was exactly what I needed. Winter, you have to tell Ian."

"Ann."

"Everything Winter, everything I know."

"Ann, you I had to tell. You insisted. Ian hasn't asked or even hinted that he was still curious."

"And that's because he loves you, and thinks it'd cause you distress, but it's hurting me knowing that he knows you don't trust him."

“It's not that."

"Of course, it's that. What else could it be? You're not embarrassed.” Ann crossed her arms, “Winter, he's not a second class member of our family, and think about the trust he's placed in you. He's known you less than a year, and he's marrying you to pretty much give you his money. You know that someone with your genius, and your acting ability could pull off a con like that."

Winter looked shocked, "So you think?" she hesitated.

Ann was tearing up as she said, "No, but someone could, and Ian totally trusts you. Winter, Ian isn't asking. I am. I'm not going to tell him, but you are." Getting no answer from Winter, she said, "This marriage only happens with my blessing."

"I know that, Ann."

"Remember when you told me that you'd rather have me than millions of dollars?"

Winter said timidly, "Yeah."

"Well, Ian's prepared to give you half of everything, so much more, and you can give him something precious too, your complete trust."

"Winter thought for a moment, then asked, "Can I wait until after the holidays? It's going to be awkward enough anyway."

"That's fine, and the day that you tell him, I want to celebrate it every year, because..." She was crying again, and had trouble finishing the sentence. "Because that'll be the anniversary of the three of us, when we all three became equals."

"Come here, Ann." As they held each other, Winter said, "Ann. You've never asked anything for yourself."

"I've never had to, but don't think this is just for Ian. It's for me, and for you too, and for our children. I'm fine with you and Ian being the ones who are legally married, and the whole gray area of our legal ties. It's practical. I suggested that you marry him months ago, before you proposed to me. So many changes have happened since then, but it's not us and him. I mean, I guess I maybe shouldn't ask you not to feel that way, but I am. You said, 'Anything, and everything.' This is my anything, Winter, and it's my everything."

"It's the one thing that I want for myself as well. Ann, I want what you want, and I understand that my feelings are the weak link here, but I spent those first few months in an artificial relationship with him."

"Not, 'Him', Winter, Ian."

"So love is never having to use a pronoun?"

"I don't expect a rose garden, Winter, only a love story. And this was all your doing. You've brought Ian and me this far, rescued us, and given us high expectations. I need this."

Ann had heard the stories of the past Christmases, the joy and the bonding, and while the hosts and other attendees were mostly non-believers, when she passed through the front door of Winter's parents' house and locked eyes with Natalie, she wanted to run to her, like a toddler who had been too long without her mommy. Instead, Natalie sought her out, and the ensuing embrace reminded her of Ian’s assurance, “I’ll always love you.”

Over dinner, Winter dropped the bombshell, “Ian and I are getting married.”

Eric started laughing, and Chloe moved to quell him.

Natalie looked confused as she said, “You’re already married,” then looked to Ann, who was beaming pure joy, then back to her daughter. “Winter, I’m sure you have a logical explanation.”

“I do, Mom, but it’s pretty non-romantic, like you said, ‘logical.’ I’m marrying into money.”

Eric’s laughter had become distracting, and Chloe led him away from the table, and Richard followed, sensing that Chloe was a better source for just the facts than Winter. Really, the only fact that Richard missed in his absence was Ian’s agreement to change his surname to match everyone else in this house.

“Natalie, said Ian, “you do understand what happened. This marriage is practical, but it's not loveless, and Ann isn't being sidelined.”

“What Ian is saying, Mom, is that when you lost a daughter, which you didn't, you got a new daughter.”

Civil ceremonies at the courthouse were ordinarily devoid of drama, but Winter added a twist. She'd seated herself and Eric to one side, and Ian and Ann to the other, while Chloe, Natalie and Richard took up residence in the back row. When it was their turn, Winter was escorted by Eric, and Ian by Ann, who had trouble suppressing laughter as she delivered Ian's hand to Winter's, reaching through a loophole in history that was rapidly closing. As she walked away, she extended her hand to Eric, and guided him down the center aisle toward the rear, where Chloe received him.

The judge who was presiding was the same one who had married Eric and Chloe the year before, and she shared a passing curiosity--little more than a knowing raised eyebrow--that couldn't be verbalized with the couple before her, unaware that the peace she was solemnizing was so unique.

Winter gave the judge her sweetest smile, as she asked for a deviation from the typical civic ceremony, "Your honor, may I take a brief moment to address the others in attendance?"

"You may," came the reply.

Winter turned to face the audience and said, "I'm marrying my best friend, and the Great State of Missouri is allowing me do so for one reason. It's because he happens to be male."

If she'd turned back to reaffirm her permission, the judge might have glared at her, possibly even instructed her to silence, with the force of the court, but she continued, "We'll be waiting in the hall outside after our vows, and as you process past us, you may stop and congratulate, and if you are of the opinion that our great state shouldn't discriminate against same sex couples, just say so, and we'll pay for a nice honeymoon."

Now, the justice of the peace could not stop her without provoking rebellion. Winter closed with only a few more words, "We Williamsons, like hobbits, wish to give presents, rather than receive them on this day because we believe that love is expansive." She said this as she surveyed the gallery, rewarding every smile with the same, while passing over any scowlers, of which there were few, then turned to face the judge, who didn't convey disapproval, but was eager to get on with her duties.

Eric and Ann returned to the front and stood up for them, and after the simple vows they left the room. As each couple exited, Winter presented them with a check for five thousand dollars, even those who didn't profess a belief in same love. She'd made her statement. She conversed with several couples, and told them that the money was a gift to celebrate love, and they should feel free to use it as they saw fit to enhance their futures, while a few of the others just accepted the check with thank yous, and quickly departed. Only one dyad walked past, refusing to make eye contact.

The last group to emerge was dressed in clothing that suggested a visit to Goodwill. The groom, and a man who was probably the bride's father, both had suits that were well worn, but had obviously never fit, and there was a child with them, a boy who smiled at Winter. The bride was the only one who had thought to ask, "Why are you doing this?"

Winter replied, "Like I said, we believe in love, and we're giving you the same thing we've given everyone else, but we want to give you another present." She turned to the boy, "Young man, you have had the fortune to cross paths with the Queen of Love, and I see greatness in you, so I'm giving you a check for classes at the Conservatory and School for the Arts, which you may use for anything they offer. I'm confident that you will choose wisely."

It was an additional five thousand dollars.

The boy, who was probably four or five years old asked, "Mommy, is she really a queen?"

Ann was the first to laugh, and it set off everyone else. Winter bunny faced the boy and said, "Your mother is the real queen. I'm just a fairy princess."

Anniversary

____________

"Ian, I have something I need to speak with you about."

"What?"

"You know the thing about my past? The things I told you were private?"

"I know enough not to ask because it makes you uncomfortable."

"It doesn't really. I just made a promise, but Ann made me realize that I shouldn't have secrets from you. I'm going to tell you everything, because Ian, I trust you. I trust you with anything and everything because you've never hurt me, and because you trust me."

"I do."

"This is the last thing I've kept from you, and Ann says that today will be the day that she'll celebrate as our real anniversary, the one for the three of us. She's so sweet, and it really is the three of us." Winter paused, and took the traditional deep breath before saying, "Here goes."

She got to the central point without delay, then gave him the time line, before circling back to fill in details. Ian listened, wide-eyed, without interruption; he waited until she had announced, "That's it," before responding.

He didn't actually speak, but just laughed, and Winter asked, "You know how married people can sometimes read each others' minds?"

Ian continued to laugh, as he said, "Yeah."

"I think I know what you're thinking."

"Winter."

She smiled at him more sweetly than he could ever recall, then made her bunny face, before asking, "Four words, right?"

Winter noticed Ian's mouth open slowly, the tip of his tongue extending so slightly as Winter touched his lips, squelching the words that didn't need to be said. Instead, he merely ran his tongue up her middle finger, and added a tiny kiss.

"And now," said Winter, "I'm yours."

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