Part I - Jack

"Johnny-Come-Lately," Jack said with a sweet smile, handing the deeply violet- and yellow-petalled flower to me.

"Really? Is that what they called it in your time? Here, we call it Johnny-Jump-Up," I said. And stifled a little giggle at his expense, for one of the things I most loved about Jack was his sometimes abusive memory of common expressions. "But by whatever name, it's a fine bloom to be named after you."

Delighted chuckle and then, "Ah, my little dear, I smoke it. The flower's name ... yes, just right. My given name is Jonathan. And from that, I could be called John or Johnny ... or Jack. So in that way, it is indeed a flower named after me."

I looked out over the field near the shore of the lake and felt spring's full abundance meet me head-on. "I love the promise of this season. The way it seems like everything is so new."

His fingers touched my hair and I felt him slip another flower behind my ear. He leaned in to whisper to me: "This is truly a season of renewal, amorata. I believe I will enjoy discovering what it holds for me."

Happy just to share this with him. Thrilled, as always, to know the days and nights about to come would be filled with warm, tropical breezes.

"I should plant some of these flowers in my garden this year. Just for you, Jack. And when you're gone from me, I can look at them and hold you so close."

Our last day together for a while and I was determined not to be sad that his all-encompassing presence was about to be absent from the space in which I lived. The next day would see Jack embarked on a round of visits to my Sisters that would take him from my arms for a month. It would be the longest separation from him I'd faced.

It dawned on me just then. I needed to invite some other Brothers to visit me while he was gone. Not just to fill the void, but more because that was the way of the Game. And I needed to get more fully into the swing of the Game. I needed to meet some new Brothers, I suddenly realized.

And in the midst of that thought, I was staring at the flower. Johnny-Jump-Up. And I heard, like an echo, Jack's words: John, Johnny, Jack.

How does the mind work that way? To leap in inspiration with a thought. Because reciting the names made me think on the fact that the names based on John seemed to be a theme in the Creator's characters. Johnny, the young buck who had such bad luck at railroad crossings. John Nash, that beautiful mind who knew how to wear a white t-shirt in a hot classroom. John Biebe, the sheriff who mysteriously warmed a corner of Alaska. And Jack, Lucky Jack, that honorable British captain who loved a sea battle as much as he loved a wench.

As Jack's hand touched my hip and his body drew near mine to shelter me from the lake's hard breezes, I closed my eyes and pictured the four John's. Jack, of course, I knew well. Johnny ... let's just say I'd had the pleasure of making his acquaintance already. But John Nash I'd not even thought about meeting because I wasn't at all sure what we'd have to say to each other.

And John Biebe. My body flushed at the thought of him. When would I ever get the courage up to ask for him? Never, at this rate.

"My dear, perhaps we should go in? You seem to be overheated. I fear the sun is proving much too harsh for you," Jack said. He was already trying to guide me back to the car. "You go and rest while I gather up our things."

Ah, Jack. Always trying to watch out for me. Doting on me in this way that still could make me breathless. With other men, I would have brushed their concerns aside and stayed there if I'd wanted. I certainly would have done my part to help gather up the remnants of our picnic lunch. But with Jack, I walked backwards toward the car and smiled to watch him take care of us. And that's how I caught that look he gave me as he straightened up, his hand gripping the hamper. Starting back up the path, striding purposely toward me. His eyes never leaving mine. His entire body moving in this way that captivated me.

He was there before me and I'd only blinked. The hand with the hamper went behind me and he bent me over in a kiss. Making me lose my head. Making me want to drag him down to the ground over me and ...

"You make me lose myself," he groaned to me and I could feel him hardening against me. "If there were a tree or bushes to shelter us, amorata, you would not be safe from my advances."

"Home," I whispered hoarsely. Cleared my throat. "Take me home, beloved."

On the drive, I closed my eyes and absorbed the warmth of the sun through the car window. My hand on Jack's upper thigh kept me in contact with him as I found myself drifting.

Unbidden, an image swam into my mind's eye. That face. With a beard this time. Long hair. Fur hat. Looking so formidable. So manly. So serious. So adult.

And that was when I knew. I wanted to meet John Biebe. But I was scared to ask.

What was it about him? I'd asked BeBe that once. Do we each of us, each Sister, have one Brother who scares us for no obvious reason? Who makes us quiver just to imagine having the audacity to ask for a visit? Who makes us so sure we won't even know what to say much less do when they're with us?

He wasn't even the worst. I was more scared to ask to see Maximus. But, I think, lots of Sisters felt that way about the General and then finally got the curiosity up to ask for a visit. Unlike other Sisters, though, I kept well clear of any contact with Maximus and I was feeling pretty good about flying well under his radar.

But I wasn't sure I'd ever heard of another Sister who felt intimidated by Biebe. When I first joined this world, I'd been courageous enough to put my name on his Perve List. But before I could ever ask to see him, in that time when every Brother I was meeting was new, the Game shifted on me and I simply lost my nerve. And then Jack came into our world and I left Biebe's list to take my position as Jack's Number One. In all my time in Perve World, I'd never so much as flirted in John's thread. As the weeks went on, it got harder to tamp down my insecurities about John Biebe and ask to see him.

I opened my eyes and looked at Jack behind the wheel. He was humming along with a song on the radio. His hair was loose and wild from the wind we'd been in all afternoon. His face was bronzed and healthy.

He must have felt my gaze for he turned and smiled at me. "I have a request for our last night together, amorata. Will you let me make it a special time for you?"

Always, Jack. 

"Do I have to wear a special outfit?" I teased him.

He blushed and gazed back at the traffic in front of us. "Would you if I asked it of you, my little dear?"

"I believe it would be my pleasure, beloved."

His eyes darted to mine. Gave me that little growl that I knew meant I'd fired up his passion to a fever pitch.

We never made it to the bedroom that night. The first time he took me it was against the front door as he'd slammed it behind us. Anyone looking hard at my door might have seen our bodies struggling against each other. But, since the windows would have only shown us from about the chest up, they would not have seen the real action.

The next few times we made love were in the living room, before the fireplace that was never used to burn logs because it never really got cold enough to warrant it. We didn't really sleep that night and I was existing on borrowed energy when I drove him to the airport. I think I would have cried when he walked away from me but for the fact that I was too tired even for that.

At home, I burrowed into my covers and slept like I was drugged. Weird, vivid dreams. Waking a few hours later, I lay in bed in that curious stage of fighting off dreams. It's when it happened. When I came up with the idea.

A theme.

The four Johns.  A month of Johns. It made me laugh. Jack had been the first. The second one would be the easiest to get hold of since he had no regular Perves and I'd fly him up the next day. The third one would be the mathematical genius and instantly I realized he'd be perfect to have coming in the next week because I could use those math talents of him them for a project I'd be on then.

And the last one?

The one who scared me and but for the fact that I needed him to finish the theme month correctly, I would never have gotten up the nerve. What do you think, Diary? Had I created this theme just to force myself to finally meet John Biebe?

Part 2 - Johnny

"Johnny? Come lately?" I whispered into his ear. He didn't stir and it made me smile. Like a puppy dog. Just plopped down and slept wherever when he was tired. He should be tired, I thought.

And, well, I certainly was. Snuggled into his body and instinctively, his leg plopped over mine and his arm reached to pull me in closer to him.

He was the perfect antidote to the "missing Jack" blues. Always eager, ever capable, a little rough but willing to go slow if I insisted. Even learning to appreciate that sometimes going slow was better.

One of the things I had loved about Johnny the first time he'd visited was that he didn't mind listening to me ramble. I never seemed to flub my words around him either.

A new thing I learned to love about him in this visit was that he could be so brutally honest with me about the other Brothers. About men in general. He was coming at it from this very basic level - from his own youth and the brash take on life that gave him. It was all so simple for him.

It was really such fun with him like this. We talked and talked. And then we screwed each other senseless.

Here's his advice to me about the other Brothers: they were just men. I had nothing to fear. Just lead them around by their dicks because it's all men really cared about anyway. Anything else was just lagniappe, as we say here. That's not how he put it; he put it much more crudely. Something about the way he would say these things, the way he'd pronounce them as if the words should have been dipped in gold ... I just about could have eaten him up. He knew it all. He was so damned cock-sure.

Cocky and sure. That's our Johnny.

Yet there were times when I'd see this vulnerable insecurity in him. Like sometimes he might have recognized that I just might have been capable of detecting that he was still an amateur in the pursuit of the perfect orgasm. So he'd step up his efforts and I'd be left wondering if his raw enthusiasm and overeager agility knew no bounds.

Turning on my side in his grip, I maneuvered my body to be better aligned with his. His hand slipped naturally up to cradle my breast. I was smiling as I fell asleep.

Part 3 - John Nash

"Johnny, come!" Lately ... was it just me, or were those words beginning to haunt me?

He rushed into the room, blinking at me in confusion. "What is it? Can't I have a moment's peace with you?"

"No, you can't. Not right now, anyway."

"I'm tired. I need some rest."

"Oh, stop it. You know you love this. Now get over here."

John Nash in all his glory, wearing only that white t-shirt and jeans ... dressed that way because I'd asked him to. Well, that and the fact that I'd hidden his other clothes that morning. For some reason, this was how I wanted to look at him that day.

He joined me at the desk and looked hard at the papers scattered there.

"Do you see any pattern at all to these numbers?" I asked him, not able to hide the annoyance in my voice. I was so tired of trying to make sense of this and all I needed was his help. I just knew he could make sense of this puzzle for me.

He stroked his jaw then put his index finger on his top lip. Mumbled to himself and seemed to go into some sort of trance. I looked back down at the papers. They held nothing but mystery to me. They always did.

Polling numbers. God, but I hated statistical analysis and demographic research. But for this particular project, I needed to understand these numbers. On the numbers rested the fate of the project.

"There. I see it." John began stabbing at random numbers, results by precinct, age and race. We also had rough income levels. "Yes. That's it all right. Look, Ann, see there? You need to tailor your message better to this group. Then you'll pull the swing voters in from undecided to positive. And if you concentrate your efforts over here ..."

I looked up at his face. He was concentrating so hard and he seemed to be in another world. I think he was enjoying himself, but it was a bit hard to tell.

"... and from there, you'll make inroads among the seniors. That's the margin of victory. These wards right here. I can see the shift in the numbers from the first polling. The needle's moving. You just need more time."

Time. I groaned at him. "We only have three more weeks, John. It's hopeless, isn't it?"

"It may well be."

Okay. Well, brutal honesty seemed to be his forte. "Thanks, John. I really can't tell you how much help you've been to me. I have such a tough time with polling numbers. But you just see things there that amaze me."

His eyes left the papers and found mine. Shy grin from him that was quickly covered up by a confused glance around the room.  He sunk gingerly into the only other chair in the office and seemed a bit unsure what else to say to me. "So what will you do now?"

"We'll develop a better message and then use the media methods best identified for reaching the particular demographic audience you've pointed out. And then ..."

Ah, who woulda thought it? Me and John Nash actually had things we could talk about. I didn't know math but he did. He didn't understand influencing the electorate but I did. We were teaching each other some new tricks.

"We make a good team," I told him. I was rewarded by a nice, genuine smile. "But I don't want to make you do nothing but work while you're down here. How about you let me take you out on the town tomorrow night? Nice dinner, dancing if you'd like it, a show ... whatever. You name it."

Nodding at me. Looking shy even though his eyes were meeting mine. Then soft voice asking me: "You're good friends with Uma, right?"

Oh, yes. The best. Why?"

"Did you read her diary?" His eyes now darting down and away from me.

I giggled at him. "She put you on the map, John."

"Is that why you invited me?"

Hand on his forearm and I couldn't help but notice how nice it was shaped. Still, I wished I'd happened to touch him on those marvelous biceps instead. "Actually, I invited you to help me on this project. But ..."

"But I was also part of a pattern. The Johns."

Shouldn't I have known he'd pick up on the pattern? "Do you mind that? It's really not as bad as it might sound. I think mostly it was just an excuse, a way for me to force myself to start meeting more of the Brothers. I started with the two I already knew and now I'm lucky enough to be seeing the two I hadn't met yet. You're both formidable men and it does take some gumption to invite you."

"Formidable?" His brows drew up and he tilted his head as he examined this novel idea. "Me? I'm not formidable."

"Your intellect is awesome, John. I mean, it's one thing for someone as learned as Uma to find common ground with you - it's a whole other thing for someone like me. It's tough not to be intimidated."

Sudden delighted giggle from him. He gripped my hand in his and leaned in close to me. "And here I've been so worried you were bored by me. It's rather fun to think I intimidate you. Shall I tell you a secret, Ann?"

"Want to whisper it in my ear, John?" Giggling back at him. We were both so tickled by this suddenly. Like a release of tension.

"Only if you're sitting on my lap, dear." He said it in this low voice that, while still a bit amused, nonetheless sounded very sure of itself.

And I'd rarely needed more of an invitation than that to get closer to one of the Brothers. Moved real quickly to perch myself on his lap before he changed his mind. Wrapped my arms around his neck and sighed real deep at the feel of those strong arms gathering me in against him. "Whisper away, John."

I felt his breath against my neck and he seemed to linger for so long, as if making up his mind to really go through with it. And then his lips touched against my ear and he whispered to me. "The secret is, I find you quite stimulating. Intellectually. And physically."

"Really? Intellectually?"

"It's the way you look at things, Ann. Where do your thoughts come from?"

"It's why we make a good team, John. You rely on logic; I rely on emotion. You make leaps of mathematical intuition; I make leaps of faith. Yet, we both need to be inspired. Don't you think?"

Inspired. My thoughts were suddenly inspired a whole other way by the feel of John under me. His hands were pressing into my hips and his mouth seemed to hover suggestively over my throat.

"John? If you're thinking of making a move on me, now would be a good time," I whispered to him. "Because I think I'm feeling just how much I might be physically stimulating you."

Want to know a revelation about John Nash, Diary? His best moves are not in developing theories. They are in that beautiful mind of his and how he translates it into action. Game Theory? Have John Nash teach it to you. He has it down pat.

He doesn't talk too much, this John. He might mumble a bit but he surely isn't one of those Brothers who uses practiced, slick words to seduce you. He just comes right in when you give him the right encouragement. And, he's a detail man, is our John Nash. Dots his i's and crosses his t's. Yet, he never seems to stick to accepted patterns. It makes for an interesting interlude.

Diary, he kisses like he's solved the Schroedinger Equation. Quantum physics never being my thing, I found myself lost inside calculations and theorems that made my head spin and my body sing.

And after, we lay on the carpet in my office and studied the ceiling. I had turned off the lights to show him the stars. That's right, Diary ... the stars inside. Somehow, I knew he'd appreciate this view as much as I ever did. Upon my office ceiling, Jack had placed glow-in-the-dark stars in precise patterns of the constellations he most loved. Often when I was alone, I would go in my office and lean back in my chair in the darkened room and try to remember the names of these clusters of stars.

John got the biggest kick out of this quirk of mine.

"You're a dreamer after all," he whispered against me as I cuddled up to his body. "You see with eyes that seek answers. Yet you need to know that in this big universe, there are things bigger than us all. And that the little things don't matter so much in the grand scheme of life."

"But it's the little things that make life so intriguing," I told him. "Perhaps I fool around too much in seeking the big answers. Perhaps I should just accept rather than search."

"You are who you are. Accept that. You'll be further along the road you walk if you do."

Our eyes met and I wondered if he was so smart about me. Did he know me that well, Diary?  Was he overconfident that I was easy to figure out if he just concentrated on me? Or did he just see patterns in my contradictions that I missed?

"So, then, John, tell me what my dreams tell about me," I asked him, soft voice and wondering what he would see in this question's pattern.

"You seek to know that which intimidates you most. You might want to run from it, but in the end, you always choose to meet it head on."

Turning on my back and letting him cradle his body to mine. Watching the stars Jack had hung for me. Wondering if I really was like that. Wouldn't I have liked to be, Diary? Wouldn't I like to be one of those people brave enough to face my fears?

In a few days, I was facing one and in this evening with John Nash, I began to think that I had nothing to fear in the next encounter I'd set in motion. Somewhere deep down, I believed.

Part 4 - John Biebe

"Johnny come lately," he remarked, sounding almost brusque, and I glanced up anxiously into eyes that seemed a bit hard. "That's all I am, isn't it?"

"Not at all. I was saving the best for last," I replied.

But, Diary, sometimes, don't you find, even truth isn't the best course of action?

I earned a quick glare for my retort. I slumped from my knees and sat in the damp grass, feeling the coolness seep right up my thighs and through my shorts. Pulled off my muddied gloves and swiped at the hair that fell across my eyes.

"You don't like being here with me, do you?" I asked him. He opened his mouth, shut it tight and looked down at the seedling cradled in his big mitt of a hand. "It's okay to say it, John. Nothing says you have to like each of the Sisters."

"It's not that I don't like you," he murmured, and I got some strange satisfaction out of seeing his cheeks darken into a blush. "I suppose."

"Okay, well ... It's okay. I'm not forcing anything on you." Put my hand on his arm and he pulled away from me. That might have stung worse than all the non-interest he'd shown me in the two days he'd been there. It was more than indifference to me, though. It was something else as well - like an undercurrent that I wasn't privy to. A secret he harbored from me. And it really pissed me off. What had I done? Was I really that much of a disappointment? "Fuck. Okay. That's enough. I've ... What is this shit, anyway, John? I think I've been a pretty good hostess ... well, I mean, I certainly didn't mean to burn the frigging pot roast that first night and it wasn't really my fault that the ice rink was shut down for repairs yesterday and, well, after all, I did warn you that the fire ants would hurt you if you messed with them ... and ... and ..."

Losing my train of thought as he looked, finally, deep into my eyes with a concentration that made it feel invasive and I wondered if he did this to intimidate me. How long do you suppose I just sat there staring at him examining me, Diary? Too long, that was sure.

"So what exactly is it I've ... No, what I mean is, how badly do you ... Shit. Fuck. Damnitalltohell."

His eyes opened wide at my heartfelt explosion of expletives. It might have been the first time he'd seen me show some real balls. "Now, you need to calm down, Ann."

Delivered in much too patronizing a tone. Diary, I'd truly done what I could to make this a pleasant visit. So things hadn't gone exactly according to plan. So there were a few bumps. Hey, who ever said my life was perfect? Not me, that's for damned sure. And he couldn't even give me a few measly points for trying?

You know, Diary, I'd been so scared to see him. Just knew he'd think me a silly goose. Knew he'd put up with me and my schtick only because I was a Sister. Knew I would never have stood a chance with a man ... such a man ... like him if it hadn't been for that. But he wasn't ... I mean, he wasn't giving me a chance in hell. And each failure seemed to invite another.

I could feel tears welling up in my chest; could feel the ball of them wanting to force their way out. Damn him. And damned if I'd let that happen.

"You're a jerk. Did you know that? Cause I didn't and no one bothered to even warn me," I told him, my voice equal part hurt and anger. Jabbed at his shoulder, dislodging his balance as he knelt near me, helping me plant the flower garden in my back yard that had always been devoted to annuals. Planting it was a rite of spring.

His eyes flashed open wide as he realized he'd not be able to stop himself from toppling over onto his ass as long as he was tenderly cradling a fragile seedling in each hand. Down he went and I heard this huff from him. His eyes narrowed at me.

For some reason, it made me snap. Bastard, I thought. Why couldn't you have just realized I needed you to be a nice guy? You're supposed to be a nice guy. And now you're getting upset? You don't have the right. I'm the only one with that right here. Bastard. I picked up the hose and ... oh, Christ, when did I ever profess to be an adult, Diary? I spritzed water all over him, wetting his shirt thoroughly because it was the only thing my childish mind could think to do to take out on him the way he was making me feel worthless.

That seemed to make him decide on a course of action. He dropped the two seedlings and made this quick movement toward me. I blasted him with the sprayer's full force. It was an instinctive reaction, I assure you, Diary. It was my only weapon of defense.

Heard him sputter and then he cursed. A nice, rounded, incited spate of cursing. I lowered the hose and looked over the water's crest at him. His chin was down and his eyes were zeroed in on me. I should have moved, should have leapt to my feet and run. But I was too captivated for too long by the sight of him, on his knees, wet and aroused, before me. Actually, the thing that kept me rooted in place far too long was the fleeting memory of Isobel's fascination with seeing the Crowe Brothers wet. She has this rule - they should all be wet as often as possible.

Okay. This was when I understood what she meant. I'd seen Cort wet and been a bit too preoccupied to appreciate it until later. This time, I absolutely could do nothing but perve on the wet man in front of me.

John Biebe wet and angry. I licked my lips. I swear I did, Diary. I don't know why; he hadn't shown the slightest interest in me since he'd been there. I imagined him at night sending grateful prayers to the Lord above that he'd not been forced to do the big nasty with me that day. Every morning, he probably devoted more prayers to be delivered from me.

But in that one moment, I licked my lips, an involuntary reaction to how he looked. Wet, angry and aroused.

And it was too late to move, but I should have. Because he nearly flattened me. Tackling me roughly around the waist and wrestling the hose from my hand. And it was such a good thing I was already sitting because if I'd been standing, the force of his body knocking me to the ground would have killed me.

Well, at least a mild concussion, I would say.

"Why. The. Hell. Did. You. Do. That." That's just how he said it. Each word carefully measured out, barely any inflection, but a deathly serious tone.

What is it with me? I always seem to do the unexpected. You should have seen his face, Diary, when I cracked up laughing as his body pressed mine into the sodden, muddy earth. Each time I sobered up, I'd see that serious man look on him and start laughing again.

"You deserved it. Are you always such a pain in the ass?" I wheezed out to him, trying to shove him off me.

"Haven't had any complaints so far. But maybe you'd like to find out for yourself." He said it plain and simple. And so quick it caught me totally off guard.

John Biebe? Had he just engaged in sexual innuendo? A joke? Or was I reading way too much into this.

I swallowed hard and just looked in his eyes. They were focused on my eyes, but then they flickered to my lips. Held my breath. A beat. Another. And just as I came to the realization that he wasn't interested in even kissing me ... just in that crystal moment when my ego sunk lower than I thought it could ... just in the space of the breath it took me to grasp the way it felt to be so soundly rejected by this man whom I had feared meeting precisely because I knew he'd reject me ... just then his lips touched mine.

So unexpected ... I'd already given up on him. And then he was there. His lips softly taking possession of my bottom lip. I sucked in a shaky breath when he paused and moved to take my upper lip between his. It lasted so long. It didn't last nearly long enough.

My eyes had slid shut. Then snapped open instantly when I felt his body ease off mine. He was still watching me. I felt myself blush. When his body was off mine completely, I hopped up and busied myself with gathering my gardening tools, muttering to him about finishing the work some other time.

"Those shorts should be outlawed," he said in this harsh voice. I looked at him from where I was bent over to pick up my little spade and shovel. His eyes were watching where I was pretending my shorts were really covering the bottom rise of my ass. At least he's looking, I thought. Not that he looked like he was appreciating what he could see or anything, mind you, Diary.

"If you don't like the view, then don't fucking look, John."

"Yeah. Right. That'll work."

"You know what? I've really had it with you and I just cannot ..." Too bad, really. I was launched full steam into a real rant, a whole backlogged torrent of abusive words just couldn't wait to get out of me. But I was stopped by gravity. Planted my feet firmly in an angry stance, hands on hips, as I began to let him have it with both barrels.

Ah, but gravity intervened and stopped me in mid-tirade. I'd planted one of my feet on the firm ground and the other atop the shovel. That foot turned with an awkward suddenness I'd least expected and, with my natural state of grace, my ankle twisted hard and I fell over.

Moaning and grabbing my ankle. Crying now in pain and frustration. Felt his hands on me and heard him say something. Smacked him away from me but he's a big man and I never stood a chance.

"Knock it off, Ann. Let me help you into the house."

No argument because he gave me no quarter. Pulling me up, cradling me in his arms and walking around the side of my house to the door that leads to my laundry room. I found myself hanging onto his neck and some sick part of me sniffed him. Like I needed to smell his skin to fix him in my brain. But maybe it was because I figured it might be my only chance to take this liberty with John Biebe.

Inside, he plopped me down atop the dryer, told me to shut up - which was when I realized I was sniffling - and squatted down in front of me. His big hands were surprisingly gentle as he pried off my sneakers.

"Jesus. That's what I was afraid of," he said, his voice low, almost like he'd meant to keep that to himself.

I panicked. "What? What's wrong? Is it broken? Oh, tell me it's not. I just cannot believe ..."

"It's bad. Real bad. Sorry, sweetie, but there's only one thing to do in these cases. Wait here. I'll get my Bowie knife."

"Your knife?" I think it came out as a shriek.

"Sure. We'll need to amputate. Buck up. It's just the one foot."

Our eyes met. His were calm but held mischief. Mine, I'm sure, were wide open in panic but closed instantly upon understanding he was only having fun at my expense.

"Christ, Biebe," I tut-tutted, pulling my hurt ankle up away from him as he stood up in front of me and chuckled. "Why are you so mean to me? Guess you thought that was funny."

His face turned serious on a dime as he brushed a stray tendril away from my face. The heat seemed to go up in the room - like we both had just then absorbed the fact of where he was all of a sudden - standing right between my legs, so close to me that I could hear him breathe. He touched my ankle and it felt so hot it burned.

"It's just a sprain," he said, hoarse voice I hadn't heard from him. "I'll carry you back to your bedroom so you can get out of those dirty clothes and get in bed. Need to keep it elevated. Some ice for a little while. Keep the swelling down. Then we'll put some heat on it. Helps it get flexible again. Promotes healing. Sometimes, people don't know that's what you're supposed to do with a sprain. But it is."

He was rattling on. Rattling. That's my trick, usually, Diary, isn't it? But hearing him do it made me look at him with new eyes.

It made me feel sassy. "Why would I listen to you? You're a piss poor doctor. You have a really sucky bedside manner."

"Maybe it's not the side of your bed I want to be at. Maybe it's in it." His arms were on either side of me, like he was getting ready to sweep me back off the dryer, carry me to my bedroom. But he just leaned there against me, his hands planted atop the dryer's top, right on either side of my hips. He licked his lips, looked down at my legs, trailed up my body, lingered on my breasts and then his eyes made their way to my face.

"In my bed? I ... I would never have guessed you had any interest," I whispered to him.

His mouth grazed my jaw line; my heart about stopped beating. "I'm interested. But ... Are you?"

I shuddered at the feel of him. All around me. Enveloping me. Like being wrapped up inside a sweater. Turned my head to find his eyes. Found his lips instead.

This time his kiss moved so quickly to one that sought to invade the very essence of me. He nibbled fleetingly on my upper lip and then his tongue massaged my lips. I knew what it wanted. It wanted in. I wanted it in. We had tongues that had the same ideas of exploration of the other. We gave them free rein.

Little moan from him that surprised me. His big hands grabbed at my hips and pulled our groins into contact. "What I wondered," he murmured. "Why do so few of you ask for me lately?"

His mouth moved to my throat and he was leaning into me with a chest that felt like heaven to me.

Was this me? With John Biebe? Was this even possible?

"I don't understand." Muttering, surprised I'd strung together words to form a sentence.

"Do you want me? Or are you horny and I happen to be handy? Maybe you just want me to write a diary about you so the others will ask for you?"

"No." His voice suddenly so harsh. "Just tell me. I need to know. Why now? Why after all these months did you finally ask for me?"

Swallowing so deep. "This was when I got the courage."

Perplexed eyes at me. "No one's ever needed courage before to see me. I'm not exactly Hando or Sid."

My hand reached up to his beard. I'd wanted to stroke it for so long. I'd wanted to have my fingers in his hair. I'd wanted his fingers in mine. "I don't think I can explain it. But the thought of you, for some reason, always makes me shake. Surely you knew I had a thing for you? I was on your Perve List when I first came into this world."

Soft eyes. "And in all these months, you've had plenty of time to ask for me but you never have."

Looking off from him. Trembling at the feel of those strong hands of his grinding me lightly in against the part of him that was so devastatingly hard. "You're not going to understand. But you and Maximus ... you just seem so above it all. So serious. So adult. So out of reach for someone like me. The others ... it just seems like they'd play along with me. But you ... you'd need someone of substance and I ... God. See? Even now, even with you hard against me ... I just don't feel like a woman you'd want."

It was as if I inhabited another body. I watched, fascinated, as his chin dropped and he considered me. A light seemed to go on in his eyes. He smiled and it was unlike any smile he'd given me yet. "Take it from me. You're a woman I'd want."

Diving down into my lips. Gathering my body against his. Taking control of what was happening between us. Inviting me to simply let go and let him have his way. Welcoming me to go along with him.

I could feel him. Hard. Urgent.

"What do you want, John?" I asked him as I felt him nip invitingly at my neck.

"Want you to want me," he said. 

"Done." Such a husky voice and I realized it was mine. Still confused to find us here at this juncture between what had been and what would be between us. "That was almost too easy. Especially since we didn't seem to get off to a very good start."

"I sometimes find it hard to just say the things I should to a woman." Rueful smile at me just before he rested his forehead on mine. His hands were warm on my back.

"We don't always need words."

"Good thing."

We chuckled against each other. Ironic, eh, Diary? Here I was - laughing in the face of my fear. Feeling giddy. "Did you know you kiss good?"

"Yeah?" Lips soft on mine, slowly treating me to a kiss that was unbelievably romantic and sweet. "That's not the only thing I do good."

Oh, sweet Diary. Was I meeting the Good Sheriff at long last?

I felt his warm fingers slip down beneath waistband of my shorts. It made me shiver within his arms.

"Cold? We should do something about that." Warm breath on damp skin. "Let's get you out of these wet things."

His hands pulled my soaked t-shirt up. I wasn't wearing a bra; some part of me had hoped he'd notice this but he'd seemed so oblivious. Now, with his body responding to mine, it felt like we were in a safe zone. Where we should be. Where I could figure him out. Where he could figure on me.

"John? Shouldn't we get you out of those wet clothes of yours as well? Don't want you catching a cold."

We shared shy smiles with each other. Kidders kidding.

"Little help here, Ann? My fingers seem to be otherwise occupied."

Diary, I love men's chests. There's just something about them that tantalizes me; I bared his and my instant thought was: my God, but he is really such a man. I spread my hands flat on his ribs and traced their edges. Moved my hands up slowly, heard him catch his breath as my thumbs grazed his nipples and they hardened instantly. Eyes up at his and he was concentrating on my chest.

My hands dropped to his tummy just as he bent me backwards so his mouth could touch my breasts. He dragged his tongue slowly around one nipple and as I closed my eyes, he moved to repeat this on the other. Oh, he has such a nice mouth.

"John." A voice of such want. It cracked hard on his name. It reacted to how he made me feel in these moments. The reward for facing this fear. My fingers light on his stomach felt ripples there and I loved this involuntary reaction of his.

Tracing lightly through the hairline that disappeared beneath his jeans. Feeling down the front of wet jeans that clung indecently to the part of him that was alive with the coming possibilities. My hands couldn't get enough of the feel. It made him moan and utter a most obscene request.

Nodding against him. Whispering back with my own suggestion. He whimpered most appealingly and all fear evaporated from me. Strong arms gripped me, big hands cupped my ass, I wrapped my legs around his waist and hung from his neck as he picked me up and carried me through the house to my bedroom.

"Wait! Let me take off these muddy shorts before ..." I told him.

"Not a chance. Not yet."

He sat on the edge of the bed, plopping me astride his knees. His fingers crept up the bottom of my shorts and I gasped at how hot they were on the cool skin of my cheeks.

"Been wanting to stroke you there since you pranced in front of me at the table this morning."

I leaned back and looked down at him. His mouth was heading for my breasts again. Finger under his chin to force him to look in my eyes. "How long have you been having dirty thoughts about me, Sheriff Biebe? You've certainly been hiding them well."

Hard look from him that got right down and wiggled around inside my dripping cunt. "Since I read your first diary. I wanted to find out about you for myself. To see how you'd see me."

"I should have asked for you so much sooner. I just ... You're not going to hold a grudge against me forever, are you, John?"

"Doesn't seem that way."

His mouth sought mine. I smiled into the kiss. Got lost inside it. Next thing I was aware of, he was flipping me over onto the bed and dragging my shorts down. I watched as he stood and shoved his wet jeans down. I would have loved to have helped, but the show was too nice to stop. You know exactly what I mean, don't you, Diary?

Looking down at myself, I realized I was pretty well streaked in mud from rolling around in the garden. I suggested we shower. He held up a finger, marched in my bathroom and I heard him start filling the tub. When it was half full, he picked me up, telling me he didn't want me walking on my sprained ankle yet, then carried me to the bath. In the tub together, I let him wash the streaks of mud from my legs and pretended to protest when he leaned me back against his chest and began soaping down my breasts. By the time his fingers were diligently pretending to clean me below, he was whispering in my ear with some rather intriguing ideas.

Good clean dirty fun. There's just something about doing it in places like this, all slippery with soap and against the unyielding marble with warm water caressing you.

One moment, Diary, stays with me in this time. He found words I least expected from him. It made me see him in such a different way. He'd been on edge with me, he said, because he was so sure he wouldn't measure up to the other men to whom I'd dedicated diaries. He knew I'd write about him; it had made him hesitant. What would I write, he asked, with a voice that was a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.

"The truth, John," I murmured against his chest. "I remain ever faithful to the truth. When I write of you, of this time with you, I only hope the words will come that will tell of the impact you make on me. Of your gentle ways and your willingness to play even in the face of any concerns you might have."

Hands cupping my face, drawing me up to his lips. Hands drawing a languid caress down my back, hinting to me to raise to my knees over him. Hands stroking himself, preparing to come into me the first time.

Mouth joining mine in a gasp. Mouth smiling as it rested upon my throat. Mouth muttering to me, coaching me to new heights.

Wet. Aroused. Fearless. Rough. Urgent. The water cooled before we did. We didn't seem to really care. He felt so damned good to me no matter what he did. Slow. Careful. Experimenting. Learning something from him about what it meant to be willing, really willing, to let what will happen take place.

There are things about which I wonder after I see each of them. There are times when I do my wondering while one is still with me. The day he left, I asked myself why I sometimes feared what I most wanted in life.

Early on in my professional life, I had a male editor who was a mentor to me - when I was a brash, young reporter who always wanted the toughest assignments and yet was not-so-secretly scared shitless when they'd be given to me.

"You operate better out of fear of success," he told me one day. "You have the need to test yourself constantly, because you aren't sure if you're more afraid to fail or succeed. Wonder when you'll make up you mind?"

All those years later, I flashed on this conversation and realized something significant about myself. I still hadn't made up my mind, Diary.

But John Biebe told me something very curious before he left. We were at the airport garage; he was on his way to his new Number One, Reagan. After I parked, his hand on my cheek made me look over at him. He studied my eyes for a long moment.

"You can do anything you want," he said softly. "That's the wonder of Perve World, but that's also the danger. Don't be seduced by taking the easy way out. Make it mean something, each step you take."

Wonder if I'll take his gentle guidance any better than I had that earlier mentor?

Ah, you know me, Diary. I may have my complications, but I don't always do what's expected, do I? Somehow, I never see myself taking the easy way out. But I'm willing to be seduced.