How I'd love to start this tale out with an inspiring insight into the meaning of life. Alas, 'tis not to be. There is nothing inspiring about this tale except for the man it centers around. He is an inspiration to us all, is he not?

Enter one inspiration: Terrence Thorne.

Take a gander this way, ladies. No, no, no. Eyes right, not left. To the left only lie men such as Jack Aubrey, Maximus and Bud White. Rather fancy Bud, do ya, Marie? So I see. And Angel's over there with happy eyes listening to Maxie Baby waxing eloquent in that way he has about some ancient fort they both know all about. And Jack ... whoo, baby ... Jack's always busy, isn't he? He's seemingly always surrounded by quite a few of the choice ladies and this night in question, he is charming sweet Erycina for all he is worth lest she slip away from the booth in which he's captured her ... attention.

So we turn our eyes back to the right and what do we see? Such a pitiful sight! An inspiration arriving all alone and looking rather forlorn. Let me just acknowledge what every woman in this Pub knows ... this is a man who inspires many things in me, chief among them is ... devotion. Thought I was going to say lust, didn't you? Heh. Well, that rather goes without saying, doesn't it?

I've been in the Pub maybe fifteen minutes when the inspiration enters. My only reason for dropping in the Pub this evening was ... oh, hell. I can't fool you ladies. I surely wasn't there to ogle the men -- of course not. How could you imagine such a thing? Heh. No. I was there to do my charity activity of the week by helping Uma with some dirty work. Er. I mean, I was there because Uma said if I didn't come help bus tables then she'd stop giving me free snacks every time I came by to visit. The Pub's been a might sight busier since it opened than she ever imagined it would be. She needed to hire more help, frankly.

Still, I like to think I'm a good friend. I like to pitch in where needed.

Can I help it if I happened to find out that someone in the Pub needed me more than Uma did that night? It started so innocent ... heh, yeah, I know you ain't buying that, but let's just say you will just for the sake of this story, okay?

So I'm innocently starting to bus tables and not-so-innocently scoping out the couples and triples ... when I hear Terry call out as he enters, "Uma -- I need a stiff drink. Got any oxygen as a chaser? Remind me to take it easy. Early night. Just one for the road. Seems a bit quiet at the moment? Where is everyone tonight?"

Uma and I exchange looks. We both sweep the Pub and then look back at Terry, who's checking things out ... and I can't help but laugh to myself about him and his sense of the sublime. Quiet? In that Pub? It only gets quiet in there when the men and women are up to naughty biz.

So I'm wiping down the table he decides will be his for the evening as Uma plops a stiff drink in the form of a full bottle in front of him. She gives him a smirk, me a wink and off she slides back to the bar where Dom's waiting to continue using all his charms on her.

Terry starts muttering darkly to himself as he pours a shot. "Aubrey is looking pretty pleased with himself. With any luck and a slight raising of his cholesterol, he'll give himself a coronary. Did I just say that? Well, scratch your eyes out, Terry. Must be that time of the month."

He gives me the rudest glare when I snicker at him. I know what's really up that night. His nose is out of joint because Uma's posted the scorecard and not only is Jack Aubrey leading the pack but he's about to score again that night ... and meanwhile, there's not a dame in sight who's got her sights zeroed in on this fine specimen of manhood.

"Awww, poor Terry. Sniff. You poor dear thing -- what's a man like you doing all alone here while everyone else has company?" I say as I pat his head and bend down to give him a mother's darling kiss on the top of his imagined cowlick. "Don't you worry, though. You look so sexy when you suffer. Someone's sure to take pity on you."

"Pity?" he growls out at me and I cannot help how that charges the air around him.

"Oooo. You look even sexier when you scowl at me like that," I sass. "Let's see. What else can I say to piss you off a bit more?"

I make a final swipe of the wood before him; then jiggle around a bit so his eyes will pay a bit more attention to me than they have been.

Leaning in over the tabletop and letting him have a better view of the part of me he's finally noticed, I coo, "Why don't you buy me a drink and let me think on it? I always sass better when I've been drinking."

His hand reaches across to stroke down my arm until it glances across my fingers and he pulls the rag from my grip. "Hey, Annie, pull up a chair. I'm in a better mood tonight. Just sitting here minding my own business, watching the antics. It's a good job I'm well behaved. About that drink ... I've got a bottle ... let's play a game. Every time someone cops a feel, we take a shot. Let's see who the boss throws out first, hey?"

I look at his bottle. I look at him. That mischievous smirk on his lips. That gleam in his eyes. The body language that's a man ramping up to predator. When he pulls a chair out, I don't even think about doing anything else. I slip down next to him and hope Uma's busy enough with Dom to not notice or she'll come over there and bitch at me for shirking my duties.

Terry is probably thinking the same thing because he grabs the bin with the glasses and plates that I'd been carting around from table to table, drops my cleaning rag in it and hustles it away to leave it in the kitchen. Out of sight, out of mind, eh?

He drops back into his seat only after he's casually drawn his warm hand across my nearly bare shoulders. I'm dressed for work, not play. But I am dressed for work in a bar so I've only got on a short little t-shirt with thin, round straps. I bet he can see how that one glancing touch of his fingers has already got my breasts paying attention. I smile to myself and gloat over my choice to not wear a bra that night.

Smoothly leaning in toward me, he says in this amused voice, "So about our little game. Shall we have a side wager about who gets tossed first? My money's on Cort and Bou but there's a chance with the combined libidos in here that we might be under the table first. You game?"

"Oh, baby, I'm always game where you're concerned but then you knew that," I joke back to him. He smells good. I lean in for a better sniff of his aftershave. My head's weak, but then we all know that, huh, ladies? I'm staring at his lips. His tongue peaks out. Does he have some kind of radar to know how hot that makes us? "So let's make this a bit more adventurous, shall we? How about this ... when we slip under the table, I get a kiss from you and ... hmm ... What would you want from me?"

I am rewarded by a wide, evil grin. "You have to ask?" he says in that certain voice.

Oh my. He's in good form this night. I clear my throat. "Hey, what're we drinking anyway? Please say it's nothing disgusting," I say, my voice all sweet and innocent. Bat my eyelashes at him. "Notice how much I trust you to be a gentleman?"

"Annie, I am always a gentleman, you know that," he says and then his hand drops down to touch my knee. Nothing but skin ... it's summer ... who wears stockings in summer? Not me. His fingers slide up a bit further as he gives me a solid look that is not disguised by his innocent smile. I put my hand down there to stop the advance. I'm easy but not even I am that easy. But he's Terry and he knows I'll let him if he's nice about it. He touches the hem of the short skirt I've worn that evening. Sitting as I am next to him, with my legs crossed, the hem's more than halfway between my knees and my nether regions. He stops there. At the hem. He actually makes a point of me knowing he's stopping there because it's his choice to do so. Gives me this come-hither look. Lifts the bottle in question. "Scotch. Neat."

I gulp. Combo of the way he knows me and the way I know him. He's no longer feeling sorry for himself; now, he's sure and cocky and plotting something.

He turns and looks around the bar. It's dark in there. Dark wood paneling; low lighting; booths and tables around; pool table in one corner; dart board in another; juke box and dance floor face the bar. There are lots of other people in there. I try to follow his line of sight but he's sly in what he chooses to study.

"Now ... get a load of Arthur, the Boy Wonder ... my protégé ... wandering hands, love. That's a shot all round," he says to me. He pours us each a shot. Slugs his down. Leans back in his seat. My thigh feels cold without his hand there. He nods to me, raises an eyebrow. I pick up my shot, take a deep breath and sip it down as fast as I can. He chuckles at my girly girl way of doing shots with him. I grimace at the way it burns going that fast.

"How you holding up?" he asks me. When I nod because I can't talk, he giggles. "Fancy holding me up then?"

I glare at him and wish I had some water to chase it down.

"How long d'ya reckon until Eagle Eyes gets the drop on Arthur and his lady?" he says and points over at Arthur and Wendy. I blink hard when I notice ... Artie's put another move on Wendy and that means ... Terry's already poured the next shots for us. He raises his and presses mine into my hand. "Hey ... up yours, Annie ... that'll put hair on your chest..."

I try so hard not to make that choking sound. But I want to prove I'm up to his challenge. Not to brag, but I have been raised in a town that rather makes an art of drinking socially. That said, I tend to be a bit of a lightweight so I'm already a bit worried about what I've gotten myself involved in. After all, my city of residence may be known for excess, but his country of birth seems to have bred men who drink hard and play hard. At the same time. If the rate of copped feels going on in the Pub doesn't slow down, I fear I may pass out in five minutes.

"Oy vey. That is some fine scotch, Terry. It goes down a bit too smooth, if you know what I mean."

It would have been a much more effective statement if I hadn't been croaking when I said it. I avoid looking at him because I know he's grinning at me. But in looking back out at the bar, it's when I first notice ... "Okay. Whew ... The lights are a bit brighter."

His hand's back on my thigh. This time, his fingers sneak under the hem. I uncross my legs. I know, I know. What can I say?

Still pretending I don't know what's going on, I say, "Okay, so. Let's see what I spy. Oh my! Lach and Cass are really ... er ... that's a lot of copped feels there, eh, Terry? Do we drink to the hand on her ass or the hand on his or the hand on her ... hey, what do we do when they kiss like that?"

He's already pouring another shot for us both. I'm eyeing mine and wondering how I'm going to do this. Before I lose my brain to alcohol that night, I think real quick about how I can fake drinking anymore without him catching on. My eyes dart around us.

"Anyway, I guess that's another shot unless you think we should drink a shot for each feel? No, we shouldn't. We'll get drunk too fast at this rate," I say as I pick up my shot. I think maybe I can distract Terry so I can figure out what to do with this. I lean in toward him and coo for all I'm worth. "You look so cute when you smile. Come sit a bit closer to me and let me whisper in your ear a bit. Yeah. Like that."

He's tossed off his shot in a second and his version of coming closer to me includes a full body press and a wet, warm, lingering kiss along the side of my neck. I about melt into him and he doesn't notice when I pour the contents of my shot glass into the plant behind me. He nuzzles in and I feel his tongue. I also feel his hand checking to see if my heart's beating. So let's see ... that's one hand under my skirt and one hand very smoothly stroking over my breasts and I bet anything that no one has really seen anything obscene because he's made sure I'm angled with my back to the rest of the people in there. Just that thought of how I'm a few minutes next to him and he's already got me so hot ... it makes me shiver hard. I can hear his breathing change and know that's the effect he was aiming for. And I also know this ... he's had this whole thing plotted out since he issued the first challenge.

"Let me fill your glass up, love. You're one drink behind already," he says low and hard. I gulp nervously because I think maybe he saw me pour that last shot into the plant ... I'll have to be careful ... he's watching me close now ... I'm looking at the shot and thinking I may have to drink another one ... how many is that? And then he gives me a tough smile; his fingers grip the shot glass and he raises it to my lips and says, "There we go ... down in one, hey? Curry just scored a direct hit..."

I sputter and choke as he won't let me do anything but chug the shot. My hands are on my throat and I feel tears in my eyes.

"Now what were you saying? Sit closer. Whisper in your ear," he says as he proceeds to snuggle right up next to me and whisper in my ear. I can feel the scotch zipping through me and feel like I need to fight back. I need to divert his attention ... but he's so close ... he feels so good ... so close ... God, he's got such a nice body ... and I know what it feels like ... and my hand cannot resist just a small grope ... he's warm and inviting and accommodating. He spreads his legs and lets me cop a good one. He groans softly in my ear. We are on the same wavelength, I'm thinking.

Until ... until he removes my hand from his hardening crotch and confuses me.

"Annie, that was a feel. Naughty girl. You have to take another two shots. That is the rule, I'm afraid ... this is a no contact sport if you're a player." I sputter out words of self-defense ... I didn't know it was against the rules, I tell him. He shakes his head, feeling badly to have to punish this infraction. "Sorry about that - but I'm also the ref."

I narrow my eyes at him as he pours a shot for me and hands me the glass. Something tells me, something's wrong here. But he never gives me time to really think it out. He's pressing me to obey, to honor the rule. The no-contact rule.

"Drink it in one, Ann ... down the hatch. You won't even notice it ... good girl ... still feeling warm?"

Lord. I'm in trouble already. I'm trying to figure out what to do when I hear Jack telling Erycina about how low he feels that France has beaten England in some soccer game. He does sound sad. He sounds in need of comfort. I feel so sorry for Jack. I look over at him, feel a tear at his sadness ... I lean in his direction and mumble something about him needing comforting ...

"Leave Jack alone - it was only 2-1. That does not require the attention of two comforters..." Terry says darkly. And I decide to play up to Terry ... to pretend I'm already a lot drunker than he thinks I am. Maybe if I can convince him I'm already schnockered, he'll either stop pouring shots down me or he'll drop his vigilance and I can pour the shots down the plant's roots. So I affect a slight slur ...

"... but there're two Jack's ... aren't there?" I mumble. I make a show of rubbing my eyes and looking again. Then look at Terry and blink hard a few times. "Wait. You're not in good focus all of a sudden. Let me just grab hold here before I slide under the table ..."

I clutch his belt but my hand 'accidentally' slips. He sits bolt upright when I grab him hard but even in shock, he's going to uphold the rule. And I'm knowing, aren't I, by his reaction ... the fucker's killing me with this no-contact rule.

"What do you mean I have to drink two more ... Terry ... Are you playing with me?" His look of innocence cracks me up. I toss the first shot into the plant when he turns at the sound of the jukebox cranking up with some hard rock song. He turns back, looks me up and down, then pours me another one.

"You're giggling an awful lot, Annie," he says against my ear, all warm breath and scotch-wet lips. "Did ya know you always giggle a lot when you drink too much?"

The second shot's in my hand and he's watching me. I need another diversion. I lean in on him; he's noting the movement of my cleavage. "God. Have I ever told you how good you kiss? Here. Let me show you. You'll like this..."

I toss the scotch in the plant just as I plant a most lascivious, nasty kiss on him. His hand's gripping the back of my head so he can extend the kiss. He settles the kiss into something searing and seductive. I can barely breathe. He has to hold me against him for a moment until I can regain control. He's looking over my head around the bar ... I figure he's checking to be sure that we're not attracting undue attention. Say what you want about Terry and his voyeurism of the other couples in the bar, but the last thing he'd ever want is to be seen in any overtly obscene behavior with me in that Pub. He cares a bit too much about me to treat me so casually. It's one reason I feel so safe to be outrageous with him. I know he'll do his best to be sure that only he really knows what's going on. So I may cop a feel and may let him cop a feel, but as long as it's under the table where no one can see, that's okay. And we may kiss, but we won't make it a full body contact sport in a public place like this.

"Hey. Cort's fondling Bou," he whispers to me.

I had been so sure he was ending this game ... that he had other plans than to just drink me into a stupor. But maybe that's not what's going on? What I'd really like, more than anything at that moment, is for us to get out of there so we can take advantage of the lowered inhibitions we are both feeling just then. "I can't drink anymore, Terry ... if I do, I'll be under the table and if I'm under the table ... I promise you, you'll pay cuz I'll play around with you while I'm down there ... You wouldn't want that, would you?" I say, hoping he'll give me a break ... hoping he'll see this game shouldn't be the end of our night.

His eyes are a bit too even. And it flashes to me ... I haven't actually seen him drink more than one or two shots, have I? "You been taking the required shots, too, right? How come you're not drunk?" I ask him.

He just gives me this look. It pisses me off. I feel like calling his bluff. He wants me drunk and falling under the table? That's his game? Fine. I slither down out of my chair like I've let the scotch completely obliterate any good sense or class I might have owned at one time.

His reaction is instant. He grabs me before my ass hits the floor and drags me back upright, giving a rather loud chuckle and I realize he's playing for any audience who might have witnessed what I'd just done, "Hey, Annie ... take it easy ... I've no objection to you playing down there but they are my feet, I can't say I have quite as many nerves in them as other parts of my body ... Any chance of you raising your sights a bit higher?"

He's pulled me up and I'm perched in his lap. I snuggle in and begin making loud kissy noises against his neck. He stiffens when my hand drops to his groin and cups him, playing with him while I whisper in his ear to note how much the nerves in this one area of his body seem to not object to my attentions.

"Now, do I have to take two more shots for copping that feel, Terry? Because it was so worth it," I say to him.

"No, I think you've had enough to drink. Let's call it a draw, hey? Yeah ... you kept up with me one for one. I can't drink anymore. I've really met my match..." He clears his throat and pries me off him as I tell him how sweet he is. His eyes are soft on me. I think maybe he knows what I've been up to ... that I'm nowhere near as drunk as I'm making out. His voice is pitched high enough to be heard by anyone nearby ... playing to the audience again. "What's that? You want to what?"

I smirk at him and then hide my face in his neck to keep from giggling too loudly. Hey, I may not be drunk but I am not sober, either. I can't be this close to him and not want him. I can't be sitting there in his hold, rubbing up on his body and not want more. I want you, I tell him.

"Not in here, love ... I think we better get you to bed..." he says as he pulls me to my feet. My heart flips over; my groin sends an electric charge through the rest of my body.

He's leading me out of the Pub; my balance seems steady ... probably because I'm holding on to his arm with both hands for all I'm worth. I notice no one's paying attention. They're all a bit too busy in what they are engaged in. I see John Biebe coaxing Clarity into a booth. And the King Of Smooth, one Dino O'Leary himself, is showing absolutely no mercy to his Cara.

On the other hand, Mr. Cranky, or Zack Grant as others know him, is taking the opposite tack from Dino ... I'm not sure of his charms but it seems this FellatioBabe woman has got his number. Think it's mutual, frankly. And funny. Thankfully, my eyes drift from that sight to the sweet view of East trying to impress the WildCard in the bunch.

Just before Terry opens the door, he takes one look back at the bar. I follow his gaze. I notice Hando and Scarlet ... and I know, Hando's having the time of his life. Dominic's at the other end of the bar, hanging over it, chatting up Uma. In a nearby booth, I see John Nash and Eris. Nash is a most unexpected Don Juan but whatever he's doing that night, he's got the attention of a woman who seems to know she's met a man worth knowing. And I'm turning back to leave when I notice Lachlyn deep inside the shadows of a booth and sitting with her is Stephen Maturin. It makes me smile ... two deep souls ... two adventurous minds.

Terry's now intent on getting me out of there. Anxious now to escape into privacy. Delighted to take advantage of my charged up libido. Wishing to put his own to use for me. Our eyes meet. I'm feeling very playful ... maybe the scotch is only now making itself more fully known. I bump into him in the doorway. He cannot resist himself ... his urge to show me he's the man. His body nudges rudely into mine and presses me back into the doorjamb. My voice drops low and I crook a finger at him. "Come let me whisper another naughty request in your ear, Terry. Let me tell you what I'd most like to be doing to you if we were alone..."

So I tell him. Bluntly. He blinks a few times and glances outside, nervous, excited, eager.

His reaction makes me giggle. Actually, everything makes me want to giggle all of a sudden. As he pulls me out of the doorway, I feel his arm go around my waist and he's hustling me to the parking lot. "You're blushing, Terrence Thorne. But you didn't say no, did you? Mmm?"

He says nothing. Just opens his car door, whisks me into the seat, bends over me to fasten the seatbelt, gives me a blistering kiss before he closes the door ... and then he's behind the wheel and off we go into a neon-lit night.

I watch reds, blues, yellows and pinks race before my eyes. He says something to me but I don't really hear him distinctly. I suddenly feel the rush of wind full in my face and realize he's lowered my window. I lean over to feel the wild play of rough, tough air as it pulls at my hair and snaps at my face. I would close my eyes but the view is so pretty.

Before long, the car slows and then stops. I'm leaning on my arms stretched out through the open window when I see him come around to my side to let me out of the door. He bends over and takes a good look at me.

"Let's walk on the beach," I giggle to him. "Here ... lift me out through the window. Show me what a big strong man you are."

He gently pushes me back into the car before opening the door and pulling me up to stand before him. My hands are on his buckle and he's trying to control me. "No beaches around, Annie. How 'bout we just get you to bed like we said," he says against my ear.

Next thing I know, he's sweeping me up in his arms, telling me to behave and he's walking somewhere ...

"This is not where I'm staying," I tell him as I realize we are not at my hotel but at his place. "I thought you were putting me to bed?"

"I didn't say I was putting you in your bed," he says in his negotiator voice, the one he uses when he's closed the deal.

"That's true," I whisper to him as he looks at me and I feel my panties getting wet at the idea that I'll be at his mercy. Is that too crude to admit? But it's the truth. It's what he does to me.

So he puts me to bed. His bed. But not before he does his best to help me sober up. At least a little bit. I'd not be much good to him if I was feeling so little pain as to be unable to respond to his nicest touches.

He sticks me in his shower when I refuse to cooperate with his insistence that we'll keep walking until I stop trying to go to sleep. It's cold and I am crying so he comes in with me and warms it up because I promise to be a good girl and do whatever he tells me. He helps me wash my hair but he gets distracted and begins to wash my body ... warm, soapy, slick hands from behind. I close my eyes and sag into his embrace and moan at the feel of his enjoyment of my body. As I'm rinsing the suds out of my hair, he whispers to me and apologizes for getting me drunk. I get all teared up and know I'm sobering up. After the shower, I dutifully drink water by the glassful and then walk on his treadmill until I need a new shower.

After that shower, I go looking for him. He's stretched out on his bed. Looking like he just thought he'd rest his eyes and wait on me. But he's asleep. Not too asleep, I figure. Just napping. I toss my towel off and gently part the folds of the towel he's wearing around the waist. Not that the towel actually hid his wares or anything.

Soft bulge. I finger his tempting sac and gently plant a kiss on each roundness. He stirs ever so slightly. I glance up but his eyes are shut and he looks peaceful. Most times when I've got Terry nude before me and we're heading where I figured we were heading, he's already hardening. This is a rare chance then. It's not a tired, flaccid cock before me ... it's a gorgeous penis waiting to bloom to its full potential.

It feels odd to have it in my mouth in this state. I've done this before ... like when I wake before him and he's not yet got his morning woody ... but this is so pristine as he's just showered. It's almost virginal. I wonder about how he felt the first time a woman took him inside her mouth like this. It's one of those crazy thoughts, isn't it? Imagining an experienced man back when he had yet to have his first lesson? Trying to picture the raw material that became a man who takes pleasure in what he can do for a woman and what a woman is capable of making him feel?

As I muse on this, he begins to harden slightly. In this state, I can cram all of him in my mouth so as he hardens, I must work to tend to his length the best I can. By the time my hands are needed to help me, I glance back up and know he'll be watching me. He couldn't sleep through this.

His eyes are hooded slits as he looks down at me. He swallows hard when our eyes meet. He's got one hand playing with one of his nipples. His other hand is holding on to the post of his headboard. He arches his back and presses himself further inside my throat.

Christ.

I take one hand and run it slowly up his abdomen until I reach his fingers that are covering his hardened nipple. I join in. Now he closes his eyes and arches his neck back and simply gives in to the pleasure he feels. I like this about him. How he's not shy to take what feels good and revel in it. I ease slowly off his cock and before I leave it completely, I give it a long, affectionate kiss right at the tip.

"Tastes good?" he asks me in this rough voice.

"See for yourself," I say.

He grabs my face and yanks me to him. Our mouths are open and our tongues love to play this game. While I'm distracted, he takes over. It's now his show. He lifts my hips with one hand, the other gathers his hardness and probes about in my wetness until its well-coated. I struggle and squirm; he knows what I want. He goes deep inside me, pulling me down gradually ... wanting me to be focused on each portion of him as he stretches me.

He cannot keep me in the kiss because my need to pant and whisper to him is too strong for him to control. My forehead drops to his chest as my body seeks relief. My back bows with the effort I am putting into moving rhythmically over him. It feels too good. I cannot last. "Help me," I pant out. "Help me come. I'm so close. You're so good."

"Take your time," he says ... only in his voice, I hear the pride he takes in being able to do this to me. He wants to keep me on the edge now only because he knows what it will be like for me later ... when he allows me to come.

I put my hand down to rub myself but he grabs my wrist and won't let me. I raise my head slightly to look at him and he says two words: "Sit up."

His hands are on my waist and he helps me keep my balance as I ease upright. My God. It takes my breath away to feel how he seems deeper. He begins to move me even as he's thrusting up into me. Oh damn. He's so strong. We are both of us suddenly reeling with the way this position feels. My head falls back as my back arches, he grabs my hands before I fall over and I am grinding away at him even as he's continuing to shove up into me with this perfect pace ... and he's talking to me ... chanting out the rhythm ... cheering me on ... encouraging me when I think I'll falter before I can hit the heights. He lets me go ... I feel his fingers capture my clit and he massages it between them. It's not so much a scream as a strangled plea for mercy when I come.

Flying so fast, so far. And I know part of it is the way I've still got enough lingering effects of alcohol in me to simply give in to what feels good, like he does. The way he's making me come ... I stay with the coming for a long time, until I'm shaking from the exertion and would cry out to him to stop except it feels so damned good that I don't want it to stop. But they do slow eventually and I'm left with this feeling of being raw and exposed as my body feels softened. This is when I can catch my breath a bit.

We might have gone on to engage in a night of sexual Olympics but I never need that as much as I need to feel that after this kind of release, he's going to hold me safe from the world until I'm back inside myself again. Through tear-stained lashes, I look down at him. The shadow of his beard is the perfect compliment to the way his hair's now messed up. His eyes are sharp and intent. I bend toward him and kiss him hard, deep, wet. I am moving, up, down, around. He is moving with me; his hands on my hips are clutching in tighter than he must realize. I will have marks in the morning but I like that. I like it when he seems to forget his own strength.

And then he's bucking beneath me, seeking to go in harder, rougher. Grunting with the exertion until he comes like he's about to die for the sake of coming this way.

When he's a little calmer, but not completely over that sensation, he pulls me down atop his chest. His arms surround me and he squeezes me in tight. When he releases me, we kiss.

This is the real kiss. The one I only get in this kind of moment. When we're both of us beyond the coming and into tender aftermath.

And just before I drift off to sleep, nestled by his side and holding his hand, it occurs to me. I never even made it one complete cycle around the bar when I was bussing tables. I picture the glasses piling up.

Guess it's true what they say ... good help is hard to find.

But a hard man is good to find. 

Surely Uma will understand?