+---------------------------------------------------------------+ | *** DISCLAIMER *** | | | | This is a story of pure fiction. Any resemblance to persons | | living or dead, incidents real or imagined, places real or | | imagined, is purely coincidental. | | | | IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, DO NOT READ FURTHER. | | | | No part of this story may be reproduced on any media of any | | kind without the written permission of the author. | | | +---------------------------------------------------------------+ - 2 - The year-old bus schedule flapped in the breeze that raced in my window and out the passenger side. If I was a little younger I wouldn't have to hold the paper so close. If I used a pen that had some ink in it... Well, you get the idea. I felt like a nursing home candidate as I tried to drive and read the street address I had earlier engraved along the border of that big sheet of paper. I had lived in this town for years but I'd never been in this section. It was impossible to tell what kind of people lived here. They weren't rich. Not poor. Just... nothing. It was the kind of neighborhood they photograph and put on campaign photos, behind the candidate. No one would ever associate this place with any group of anyone, ever. '3414 West Hemlock Court.' What the heck is a court? My watch beeped. Four o'clock and it's getting dark already. God, I hate Winter. Was I supposed to do something at four? My heart raced. Another look at the address. I'm on Hemlock. There's '3410.' There's '3420.' What'd they do with '3414?' Ha! I should have guessed. A joke at my expense. Very expensive. Damn, I'm stupid. Why did they go to all that trouble? Her uncle, right, her uncle. He's probably laughing his head off right now. God, it's so easy to get drawn in. I've got no control when I see a pair of young legs. I'm like a crab on its back. I just keep smiling while somebody slices off my head. How do I get out of here? I need a cold shower or something. Ahead of me, brown leaves, now dry from the run of pleasant weather, blew into the air. A woman was getting out of her car with a bag of groceries. Maybe she can get me out of this nightmare. I stopped next to her and cleared my throat, "Pardon me." She jumped a mile and a box of something tumbled onto the road. She retrieved the box. She looked angry. What did I say? "Excuse me, but I seem to be lost. How do I get back to Mellman Road?" "You scared me to death." "I'm sorry. Really. Mellman Road. Do you know how to get to it from here?" "Mellman, Mellman, let's see. Ah. Turn right at the next corner and go four blocks to Hemlock and..." "Hold it. I thought this was Hemlock." "It is." Then she started pointing all over the place. "And there. And over there. Pretty funny, huh?" "Funny." "This is Hemlock Place. Over there, let's see, over there is West Hemlock Court and... I thought you wanted Mellman." "Mellman. Right. Ummm, do you know where East Hemlock Court is?" "Sure. It's... It's..." This was turning into a nightmare. It was nearly dark and the thought of constantly running through the intersections of Hemlock and Hemlock was almost too much to endure. "East. East Hemlock." "East. Yes. It's...," as she aimed herself like a compass. "It's there. That way. I'm almost... eighty percent certain." "Eighty" "Pretty sure." I thanked her and edged the car away. In the mirror I could see more stuff as it fell out of her bag. This was not a reliable resource, I decided. However, the promise of unpromised things propelled me on. What was that address? Ah, yes, 3414 West... Damn, I asked her about East. I said East. I can't believe it. I'm screwed. And I did it to myself. I blew it. As I drove back toward my apartment, I took turns blowing on each of the palms of my hands. They both had turned to fingery globs of sweat and were actually slipping on the steering wheel. My heart was beating slow and hard now, a reminder of today's stupidity. Maybe it was all a dream. If you live alone long enough your brain probably conjures up all kinds of imaginary happenings. -+- Last night I struggled through bits and pieces of sleep. I had all sorts of fanciful dreams that didn't make any sense. So at 5:30 I got up and made myself a strong espresso. I never get up this early. I'm not working. I don't have to get up. I'm not a deadbeat, just semi-retired. Then it struck me. The map! I raced into the den and rummaged through the large cabinet built into the wall. I was like a madman. Where is it? The thing that I always thought was a totally useless gift from... from... I can't remember. Found it! The hyper-detailed charts of this tiny county, detailed down to the last square millimeter. Finally, a reason to have lugged this yellow-pages-of-the-roadways from place to place. Now, where is it? I flipped and flipped. Okay, the index. I'm a Renaissance Man. I can use the index without losing my manhood. Ah, here it is. Here they are. All of them. Geeesh! Half a page of 'Hemlocks.' East... no, West Hemlock. Got it! Page 622. Turn, turn, flip, flip. 622. Hemlock, Hemlock, Hem... Bingo! Now, 34-something. I looked all around for the bus schedule. Nowhere! Wait. The car! -+- This made more sense now, as I skillfully maneuvered my car from East Hemlock, onto Hemlock Way, and then down West, yes West Hemlock Court. Finally. But now, directly ahead of me, a traditional yellow school bus turned into the street. It stopped halfway down the block. The flashing red lights came on so I stopped too. There she was. Zoe floated to the ground from the last step. In one smooth motion she turned and waved to the driver. As she turned, her skirt flared out, revealing those long, thin legs that have now driven me to madness. As the bus drove off, a kid yelled some sort of inane farewell out the window. And now we were alone. Zoe and me. Five hundred feet apart. My heart raced again as I watched her walk with no particular hurry toward the front door of this tiny house. I took a breath to appease my lungs just as a loud horn honked behind me. I was still stopped in the middle of the street. I waved at the macho pretzel-head who flipped me the finger as he burned rubber to get around me. I can't imagine anyone like that needing to be any place important. Even Zoe turned to watch the jerk speed past. I pulled off into an empty spot. Three o'clock and the shadows were already long. I looked up, but she had gone. My palms were wet again. I locked up the car and walked down the sidewalk. I stopped and stood on the spot where Zoe had landed. I inhaled slowly, hoping to breathe her in, but the breeze was too strong. Or it was wishful thinking. I don't know. I was running on automatic now as I turned and traced her steps toward the little house. There were no footprints, but I knew where each shoe had touched. I mounted the porch and examined the door. There were no signs of life anywhere. My hand trembled as I pressed the doorbell. Silence. Should I press it again? Maybe it rang somewhere deep inside the place. Okay, one more time. Silence again. I looked around. The street and the yards were deserted. I mustered my courage and knocked. Nothing. I backed up a bit and checked the address. '3414.' I was in the right place. Unless this really was a joke. A click, and the inside door began to open very slowly. Oh, God. It was her. Right in front of me. I could feel my knees giving way. She was sucking on half of a popsicle. It was 40 degrees out and she was sucking on a popsicle. She turned, still holding on to the doorknob. "Uncle Steve! Someone's at the door!" She turned back and looked up at me through hooded eyelids. I was transfixed as I watched her move the popsicle in and out over her cherry red lips. I suppose they were that red from the cold. Maybe. But now footsteps approached from way behind her. It was dark inside and I couldn't make out anything. Then he was there. The man I had met in the mall. The one with the photograph. Zoe's uncle. Whatever his name was. Steven, I guess. Zoe backed away as Steven reached the door. "Yes," he said. "I don't know if..." "Yes, yes. The fellow from the mall. Yesterday. You didn't come over. We were expecting you." We. He said 'we.' "I had trouble finding Hemlock. I hadn't realized there were so many of them here." "Steven. Steven Swift. Come in. Please." And Zoe vanished as Steven ushered me in. "Every time we get a new mailman, mail gets lost for a month before the new one figures everything out." "I wasn't sure you..." "I'm glad you made it." Now it's 'I.' I liked the 'we' better. Much better. Steven showed me to the living room. There was a small fire crackling and the room was a bit smoky. Steven watched me sniff the air. "There's not enough of a breeze blowing to get the air moving. I just lit it a few minutes ago. It'll clear out soon." Only a moment passed, then Steven returned, pushing Zoe ahead of him like a snowplow. "This... is Zoe Spencer. Zoe, this is... I don't think you ever told me your name." "Alan. Alan Hydecker. Just Alan would be fine. Alan." "Zoe, this is just Alan." And we all laughed. But then Zoe held out her hand to me. Like a slow motion ballet, I reached out and held it. Her hand was like liquid velvet. I felt like kissing it, but thought better and just shook it. She took back that small warm hand and proceeded to rub her palm on her cheek, allowing it to graze over her still red lips. Now she moved it down her thin neck, over her shoulder, and across the front of her dress. Her palm pressed against the little mounds that hinted of her tiny breasts under the fabric. Then she moved her hand still further down to her hip and across to where her crotch was under the dress. She pressed her finger tips lightly against the dress there. Now her hand took flight from her own body and landed on her uncle's arm. How long did that take? Hours? Days? No, probably three or four seconds. I was not conscious of staring at her until I saw Steven looking at me. A slight smile crossed his lips. Caught again. Damn! The front door slammed open and a young boy dressed in a soccer uniform and covered with dirt stormed in. I supposed that this must be Peter. "Fucking jerks!" "Peter!" exclaimed his dad. "You don't talk like that here." "Well, they are." "Not like that. You hear me?" "Yes." "Do you?" "I said yes, didn't I?" "All right, then. Alan, this is my son, Peter. Peter, Alan." And Peter smiled at me for a thousandth of a second, then walked over to Zoe. He stood behind her and pulled her arms behind her back. "Ow!" And Zoe tried to wriggle free. I wanted to jump up and smack him but I held myself back. Why was he so crude? "Not now," she said, still trying to break free. "Why not? You said you like it when I'm hot and sweaty." "Well today you smell" "I got into a fight." "Peter!" cried his dad. "Corey tripped me for no good reason. After the game I got him behind the fence. I got him around the neck and hit him twice in the mouth. He fell and I kicked him but good. Steven was clearly upset. "I can't believe you did that." "Yeah, well he had it comin'." Now he finally let go of Zoe. She ran to Steve. "C'mon, Zoe." But Zoe shook her head. "Take a shower first," she said. "Then... maybe." "Fucking prima donna." "Peter!" said Steven. "Okay, okay. A shower." He turned toward Zoe. "Then you better be ready." Peter stormed off to his room. Steven shook his head as he watched his son depart. "He isn't always like this. Only when his team loses." "Uncle Steven, his team hasn't won yet." "Yes. Well... Hmmm. Alan, want some coffee?" I said I did, so Steven went into the kitchen to make the coffee. Zoe waltzed around the room, allowing her slender fingers to graze over every object in there. I sat at one end of the sofa in front of the fireplace but kept an eye on Zoe. She orbited the sofa and, as she did, she periodically checked to see if I was watching. Seemingly satisfied, she slid lightly onto the opposite end of the sofa. She was dressed nearly the same as when I saw her at the mall the previous day. A different dress. It looked like wool or something heavy like that. She crossed her legs and pulled the hem of her dress up and over her knee. She stroked her crossed leg up and down. She massaged it. I was staring again and, again, I was caught. She paused in her caressing and that pause caused me to look at her face. And, yes, she was looking right at me. She looked away from me and back to her leg matter-of-factly. She caressed her leg again. "My mother says I have hot blood." "Does she," I gagged. "I spose when I have a fever it gets hotter. I don't have a fever now. Do you?" "Me? No, I don't think so." "Momma feels my forehead if she thinks I have a fever." "A lot of mothers..." "She had a boyfriend once. He was going to be my new daddy. He thought I was sick all the time. He didn't feel my forehead. He said there was a better way." "Better?" "He said his finger was like a temperature thing." "Thermometer?" "Yeah, that. He used to take my temperature all the time. I didn't feel all that sick. He said sometimes you don't feel sick when you're sick. It didn't make any sense. I wonder if he was a doctor. Do you think?" "Maybe." I couldn't lie to her. Not ever. "No. I don't think he was. A doctor, that is. Not a doctor" "Anyways, one day Momma said he wasn't going to be my new daddy anymore. So that was that." And with that comment, Zoe slid into the middle of the sofa. She pulled her legs up and swung around so she was facing me. She threw her arms over her head and plopped backwards onto the cushions. She thrust her legs straight out in my direction so that the heels of her black, laced shoes came to rest on my leg. "Five minutes and we have coffee," came Peter's warning from the kitchen. Zoe turned to look over her shoulder and stretched out and, as she did, her dress rode up so that it was now halfway between her waist and her knees and all bunched up. She turned back then slid along the cushion toward me. Her knees bent and her dress slid up to her crotch. "Whoops," she said as she straightened her legs and stretched them across my lap. My cock had already begun to strain against my pants, but she couldn't possibly know that. Suddenly, I had no place to put my hands. "They're hot now," she said as she propped herself up on her elbows. "They are." "What are?" "My legs. They're hot now. Wanna feel?" So I almost lost it right there. I had come this far, knowing that this was exactly what I wanted to happen. My hands trembled. I looked toward the kitchen. Zoe was smart. "He said five minutes. 'member?" She reached out and took one of my hands. "They're big. Bigger than Peter's." Now she placed my hand around her ankle. The touch of that young skin shot through me like lightning. Slightly cool. Slightly sticky. "It's cold there," she whispered. She pulled my hand slowly up her leg. "Warmer, huh?" And, indeed, it was. She let go of my hand just below her knee. My hand was on its own now. She smiled at me and nodded her head. "Go ahead," she whispered. She turned to look over her shoulder. "Go ahead. I'll watch." Zoe was asking me to feel her. A 10-year-old girl wanted me to touch her. She knew exactly what she wanted. So I melted into the luxury of those soft, shiny, tanned legs. I moved my hand up over her knee and down toward the bunched-up dress. Then back again. Zoe parted her legs slightly. I slid my hand under her leg and squeezed her long thin calf muscle. It was incredibly supple. Her legs were so thin. I slid my hand around and luxuruated in the smooth shiny skin pulled tight over the bone. Now up to her knee again. Zoe straightened her leg and pointed her toe. My hand explored the back of her knee, warm and sticky from being bent. "Go ahead. Do it." My hand slid up over her knee again and onto her exquisitely warm inner thigh. She parted her legs a little more. As she did, the fragrance of her warm little body streamed toward me. My heart was pounding in my ears like a pile driver on hard concrete. Zoe moaned slightly and her lips parted, the same lips that only a short while ago were caressing that half-popsicle. My fingers pressed on her velvet skin ever so slightly and with each pass across her thigh, the tips of my fingers slid closer and closer to the hem of her dress. But Zoe wasn't paying attention to the kitchen, she was watching me. She followed my hand with her eyes and when I felt something that made her feel particularly good, or in a way that she liked, she would let her eyelids close slightly. It was her signal to me, perhaps even unconscious, and we both understood. It was then that, for no particular reason, I slid my fingers beneath the hem of her dress and toward her panties, yet unseen. Without a word or a sudden motion, Zoe carefully placed her hand on her dress so that it covered mine. She exerted a slight pressure and stared at me with that serious knowing look of hers. Not now. Message understood. "Here we go. The best coffee in town. Maybe the neighborhood. Anyway, it's good coffee. Ready?" My hand fled from Zoe's thigh like a lizard's tongue that had just snared a grasshopper. "Steven paused and looked at Zoe, her legs parted across my lap, and said, "Good, you're getting acquainted?" * * * ------------------------- (End of Chapter 2) ------------------------- ------------ (Comments, pro or con, are always welcome) --------------