Gentle reader, this story will make more sense if you read the first two chapters. Thanks to members of the Lit community who encouraged a romantic ending for these characters. I greatly appreciate your friendship. :) L8.
*
Saturday morning I wake in my lover's bed. He isn't here. That's because I pick him up at the airport this afternoon.
It's been three weeks, a long 22 days to be exact, since we saw each other last. He gave me a key so I could water the plants, bring in the mail, and keep the bed warm. He said he would be pleased, thinking about that last.
I stretch my arms wide and then hug myself. I cuddle my breasts and run my fingers through the curls at my groin. Within 12 hours, someone else will be doing this. I can't wait. The regions around my nipples are tender. Hecate is sending her warning. I figure three, maybe four days. My belly isn't bloated yet, though. My emotions aren't doing the rollercoaster. That's a mercy.
Gently I stroke the hidden pink flesh, just for a moment, then wiggle and bound out of bed. There's a lot to do. All the laundry has been done for a while now, but groceries and fresh flowers need to be bought. The bedroom needs to be set up for a special welcome home.
The errands don't take long. Back in the bedroom I set out the flowers and cue the music.
Music for Airports
. Perfect. New sheets go on the king-sized bed; I'm picky about organic cotton. I lay out my weapons: baby oil, a non-penetrating cream, and a lotion of liquid silk. Each has a different purpose. Lastly, I take a shower. Memories of another shower bring me a smile. I touch myself a little bit more, enjoying the tease, the anticipation.
On the way to the airport I remember the last night I saw him.
* * *
It was a pretty natural decision for the students, myself among them, to take the headmaster out for a little dinner before he left. About a dozen of us attended. We picked a restaurant called the Lone Star. The steak was supposed to be good.
Things started out pretty much as planned. We shared good conversation and talked shop a little. Our teacher described what he would be doing out west, judging tests and tournaments, helping the black belts out there improve their teaching. Due to his rank, he makes this trip about every other year.
I got up to go to the ladies' room, and Miss Greene stood up, too. As we left the table, somebody made the same old joke about why do women always pee together. Ha, ha.
On the way through the bar, a tall fellow swiveled around on his barstool. He stood in front of us, blocking our way.
"Well aren't yew a pretty couple of fillies," he drawled. His accent was fake and his breath was bad. I think he was overserved.
We tried to go around him but he didn't take the hint. He stood on my right and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I felt a nervous shock run through my system.
At that moment things started happening in slow motion. The
gatta
ran through my head:
Breathing in, I know I'm breathing in. Breathing out, I know I'm breathing out
. Despite the man's ugly grip, my shoulders relaxed.
Calmed, I looked him in the eye. "Take your hands off me," I said clearly.
He didn't. Instead he gave my shoulders a squeeze. "Now, darlin', don't be that way. Give us a kiss." He leaned down toward my face.
As if I were standing on the mat, I stepped through the movements. I put my right arm around his waist. He smiled and stood closer, utterly failing to realize he was dancing his rôle. With my left hand I got a good fistful of his upper right sleeve. I tugged on the sleeve and gave him a little push. The back of my right ankle hooked his left, and he tripped easily, and went down.
He took down three or four barstools with him. Some glasses broke and a couple of women shrieked.
My assailant was surprised and mad as hell. "YOU BITCH!" he roared. He made an effort to get back on his feet.
He was too slow. The barkeep sailed across the bar and the bouncer appeared as if by magic. I'll never forget the sight of my classmate, Rick Burke, sprinting like an Olympian toward the scene. Close on his heels were the rest of the artists. Everybody was shouting at once.
"What happened?" the 'keep demanded. He spoke with authority.
"She pushed me!" blustered the drunk.
I stood still, just being myself, a petite 5'4" woman wearing a dress. The bartender made his decision. "You want me to call the cops?" was the next question.
"No, that's okay. But I wouldn't mind if the gentleman left."
"Okay, you're outta here," grunted the bouncer. He did his job.
"Sorry, lady," said the bartender. "Your table's next round is on the house. Show's over!" he called to the rest of the patrons. "As you were."
Gradually the noise level returned to normal. People stared and the place was buzzing about what they had seen, or what they speculated. Nobody bothered us as we made out way back to the table.
My hands began to shake. I sat down and took a deep drink of beer, since there wasn't any water on the table. Water would have been better.
"So what happened," asked our teacher.
I let Andrea tell it. "That guy came up to us and put his arm around Stephanie. She was real cool about it, she just asked him nicely to take his hands off her.
"He wouldn't do it so she did it for him. She didn't hurt him though," she added quickly. "Just tripped him." Andrea mimed the movements.
I spoke up then. "I still have to pee!" The table erupted in laughter. The rest of the evening, I stayed by my lover's side.
* * *
I'm right there by the gate when he gets off the plane. I'd like to leap on him and wrap my legs around his waist, but we aren't officially dating. I settle for a big smile and a hug. That's reasonable. He gives me a demure little peck on the cheek. I give him a peck back.
"So how was your trip?"
"It was fine, it was fine. I'll tell you all about it later, but right now I'm really tired. That's a six-hour plane ride."
"I have just the thing."
