The Compass Rose

[Sigurd]

Carlos

Carlos smiled as Maureen laughed. He began to believe that no matter what sort of weather befell Spyglass Cove, Maureen’s voice could part even the darkest clouds with a word.

"Oh… thank you, that’s such a thoughtful offer. I’d only intended to go as far as Kitty’s to dry off and get some soup before I…", she hesitated, then, with a twinkle in her eyes, said, "Maybe you’d like to join me?"

Carlos watched Maureen as she brushed her wet hair away from her cheek and tossed her head slightly to loosen more dripping locks from her neck. Still smiling with her lower lip caught on one side between her teeth. She was so damn beautiful, and in her face he could see that she also had emotions unspoken, though he was not sure for who.

In his mind though, he prayed to the gods above that it was him.

"Clam chowder sounds perfect, but I have two conditions to having lunch with you."

Carlos unzipped his leather jacket and held it out to Maureen. His white shirt quickly becoming soaked from the unrelenting rain.

"One, is that you put allow me to put this on you, I cannot stand to see you drenched to the bone."

(This was not completely true as wet hair was a great turn on to him, but seeing her entire body shivering in the freezing rain was not at all what he wanted to see.)

"Two, is that you will allow me to pay for your meal. I insist that you allow me to. If you agree to these terms we will be warm in Kitty’s in a matter of a minutes."

The rain began to fall harder still and far colder. It struck Carlos like small icicles; each drop as frigid as the last.

"So, do we have a deal?" Said Carlos with a wink.

As Maureen nodded, Carlos placed the jacket on her, lifting her hair gently with his hand as he wrapped her within it. Brushing gently against the back of her neck, he felt the feeling of her shudder for a brief second as he withdrew his hand. As she turned he once again became locked in her eyes, and her sex appeal intensified in leather. To Carlos, she was a goddess and he felt his mouth dry in his admiring of her.

"Your carriage awaits Senora." said Carlos with a laugh as he patted his hand on the rear seat of the long cycle.

"Are you comfortable Maureen? Wrap your arms around my waist. There, good, ok, here we go."

Carlos revved the engine and the bike glided across the rain spattered street toward Kitty’s. He always found the cafe welcoming, despite its aged appearance, it had been a sanctuary for him in hard times as he often surrounded himself with the kindness and peace that he found within. He could feel Maureen’s warmth behind him, her hands were locked around his waist sending a sense of comfort over him, a sense that he had not felt in a very long time.

Soon, they arrived at Kitty’s and Carlos dismounted the cycle, offering his hand to Maureen, to help her down.

As they entered, Carlos directed Maureen toward a window seat looking out toward the empty street and the frequent illumination of the stormy sky. As they sat down, Carlos had only to look in the direction of the waitress and she came over to them. After asking Maureen, Carlos ordered for both of them and the waitress walked back to the kitchen.

"Thank you for your invitation Senora, I am sorry about the incident that you had to bear witness to earlier between me and my father. Believe me, I would have found far more interest in talking with you then dealing with that."

"But enough about that. So, do you live here in Spyglass Cove? I think, you are Irish, yes? I would be very interested in knowing how you found your way here, but, I shall not pry. Though, I must admit to you Senora, you are...as interesting as you are beautiful, and in me there is much of a curiosity about you. But, I feel it is proper that I should tell you something of me for asking such a question." Carlos gave a gentle smile as he continued

"I am sure you have been able to determine that I am not pure mexican. My father, is Yacqui yes, but my mother, she was spanish. Esperenza Quintana, was her name and most of my traits are from her. She died early in my life, and my father brought me up in the ways of the Yacqui. Their myths, their folklore, their lifestyle. But, I was curious about many things. Many stories, many myths. I believe that folklore is not just about stories. It is about life, and how to live. So I began to read about all cultures, the Mayans, the Aztecs, the Norse, the Greeks, the Japanese and the Celts though I must admit that it is not something that I know as well as most.. Much of this I use in my art. Though it is also my favorite topic. Do you like such stories? Shall I tell you one that I know?"

"Oh, please do, I love stories."

Maureen nodded with smile. Carlos' eyes began drinking up her body, It was like ambrosia to him; a forbidden drink, yet one that he desired even a taste of. That one seemingly insignificant touch on the back of her neck had sent a flurry of emotion through him, fueling a storm that would not subside.

Carlos unrolled his sleeve and revealed a long green serpent tattoo snaking across his arm. The color was vibrant and the plumed head of the creature stared in Maureen's direction with fierce eyes.

“This is Quetzalcoatl, god of civilization in our culture. He represents the forces of good and light pitted against those of evil and darkness, which are championed by Tezcatlipoca, the smoking mirror. One legend says that Quetzalcoatl, deceived by Tezcatlipoca, was driven from Tula, the Toltec capital, and wandered for many years until he reached his homeland, on the east coast of Mexico where he was consumed by divine fire. Here, his ashes turned into birds and his heart became the morning star."

Carlos smiled, as delight in his story was clear in Maureen's expression and for a time they sat talking, passing tale for tale, look for look and voice for voice. Carlos found himself enraptured within her voice, her way of telling the ancient celtic myths and the twinkling in her eyes as she did so. In the middle of Carlos' tale of the Ku Bird, their order arrived. Carlos once again met Maureen's eyes.

I can learn so much from you just by looking into your eyes Maureen, I wonder if you can read me too..

 

[captainb]

Bill

Bill buried his head under the shower spray, letting the hot water pour over his shoulders and down his body. He washed the sand and salt away, paying particular attention to washing between his legs. His imagination had been given a real workout in the past twenty-four hours, and it was easy to coax a soapy erection between his fingers. Images flooded through his mind; Wren's eyes gazing at him, the thin nightgown illuminating her body, her breasts pressing into his chest. He recalled the way she hugged Calla, and the shared beauty of the two women revealed in the candlelit silhouettes. Then there was Maureen, with that pale skin and great ass walking down the street. Hell of a lot of stimulation for a quiet northern California town.

He stopped his stroking and let the growing pulses in his cock fade. I don't know what tonight will bring, but why waste passion all alone? And if nothing happens between Wren and me, well, my friend Fistina will always be there.

With the water turned off, he could hear J.W.'s faint singing from outside. It sounded poignant against the backdrop of the pattering rain, a declaration of love crying out of some lonely void. Someone should be recording this, he thought. You don't find much more typical country than that. Bill wasn't a country music fan, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the tune. By the time he pulled on a thin sweater and headed downstairs, he was absently humming along to the song. He saw J.W. still on the porch, an umbrella somehow propped over his head as he strummed the guitar. Noise from the kitchen drew his attention, and he stepped to the doorway. Wren had dumped the clams into a colander and was running water over them, and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee filled the air. He slid in beside her at the sink, his shoulder pressing against hers. "Hi there, feeling any better?"

She gave a small start, then laughed. "Oh yes," she said and turned off the water. "Just too much excitement for one day, and not enough to eat, I suppose." Only a small spot of color high on her cheek gave away any trace of embarrassment on her part. "So, are you getting hungry?"

"Sure am," he said, eyeing the bowlful of bivalves. "Do you need to steam them first? Or do you want me to shuck'em? I've had corn fritters before, but haven't tried them with clams."

"What I want you to do, young man," she said, steering him down the counter, "is to take a mug of coffee out to our porch serenader. It's got to be getting chilly out there, but if he insists on staying put, then at least we can try to keep him warm."

"Yes'm, boss," Bill said with a grin. He glanced up as he poured. "I hope this weather doesn't mess up your plans. I don't care if we're on the beach or if we stay right here. I mean, it would have been nice to have a beach fire, but even sitting in front of a fireplace would be just as nice." Her eyes rose and held his for a moment. It might have just been impulse, he thought. I can't presume just because she pecked me on the cheek. Last thing I neeed to do is scare her away by assuming too much.

"I'll be right back," he said with a wink, and turned toward the front door.

J.W. looked up as Bill set the mug on the table next to him. "Sounds good," Bill said lamely. "Did you write it?"

"Does it sound like I did?" J.W. answered, taking a sip. "I doubt there's any such thing as a new song of love. Just new ways of saying it."

Bill stood for a moment longer as J.W. started strumming again. He'd first thought J.W. was singing country music, but now it wasn't so easiy defined. But the words were heartfelt and poured out of the man, and for a little while the rain became irrelevant. A new song picked up as the first ended, and Bill left the man to his own form of meditation and slipped back inside.

 

[artful]

J.W.

"Well, it had been fun, I at least got to meet my nearest neighbors, Wrenna and Bill, along with Maureen and Carlos. They all seemed to be fun people, and Mendoza,...that bastard,...(chuckle) done got himself in trouble with the law again."
J.W. sipped the now cold coffee, and decided to do ONE more song before heading to his new home. He
was more than happy with the job offer by Wrenna, but he doubted he would take her up on it. J.W. was a natural at most everything he had an interest in. If it didn't come to him easily, then he just WASN'T that interested in it.
Sometimes he felt he had missed opportunities by being that way, but then again, at other times, he reflected that life had been fair with him and he really had no axe to grind with himself. Well,...
except for that ONE problem!!!

It had been a problem for him, and the women he had naturally drifted toward, all his adult life. Sex!...not love, not romance, but sex!!!

No one would really expect the laid back and easy going J.W., to have the kind of problem he had to deal with on a daily basis, even Mendoza never suspected J.W. had a problem in that area of his life,...but he did. He knew it,...he fought it,..
and he lived with it.

Few women could resist the lurid sex that J.W. exuded when he couldn't go without sex any longer. The dark depravity of his tempting them to step out into the unknown, the undiscovered and uncharted fantasies of their mind, was more than most of them could bear.

The ones who were not attracted to him at those times, were simply dismissed as being irrelevant. The others somehow *KNEW* he could fulfill their wildest lust, and they were right, that was the fucking problem. He craved it as much, or more than they did!!!

Not because he wanted to,...but because he needed to stop this line of thinking,...he decided on his last song of the day. An old Ernest Tubb classic, ...chuckling to himself he thought, "Man,...if Wrenna Mallory didn't start throwing dishes at him to run him off her front porch,...he just might survive a gig for a couple of hours midday."

"Ahmmm wokkinnnn ...thuh flor ohhvur yooo, ...Ah cain sleep-uh-weank...thattizzz trooo,...Ahmmma hopen annahm prayennn,...azz muh hart brakze ryhtentooo,...wokkinn thuh flor ohhvur yooo"

Finishing up the song, he warily looked at the front door, expecting at any moment for Wrenna to come out and say, "You know J.W., after talking it over with Bill,...he seems to think I might should wait a few weeks before hiring entertainment,... you know,...to kinda keep the overhead down to the minimum."

Though he waited several minutes, no one came out, and J.W. put 'Jenny' back in the case. He was aware the songs he did wouldn't interest the evening crowd, but hell, it just might entice enough of the locals to spend their lunch hour at The Compass Rose, if for no other reason than to experience the novelty, to make it worthwhile for Wrenna to hire him.

Mendoza had told him earlier, there was NOT a single place in Spyglass Cove, that offered entertainment. The rain had quit, but the clouds still looked threatening, as the last rays of sunlight faded on the roiling horizon. Not wanting to disturb the couple inside, he emptied out the cold coffee, and placed the cup on a nearby table, along with the umbrella.

Picking up the guitar case, he walked the short distance back to his cabin, and set it just inside the front door. Turning around, he opened the drivers door and slid in behind the wheel. Aloud he said to himself,..."Look out Sally baby, here comes J.W.!!!"

 

[Niamh]

Wrenna Mallory

There was a sudden loud noise, and Wrenna looked up, startled. A wild gust of wind had slapped the side of the Compass Rose, and sheets of rain were pouring down. I hope J.W. got home safely, she thought to herself, reaching behind her back to tie the long strings of her apron into a bow. And that, I think, was the final death knell of our picnic.

She wasn’t sure what Bill had gotten up to after his return from the patio. He had taken her injunction to stay out of the kitchen to heart and was nowhere to be seen. Left on her own, Wren made an executive decision. Clam fritters were best eaten out of doors, and the change in the weather seemed to call for something a little heartier than finger food anyway. Bill had been kept on rather short commons since his arrival, and she doubted he had had much in the way of a homecooked meal in awhile. The only problem to a change of menu was the paucity of her larder. She still was anything but fully stocked. She had most staples...some wines...a few basic things in the fridge – and the clams.

Simplicity in all things,she told herself, remembering the mantra of her first cooking instructor.

And so their impromptu menu that night became a platter of clams flash-steamed in white wine and butter, served over angel hair pasta and accompanied by a salad simply dressed. There would be fresh apricots for dessert, mounded with clotted cream. All in all a very simple repast, but one made with the finest fresh ingredients Spyglass Cove could offer.

The mystery of Bill’s whereabouts was solved the minute she stepped outside the kitchen. She discovered he had made himself useful in the most delightful way. He had built up a lovely fire in the fieldstone hearth and was already relaxing in its flickering light when she entered the dining room carrying the salad and a pepper-mill.

"It’s heavenly, Bill. Thank you! I must confess I’ve been cold all day." She set the salad down in the middle of the table closest to the fire and smiled. "Mrs. Lewis brought this firewood by. It’s from her own private stock of hickory. I remember the way hickory smoke smells from when I was a little girl, and she’d feed her wood-burning stove with it while she made cocoa for Calla and me." Thoughts of snug afternoons in Mrs. Lewis' cluttered kitchen led unexpectedly to Harve and Nashanabe. She gazed past the fireplace and out to sea, wondering if they were safe at anchor somewhere. Of course Harve seemed like someone who would be able to handle the vagaries of a thunderstorm, but still somehow she worried. It was just her way.

Bill helped her to set the table and carry in the rest of the meal. He was flatteringly pleased with what she had decided to cook and ate two helpings without being prompted. She was glad to see that he could enjoy such a thrown-together, simple meal and promised him that one day soon they would indeed have the picnic she had promised.

"If you’re still here, I mean – when the weather changes." She blushed. There I go again.

Bill was refilling her wineglass. She picked about on her plate with her fork. Just ask him. He can only say no. If he does, then it might as well be now, before you get too used to having him around.

"Bill, you probably are wondering why I asked so many questions about your knowledge of the restaurant business. It was not all idle curiosity, as I am sure you have guessed. The fact is, I might need someone to help me run this place. To...take it over for me when I can’t be here."

Bill gave her a questioning look. "I’m not sure I understand, Wrenna. I thought...you had come to Spyglass Cove to stay. Some kind of a dream fulfillment...what you had always wanted, Calla said."

Wrenna smiled, and nodded, her cheekbones stained with a blush. "Yes, it has always been my dream to start my own restaurant. And I have every intention of seeing that the Compass Rose is a success. But...day to day operations are not really my strong suit."

Bill was looking at her a little strangely, as though he suspected that there might be more to it than what she was willing to tell him. Wrenna decided to ignore this and just go on.

"I think, from what you have told me about yourself, that I could safely offer you the Compass Rose," she said quickly. "Not to own it, of course, but to manage it."

Bill’s expression was one of surprise. Maybe even incredulity. Wren swallowed and rushed on, hoping that if she made a good case, he would consider her offer seriously. "Calla would take the job on if I asked her to. But...I know this is not really what she wants. Her destiny is somewhere else; not in a seafood restaurant. In some ways I think that your coming here just when you did must have been meant to happen. But...."

She looked down, and gave up all pretence of eating. "I wonder, Bill. Would you like to stay on in Spyglass Cove?" She took a deep breath. "Would you like to be part of the Rose?"

 

[photographer]

Harve

OOC: One should NEVER try to post when the having the blues!!!

 

[Huntress]

Maureen Catlin

He was so proper, this Carlos. From the moment he’d insisted Maureen put his jacket on and “allow him to pay for lunch” his manners had been what could only be described as courtly. Even the offer to give her a ride on his “charger” had chivalrous roots. How could she refuse? Besides, it was incredibly flattering to be the recipient of such gracious attention! As he was slipping his coat over her shoulders, the tips of his fingers grazed the back of her neck. Suddenly she began to have serious doubts about the wisdom of accepting his offer. Carlos’ touch was electrifying. Tiny charged currents zipped up and down her spine and she shivered uncontrollably.

”Stop it,” her little voice chided. “Just stop it! Ye gods, Mo, he’s so young and you’re so… hungry. Whatever you do, don’t drool…

Resolutely shrugging the jacket into a more comfortable position on her shoulders, she turned toward the bike and managed to meet his gaze without choking. The white t-shirt he was wearing had become thoroughly soaked in the pouring rain. It was almost transparent and the soft cotton was plastered to his torso leaving no doubt about the rest of his physique. Even the men of her wildest daydreams weren’t this well built. Why on earth he was paying any attention to her was beyond imagination.

An infectious grin spread across his face as he laughed and patted the seat, saying, “Your carriage awaits Senora.“ It was worse than she’d thought. Not only was she going to have to sit right behind him but he expected her to hold on – to him – as they rode!

With a frozen smile, Maureen nodded and climbed up behind him, putting her arms about his waist. At that moment, she was extremely grateful to have been born female. Thank goodness, she was wearing a heavy sweater. It was the perfect camouflage for her suddenly very erect, very sensitive nipples. If she’d been a man, given her present level of excitement, she couldn’t have hidden the fact from anyone.

The ride to Kitty’s was mercifully brief. As soon as they were inside, Maureen doffed the jacket and handed it back to Carlos with her thanks. A waitress appeared as soon as they were seated and took their order, addressing Carlos by name. It was obvious he was a regular but probably dined alone most of the time judging by curious look the woman gave them.

“Yes, love. You’re wondering, ‘What’s a hunk like that doing with… with… someone like her.’ Well you’re not the only one," ” thought Maureen. “Oh, lovely! First day in town and already you’re providing grist for the rumor mill.”

Small towns were just that way. Everybody knew everybody and when it came to strangers, well, strangers were fair game. Even in a city the size of San Francisco, where you had half a chance of remaining anonymous, there hundreds of small enclaves, neighborhoods and communities which operated much like towns unto themselves. One either kept a clean profile or learned to ignore the gossip. Richard’s philandering had forced her to adopt the latter method. Somehow, she’d manage to weather life in Spyglass Cove no matter the neighbors said.

Carlos spoke rapidly betraying his agitation, asking questions about her, then excusing himself for doing so, nearly apologizing for his inquisitiveness and began to relate some of his personal story. She’d been right about his heritage; Yaqui and Castilian, he loved mythology and folklore and frequently used these themes in his artwork. When he suggested telling the legend of Quetzalcoatl, Maureen jumped at the opportunity hoping that it would help him calm down and give her a chance to regain some equilibrium.

She listened closely as he regaled her with the story and displayed the intricate feathered serpent god tattooed on his forearm. As he spoke, the warmth in his voice and enthusiasm for the subject acted like a tonic. She found herself carried along in the gentle current of conversation, no longer scrambling to right herself or feeling off-center. Carlos, too, found a place of calm within as they shared tales of their ancestors, of Cuchulain and Emer, Brian Boru, the last high king of Ireland, of Odin and Yggdrasil, Odysseus and Penelope. By the time the waitress brought their soup, Maureen felt as though she’d traveled through seven centuries of myth and legend and as many civilizations with an old friend.

The chowder wasn’t exceptional, but it was filling. “Comfort food” as Eugenia often referred to familiar textures and flavors associated with home and a sense of where your roots were. She’d become awfully comfortable at Kitty’s in the last hour. With any luck, Carlos had too.

“Carlos, I think you’ve fulfilled your responsibilities quite admirably,” she grinned, continuing “its only proper that I do the same, but I’m not sure where to start.” Idly turning her spoon in the half full bowl, and lowering her eyes, she seemed lost in thought for a moment. “I guess the short story is easier. My husband died two years ago. No warning, no signs that he was a candidate for a heart attack. He just worked himself into an early grave. There was nothing to hold me in San Francisco and, truthfully, I wanted out of the city. It felt like a prison.”

Maureen looked across the table trying to gauge his reaction and saw only compassionate interest.

“My choices were limited. I could go back to Illinois where most of my family is,” she grimaced, “or I could look for someplace in California where I could afford to live and not be out in the middle of nowhere. Illinois, you understand, was NOT on the top of my list. So, I did a little research and stumbled onto Spyglass Cove. Great location, reasonably strong economic base, affordable housing and it has a small artist’s community. What really clinched the deal was finding a place to live so quickly.”

With a start, she looked at her watch in dismay.

“Oh, shoot! I’ve missed getting hold of the storage company. Well,” she said with a wry grin, “I guess I don’t have to rush off anywhere. Tell me about your studio, Carlos. I’m always so envious of anyone with their own art-space but I still love to hear about them.”

And the longer you talk, the longer I can sit here and get lost in those eyes. I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to do this again since there’s not a chance in hell you’d be interested in me…

 

[captainb]

Bill

Building the fire had been quietly satisfying. There was an aspect of Home to the act, a sense of normalcy that he hadn't realized was missing lately. It had been obvious that the weather was crushing any chance for a comfortable picnic, and the restaurant, though solid, had a chill from some unknown draft. Wren had looked pleased as she placed the salad on the table. The burning hickory smelled wonderful, the fire's warmth quickly filling the room. The meal was terrific. Bill loved seafood and pasta, and while this combination was new to him, he didn't stop eating until two full plates had found their way into his belly. She promised him the picnic when the weather changed, and he chuckled, "Honey, if you keep cooking like that you may never get rid of me!"

Wrenna's reaction was subdued, and he watched her face as he refilled her wineglass. She started talking, hesitantly at first, then the words spilled out as if she could no longer keep them pent up. He stared at her, then at his glass as she took a deep breath and continued: "Would you like to stay on in Spyglass Cove? Would you like to be part of the Rose?"

He sipped his wine, the questions tumbling through his head. So, it had come down to this. Fantasy smacks headfirst into reality. What do I want to do? Karl Malden's voice appeared unbidden: "What will you do?"

"Thank you for asking," he said. Wrenna looked up from her plate. He smiled hesitantly, then picked up his glass and the wine bottle. "Let's sit down here and talk about it," he said, indicating the rug before the fireplace. She settled herself on the floor, pushing a couple of pillows behind them so they could lean back comfortably, and slowly sipped at her wine. He sat beside her, their shoulders near but not quite touching.

He looked at his glass, the fire glowing deeply though the wine. "First, I appreciate your offering this to me," he said slowly. "I'd like to... I want to tell you..." He blew out a deep breath. "Bear with me on this. I just want to tell you a story." She nodded and wrapped her arms around her knees.

"Two days ago, I was in San Francisco," he began. "I'd arrived on a bus from Las Vegas. I was standing on a downtown street corner, backpack on my back, looking pretty scruffy and obviously from out of town. I had time to kill; my bus wasn't leaving until late that night. So I'm standing there with people moving past me in all directions and the skyscrapers over me, and these two women come up to me. They were friendly and dressed nice, casually, a little younger than me. They said they had figured that I was a visitor, and told me about a hostel where I could go for a meal and some companionship with other travellers. Both were friendly, a blonde and a brunette, and kinda good looking. They gave me the address and quick directions, and we parted after I said I'd try to be there for dinner. I was pretty jazzed up about this. I mean, I'd been on the road for over a month and really hadn't been among people I could talk with except for a few visits to relatives and all. It sounded like fun, and so I plannned to go there after exploring the city a bit.

"I wandered down to the park near Fisherman's Wharf and got my pants soaked when I picked the one muddy part of the grass to sit down in. A wino struck up a conversation with me, telling me about the fortune he had waiting for him after his 'vacation.' Then I made my way along the edge of Chinatown, and managed to find the hostel sometime around six."

He took a mouthful of wine, letting it swirl over his tongue before swallowing. Wren sat quietly, her eyes moving from his face to the fire and back.

"It was an old building, kind of like a brownstone, I guess, brick with white trim. Pretty nice shape, and well maintained. Someone let me in and asked me to take off my shoes. There were a lot of people there, mostly young. Several other backpacks were laying against the wall by the entrance with a whole bunch of shoes, so I set my stuff with them. The blonde from the street came over to me, and seemed really happy to see me. She took my hand and showed me around, showed me a table with crackers and cheese and fruit and said there would be a meal shortly, followed by a slide show.

"I met a few other people, but she pretty much had adopted me for the evening. Those I did meet were friendly, just kids mainly, who were going nowhere in particular and were happy for a free meal. She was very friendly, very friendly throughout the evening. She would take my hand in hers as we walked, put her arm around the back of my chair as we sat, and when we assembled in a larger room for the slide show, she rested her hand on my thigh when it got dark."

Bill watched the fire sparkle off the wine as he slowly swirled the glass, knowing Wren must be puzzled where this was going. "The slideshow was presented by some guy, and he was showing us pictures of this farm in northern California. These people were running it, and were inviting us all to come visit for a couple of days. It was kind of a camp, not a youth camp, but, well, maybe a commune. I didn't really understand why they wanted us to go there, but he really did a smooth selling job. Be with people you can trust, learn and grow as you learn about others, that kind of talk. And all through this, Collette... that was her name... was sitting right next to me, pressing against me, holding my hand, playing with my fingers, gently touching my thigh. It was pretty distracting, and when I would look at her in the darkness, I could see her eyes looking back at me.

"Afterwards, she showed me where the bathroom was upstairs. When I came out, she was at the top of the stairs waiting. Now, by this time it was near eleven and I knew I had to be leaving if I wanted to make my bus. A lot of the other people had obviously agreed to go to the farm that night, and there was a bus outside waiting for them. Frankly, I was interested. It sounded like a nice diversion for a couple of days. But... I just didn't feel ready. I mean, I'm on this trip to do and go where I want to go, but there just didn't seem enough of a reason for me to divert from my plans.

"Anyway, we were at the top of the stairs and she took my hand again and asked if I was going to go to the farm. I started to tell her that I might do it later, that it sounded like fun but would it be okay if I came back at another time. She seemed disappointed, but still held my hand. Now, this had been the most attention I'd received from a female in a long time, even before the trip. Here was this chick, woman, really coming on to me. I mean, looking directly at me with those big blue eyes, a nice body... she was really making me aware that I was a man. We looked into each other's eyes for a long moment, and I asked her, 'What are you thinking?' She lowered her eyes bashfully and said, 'Nothing,' then raised them again to me. I'll tell you, my heart was pounding. She asked again if I would go on the bus, saying that she would be going to the farm shortly, too. I almost caved in, but I just shook my head and said, 'I'm sorry, I can't.'

"And she turned off. She said, 'Okay,' then let go of my hand and stepped back. Her expression had changed. She didn't look angry, more annoyed with me. I think I said thanks and goodbye, but she didn't say anything as I walked downstairs and put on my shoes. When I looked up the stairs, she was gone. As I left, I saw one of those yellow half-busses at the curb, with a whole bunch of happy people on board, guys and girls. They were singing some kind of song. I must have been one of the last hopefuls, because as I reached the corner it started pulling away. I walked back to the bus station and caught the Greyhound, and the next day I was here in Spyglass Cove."

Bill could literally feel the bafflement radiating off of Wren. He set his glass down and half-turned to her. "I'm not trying to put you and that girl in the same boat. The circumstances are totally different, and, well, I know you. And... I trust you. I know you're being honest with me, you've always worn your heart on your sleeve. This has just been on my mind the past couple of days, wondering about her and if it was really all an act. I mean, I know it was an act. For whatever reason, she was selling herself to me to get me on that bus. I think there were probably other women, and maybe men, moving through that house talking the other kids into going to the farm. I know that you're not doing that, though, please don't think that. It's just..."

He stared at the fire. Wrenna sat quietly beside him and waited.

"I like you, Wren," he finally said. "You were the one good memory I have from way back then. I'd always wondered what happened to you. Now we've had this day together, and I realize that I like you even more." He bit his lip. "It's not only the good food, or the way you've paid attention to me, or the way the town looks now, so much nicer than I remembered. I've just really enjoyed being with you, and had started to think... that there might be something more between us that we could discover."

That's it, it's out, he thought. Now for damage control. "I know that's awful fast. And I wouldn't blame you if you thought I'm moving way too fast here, or assuming too much. I'm not trying to assume anything, but I just thought we might have a chance to learn a bit more about each other, and... and if I did stay on here as manager that could get in the way of why I might want to stay here in the first place, and..."

He didn't know how long he might have gone on, but Wren softly placed her hand on his knee to shut him up. He looked sideways at her as she studied him, half her face in the fire's shadow. God, she's beautiful, he thought.

 

[artful]

J.W.

The short drive down to the diner was uneventful, and J.W. would have walked, but the darkening sky foretold more rain was arriving shortly. Parking up close, he snatched up a light jacket from the back of the drivers seat, and rolling up the window, walked inside.

Apparently, the second shift was on duty, for he saw no one he recognised from his earlier visits. Glancing around, he spied a woman with her back to him,filling up coffee cups near where he and Mendoza had sat on his prior visit, and was able to squeeze past her, to sit down at the same window table they had occupied earlier in the day.
J.W. flipped the clean coffee cup right side up, making a come-fill-it kinda sound, and... laughing gaily at something one of the men had said, the waitress turned to answer the not so subtle call for attention. Seeing J.W. was like a bolt of lightning, had just pierced the normal chatter of the diner, and a LOUD clap of thunder followed quickly on it's heels.

The sudden quiet that settled over the diner, was unnerving as the waitress and J.W. both, stared at each other in shocked recognition. The clap of thunder had been the explosion of the near empty coffee pot she had held in her hand, as it shattered into a thousand shards when it struck the tiled floor.

"Michael Jacob Wilson!!!" Her voice cut through the silence, like a hot knife goes through butter. "You bastard, I KNEW you would show up at Spyglass Cove sooner or later!!! What took you so long, I have waited here six months for your sorry ass to show up!!!" I was as shocked at seeing her, as I would have been, to see a ghost of my grandaddy float through the air, and sit at my table!

"Uhh, hello Lucretia." I was finally able to stammer. "Hello Lucretia hell," she said, "You have a bunch of tall explainin' to do mah man!" Sometime in the ensuing conversation, she told me her shift ended in an hour, and for me to wait for her.

~Lucretia Simmers,~ I thought to myself, ~if ever there was a woman I should have married,...it was Lucretia.~We had spent a lot of time together over the years, and she loved my brand of sex. Many times she tried to get me to marry her, but when she would start getting too close,...I would stop seeing her for a long period of time.

Lucretia worked the past 5 years at the Midway truckstop on I40, in Ft. Smith,Arkansas. No one knew why it had been named The Midway,...cause Ft. Smith was midway between nowhere, and somewhere else. She knew all my buddies, and I knew she kept track of me, even when I wasn't seeing her. All my friends would tell me,"J.W. dammitt, ya need to stop by and see that gal,...she really cares for you."

Eventually I always did. Lucretia loved the way I did things to her,...controlled her,...used her,.. and gave her what she wanted. It wasn't because I didn't WANT to marry her, hell, even though she was in her thirties, she STILL looked like she was 21, and when she got all dolled up, she was a real looker with a killer body.

I didn't marry her, because I knew it wouldn't last, ...hell,...there was just TOO much of an age gap between us. Not that she had remained faithful to me when I wasn't seeing her, I never expected her to, her sex drive was insatiable with me, it seemed she just couldn't get enough. Every time I started seeing her anew,...she would drop ALL her other men friends,to only spend time with me.

She had always been there for me when I needed her,... when I would lose the battle,...when I couldn't go another night without a woman to tie up,...to tease,...and sexually torment till she would beg for the orgasm I would give her.

Lucretia had found me, and as I thought of what I knew would happen later that night, my cock began the familiar aching that I couldn't overcome,...I had tried many times,...but in the end,...I always succumbed to the heated throbbing between my legs.
The insistent pressure was building as never before, Lucretia had the same affect as always, she brought out the dark side of me.

The side I tried to keep hidden,...the lust for control. It wasn't so much that I was a masterful person,...it was just that,... Lucretia gave me her all,...she would do ANYTHING for me,...and we BOTH knew it. So far, I had not been able to refrain from using the power she gave me. They always said,"Absolute power, corrupts absolutely", well hell, J.W. could attest to that.

The sound of the sirens that mixed with the 'bleep' 'bleep' 'bleep' of other emergency vehicles, interuppted my thoughts and reminded me of Mendoza's fiasco earlier that day. I couldn't help but to laugh out loud, as I recalled him telling me ALL about HOW he did it,...and WHY he did it. I thought to myself, "Mendoza you crazy bastard, I wonder why you have to live life, right on the EDGE,...ALL the time?"

In no time at all, her shift was over, and we were
headed back to my cabin. Thirty minutes later, I had the full story as to how there had been a bolt of lightning, streak down from the stormy heavens and stab visciously into my little refuge. One of the firemen, had somehow rescued the guitar case from just inside the door, before the antiquated roof fell in.

It wasn't that I had lost any thing of REAL value, in the destroyed abode, well,...nothing except my dream. A dream of having a place to call home, and more importantly, a place to FEEL at home. As the bitterness welled up in my heart, tears streamed from my eyes, blurring my vision. I felt the warmth of Lucretia's hands, as she cradled my head, and attempted to gently wipe away the tears of frustration.

Her whispered words of comfort, only broke down more barriers, that had kept me from going insane.
My emotions, now unleashed, raged rampantly against the injustice of it all. Had it not been for Lucretia,I might have ended it all that night,
by walking out to the beach, and striding purposefully into the crashing surf.

Instead, I encircled her in my arms, and cried like a baby on her shoulder. Sure,...I could rent another place,...hell,...for that matter, I still had the money,...I could buy a place if I wanted to. The lightning strike was an omen though. It told me I wasn't welcome here,...this WASN'T to be my home,...this WASN'T where I would spend the rest of my days in peaceful repose.

Our bodies soaked through and through, by the now gentle rain, we wended our way back to the van. Opening up the side door, I slung the guitar case inside and slid the door shut. Helping Lucretia get settled in the passenger seat, I closed her door, and walked around to slip under the steering wheel.

Lucretia,...knowing me better than I knew myself, said, "J.W.,...it's still early,...why don't you swing over to the Piper motel, let me gather up what I need, then we'll just head out,...driving
till you get tired,...then we'll stop for the night, and see what the sun brings us in the morning,...ok?" Nodding my head in assent, I leaned over to kiss her, then cranked over the engine and drove out into the stormy night.

 

[Sigurd]

Carlos

"Oh, shoot! I’ve missed getting hold of the storage company. Well,” she said with a wry grin, “I guess I don’t have to rush off anywhere. Tell me about your studio, Carlos. I’m always so envious of anyone with their own art-space but I still love to hear about them."

Carlos leaned back, now comfortably within his conversation with Maureen, he found words were summoned easily to his lips. It was those eyes, he found calmness within them. Now, upon being asked about his studio, he found yet another reason to remain lost within them.

"My studio? Well, it is more of an expansion of my own house. My mother, when she..passed on, left the house to my father and me. But my father refused to live there because of "bad memories" as he puts it. So, he moved into a place across town and I took the house."

"My mother left me enough to renovate the house and I took the opportunity to build a room large enough for me to start my art business. It was more of a dream really. I have always wanted to design art that someone would put in their hallways and be proud to own. But I was not Orozco and my influences were too diverse to do just art."

"I began to learn tattooing, and it was then that I decided I could use clients as my canvas. I think of the art of tattooing much like going into a dream and pulling out what is inside, so that others won‘t forget them. I think of myself as “seducing“ the fantasy. It all started small of course; a few curious neighbours and their friends. But soon, my clients were coming from neighbouring towns and cities. It was then that I decided to apply for the license. Business was brisk for a while, but tattooing equipment; autoclaves, sharps, paints and so on were expensive. The first year was made worse by my father and his...less than admirable habits. I had to reduce my staff and soon it was just me. I found myself needing a second job to keep the studio running and so I began to work at the Buccaneer Barbeque."

Carlos thought about mentioning how his employment ended, but then thought it would be a sure fire way never to see Maureen again.

Quickly changing the subject, Carlos reflected back on Maureen’s early story.

"I can understand about the big city. Often, it is the largest places that seem to get smaller and smaller, day by day. But I am glad that you decided to come here. I hope, it will be a new beginning from you."

Carlos smiled softly as he took a last sip of his chowder and indulged himself in looking over Maureen once again. There was a sparkle in her eyes as she listened seemngly with great interest to his story.. the same sparkle that was in her eyes during their swapping of tales earlier.

Soon, the waitress arrived with the bill and after Carlos paid the tip he turned to look out the window.

The storm was still raging overhead. He looked to his bike; solitary and drenched. He pictured Maureen, wrapped in leather with her hair glistening from the rain sitting astride the shadowy steed. Carlo’s already blazing emotions toward the woman caused his mind to wander off once again..

Their bodies entwine beneath the falling rain as the storm rages above them fueling their passions, as the very forces of nature bless their union.

Snapping himself out of his sexual fantasy, Carlos turned toward Maureen and made a comment about the weather.

"If you want to go, I'll get you home before it gets any worse."

As he began to rise he looked quickly into Maureen’s eyes as words once again fell from his lips, slow and crisp.

"Maureen, are you busy tomorrow? I am thinking about heading to Montana De Oro tomorrow evening to see if I can find some inspiration for my latest work. I like to ride up to Spooner's Cove and sit overlooking the water. It is peaceful and the stars are easier to see out there. If you are interested, perhaps you would like to come? It would give you the opportunity to see more than just Spyglass Cove."

Carlos picked up his teacup, taking the last sip of his tea, concealing a grin within the cup as he felt his heart beat faster and watched as Maureen's face reddened.

He could hear the laughing of his inner self and the echoing words of doubt from within.

She’ll say no Carlos! Not all women think the same way you do about age. You’re dreaming Amigo, why would she want to be with someone like you?

 

[Niamh]

Wrenna Mallory

As Wrenna listened to Bill, she was conscious of the subtle warmth of his body, radiating out towards her own. The way they were sitting, side by side, shoulders almost touching, reminded her of many long and lazy afternoons in their shared childhood. She could almost feel herself being transformed back into what she had been then: a coltish, freckled girl with long skinny red braids and eyes too large for her pixie’s face. She wondered if Bill, somewhere in his heart, still saw her that way. As he spoke, and the years fell away from between them, she could almost persuade herself that he did. He was confiding in her, as he had done so many times when they were young.

Only now the slight space between their bodies was an almost tangible entity. It was distracting. She listened to him with interest, sincerely wanting to catch every nuance of what he was telling her, but somehow she found her thoughts intruding. If I moved my body just an inch, we would be touching. And maybe then he would kiss me. And I would know that something had passed between us that was more than memory.

He looked at her as he spoke, and she did her best to nod her head in all the right places. His hands, so still, held her rapt. She wanted them to move, to cross the distance between them and touch her.

"And all through this, Colette... that was her name... was sitting right next to me, pressing against me, holding my hand, playing with my fingers, gently touching my thigh. It was pretty distracting, and when I would look at her in the darkness, I could see her eyes looking back at me. "

Wrenna blushed, her present distraction so deftly summed up by Bill’s memory of another woman. Deep within her body something clenched. Desire and jealousy together, probing her secret places. Is he going to tell me that Colette is the reason why he cannot stay?

She knew her face was taking on the earnest, half-smiling look that meant she was trying not to show that she already knew a blow was coming. How many times had she shown that face to Niall during the last bitter days before their break-up in London? Why was it that any time a man approached her now, she could feel herself assuming the old role?

"Now, this had been the most attention I'd received from a female in a long time, even before the trip," Bill went on. "Here was this chick, woman, really coming on to me. I mean, looking directly at me with those big blue eyes, a nice body... she was really making me aware that I was a man."

Through her knowledge that the refusal and the farewell were coming, Wren felt the ghost of their old bond. I know what it is to walk through the world unsure that anyone sees you for what you are. And because she cared for Bill, because they had always been comrades, on long, deserted beaches, in tall and delicious grass, the tears that inexplicably began to prick at the back of her eyes were, in a strange way, of happiness as well as pain. He's found somebody. He's made it. He's not alone in the world anymore.

She wasn’t really sure what kind of face she had on as he finished up his tale. She was doing her best to be the good friend, the cheerful well-wisher. She could only pray that she was succeeding. There was no pity in his eyes, so maybe she was.


"I like you, Wren," he finally said. She smiled with all her might to throw him off the scent of her pain. I like you was one of those lines that cut only a little bit less than I wish you would go to hell. If he finished up with as a friend she would instantly plead a headache and run into the kitchen to work off her frustration by banging a few pots around.

"You were the one good memory I have from way back then. I'd always wondered what happened to you. Now we've had this day together, and I realize that I like you even more."

Maybe break a few plates while I am at it.

"I've just really enjoyed being with you and had started to think...."

Great. I’m in the past tense already.

"....that there might be something more between us that we could discover."

Huh?!

A loud clap of thunder crashed right above their heads. Wrenna was too shocked to notice. She knew her mouth was hanging open.

More between us?

"I'm not trying to assume anything, but I just thought we might have a chance to learn a bit more about each other, and... and if I did stay on here as manager that could get in the way of why I might want to stay here in the first place, and..."

"Why he might want to stay here in the first place." Oh fuck! He doesn't like me! He likes me!

Wrenna reached out her hand and touched Bill’s knee. The urge to laugh was irresistible, and she gave in to it. He looked at her a little strangely, but did not try to stop her. When she finally did stop of her own accord, her eyes were gleaming with tears, but she was relatively confident that he would take them for tears of mirth.

Or possibly incipient madness. Oh, Wren!

"We’ll just have to find you another job then," she said, as sensibly as she could. "It will be our first priority."

She turned to look at him. "After...I mean...this."

She closed her eyes, still smiling, and leaned across the space that separated them, pressing her mouth to his in a long and rather demanding kiss.

 

[Huntress]

Maureen Catlin

The studio, his artwork, a brief run-down of his quest for creative expression; listening to Carlos was so easy. Right up until the moment he asked if she was free the following evening. It was as though she’d suddenly developed a hearing defect and a mouthful of cotton.

Carlos’ voice sound as if it were ten miles off. ”…peaceful …stars … like to come?”

Speechless, she simply stared at him, ice blue eyes round with surprise and sudden apprehension. For the third time that day, Maureen fought the rising heat in her face as a crimson stain spread across her cheeks.

“Well… I…” she stammered. “I honestly don’t know what’s happening tomorrow. I’m supposed to speak with Wrenna in the morning about the restaurant… May I phone you later on in the day and let you know then?”

Carlos nodded, a resigned expression hardening his features. She hated disappointing anyone, and the look on his face made her wince inside.

“I will take you up on your offer of a ride home. Walking would be miserable in this rain, even the short distance to the Sandpiper.”

He brightened a little and smiled, then shot a puzzled looked at her. “I thought you said you’d found a place to live? The Sandpiper is a motel, isn’t it?”

Maureen laughed nervously and said, “Yes. My stay at the ‘Piper is temporary. I rented a cottage up the street from The Compass Rose but I don’t want to move in without my furniture. That's why I needed to call the storage company today. There's this limited 'window of opportunity' to get my things on a truck heading to Los Angeles on Friday. I hope they can still fit me into their schedule.”

“I understand. Well, if you’re ready m’lady, your chariot awaits.” With a flourish, he held out his coat to her once again and slipped it over her shoulders, carefully freeing her hair from the collar. It was all she could do to resist leaning back into his chest to feel the solidity and warmth of his body.

Control, Mo. Don’t lose it now…

They walked to the curb, the rain still steadily coming down, although with less force than earlier in the afternoon. Carlos steadied the bike as Maureen climbed on, then slid over the saddle and turned the key. The bike started with a roar as she snuggled close and wrapped her arms about his waist, aware that his vulnerability to the elements was a perfect excuse to do what she’d avoided earlier.

Just keeping him warm… that’s all… it’s perfectly innocent.

Within minutes they were pulling into the motel parking lot. Carlos braked in front of the low building where her room was and Maureen dismounted. She stood with her back to him for a moment, then turned around and held out her hand.

“I’m… I’d… oh!” She stamped her foot. “Carlos, you’re soaked to the skin. I don’t know how far off home is for you, but I just can’t let you go off without at least offering you a chance to get warm. It’s not the most gracious of accommodations, but perhaps you’d join me for a glass of wine while your clothes dry?”

 

[captainb]

Bill

Swoon: 'swün — intransitive verb: to become enraptured — noun 1.a: a partial or total loss of consciousness; b: a state of bewilderment or ecstasy: daze, rapture

Bill didn’t lose consciousness or become bewildered as Wren’s lips pressed against his. But a silent roar washed over him at her touch, a rush unlike any other as the walls around them fell away and he tumbled into the void. For a moment, he passively accepted the offering of her kiss, reveling in the texture and the realization of what was happening. The pressure lessened as she began to pull back, her face unfocused through his half-closed lids. Her lips retreated (surely two millimeters apart by now!), but he raised his hand to her head, slipped it behind her neck through the mass of soft hair, and pulled her forward, kissing her now with a hunger far beyond what clams and pasta could satisfy.

Time is subjective. Its passing depends on the observer’s focus, on the importance placed on what is happening outside one’s immediate surroundings. In Bill’s case, its movement simply became irrelevant. Afterward, he would remember the time lying in front of the fire as a mélange of sensations, of thoughts without words. Their arms wrapped around each other, hands caressing backs, fingers stroking cheek and neck, lips exploring chin and cheek and nose and lips. The soft touch and taste of her sighs, the scent and feel of her long hair as he pressed his mouth to her ear to nibble along and behind the delicate lobe. He leaned over her as she reclined on the rug, his weight held aloft by an elbow as one hand slipped under her blouse to touch and grip her bare shoulder. His hand slipped out again, running softly down the front of her shirt, over the soft swell of her breast and the hard tip of a nipple, down to grip her waist and feel its curve. Their eyes met and held, watching each other in silence until one or the other melted into a renewed embrace. He sat up, Wren following as one, and folded her into his lap as the passion flared again and their lips sought each other.

The room was darker when the first words were spoken, although neither really noticed. Bathed in the warm glow from the softly burning hickory, the two looked at each other in wonder and rediscovery. A humor welled up in him, a great sense of happiness and satisfaction that touched his face, growing as he saw its reflection in Wren’s eyes.

All of this, he thought. This face. This woman. This is what I want. It’s really, finally happened. And it’s nothing at all like I ever imagined.

He touched her chin, her hand coming up to hold his as she pressed the palm to her lips. His heart thudded hollowly at the sudden shyness that passed across her eyes, and he rested their hands in her lap. A sentence formed and his mouth opened, but the words held up at the back of his throat as uncertainty once more raised its head. I could screw this up still, I know what she’s thinking but I don’t really know what she’s thinking. What if it’s too much too fast? What if…

“Will you come upstairs with me?” Bill was surprised. He hadn’t known he would speak. But now it was out and he had, and he exhaled (not knowing he had held his breath) as she softly nodded.

They stood together and walked to the staircase hand in hand, pausing at the bottom to kiss again. They slowly ascended, feet finding their own way as the couple continued to kiss, arms unsure where to be as they sought both to maintain balance and stay wrapped around the other. Near the top step, one of them stumbled and they softly settled to the floor in the hallway, Bill on top of Wren and his thigh pressed firmly under her skirt, up high between her legs. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in tightly as their lips met yet again, harder this time. A ferocity seized him, and his hand slid to her neck, stroking along the soft skin to the top of her chest for a moment before again starting its descent down her body. But he did not pass by her breast this time; his palm slid across the curved top, feeling the hard bud slide against it under the thin material, and he cupped his hand around her softness and squeezed harder than he intended. She moaned in his mouth, but raised her body upwards, pressing more firmly into his hand. His first two fingers clamped her nipple between them, his lips sliding from hers down to her neck, raking his teeth along the pale soft skin as his erection swelled, pushing firm against her belly with the sounds of her soft murmurs.

 

[Sigurd]

Carlos

Well, here it comes Carlos, the moment of truth..

"Well… I…" stammered Maureen as a heated red poured over her face.

"I honestly don’t know what’s happening tomorrow. I’m supposed to speak with Wrenna in the morning about the restaurant… May I phone you later on in the day and let you know then?"

Carlos nodded, accepting her reply as still a possibility that she would go though he did feel a bit of tension that it was not an immediate acceptance.

Cool it Amigo, she didn’t say no.

Maureen continued

"I will take you up on your offer of a ride home though. Walking would be miserable in this rain, even the short distance to the Sandpiper."

Carlos brightened a little, smiled, and then shot a puzzled looked at her.

"I thought you said you’d found a place to live? The Sandpiper is a motel, isn’t it?"

Carlos listened as Maureen explained her situation. He knew most of the delivery companies in Spyglass Cove and was quite aware of their "busy" schedules. Often it was just that they liked to take extended breaks in the afternoon instead of doing their damn job. Lazy bastards.

"I understand. Well, if you’re ready m’lady, your chariot awaits."

With a flourish, he held out his coat to her once again and slipped it over her shoulders.

She looks like a goddess in leather!

She freed her hair from the collar and turned to face him. He was frozen within her eyes and despite the cold chill from his drenched clothes, he felt a blazing heat within him.

Arriving at his bike, Carlos looked skyward as the rain continued to fall though with less force as earlier in the day. He helped Maureen mount the bike, watching as her slender legs straddled over the seat as the rain continued play with her hair as drops spiraled down the strands. Carlos sat down and turned the key. Just as he felt her arms wrap around him, he felt the increasing discomfort from the growing bulge in his jeans and made a nearly inaudible groan from the strain.

Within minutes they were pulling into the motel parking lot. On Maureen’s instruction, Carlos braked in front of the low building where her room was and Maureen dismounted. The purring of the cycle’s engine and the spattering of the heavy rain on the pavement of the parking lot was the only sounds as stood looking toward the door of the building. Carlos stiffled a sneeze as he looked on. Maureen then turned around and held out her hand to him.

"I’m… I’d… oh!" She stamped her foot.

"Carlos, you’re soaked to the skin. I don’t know how far off home is for you, but I just can’t let you go off without at least offering you a chance to get warm. It’s not the most gracious of accommodations, but perhaps you’d join me for a glass of wine while your clothes dry?"

Wha?!!!....

Carlos‘ eyes widened for a second in disbelief.

Did she just invite me in?! Yes, yes she did, and what are you waiting for?

"Thank you Maureen, if it would not be too much trouble I will take you up on this kind offer."

Carlos turned the key as the bike rumbled to a gentle purr and the silence. He dismounted from the Harley as he followed Maureen toward the hotel. Maureen put the key in the door and the lock jammed. Maureen attempted to wiggle the key several times, however to no avail. Carlos stepped forward, placing his hand on hers.

"Please Senora, let me help."

Carlos smiled politely as she took a step aside, standing under the awning as Carlos lifted the key up carefully, then to the side as the teeth caught the device. Turning carefully the door opened with a quiet “click“

Maureen’s face was red as she looked toward him with emotion, though she remained silent.

"After you, Senora."

As they entered the room, Maureen slipped off her shoes and turned to him with a look of nervousness

"I’m sorry that everything is so...makeshift. Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable, I’ll get the wine."

Carlos shook his head with a laugh.

"No Maureen. Don‘t apologize. When I first moved into my place, things looked much worse, believe me. You have done a great job with what you have."

Carlos sat down on the chair. He was soaked from head to toe,and he gripped his hair pulling it back over his shoulders as he heard Maureen’s melodic voice from the kitchen.

"I really appreciate what you for me today. Thank you Carlos"

Carlos smiled and called back to her with a slight chuckle

"It was my pleasure. After all,is it not the duty of knights on steeds to rescue damsels in distress?"

There was a small laugh from the other room and soon, Maureen returned with a towel and a glass of wine.

Placing the towel on the table with the wine, she turned back toward the kitchen to recover her own glass.

Just then, a piercingly bright light illuminated the sky and a fierce thunderclap heralded the sudden plunging of the room into total darkness. The neighbourhood grid was struck, as even the streetlights which once lit the parking lot of the hotel were now also out. Maureen yelled from the other room as the sound of a shattering wine glass hit the floor. Carlos lept up and ran into the kitchen as the sound of glass crunched under his feet.

"Stay there Maureen!"

Carlos knelt slightly in front of her

"Here, place your arm around my neck."

He felt her shaking arm move around him in the darkness.

"Ok, here we go."

Carlos hefted Maureen up by the legs, seating her against him as he carried her slowly out of the kitchen to place her down on the small sofa in the corner.

Though Carlos‘ rescue faltered from perfection as he misjudged the distance and after dropping her unexpectedly to the sofa, he lost his balance and fell forward onto Maureen as his hand came to rest on her right breast as the other hand gripped the back of the sofa.

Carlos was frozen, his eyes wide in shock.

They were both silent in that concealing darkness, save a small gasp from Maureen invoked from the still hand of Carlos cupping her breast.

 

[Niamh]

Wrenna Mallory

Some things have always been true, Wrenna thought to herself as her breathless cry was silenced in the depths of Bill's kiss. It was always just the two of us, in our own world, far away from everyone else.

Once the separation from the rest of the world had been concrete: the walls of a sea cave, darkness and distance. Now they were sequestered together in a space hollowed out of pure passion. Every bodily sensation was hyper-acute, but nothing outside the circle of Bill and Wren existed. Rational thought even was fragmented and brief, like lungfuls of air snatched by a drowining swimmer. She was drowning in him, in the feel of him against her and the wanting ache he awoke over every inch of her skin that his body touched.

He was not a boy any longer. This too skimmed across her consciousness as his knee slipped audaciously high between her thighs, and his hand clamped over her breast, kneading it almost painfully. There was shock in this; in the blending together of two pictures: Bill as a gangly boy, touching her from shoulder to thigh in a summer sea, both of them laughing; and Bill now, pressing her hard against the floor, her nipple swollen and burning against his palm, his penis swollen and burning against her belly.

Hungry for it, she fought her own greed. The invitation was explicitly there, to press herself against his thigh and grind her way shamelessly to the pounding, liquid climax she craved. She was sure he could smell it on her; that briny, humid sea-cave smell of a girl stimulated to the point where she cannot turn back. And yet she was shy of him too. She knew him and she did not. He was her same Bill; the boy she had fed with apples and half-sandwiches when he was hungry in the long grass after school. He was also a man who was making her pant and cry beneath him in the dark. She was ravenous from his long kisses; each one of which had wrung surges of hot moisture from her like a fist closing around a sponge. She wanted his long-fingered hands on the naked skin above her stockings, slipping beneath the sodden lace of her thong, plunging deep into the tight channel of her wet sex.

She kissed him in a kind of delirium, her tongue beseeching him without words. Her nipple, drawn erect between his fingers, throbbed as though pierced with hot needles. The pain excited her further, and her self control began to weaken. Her hand stretched out, covering his. As her back arched up from the floor, she pressed his hand closer against her breast.

“I have felt you all day on my skin,” she whispered.

His hands slipped beneath the bateau neck of her shirt, one on each side of her neck, and pulled downwards, neither of them caring when the fabric ripped. The clasps of her linen jumper followed, and then her breasts were free, filling his hands, nipples distending the gossamer lacework of her bra. He bent his head, not enough yet to touch her, and the warmth of his breath on the swollen pink tips made her shudder in his arms.

She remembered how he had eaten things she had smuggled out from her grandmother’s kitchen when he was a boy; his back up against the stones of the sea-cave, his knee touching hers. Every bite had taken him ages; he had savoured every mouthful, like someone tasting homecooked food for the first time. Now, as his mouth closed over her nipple, kissing it through the damp lace, she was reminded of this slowness; this determination to make the pleasurable moments of his life last.

The blood pounded in her ears, in her womb. Whoever had loved him before, her before, mattered nothing. For both of them, time had always been hurtling towards this moment -- this sweaty, savage, annihilating moment – that awaited them still in a bed at the top of the stairs. The distance now was measured only in heartbeats, in kisses. The increments of desire.

 

[Huntress]

Maureen Catlin

“Carlos,” Maureen whispered heavily, “you’re squishing me…”

Another flash of violet light illuminated the room and Carlos’ shocked expression sprang into sharp relief.

“It’s ok… Can you just lift up a little so I can breathe?”

The weight of his body shifted and she swung herself around to one end of the loveseat as he sat down on the other end with a thump.

“Maureen, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I did not mean to…”

“No apology is necessary, Carlos. I’m fine,” she assured him briskly, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. For a brief moment she’d mistaken his gallantry for interest. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but one that she’d opened herself up to by hoping for one brief moment he’d found her attractive.

“I think maybe we should go back to plan B and talk in the morning,” she smiled ruefully. “Besides, I don’t even have a glass to offer you anymore. And, I… um… draw the line at drinking from the bottle. Your shirt seems dry enough so you won’t freeze on the bike. Please don’t think me inhospitable or ungrateful for all your help this afternoon. I just… I think it would be better if we said ‘good night’ now …”

The room was so damned dark it was impossible to see much of anything except the glimmer of his profile now and then as the lightening flashed. When it limned his features, she could see his head was bowed.

“You’re right, of course, señora. I should be going. Will you be alright? The power should be restored soon. The utility company is pretty dependable about that sort of repair…”

“My dear, don’t worry about me. I’m a tough bird and a survivor. A little power outage doesn’t frighten me and certainly won’t keep me from getting to sleep. You’re very kind to be so concerned, but honestly, I’m alright.”

She stood up abruptly and felt her way along the unfamiliar surroundings; from sofa to bed corner to the door and fiddled with the handle until she managed to get the door open. There was more ambient light entering the room now and Carlos could see to make his way. He walked carefully to the doorway. Maureen had his jacket in her hand and as she gave it to him, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

“Thank you again,” she said. He looked at her as though a question burned to be asked, but instead gave a ghost of a smile as he turned silently and headed down the covered walkway.

”Adios, mi caballero valeroso…”

Closing the door, Maureen threw herself on the bed and pulled the coverlet up under her chin. She lay in the dark for a long time thinking about how vulnerable and afraid she felt in this new place and how much it hurt to when Carlos froze up. In the future she’d have to be more careful. If she was really going to have a chance at a fresh start, she would not, could not jeopardize her independence by falling head over heels in love with anyone.

 

[captainb]

Bill

In the back of his mind, Bill was surprised. Not only at how suddenly their mutual passion had reared its head, the lust driving their bodies to writhe together on the floor at the top of the stairs, but also at how right it felt. Here in his arms was the girl of his youth, the closest thing he had to a girlfriend simply because she was a friend who was a girl. The skinny body of his memory, top-heavy with her budding breasts, completed its transformation into the woman beneath him. Only her face was unchanged, its youthful innocence still there in her eyes, bright and open above the generous smile that had shone at him from within the dim cave. But this was also a new person, one he’d never met before. The familiarity was strange as the walls broke down between what was known and what was being revealed. They were pulling that wall down together, the facade of the public image shattering under their questing fingers.

His lips slid across the swell of Wren’s breast, drinking in the sensation of its touch. He followed its curve into the valley between them, his hands gripping both breasts and squeezing them together on either side of his face as he buried himself deep in her cleavage, inhaling her scent, the flowery remains of perfume and a rising musk from her pores. His teeth slid up again, his lips flowing from smooth flesh to rough lace before the bump of her nipple pressed against them. He nuzzled around it, her hand pressing on the back of his head to guide him closer. His mouth opened, letting the whole top of her tit slip inside, then he closed it until only the hard bud was caught between his teeth. A soft cry told him to be careful, and he eased his mouth’s grip. He pulled her bra strap down along her arm, the torn remnant of her shirt falling away as her breast slid free of the lace confines to lie softly trembling. He kissed along its underside, his nose barely grazing the tightly erect nipple as he watched it, memorizing every detail. He looked up and saw her looking back, eyes half-closed, and he locked onto her gaze as his mouth opened again and descended onto her nipple, taking it inside his mouth yet barely touching it, his tongue running circles around the swollen tip. Her hips ground hard against him as she arched her back, trying to press herself harder into his mouth. He complied, fastening hard onto the pink bud and sucking hard. It popped out briefly, shiny with his saliva, then he sucked it back in and held it between his teeth, his tongue flicking up and down over the trapped bit of flesh.

He cupped her breast firmly, sliding up to find her mouth again. Their lips, open and wet, closed and suckled as they kissed, their tongues darting out to rasp against each other. He caught her tongue as it slipped over his lips and he sucked hard, sucking on it as he had to her nipple. His fingers fondled her breast continuously; he couldn’t get enough of the feel, the texture of her, the taste and scent that ripped down his spine and pulsed heavily in his cock.

He rolled onto his side, pulling her with him, and curled one leg under his body. She was half in his lap now and his hands gripped her ass firmly as he pushed hard and stood, holding her off the ground. His balance shifted and her back slammed into the wall (something tinkled off to their right), but he followed through and pressed hard between her legs, now spread wide around his waist. Her arms wrapped around his neck as his crotch rolled solidly against hers, and her legs encircled his waist, trying to draw him even closer. Their kiss broke and they stared at each other, noses barely touching, as he ground slowly against her, feeling her hips twist and push back in response. Her mouth was open and her breath came in short deep gasps. Her hair had come undone and was piled crazily over her shoulders, a loose bunch cascading over her shoulder to curl along one side of her bare chest. Then her hand went to her shirt and she pulled down, taking the fabric and top of the bra with her as she bared her other breast to him, the jumper falling away between them. Instantly he dropped his head, sucking ravenously on her fresh nipple as she cried out and gripped his back. He felt her nails raking through his shirt and gripped her ass tighter in his hands, his fingers sliding farther back and probing into the cleft between those cheeks.

More. The single word formed in his mind, and he set himself and straightened, holding her aloft and wrapped around him as he carried her down the hall to her bedroom door. It opened before them and he completed the final steps before falling forward onto the bed on top of her, his grip relaxing as his face began to journey down from hers. He kissed between her breasts, stopping to lick along their soft sides, then continued down her belly. His tongue snaked out to probe at her navel as his hands slid down her legs and rose again, the hem of her jumper rising above her thighs with his hands. His fingers touched the bare skin above her stockings and slid high inside her thighs, and her legs softly spread as he bent to kiss the tender skin there, nipping gently at the pale flesh. He inhaled, the smell of her sex strong, and he leaned in to graze his nose along the thin fabric that covered her. In the dim light, he saw she wore a simple thong and he kissed lightly along its edge, finding her smooth and clean-shaven to his surprise and excitement. His tongue lightly flicked out to sample where skin met cloth as she sighed and softly held his head.

His arms wrapped around her thighs and he looked up, over the tangle of clothes around her waist, between the soft globes of her breasts to her face. The glint of reflection from her eyes found him, and he kept his eyes on her as he softly kissed her thigh again, his fingers toying with the edge of her thong where it crossed over her hip.

“Tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me what you want.”

 

[Niamh]

Wrenna Mallory

To be impaled. To feel your cock burn through my dark core like magma, coursing down narrow passages, opening a fiery crack. To feel galaxies spawning in the space behind my eyes each time you move on me, in me. To be fucked. To cum hot and hard. As you watch me. As you listen.

Wrenna’s mind and body answered Bill’s question in ways that she could not frame into speech. She was still too much a girl, too much a stranger. There would come a time though (she sensed it was not far off) when even this final reserve would be melted away by the power of desire teased out too long. The secret pathways of sensation that transected her from mouth to cleft were throbbing almost painfully. Each kiss, each wet enslavement of a nipple between lips and teeth, left her quivering; she was conscious of hot, honeyed streams overflowing their banks, glazing the crease of skin between cunt and thigh. The smell of her was all around them; a damp and feral sweetness. A scirocco. She saw the way he breathed her in. She imagined him watching the wet stain spreading across the taut lace of her thong. It excited her to be so laid open to him.

He kissed between her legs, a caress both light and excruciatingly brief. She wanted to hold him there and be tongued through the flimsy veil of lace. Her hands slid over the sheets as though she would really take his head between them, and press him into her. No, not yet.

Bill’s fingers came up over her long thighs and playfully tugged at the crinkled band of lace on her hip. And now, inexplicably, she remembered the first time she had been touched in just this way by a man. She remembered the aching suspense as his fingers trailed lower and lower over her skin; the frequent pauses in case she had changed her mind. The heart-stopping fury of her rising heat. And then, the first peeling away of sodden panties (white cotton, bought by Nana and never intended to be seen by anyone). The first deep probe of a man’s long fingers into her tight sheath and the subsequent low moan when he found her wet.

She loved this moment. This moment of being found out and discovered. Always, after the first time, she had looked forward to it.

“Tell me,” Bill had whispered. “Tell me what you want.”

A shy hot girl, she could say nothing. But her hands, reaching out and beginning to undress him, spoke for her. Bill let her unbutton his shirt and remove his belt. He watched her, breathing unevenly, now and then reaching out to tweak a nipple as she worked. Her hands were shaking.

"Help me take this off," she said softly, laughing as she wriggled out of the remains of her jumper, kneeling before him in torn lingerie and silk stockings only. From the way he looked at her, she knew she had done the right thing in not taking off everything. He liked the slattern sweetness of her disarray; the allusion to a lust too pressing to admit of formalities.

Through half-closed lids she looked at him; at the way his cock bulged in his jeans. She had felt it when he pinned her against the wall; so stiff that she could imagine it already wet.

She pulled at the buttons of his fly, hearing each one pop open beneath her fingers. His hands cupped her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples as she squirmed, sitting cross-legged before him. Each time she moved even slightly, she felt her own juices flowing out of her, wetting her. Her clit felt huge.

His cock sprang free, rising from its nest of hair fully erect. Wrenna had wanted to savour it; to lick and suck it until it spent in her mouth. But now she could no longer wait; their hours of foreplay had left her too aroused. She was at the point where rational thought stopped. Nothing remained but instinct; and instinct was implacable.

Leaning forward, she kissed him, his hands still stroking her breasts, her nipples distended and aching. She molded herself to him, tongue plunging deep, hands sliding down over his back. Astride him as he sat, she could feel the head of his cock pushing against her cleft, his juices mixing with hers. For a long moment, as they kissed, she danced slowly against him, sliding her clit against the smooth head of his erection.

Bill reached down between them, slipping Wrenna’s thong to the side. His fingers spread open the swollen folds of her sex, playing with her as his cock rose up between her legs, taunting her with its nearness. She was sure he could feel the desperation in her as he kissed her. She was fighting for breath, sobbing beneath the unending invasion of his tongue, responding so strongly to the stimulation of his fingers that she was not sure she could hold off her orgasm much longer.

 

[captainb]

Bill

Bill was fighting two battles. Every fiber of his being wanted to grip Wren's hips and plunge her down onto his aching erection, burying himself inside her belly. The other battle was to maintain just enough control that he didn't spatter both of them with his sperm right now. Wren had humped against him with a near frenzy. Her crotch, barely covered by the tiny thong, had massaged the full length of his cock, massaging and stroking it with pure lust. Her tongue slipped over and around his, the two tips flicking against each other, diving past to lick and taste, then her lips would close to suck his tongue hard and deep in her mouth in near desperation.

He lifted her body off himself as the first throbs of orgasm raised its head. His cock pulsed powerfully beneath her as he slipped his fingers under her thong and touched her pussy. No, her sex. The word, recalling delicate descriptions in Victorian texts, was in this case the only description that fit. She was literally dripping with sex, the lubrication from her body instantly coating his fingers as they slid between her labia. She groaned in his mouth and arched her hips forward and back as he tickled deep inside the slick loose lips of flesh, warm and hanging loose and open in her desire. His fingers slid up to touch her clit, eliciting a shudder from her. He'd never touched such a prominent clitoris before, not one that felt so hard. His finger and thumb closed on it and softly squeezed it up and down, tiny stroking motions that caused her to break contact with his face and clutch him hard, her cheek pressed against his as she gasped in his ear.

He gripped his cock with his free hand and pointed it straight up at her swollen cunt. Letting her body sink slightly, he rubbed the head of his cock along the wet opening, coating it with her secretion and exciting them both further. He felt her trying to sit on it, her hips reaching down to inhale his cock deep inside her. But he needed a moment longer, wanting their time together to last as long as he could stand. Wren's impatience rose, though, and she reached down to grip his cock with her own fingers, positioning it at her soaking wet entrance.

For a moment, he still resisted. He grinned at her face in the dim room, and whispered, "Is this what you want? You want to fuck me?"

"Yes, you bastard," she hissed behind a desperate smile. "I need you... I want you..." She tried pushing his hand away again, but he pulled forward and the tip of his cock contacted her clit. For a moment both of them swirled his cock against that sensitive nub of flesh. Her nipples were tight, two erect knobs that brushed against his chest as she writhed.

"You love being a slut, don't you?" he asked between gritted teeth. Her body stopped moving and her face hovered before him, her eyes searching into his. Her hair was loose now, tousled over her shoulders and hanging along her cheeks. He had never seen a more erotic vision.

She lunged forward and covered his lips with hers, tongues again diving deeply as he brought his hands to her hips, letting her play the guide. He felt her slip his cock back into position, sliding between the soaking, swollen lips, and then her body pressed down on his.

She was awash. Her pussy was open and unresisting, and Bill gasped himself as he felt her vagina open readily and slide down his shaft in one fluid stroke, burying him completely inside of her before either realized what had happened.

Both stared at the other in immobile awe. She felt like a volcano, her soft internal walls putting out heat like a furnace around the entire length of his cock. He pulsed and throbbed, feeling tiny tremors shoot through her internal muscles. He swallowed, then gripped her ass and pulled her up, sliding slowly out of her until only his tip was inside. Her mouth dropped open as she stared unblinking, then he pulled her down again, driving his cock fully into her as her eyes closed, a cry rising from somewhere deep inside as she wrapped her arms around his body, clutching him in a frenzy. Her tunnel squeezed him tight and he felt a sudden release of liquid, felt her cunt become even impossibly wetter as her hips rocked and ground against him rhythmically, her cries of ecstacy causing his balls to throb dangrously. He'd never felt harder; he felt a foot long inside her as he held her tight, letting the waves of her orgasm wash over them both.

 

[Sigurd]

Carlos

Damn…Damn…Damn…

Carlos cursed his actions as he sped away from the hotel. The rain was no longer refreshing, it was cold and heartless and each chilling drop stung like snow on bare skin. Which is what Carlos felt he himself did to Maureen.

Ever hear of explaining yourself Carlos! She must think you have no feelings for her at all. Damn, How could you be so stupid!

He ripped down the street abandoning all caution of the wet conditions. Her words ran through his mind over and over.

I think maybe we should go back to plan B and talk in the morning,” she smiled ruefully. “Besides, I don’t even have a glass to offer you anymore. And, I… um… draw the line at drinking from the bottle. Your shirt seems dry enough so you won’t freeze on the bike. Please don’t think me inhospitable or ungrateful for all your help this afternoon. I just… I think it would be better if we said ‘good night’ now …

Goddamn you dad, damn you. I was so afraid to make a move on her because I did not want to look like you. His fathers face appeared before him, with his vulgar tone and primitive words.

Always remember Carlos my boy. All women want is for a man to show them their place. Which is usually between your legs or under you.

Carlos tightened his grip on the handles of the bike. And turned down to the beach. He couldn’t go home, not yet. He needed time to think, time to plan how to make up to Maureen about being such a fucking idiot.

“I want her, I want her to be part of my life. She must feel as if I have no feelings for her. As if I was just being nice! Nice! Well, at least you gave her the flowery and CHASTE knight impression Carlos.”
He shook his head as the rain began to subside.

“Even the gods conspire against me. I couldn’t even freeze to death tonight if I wanted to.”

Carlos sighed and walked back to his bike. Kicking the starter hard he made his way home.

Throwing open the door, Carlos flicked on the blacklight in his living room and collapsed on the couch. Tapestries of Mayan gods and classical gods stared down on him. The blacklight set an aura about them and this he found quite calming. Carlos attempted to sleep. But all he could see was Maureen. He refused to close his eyes and he knew what he would see. He would see the opportunity he missed. He would see Maureen and him within the lovers dance.

Carlos rolled quickly up from the couch and walked into his studio. Staring at the blank canvas in the easel he turned his head.

“I will tell her my thoughts in my art.”

Throughout the entire night Carlos worked. The images formed within his mind through the mists of his frustration. Soon, the canvas before him was alive. Quetzalcoatl, the winged serpent was wrapped around a nude woman. The Great lord’s talon was placed flat, sliding down her body as she leaned back with her eyes closed delighting in the sensation. He eyes were set upon her with a gentle, yet mischievious gaze. In the background, lightning coruscated around the two ethereal lovers. And it the corner was this written.

In youth, the word of love is not easily spoken to those more worthy of better praise. Forgive a fool Senora. Forgive one who could not speak the words of his heart.

Carlos picked up a piece of paper and quickly wrote a note:

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Maureen,

Please accept this painting as an apology for last night. I want you to know that I have strong feelings for you. But, I do not want to seem as if I only love you for your beauty. I want to know your mind. I did not want you to think that I was looking for a way to..shall we say get you in bed. I want to know you Maureen, I want to know the woman who makes my heart flare with the dragon’s breath.

Carlos
------------------------------------------------------------------------------



Carlos placed the letter next to the painting and opened the window to dry it. After a couple of hours Carlos picked up the phone and dialed Miguel, his friend with a nearby delivery service.

“Hello Miguel? Sorry to wake you it’s Carlos. I need to call you on a favour for me. I need you to deliver something to the Sandpiper Inn. I’ll give you the details when you get here. Great, I’ll see you in fifteen? Thanks man.”

Carlos put the phon down and went to the other room to wrap up the painting. Placing it by the door, it was only minutes before a bleary eyed miguel arrived at the door. After the address and instructions were given the painting was on its way to Maureen. Carlos watched it depart with a slight grin.

 

[photographer]

Deafening Silence

.

 

[Niamh]

OOC to the cast of Compass Rose

As all of you now know, my dear friend Photographer has suffered a terrible loss. Out of respect for him, on Friday I sent you word that The Compass Rose would be closed. I do not know whether it will re-open or not.

I do thank Photographer though for sharing with his friends here the details of what happened. I never knew Msomi, of course, though I once had the extraordinary experience of speaking with him on AIM. He had the sort of spirit that could completely fill the sky; a soul like joyful music.

The one thing I have valued most in The Compass Rose, beyond even the skill displayed by its writers, was the honest friendship that all of us feel for each other. From my own perspective, I think it is something so special, so unique, that it has grown beyond the confines of Literotica.

If The Compass Rose re-opens, it will be in another place.

 

[photographer]

OOC To Niamh

Niamh - Please don't stop TCR on my account. I appreciate the sentiment - more than you realise - but feel that your thread should go on.

It remains your choice, but I am sure the others would want to continue with The Compass Rose - which contains tryuly excellent writing, superb characterisation and has barely started exploring its potential.

To all those who have shared so much with me - thank you.

 

[artful]

OOC to All !

As the Gods will,...so it will be,...but who knows
of the ways or means,...of the African Gods ! Do we dance our lives merely for their enjoyment, or is there a disguised purpose to our movements ?
*sigh*

 

[Byron In Exile]

Re: OOC to All !

As the Gods will,...so it will be,...

P.B. Shelley - Adonais, LII - LV

The One remains, the many change and pass;
Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows fly;
Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,
Stains the white radiance of Eternity,
Until Death tramples it to fragments. -- Die,
If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek!
Follow where all is fled! -- Rome's azure sky,
Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak
The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak.

Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart?
Thy hopes are gone before: from all things here
They have departed; thou shouldst now depart!
A light is past from the revolving year,
And man, and woman; and what still is dear
Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither.
The soft sky smiles, the low wind whispers near:
'Tis Adonais calls! oh, hasten thither,
No more let Life divide what Death can join together.

That Light whose smile kindles the Universe,
That Beauty in which all things work and move,
That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse
Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love
Which through the web of being blindly wove
By man and beast and earth and air and sea,
Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of
The fire for which all thirst; now beams on me,
Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.

The breath whose might I have invoked in song
Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven,
Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng
Whose sails were never to the tempest given;
The massy earth and spheréd skies are riven!
I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar;
Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of Heaven,
The soul of Adonais, like a star,
Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.

Godspeed, Artful.

 

[Niamh]

Artful

The world today is a much poorer place, because of the passing of a good man, a great spirit, my friend Harry, known as Artful.

He was not someone that came out of a cookie cutter. He was a true original. Everything, with him, was for the first time.

I have read the many tributes to him across this board, and I am truly overjoyed to see how many lives were made the richer by knowing this dear, fine man.

None of us who were with him in Safari will ever be able to think of Africa the same way. By God, if I ever do set foot on that ancient continent, I will be expecting visitations from Harry's African Gods. Such was the force of his creative vision and voice. What Harry wrote, became.

There was a real need in Harry always to embody truth by both word and deed. Truth was a passion with him. How many of us can say that? With him, you knew you were with a real person. You knew that the love he offered you was something you could bank on.

With all this, he was humble and unassuming, generous with his support, kind with his wisdom.

The world indeed is a much poorer place tonight.

God bless you, Harry. Walk by my side now in spirit. I'll be looking for you.

Kimberly/ Niamh