¡Mierda! I thought.

“Thank you.” I said. I didn’t have an extra $150 to get my clothes dryer fixed, so I paid the serviceman and walked him to the door.

At least my washer still worked. I had off Thursday morning, so after I showered, I pulled my hair back, put on shorts and a baggy sweatshirt, and did the laundry that had been building up. I popped each load in a trash bag, and then drove down to the Laundromat. Even if I would have to use their dryers until next month, I was NOT going to look like one of the campesinos who can’t speak English, pushing a shopping basket piled high with laundry. With my light skin and long face, I looked more Anglo than Latina, and I wasn’t going to spoil the impression.

Actually, it wasn’t bad. There were a couple of Madres folding their now dried family laundry over on the tables, and three guys who looked uncomfortable in a Laundromat. I loaded up a couple of dryers, sat down on a bench, opened up 'The Killing Dance', and tried to radiate disinterest.

A couple of minutes later a real skuzzball walks in and starts trying to sell some stuff that fell of the back of a truck. Although he got no takers, he didn’t leave. I figured he was trying to stay off the streets and out of sight. He kept eyeing me after the Madres left, and I started to worry when one of the dudes got done and left.

¡Ahorrado! In walked a Norse god with his laundry! Even better, I knew I had seen him at Mass – even if he had never seen me. He had to be at least two hundred pounds of muscle and six feet tall. ¡Mi Dios! He was a cutie! I wouldn’t kick HIM out of bed for eating crackers! I felt myself flushing and squirmed a bit. I tried to go back to reading.

The Viking had started up his first load when the other two dudes finished bagging their clothes, grabbed their stuff, and headed out the door. As they left, I saw something flutter to the floor, as did Viking and Skuzzball. One of the guys had dropped a $20! Skuzzball started to go for it, but Viking was faster. He stepped on the bill, and shouted “Yo! Dudes!” at the guys who had just left, but the door had already closed. I could see that Skuzzball was ready to claim the money, so I got up, opened the Laundromat door and called out to the guys who had almost gotten to the corner.

“Hey guys! Did either of you two drop a Twenty?”

Dude two puts his hands in his pockets, looks up and says “Yeah! You have it?”

“No. It’s in here.”

I held the door open for the guys. After a few “Thank yous!” and “Welcomes”, they left, with me sitting on the bench by the dryers and Viking and Skuzzball standing by the washers. While Viking started his second load, Skuzzball was giving me nasty looks – as if I was at fault for him not getting the $20! Viking saw him.

“The lady did something to you Dude?”

“Naw.”

“Then why are you giving her the bad eye? Matter of fact, why are you in here? Are you washing you clothes or drying them?”

“Just chillin, that’s all.”

“Maybe you should chill somewhere else, or should I call the cops?”

“Hey, fuck you asshole! I got a right to be here. Same as you.”

Viking pulled out his cell and said “Not if you aren’t doing laundry, you don’t. Maybe I should call the cops. Wait while I tell them about you selling hot stuff.”

“Hey, chill out M’man. I’m leavin.”

“Yeah. OK.” Viking watched the door close, and then turned to me. “Everything OK with you Miss?”

¡Oh Mi Dios! A polite, gallant sexy hunk of a man! I can take a lot of this!

“Yeah, now HE’s gone. Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome. And thank YOU for running after the guy who dropped the twenty.”

“No problem. You were busy keeping Skuzzball from taking it.”

“It wasn’t his. Not to change the subject or anything, but I notice you’re reading ‘The Killing Dance’. Do you like Hamilton’s take on mystery?”

OOoooo niiiiice. He reads too! I like this. Big, clean shaven and he filled out his polo shirt and jeans completely. Big muscular forearms.

“She’s OK. I like detective novels, and she gives the story a sexy twist.”

“Sexy twist, eh?”

“Yeah” I said, looking straight at him, “the heroine sleeps with the guy who saves her from a very dangerous situation.”

“I’ll bet the heroine wasn’t as cute as you.” Viking says with a big mile.

“Maybe, maybe not. Her savior wasn’t like you though.”

“No? How’s that?”

“He’s a vampire.” Big smile. “Vampires don’t smell as good as humans do.”

“How do you know? Can you tell how I smell from there?”

“Come over here and I’ll know for sure.”

Viking sat down beside me, and he did smell good. Just a hint of aftershave; must have showered this morning. I noticed how tight his pants were. MMMmmm.

“You smell very nice, Miss …”

“Annabelle. Call me Anna. Thank you.” I placed my palm against his chest, looked up into his face. ”And what’s your name?”

“Steve. Steven Lawson.” He stroked my cheek. “Your skin is very soft.”

I let my hand stroke down his chest and abdomen, and felt a nice hard-on when my fingertips stroked across his lap.

“But you seem very hard!”

Steve closed his eyes and grunted. “Ngrh. That’s because a sexy lady is stroking by body, Anna.” He opened his eyes and looked into mine. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.” I watched his eyes get wide as I unbuttoned the top button of his jeans and slowly pulled the zipper down. I slipped my hands inside his jeans and stroked him through his boxers, running my fingers gently over the length of his cock, gently stroking my thumb over the tip. He was circumcised! I knew then that I had to taste him.

I whispered “Come stand over by the folding tables with your back towards the front.”

Without waiting for his answer, I stood up and walked over to the folding table. Steve followed. I turned around to him and said, "I'm going to make you cum in my mouth right here at the table. Right here while people are walking past outside. What do you think about that?"

Steve didn’t say anything at all, but he did finish unzipping his jeans for me. Smart boy too.

I knelt down slowly, dragging my nails down the front of his pants, and felt the cool of the linoleum floor on my knees. I looked into Steve’s crotch, gently pulled his hard-on out of his boxers, and slowly slid my lips down over his cock head. I had him in my mouth, and felt his hardness against my tongue and the roof of my mouth. I smiled to myself when he jumped as I flicked my tongue across his glans. As I circled the base of his cock with my left hand, I felt his cock pulse in my mouth.

¡Maldición! This Anglo smelled great! And he wasn’t shaved - I like my men to have hair. I slid my mouth down as far as I was able, and as I drew back, I milked his sack with my right hand.

I let his cock slide out of my mouth, and slowly rubbed the tip across my lips. I drew my mouth back a bit and as I stroked up with my left hand a big drop of pre-cum formed at the opening. Steve was going to love this! I looked into his eyes and slowly dragged my tongue across the top of his cock, drawing the pre-cum into a string from his penis to my lips.

I felt him tense and heard him suck in his breath, so I quickly pushed my mouth back down his cock as far as I could go and scraped my nails down his sack. As I did, I began to feel his cock twitch, and then he was holding my head with his right hand and squirting cum in my mouth. Steve even tasted pretty good. Thick, and not too salty. He had cum so quickly that I knew SOMEONE hadn’t been sucked off for a while! If I could get him to last for ten minutes of hard fucking, this one was a keeper.

I stood up and leaned into his chest while I zipped up his jeans. He had a death grip on the edge of the folding table. I stood on my toes, kissed him on his mouth so that he tasted his cum, and said “Why don’t you go sit on the bench while you get your breath back?”

Steve sat down hard on the bench and watched me take my clothes out of the dryers and stuff them into the trash bags.

As I finished, he said “I’d like to see you again.”

I said “Give me your phone number Steve, and I’ll call you.”

He still had his wits about him. He pulled out his wallet, found a card and gave it to me. “Here. You can call me at work or on my cell. Anytime.”

Big smile. “Thanks! I’ll give you a call soon. Bye.”

I felt tense, and needed release. I was dirty and sweaty after spending all morning running errands and cleaning the apartment. Three day weekends should be the norm, not the exception. It had been another long work week, and then Steve got me all excited on Thursday. I could still remember how he smelled and how he tasted – at least I think I could.

I should not have told him that I’d call him. Now the responsibility was on me to do so. If I didn’t, I’d have to feed him some lame “I lost your card” line if we met again. I had seen him first at Mass, and I didn’t want have to be always watching out for him. Actually, I wanted to be watching all of him.

I stripped out of my weekend chore scrungy clothes and looked at my reflection in the full length mirror on the closet door. I enjoyed the image with the sheen of my long black hair, my big brown eyes, and light olive skin. I gazed at my pretty, round breasts and their brown, sensitive nipples. Perhaps I could get my Viking to do some caressing and stroking? My full lips split into a smile as I slipped my left hand down across my chest, briefly pausing over one nipple, feeling it harden beneath my palm. I needed attention.

I resisted temptation for a few more moments while I thought about my Viking. What did he do for a living? His hands didn’t seem calloused when he stroked my cheek, but I felt real muscle in his arm when he held my head while he came.

I let my right hand drift across my tummy, down to stroke the top of my thigh. My legs are trim, and I keep them in shape by exercising each weekday morning before taking my morning shower. I closed my eyes, tilted my head back, and wondered if I should pleasure myself, or if I should try to get in contact with Steve –and see if he could satisfy me. I dragged my fingers over my chest, leaving tracks, and then paused to roll a nipple between thumb and forefinger.

I had said that I’d call him soon, but it was Saturday afternoon, and I didn’t want to risk the disappointment of him not answering his phone if I called. I have an ego just like everyone else. At the same time, I did want to get to know him better- all of him. I finally decided that today I needed an orgasm more than companionship, and licked my lips in anticipation.

Looking over my shoulder, I saw the comforter on the bed, and imagined myself reclining, legs apart, beginning my climb to bliss with my vibrator. I considered the tub waiting in the bathroom. Filled with hot water and scented bubble bath, I could indulge myself with the flexible showerhead. Hmm… I wanted something else tonight, though, something different.

My hand moved slowly from my thigh to my pubic mound. The feel of my fine, sparse hair there was so different from that on my head. I brushed a fingertip across my clitoris, boosting my desire.

My gaze settled on my image in the mirror, and I made my decision. I closed my eyes once more, and let my fingertips rub rhythmically against my clit, sending ripples of pleasure through me. My arousal made me weak in the knees, so I lay back on the bed. I palmed my right breast with my left hand, while my right continued to work on my hottest place. I sat partly up, opened my eyes and stared at my flushed face in the glass. Not wanting to climax yet, I slid my fingers off my mound and into my wet vagina. My pussy quivered and stretched, sending out waves of arousal. This was like sex, yet with an edge of teasing, not satisfaction.

Squirming into an upright position, I peered into the mirror. I wanted to be a witness to my climax. My legs were splayed wide open while my fingers pumped in and out. I ground my ass against the comforter and struggled to keep my eyes open.

I stopped - just at the brink of orgasm, and groaned in delicious anticipation.

Tonight I wanted to see myself up close. Although my knees were weak, I slid from the bed and slowly approached the mirror, looking closely at my erect nipples and firm thighs. Edging to within an inch or two of the mirror, I parted the soft hair covering my mound and rubbed the sensitive flesh just inside the tingling lips of my wet twat. I gasped and felt my body jerk in response. My free hand found a nipple and squeezed, increasing the sensation to an almost painful level. My legs began shaking. I repeated the movements again and again, and then my buzzing clit let me know that how close I was. My orgasm began to build inside my crotch. I was trembling constantly now, my eyes fighting to remain open. The urge to collapse back onto the bed was strong. I had to strain to keep my balance and remain standing.

Sweat now glistened across my chest and upper arms, as my passion caused my body to flush with warmth. I moved my slippery fingers faster, running in circles across my fully erect clit, then sliding them into my wetness. I watched me draw closer to release, marveling that the intense sensations sweeping through my body were mostly hidden. I patted the aroused flesh bulging from my dripping pussy, toying with it, stroking it, harder and more firmly, until at long last my climax could not – would not - be bottled up any longer.

I stood on my toes as I climaxed, letting it sweep through my breathless body. I felt the walls of my pussy contract and release. My clit throbbed and pulsed. As my orgasm sucked the strength from me, I released my breast and stretched out my hand to brace myself against the mirror, fighting the weakness that spreads through me whenever I cum hard. I groaned and gasped, unable to keep silent as the climax flowed out from my pussy to release me.

After a timeless moment, I sighed as the orgasm receded into beautiful afterglow. I took a last look at my gasping, glistening body in the mirror, then turned, and on wobbly legs reached the bed where I stretched out and dozed.

I felt much better after my nap. After washing up (I positively reeked of sex!), I slipped on fresh panties and bra.

Now to call my Viking. His card was beside the lamp on my nightstand. I punch in his number. I hear his phone ring – but it isn’t really hiss phone ringing, is it?

Then “Hello?” Lots and lots of background noise.

“Hello Steve. It’s Anna.”

“Anna! Hey, it’s great to hear from you! I was wondering if you were going to call.” There was so much noise in the background that I could hardly understand him.

“Come on Steve. It’s only Saturday. I said I’d call, so I called. Where are you? I can hardly hear what you’re saying!”

“I’m in a bar. Hold on, let me get outside. Hey, guys! I’ll be back!”

“Anna? You still there?”

“Yes Steve, I’m still here.”

“There, that’s better. Can you hear me now?”

“Yes Steve, I can hear you much better now.”

“Good. So, what’re you doing? I had just arrived with a bunch of my buds, and we were setting up for some foosball competition.”

“I’ve been doing some weekend chores and stuff.”

“Yeah, I’ll be doing mine tomorrow morning. Say, I have to do laundry, and I wonder if we could get together at Suds City again?”

“Maybe. Do you always do your laundry there?”

“No. My washer died on Monday, so until I replace it, I’ll need to wash my clothes at Suds City, then take them home to dry them.”

“That’s wild. My washer works, but my dryer needs to be fixed. That’s why I was there on Thursday. Say, how’s about us both saving some bucks and using my washer and your dryer?”

“That’d be great! Can we get together tomorrow afternoon? Say about twelve thirty or one o’clock?”

“Sounds like a plan. Give me a call when you’re ready to leave your place, and I’ll give you directions to my place. I’ll wash my laundry in the morning, then when your clothes are done, we can go to your place to dry them. OK?”

“Sounds great Anna. I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”

“OK Steve. I’ll expect your call tomorrow afternoon.”

“Talk to you then Anna.”

“Bye.”

¡Maldición! I guess I’ll be doing more cleaning this evening, I thought to myself. Bleah.

After adding the lunch dishes to what was already in the dishwasher, I started it, and dressed for Mass. I wasn’t sure that Steve would be at St. Michael’s on Sunday, but since he had been at a bar with his “buds,” I guessed that he wouldn’t be attending on Saturday evening.

I didn’t need anything too fancy, a business blouse, and skirt would work. Brush the hair out, let it fall over the shoulders, and put in the silver barrette for contrast. A bit of mascara, and a quiet lipstick like “Truly Toffee” should fill out the look of a good Catholic girl. I slipped on my Navy Caridad pumps. Leather upper, square toe and a two-inch heel with good arch support. MMmmmm, good shoes feel good. I tucked my keys into my blue purse, turned out the lights, closed the door, and left.

Georgetown has good roads, so the ten-minute drive was peaceful. I do enjoy the Spring evenings here near the shore. The newly green trees flipped past, and I enjoyed the smell of the fresh growth all around as Nature began another year. Life surrounded and washed over me. When I have children, I’ll be sure to take them on evening walks in the Spring. The aliveness of the world is fresher then than in the Summer. Summer evenings are sweeter smelling, but there is lustiness in the odors of the bloom of Spring I find exciting.

Although I thought that Steve would not be in the congregation, I still looked about after pulling into the parking lot and before slipping into a pew beside the center aisle. It might be inconvenient if Steve saw me here before he got to know me better. Some people get the weirdest ideas and make all sorts of assumptions about Catholic girls – even Catholic boys. I always wonder why they label people so easily when the effort of discovering a new individual can be so rewarding.

No importa. Their problem.

Fr. Stolitz was in top form this evening as he led us through the familiar, comforting rituals. Most priests perform the rites gracefully, but this evening his charm showed through also, and I let him lead me to join the millions of faithful around the world in worship.

The spell was interrupted halfway through the Credo, when someone’s phone went off with an annoying ringtone. ¡Idiota! People should know better! People DO know better! Irritated, I looked to my right, across the center isle to see who the Imbecil was who didn’t care if he ruined everyone else’s experience.

And locked eyes with my Viking on the other side of the isle.

I smiled and waved to Steve at the Sign of Peace, and spent the rest of Mass figuring out how to respond to him after Mass..

After Fr. Stolitz processed out of the church, Steve walked over to my pew.

“Hi Anna. You look great!”

“Hello Steve. I thought you were playing foosball with your friends.”

“I got knocked out in the second round, and since I have to clean up the apartment before tomorrow afternoon, I thought I’d get Mass out of the way early.”

“You’ll do time for that, Steve.”

Steve bent down and straightened the missalets at the end of the pew. “Come on. You know what I mean. I’m going to be up late tonight and up early tomorrow cleaning the apartment for you. I bet your place is already spic and span.”

I couldn’t help smiling. “It’s OK. Now anyway.”

“So, you want to go to dinner or something? I’m starving.”

Ha! In for the kill. “If we go out to dinner, when are you going to get your housework done?”

“Alright. We can go to McDonalds or somewhere fast?”

“McDonalds? Is that your idea of fast food?

Steve stepped closer to me. “Yeah. Sure. Why, do you have a better idea? You know what, in this light and those clothes you look like that Spanish actress Paula Cruz.”

“What? Do you mean Penélope Cruz?” I could see that he had showered and shaved for Mass, and could now smell his aftershave.

“Yeah, that’s the name! But you face is smoother and fuller.”

¡Maldición! He was good, but did he know it? Did he sense how I felt about him? “Steve, you’re too sweet. Tell you what, come over to my place, and we’ll have something good to eat.”

"You know, Anna, you're very trusting to have me up in your apartment the second time we met."

"I'm too trusting, am I?" I leaned toward him to pour his coffee. "Let's think about that. What do I know about you? You dress well. You are clean-shaven. You're polite and honest. You're not married, and I've seen you off and on at Mass for what, six months?" I walked to my seat, poured my coffee, put the carafe into the coffee maker, and sat down.

Steve's eyes opened wide. "Thanks, but how do you know all that?"

I pushed the sugar bowl towards him. "Steve, I'm looking at you right now. You left your buds at the foosball competition at the bar, shaved, showered, and drove over to St. Mike's so that you could attend Mass and still have enough time to clean your apartment so that you wouldn't be embarrassed when I saw it tomorrow. Am I right?"

"Well, yeah. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, Steve, there's nothing at all wrong with that." I smiled into his puzzlement and leaned back in my chair. "That's my point. I can trust you. Drink your coffee."

We drank our coffees, I drank mine while cleaning up the dinner dishes, almost spilling some on my blouse, my fine Viking nursing his along quite slowly, carefully raising and lowering the cup to his lips as if it were boiling hot, a stiffly mechanical process that suggested his nervousness more than his control. Once I had put the dinner dishes away, I poured myself another half cup and sat back down at the dinner table with him. Finally, Steve put down his now empty cup of coffee. He seemed to have made up his mind about something.

Steve started speaking into his coffee cup. "You know, Anna, you have been very nice to me. I mean, you've just fed me dinner, you've offered to let me use your clothes dryer, and were something special at the Laundromat." He looked up hopefully at me. "Is there anything I can do to repay your kindness?"

"It's sweet of you to offer Steve." It was my turn to look away, down into my coffee cup, seeking answers there. He seemed sincere, and I wanted him very much. I also had a feeling that he needed to be wanted. I looked up and thought I saw anxious anticipation in the way he scrunched his eyebrows. For all his manliness, Steve seemed to be a Pajiso. If I was right, this could be an opportunity that might not come again for long time - if ever. Sácate el dedo del culo Anna!

"Of course there is. But I'm not asking for anything. Oh wait, that's not true! I'll be wanting to use your clothes dryer tomorrow!"

Steve grinned at my little joke and when I smiled back at him said, "Oh Hell, Annabelle, you know what I mean; you haven't even been to my apartment, or let me buy you dinner, let alone use my clothes dryer!"

"Ah, I see." I leaned forward and locked eyes with Steve. "Are you asking me if I'd like you to be 'special' to me like I was to you at Suds City?"

Steve's face flushed red. He suddenly looked trapped. ¡Mierda! Had I pushed too hard too fast? Most guys would be coming around the table by now, reaching for me! ¡Verga! What's with him? I KNOW he's not queer! Steve looked from side to side as he leaned back in his chair, away from me. He looked up at the ceiling, then finally back at me.

Steve licked his lips nervously, blurted out "Anna, I've never eaten a woman out," and then resumed studying the inside of his coffee cup.

'Eat her out.' So gross! Who came up with that stupid expression? I had a lot to learn about my Viking, and he had a lot to learn about me. If oral sex was not going to be a one-way street for us, from me to him, I was going to have to lead him in this dance. But before I could do that, I had to get him out of his corner and stop being defensive. Guys love drama, so I pushed my chair back, walked around the table, knelt at his feet, took his hands in mine, and said "Did you enjoy our oral sex at Suds City?"

"Oh God yes! You were magic with your fingernails and tongue!" However, he said it to his coffee cup.

'Fingernails and tongue'? Funny, I could have sworn that he came in my mouth. Men are so weird. No importa. He saw it his way. I saw it mine.

"Steve, look at me. Wouldn't you like to make me feel as good as you felt then?" I reached out and stroked his arm, then stretched up, touched his cheek, and turned his head to look at me. As we looked into each other's eyes, Steve seemed to regain some composure, so I tried to look anxious and hopeful at the same time.

He looked down at me, smiled, then frowned, and said, "Anna, I really don't know what to do, and I'm scared as Hell that I'll make a mess of things."

"Steve, would it be OK with you if I showed you how to please me with your mouth? With your fingers, tongue, and mouth on my body? You're not too proud to let your girl tell you what I like, are you?" I though briefly about batting my eyelashes, then cast the thought aside.

Steve, embarrassed again, but now getting excited, slid his hand out from under mine, reached out, stroked my cheek, and then ran his fingers over my scalp and into my hair. I nuzzled my face into his forearm and took a deep breath. Clean men smell good. If I could get him going, this could be very, very pleasant.

Then I heard Steve say, "Tell me what to do, Anna."

"Come down off the chair to me." I looked up at him, smiled and pulled firmly on his wrists until he slid off the chair and knelt in front of me. I placed his hands on each side of my face. "Kiss me Steve. Kiss my lips. Kiss my eyes. Kiss my face. Kiss me."

He pulled me toward him as I leaned toward him, and I tasted his lips and he kissed my eyebrows and eyes and stroked my ears. His breath felt warm on my skin when he kissed my neck and throat.

Enough! I pulled back and away. Steve opened his eyes, questioning. As he opened his mouth to speak, I put my finger on his lips. I pulled his hands away from me and placed them on his thighs, and then I cupped his face in my hands.

"Steve, most women are shy about their bodies. I am. I worry about what you like about my body. Tell me I'm beautiful, show me which parts you like best, tell me anything, but make me want you enough to let you down between my legs."

My Viking reached out to me and pressed me to his chest. He ran his fingers up my neck, over my scalp, into my hair drawing it upwards while he lowered his face into it. Rubbing my hair across his face, "Nice," he said approvingly. "Very nice indeed."

"That's good Steve! Wonderful." As I pulled back, he let my hair slowly fall out of his hands. I put my hands behind my head, lacing my fingers together. "Now, undress me slowly."

His hands were shaking a bit as he reached out towards me, but one by one, he opened the buttons of my blouse. He pulled my blouse out from under the waistband of my skirt and pushed it over my shoulders. I lowered my arms and shrugged it off.

"Steve, My bra opens at the front."

He fumbled a bit opening it, but soon my bra joined my blouse on the floor. He kneeled back to enjoy the look of his half-naked woman, so I put my hands behind my head again, lifting my breasts up to him.

"Now stop and look at what you see. Tell me what makes me special."

"Anna, you're even prettier without clothes than with them on." Then he leaned forward to kiss first one breast, then the other. My nipples were hard. He closed his teeth over one and suckled, and I gasped. "You like that?" he asked, lifting his head.

"Mmm Hmmm," and I smiled. That was enough for him -- he lowered his head again and began kissing and licking my breasts, one after the other, sucking each of them until both nipples were slick with his saliva. I was getting all hot and bothered again, but this time I was going to be satisfied! He drew back, and cupped my breasts in his hands. Then he slid his hands down my chest, past my navel toward the top of my skirt, looked back up at me and waited.

Silently, I stood up and turned away from him. I didn't think he needed any coaching on what he should do next, and when he pulled the zipper down the back of my skirt, I smiled again. I turned back towards him slowly, and as I did, he tugged on the hem of my skirt until the waistband slipped over my hips and the skirt slid down to the floor. I held onto the side of the dining room table as I stepped out of my skirt. Steve picked it up with my blouse and bra and handed them to me.

"Thank you Steve," as I draped my clothes over the back of a chair.

"Oh no Anna, thank you!"

As I turned back to face my Viking wearing only white panties and blue pumps, I opened my legs a bit. With him kneeling before me, my pussy was about a foot in front of his face. Would he notice that I was getting wet?

"Steve, women are a good deal more verbal than men. That's the running joke, right? Women can't stop talking. Men don't talk, especially while making love. I love it when men talk to me. I'm a person then, not a thing. I respond to verbal love, which means, the more you talk to me; the easier you'll be able to get me off. So while you're petting and stroking me and my beautiful pussy, talk to me about it."

He put his hands over my knees, fingers on the outside, and stroked up my legs, his thumbs rubbing up the inside of my thighs until they met at the moistness at the bottom of my panties. He stopped and looked up, waiting for guidance. I pushed my hips forward, down and into his hands.

"Can you feel how much you excite me Steve?"

"Yes! You're all wet." Steve hooked his fingers into the waistband of my panties and began pulling them down. I rotated my hips to help, and he slid my panties down my legs to my ankles. As I raised one foot, he slipped the panties over my shoe, and then we did the same with the other. He picked up my panties, looked at the damp spot and tossed them aside. He turned back to me, ran his hands up my legs, and slid his fingers slowly into my bush until they touched my now very wet pussy lips.

"Anna, You're beautiful. You feel beautiful."

"Oh Steve, your fingers feel wonderful! Now taste me."

"Taste you?"

"Lick your fingers. Pull your fingers out of my pussy, and then lick my juices off your fingers."

My Viking slowly withdrew his fingers, now shining, glistening and wet

"Smell your fingers Steve. That's me. Lick them. That's me too."

Hesitantly, and oh so carefully Steve brought his right hand up to his nose. He sniffed his fingers delicately, as if there was some surprise waiting. He stuck his tongue out and touched the end of it with his fingers, ready to be offended. When he wasn't, he licked his fingers. Then he brought up his left hand a stuck his index and middle fingers in his mouth. Then he removed them and looked up at me sheepishly.

"Anna, you taste sexy!"

"From where you got that I'd better taste sexy! Now touch and look at my pussy again. Gently pull the lips apart and look at her inner lips, even lick them if you want to. Gently though!"

"Yes, that's right. Good!"

"Now, spread the top of my pussy until you find my clit. I don't know about any other women you've slept with, but women have clits in all different sizes, just like you guys have different sized cocks. Whenever you touch my pussy, make sure your finger is wet. You can lick it or moisten it with my juices. Just like your cock head, it doesn't have any juices of its own and it's very sensitive."

"Slowly Steve, slowly. Approach my pussy slowly. Women, much more than men, love to be teased. The inner parts of my thighs are tender spots. Lick them, kiss them, drag your face up my thigh. Come close to my pussy, and stop. Yes! Good. Just like that! Now breathe on me. Yes! Yes! And now do my other thigh. Ugrnh! Yes! Good baby."

"Doesn't my stubble scratch you? Your skin is so soft, it's like gauze."

"Not yet baby, it doesn't. You must have shaved before going to Mass."

"Now lick the crease where my leg meets my pussy. Nuzzle your face into my bush. Good Slowly, slowly! Brush your lips over my slit. No. Don't press. I'll let you know when to push in. Now again, Yes. Now again. Ohmygod this is good!"

My legs were getting a little rubbery, so I took a step backwards to the dining room table. Steve shuffled after me on his knees.

"Oh baby, you've got me trapped against the table. Now's the time to put your lips right on top of my slit. Kiss my pussy. Again. Yes! Now harder. Yes! Now use your tongue to separate my pussy lips. Can you feel me open up for you Steve? Oh yesss. Now, run your tongue up and down between the lips of my pussy flesh. Spread my thighs a little more with your hands. Gently baby. Gently. You must eat this girl gently."

"Now stick your tongue up inside me. Yes, that's right Nngh! That's good baby. Your nose is bumping on my clit. Can you feel that baby? Ohmygod this is divine! You are doing so good baby. You sure you never went down on a woman before?"

"Never Anna. You're the first."

"Now Steve, bring your tongue up to the top of my slit and feel for my clit. Can you feel that hard bump with your tongue? Yes, that's it! I can sure feel your tongue! Lick me quickly. Yes. Now, lick hard and press down a little."

He dipped his face between my thighs and shook his head back and forth, a quick shake, tongue out, like when you're being rude behind someone's back.

"Now gently pull my pussy lips away and flick your tongue against the clit. Quickly!"

He felt my legs shudder, getting closer. Steve pressed in and sucked my clit into his mouth. I reached behind me to the table with my right arm to steady myself.

"Steve! Take two fingers. Get them wet with my juices. Make sure they're wet. OK. Slide them inside me, slowly. Now, a little faster. Fuck me with your fingers baby!"

I was gasping now. "Suck harder. Yes. That's it baby, suck even harder. ¡Oh Mi Dios! ¡Excellente!"

"No! No! Don't let go." I grabbed Steve's head with my left hand and held it in that right place, at the right angle. "Don't stop now. Don't ever stop!'"

"Harder, faster, yes, yes, yes now now NOW!"

"I'm cumming! Keep sucking! Lick my clit!"

¡Oh Mi Dios! I floated. It was that pure, perfect, timeless moment, when I'm airborne, before gravity takes control. That moment of sudden release. Exhilarating. Exquisite. Eternal. And then it was gone and I returned to earth.

"Steve! Help me down! Help me down on the floor with you before I fall down on top of you!'

And my big strong Viking's hands left my pussy and reached up to hold me just under my armpits and slowly lowered me to lie down on the floor with him. But the floor was cold, so I snuggled into my man, away from the floor, drawing warmth and strength from the big male body that smelled so good. And Steve held me close to him, away from the cold floor, and I wondered how I had gotten so lucky.

"Anna? Wake up Anna."

"Huh? What?"

"You've been dozing - and that's cool. But I still have to get back to my place and start cleaning."

"Why? What's the time? Was I asleep long?"

"It's OK. Everything's OK. You were only dozing for a few minutes. However, it is almost eight o'clock, and I have a lot to do before you come over tomorrow."

I rolled of Steve and my fat ass made a splat sound on the cold dining room floor. Way to go Annabelle. Impressing the guests again. I struggled to my feet, a little wobbly, as I seldom wake up in a man's arms wearing only shoes. I found my blouse and pulled it over my arms, which helped a little with the chill, but probably accentuated my nakedness.

Meanwhile, Steve straightened his rumpled clothing. Then, "May I use your bathroom to wash my face?"

"Sure. Through that door, first door on the left."

"Thanks. I'll be right back."

And he was, but by then I had pulled on my skirt and buttoned my blouse, so I looked at least a little less of a slut as we walked to the front door of my apartment. We kissed tenderly, with future expectations. I unlocked and opened the door, and Steve walked out into the hallway, turned back towards me.

"Tomorrow then?"

"Yes. Tomorrow."

It was Sunday afternoon, and I was ready. The apartment was neat and tidy again, and my laundry was clean, damp, and bagged by the front door. When Steve left last night I wasn’t thinking clearly enough to ask him what he would be wearing today, so I had no clear idea what I should wear. Indecision - I hate that. I settled for my burgundy cord pants, a sleeveless plaid ruffle top, and brown penny loafers.

Now all that I needed was for Steve to call. Mmmm. Steve. I was looking forward to spending the afternoon with him, and I wanted to find out more about him. He was a puzzle. How could a hombre hermoso like that have slipped though all my sisters’ fingers? He was big, muscular, clean-shaven, smart, and polite. ¡Ah Santa Maria! What was wrong with him that I didn’t know about? Maybe he didn’t have a job? I was determined to find out.

At last, the phone! “Hello?”

“Hi Anna. It’s Steve. I’m on my way.”

“Oh. OK. Do you remember how to get here?”

“I think so. I just passed Four Oh Four heading north. I make a right onto Redden Street, and you’re in the second apartment building in the complex on the left. Right?”

“Yes Steve. That’s correct.”

“Cool. I’ll be there in about ten then.”

“OK. See you soon. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The ten minutes passed slowly, but I finally heard a car pull into the apartment parking lot. I walked to the window, pulled back the curtain, and watched Steve remove a green trash bag of what had to be his dirty clothes from the trunk of his green Taurus. Stepping back from the window before Steve had a chance to look up and see me, I decided to wait for him at the front door, rather than make him ring the doorbell.

Big smile. “Hi there! That didn’t take long. Come in.”

Steve held his green trash bag laundry slung over his shoulder. “Hi Anna. You’re looking very fine today!” I was a little bit surprised to see that he had dressed up to do his laundry, especially as he been to Mass yesterday. His yellow Oxford shirt with the long sleeves rolled up and a button down collar went well with his dark brown business slacks and shoes. Note to self, dress up for him.

As I closed the door behind him, he turned to me for direction. “Hold still for a moment.” I put my hands on either side of his head, raised up to him as I pulled him down to me, and gave him a big kiss. Then, “I wanted to start today off right. Now, follow me.”

We walked through the living room, past the bathroom, and into the laundry room – all right, it’s a laundry niche, but it’s better than shoehorning them into the kitchen, like I’ve seen elsewhere. “Here you go Steve, have at it. It’s all yours. I did my laundry earlier.”

I leaned against my dead clothes dryer to watch him start his laundry. For a guy, Steve took his laundry seriously. He took two baggies with detergent out first, put one on top of the dryer, emptied the other into the washer, selected Cold/Cold, and started the cycle. Impressed, I put the heels of my palms over the edge of the dryer and scooted my butt up on top to enjoy the show. He then methodically put just his colors in, returning the whites that fell out back to the trash bag. When all his colors were in, he carefully closed the lid to the washer, put the unopened baggie of detergent back into the now mostly empty trash bag, then turned and moved over in front of me.

I couldn’t resist razzing him a bit, “Not bad. Not bad at all. I half expected you to do everything in one load on Warm.” I ran my fingertips along his hairline, then down the sides of his face. He had shaved before coming over. Then I leaned forward and kissed him on the nose.

Steve smiled broadly. “Hell Anna, that’s only part of it. After they’re dry, I iron my shirts and slacks.”

“Impressive!” I pointed at the timer beside my box of Tide. “I set the timer over there to go off ten minutes before the dryer gets done so that I can hang my blouses and pants up rather than iron them. Maybe I should have you do my laundry!”

“Hmmm.” Steve scrunched his brows together while stroking his chin in an imitation of ‘thinking it through’. “Well now, that sounds like an attractive proposition. Perhaps I could work you into my schedule. You realize, of course, that I would have to charge you a few small fees to cover my time and effort.”

“’A few small fees’ eh? Wouldn’t that depend on what you call ‘small’? I mean, you wouldn’t try to stiff me in the exchange, would you?”

Steve put his hands on my hips. “Oh, I’m sure that if you put your, ah, head to it, you could come up with suitable compensation,” Steve deadpanned.

The fill cycle ended and the soak cycle began. Steve said “Excuse me,” moved back to the washer and opened the lid. Intrigued, I slid off the dryer, walked around behind him, and peered around down into the washer. Looked like a load of dirty clothes to me, but I guessed that checking up on the process was part of how Steve did his laundry.

As the load in the washer had passed inspection, he closed the lid again, looked down and said, “Oops. It looks like I spilled some of my Cheer on the floor.”

I followed his eyes to the floor, and saw the powder there. Then I remembered, “Oh. You’re OK. I think that happened when I was washing my clothes this morning. I’ll sweep it up later.”

Steve turned around to face me, looked down at me all serious, put his hands back in my hips and said, “So where were we?”

Looking up into his face with all the innocence I could muster, I said, “As I recall, you were trying to stiff me when doing my laundry.”

Steve laughed at my lame joke, and that started me giggling, which got him laughing harder. Our laughter seemed to relax us both a bit, so I thought I would push a little and ask a more significant question.

“So Steve, now that you have been able to sleep on it, tell me what you think of our oral sex yesterday,” I said, carefully looking into his chest.

His response was a bit self-conscious, but also revealed male pride. “In spite of my nervousness, I enjoyed it! Maybe not as much as you did, if you know what I mean, but I got off on it! Make no mistake; I was anxious at the beginning, when you pulled me down off my chair. But your desire must have been contagious, because as your directions became more explicit, I felt somehow that you were telling me something I wanted to do. As crazy as it may seem, I felt like I was doing something I already understood.”

I reached up and picked some non-existent lint off his collar. “Just between you and me Steve, you were marvelous. I only had to tell you what to do, not what to stop doing.” I slid my forefinger down his shirt and tapped his chest. “You showed remarkable empathy for a girl’s passions.”

Steve was gazing upwards as he relived going down on me yesterday evening. “When my mouth finally reached your pussy lips, you smelled wonderfully fresh.” He looked down at me. ”Do you put perfume or powder between your legs? Whatever it was, it was an inviting odor. You may remember that I breathed in deeply, inhaling your scent before moving down, just before my tongue found the place at the top where your lips begin?”

¡Maldicion! This conversation was starting to get to me. I was getting wet again, and I had no one to blame but myself, as I had asked him to tell me what he thought. “Umm, to tell the truth Steve, I was kinda focused on my own feelings just then, so I didn’t really notice. But to answer your question, no, I don’t believe in using perfume or powder or ‘feminine hygiene spay’, or any of the other crap that advertisers try to foist on the buying public. I did wash before Mass, so what you smelled was what a clean, fresh pussy is supposed to smell like.” I smoothed the front of his shirt, a little bit embarrassed.

However, Steve was on a roll. “Remember when you grabbed my head? I could see and feel your stomach start to flex in and out, and not in rhythm with your breathing either. And your breathing was getting faster and faster too!” Now Steve was getting excited as he remembered the last moments before my orgasm. ”And while I was sucking your clit just like you told me, all the while I was thinking of how good you tasted and smelled. You got even wetter when you climaxed! Then when you called to me, I looked into your face; you were all flushed with color, and you were smiling with contentment.” Then he looked down at me, and I saw that his face was flushed, and that his eyes were glittering.

This had potential, so I reached down and dragged my fingernails up the inside of Steve’s thighs. He had a hard-on that was bent at a weird angle; his cock was probably caught up in his underpants somehow.

I rose up on tiptoe, and as I palmed his hard-on through his trousers with my right hand, stretched up and put my left hand behind his head, pulled his head down to me and whispered in his ear, “Yeah, but as I recall, my knees were about to give way then. Just like now.”

As I slid slowly down the front of my man, I pushed on his chest so that he leaned back against the washer, which had finished soaking, and was now chugging out a rhythm that I could feel vibrate though his body. When my knees touched the floor, I scrapped my fingernails across the bulge his hard-on made in the front of his slacks. Steve grunted and ran his fingers into my hair just above and behind my ears, then drew his hands up and away, letting my hair fall back to my shoulders from between his fingers.

“Oh my Steve! You seem to be all twisted up in there!” I looked up into his intent, excited face with all the insincere innocence I could muster. “It must be very uncomfortable like that. Here, let me see if I can help you out.”

I used both hands to unbuckle his belt and pop the button at the top of his fly, then holding the top of his slacks with my left hand, pulled the zipper down with my right until it stopped at the bottom. I slid my hands inside the pants, under the shirt, and up until I tucked my thumbs under the elastic waistband of his boxers. Steve eased his hips forward, and I leaned towards him, pushing his pants and boxers out over his butt.

His pants slid to the floor, but his boxers now hung from his cock.

I looked up at Steve, and again feigned innocence. “Feeling better yet?”

“Oh God yes, Anna! Much, much better!”

I slowly pulled my hands back towards me, holding the elastic away from his hips, until I pulled the front of his boxers past his cock, and it popped out, just a few inches in front of my face. Steve’s cock was fully erect now, pointing up, and swollen; the head was deep red, almost purple. Now that I had freed it from his pants, built up pre-cum started oozing from the opening at the tip of it, beaded up and began rolling down, coating the underside of his cock all the way down to his sack.

I leaned forward again, pushing Steve’s underpants down towards the floor, and ducked my face under his cock. I left his boxers with his slacks around his ankles, placed my hands on Steve’s knees, looked up past his cock, into his eyes, and smiled. The smell of his cock filled every breath I took.

Turning my head to the right, leaning further forward, I pressed my face into his crotch, dragging my mouth down to the huevos in his sack, smearing some of the pre-cum from the underside of his cock across my chin. I opened my lips and sucked his left huevo into my mouth. I flicked it back and forth with my tongue, and then pulled away, stretching his sack, holding his huevo with my lips, until I let it go with a ‘pop’.

Steve groaned and I felt him place his hand on the back of my head. ¡Arrestar! I had to start managing this now. I pushed away from him, back onto my heels, out of his reach, and he groaned again, this time louder.

“No Anna, no. Don’t stop now!”

I looked up at him, frowned, and said, “Who’s running this show Steve? You or me?”

“You are baby, but it’s hard to keep my hands off you.”

I dragged my fingernails up the inside of Steve’s thighs, leaving tracks until I got to his sack. I listened to him gasp as I cupped his huevos in my hands and slowly milked him, gently rolling his delicate lumps between my fingers.

I looked at him steadily. “Lean back against the washer Steve, and put your arms on top of it.”

“Damn girl! You’re tough,” but he did what I said.

I smiled, leaned forward, kissed the head of his cock, tasting his pre cum, and felt him twitch. I flicked my tongue across the tip, looked up into his eyes and asked, “Am I too tough for you?”

Before he could answer, I opened my mouth and slid down his cock as far as I could, down until his cockhead bumped against the back of my mouth, making me almost gag. I never could get the hang of deepthroating a guy while kneeling at his feet. Maybe I’ll try to learn with Steve. He had a nice sized cock, not too big, about six inches or so, and most of it was now in my mouth. Steve groaned again. He was incredibly hard; it was like sucking on a smooth stake pressed between the roof of my mouth and the top of my tongue. He jumped a little when I squeezed his huevos a bit harder. I pulled back, and then slid my mouth down, then up and down a third time. He was still oozing salty pre-cum into my mouth, so I thought that I would repeat my trick from the laundromat, but with an extra flourish. I slowly pulled my mouth back up off his cock, and let his glans rest on my lower lip. Then I blew softly on it, and quickly pushed my mouth down his length again. Next, apply just a little teeth. Steve grunted louder and he started thrusting his cock deeper into my mouth. Again, I pulled back until just my lips were pressed against the tip of his cock. I cupped his sack with my left hand, grasped the shaft and pulled up with my right. That pushed a big drop of pre-cum out of his cock and onto my lips. Perfect! I pushed his cock up, turned my face up, and let Steve watch that big drop of pre-cum drip down to my lips. I pushed the tip of my tongue between my lips, into the big wet drop and painted my lips with his pre-cum. Steve started moaning loudly, and I figured that I would be his porn queen today, so I put just the end of his cock back in my mouth, tightened my grip on his shaft, and flicked my tongue quickly up and down across the opening of his cockhead.

¡Oh Mi Dios! Steve exploded! “FUCK!! I’m cumming!” He started spewing cum in my mouth, against the roof of my mouth, grabbed my shoulders with both hands, and held me in place while I milked him dry. Even though I held on as best as I could, I had a hard time keeping his cockhead in my mouth while he bounced around in the throes of his orgasm. One of his spurts missed my mouth and splattered on my upper lip. Now all I could smell was cum. When he finally stopped squirting, he leaned back against the still chugging washing machine, relaxed his hands, and looked down at me looking up at him. He jumped when I rubbed his cock across my upper lip to remove his missed shot. Finally, I made a big production of swallowing.

Steve was gasping for breath. “Dear God Anna! You are incredible!”

Very steadily, “Let go of me Steve. Let me pull your pants up.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I got carried away there baby, but that was too much for me to control.” He began breathing more steadily now, but still deeply.

“Hush now. Be still. Let me pull your pants up, and we can go back to the living room. I think you’ll be wanting to sit down for a bit.” Steve helped me pull his boxers and pants back up his legs, and he held them up while I led him to the sofa in the living room where he flopped down, limp. He had a satisfied smile on his face.

I climbed onto the sofa, kneeled in his lap, and put my hands on his shoulders, pinning him in place. Lowering my face down to his, I meaningfully slicked my lips with the tip of my tongue, let my lips hover over his mouth for a moment, and then kissed him long and hard, invading his mouth with my tongue. It may not have been a snowball, but it was the next best thing. When I broke our kiss, I leaned back, sitting upright in his lap, looked at him and sighed.

I slid off the sofa and stood in front of him, and when I looked down my front, I giggled. Steve looked confused. “I have to change out of these slacks! Look at the soap powder on my knees! Anyone seeing us together will know how we spent our afternoon!” I giggled again. “I think I’ll freshen up while I’m at it. You sit here and recuperate, and I’ll be right back. I can’t wait to go to your place to dry my clothes!”

I leaned on the sofa arm, stretched across Steve, and picked up the remote. I twisted around, and turned the TV on. “Here you go Steve.” I handed him the remote. “While I get changed, you can find something to watch, if you want.”

Finding the right dress-up clothes to do my laundry was going to be interesting. I never dress up to do my laundry. Hmm. I pulled my telltale slacks off and tossed them in the laundry hamper, then pulled my blouse over my head and put it in. OK. Maybe I could treat it as a date with a side trip to the laundry room. Yes, that would work. I padded over to my closet in knee-highs, panties, and bra. How dressy? A dress? That would be too much. How about a skirt and a blouse? Yes, that would work. As Steve was wearing yellow and brown, perhaps I could contrast. A white blouse and a red skirt would go well. My white v-neck knitted blouse and my red button front skirt should work nicely.

Now that I had decided what to wear, I visited the bathroom to splash some water on my face and brush my teeth. A blowjob was a great way of making an impression on Steve, but having him smell paja on my breath all afternoon was not.

Returning from the bathroom, I put on my white v-neck knit blouse, then slipped my skirt on. My red pumps would round things out. I walked over to the closet door mirror to make sure everything worked. ¡Mierda! The tops of my knee-highs showed! Now I had to put on pantyhose . . . or did I? I had shaved in the shower yesterday evening before Mass, so why not go bare? I smiled. All sorts of possibilities there. Off with the shoes! Off with the knee-highs! Slip on my red sandals, brush my hair out, and I was ready. Not sure for what, but I was ready for it. Talk about overdressed for doing laundry!

Steve was watching a news feature when I walked back into the living room. It seemed that some Intelligent Design advocates had managed to get elected to the Milford School District, and they were being interviewed by a reporter from one of the local stations.

“So what do you think, Steve? Do you expect another few years of hostile debate about the Science curriculum?”

“That all depends on how good these ID folk are, I guess.” Steve pointed at the talking heads with the remote. “They’re the new kids on the block.” He looked at me, let his eyes slide slowly up and down my new outfit, smiled and said “My, don’t you look nice. Yes indeed, very nice. Thank you.”

I did a pirouette and then a little curtsy. “I didn’t want you to be embarrassed to be seen with me.”

“Niiiiice!” I could feel him ogle my legs; then he whistled.” You aren’t wearing hose?

Quick frown. “No. Is that a problem?”

Steve backpedaled quickly. “Not at all! I like what I see!”

“Good. Glad you like them. I try to keep in shape.” I pointed at the TV. “Why do you say the ID people are the new kids on the block? And how can they avoid the inevitable science-religion fight?”

“Well, the public school curriculum in general, and the sciences in particular, have been pretty well stripped of any moral or ethical values for many years now.” Steve patted the sofa beside him and beckoned me to come sit by him. ”And the ID folk, pretty much by definition, have an intentional agenda.”

I sat down beside Steve on the sofa. He leaned back, put his left arm across my shoulders, and helped me snuggle in beside him.

Turning back to point at the TV, he said, “Be it ‘thick’ ID or ‘thin’ ID, intelligent design assumes that the universe has a purpose or intent, and if they try to squeeze ID in as ‘yet another theory’, I’m sure they’re going to be slapped with a lawsuit. And they’ll lose. They’ll have to show how science and religion coexist before they can try to get ID taught in public school.”

That caught my attention. “But science and religion butt heads all the time; they can’t coexist easily, can they?”

Steve laughed harshly. “Sure they can. They usually have. While it is obviously false that the two have never clashed, they are not mutually exclusive. Too many people today assume that it's either one or the other, and never the two shall meet, and that’s ridiculous. Sure, sometimes religious leaders are hostile to scientists, and scientists are sometimes hostile or demeaning to religious people, but that does not mean the two are by nature opposed. What you’re talking about is the ‘conflict model’ of science and religion interaction. That’s only one of several ways of describing the interaction between them. The conflict model is a fabrication – and I mean fabrication - of the late nineteenth century. Two men, John Draper and Andrew Dixon White, created it only a hundred and thirty years ago and they had specific political and social purposes when making their case. The thing is,” he turned and looked at me “and this is the funniest part, the foundations for their work are almost totally unreliable.”

“I had no idea.” I looked over to the TV, and saw that there was now some bright, perky, blond bimbo showing the weekend weather map. “Steve, would you mute the TV please?” Turning back to Steve as he searched the remote for the mute I said, “It’s the button on the lower right.” Then, ”So how do you know all this? Do you teach?”

Steve finally found the mute button and the TV went silent. “Yeah. I’m an Instructor at Delaware State.” He gestured towards the window. “This semester I’m teaching at the Sussex campus.”

I’d never known any teachers. “That sounds pretty cool.”

Steve looked at me and smiled ruefully. “Actually, it means that I’m at the bottom of the heap. I only get to teach the undergrad intro courses; tenure’s not even on the horizon, and people like me get jerked around by the administration.” He started waving the remote back and forth while he was talking. “Last year I had the schedule from Hell. I was teaching five courses, commuting between both campuses, and it was just crazy! Sometimes in the car, I had to look up where I was supposed to going next, which course am I teaching now? Which way should I be going? It really sucked.”

I winced. “That does sound pretty hectic. So do you have your PhD yet?”

He smiled and said, “No, not yet. And it’s not usually so hectic. My thesis has been accepted, and I’m working on it, but it’s still a year away, at least. Maybe more.”

Steve was sounding better and better. I wriggled out from under his arm, turned around to face him, leaned across his lap, and tucked my legs up on the sofa beside him. I reached up and stroked Steve’s scrunched up eyebrows with my thumb, and then ran my fingers down the side of his face.

“I guess I’ve always assumed that science and religion were at odds. I mean, they operate on different principles, don’t they?”

Steve smiled and relaxed. He was getting comfortable. “They’re a lot more alike than the culture warriors will admit. One thing there’s already plenty of in discussions of science and religion is self-serving rhetoric as well as polemics and gross oversimplifications. Something else I’ve found is that the real stories are almost always much more interesting than the rhetorical polemical versions, even if the real stories are less useful to use to bash people over the head.”

He was enjoying himself and we had plenty of time, so I figured I would play along. I touched Steve’s upper lip with my fingers to hush him, and then traced the outline of his lips with my fingertips. “So why not start by telling me what you,” and here I tapped him on his chest, ”mean by ‘science’ and ‘religion’?” I took this opportunity to hook my thumb into one, and then the other of my sandals, worked the strap past my heel, then slipped the sandals off and slid them under the sofa.

Steve started to teach. “Well, frankly, for definitions we’re stuck between a rock and a hard place.” He stretched out his right hand, again pointing with the remote. “On the one hand, we need enough precision in the definitions so that the discussion won’t slip out from beneath us, because of ambiguities or unclear terminology.” He looked back to me to make sure I was following. “Many of the misunderstandings between science-religion and their interactions stem from the sloppiness with which terms are bandied about. Often they’re used more as rallying posts than as explanatory terminology.”

“OK. I’m with you so far.”

“On the other hand,” and here Steve turned his arm over so the remote was pointing to the left, “we also have to accept that any useful definition of either science or religion will have a historically contingent component.”

“A what?”

Steve made an ‘Oops’ face. “That’s just a fancy way of saying that nobody, except maybe for some philosophers and lexicologists, actually start by making definitions and then classify things in the world according to the definitions they’ve just made. Rather, the real things exist first and then the definitions are wrapped around them with more or less neatness.”

“I guess so. What’s your point?”

“Let me give you an example. Take the astronomer Johannes Kepler ...” Steve paused and waited expectantly.

“I’ve heard of Johannes Kepler, Steve.”

“Sorry Anna. You would be surprised how many adults have not. What he was doing at the turn of the seventeenth century was certainly scientific to him, but it might not fit our modern definitions of science, because those modern definitions were hammered out and rigorized in the nineteenth century. So my point is if we start out setting down definitions that are too rigid, too absolute, too modern, we automatically limit ourselves to speaking usefully only about modern times.”

“All right, we need to be sensitive to how science was practiced in the past. So what? Everyone accepts that Kepler was a scientist.”

“If we start out with definitions distinguishing science clearly from religion, which probably seems reasonable enough to most people today, we start out on the wrong foot. Again, take Kepler, one of the most important astronomers and mathematicians of the early seventeenth century. He is cited in every elementary physics text as the discoverer of important laws of planetary motion.”

I wasn’t sure what Steve was getting at. “Right. That’s what I learned about him. That’s what he’s famous for. Surely he was doing science?” I stroked Steve’s chin, then his ear.

Steve suddenly became very earnest. “No doubt about it. Nevertheless, he was also explicit in saying that his motivation for uncovering the laws of nature was to give glory to their creator. At one point he writes,” Steve looked up at the ceiling, cocked his head at an angle, and quoted from some old memory, “‘God is praised through my work in astronomy.’”

“I didn’t know that. So, was Kepler’s motivation scientific or religious? Was he more involved in science or religion?”

Steve looked at me, took my hand in his, and said “Now don’t get pissed off with me Anna, and thank you for being patient, but there’s a problem with the question as to whether his motivation was scientific or not, or if he was doing science or theology.” This wasn’t a structured environment like in one of his classrooms, and he was a bit timid. “Those questions assume that our twentieth-first century definitions of science and religion are valid when applied to people living in the seventeenth century. For Kepler, a clear distinction between science and religion, which seems so obvious to us today, so unquestionable, simply did not exist as such. Moreover, Kepler is not some oddball exception. The same is true for Isaac Newton, or any of their contemporaries.”

This was a different take on things. “So if I’m following your argument, what you’re saying is that part of the current conflict between science and religion is that we are applying current assumptions of what science and religion should be to events in times when science and religion didn’t mean the same things as they do now, right? And that judging what happened then by the standards we use now can lead us to faulty conclusions.” I noticed that I was now pointing back and forth. ¡Maldicion! Now he had me doing the pointing thing!

Steve was beaming. He had connected, and was now a happy man. “Yes, exactly!” He let go of my hand and quickly raised his index finger to begin qualifying his point. “This isn’t to say that there aren’t plenty of self-serving jerks taking advantage of the situation to advance themselves.”

“Mmmmm. Interesting. I’ve never thought to question the questions. I take it that you teach a freshman course on science and religion?”

“Yup! It’s pretty popular too. You sound interested. You could sit in a couple of lectures and see if you like it.”

Avoiding Steve’s eyes, I smoothed the front of his shirt with my fingertips, and then adjusted his collar. I leaned forward, cupped his chin in my right hand, and kissed him lightly on his lips. “Actually, I’m getting fond of the lecturer.”

I pulled his head down and kissed him lightly on his nose, and then his eyebrows. Then, before Steve could respond, I wriggled off the sofa, stood up, and said, “Would you like some cheese and crackers? Maybe with a glass of wine?”

“Sure. That’d be great. Thank you.”

As I smoothed my skirt and blouse I said, “I’ll just be a moment. It’s a little something we can enjoy while we wait for your laundry to get done.”

I turned and walked slowly through the living room to the kitchen, hoping that Steve would appreciate the symbolism, even if he didn’t notice it. Once in the kitchen, I opened the refrigerator and removed the small tray of assorted cheese cubes I had purchased Saturday afternoon at Food Lion. Propping the door open with my leg, I put the tray on the counter beside the box of Water Crackers that just happened to be lying there, and then took out the mustard pot and the bottle of White Zinfandel. Moving back to the kitchen counter I reached up into the cabinet to get a couple of plates, and heard the refrigerator door thump close. I popped the lid off the cheese tray, placed the mustard pot in the middle, and poured the crackers into the provided space around it.

My corkscrew has a neat feature. There’s a cutout on it where you can place the top of the bottle, and when you squeeze the corkscrew and turn the bottle, it cuts off the foil covering the cork. Once the foil was off, I started to extract the cork. I heard Steve walk into the kitchen, and stopped opening the wine once I felt him standing behind me. When I felt him slip his arms around my waist, put his hands on my tummy, and squeeze me back against him, I set down the corkscrew and bottle, and ran my hands up his arms. This was working out very, very well. I leaned back against him, and tilted my head to the side as Steve lowered his head to begin nuzzling and nibbling my neck. His breath was warm, and his lips were wet. I reached behind me with my right hand and began stroking the side of his face. His right hand slid up my waist, and cupped my breast.

His kisses grew stronger, more passionate, and then he slowly turned me around to face him and bent me backwards in his arms. ¡Ah Mi Dios! he was strong! Reaching up and holding onto Steve’s shoulders, I leaned back, exposing my neck and chest. He reached behind me and wrapped his right hand in my hair, forcing my head further back, jarring my neck, stretching the muscles in my throat. His mouth explored my neck to its fullest, and then left wet traces down my chest, towards my breasts. I felt his breath in my cleavage, and when I felt his tongue there, it was all I could do to run my hands into his hair, pull his head away from my chest, and up towards my face.

Steve devoured me with kisses! He kissed my forehead, and then my eyebrows. As he moved his lips further down I closed my eyes, and he kissed my eyelids. Then he pressed his lips to mine, we opened our mouths and kissed hard. I lashed his tongue with mine. He fucked my mouth with his tongue. He reached behind me with his left hand, slipped it between the kitchen counter and my ass, grabbed and pulled me hard against him. ¿Arrecho? But it had only been thirty minutes! He was getting stiff again!

I finally broke the kiss and dropped my hands from his neck. We were both breathing heavily. “Steve, I believe your colors are done. I think I heard the spin cycle stop.” Holding onto the counter top with my right hand, I placed the palm of my left on my Viking’s heaving chest. “Go start your whites, or it will be midnight before we get to your place to dry our clothes.”

© 2009

Once Steve left the kitchen to start his second load of laundry, I finished opening the wine bottle, and poured out a glass for each of us. Torpe that I am, I was afraid that I would spill something if I tried to take everything into the living room altogether, so I started with the wine, and placed the glasses at the near end of the coffee table in front of the sofa. While walking back into the kitchen, I listened for Steve making laundry noises. Before picking up the cheese and crackers, I stuck my head into the corridor and called out, "Snacks are ready! Everything OK in there?"

"Yeah, I'm good! I've bagged the colors, and just starting the whites. I'll be with you in a minute."

Yes, this was going well. Smiling to myself, I pulled a few paper napkins out of the pack on the back of the counter, opened the utensils drawer, took out a couple of forks and put them on top of the napkins on top of the plates. I picked up the cheese and crackers tray, then the plates and napkins, and called back, "OK. I'll wait for you in the living room."

I put the cheese and crackers tray in the middle of the coffee table, and placed the plates and napkins between it and the wine. Now that I had him excited, I had to keep Steve at a safe distance until we left for his place, or we would end up echar un polvete, and I had just freshened up. Not that I didn't want to keep him on the edge, just that I wanted us to keep our clothes on, at least until we were in his apartment. I moved one glass and a plate with a fork and a napkin to one end of the coffee table, and took the other wine glass for me to the other. That should queue him where we should be sitting. I put a few of the crackers, some cheese and a dab of mustard onto my plate, sat down and tucked my feet under me.

Steve was a bit of a puzzle. He didn't have any obvious flaws - but then why wasn't he taken? Intelligent, articulate, polite, clean. Men like him were choice picks. Perhaps he was divorced? He seemed too young to be divorced, and anyway, he probably would have learned about oral sex from his wife. I speared a piece of cheese, swirled it in the mustard, and pushed it onto a cracker. And muscular; he felt like he kept in shape. I picked up the cracker and absent mindedly began to nibble at it. Steve was a very attractive package. I was going to find out more.

Steve's footsteps in the hallway shook me from my meditation. "OK. I have my last load started. After it is done, we can go to my place to finish up."

He slowed down and frowned when he saw me on the sofa at one end of the coffee table, and his place at the other end with the cheese tray between us. Underlining the obvious, I pointed at his wine glass, and before he could object, I reopened the conversation about science and religion.

"So Steve, you gave me a good example of how careful I should be when questioning if someone was a scientist. But that's only an example. What about the general classes of 'Science' with a capital 'S' and 'Religion' with a capital 'R'?"

It was a wonder to watch him change from a disappointed male into an engaged teacher. Steve squared his shoulders, and I'll swear his voiced changed to be more forceful and confident. He resumed his lecture as if he hadn't been doing his laundry or almost raping me at the kitchen counter. Men are too strange!

"Well Anna, Even the most openly nonreligious person can't avoid the daily influence of religion in their lives in ways as obvious as current events, vocabulary, or the very ways we think about the world."

This was easy. "True. It doesn't take many suicide bombers to get that point across."

"They are vivid examples, aren't they? In addition, think about how deeply religion is embedded in our language. Think along the lines of figures of speech. For instance, 'He doesn't have a prayer', and 'he's beyond redemption' both presume a supernatural or spiritual reality, even when they are used to describe situations in the here and now."

"Similarly, even the scientifically untrained or disinterested cannot go a day without coming in contact with science or with one of its technological products."

Nodding agreement, "Global Warming is a prime example of that."

"Global Warming is what you might describe as a 'hot' topic," he paused while I rolled my eyes at the predictable wordplay, "but technology is changing our world in many other ways as well. You'll remember the Antarctic 'ozone hole' which was created by industrial chemicals."

Smiling, "Yeah, I remember that. They were refrigerator coolants and fire extinguishing gases that had to be banned." I took a sip of wine, and helped myself to some more of the cheese and crackers. I pushed the tray towards Steve, "Here, have some cheese and crackers?"

He took a sip of his wine, then another, and put his glass down. Always the gentleman, he complimented my selection, saying "Nice wine. Then he pulled the cheese tray over to his plate with "Thanks, don't mind if I do."

He continued talking as he used his fork to pull some cheese cubes on to his plate. "Reading almost any daily newspaper will convince you that both science and religion continue to be important influences on our daily world, both for good and for ill. Their impact is everywhere. We can't escape either one. So even those who think they're indifferent to either science or religion," and here he looked up at me and smiled, "are really just deluding themselves like ostriches with their heads stuck in the sand."

"You're singing to the choir Steve." I put down my wineglass, stretched out my arm and leaned across the coffee table to pull the cheese and crackers back towards me, and gave Steve a good look down my blouse while I was at it. I wasn't going let his attention stray too far from me. I took my time putting the cheese and crackers on my plate.

When I sat back and looked up, Steve was enjoying the view over the rim of his wineglass. "So when you teach your course, what are the limits? What do you mean by "science" and "religion?"

Putting his wineglass down, he replied "There are many religions in the world, of course. And you can ask interesting questions about the relationship of any one of them with science. But my course is focused specifically on the science-religion interactions in the Latin West." He paused to drag a cheese cube through the mustard, put it on a cracker, and pop the assembly in his mouth.

This was obviously my queue. "What do you mean by the Latin West?"

He swallowed, and washed the cracker down with some more wine. "What I mean are the lands that were once the Latin-speaking parts of the Roman Empire and its successors. In other words, predominantly Western Europe and the Mediterranean. In the sense I am using the term, I am also including the most important offspring of European culture - North and South America."

I couldn't resist getting in a gentle dig."Was your selection based on your expected audience?"

Steve grinned. "Partially, yes. Most of my undergrads, regardless of their religious affiliation or lack thereof, or of their historic ethnic origins, are Americans, and so have lived their lives in a public and intellectual culture which is Western European in origin and character. Therefore, this Western European focus seems to make sense in terms of relevance to my students' lives."

"Do you have many difficulties with foreign students, like language or cultural disconnects?" I asked.

Steve speared, then dragged his last piece of cheese slowly across the plate, leaving a channel through the mustard. "Not really. By the time they are able to take university level courses, they've had enough exposure to American English that I seldom have to work through language issues with students." He bit carefully into his morsel, then continued. "Cultural issues are more frequent - particularly with those from the Orient. Theirs has fewer things in common with ours than those from Latin or South America. Sometimes a metaphor or simile I use leaves some foreign students scratching their heads, but not too often."

Steve put down his empty plate, picked up his wine glass, and after sniffing it, emptied it with a long sip. He smiled and looked me in the eyes. "Tasty snacks, nice wine, and pleasant conversation. What more could one ask for?"

I leaned towards him, and reached out for the wine glass Steve knew to hand to me, pausing long enough to let him look down my blouse again. Mmmm. Running my fingers up across your chest, I thought, through the hair I just knew covered it. You licking the inside of my thighs, then up across my tummy to kiss my breasts. Slowly sliding into me. Your naked body nailing me into the mattress.

I held his gaze. "Major appliances that don't break down?" I asked with mock seriousness.

Steve laughed good-naturedly and looked away as I took his wine glass. "Good one! But the downside there is that we might never have gotten to know each other."

"¡Arrestar! That caught my attention! Time to refocus the conversation.

I smiled, and filled his glass. "True, true. But surely there were other reasons you selected, what do you call it, the 'Latin West' as the secular side for comparison?"

"Yes there is, and really it was the primary justification for my choice. Modern science is primarily a product of the Latin West. If we want to draw meaningful connections between historical events and modern-day concerns, it seems reasonable to look at the culture that's most directly the parent of our own. This cultural focus immediately has one advantage. It helps me define the religion of my focus, Christianity, the dominant religion of European and New World cultures. Of course, there are many interesting and enlightening episodes in religion-science interactions in Islam and in Judaism. But unfortunately, I can't cover them in a three credit intro course."

"Anyway, there is sufficient diversity within the Christian tradition, particularly after the Reformation in the 16th-century, and the 19th-century explosion of North American splinter sects. So my students have their hands full just dealing with diversity within Christianity while studying it's interactions with Science in the Western Tradition."

"As I mentioned before, there are many, many foolish and childish claims bandied about in discussions of science and religion. Part of my job is to get past all of those, to achieve a well-grounded and, most of all, properly contextualized view of what really happened and why. So I try to untangle the real issues in play, and try to show that some of these issues are intricately philosophical and intellectual. Some of them might make you stretch your mind a bit. At other times, these issues were political or social, and sometimes just personal."

I heard the washer buzz, announcing that the spin cycle had finished. Steve heard it too, and looked at me quizzically.

"That means your whites are done." I said. "You go bag them, and I'll clean up here, so that we can drive to your place and finish up."

"Right." Steve picked up his wine, swigged it empty, and handed the glass to me.

I stood up, bent over, and reached out across the table to give him one more glance at what I had available, then took the glass and began tending to our snack leftovers.

Steve stood up and hurried off to get his clothes.


© 2010

I took the leftover cheese, crackers, and wine back to the kitchen. There wasn’t much wine left, so I poured the remainder into my glass, then put the bottle in with the recyclables. I hummed a folk tune while I put the cheese in a baggie into the fridge, and the crackers in a baggie in the pantry. I had done what I could to get and keep Steve’s attention. If I could get him to lead for the rest of the day, I could make this a delightful afternoon for both of us.

After putting the dishes, forks, and Steve’s wine glass in the dishwasher with the breakfast things, I added detergent and started a light load. As it started filling, I leaned back against the counter, and sipped the wine while listening to Steve bag his whites. I wonder if he liked to be ridden? Smiling, I wondered if he had ever been ridden? How a delicious hombre like my Viking was still available was a pretty puzzle, but if he could learn to love what I liked, I was going to stake my claim. I sure hoped he liked to be ridden.

Steve called out from the laundry room, “OK! I’ve got my stuff bagged. You ready?”

“Ready when you are.” I called back as I grabbed the washcloth I had draped over the faucet, gave the counter a quick wipe down, and then hurriedly swigged the last of the wine. No quickly enough though. Before I could put my wine glass down, Steve came around the corner with a bag of laundry over each shoulder.

“You finished off the wine?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“There wasn’t much left. You had most of it.”

“Well, maybe. But I weigh a good bit more than you. Tell you what – let me drive us both, that way we won’t have to take both cars.”

Aroyho! Then he’ll have me at his mercy, and he can work his will on me! “But you’ll have to make an extra trip! You know I have to drive to work tomorrow.”

“That’s alright. I’d hate to see you get pulled over or anything.”

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind the extra trip.” I made it a question.

“Sure, no problem at all. I have plenty of room in my car. It’s a Taurus.”

“Oh. OK then.”

I opened the dishwasher door to add my wineglass, and was greeted by a cloud of steam. I heard Steve snort as I squinted to see where I could fit it in. I found a place, inserted the wineglass, then reclosed and restarted the dishwasher. Standing up, I looked into his grin and said, “Alright, maybe I could have planned that better. Now let’s get over to your place and try to finish up.”

Steve followed me into the living room, waited while I picked up my purse and keys, and then we went to the front door. Steve’s hands were full, so I opened the door, let him out, then pulled my two bags of laundry into the hallway. I reached inside to hit the light switches, pulled the door shut behind us, and tested the lock.

Steve smiled as he watched me go through my routine. “You don’t leave much to chance, do you?”

I bent over to pick up my laundry bags. “It’s different for girls, Steve. How many guys get raped? You read about it happening to women all the time.”

Steve’s smile broadened. “You can’t rape the willing.”

I stood up and faced him. “That’s not funny, Steve! How would you like it if half the people in the world were bigger and stronger than you, and a lot of them thought you couldn’t get by without their help?” I was surprised at how irritating I found his quip. I picked up the other bag. “You lead. You know where you’re parked.”

We walked without talking down the hall to the stairs. The only sounds we made were the rustling of laundry bags and the clack of the heels of my shoes. As I followed him down the stairs, I noticed that his hair was starting to thin.

I pressed the buzzer to unlock the door; Steve pushed it open with one of his bags, and then held it open for me. He looked back to me with his face carefully neutral. I didn’t want the silence to go on too long and become awkward, so I figured I’d give on this one. As I walked in front of him, I stopped, stood up on tiptoe, and kissed him lightly on his lips.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” I said as I eased back down. “I know you didn’t mean anything – I overreacted.”

Steve smiled and visibly relaxed. “Yeah, men and women have different attitudes towards rape. I was joking that you can’t rape men because men always want sex. I shouldn’t have assumed you’d take it the same way. Sorry about that.”

I followed him to the rear of his car, where he beeped the trunk open, put his bags in, then turned and held out his hands for my laundry. When he hesitated when I held out both bags to him, uncertain which to take first, I stretched out my right to him. Steve paused briefly when he noticed the weight as he took the bag, put it into the trunk, then took my last one and helped it slide down between the others. I waited while Steve closed the trunk. He took the cue, walked to the passenger side, and opened the door for me. Fair enough, I knew my steps in this dance, so I sat down into the passenger seat before turning my body. The seat fabric pulled at my skirt as I swung first my left and then my right leg inside – flashing a bit of thigh.

After Steve closed my door, while he walked around the car to his side, I took a quick look around me. Surprise, surprise! He kept his car as neat as he dressed; no fast food leftovers here. Steve opened his door, sat down, and as he closed his door I said, “Very nice! I try to keep my car tidy, but you obviously take pride in keeping your car clean. I’m jealous! You didn’t get up early to take your car to a carwash, did you?"

“Not today,” he said while finding the ignition with his key. The engine kicked in, and when Steve buckled his seat belt, I did the same. As we backed out of the parking space, he looked over at me for directions.

“Just reverse the way you came in. Straight down to the end there, then turn right to get out of the parking lot,” I said while pointing. “Turn right to get on to Redden Road, then left on to 404. You know the way from there.”

Steve guided the car out of the apartment parking lot, along the half block of Redden Road, then across the northbound lane and median strip of 404 before making a left and joining the southbound traffic. While he did that, I took the opportunity to review the car’s insides. Clean, neat, and tidy. Even the floor mats were clean, and the dustless dashboard must have been wiped down recently; so “not today” probably meant “yesterday before Mass.”

He noticed my review, and said, “Do I pass inspection?”

I smiled and said, “You could teach ‘Car Cleanliness 101’ if you wanted.” Before I drive us anywhere in my car, I’ll have to clean it up. It’s not that I’m a slob or anything, but this looks like new.”

“Thanks. I do try to keep up appearances. I guess I should thank my folks; they kept things neat and clean at home, and I’ve tried to keep with their tradition. Dad’s on the Newark police force, and he likes to keep things orderly.

¡Arrestar! Time to change the subject. “Does he keep fit, like you do? I’ve noticed that you don’t have a lot of flab on you – at least on the bits I’ve seen."

Steve turned and looked at me long enough that I wanted to tell him to watch the road. “Anna, I’ve seen just about all there is to see of you, and I didn’t notice much fat on you either. So tell me how you keep that beautiful body of yours in shape, then I’ll do the same."

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. I wanted to change the subject, but I hadn’t anticipated that at all! “Umm … well, sure. I have a treadmill, and each morning, after I brew my coffee, I take a half-hour walk. It’s not like I’m a Health Nazi or anything, but I feel flat and stodgy when I skip my morning walk for a few days."

“Good for you! What treadmill did you get? Did you get a good price?”

“It’s a Nordic Trac 1200. And yes, I think so. I waited until they put the exercise machines on sale before bringing in the new models – the ones with all the bells and whistles. I can’t afford those.”

“Very cool. Where do you hide it? I didn’t notice it when I was washing my clothes.”

“You wouldn’t have. It’s in my bedroom. Now tell me how you keep fit.”

“Much the same as you. I rent a house, and I’ve fitted out the second bedroom with my treadmill and some weights. Nothing fancy, mind you, but it saves me a drive to and from a gym. After you start drying your first load, I’ll be happy to show it to you.”

© 2010

“You also save the monthly gym fees. They add up over a year.”

“You’re right. And I can work out whenever I want. I can exercise on my schedule, not the gym’s.”

The traffic slowed down and became predictably complex as we passed the strip malls on the right, so I kept quiet let Steve focus on driving. The different vehicles glinted in the bright sunlight, washed clean by last night’s rain; the minivans filled with families on their way to the beaches, the sedans steered by bored locals. I watched and smiled sadly as we passed a car with a dog stretching his head out of a partially open rear window, his muzzle extended as he sniffed at all the smells I’ll never know. He seemed to be enjoying his ride just as much as the the rest of the young family on the way to the beach.

I had a family and a dog once. Our dog Sancho had been in the car with Adele, Papa, Mama and me when the truck hit us. Only Adele and Sancho saw the truck come flying out of the alley. They had only time enough to scream before it hit us and pushed the car into the oncoming traffic. That’s where the car hit us head on.

At least that’s what I was told. The only thing I remember was Adel’s and Sancho’s scream.

I was arguing with Mama. She wanted me to find Miguel. Miguel had vanished the year before while smuggling cocaine into America. He’d done it before successfully, but this last time after his call from Florida – nothing. Money arrived , but no calls and no letters from Miguel.

“Annabel Sanchez! You must go find Miguel. He’s your brother, and the eldest son.”

“But Mama, I’ve just found Juan! He’s a wonderful, caring man.”

“If Juan is so wonderful and caring, he’ll wait a few months while you bring Miguel home.”

“But Mama …”

I heard the scream, and the next thing I remember was a frowning fat man looking into my eyes.

“Annabel? Anabel Sanchez? Can you hear me?”
“Wha … What happened?”

“You’ve been in a terrible accident. Your mother is calling for you.”

“Mama? Where? Is she alright?”

The man helped me up. “Come. She’s calling for you.”

Mama was covered in blood.

“Mama!” I screamed.

She reached out blindly towards me as I kneeled beside her. “Anna?”

I grabbed her hand, sticky with blood. “Yes Mama. It’s me. Mama! What has happened to us?

Mama was gasping for breath. “Listen to me Anna. Find Miguel. Bring him home. Do you hear me?”

“Yes Mama. Yes! Where’s Papa? Where’s Adele?”

“Take care of your Papa and Adele.”

Mama’s hand went slack.

“No! Mama! No! No! No! Mama wait! No! No! No!”

Mama died without knowing Papa and Adele were already dead. Mama left thinking I could help them, although I couldn’t.

But I had promised her to bring Miguel home, and I could – I would – do something about that.

© 2015