Crossings

2. Dessert

(part 2)

Morgan drove a metallic light blue BMW 230i convertible. The paint matched her eyes in hue if not intensity, and it had a stick shift. The top was up. I opened her door for her, it just seemed the right thing to do. Be still my heart... the hands and feet and bare legs of a beautiful woman putting a manual transmission through its paces remains one of the sexiest images I know. I was trying to be unobtrusive, but she must've noticed me glancing at her hand on the gearshift because she started overtly fondling it, another irreversible step for my consciousness of her sexual power, and it became obvious that she not only knew, she wanted it that way.

She was a really good driver, too, like she'd taken a class at a racing school or maybe the kind that teaches rich kids to evade kidnappers. Callie would have to do some fancy driving to keep up if Morgan wanted us to be more alone, but Morgan made sure we stayed together.

"I thought you were older," she said. "Wasn't that your son next to you at the Christmas Eve service? I thought he was almost my age."

"Busted," I said. "Yes, I'm more than twice your age."

"You look really good, Bob, like you take great care of yourself." She reached over to touch me on the leg, just lightly, briefly.

"Thank you, Morgan," I said. "I hope I won't get into trouble if I say that you look wonderful yourself."

She shivered. I'd become used to feeling what a woman experienced without having to infer it, but for some reason I couldn't with Morgan. However, from just what seemed to be happening from the outside, she was getting very aroused. We were on the freeway now and she reached to my leg again, this time leaving her hand there, just her fingertips touching, moving ever so slightly. She took a deep, unsteady breath.

"I thought you were married," she said.

"I am," I said. "I don't actually know where Joanna is right now... like I said at the restaurant, it's been a crazy year."

"It seems like you and Callie are a couple," she said. "A really cute couple, I might add." Her hand was moving on my leg now, lightly stroking while she drove one-handed. "My father's in great shape, too," she said. "He works hard at it, but I get the sense that yours is even better, like you're solid muscle... I can feel that in your leg." She breathed out in a puff, seemed to shiver again.

I put my hand on hers, moved her hand back to the gearshift. I'd gotten pretty damn hard from what she was doing and didn't want it going further. But then she was fondling the knob again, smiling impishly. So much for that.

"I get the sense that you're also really athletic, like if you weren't wearing a seatbelt you could jump out of this car... in a single bound." She smiled.

This was going a little too fast for me. I didn't respond. She reached over and put her hand on mine. A soft, delicate hand, small gentle fingers like a child's. Moved my hand to her bare knee, began moving it under the flare of her jeans.

"I'm a virgin, you know?" she said. "And I'm going to stay that way for the foreseeable future. But that doesn't mean I don't know how to please a man, very much, or a woman, or both at the same time like you wouldn't believe, and to take my own pleasure. I'm also very kinky, you would not believe how kinky."

I'd already withdrawn my hand by the time she finished her second sentence. Her leg was a revelation, as soft and smooth as silk or her cheek, even as toned as it was. I was pretty damned hard.

"I won't try to take you away from Callie or take Callie away from you... she's a very beautiful woman and I would love to share you with her for as long as you'll both have me."

I had time for a few breaths, struggling to keep my breathing and the rest of myself under control. She was waiting for a reply.

"When I first met you," I said, "you said I had something you wanted, something you needed. What did you mean?"

She was exiting the freeway, downshifting to surface streets, double-clutching. Yeah, this girl could drive. She seemed suddenly nervous, like this was a question she didn't want to answer.

"Something about you felt... out of balance," she said, "like... like... well, I've never felt anything like it before, and I wanted to get to know you better, to learn more."

I let that flow over me, around me, through me, like it was something I'd read in my grimoire and needed to let settle in before I could make sense of it. It felt honest and true, but also like it wasn't the whole answer.

"Do you still feel that?" I asked.

Morgan shook her head, touched my leg for a few moments before downshifting for another red light. "What I feel in you now is something totally different, almost like... like water running fast and deep under a still pond. I don't understand how you could seem so much younger than the last time I saw you. Or why that makes me feel so..." She reached for my hand again, placed it on her breast and moaned. "Oh... Ga..." she said, gasping.

I removed my hand as gently as I could, not without resistance. Her frilly peasant blouse revealed little of her form except her midriff and bare shoulders and most of her arms, and while all of that was lovely indeed, what she had under her blouse was only hinted at, but now I knew... her breast was soft, and warm, and surprisingly full for such a slender frame, and while she wore a bra, it was there to conceal rather than display. Her nipple rose almost immediately to become as thick and long and meaty as any woman's I'd ever felt.

She came at that stoplight, completely hands-free, an increasingly guttural moan for more than 10 seconds until she was breathless, her eyes mostly closed, her hands clutching the steering wheel so tight that her knuckles turned white. She sighed and tapped me on the leg, like I was a broiling hot pan and she didn't want to get burned.

There were no more traffic lights. We were winding our way uphill, past a few stop signs, a Holmby Park sign and homes that kept getting larger, farther from the road, and farther apart. The driveway she finally turned into was 70 meters long, wound between two relatively modest homes and ended in a circular drive around a fountain with a mansion on the far side. It reminded me of the dark mage's estate, but this one was stone while his had been wood, and this one was bigger. A man emerged from the front door and opened Morgan's.

"Welcome home, young mistress," he said, backing away, his eyes lowered.

"Thank you, James," she replied. "Please let my parents know we'll share dessert with our guests."

He re-entered the house. I exited Morgan's car to open Callie's door, took her hand to help her out. Not that she needed it, but it felt like the right thing to do.

"Whoo," I said to her softly, exhaling through puckered lips.

Morgan led us inside, her expression dreamy and satiated. Callie raised her eyebrows at me.

The entry was as large as my entire living room. Morgan removed her shoes and motioned that we should do the same. She handed Mariano and me nondescript pairs of grey-brown socks, but it took only a moment to realize that it was by far the most comfortable thing I'd ever put on my feet.

"Cashmere," Morgan said, smiling, then handed me slippers that looked furry inside and had a bear logo on one side. "Outdoorsy like you. I think you'll like them." She leaned up to kiss me on the cheek, just a peck. Then she did the same with Mariano, who reddened.

Callie got two pairs to choose from. One was long and white, like a cableknit sweater, like leg warmers with feet, the other subtly diamond-patterned almost-sheer hose with a butterfly worked into the side of one and lace elastic tops that came to mid-thigh. And a garter. I could barely begin to imagine how spectacular my beautiful Callie would look in them, and I think Morgan noticed my breath catching, but Callie chose the white socks instead, Morgan handing her a pair of slippers that matched mine, then kissed her on the cheek, too, lingering longer than she had with us boys.

For herself, she chose stockings like those she'd offered Callie but only knee-high, sitting down to put them on, showing all of us a whole lot of shapely bare leg in the process, her eyes on me as she did, a little bite of her lower lip to make her message that much more unambiguous.

An older woman came out to greet us, resembling nothing so much as a sleeker, silvery version of Morgan. She also seemed familiar in at least one other way, which I would have to think about more to fully process. Her hair was silver-blonde, with silvery-white lipstick and fingernail polish, a finely wrought yin-yang pendant of lapis lazuli, turquoise, and silver around her neck, and a bracelet like Morgan's winding around one forearm except where Morgan's ended in simple bulbs of metal, this woman's ended in a lion's head on one end and a lioness' on the other.

"Welcome to our home," she said. "My name is Grace. Morgan is my daughter. I'm very pleased to meet you, Morgan was very excited to learn you would be coming." She offered her hand to me the same way Morgan had, seeming to expect that I would kiss it, and this time I did. Then she came in closer and offered her cheek the same way Morgan had, and we air-kissed. She did the same with Callie and Mariano.

"Now then," she said, smiling, "let's say hello to the boys in my life," and led us inside, except that a few paces later she slowed enough to take my hand and squeeze it. "I can understand why Morgan was so excited to see you again," she whispered, and winked at me.

Two doorways later was a sitting room, high-ceilinged, a table and chairs in the middle, comfy sofas and chairs closer to the walls.

"Be a dear and help serve the flan," Morgan told me. "I'll get the truffles ready." She offered her cheek again, but this time, as I bent down to touch mine to hers, she reached both hands behind me as if for a hug but instead clutched my head from behind, her fingers in my hair, squeezing hard as she brushed her lips against me. She stepped away, her eyes on mine, smiled impishly, her hands in fists at her side, then turned to walk into the kitchen.

Grace had left the three of us alone and Callie's expression was as articulate, and even a little conflicted, as I'd ever seen. She took my hand and whispered into my ear.

"What happened?"

"She likes us," I said. "She wants more."

Mariano had the pastry box open on a sideboard, next to a stack of plates and a tray of immaculately polished silverware. Callie and I came over to help, slicing the flan into five larger pieces and three smaller ones after Callie said "I want a smaller piece. I'm feeling a little insecure," but she smiled as she said it. I reached around her, gave her a big hug, kissed her neck and then on the lips.

"I love you, Calista," I said, which made her smile into me.

A door on the far side of the room opened, a tall man my age holding it for Grace, two others behind, much younger. Or anyway, that older man seemed about the age I used to be - I was 20 years younger now. I'd seen their younger son at the Christmas Eve service, and he looked to be about 16. The elder was my height and absolutely looked the part of a future CEO. Their father was an inch taller, fit, clean-cut, distinguished, obviously intelligent, like he was already a CEO. He came over to shake my hand with a very strong grip that I matched, holding back the impulse to give something even stronger back.

"Bob, this is Michael, my husband," Grace said.

"Call me Mike," he said to me, trying to squeeze a little harder without being obvious, then gave up and withdrew. "I can see why Morgan thought so highly of you. Please join me in the study after I've met your companions, especially your lovely lady friend. These are my sons, Joe and Kevin. You would've seen Kevin at the Christmas Eve Mass, but Joe was away at school."

Joe was the older one, the one who looked like he would take his Dad's job someday. He shook my hand. "It was football," he said. In peripheral vision I saw Mike kissing Callie's hand the same way I'd kissed Grace's.

"Football on Christmas Eve? Bowl game?"

Joe grimaced. "The national championship was a couple weeks later. We lost."

"Joe was MVP of his team and his conference," Grace said, patting his arm. "He played really well. It was a heartbreaker."

"My oldest son plays high school ball," I said. "Defensive end, all-league, but he's more into lacrosse."

"I did that until coach asked me to focus on football. We won the championship the year before."

"Joe was MVP then, too," Grace said, smiling.

"Have you graduated?" I asked.

"Yep, I'm out," he said.

"NFL?"

"My agent said I would be a late-round draft pick, but honestly I'd rather be in business," he said. "Football is a lot of work for what'll probably be a short career and one injury after another, with a good chance that one of them will be permanent. I was lucky to get out in one piece."

"You sound like a smart man," I said.

"That's my Joe," Grace said.

"Very nice to meet you, Bob... I hope I see you again," he said, then backed away so he could greet Callie while Grace introduced me to her younger son.

"Bob, this is Kevin. He'll be a junior at the same high school where you and Morgan met."

"Very nice to meet you, Kevin," I said. Kevin squeezed my hand as hard as he could, but he wasn't fully grown and his father had squeezed harder. I squeezed back slightly less than he did.

"Nice to... meet you, too... Bob," Kevin said, his breath coming short.

"It's a good place, I know," I said. I thought about mentioning that Joanna's father and brothers also attended, which is why we'd been there on Christmas Eve, but that would just raise more questions. This had definitely become the strangest encounter of my life.

Kevin released my hand, flexed his shoulders, backed up a step, winked at me as if I were a girl he was trying to impress, then turned to follow Joe in greeting Callie. I turned to Mike, whose arm was linked in Grace's.

"You have a wonderful family," I said.

"Thank you," Mike said. "We're very fortunate."

Joe walked over. "I think I'm in love with Callie, I kid you not," he told me.

I ducked my head a little... I was already head over heels, but saying so might be problematic. "Me too," I said, as if I were half-joking. "She has that effect on people."

"You kids all have a nice time," Joe said. "I need to study."

"He's prepping for his first MBA year," Grace said. "He'll be at the University of Chicago. I'm so proud of him."

"Gotta go," Kevin said. "Nice to meet you."

"Bob, Mariano, will you join me in my study?" Mike asked.

"Good, us girls need to get better acquainted," Grace said, smiling at Callie.

Mike's study was what you might expect in an old-fashioned downtown club where women were once unwelcome and are probably still scarce. Dark wood, leather furnishings, brass rails, a sideboard with liquor in one stoppered crystal decanter after another, a fully stocked bar behind.

"I'm a bourbon and cognac man," Mike said, smiling. "Pappy, anyone?"

"I've never tried Pappy," I said. "I've always been curious, but honestly I don't usually go for bourbon... I'm more about single malt. But cognac, I've had a few XO's I liked very much."

"Tequila for me, please," Mariano said. I glanced over at him.

"Mike, for future reference, which way to the bathroom?" I asked.

Mike pointed behind him to a closed door that blended into the wall paneling so well it was almost unnoticeable. 'His study has its own bathroom,' I thought to myself.

"Thank you. You have a beautiful home," I said.

"If you like a good XO, I have just the thing," Mike said, unstopped a bottle with a golden spiral descending from its stopper, poured generous drams into balloon snifters that could only have been Reidel, or maybe Waterford, or...

"The glass is Schott Zwiesel," he said. "I like something heavier than a Reidel. The cognac is Frapin Cuvée 1888, not XO but you might like it even more."

Truth is, XO is pretty rarified cognac for me, and I'm not sure I ever developed the taste to properly appreciate its subtleties, though the few times I've had it suggested strongly that additional study was warranted. As long as someone else was paying. How did he know exactly what I'd been wondering?

"Mariano, I don't drink so much tequila, but Mexico and Ireland go back a long way together, much farther than most people think, and to an Irishman like me, any culture that puts as much love into its spirits as you do south of the border is a kindred. I have a few options." He spread his arm to a section of his first shelf above the bar.

"Añejo, if you please," Mariano said.

"May I suggest a Don Pilar Extra?," Mike asked, and Mariano nodded agreeably. Like me, he'd probably never heard of what Mike was pouring for him. The bottle reminded me of Macallan.

Mike turned back to me, raising his glass to both of us. "In case you're wondering, it's my business to understand what other people are thinking. Sláinte." He swirled his glass, had a good sniff, and then a healthy sip.

"Salud," Mariano said, and mimicked what Mike had done.

"La reine," I said, and buried my nose in the glass. I knew I was playing with fire, but given this crazy situation, I felt I could do no less. I could see Mike eyeing me, as I'm sure I will with one or more young men when Aly is a few years older and a situation anything like this ever comes up, but I was also fully involved in working through the mystery of this wonderful thing he'd poured for me. I had a sip a full minute later. My. Oh. My. Time seemed to slow, centered around a spot in my forehead, just above my eyebrows. I looked up.

"You're Canadian, then?" Mike asked, a little on edge. My awareness caught up again.

"That is absolutely... amazing," I said. "Thank you very much for introducing me... I'm now ruined for life, because... nothing from my country is anything like that." Then I nodded. "Guilty," I said. "I am Canadian."

Mariano was walking stiff-legged to the bathroom door. He disappeared inside. From here I knew exactly what was happening, the same thing as when he first tasted pulque at the restaurant.

"I'm intrigued by your... relationship with my daughter," Mike said. I could tell he was trying to be careful, like he was treading on ground more fragile than I could know. "Not everything about your situation adds up for me... I understand you're married, but you seem to have a relationship with Callie, and my daughter is absolutely... perturbed by you, shall we say. This is very strange for me, and as her father I want to know more. I understand you're a father, too."

"My daughter is 13. Her name is Aly," I said. "I love her very much and wish no harm ever comes to her." He looked at me like he couldn't believe I was old enough to have a 13-year-old daughter, much less a 17-year-old son.

"I'm with you there. It's always hard to know," he said. "Girls, and their... whims, and... well you've gotten to know Morgan a little bit... and her... whims... are maybe a bit... weightier... than most."

It sounded a little like he was warning me. Not about having a relationship with his daughter, but about his daughter being a force of nature all her own. I already had some sense of that, but... yes this might've been the most uncomfortable evening of my life, but it was also pretty damned interesting.

"What do you mean?" I asked. I was really playing with fire now and I knew it.

Mike seemed to shrink, to descend, to... well it didn't matter how it seemed because he suddenly felt much more human to me, like if I'd wanted to I could send my awareness out and it would be child's play to know what was going on inside him, the first time I'd felt that about anyone since coming here. But the weird thing was that I felt like doing so would be like stumbling into a tripwire.