Worth Waiting

Surprisingly, Guy blushed, and stammered, "I, uh, was just wishing I knew you well enough to broaden the invitation."

Puzzled, but suspecting what he meant, she asked, "Broaden how?"

"I've been told it's more fun with two," he replied, the shy smile returning.

Phyll smiled in return, getting the answer she expected. Then her face turned serious. "I'll let you convince me," she said, pulling off her turtleneck. She faced Guy as she reached behind her back to unfasten her bra. As it came off, she continued, "but not tonight."

She stood there, facing him. A neat, nearly invisible scar occupied the space where her right breast had once sat. "I could use a robe, or night shirt if you have something," she said softly.

Guy nodded as he approached her. Phyll opened her mouth to speak, but Guy reached up and shushed her. His hand dropped and he lightly traced the scar. "Cancer?"

Phyll shook her head. "No, but just as bad, in terms of results. It was some sort of aggressive tumor. It took four surgeries to get rid of it, destroying the breast in the process. Guy, I'm..."

His lips ended her statement as he kissed her softly. "Thank you for your confidence. Get your shower. I'll leave a shirt on my bed for you. When you're done, I'll be in the living room having a glass of port, if you want to join me."

She found him there, reading through the foreign study applications. She nodded when he raised his glass. "Guy, I don't want to give any false impressions or appear to make any false promises. I don't know why I revealed my scar to you. Especially after knowing you only, what, eight hours. Christ! I've been friends with Steffan and his wife almost ten years, and they don't know about the surgery." He handed her a glass of port and returned to his seat.

Guy looked at her. She had set herself down on the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her, facing him as she leaned into the corner of the comfortable furniture piece. Her short dark hair, cut in a shag, framed an oval face Modigliani would have lusted to paint. Her dark blue eyes looked black in the low light. The memory of how soft and welcoming her full lips had felt stimulated a small surge in his groin.

"Phyll, I can't speak to why you shared your secret, but I can tell you that there is nothing negative about the impression it left me with. I made a pretty lame attempt at a joke, an attempt you could have easily ignored or laughed off. Instead, consciously or not, you recognized the implicit invitation, and answering the way you did, you told me if I want a relationship with you, I have to accept you as you are, battle scars and all.

"I can do that, and I can wait until you're ready to accept my invitation to share a shower." His face broke into a wide grin. "By the way, your remaining breast is beautiful."

Phyll blushed. "Thank you, and while I'm at it, thank you for everything else–being there to intercept that bastard, the room, the shirt," she said gesturing at the long tee shirt she wore. "And for understanding that I can't guarantee anything." She paused, took a sip of her wine and closed her eyes, thinking. After a few seconds, she opened them and began speaking again.

"Not quite a year after the mess with my husband and Harry, I noticed my bra no longer fit my right breast. The doctor said it was a fluid filled cyst and used a biopsy needle to aspirate it. Six months later, it was back. But the fluid was more viscous.

"The first time, it had been watery. The second time, it was sort of like seminal fluid. It couldn't be aspirated like it had been at first, so they made an incision and put in a drain. It took three days to drain three quarters of a cup of the fluid.

"Four months later, my breast had grown from a small B-cup to a triple-C, small D. And it was always painful. Much as it hurt to wear a bra, it was agony to go without. The process, contents, was the consistency of warm pudding. They had to open the breast and cut into the body of the tumor. They suctioned the stuff out and then tried to cut away the tissue which had contained the fluid.

"It was like a, what are they, horse chestnuts, the hull with all the barbs. It had attached itself to the other tissues in the breast, especially the chest muscles. Some of the barbs had grown into my pectorals, actually twined around bundles of muscle tissue. That surgery was twelve hours, but I still had a breast, sort of. A nipple, anyway.

"Some of the barbs had been left in the breast tissue. Each of them started to grow and form cyst-like sacs. The pain sent me back to the surgeon. I asked if he could guarantee he'd be able to get it all. When he said no, I told him to take it off. And to check the muscles to be sure he got every bit. After, he told me he had needed to remove a small amount of muscle tissue, too." She took another sip of the port. "Other than the doctors and my parents, you are the only person who knows the full story.

"With Chuck, my husband, and Harry, I haven't had a lot of success in dating men, and lately, with this," she said, gesturing toward her chest, "they haven't been a priority for me. The surgery was three years ago. I haven't been with a man since...Harry's attempt to 'comfort' me." She looked him squarely in the eyes. "You may have a long wait for that invitation."

Guy drained his glass and set it down. Turning off the reading light by his chair, he got up and walked to Phyll. He reached down and took her hands to draw her to her feet. Still holding her hands, he bent to kiss her again. It was a gentle, I-want-to-get-to-know-you-better kiss. Both opened their lips to the kiss, but there were no tongues involved. When they separated, Guy was smiling, and Phyll looked slightly puzzled. "Not that long," he said.

He slid his arm around her waist and led her to the bedrooms. "It's after midnight," he pointed out. "What time do you need to be back on campus?"

"My first class is at nine. Nothing before that, so eight-thirty or so."

"Good; me, too. Breakfast at seven-thirty, or do you not eat in the morning?"

"Just coffee and toast, or something like it."

"I guess I can handle that. If you want to join me, I usually have hot cereal and fruit this time of year. I have Scots oats, which require long slow cooking. They're delicious and keep hunger away until after noon."

"You'll have to convince me," she whispered, with a smile as she stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the cheek, "in the morning. Good night, Guy. And thank you, again," she said, disappearing behind the Black Hawk door.

When he dropped Phyll off at the Fine Arts building, Guy made arrangements to pick her up at four-thirty, to drive her to her apartment to get her clothes and car. As he left her, he was in an unusually chipper mood, a mood which lasted, and was noted and commented on, behind his back, all day.

Phyllis would have been hard put to explain the feelings of warmth which swept over her when she saw the red Alfa enter the drive to the front door of the Arts Center.

Her mood had mirrored Guy's throughout the day, so much so that one of the older women in her graduate seminar had commented that she was acting like someone who got lucky last night. To which, she had laughed and responded, "Maybe!" raising the eyebrows of the students still in the room.

At her apartment she convinced Guy there was no need for him to stay. She was perfectly capable of packing her suitcases and driving to his house.

He had just pulled up to the stop sign at the exit from the apartment complex when a police car with the officers who had responded last night pulled up beside him, entering the estates.

"Hey, Dr. Foster, how are you? By the way, did you hear? That guy who broke into Ms Everett's apartment made bail this morning."

"What? You're shittin' me! What stupid son of a ..."

His tirade was interrupted by the patrol car's radio. The driver turned to Guy. "7335? Isn't that Ms Everett?"

"Yes, why?"

"Someone just called in to report a dead body in the apartment," the driver said as he pulled away.

With a finesse which would have made the Alfa engineers proud, Guy executed a perfect K-turn and arrived at the apartment at the same time as the patrol car. Phyll was out of the garage and in his arms before he crossed the sidewalk.

"It's Harry. He hanged himself on my bed," she sobbed to Guy and the officers. "It's a mess. He soiled himself and looks like he was masturbating before he," she sobbed again, "before he died."

While the driver of the patrol car called for an ambulance, the other officer entered the apartment to investigate. When the driver was done calling for the ambulance, Guy asked about getting Phyll's clothes.

"After the body's removed. One of the investigators will need to observe, but it shouldn't be a problem."

"Okay. Thank you, officer...?" Guy replied, asking for the officer's name.

"Houlihan. Hooligan Houlihan they used to call me. We met a few years ago, during the student strike you broke up on campus. I was the student who came out to talk to you."

"Really? Sorry I didn't recognize you. Interesting career choice, considering."

"Yeah. Go figure. It was going to be temporary for a couple of years while my wife finished school, but at the end of the two years, I was hooked. I don't know if I could do this in a larger city, but here, it's a good rewarding job, even better than teaching, which was my goal. Well, I better get inside before my partner thinks I've deserted him. Excuse me."

Guy turned his attention back to Phyll and started to guide her back inside. She shook her head. "Not until he's gone. I couldn't stand it." He moved her to his car, got her inside and started the engine for heat.

After several minutes, before any other police arrived, officer Houlihan came out and asked the usual questions–did she know the dead man? How? Did she know why he was there? When did she arrive? How did she discover the body? Did she touch anything, including the body or the sheet comprising the noose? What did she do before/after she found the body?

Besides the patrolman, she was asked essentially the same questions by a forensic squad member, a plain clothes detective, and an investigator from the Medical Examiner's office.

During the interview with the detective, Guy recognized that Phyll was becoming upset with the continuous questioning, coupled with the cold. He asked if, since the body had been removed, could she go in and gather some clothes to take with her. The police officer consented and they moved inside. Although the questioning continued, being warm and active relieved some of the frustration.

During the questioning by the representative from the M.E.'s office, Phyll and Guy learned that it appeared that Harry had been involved in erotic auto asphyxiation, while drinking an excess of highly proofed rum.

It looked like he had passed out from drinking, slumped over and hanged himself. At this point it was conjecture, but absence of signs of a struggle, including any injuries, and any other binding pointed them in that direction, and that was the working theory, pending blood analysis.

While Phyll completed her packing, Guy called Steffan Bancroft, her department head. He explained what had happened and ventured to say she would not be in to take her classes tomorrow. He also called and left a voice mail with the same message on his assistant's phone. He then called Lin Far, his favorite local Chinese restaurant, and ordered Peking Duck for two with Chinese vegetables and two Thai spring rolls to go.

It was nearly eight o'clock before they were ready to leave. Phyll made no objection when Guy picked up her bags and stowed them in the back seat of the Alfa, nor when he opened the passenger door for her. She gave him a wan smile when he handed her the package of food he brought out of Lin Far.

They ate the food in silence, a local country station playing on the radio in the background. Phyll was in shock, eating without tasting, not even registering what she ate. When she finished, Guy steered her to his shower. She offered no resistance when he began removing her clothes, nor when he removed his.

Once in the shower, he adjusted the various water zones at first so the spray did not hit them in the face. After initially getting wet and a lengthy water massage, he soaped Phyll's body, doing a thorough job, but not concentrating in any particular area. As he rose from soaping her legs and feet, he caught her smiling. "Nice," was all she said.

He advised her to close her eyes, then turned on the water briefly to wet their faces and hair. When they were sufficiently cleaned, he pulled the chain on the over head showerhead. That shut off the corner nozzles and created a deluge from above. When they were adequately rinsed, he turned off the water and led his charge into the drying zone, lighted with low wattage heat lamps to help with the drying.

After toweling her, he picked her up, cradled in his arms, and carried her to the Black Hawk room. As he pushed open the door, she blocked their progress and asked, "Isn't this the wrong room?"

"Only if you say so," he answered.

"So," she said softly, her face buried in his shoulder. "Could we just cuddle tonight? That's what I need more than anything else, right now. To be cuddled, and to understand."

"Cuddles I can provide, and guesses. The first, whenever, and for as long as you need them. The rest, tomorrow, or later..."

"I have to teach..."

"I called our offices and told them we wouldn't be in until Monday. I'll be right here with you. The world can get by without us for one day." He had returned to his room, still carrying her. Reaching the bed, he kneewalked up on to it, to the center, where he laid his burden down.

He slid down beside her and pulled the covers up over them. "What about the lights?" Phyll asked, smiling at him.

"Timers; around twelve," he answered, reaching for her and pulling her close, tight to his side, their nudeness melding into a comfortable zone of contact from toe to shoulder. Holding her close, Guy rolled on to his back.

As he lay there, holding the woman he had met less than thirty-six hours earlier, he marveled that it felt so right, so comfortable and so comforting. It occurred to him, with some surprise, he was falling in love with the dark haired beauty sharing his bed.

As Guy found his position, Phyll rested her head on his chest, feeling safe and protected. Feeling secure for the moment, she examined what she had been through the last two days. She knew if it hadn't been for the man sharing her bed, "Actually," she thought, "whose bed I'm sharing," she might have been raped and murdered.

Is that why she had opened up to him so quickly, she wondered, or was it because he was so attractive, and she was so... so alone, she admitted to herself. No, it wasn't that, she realized. Although she hadn't taken them, there had been opportunities in the past. It wasn't any man she wanted, it was this man, this man who made her feel safe, secure, wanted, loved. Loved? Yes, that was it, she felt loved, and realizing it, realized she loved the man lying next to her.

Guy moved, interrupting Phyll's reverie, cradling his bedmate in his arm so her head was pillowed on his chest. They fell asleep that way, both with smiles on their faces.

Guy woke to a strange sensation. It had been over seven years since his wife had passed away, and at least that long since anybody had woken him, handling his cock. Now, somebody was lightly stroking and bouncing it off his stomach. His appreciative moan let the source of his morning pleasure know he was waking up.

"Good morning, sleepyhead. I was afraid I was going to have to get violent with my toy here," she said, shaking his dick. "It's been so long, I'm not sure I remember everything I'm supposed to do with it."

"Mmm, you're doing just fine. Was there something specific you wanted it to do?" he muttered, sleepily.

Taking his hand, she guided it to her very damp quim. "This is the first morning in more than six years I've woken up in this condition. Since there seems to be an apparently willing accomplice, I don't think I should ignore the situation. Do you?"

Guy grinned, fully awake. "Not in the least. At the same time, I don't think we should just rush in and abuse it so it's another half dozen years. We should take our time and re-introduce it to the pleasures it's been missing," he whispered in her ear as he gently covered the side of her face and neck with light kisses while he stroked her back and side.

"I was hoping you'd say that. Mmm, that's nice. You have until the end of the semester to stop doing that."

"And then what? What if I don't want to stop?" he asked as his hands continued their exploration.

"Ohhh," she sighed, "I don't know. Anything more than five minutes from now is too far away to worry about. Mmm, you can keep that up" she urged him as his fingers began to explore the trimmed thatch protecting her pubes.

His lips found her scar, eliciting a gasp, causing Phyll to catch and hold her breath. She felt his tongue trace the faint line, and was surprised to feel a tingle in her mink, causing a new gush of fluid between her aching thighs.

He moved his attention to her remaining breast and began nibbling at her nipple. "Unh!" she grunted. "Yesss," she hissed, pulling him tight against her breast as a small spasm of pleasure consumed her.

When it subsided, Guy began a trail of kisses down the midline of her body to her navel. Phyll was writhing on the bed, her arms and legs unable to remain still. As Guy licked and nibbled lower, she became motionless, her muscles rigid in anticipation. All she was able to vocalize was a series of moans, interspersed with "ooh," or "aaahhh."

Guy worked his way through the dark curly forest surrounding her slit, tugging on the growth with his lips, causing short little giggles to interrupt her moans. His tongue worked its way into her crease, where it approached her nubbin.

The intrusion caused her to gasp and jerk her hips off the bed. Guy pressed his tongue into the crease, separating her labia, sinking into her opening and tasting her juices at their source. Her moans grew louder, more intense; her legs started trembling; her hands, clawing at the bed.

His tongue withdrew and traveled upward, over her urethra, and covered her clitoral hood, pressing on it firmly, not moving as she went into orgasm, her body in rigor, arched over the bed. She came silently. If Guy could have seen her face, he would have seen her dark blue eyes open, but unseeing; her mouth, open in a silent scream.

Whenever she started to relax, she would start twitching, moving her hips and clit against Guy's miracle tongue, sending her into a mini-orgasm again. After five or six such mini shocks, she was able to pull away and gasp, "Enough, enough for now. Stop, please."

A grinning Guy moved up to lay down beside his lover, pulling her to him, answering her passionate kiss with one of his own. They were on their sides facing each other. After recovering for a few moments, Phyll moved her leg over Guy's hip, then reached down to find his manhood, which she moved to her mink, then pushed her hips forward, capturing all of him in her sheath. Still locked in their kiss, the two lovers moaned in unison, expressing their pleasure, as they united.

When their thatches were totally enmeshed, their lips separated. Guy's smile of delight was answered by one on the face of the beauty sharing possession of his staff at the moment. "I've never, ever come like that before," she whispered, suddenly shy before the man on whom she was impaled. Watching his smile grow and feeling him inside her, she grew bolder, and confessed, "It was worth waiting for. You were worth waiting for," and leaned in to kiss him as she began to move her hips.