Insatiable Pt. 03

"Look, Tammy," Laurie went on, "it's not just sex. He—he obviously has feelings for me. And I have feelings for him. How could I not?"

Tammy lapsed into an incredulous silence, then came out with: "You're not telling me you—you love him?"

"Maybe I do," Laurie said with mild defiance.

"Oh, come on, Laurie! You've known him for—what?—exactly a week!"

"Sometimes that's all it takes."

"And what about him? Does he love you?"

"He seems to."

"Did he say so?"

"He did."

"He said he loved you?"

"Yes."

"Did you say it back?"

"Yes."

Tammy shook her head again. "Laurie, you're twenty-eight years old. You're not a schoolgirl."

"I'm well aware of that."

"I think your brain has been addled by sex. It happens to women too, not just men."

"I don't think that's what it is."

"Well," Tammy said, "I think you're making a mistake. You're rushing into this relationship way too fast."

And before Laurie could reply, she marched out of the cubicle in a huff.

But if Tammy thought Laurie was rushing things after that one weekend with Patrick, she was in for the shock of her life on the next Monday, after Laurie had seen Patrick several more times and spent another crazy weekend with him.

In a scarcely audible voice, Laurie told her friend, "I'm moving in with him."

Tammy almost fell out of her chair. "You're what? Laurie, you must be insane!"

"Look, it's only a kind of trial cohabitation. I'm not giving up my apartment. I'm just spending the next week or two with him, to see if we can get along. Quite frankly, I'm not sure we can. But," she added sheepishly, "he said he'd cook dinner for me. Every night."

Tammy curled her lip with unwonted cynicism. "Oh, and that makes up for your spreading your legs for him every night!"

"No need to be crass, my dear. Anyway, it's going to be not every night."

"Isn't it? I have to say, you've been looking a bit the worse for wear all week."

"Maybe. His appetite is rather—extensive."

"I'll say!"

"Tammy, I told you before: it's not just about sex. You have to believe me."

"Sure, I believe you," Tammy said sullenly—and Laurie suddenly got the impression that her friend was just a wee bit envious of her. Tammy hadn't been in a relationship in several months, and had never (so far as Laurie knew) been in a relationship quite as passionate as this one.

"So," Tammy went on in a resentful mutter, "when do I get to meet this paragon of masculinity?"

"You want to meet him?"

"Well, of course I want to meet him!"

"It sounds as if you don't like him very much."

"Laurie, I haven't even laid eyes on him yet. All I know about him is from what you've told me—and, frankly, he sounds like the kind of guy I'd run a thousand miles away from if he tried to go after me. But if he suits you, well, fine."

"All right. We can have you over for dinner some night this week. Maybe Wednesday."

Patrick was happy to have Tammy over for dinner: Laurie suspected he wanted to impress her with his culinary skills. But when she idly said, "I've told her a lot about you," Patrick looked sharply at her.

"What do you mean by that?" he said with more than a tinge of hostility.

She was unnerved by his sudden change of mood. "Nothing. It's just—I mean, I've—"

"I want to know," he said almost menacingly, "what you've told her about me—or us."

She heaved a sigh and tried to buck herself up. "Look, Patrick, I've told her a lot. It's just what women do."

"Are you saying," he said in horrified incredulity, "that you've told her about our—what we do in bed?"

Staring unflinchingly at him, she said, "Yes."

Patrick almost leaped up from the sofa in the living room and began pacing around the room. Then he whirled on her.

"How could you do that?" he said bitterly. "That's between you and me. It's private."

"I know it is," Laurie said, her voice trembling a bit. "But—but I don't think you quite get it. I—"

"This is really what women do?"

"In some situations, yes. This is one of them."

"Why?"

"Because . . . because of the way our relationship got started. What happened that first Sunday when we met was so—so upsetting to me that I just had to tell someone. And who else to tell but her? I've known her for years; we went to college together, we've worked side by side for years. I've told her about my boyfriends, she's told me about hers. Sure, some of it's just qvetching about the unsatisfactory males we've gotten involved with—you know, female solidarity. But in this case, we happened at the beginning was . . ." She couldn't go on.

"You're saying," Patrick said softly, "that I mistreated you?"

She looked up at him. "Yes, I think you did." Then, in a rush of words: "I don't blame you, exactly. It's just the kind of person you are. I don't think you meant to mistreat me—maybe you really thought it was just horseplay. But first there was the spanking, and then pulling my pants down—"

"I did that because you were driving me wild. I've never reacted to anyone this way. You're special and I love you."

"I know you do, and I love you. But it was . . . frightening. And then that weekend—"

"You told her about that too? Everything?"

"Yes, everything."

"Did that upset you too?"

"In a way. It was just . . . I've never had an experience like that."

"But it was a good experience, wasn't it?"

"Sure it was. But— Oh, Patrick, you're such a man! You just don't get how women need to talk about these things. Anyway, don't men boast about their 'conquests' to their friends? You know, locker-room talk and all that?"

He looked at her almost with disdain. "I never talk about things like that to any of my friends. Never."

Laurie stood up, seemingly unsteady on her feet. She felt almost afraid of him, and she didn't like feeling that way. Walking slowly toward him, she looked up at his face with a silent plea. I'm sorry, please don't' be angry with me.

He responded. His expression softened, and he took her in his arms and held her close. For a long time.

After releasing her he said, "I'll have to decide what to prepare for this special friend of yours."

What he decided to prepare was a full-fledged Italian dinner: pasta (he chose farfalle), meat sauce (Laurie assured him that Tammy wasn't a vegetarian), a salad chock full of tomatoes, olives, cucumbers, endive, croutons, and lots of other things, and even homemade garlic bread. Laurie just watched him after she came home from work. Patrick expected Tammy to be with her, but she'd said she wanted to change clothes and would come over a little later.

When Tammy rung the doorbell, Laurie almost ran to answer it. She let her friend in, and to both women's amusement Patrick came out of the kitchen wearing a full-length apron that had clearly been well used for previous cooking ventures.

Tammy, for her part, had changed into a fairly daring slinky blue dress that hugged her generous curves and revealed a goodly amount of cleavage. Laurie gave her a look that said, What on earth are you dressed up like that for? But she actually said nothing.

"Tammy?" Patrick said, extending a hand. "Is that really your name?"

"Actually," she said, "it's Tamara. But everyone calls me Tammy."

"Tamara," he murmured, rolling the name around on his tongue as if it were a fine wine. "What a lovely name. Do you mind if I call you Tamara rather than Tammy?"

"I'd love it if you did," she said, looking away from his intense gaze.

As Patrick retreated to the kitchen to finish preparing the meal, Laurie said, "You never said you prefered to be called Tamara."

"Well," she said in a shaky voice, "if he likes it better than Tammy, that's what it'll be."

Laurie gave her another long look, but made no reply.

The dinner was a tremendous success—and, somewhat to Laurie's bemusement, Tamara and Patrick fell into a deep discussion of classical music. It turned out that both had played musical instruments in their adolescence—Patrick the violin and Tamara the flute. Tamara gazed longingly at the immense collection of classical CDs that Patrick owned, and of course he regaled her with some of his (and her) favorite compositions.

Laurie felt a little left out. She liked classical music, but didn't feel she could contribute much to the discussion.

Tamara seemed inclined to stay put in the house—a tour of which she'd received from her friend just before the meal was served—until Laurie said, "Look, dear heart, it's past ten and we have work tomorrow. Maybe you'd better take your leave."

Tamara gave Laurie a moue of displeasure, but heaved herself up from the sofa. "Okay," she muttered.

Laurie got up and headed toward the kitchen. "Say goodbye to Tammy—sorry, Tamara—for me, Patrick. I'll start cleaning up."

Tamara seemed a little nervous being alone with Patrick, even though Laurie was only in the next room. She hadn't worn any wrap, so she made her way to the hallway leading to the front door, Patrick following her.

At the door she looked up at him. "I heard that you got a little annoyed with Laurie for telling me so much about—well, you know, your relationship."

"You might say that," Patrick said tightly.

"Please don't be mad at her! She loves you so much—I can tell she's never felt this way about anyone before. It's just that some of the things you did were—"

"Inappropriate?" Patrick supplied.

"I guess. She just got a little freaked out, that's all. She needed to talk to somebody."

"I can see that now. I'm not angry with her."

Having spent a wonderful evening with Tamara, and knowing her to be his lover's best friend, Patrick felt it was permissible to give her a big hug. She almost fell into his arms, resting her head against his chest. (She was a few inches shorter than Laurie, although she was also a bit heavier.) As Patrick wrapped his arms around her, she seemed in no way inclined to pull herself away. And when she almost unconsciously threw her arms around his neck, her breasts pressed themselves against his chest. Patrick's hand slid down to the small of her back, then stopped.

She lifted her face up to him. Her eyes were shining.

He gave her a soft smile—and then he gave her a soft kiss on the mouth.

The kiss lasted less than a second, but Tamara let out a big sigh, then stared up at him as if to say, What's the idea? That wasn't a kiss—it was a peck. How about something better?

He read her mind, and their next kiss was longer and firmer. It lasted close to a minute—an eternity for a kiss.

When he finally took his lips away, Tamara gasped, and her whole body gave a shiver. Then, with a pathetic little whimper, she opened the door and fled from the house.

Tamara went to her car and sat in it for a while, staring off into space. It was dark, and no one seemed to be around. Even so, she looked to the right and left before daintily raising the hem of her dress, pulling away the crotch of her panties, and touching herself—one hand on her sex and the other squeezing one of her breasts. Her pussy was very, very wet. It took her only a few minutes to give herself a shuddering climax that caused a few tears to leak out of her eyes.

She had to spend several more minutes settling down before she felt capable of driving home.