Next Time You See Her

Emma was the very definition of an English Rose. I'd thought as much the first time I'd seen her in the office cafeteria, before I'd heard her say anything and realized she really was British. Those doe-eyes and that too-symmetrical smile left no doubt. I hadn't been surprised that her first "hello" was a "hullo", but I'd found that accent titillating all the same.

Our love had begun ever so tentatively, from a flirtatious look across the tables to sharing the same table and learning about what I did on the fifth floor and she on the seventh, me with no immediate designs on her because she was out of my league and she betraying nothing.

Nothing including when and why she'd come to America. Now, on our first morning in bed together -- nearly a year after that first sighting over lunch -- I reasoned, that might well be the only thing I didn't know about Emma. But as she ran her manicured fingernails lightly down my chest while rocking us both gently to another orgasm, I couldn't have cared less about why she'd come here -- I was just glad she had come.

And come. And come. She must have come six times the night before, and now we were starting the day off right. "Oh, James, come with me!" she shrieked, her dark ringlets flying every which way about her head as her small breasts jiggled adorably and she ground into me in the most delightful way.

"But it so beautiful watching you come!"

"You bloody Americans are too generous! Should've come here years ago!"

"Thank God you did come here!" I reached up and teased her hard nipples, whipping her up into an even more intense state of arousal, ready to blow any moment.

But not without me along for the ride. She opened those big eyes and set her jaw, and set into humping me harder than ever. Now I was the one singing opera like she had so many times the night before. "Never heard a man so loud before," she grunted. "So beautiful! Come with me!"

"I'm about to!" I could already feel it building up, and I could hear her own moans marking the point of no return as well. Her timing was perfect, as I burst into orgasm and pulled her down into a fierce hug, just in time for her to shriek with joy in my ear. "Oh, thank you!" I exhaled once we'd both caught our breath.

"Let's always wake up with a bang, shall we, James?" She propped herself up on my chest and closed her legs tight. "Don't even think of taking that out just yet!"

"Yes, boss."

"Heavens, James, why did it take you all those months to ask me out? Think of all the nights we could have had like this!"

"I'm shy," I admitted. "And I just...you're so beautiful, I figured I had no chance."

"Just my luck, falling in love with the one modest American man!" she teased. "But also the gentlest man I've been with." She kissed me on the mouth, softly but for a nice long time. "So gentle, all last night and then..." She burst into tears.

"Emma!"

"Sorry, James. Just, if you knew what had come before...but you don't want to hear about that." She took a deep breath and got control of herself. "At least it got me over here."

"You were running away from someone?" I asked.

"No, the someone got a job over here first. God, I hope he's gone back to London! But never mind that, James." Now she released me and stood up, giving me a beautiful view of her body. "Come on, I'll let you give me a good scrubbing."

So I accepted that I wasn't going to learn just why she'd come to America, or what the story was with her ex. I was, though, going to learn plenty about her body in the shower. "Here," she said, opening a bottle labelled "feminine wash". "Hold out your palm."

I did, and she squeezed out a bit of the wash in my hand. "Now, remember you don't want to actually get any in my pussy, okay?" She guided my hand down between her legs and rubbed the wash onto her labia, and took her hand away. "Work up a little lather, will you?" I did, wondering if I was rubbing too hard. Apparently not, for she said, "Wow, James, you do have a lovely touch!"

"A lovely touch for a lovely body!" I replied, moving my sudsy hand up to give her bush a nice cleaning. "Always did like washing this."

"I'm so glad you're not one of those blokes who want me bald as a coot down there!" She'd worked up a good lather with the soap, and returned the favor on my cock and balls.

"Never," I promised. "I love the natural look."

"Good on you!"

We must have danced off nearly half an hour in the shower, but it was worth every moment. When at last we stepped out, clean and patted dry, into the bedroom, I asked if I might help her on with her bra. "Another old fantasy of mine," I said.

"Wasn't planning on wearing one since I've got no place to go today," she said.

"Oh, that's even better!" I grinned as I unzipped my overnight bag and got out my clean change of clothes.

Braless or not, she looked great in the knit top and white pants she put on. "Shall we aim for next weekend?" she asked, carrying her laptop out to the kitchen where she'd already told me she'd be spending the day catching up on a project for work. "I think I'll be ready to pop then, no matter how this proposal turns out!"

"I wouldn't miss it," I agreed. I had all my clothes on but my shoes by then, and once I'd packed yesterday's clothes in my bag, I carried my shoes out to the kitchen to put on.

"Sorry I can't join you for brekky," she said. "But to tell you the truth, I still can't get used to these big American meals! Pancakes the size of the plate!"

"Oh, we aren't really used to them either," I said. "That's why it's a special treat when we go out for them."

"Next weekend, then," she said. "We'll have two things to celebrate."

"You finishing the proposal, and what else?"

"You coming around again now that you've had me!"

"Emma, what kind of jerk do you think I am?" I tried to sound lighthearted but the comment stung.

"I'm sorry, James," she said. "Just...a girl gets used to being treated a certain way after a while. Once you've had a beautiful weekend and never heard from the bloke again, you tend to expect the worst. But I know you wouldn't do that to me." As I'd finished tying my shoes, I stood up, and she followed suit and hugged me goodbye. "Wish I'd tried being friends first sooner," she added. "This could be my first real love."

"No need to be that melodramatic," I said, though I loved hearing it.

"Oh, I think maybe there is, James. You don't know my past. One of these days I will tell you, and I think you'll understand. In the meantime..." She kissed me goodbye.

"Looking forward to next Friday!" I said. "I just might love you too, if it's okay to say that."

"I wouldn't have let you outside until you did!" she said with that smile that had captured my heart months before as I opened the door and stepped out into the hazy late spring morning.

Emma's apartment -- she called it a flat, naturally -- was on the second floor of a motel-style apartment strip. I felt a little bit like a kid on a road trip as I skipped down the steps into the parking lot, where her majestic green Jaguar was parked just below her door. She'd driven me home in it last night, and I hadn't dared ask how she could afford a car like that on the admin job she'd been grousing about to me for all those months. Maybe she would tell me about that when she told me about her ex. But I wouldn't be pushing it for now.

It was only two blocks to the bus stop, but when I got there I saw an IHOP across the street. Emma's comment about obscenely big American breakfasts had me feeling awfully hungry for just such a treat. I could take the next bus, I decided.

The smiling greeter, undoubtedly a cheerleader at the neighborhood high school, led me to a two-person booth that had just been vacated and cleaned, and I settled myself with a menu. Was I feeling shameless enough to actually say "Rooty tooty fresh and fruity" out loud for once?

I hadn't yet decided when I heard someone approaching. Thinking it was the cheerleader with my coffee, I looked up from the menu...and was greeted by a stern looking man with a beard who helped himself to the seat across the table. "Good morning, James," he said in an accent just like Emma's.

"Um...hello?" I wracked my brain for all the British men I knew. This guy looked and sounded nothing like any of them.

"Don't bother trying to remember me," he said. "You don't know me."

"Then how do you know me? Who are you?" I squirmed and looked around nervously, and now I did see the server with the coffee.

"Oh, you have a friend joining you?" she asked.

"It wasn't planned," the man told her. "I just happened to see James as I was passing by. Nothing like running into an old mate, is there?"

"Would you like some coffee?" she asked him.

"Tea, please, and yes I know that's a stereotype."

"Certainly, sir!" She set my cup down and poured the coffee, and was off to fetch his tea. I was too dumbfounded to even say thanks for the coffee.

My new acquaintance noticed as much. "You really should have thanked her, James. You bloody Americans pay your hired help so poorly, you could at least give them common courtesy when they do their jobs."

"Yes, of course," I said. "Now, would you mind telling me who you are?"

"Eric is my name," he said. "Does that sound familiar?"

"Eric?" I asked. "No. I mean, of course I know that name, but I don't think I know you."

"It figures she wouldn't blinkin' tell you about me," he said.

"Who wouldn't tell me?" But I had a sinking suspicion I knew who he meant.

Unfortunately, I was right. "Emma," he said. "She is a beautiful lady, isn't she?"

"Brighter than a morning star," I agreed reluctantly.

"Poet, are you, James? But yes, she's got everything a man could ever ask for."

"What business is that of yours?"

Before he could answer, the waitress arrived with his tea. I did take the opportunity to thank her. "Pardon my not saying so before," I said.

"Oh, no problem!" she said. "So what would you gentlemen like for breakfast?"

"Just the tea for me, please," Eric said. "And please, I insist, James," he added, pulling out a credit card. "Order whatever you like, and it's on me."

"Well...thanks." I didn't want his charity at all, but I saw no way out of it. I ordered blueberry pancakes, eggs and ham. She jotted down my order and said she'd be right back with it. As soon as she was gone, I couldn't help asking, "So to what do I owe your generosity, Eric?"

"Only one thing, but I am afraid it will be most unpleasant for you. I'll be frank, James. I know you spent last night with Emma."

"Exactly what business is that of yours?"

"None at all, according to her," Eric said. "Look, James, I know what you're going through. She is so beautiful. Portrait of a sunset."

"Y-yes," I stammered.

"She's got everything." He slammed his teacup down hard enough to slosh the hot liquid on his hand. "Including my old car."

"You sold her the Jag, did you?" I asked, desperately wishing I could believe that was all.

"Sold it!" He let out a sarcastic laugh. "More like the judge stole it from me and gave it to her. She's my ex-wife, James."

"How do you know my name?" I didn't bother asking about the revelation, as I'd already guessed as much, although I hadn't wanted to believe it.

"That's none of your concern, James," Eric said, leaning menacingly over the table at me. "What is your concern is this: I love Emma. I will always love Emma. Next time you see her, you'd best tell her that. And then you'd best pray until your knees hurt that I don't see you again."

I'd stared down my share of bullies in high school, and I knew what to do. Though I was breaking out in a cold sweat, I stared back at him and said nothing.

A long moment passed, and then Eric grinned at me. "Tough guy, huh? Look, James. I'm just trying to warn you, boy, you're bound to get hurt."

"Thank you for the pancakes," I managed to say. "I'll give Emma your regards."

"I want to tell you, buddy, things are bound to get rough."

"Do I have to call the cops on you, sir? Or does Emma have to?"

"You weren't born last week, James. You know they'll just tell you they can't do anything unless they catch me red-handed. And they won't. I mean, you didn't catch me learning all about you, did you? But look, this doesn't have to get ugly. Just tell Emma I love her, and then stay the hell away from her. She's my woman."

"Well now, I didn't see anyone's name on her," I said. "And let's just say if it was written anywhere on her body, I would've seen it last night."

"Always the bloody flirt, that Emma," Eric said. "Believe me, my friend, I know she's only flirting. But I think that I've had enough."

"I don't think she was flirting," I said defiantly. "She even told me I might be her first real love."

Eric laughed. "Oh, no. I couldn't be her last love, so how could you be her first?"

"You'd have to ask her, I guess."

"Oh, I will, James. And you'd best not be anywhere in sight when I do."

The waitress arrived with my breakfast just then, and Eric took his credit card back and signed the bill. "There you are, darling," he told her with the first smile I'd seen from him.

"Thank you, sir! Sure you don't want any breakfast?"

"Yes, I'm sure." He stood up. "Thank you very much." Then he leaned down and whispered in my ear, "If you see her again, I will surely kill you."

He said it with an absolutely calm, lucid tone that I found more unnerving than the threat itself.

I'd lost my appetite, and even felt a little bit sick to my stomach. But pancakes are pancakes, and I ate them and washed them down with three cups of coffee. Then I had the presence of mind to check with the cheerleader and make sure Eric really had paid the bill. He had, and I was free to go.

The haze was gone and now the sun was bright and hot, but the joy I'd felt back in the parking lot was just a memory. I caught the bus home in a daze of fear and confusion and denial -- couldn't it all just be someone's sick idea of a joke? It could be, but I shouldn't bet on that. What should I do? Call the cops? Eric was probably right about the good that would do me. Call Emma? I didn't want to frighten her, and I also didn't want her thinking I was trying to hide behind her skirt while she took care of my problems. But she ought to know.

Of course, if I just did as he said and left her alone, no one would get hurt. By the time I got home, I'd settled on that until I could figure out what else might be done. If anything.

Emma sent me an e-mail that very afternoon, thanking me for a lovely night and morning and announcing that she'd completed the proposal draft. I celebrated with a glass of chardonnay and then two rounds with my vibrator, and you were most definitely there in spirit! I can't wait to feel your hands all over me again, my dear. Hope to see you at lunch in the meantime, at least, but we'll have a job to behave!

Lunch. I hadn't even thought of that. Eric must know I worked in Emma's building. Just what else did he know about me? My last name? Where I lived? He hadn't mentioned any of that, but that didn't mean anything. Could he have a mole in our office building? If so, didn't that mean I could get in trouble if I even joined her for lunch again?

It broke my heart, but I didn't reply to Emma's email. She would understand if only she knew. It was just too bad I had no way of letting her know.

That night, I didn't sleep. I tossed and turned until about two o'clock, then I turned on the TV and watched old movies until dawn. When the sun was up, I turned the TV off and lay back on the bed, trying to work up the energy to go take a shower, which of course reminded me of my last shower. How could such joy vanish so suddenly? Before I could find an answer, I finally did fall asleep.

Patty Giroux had aged remarkably well in the fifteen years or so since I'd seen her. She was even cuter than I remembered from high school. "What are you doing here?" I asked as she came into my living room.

"Is that any way to greet your first girl?" she said in that pungent hometown accent that I'd loved so much.

"Well, it's great to see you," I said. "But, I mean...have we even seen each other since graduation?"

"No," she said, helping herself to a seat on the couch. "Two letters each, freshman year in college, and that was it. But I've never forgotten you, Jimmy."

"It's James now, and I've certainly never forgotten you, Patty. Or do you prefer Patricia now?"

"Patty's fine, and that's why I'm here. I know now you didn't forget me. But for a few days after prom I thought you had forgotten me, or at least wanted to forget me."

"Didn't I apologize repeatedly for that?" I demanded, flopping down next to her. "I had some growing up left to do, and I know that now!"

"Yes, you did apologize, and I accepted," Patty said. "But didn't Emma just tell you yesterday she's afraid of you doing to her what you almost did to me?"

I wanted to cry. "Yes. But if my life and maybe hers depend upon it..."

"James, you're no wimp! I know it took guts for you to finally call me the next week and explain yourself. And you know, as fucked up as your explanation was, I've always appreciated your honesty?"

"You have?"

"Yes! It must have been awfully hard for you to tell me you got scared off by how intense I was in bed. You think you're the only guy who ever was?"

"I've come to believe it happens to all guys once," I said. "We grow up thinking we love sex and women don't, and the first time you see how much a woman does like it...it's just an awful lot to take in, you know?"

"But you faced up to that, because you didn't want to be That Guy. You didn't want me thinking you didn't respect me in the morning."

"I did respect you!"

"Exactly. And you respect Emma, and you love her. Do you want her thinking otherwise because of some asshole who talks too much?"

Before I could answer Patty, I woke up. I had to look around the room to reassure myself she really wasn't there. I was disappointed. I lost my virginity with Patty after the prom, and she was right, I didn't handle it very well at first. But her responsiveness in bed that had frightened me at first, had come to be a beautiful memory. I owed her a lot for helping me grow up, really.

And she was right, or my dream of her was right. I couldn't do that to Emma.

But I also couldn't take the risk of getting in touch with her until Monday. Who knew just how deep Eric had his fingers in her business or mine? So I reluctantly did not answer the phone when she called me later that afternoon, and I didn't check my email, so if she sent me another one I'd be able to say I hadn't read it. I hated to think of what she might be thinking right then, but surely she would understand once I came clean on Monday.

Only I couldn't come clean on Monday. She was nowhere to be seen in the cafeteria. I even got a dessert and a second coffee to have the excuse to linger well past the end of my lunch hour. Like a fool I had to go and finally check my personal e-mail when I got back to my desk, and of course there was a message from her date-stamped Sunday night. James, is everything all right? I just called you and you didn't answer, and there hasn't been a word from you since you left yesterday. If you feel we went too far, please at least have common courtesy and let me know. Emma

I seriously considered going to her office to ask after her. But if she hadn't wanted to see me at lunch, she certainly wouldn't want to see me at work.

Monday night while I was making dinner, she called again. It nearly tore my heart out to leave the phone there on the counter, but I could still hear Eric's parting words clear as a bell. If you see her again, I will surely kill you. And heaven only knew what he'd do to her.