September, 2003

Something was making it so hard for me to sleep. I slipped out of my bed and shook a bit in the chill. In this alone-time, I went outside onto the balcony, and breathed in the night.

The weather was so different from home. I was always surprised by how nippy the nights got here, even this early in the fall. Back in Louisiana, it'd still be hot, sticky and humid. I went back inside my room and grabbed one of the blankets before heading out to the grounds.

I had lived in northern California for a few years when I was much younger. Had been a photojournalist at one of those newspapers I'd hacked my way through as I was simply living the good life of youth and aimless ambition. In those years, I'd lived and worked in Monterey, a place that was similar in feel to where the Temple was. There is something ubiquitously northern California about both places and the first visit to the Temple had stirred such sweet recollections of those years.

In this morning, I was struck by a beloved memory of Monterey as I stood on the balcony and it was why I had decided to venture out into the land at this particular time. Sunrises on these crisp-scented hillsides are so cleansing. There's something about being out in nature here and witnessing as the tendrils of darkness welcome the weak light of a dawn as it fights its way through the foggy grayness. It's as if each morning you get to witness this triumph as the sun shoves away the fog to leave behind a blessing of light blue sky.

I wandered away from the Temple building and picked my way in the soft morning toward the slope of the vineyard area. Oh, what a sight. It was lightening darkness; and I looked forward to watching as the wisps of morning fog would lift among the vines; carefully laid out rows laden with grapes.

What a reason to be up so early.

Gathering my blanket around me tighter in the chill I was unaccustomed to, I wandered down the row a bit further. I was so caught up in simply looking at the clusters of grapes as I waited for the show of the sunrise, that I didn't even notice him approach.

"I had forgotten what an early riser you can be, little one," he said to me.

Startled jump back and then collecting my wits as he neared me, coming through a break from another row.

"Maximus? What are you ..." But I remembered. He was the only A Team Brother allowed on the grounds that week. There to oversee the harvesting of the grapes. "I mean, good morning, Max. How pleasant to see you. Don't mind me. Just out watching the sun rise and ... just wasn't thinking, I guess. Don't mean to be in your way. I should head back."

"No need, Ann. Take your time, enjoy this morning. I'll leave you alone. I myself was simply doing a similar walk as you and for much the same reason. There is a sense of peace at the tranquility here at dawn, is there not?"

We smiled at each other ... soft, warm smiles of friendship and nothing more. We both knew this week forbid anything more between us.

"How is the harvest going, Max?" I asked ... and I asked in part because I was truly curious but also because I loved to hear his voice when he spoke of simple things that he relished. Just his body language told me he felt possessive of this vineyard's product.

So we walked together down the rows and Max showed me why he had come to feel the grapes upon these vines would produce wine of good quality. He taught me a bit about how they knew which clusters to harvest each day and which to leave to ripen a bit longer. I asked him about the types of wines each variety of grape would make and was treated to this engaging discourse on the various varieties and their unique qualities.

As we ended our walk together partway toward the top of the slope, we paused near the outbuildings around which the newly-harvested grapes were collected, sorted and either boxed for sale at the local farmer's market or tossed in large vats for pressing for the wine that they wanted to begin having the Temple guys help produce.

"Ah, there now. The sight we both rose early to witness," Maximus sighed and turned me around to face the marvel taking place over the long rows of heavy-dewed vines.

It seemed so natural. It seemed to happen without either of us actually taking concrete action. We stood there together, watching as mist became nothing and violet-blue became morning. He had left his hands on my shoulders, I suppose, and I must have simply leaned back into him. But when the show was over, there we stood with his arms looped around my shoulders and one of my hands hanging on his wrist and his cheek resting against my temple.

He is such an overwhelming presence. He doesn't even have to try and he blots out most everything around him. 

"Well, it was just as I wanted. What a glorious sunrise," I whispered, awkward suddenly to be touching him. "Thanks for sharing this with me. I really should go now."

As we moved apart, he said, "And I have much that needs doing before the workers arrive."

Yet ... for all our words ... we didn't really move that far away from each other.

Glancing around at where we were, I noted all the traipsings and equipment that would be used in his work with the crews helping to bring in the harvest. Trying to find a graceful exit and not be quite so transparent in just how awkward this was ... this moment between us when like two good little troopers we wouldn't have dreamed to violate the week's intentions ... I looked for something to comment upon as a way to slide out of there with a bit of easy class.

"These vats ..." I indicated with my head at three large wooden tubs near us. "... this is where you put the grapes that will be crushed into the wine?"

His sharp eyes studied me and I appreciated his strong, business-like voice that answered me. "That's right, Ann.  We've already put in the suitable grapes harvested yesterday into the center one. I was asked to prepare one vat to teach you women about stomping the grapes. I am to give all of you a lesson today."

I chuckled at that and moved over to peer into the vat. The bottom was mounded with bunches of grapes. I looked back at him over my shoulder. "That's right, I'd forgotten. I did hear that we were entered into some grape-stomping contest at the wine festival in town on Friday. So you're going to teach us how to do it? Oh, Max. What have you gotten yourself into? We'll drive you crazy. You must have known what a tough time you'd have getting us to cooperate when we're in a group."

"I shall be brave in the attempt, my lady," he said, laughing with me and bowing toward me with a flourish. "Perhaps you will be a good influence on your friends, little one? Now that you obviously feel some sympathy for what will be my plight, can I depend upon you to be their role model and meekly follow my instructions without question?"

That made us both laugh even harder. "Oh, yeah, right. I see that happening, don't you, Maxie? When have I ever been easy on you?"

I stood leaning against the vat; he was a reasonable few steps away, leaning over the vat with his elbows on the wooden edges. Grinning at each other until we both seemed to grow aware that all we were doing was delaying the parting of our ways that should have already happened. I patted his arm and started turning away to return to the safety of the Temple.

"Perhaps a bit of private instruction before you leave would show you that I might actually know something you can learn from, Ann?"

I frowned at him as I kept walking away. "Now, Max. I think I've been pretty honest that I learn new things from you all the time. I just meant ... well, I like to sass you. And I think you like me to."

Advancing on me and adopting this mock fierce look. "Are you afraid, little one? Is that why you want to run off? Perhaps you have some secret fear of wine vats?"

In one step, he was on me. Pulled off my covering blanket and he paused when he saw I was only wearing a cream-colored, thin satin camisole and tap pants underneath. But it was only a pause and then I saw the light in his eyes turn a combination of playful and evil.

"Max! NO!" I yelped it out even as his arms swept me up and he swung me over the lip of the vat. He held me there, hovering in mid air ... my hands clutched at his shirt. "Don't you dare ..."

Wrong words. And with them ... he unceremoniously dumped me on my ass in the grapes. I sat there, surrounded by these squishy, messy things and simply couldn't believe he'd really done that to me. Looked up into his eyes and I wanted to slug him for his composure.

"You are such a bastard. And you are in so much trouble," I grumbled at him and tossed grapes at him with both hands.

He batted them down easily. "Time for your first lesson in stomping grapes."

Next thing I knew, he was tossing first one and then his other shoe over his shoulders. Quickly, his fingers began undoing the buttons on his blue flannel shirt. I heard his zipper going down and I started laughing. "What is this? Nude grape stomping? Damn, Max. Is this some kind of Roman pick-up line? 'Come in my vat, little girl, and let me show you my grapes?' Hey, I'm not quite that easy."

"Not nude," he said, making that disapproving clicking noise of his. "But it makes no sense to ruin my jeans or shirt. I shall keep the part of my anatomy you are no doubt concerned with covered ... though I would remind you that you are well acquainted with it."

"Oh, I see. You'll make sure you don't get your clothes covered in this gunk but you didn't care whether or not I might not have wanted to ruin mine? Nice, Max."

I tried to stand up but the grapes were pretty slippery so all I really could do was scoot away to the other side of the vat on my knees. When I looked back, he was swinging a bare leg over and climbing into the vat. He was wearing only his t-shirt and jockeys. Tight white jockeys that I tried to avert my eyes from.

While I might have had difficulty getting to my feet, Max had no such problem. I teased him that it must have been because his feet were so much bigger than mine ... provided him with more stability, you see? He strode over to where I was and pulled me up to face him. Twirled me around the other way and I slipped ... would have crashed down hard but he had a hold of me. Hands on my waist. Holding me upright. Ordering me to start stomping the grapes so he could see how much I had to learn.

Okay, well, I tried to cooperate even though it was ridiculous to find myself calf-high in grapes at that time of the morning and trying to squash them beneath my bare feet. And he was seriously intent on coaching my steps. And, suddenly, I was overcome with giddy laughter. I simply couldn't help it. I mean, who needs lessons in stomping? But here he was, the General of the Armies of the North, giving me in-depth instructions in how to mush the grapes down just so in order to assure the best and quickest release of their juices.

"You are hopeless!" he finally pronounced in a huff. "If your girlfriends are as poor students as you, then we will be disgraced in the contest."

"Oh, come on! Maxie baby! What is so tough about squishing grapes? We'll just do it. We'll be on equal footing with everyone else ... it's not like there's any strategy or skill involved or ..."

"No skill involved? Fine, little one. Then you are on your own," he grumped as he let me go.

But he didn't just take his hands from my waist ... nope. He thrust me away from him. I swear he did. Of course he did. Why else did I find myself falling face down in the grapes as my feet slid out from under me? It surely couldn't be because of my innate clumsiness, now could it?

I spluttered into a sitting position and wiped grape skins and gunk from my eyes. Slunk my dampened hair from my face. Fixed him with a glare that had been known to bring lesser men to their knees begging for mercy.

It made him laugh. He threw his head back and roared out his amusement. Okay, so, two things. That meant I knew just what a mess I looked like. And ... that meant I was going to get even.

Reached toward him with a swiftness born of a desire for sweet revenge. Two hands on his ankle ... good, leveraged yank ... and down he crashed on his own cute ass ... the grapes beneath him never stood a chance.

"Oh! Max! Are you okay? Surely Mr. Wine Stomp Expert didn't just slip in the vat?" Letting my fake sympathy slip swiftly into mockery.  "Or perhaps that's part of your technique? In which case, I bow to your far greater mastery."

He scooted up to his hands and knees; just looked at me. I knew I was in a hell of a lot of trouble. I was already scrambling backwards and trying so hard to stop laughing at him. But he made one lunge at me and grabbed onto my ankle. I was squealing at him for mercy as he yanked me back toward him with such force that I fell backwards. I could feel grapes grinding under me as I was pulled toward him. I could feel the juice soaking my clothing.

It felt indecent. It felt gross. It felt wet. It felt mysterious. It felt decadent. It felt ribald.

And then it turned on me. No, I won't pretend that I didn't know Max and I were both treading in dangerous territory from the moment we chose not to part after first encountering each other in the semi-darkness. But we'd been able to pretend that we were not hanging on to each of these moments together just to see what might develop between us. It had been innocent flirtation up to this point.

But then it wasn't anymore. He had dragged me toward where he was kneeling. I was flat on my back and we were both laughing but ... but then we weren't anymore. Then we were just looking at each other. Breathing in the sexual tension in the air. Trying to fight what was happening and then giving in ... a little.

He bent down over me; his hands on either side of my shoulders. His eyes strayed down my body just before coming up at the last possible moment to meet my eyes. His lips brushed mine as his tongue flicked over them. A murmur against me: "Your lips ... intoxicating with hints of wine in the making. But not near as intoxicating as the simple taste of you, little one. May I have one small sip?"

Feeling my hesitation ... perhaps not understanding the way he was making me feel ... because I felt an intoxication of my own. Maximus. There. All around me. His spirit ... his desire for me ...

His hand touched my face and then he watched the affect of his fingers as they trailed down my throat and stopped just as he reached the slope of my breasts. Stroking me there, feather light, with just the back of his curled fingers

"One kiss," I whispered. "As a token of my appreciation of your ... technique."

Another soft brush of his lips. A sweet, lingering caress of my bottom lip. His husky voice: "Which technique would that be, lady? Grape stomping or ... perhaps this?"

And then taking any sense of right or wrong away with one kiss. Pressing his mouth into mine, playing with my tongue, delighting my lips ... making me squirm and cling to him in order to prolong it.

When it was over, it didn't elude my attention that his big hands were caressing my breasts through the sodden material that tried to cover them with some modesty. I knew I shouldn't be there. I knew this was wrong.

Pushing up on his chest until he rose away from me, I sat up. Looked into his eyes and knew we were in trouble if we weren't both willing to back off. I gave him a sad smile and moved away. I touched the side of the vat and pulled myself up to my knees. In the chill of the morning, I felt my wet clothes and hair and I trembled. But then, I turned and looked back at him. Could see the clear evidence of his arousal in the stained, wet fabric that clung to him and outlined his form as he knelt there before me. I saw a deliberate challenge fire out of his eyes toward me. It made me tremble harder.

"I need to go," I whispered.

He held out a hand toward me. Dropping his voice deep, husky; pure sex. "You need to stay."

Turning my head and looking toward the Temple. In the gold of the morning's arriving sun, it glowed like a beacon. I looked back at him and he was crawling toward me. God. The look on his face. Predatory. Seductive.

I found myself sliding back down to sit against the wall of the vat and knew I was about to do wrong. Not resisting at all when he gripped around my ankles and pulled me slowly toward him. Just sitting there ... pressed lightly up next to his chest ... letting my hands slip up to trace wet paths in the girth of his neck ... feeling his breath on my shoulder and as heated as it was, it felt like it was setting me on fire.

His warm hands pressed me backwards into the grapes even as he bent his head to kiss along my neck. Murmuring to me, entreating me to stay with him; then almost humming as I felt his tongue lap the juice that covered my skin. Just in that one moment, I was afraid.

"Oh, Max." Gasping as his hand grazed down to ruck my camisole's hem up almost half way to my breasts. Just in that single instant realizing how open I was to him. "Don't tempt me. Please ..."

His hands moved under me, pulling me down beneath his body as he slowly lowered his weight upon me. "Like this, you mean?"

The feel of him ... that sure magic of his touch ... the way he puts to use the little knowledge he has of me ... the sense that he knows full well that he could force me ... the sense I love that he might force me but for the fact that he never would ... the little flick of desire that one day he will force me into something truly forbidden ...

I was helpless to stop. Who would not have been?

"It is a good harvest," he whispered against my ear. Grinding his hardness against me in this indolent undulation of his hips that seemed indecent. "The proof is in the taste of the fruit."

Panting to see him take several of my fingers and place them slowly in his mouth. Whimpering helplessly at the feel of what his mouth did to them, sucking down the juice on them, smiling around them at me. Pleased with my reaction.

I rolled him to his back. Shoved his wet shirt up to his armpits. Began licking along his skin ... tasting the grape juice ... tasting him ... sucking light then hard on his nipples until he was writhing beneath me and muttering of his desire for me. Moaning to him and then rudely deserting where I was to wrest his soaked jockeys off. Ripping them in my sudden abject need to taste him. To feel him in my mouth. To know the magic of the combination of tastes ... ripe pinot grapes and pure ripe Max pre-cum.

He was unable to keep still. He never really tried to keep quiet. When he started thrusting into my mouth, I felt drunk with him. I let him pull me off but I let out a shocked yelp to feel my back being smashed into grapes. It was divinely nasty.

His fingers shoved the crotch of my soaked tap pants aside even as his mouth sucked hungrily at my breasts through the wet fabric covering them. His fingers invaded me and I groaned in delight. In this gruff voice, he told me he was going to take me. Hard. Without restraint. No quarter given.

None asked for, I panted out to him. That earned me a growl and the feel of his knees spreading me, his hands working to put his hardness in me ... not even bothering to take off my pants, just shoving past the crotch and going into me ...

"Sweet Goddess," he moaned as he paused part way in because I was already spasming around him. And then he seemed to collect himself and he poured all of his length into me. I wrapped my legs around his waist and tried to put my arms around him to hold his chest to me. But he was up on his elbows and watching himself as he entered me and then as he'd pull out. Each time, pounding back inside me ... biting his lower lip each time I whimpered or moaned at the feeling he was causing.

These delicious, heady moments ... feeling like a bit of nothingness as he rolled us over ... letting me enjoy riding atop him upon the slippery remains of grapes while he thrust up into me and grunted with abandoned sexual intent. Then rolling us again so I was beneath him and he could control his own pumping ... shoving my legs up and hooking my ankles over his shoulders until I cried out with the depths he was reaching in me. Lowering my legs but spreading my knees and gripping tight to my hips ... but still, each hard thrust sent my body sliding with it upon the slippery grape skins beneath us. Until he got frustrated, muttering to me in a hard voice about needing to fuck me harder ... I felt above my head and my hands touched the side of the vat. I braced hard against it, locked my elbows and saw his eyes light up at the realization that I wasn't going to slide away from him anymore.

And that was it. A full out assault on any part of me that might have been resisting coming for him. Crude orders in my ear ... wanting me to tell him just how hard I was going to come for him. But I was too far gone to be coherent. I felt his mouth drop over mine just as I let out this scream of release, his name was cut off after just the "Mmma..." left my lips. But with the power of my coming ... with the spasms inside me that gripped and throbbed his cock ... he was coming into me. His roar of pleasure was thrust into me in the invasive kiss he was giving me.

After ... we lay locked together, panting, whimpering. I felt aftershocks and kept arching my back at the pleasure of them. He nuzzled into me; strong arms gripping my body to stay with me during this time. Whispering to me, encouraging me ... telling me how it made him feel to see me respond this way.

As we came down from the high, we grew so quiet. Our eyes met. No regret or shame for having so blatantly broken the rules of this week. He chuckled and stroked my face. "If I hadn't found the way to cut off your cry ... every Temple boy would be here already to see to your rescue. I dare say neither of us want to be detected in this activity this morning?"

"No. True enough." I didn't even have the grace to blush as I played with his softening cock.

He sat up and dragged me up next to him. His arms around me and letting me hold tight around his neck and wiggle up into his lap as he leaned back against the side of the vat.

This scrap of whitish fabric caught my eye, partially buried among the dark grapes. I started giggling and then reached over to retrieve his discarded jockeys. Handed them to him with a smirk. "Perhaps we should make sure we cover up evidence of our misdeed. No stray articles of incriminating clothing should be left in the vat."

Nodding to me and grinning. "Agreed. And I will have the workers dispose of the grapes and ... other material ... in this vat. We don't want anyone to make these pressings into wine, I suppose."

"Oh, I don't know -- it could be a very special reserve. Pinot de Maximus. Everyone will want to know exactly where it got its unique aftertaste."

I let him lift me out of the vat and then I looked down at myself as I felt my body tremble as cold air met wet fabric. My skin and clothes were dotted with purple-red grape skins, streaked thoroughly with dark juice, sticky everywhere with the remnants of what had been, frankly, a full-body grape stomping. When he was out of the vat and standing before me, I yanked on his similarly stained t-shirt.

"Dammit, Max! What are we going to do? One look at us and everyone will know we were messing around and ..."

"No one will know if we are smart. I doubt very much that anyone is up and about yet in the Temple. From all indications, it was a wild and very late night for all concerned. Let's get you a bit cleaned up and then with the blanket covering you, you should be able to safely sneak back to your room where you can take a proper shower." His big fingers swept over my face and wiped it as clean as he could.

He pulled me behind him and I waited, shivering, as he poured water from a bottle onto a rag. I felt like a child in his hands as he wiped my face and neck. He clucked at my shaking limbs and ordered me to take off my wet clothes. When I told him wet clothes were better than none, he simply ripped them off me. Ah, hell, they were ruined anyway.

"Oh. I see. Thanks, Max," I whispered when I realized what he'd had in mind ... to replace my wet and discarded clothes, he buttoned me up into his shirt. Its flannel felt warm and comforting around me.

I watched him re-wet the rag and run it around his own face and neck; he flicked it down his arms. His efforts didn't produce the best of results; about all he really did was get the worst of the evidence off him. It wouldn't take much more than a glance at his skin, hair or his stained t-shirt to get an idea that he'd had a run-in with a vat-load of grapes.

"You need a shower as badly as I do," I told him. He nodded at me and gave me this delighted smile before sobering into making plans. He dropped the rag in a mound with my clothes and then dragged his jeans onto his body.

"I am certain no one is awake in the Mother Tree. I will take the truck over and cleanse myself with no one being the wiser. Now we should both go, Ann. Be swift and you'll avoid detection."

He draped the blanket over my body, covering my hair and shoulders, wrapping it securely around me ... then grabbed my face so he could give me a bruising, deep kiss that ended gentle with a whispered endearment. Then abruptly turning me toward the path that led up the slope to the Temple and giving me a swat on my rear to get me moving away from him. I started running and then stopped as I was leaving the work area to look back at him.

"Max?" He was just climbing into the truck and he paused to look at me, tilting his chin up at me to indicate he could hear me. "Perhaps today's lesson for the other women shouldn't be quite so hands-on. Then again, with the skills you just demonstrated, you'd certainly keep your pupils' rapt attention."

His easy laughter chased toward me as he slipped behind the wheel and started the truck's engine. It stayed with me even as I watched him drive away toward the Mother Tree. I felt warmed by it even as I raced over the cool tiles to my bedroom and prayed I avoided detection of my transgression.