The Heart of an Angel

The girl laughed. "Sweetie, I'm gonna ride you a lot longer than that!" She mounted him and guided his cock into her waiting pussy. Now came again the easy rhythm as the man and woman reveled in that fiery passion reserved for youth. Dena covered him with fervent kisses as she climaxed, holding him forcefully, then gradually released him. After a few moments, Martin realized that she had fallen asleep on his chest, his cock still buried in her.

He withdrew from the girl and gently laid her beside him on the bed. She slept peacefully.

Martin's alarm clock went off as the first gray light of dawn was filtering into the room. He began to stir. Dena then woke up and grabbed his shoulder, saying, "What are you doin'?"

"I gotta get up. We're supposed to be in th' field by six thirty." He looked down at her, feeling the affection that comes when the lovemaking is superb. "You sure are purty," he said. "Even prettier than last night."

"Ah, you say that to all the whores."

"No, it's true. Can I have a quickie?"

"Uh huh, reckon I gotta let you. Just don't make it too quick, okay?"

Afterwards Martin lay in Dena's arms, reluctant to leave her warmth but knowing that the day was calling. "I gotta go now, girl."

She gave him a teasing grin. "You gonna be back tonight? I can use the money."

"No, we're checkin' out this mornin'. They want us up in Elk City tonight."

They shared a smile, the warmest because it was the last. "Was I a good whore?" Dena asked. "Was I worth it?"

"That and a lot more, babycakes." Then, lovingly running his hand over her cheek, he said, "But you ain't really a whore, girlie. You're way too sweet. You've got a good heart; the heart of an angel."

******

Martin's long reverie was suddenly interrupted. He looked up to see a man in his late fifties, wearing a Botany Bay suit, standing next to his booth. "Are you Martin Hessel?" he asked.

The man sat down uninvited. "I'm Paul Clarkson, Angela Hart's agent." He paused; then said, "She sent me to look for you."

"How is she?"

"She's fine. What happened back there? Why did she faint?"

"I don't know. I was just leaving, saying goodbye, next thing I know she's passing out."

Clarkson gazed at him curiously. "Why didn't you help her? You ran out of there like someone was chasing you."

Martin took a deep breath. "I'm not very good in situations like that. Sorry."

Idly pushing a coaster around, Clarkson spoke again. "She's resting in her room at the Skirvin. Wants to talk to you real bad." He eyed Martin suspiciously; then said, "Listen, is there something going on? Something I need to know about?"

"I don't know what it could be. I just met her tonight."

A little while later Martin nervously rang the doorbell to Suite 211 at the Skirvin Hotel. Angela Hart answered almost at once. "Come in," she said. He quickly entered her suite.

Her rich mane now combed back, Angela was wearing an emerald green cashmere robe. She was even now the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

In a quiet voice she said, "You've changed a lot."

"That was going to be my line."

The woman smiled. "What's with the gray hair? It fooled me."

"Premature gray runs in my family. My sister spends a fortune coloring her hair."

"And you're thin. I remember a guy who was a lot beefier."

"I took up marathon running. I needed muscles to work in a wheat harvesting crew, but not now. I'm an optometrist."

"I'm having another brandy. Do you want one?"

"Yes, fill up the biggest glass you've got."

Soon they were on the sofa, eyeing each other warily. "We need to talk," Angela said. "I can imagine what you think of me, telling young women to be chaste and pure, and knowing what you know. But Martin, I hope you'll remember that life is a journey, not a destination."

"Hmm. Isn't that a platitude from your first book? Chapter five maybe? What would the girls in FHA say if they knew what a wildcat you were at their age?"

Anger smoldered in the woman's eyes. "So that's the kind on man you are? I'm almost forty years old, and you're going to judge me entirely on what happened one night when I was still a teenager?"

"Okay, good point. But the thing is, you've wrapped yourself in this mantle of virtue. And the last time our paths crossed, you were a wanna-be hooker, a girl that let me turn her every which way but loose." He paused, and then continued. "Who gave me best night I've ever spent with a woman."

Angela started to speak, and then blinked in surprise. She took a deep breath, saying, "This will only boost your male ego, but it was the same for me. I never knew your name; almost forgot your face. But I still remember the way you made me feel."

She went on, "Martin, that night with you, that cheap motel in that crummy town, changed my life. I enjoyed our lovemaking so much. Maybe too much. I began to think, well, I've had one guy, why not another, or lots of them."

"I realized that I'd soon end up like a lot of girls I knew. Pregnant, living in a trailer with some guy who's as dumb as a post and never been more than a hundred miles from the Red River."

"I sat down and wrote out the kind of person I wanted to be, and I became her. My parents split up, moved out of state. I went to Oak City to work and save for college. I had my name legally changed to Angela Hart; she was my alter ego."

"Through a lot of hard work I re-invented myself; someone educated and respectable. I began to realize how important virtue is in a woman; how it defines her to the world. In my heart I was chaste, and felt I had earned the right to at least feel like a virgin again. I was a virgin that night, Martin, and since then, the only man I've known is my husband. I really am Angela Hart."

After a long silence, she said quietly, "You gave me that name, remember?"

"Yes. The heart of an angel." Then he went on, "What about your friend Crystal? She knows what you did."

"She died in a motorcycle accident just a few years later. Now you're the only one."

Martin rose and walked to the window, watching the traffic move down Interstate-40. "I suppose everyone has the right to a do-over."

Now the woman stood near him. "So you aren't going to tell anyone?"

Martin gave a quick laugh. "No, it was too long ago. We were just a couple of oversexed youngsters then, with no more sense than God gave a goose." He smiled, then said, "But we sure had a great time together, didn't we?"

Angela did not reply, merely gazed at him intently. After a few awkward seconds Martin, just to break the silence, said, "What?"

"Martin, I've always kept a little bit of Dena Mullins inside me. She was so wild, not a care in the world. And I've known that the one man who might bring her out would be the one she spent that wonderful night with. And here you are."

Now she stepped closer to him, a rose blush on her cheeks. Feeling just as he had so long ago, Martin sat his drink on the window sill. Now he was putting his arms around Angela Hart, and now looking into her eyes; now kissing her. He savored her warmth, the clean taste of the woman and the faint scent of her body that was the same as he now remembered.

Angela gave all, holding him close. When they broke the kiss, he gazed into her eyes, now damp with tears.

Martin again kissed her deeply; the aching desire he felt for her was in that kiss. His hands roamed over her body. He again paused and looked at her, his heart pounding. So closely did they hold each other that he felt her heartbeat as well.

"Martin?" she whispered.

"Yes, Dena?"

"I had to kiss you, to find out how I felt. Right now, I want you so much, like any woman wants a man. But when I wake up tomorrow morning and all the mornings after that, I'll be Angela Hart. I really am that good and moral person. Please, please, believe me!"

As Martin gazed at her, the realization came. Now he saw fierce courage in the woman's eyes, the iron resolve and willpower that had led her to change herself from a wild country girl into a cultured woman. A woman of virtue and substance.

At once the mood was broken. "Yes, of course," Martin said. "You really are Angela Hart. You were pretty and sexy back then, but now you've got ... I don't know, an inner beauty as well. You are so much more than Dena Mullins."

After a pause he said, "I think I should go now."

The man and woman smiled at each other; a smile of relief yet mixed with a tinge of disappointment. Angela said, "Let me walk you to the door."

At the door they embraced again, both surprised by how natural it felt, as if they had been happily wed all these years. With a playful grin Martin said, "Hey, who knows what life brings? Maybe in the future you'll fall on hard times and need some ready cash, and some night I'll be looking for a woman, so ..."

She giggled at the joke; a Dena Mullins laugh. "It could happen," she said between quick soft kisses, "A girl has to make a living somehow. And you know I'm worth every penny."

"That and a lot more, babycakes," he said, their lips touching for the last time. Suddenly he was overcome with emotion as he gazed into her deep blue eyes.

"Dena, did we make a big mistake? Just going our separate ways after that one amazing night?"

For many long seconds the woman looked at him. A single tear trickled down her cheek. "We'll never know, will we?" she said quietly.

"No, I guess not."

Then Martin was out the door and walking quickly down the carpeted hallway. He brushed away a tear, knowing that the woman in Suite 211 was doing the same.