All in the name of charity

adhoc

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Sep 16, 2002
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OOC: Andrew Foxton, mid thirties, married, brown hair, blue eyes, still in pretty good shape. Enjoys all sorts of sexual fantasies, but is reluctant to explore them with (or without) his wife.

IC: It was all my wife's fault. She had been roped in to help out with a fundraising drive by the local hospital, and had been pretty busy with it all. With her already busy schedule, this meant I was seeing less and less of her, and I was getting frustrated - in more ways than one. I found myself spending evenings alone, occasionally surfing the Internet and indulging my fantasies (at least in the sense of allowing myself to fantasise).

Then one evening, she told me that the committee had decided to hold a bachelor auction, as their final fundraiser and would I be prepared to be in it. I pointed out that I wasn't actually a bachelor, but refrained from pointing out that it sometimes felt that way. She laughed and told me that it was just called a bachelor auction and that the men didn't actually have to be bachelors. I figured that if I agreed at least I would get to see some more of her for that evening, so I said yes.

I didn't really think much more about it, until a couple of days before the auction when Becky (my wife) asked me what I was going to wear. I replied that I hadn't thought about it. What did she think would be suitable?

"I was thinking you should go in those Dockers with that cute polo neck sweater. You look really sexy in that outfit."

"I wouldn't have thought that you'd want me to look sexy!" I smiled.

"Oh, you know, it's just for fun, and I really want us to raise money. I'm not trying to sell you off!"

The evening of the auction arrived, and attired as requested, I showed up at the hall for the auction. I recognised a few of the other husbands there along with a couple of young single guys who I knew would raise the biggest bids. We all waited in the wings as we were called up and the bidding went on. I guess the deal was that we'd be at the beck and call of our buyer for the following Saturday. I imagined we'd probably have to mow lawns, or fix stuff around the house for a couple of hours.

Finally I was called up to the stage. I walked on and jokingly did a couple of twirls, and strutted around like I was some kind of male model. I got some appreceiative wolf whistles and cat calls from the audience. Looking out across the audience, I realised I knew half the people there. There were a lot of my wife's friends there, as well as a number of other women I'd seen around. Now I was up here, I was kind of nervous. I hoped I didn't go too cheaply.

Connie, who I knew was on the fundraising committe with Becky, quieted the crowd.

"Now ladies. What am I bid for this fine figure of a man?"
 
Andrew

When someone threw a flower on stage, I couldn't help but laugh, despite my nervousness. I bent down to pick it up with the intention of holding it rakishly between my teeth for the crowd. However, as I picked it up, I raised my gaze and found myself looking into the most amazing pair of green eyes I had ever seen. I was transfixed. Feelings that I hadn't felt in yeras, coursed through me, taking me completely off guard. I gazed deep into the eyes, those incredible eyes, as if mesmerised...

Suddenly I realised that I had been bent down picking up this flower for way too long. Possibly it was only a second or two, but it felt to me that a lifetime had just passed. I stood up, completely forgetting the corny flower-in-the-teeth gag I had been planning. Still unable to tear my eyes from those that had so firmly grabbed my own, as I stood I was able to see more of the woman behind them. Wow. Incredible lustrous black hair. How I love black hair! And that body - stunning would be the only way to even semi-adequately describe it - set off to perfection in a figure hugging green dress that set off those eyes to even greater heights. Legs that seemed to go forever, encased in sexy sheer stockings and ending in black high heels. I've always had a thing for long stocking clad legs and high heels, and here I was on stage in front of what (to me) seemed like a vast crowd, but drawn to this one incredible beauty in the middle of all of them. The thing was, that I felt like I recognised her from somewhere, but that didn't seem possible since, I know I would have remembered someone this gorgeous. She couldn't be on one of Becky's committee could she? It wasn;t possible. If I had met her before, she'd ceratinly been hidng her light under a bushel - and I'd certainly never looked her in the eyes before - of that I was sure.

Connie's voice asking for bids jolted me back to reality otherwise I think I could have embarrassed myself.

"500 dollars" I heard and saw her say. Was this happening? None of the other guys had raised more than 200, and here was this.. this..vision offering $500 - for me. I was in a state of shock.

I needed to get a hold of myself. I wasn;'t sure where Becky was, but she'd be near somewhere and I was being way too obvious about this. Connie asked her to repeat the bid, even though I knew damn well she'd heard it. I hoped to God she didn't embarrass greeneyes into withdrawing it.

"500 dollars" she said again.

Time stood still in the long silence. Dry mouthed I gazed into her eyes and I swear you could see the sparks fly along the connection...

After what seemed like an eternity, Connie said, with great amusement in her voice. "No more bids? I have $500. Any one else? OK.
Going...
going....
gone"
 
Andrew

"You feel this too, don't you?" The moment I had led her outside, this beautiful green-eyed woman, ...Olivia..., I just blurted it out. I knew that whatever I was feeling she was feeling too, and it was, I guess, silly to ignore it, but still, I hadn't intended to blurt it out like that. In fact I don't know what possessed me to bring her outside - Becky could have seen us, for one thing, and if she hadn't then for sure somebody had.

But after I'd gone back stage I'd sat there, almost in a trance for over an hour, thinking about what had just happened, and I knew that I couldn't wait until Saturday to talk to her. At some point, I had realised that I was going to have to at least confront this tonight, so that I could show up at her house on Saturday not feeling like some raging hormonal teenager. I didn't know if that wouldn't still happen, but maybe, just maybe, we could nip this, whatever it was, in the bud and work something out that was, well, sensible

After the auction was over, I had gone up to Connie, "Who was that who 'bought' me?" I smiled, trying to be nonchalant.

Connie grinned, "Olivia McLaughlin. I'd say she likes you, wouldn't you?". She was nosy, but perceptive and funny with it so I didn't have the heart to be mad at her.

"Well, I don't know about that. She's just trying to help the hospital out I'm sure."

"Yeah, right", she snorted, "Just be careful, OK.", she looked at me, smiling, but serious, "I think Livia is a bit vulnerable, maybe, and you, well, you know what you are" nodding at my wedding ring.

So here I was, outside, in the moonlight, alone with this gorgeous woman, who'd just paid $50 to "have the use of me" for Saturday, and whom I was rapidly falling madly crazily in love/lust (I wasn't sure) with.

"Yes", she said, softly, looking at me with those killer eyes, "Yes, I do"

"I'm married," I said, flatly, "We can't do anything about it. I'll just come to your house on Saturday for a couple of hours, mow the lawns or something and go home. We can't....", I broke off. Her eyes were gazing up at me, longingly, and I couldn't hold back any longer... "OH god, I can't not tell you. I can't not tell you how gorgeous you are. I can't not tell you how you make me feel like a schoolboy again, how I want to dive into your eyes and swim there. How I want to take you in my arms and kiss you all over, how I want to spend all day Saturday making love to you, and then the day after that and the day after that and ..." I stopped. What was I saying? I couldn't do this, I couldn't say this. I needed to go back inside..inside to my wife.

"I'm sorry. I...I shouldn't have said that. I should go."

I turned to go back inside.
 
Andrew

When she put her fingers to her lips, somehow I knew it would bo OK. Somehow the waves of conficting feelinsg in me were silenced by her gesture. I knew that we could part now and look forward to Saturday with anticipation and curiosity rather than fear and apprehension. I looked deep into her eyes, and let her know that as much as I could with my gaze. I felt her understanding.

"I'm going now. I'll be at your place at 10 am on Saturday morning. It's a shame to waste this moon, but it's not going anywhere" I smiled. "And thank you", I concluded, not really knowing where it came form or what I meant by it.

I turned, went inside, and noted to my relief that Becky was still deeply engaged in post-auction conversation and analysis. As quickly as I could I got to her and told her I was tired and needed to go home. We left, without looking back.

The week was interminable. I tried to think about anything but Saturday, but of course could think of nothing but. My days were cosumed by it, by nervous anticipation in the pit of my stomach. I hadn't felt this since I'd first started dating Becky. I wondered how Livia was doing and what she was thinking about.
 
After a fitful night's sleep on Friday, I woke up on Saturday with a dilemma - what was I going to wear? Obviously the outfit which I had worn at the auction had worked for me with Livia, but I couldn't wear it again - (a) I wanted to impress her, much as I tried to pretend I didn't, and women are rarely impressed by men wearing the same outfit day in day out; (b) I was supposed to be going there to work, though deep down, I was hoping that something else would happen.

Fortunately Becky was off out to one of her other engagements reasonably early so I could spend time grooming without arousing suspicion. Before she left, she kidded me about my "date" as she had started calling it. "Make sure you take care of all of Livia's needs honey, she paid a lot of money for your services, you know." She was smiling, but I wondered, at some level, did she know? Did she know how much I wanted to take care of Livia's needs?

I showered at length, shaved, and then stood before my closet. I elected to go for the jeans - I look pretty good in jeans, and this pair were a particularly good fit. Also, they were a logical work choice. Underneath them I hesitated, before rather guiltily putting on a pair of black silk boxers. The whole mental justification for this act was so long and involved that I'm not going to go into it here - plus of course, it was fatally flawed. I knew why I was putting them on, even as I tried to find a convincing reason for my own mind. A tight white T-shirt wich showed off my pretty good chest and abs, and a pair of loafers completed the outfit. I looked at myself in the mirror - pretty good, I thought, and allowed myself to wonder for a while about how Livia would look wrapped in my arms with me in this outfit. I grinned. I had decided to be completely ready for work, as it was perfectly possible that Livia had had serious second thoughts since the auction.

Finally ready for action, nervous, and eager to be there on the dot of ten, I set off. Becky had given me the address and I had little trouble finding the house. I pulled up and noticed that the lawn was already pretty short. "Not mowing the lawn then" I thought to myself.

I took one last glance at myself in the rear view mirror, took a deep breath and then walked up to the door, and rang the bell.
 
When she answered the door, I had to catch my breath. Those eyes, that face, brought it all back to me. She was wearing this silk blouse and jeans that really looked good on her. I composed myself and handed her the flowers I had picked up on the way and the muffins.

She seemed very composed and straightforward as she took the muffins and invited me to have a coffee with her. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not at the apparent change from the other night. Part of me was happy that it seemed that I wasn't about to break my wedding vows, but part of me was also a little disappointed. It wasn't that I was looking for sexual relief, but that what I had felt on the night of the auction and in the few days since then had been this dramatic, euphoric, teenage tingle. I'd heard of infatuation junkies, people who went from one love affair to another in search of the high of falling and being in love. I'd never really understood it before, or maybe I'd just forgotten what it felt like to have that emotion. This week, I'd remembered. And quite frankly I wasn't sure whether I wanted to carry on with it - it had been an exciting week, with highs and lows of emotion that I hadn't felt for years, and which had reminded me of how, well, boring my life had become. But it had been draining too - all this emotional turmoil was exhausting. Now if I could get through today, maybe I could go back to the safety of my emotionally numb world and forget this week had ever happened.

As we sat making small talk over muffins and coffee, I mulled these thoughts over, while trying to keep my eyes from her - I don't know what she thought of me, but I figure I must have come across as being very odd - how many times did my eyes scan that kitchen, commenting on the cupboards, the equipment, the view from the window. I knew the only way I was going to get through today without those feelings welling up again, was to stay focussed on something else. Everytime I did look at her, and I had to sometimes or else appear rude (and whether this woman had had second thoughts or what about what had passed between us that night was irrelevant, she'd paid a lot of money to have me here), everytime I made myself look again, I felt the waves of emotion flood over me again. My God, she was beautiful, incredible, stunning, intoxicating.

I needed to get out of this kitchen and get to work. "So, what would you like me to do for you?" I asked.
 
As she started falling towards me, it was like time stood still for a moment - I saw her falling and moved just enough to catch her. For a moment all I could think of was the relief that I had managed to save her from hurting herself...

It was then that I realised how good this felt - Livia was in my arms, just as I'd dreamed of all week. Her warmth, her shape, everything felt just so good to me. I looked down at her to say something about how lucky it was that I was there, but I found myself gazing again into those beautiful green eyes, and once again I was rendered speechless. Our faces were inches from one another's and our eyes were just locked together. For the first time this morning, I realised that whatever both of us had done to bury those feelings we'd felt at the auction was all for naught. Her eyes sparkled and she ran her tongue over her dry lips to moisten them. I could feel her heart beating and I'm sure she could feel mine.

Unable to resist any longer, unable to deny these feelings any more, but nervously uncertain of her reaction, I leant forward, just a fraction, and kissed her lightly on the lips.
 
She tried to pull away from me but I wasn't about to let her go, not just yet. Something inside me knew that the moment we broke the embrace would be awkward and I might not get the chance again to hold her in my arms. So I held her tight to me and kissed her again, wanting to get every ounce of happiness from this brief moment.

As we kissed, I sensed her body softening, molding to mine, and I knew she wanted this as much as I did, knew for certain that she was feeling the same way I was. I was giving myself to her in this kiss, letting her know how much and how deeply I'd needed and wanted this moment to happen since we'd met. I felt like we were so in tune that she'd be able to understand that without words, just as I was getting the same message from her. All the feelings of love (is that what it was, was I really going to admit this to myself?) that I had been having all week, had come flooding back through me and I was barely able to breathe with the power of it all.

Finally, I released my embrace just a little, allowing her to pull away if she wanted. She stayed in my arms for a minute or two longer and finally, regretfully pulled away. I knew that this moment could be the trickiest and wanted to help her in some way, so as she stood, I got to my feet too, rising from the chair until we both stood there, in the middle of her kitchen. We looked deep into each other's eyes passing across our telepathic messages of understanding for each other and compassion for ourselves as a couple that couldn't be.

Smiling, I tried to be as casual as I could while gazing into those deep green eyes, "I should probably get started on that loft, otherwise it will never get painted."
 
As she led me to the loft, I could tell she was feeling upset or lonely or something. I wasn't sure what it is, and she'd got her back to me, but I could see that something was troubling her. It could have been guilt at what had just happened, or it could have been sadness that what had happened wasn't going any further (or couldn't go any further). Of course, this just made me want to take her in my arms and make everything all right, but I knew that the next time I held her I wouldn't necessarily be able to be as strong as I had been before.

We reached the loft and she showed me the paint and the plastic sheeting to cover the furniture. For some unknown reason she'd already moved all the furniture into the middle of the room - presumably alone - and I wanted to tell her that I could have done that or helped at least, and I also felt bad that she had to do things on her own at all. Why wasn't this woman with someone, I wondered to myself, she was fun, beautiful, sexy, intelligent, yet as far as I could tell, there was no-one special in her life, nor had there been for a while. It was baffling to me. Still I guessed we had a while together today and maybe I could find out some of these answers - we had to talk about something, and I wanted to get to know her anyway.

We covered over the furniture with the sheeting, and opened the paint cans. She had gone out and bought everything we'd need, paint trays, rollers, brushes, tape. I started to put paint in one of the trays, when I looked up at Livia standing there. Once again, I was struck by her beuaty and - something else - maybe, vulnerability. Although I could have been projecting that - she seemed like a very together, very strong woman as far as I could tell. Something was nagging at me, I was seeing something that I was overlooking because of my feelings for her. What the hell was it?

Finally I worked it out - it was that blouse. It looked so good on her, the colour, the material, the fit, everything. I loved looking at her in it, but it just wasn't suitable for painting.

"Errr, I know this is going to sound a little bit forward after what just happened," I smiled, trying to lighten the mood which had got pretty intense since the kiss, "but I think you should take off that blouse." I paused, for effect, and then went on "I really think it looks good on you, but if you get paint on it, it'll be ruined. I'd hate for that to happen. You should probably go and change."
 
When she went to change she also brought out a bunch of t-shirts for me to wear. I had actually chosen the t-shirt that I had been wearing specially because it not only made me look good (I felt), but because I could work in it. I didn't have the heart to tell her that and I thought it might calm her down if I changed - she seemed awfully flustered about the blouse thing.

She gave me three options, none of which I would have chosen for myself, but I chose one that had some corny slogan about "friends" on it because maybe that would help put us in the 'friends' mood rather than what he had had up to that point when we were swinging between romantic tension and complete uncertainty.

As I put it on, I realised that it was awash in her scent - that wonderful way that clothes take on the underlying scent of their owners - a mixture of the perfume and soap and shampoo they prefer and the aroma of their bodies. I let the smell flood over me and breathed it in deeply. This was going to work out just fine, I could get some of the emotion of being in her arms without actually being in them...

As we walked up the stairs, she commented on the pictures that were on the wall, telling me about the family members they depicted. I listened interestedly in order to find out as much as I could about her. One picture that showed a youngish man she passed over without comment. I wondered why. There could have been a number of reasons, but I wished I could know more about her. I started to tell her about my family, where I was from and how long I'd been here in this town. It wasn't a very interesting story honestly, but I could sense that she wanted to ask me something - I wondered about that too.

Finally we got to the loft and after setting things up, began to paint. We talked about a number of things - the hospital, her work, my work, "safe" topics all of them. I concentrated on the painting as much as possible and tried to be as friendly as i could so as to avoid the rush of infatuation-adrenaline that I'd been suffering from at intervals. At one point our eyes met across a paint tray (there's a new twist on the old cliche!) and I found myself drawn in again, but I think I hid it fairly well. Keeping eye contact while emtions rushed over me in waves, trying not to stammer and blush. As she turned around and started painting again, I stayed watching her, looking at her body as she stretched and painted. At that very same moment it suddenly occurred to me that the t-shirt I was wearing might be something she slept in. I have no idea why the thought hadn't occurred to me before or why it hit me at that moment, but when it did, I was suddenly incredibly aroused by the juxtaposition of the thought of the t-shirt on her and what now seemed like semi-voyeurism (where previously it had just been admiration). Thank god she wasn't looking at me! Flushed, I turned round and started painting again trying to get the image out of my mind, and adjusting myself so I could stand comfortably. Despite the kiss, despite the tension between us, there was something a-sexual about her, something that I couldn't put my finger on. Whatever it was, I certainly didn't want to scare her or come across as being aggressive or anything like that.

Slowly I recovered my self-control and continued on with the painting, but I thought it was time that we talked about the subjects we'd been avoiding. I knew there were things she wanted to ask me, but hadn't yet, and there were things I wanted to ask her. One of us either had to take the lead on this or just leave things hanging all day. I wanted to know this woman, not just paint with her.

"Can I ask you a rather more personal question?" I said as we both painted, our backs to one another, which somehow made this all safer.

"I guess it depends how personal it is " she laughed, seemingly not as flustered as hse had been a couple of hours earlier.

"Well, feel free to tell me to go to hell if you'd rather not answer, but I was wondering - you are so fun to be around and intelligent and, well, I'll be honest, beautiful, and well I was wondering if there's anyone special in your life right now, or you know if there has been in the past. You don't have to answer if you don't want to..." I tailed off. Damn. Now I was the one who was getting flustered. I hoped I hadn't offended her or anything. I studiously carried on painting with my back to her, so she woudln't feel pressure to answer and so she wouldn't see my embarrassment.
 
As she told me the story of her lost love, the words tumbling out of her as if I had unwittingly opened a cupboard piled overly high with boxes, I couldn't help but feel a deeper and deeper love for her. Here she was, this captivating woman, who seemed just so lonely, so unhappy, and it filled me with sadness and warmth for her and a desire to just take her in my arms and hold her and love and kiss away her tears and longing.

It also made me want to make love to her, and I found myself aroused again. I have never been the world's most articulate man, and I particularly struggled when expressing emotion. Love making for me, then, aside from offering up the usual pleasures, was a way of expressing all the words and emotions I wanted to say but couldn't with my touch and my kiss and my body.

As she finished her story, I was overcome with love/lust? I didn't know, but it was certainly emotional, and incredibly powerful. Somehow, we ended up with her back against the wall and us kissing. I knew it was wrong, but I just wanted to hold her and love her and kiss her and protect her and envelop her with my body and do all those clichéd male things. I wanted to bring her happiness, and I wanted to bring her pleasure. Our earlier kiss in the kitchen had been a loving, delicate, uncertain kiss, while this one was much more highly charged, much more passionate. I held her in my arms, and deep down made a decision that whatever the consequences of the day were that I would deal with them later.

As we kissed, and our bodies warmth melded together my hands went around her waist. The t-shirt she had chosen was a little too small for her (I suspected she didn't often wear t-shirts), and so it had pulled out of her jeans as we had moved across the floor. My fingertips touched the bare skin of her back and I swear it was almost as if there had been a real spark. Just the fact that I was now holding her back, my fingertips on her flesh turned me on even more, and I heard and felt her moan as I did, and I knew that she felt the same way.
 
Suddenly it was if a fire had been lit inside Livia. We had spent the hours we had been together, making chit-chat and avoiding the issue of our attraction for each other. Aside from the one kiss that had ended so soon and which had in itself been quite chaste, nothing sexual had really passed between us all day. I had found myself drawn to her and had been aroused by the nearness of her on more than one occasion that day, but had not got the sense that she had been having any of the same feelings. Now however, I wondered if she had somehow been waiting for something to happen all day. It was like a dam had burst, first her emotions pouring out and now this unleashing of her passion.

As we lay together, the discomfort of the position we found ourselves in - on the bare floor of the loft, pushed against the wall - seemed to be irrelevant as our pent up desires expressed themselves. As I caressed her body and brought my hands and fingertips in sweping movements aloing her back and sides under her shirt, I was aroused beyond words by the feel of her bare skin under my hands, so soft, so warm. As my hands first swept over the swell of the side of her breasts, I think we both gasped. When she didn't withdraw from the contact, I grew bolder. I moved my hands around to the front, softly, slowly, until I could almost sense her nipples, but I wanted to tease her and make this moment last, so I held back, circling the warm and soft mounds of her breasts, spiralling ever closer to the nipples but not quite there, but when I heard that low moan and those words, etched now into my brain "Touch me, Andrew, dear God, please touch me." I almost fainted with joy and pleasure.

No longer could I resist my own need to touch her, to touch her in every way possible. No longer could I deny her needs. I let my fingers wander across her nipples and was delighted to find them so hard, so ready for my touch. Both hands working in tandem I caressed them - stroking, teasing, flicking them with my fingers, before taking them between thumb and forefinger and pressing gently on them, squeezing them firmly yet softly.

And then it was her turn, I felt her hands pull my shirt from my belt and caress my body, my chest, my back, her touch sending tingles all over my body as she teased me in return. She brushed over my nipples sending sensations I had never felt before racing through my veins. Never before had my entire body been an erogenous zone, but now, under her touch, it was. I knelt up, pulling the t-shirt from my body up and over my head, so she could see my torso, my physique, the body I had worked on and was proud of. I wanted to show her my maleness I guess. My chest hairs, my strength, my discreet but well defined muscles. I watched her eyes as I pulled it free of myself and I could see she was aroused. her hands went back to my chest, almost involuntarily, caressing the hair that she found there, stroking along the breadth to my shoulders. I wanted to see her too, so I stopped her momentarily and pulled her shirt over her head in one swift movement, and stopped dead in my tracks.

There she was, this woman I had dreamed of all week, naked from the waist up, she was everything I had dreamed and so much more, so beautiful, I almost couldn't bear to look, it was almost like gazing at the sun. Her breasts were so perfect, not too big, not too small, soft yet firm, tipped with beautiful and hard nipples. I could see and sense her flush with nervousness as I took in her nakedness, knowing that few men had ever looked at her in this way. "Oh my God, Livia, you're so incredibly beautiful, you're everything I dreamed of and more, you take my breath away", I wanted to let her know not to be embarrassed and let her know how fantastic she looked. She seemed to become emboldened at my words, she stopped twisting in nervousness and leant back against the wall, almost cat like, showing me her beauty, pushing her chest forward.

I bent forward and kissed her on the mouth. "Livia, oh Livia, I want this so badly, but I want to savour every moment. I want to kiss you all over and caress every inch of you and bring you to heights of pleasure again and again. I hope you'll let me take you to your bedroom where we can enjoy each other in comfort" I got to my feet and put one hand under her knees and the other behind her back and lifted her into my arms. I kissed her again and headed for the door.
 
It was Becky at the door! I couldn't believe it. Was this karma or some other kind of mysterious force keeping us apart?

Livia was looking completely panicked and more flustered than ever - the mood had certainly been ruined in a dramatic way. I stopped her frantic running around, and sat her on the bed, "Livia, it's OK. I'll answer the door, we can talk about this afterwards," I gestured at the imprint of her body on the bed.

Fortunately, the t-shirt I had taken off earlier was in the bedroom, so I slipped it back on, tucked myself in, checked my level of disarray in the mirror, took a deep breath and went to get the door.

"Hi Becky, this is a nice surprise", I smiled and kissed her in an attempt to be as natural as possible, "Sorry it took a while - we were up in the loft painting. What's wrong?" I tailed off - she was obviously upset about something.

"It's my dad", she stammered, "they think he's had a heart attack, he's in hospital, I...I..." and she dissolved in floods of tears.

All thoughts of frutration or lust or whatever had been in my mind at her arrival, vanished. I took her in my arms and held her as she sobbed. "I'm so sorry Becky" I said gently, "Listen, let's get you home" I turned back towards the house, to see Livia standing there watching us. "Livia, Becky's dad has been taken to hospital. I have to go. I'm really sorry". I stopped, and the after a second realised that this might sound a little odd, "To leave the painting unfinished, I mean" I tried to cover my tracks, pretty pathetically, but at least Becky wasn't going to be putting two and two together any time soon - she wouldn't even notice there was a two and two to put together. "I'll call you later, and talk about when I can come back and finish up"

With that I walked Becky outside to her car, realised that I would have to come back to pick mine up, got in and drove her home.
~~~

"Livia"

"Yes"

"It's Andrew. Listen I'm sorry about this afternoon. Becky's dad had a heart attack and as you saw she was in a bit of a mess. I'm sorry about the painting, and...well..you know"

"I understand Andrew. How is she doing?"

"She's OK, and fortunately I think her dad's going to be fine too. Her brother came by to pick her up this evening and they've driven out to where her parents live - it's about 4 hours drive from here. I guess she'll be gone all week, so I have to make a few calls to let people know that she'll miss some meetings and stuff, but I should be free tomorrow if you want me to come and finish - the painting I mean. Would that work for you? Or would you rather I didn't?"

I hoped she'd say no. I was felling quite guilty about what had happened this afternoon between us - particularly in the light of what had happened toi Becky's dad. I knew logically that it shouldn't have made a difference, but it did. I wasn't sure if I wanted to spend an awkward Sunday feeling guilt, shame and arousal in roughly equal measures as I painted with Livia. Plus, I knew that while I had subjugated all emotional responses other than compassion and love for Becky since she had cried on Livia's doorstep, I also knew that those feelinsg I had for Livia couldn;t be that far from the surface, and right now I'd rather have avoided them.
 
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