Message-ID: <1334eli$9706091251@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: Path: qz!not-for-mail Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: From: Delta Subject: Delta: KIN (mf) Should you wish to comment upon my story, I can be reached by E-mail at: delta@bc.sympatico.ca until late August 1997. After that comments should be directed to alt.sex.stories.d Comments and critizisms are welcome. Standard disclaimers: This is a work of fiction - no character within is a depiction of any real person, living or dead. No place or event described within exists outside of the writer's imagination. Copyright retained by the author and this post is for private use of the reader only. It is not to be published in any form whatsoever, including being made available on BBSs, without the express prior consent of author. Any readers who are underage in the jurisdiction in which they reside are asked to please pass by. Delta. KIN by Delta. Never is a long time. I don't usually break promises. Not even ones I make to myself. Especially not ones I make to myself. Funny how hard, and how easy, it is to overcome that private taboo. Nothing is ever the same. Have you ever been back to the old home town - the one you left 20 years ago? Have you ever gone back to visit the old high school; the old college? Then you know what I mean. The old home town, the old school, the old college, the old whatever, they are nothing without the people. It is always the people who define them. The fun Roberta and I had passing notes under the nose of old Mr. Harris; that first date with Paul at the Burger Palace; the time Ray and I were almost caught making out by the creek - the creek, the burger joint, the classroom are just a creek, just a burger joint, just a classroom. You could substitute any other creek, burger joint, classroom and nothing would change. It is always the people. The people I had known here were gone. Nothing is ever the same. I looked around the campus. The trees had grown. Not surprising, seeing as it had been ten years. Ten years is a long time, yet in my memory ten years ago is like yesterday. Ten years - almost to the day - it had begun. As far back as I can remember I've been able to recognize family. Ah, 'recognize' doesn't quite do the concept justice. I've been able to *feel* the presence of family. Perhaps 'family' is not the best word either, for I don't mean blood ties. Perhaps 'kin' is the word I'm looking for. I guess it doesn't matter. I'm delaying, feeling that perhaps now is not the time for this, perhaps I should wait a year or two (or three) before telling the story, before doing anything about it. As I was saying, I've always been able to feel the presence of kin, and I could feel it there, then. I can remember the feeling as though it were yesterday. As I talked with the others, waiting in the hall for the first class to begin, I knew it had been a good idea to sign up for the First Aid course. Tuesdays and Thursdays, two and a half hours a night, for the next ten weeks I would be here. It would be a lot of fun, besides being hard work. I knew it and I was anxious to begin. Then I felt it. It even had direction this time - behind me. It had gender as well, it was a man - and he had recognized me! I felt the shivers run up and down my back - it had never been this strong before. I waited a moment, composing myself before I turned. There was no one there. He must have gone into the classroom. We were taking the same class! Not surprising, really, as it happens quite often. Kin tend to find each other. I glanced at my watch. Five minutes to the hour. Almost as one the congregations in the hallway turned and began to file into their respective classrooms. Community Education is a wonderful thing, I thought as I made my way into Room 216. There he was, sitting in the second row, watching carefully without appearing to be watching, as his classmates entered. Our glances crossed and my stomach lurched. This wasn't merely 'kin', this was a soul-mate! Yet his face betrayed nothing, as if he had not felt the same wrenching that I had. Yet he had. I knew he had, for I felt him feel it. Something was strange here, but what? There was nothing for it but to sit next to him and see what developed. "Mind if I sit here?" I asked. His head came around and he looked up. His smile nearly melted my heart. "Of course not," he replied, then returned his concentration to his books. It took me a minute, then I got it. He had recognized me yet didn't realize just what that meant or that it had been mutual. He probably had no idea that we were soul-mates and he was trying to play it casual, trying to figure out what I had instinctively known. I was about to ease him into a conversation when the instructor called for the class's attention, then had us stand, one by one, and introduce ourselves and give our motivations for taking the class, where we wanted to work, etc. (you know the drill) - something I've always hated. Some had grand plans of becoming paramedics, others seemed tense and stuttered their way through the introductions. Then it was my turn. "Hi everyone, my name is Gwen. I've been working as a time-keeper in the camps for several years, and I decided that it was about time I took a first aid course. It will make it easier to find a job; employers love having lots of 'tickets' on their rolls." I sat down. It was His turn. "My name is Alan. I've always been interested in first aid and I'll take any job I can find," he said without sounding in the least desperate, and sat down. Short and to the point. I liked that. In the introduction to the class, and the slide show that followed (it was pretty gruesome - lots of blood, but I had seen some of that before, and not on slides) I noticed Alan surreptitiously checking me out. I knew what he was seeing - I saw it every morning in the mirror - and I knew it wasn't that much. My eyes are my best feature. I've always known that. Not that they are great, mind you, but they are a little better than average. Every woman has something about her which is that little bit better than average, and with me it is my eyes. (Some women seem to be a little bit better than average in all departments. I try to not be jealous. I succeed - mostly.) I was shorter than average, but not by much; smaller than average, not that it mattered to anyone with any sense; and a little less pretty than average, which seemed to matter a whole lot to those who can't see past the wrapping paper on a Christmas gift - and there are more of those than I care to count. Not that I ever had much trouble getting men - when you are comfortable with yourself and enjoy being with others, others tend to want to be near you. Too many of them, however, want to be near me so they could become closer to someone else near me. It is depressing sometimes, but I'm used to it. What I wasn't used to was the way in which Alan was looking at me. During the fourth class I finally figured it out, and it shocked me. We were in the half hour break between the theory part of the lesson and the practical, and I saw him covertly watching me. Like a flash it came to me. His was the aspect of a man observing beauty. My breath caught and my heart began beating faster. I checked the path by which I'd come to my conclusion and it came up valid. It was true! Alan was looking at me and seeing beauty. And it wasn't that 'beauty in the eye of the beholder' nonsense. He had a discerning eye and he well knew what he was seeing. Only he wasn't looking at my face, nor at my eyes, nor at any part of me. He was looking at the whole me in a way no one before had ever done. And what he saw he knew as beauty. I had always known this about myself, in spite of what the mirrors told me, but had never seen that inner knowledge reflected in another's eyes. Thus I was floating in a particularly wond'rous sea of well-being, when Marcia approached me. Marcia is one of those women I mentioned earlier. She was short of stunning, yet very lovely, nonetheless. "Have you asked him?" she inquired. "Asked who what?" It wasn't nice, being jolted back to reality. "Alan. About joining our study group." Marcia was a little peeved at my seeming lapse. She had formed a little study group after the first class, thinking it would help us all to do better. She had approached three or four of us, yet had not gone near Alan. Sometimes he seemed unapproachable. Sometimes he was unapproachable. Anyway, she had prodded me into agreeing to ask him. I don't know what held me back, but I hadn't asked yet, and now here was Marcia, peeved. Fingers snapped in front of my eyes. "Where were you?" she asked. I shrugged. "Ask him. He'll help our group. He's certainly smart enough." "And perceptive," I added, laughing at my private joke. Marcia shook her head, puzzled. "Yes, I suppose so. So, ask him, already, before the classes become really hard." She was right, of course. If it was to be done, better sooner than later. "Hey, Alan." He turned and waited for me to catch up with him, a slow smile coming over his face. It was one of those smiles which doesn't stop at the lips, but involves the whole face, eyes included. It was devastating at close range and I turned my gaze to the newly planted trees. They didn't look like much yet, barely five feet high. "Give them a few years and people will be able to sit under them to eat their lunches." I waved in the general direction of the trees. Alan turned his head to look and I heaved a silent sigh of relief. "Pity we won't be around then." There was a wistfulness in his voice, a sorrow which had more to do with something else than about the trees. I could feel it. "Some of us are doing some extra group studying. We were wondering if you'd like to join." He looked hesitant. "It will really be a great help to us all, we think. This course goes by so quickly that any extra practice we can get now will pay for itself later. I've talked with others, first aid attendants who've been through the course, and they all say that you have to keep ahead. There is so much material that if you ever fall behind, you've had it." "Okay," he nodded, "count me in." I told him when and where and with whom. He didn't really want to go, I could tell, but he would. He would so he could be near me, not so he could get near someone else, just so he could be near me. Any other time I'd have been overjoyed. Even as it was, I wanted to take him somewhere quiet where we could go places that no words can adequately describe. However, I wouldn't. I knew that. There was something about Alan which frightened me. I was up until the early hours of the morning figuring out just what that was. It was his intensity. He was just too intense. Inside of two weeks he'd decided that he was in love with me, and maybe he was, we were soul-mates after all, and he was ready to jump straight into a serious relationship, without being at all prepared for it. That scared me. He needed to step lightly into it, to enjoy all the nuances, the joys which came at each level of intimacy. If I allowed it, he'd miss all that . . . and so would I. He had some funny ideas, too. I just knew that if we 'got together', he'd want to protect and cherish me. I didn't want that, I wanted to go out and live life. I could take care of myself. "Gwen? Is that you?" I turned, the echoes of the past slowly fading away, to see Mr. Williams, our old instructor. "Hi Bill," I smiled at him. "Long time." "Must be eight, ten years. Are you back in town to stay?" Bill was in his fifties now, yet looked little older than forty. He was an open and caring man, the kind you would want working on you if you'd been in an accident. "Ten," I agreed, holding out my hand. He took it and, instead of shaking, brought it up to his lips. He always knew how to lighten up a situation. "Why, Sir Galahad. I'd never have recognized you, but for your manners. What brings you to this part of the kingdom?" We both laughed and he gave me back my hand. "Same old same old," he grinned. "Another class awaits with, no doubt, bated breath. And you? What brings you back to our fair city? By the way, I've heard good things about you, you make one hell of a First Aid Attendant. Congratulations." "Thanks, Bill." I was touched. He wouldn't have told me unless it was true. He didn't joke about his calling - well, not in that way. "So, what brings you back?" "Nostalgia. I'm approaching that age where the memories of my youth are all I have left [he started breaking up] and I figured I'd better cement them in my memory while I still have one." "Gwen, you'll be the death of me. If you're so bad off, where does that leave me . . . no, I don't want to know." He glanced at his watch. "Gwen, it's great seeing you, but I have to go. Want to sit in - for old time's sake?" I shook my head, no. Although I'd renewed my ticket a few times, I had never gone back to a previous instructor. I always felt that I would learn more from someone different, a different approach, style, whatever. Of course that wasn't why I declined, after all he was only suggesting I sit in for a class. Bill was good about it. He merely shrugged. "If you're going to be around long, look me up - I'll treat you to dinner - if you are willing to take pity on a feeble old man." He grinned, then turned and walked away. Somehow I was sure that there was more, and when he slowed again before reaching the door I knew I was right. When he turned his face was serious. I braced myself. "He's still in town. Thought you might want to know." Then he was through the door and gone. Trust him to know. He always seemed to know more than anyone would have thought. "Here's the situation, Gwen," Mr. Williams's voice was quiet, though no one could hear him anyway as we were in the hall. "You've had a nasty fall and broken your right femur. That's the biggie. You are conscious and it hurts like hell, so that's where you will direct the Attendant's attention. Now, just to see if your attendant is sharp, we'll give you another injury. Your left upper arm has been cut and you are bleeding into your rain-gear. The blood is pooling in your sleeve and isn't noticeable. The pain in your leg is masking it, so as time passes you'll get weaker without realizing the problem. Got it?" "Got it," I replied. "Remember - direct attention to your leg. It hurts like hell." We walked back into the classroom. All the equipment had been put away, except for one kit. This would be the last problem of the day. I was the patient and Mr. Williams would pick an Attendant to work on me while the others observed. I lay on my back and waited. "Alan. You're the Attendant. You've just got word that Gwen has fallen and hurt herself - she's screaming. Go!" Oh no, not Alan! I'd done my best to never partner up with him. Practical First Aid means a lot of touching and I had wanted to spare him, me, us, that. I looked up at Mr. Williams in time to catch a little grin on his face where no grin should be and I wondered if he'd done this on purpose. "Is it safe to approach?" Alan was carrying his kit, his manner professional. "Yes. Good. Safe to approach." "What's the weather? Anything special as regards terrain?" "Warm, light rain, nothing to worry about. Your patient is as you find her." "As I approach do I find her conscious?" Alan knew the drill. "She's yelling in pain. I think you can assume she is conscious and has clear air passages." "It's my leg, I broke my fucking leg," I took the clue. Everyone was a little taken aback at my foul language, but Mr. Williams beamed at me. "Call for the ambulance," Alan said. "You are in a camp, accessible by boat or helicopter." Alan was kneeling at my side now, calmly telling me to stay still, that he was here to help. "Checking pulse," he called out as he looked at his watch. My resting pulse is near 60, but it was faster than that now. "Ninety and a little weak," replied Mr. Williams. "Marcia. Bring the Oxygen," Alan ordered, and Marcia came forward and simulated placing the mask on me. "Checking for pooling blood," he called out and began feeling under my head, my neck and back even as I protested that it was my leg. I noticed he was sweating a little. It wasn't all that hot in the room, yet I was finding it a little difficult to breath normally myself. We had never been this close before. I wanted to get up and sit down to watch Alan work on someone else, but I couldn't do that. He found the bleeding arm, naturally. Alan was the most thorough man in our group. "Med-evac!" he called out. "Your helicopter will be here in 30 minutes. This will not be a scoop and run. You have time to do a full treatment." John was holding my leg steady, as directed, as Alan placed a pressure dressing over my wounded arm. "No smoking. Oxygen in use." He was a bit late with that one. John kept my leg steady while Alan did a thorough head to toe on me. This is what I had been dreading. His hands traced their way over my scalp, felt their way over my face, checking for bumps, dents, breaks. His hands were so warm and I could feel the energy as it passed through his fingers and palms. As he lightly traced his way down my neck it was all I could do to keep from groaning. My breathing was becoming a little ragged, and it wasn't from my supposed injuries. My god, I was getting excited! The nearness of him, the smell of his sweat, his breath were all a little too much. Having him touch me all over was a lot too much. "Take a deep breath and tell me if it hurts - if it hurts, stop at once." He had his hand on my sternum and I breathed in against it. It was a quick way of checking for broken ribs. "No pain," called out Mr. Williams. Maybe not, but Alan was thorough and checked out my ribs anyway, pushing my breasts up and out of the way when he felt the sides of my rib cage. He was blushing a bit when he did that, but Mr. Williams would not allow his students to observe the niceties. 'When you're in the field are you going to let your patient die because you're too embarrassed to check around her breasts? No? Then you'll do it here, too.' He was right, but that didn't make it any easier on me. Thank god Alan didn't notice that my nipples were pushing out against the heavy cloth of my top - or maybe he did. Perhaps that was why he was blushing. When he palpated my abdomen I knew I was in trouble. Such energy the man had in his hands! It warmed me through. It did more than that, I felt myself becoming wet. It was my turn to blush, and when his hands traced their way down my legs and removed my shoes and socks to palpate my feet, electric currents ran up and down my body. At last it was over and he moved to treat my broken femur. It would be a long splint running down from my armpit to past my foot and a short splint running down the inside of my leg from thigh to past my foot. When he nestled the short split between my legs, just barely touching my crotch, I almost jumped. But I couldn't jump, I was tied to the long splint. Then, in almost less time than it takes to tell, I was tied to both splints, sand-bagged and covered with a blanket. From start to finish it took less than twenty minutes. Now he was checking my pulse and respirations again. I guess he realized something was up when his fingers found my radial pulse, but he merely asked me if I were all right. What could I say? I couldn't say: Everything is fine, just ask everyone else to leave and then have your way with me; or, more bluntly: Let's fuck. I kept squeezing my legs together, I couldn't help it, feeling the head of that splint in my crotch, making me feel so good, thankful for the blanket which covered me. Then it was over, and I was being untied and everything was put away. "I'll stand a round at the Wine Cellar. You all did some good work today. Keep it up and you'll all have your tickets without any problem." Mr. Williams knew how to get the best out of his students. I would have loved to go with them, to hear Bill's 'war stories', but I begged off. Alan seemed a little hurt that I wouldn't accompany him to the Wine Cellar, but there was something I just had to do. I sped home and got out of my clothes as quickly as I could, put some soft music on the tape player and prepared to finish what Alan had begun. As I lay back, I could almost feel those hands moving over me once again, fingers tracing their path, but this time they stopped and lingered around my mouth, tracing my lips until my tongue moved out to intercept them. I sucked a finger into my mouth, wishing it were his, and swirled my tongue around it, getting it well lubricated. My other hand touched and teased my nipples, stroked my breasts, my stomach, my thighs. I could feel my body quivering with excitement, waiting so impatiently for what it knew was coming. Finally I could wait no longer and my fingers escaped my mouth and made a bee-line for paradise. I was ready, very ready, but I made myself wait, teasing myself, touching, stroking, moving up and down, spreading my oils around, almost, but never quite, finding my clit. "Oh, god, oh god," I moaned as I thrashed about on the bed, struggling for release and holding back at the same time. My body was on fire. Every nerve end was screaming for release, my body was poised, raised as if to a phantom lover and time stood still for the moment it took to conjure up his face, with that devastating smile, the one reserved for me only. For one instant all was quiet, still, then warmth suffused me and all became motion. I did myself fast and hard. My breath came in great ragged gulps. No more waiting. My fingers vibrated my poor clitty until everything exploded, and even then they kept stroking as my jerking body turned over, trying to escape, kept stroking until I screamed out my orgasm into my pillow. Resting, recovering, I wondered why I had not invited him back with me instead of hurrying home alone to do my solitary dance. I already knew the answer: I wanted to be fucked, he would have wanted to make love. Soaking in the tub, I heard the apartment door open as my roommate returned. She knocked on the bathroom door. "I'll be finished in a minute," I replied. "I'll be finished in a minute." The man at the telephone smiled to me, before returning to his conversation. I smiled back, wondering how I had come to be here. I didn't remember coming into the cafeteria building at all, so wrapped up was I with my memories. What did it mean, that in my unconscious state I had wandered right over to the telephone? Ten years is a long time. Only in my memory was it as yesterday. What would he think of a voice from the past, not just any voice, but my voice. Would he be angry? Surely he had the right. One just didn't push one's soul-mate into the arms of another woman, then leave without saying good-bye, yet that's what I had done. He needed to learn more about life, I decided, as I passed the phone to Marcia over his protests. I let her tell him of the new meeting place. It was probably selfish of me, but I didn't want to be his first and only true love. We both were in our late twenties, yet I knew that his shyness, his reserve would have prevented him from becoming involved very much. He was too solitary, and he was looking for that one true love. It was too much pressure. Let him learn disappointment elsewhere. A little wiser, a little older and we would be perfect for one another. Right now, with his mindset, it would end in disaster - I was sure of it. So, out of some sort of perversity, I pushed him, gently I thought, towards Marcia. She thought I was crazy, yet, as the days passed, she accepted the situation and made her play for him. As for myself, I avoided ever being alone with Alan. Not that he never suggested it, quite casually, of course, but I wouldn't take him up on his suggestions. He seemed dumbfounded and hurt by this, but I never let on that I realized what I was doing. I never let on, until that last day, the day of the exams. It was over. I breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against the wall. I wouldn't find out my mark for a couple of weeks, but I knew I had done well. Fortunately, I hadn't had Alan as a partner in the tests. I don't think I could have kept my cool if that had been the case. Now for the class party. "Hi." "Alan. How did it go?" "Well. Really well. And with you?" He was careful not to look too happy in case I'd bombed. "A cinch. I had almost the exact same problem as we practiced during our last session." He broke into a smile. "Good. Good. Come on, I'll buy you a coffee." "Nah. I think I'll wait and see how the others did." His smile faded slowly. "You've been avoiding being with me lately. I've been wondering why." I looked at him, wondering how I would answer that, if I would answer that. My stomach had suddenly become queasy. "Now I'm asking." His eyes met and held mine. I had to look away. I decided to let him down as easily as I could. It was the least I could do. I took his hands in mine and looked him in the eyes. "Alan, you are a very special man," I began, but was startled to see shutters fall behind his eyes, "and any woman would be really lucky to get you . . ." "But?" he interrupted. "But, right now, I'm afraid it can't be me." I was about to continue but was stopped by a bitter smile as he shook his head. I prepared for the protestation that never came. Instead I found out that he could be cruel. "Why do you women say that?" he asked, disbelieving. "It's the very last thing a man wants to hear. And to combine the 'special' line with the 'any woman would be lucky' line has to be the . . . ." Alan shook his head, bewildered, defeated, then turned and walked away. He muttered something, almost under his breath, but a trick of the hallway acoustics brought his words to me, "Not again. I can't believe it's happening again." The door closed behind him. Damn. I'd screwed up. I'd fucked up. Royally. I had mistaken his reserve for an innate shyness, an inexperience, when it had actually been that of a wounded man, wary and unsure about getting back into the game. He'd already learned disappointment. Damn, damn, damn. I arrived at the party, late, to see Alan and Marcia dancing to the too-loud music in the club. She saw me and smiled, holding her thumb up. I gave her a weak smile in return. As soon as was diplomatic I made my excuses and left, walking aimlessly down the street. I ended up in the city park, under a tree, where I sat down to contemplate the mistakes I'd made, beginning with that first day and ending with . . . and ending with coming to the park. At the sound of voices I'd looked up to see none other than Alan and Marcia, walking hand in hand. "Here?" I caught the disbelief in Alan's voice. "Here." Marcia giggled. "No one ever comes here after dark. No one will ever know. And I love doing it outside." She was taking off her jacket. I closed my eyes in disbelief. It wasn't really dark, the moon was full and bright in the late summer sky. It was warm and just perfect for what they were planning. And planning was the correct word for it, for Marcia spread out a blanket that she had been carrying in her oversized handbag. "You're a little minx, Marcia. No, wait, I'll do that." Alan's hands replaced hers and began to unbutton her blouse slowly. He bent close and kissed her skin as it slowly appeared. Marcia's head was back and I could hear her breathing catch, then quicken. Then her blouse slipped off and fell to the ground. The moonlight slanted off her breasts, beautiful breasts, to which Alan paid full and dutiful attention. He caressed them gently, then took one in his mouth and sucked on it tenderly, while stroking her body and working on her skirt with his hands. Marcia's breathing went up a notch. Respirations fast and shallow, I thought to myself. Apparently the same thing had crossed Alan's mind, for he aided her into a semi-sitting position, resting against him, for ease of breathing, and gently stroked her neck and kissed her forehead, her eyes, her cheek, her lips. His shirt, also, was off by that time. Contra-indicated, I thought as Marcia gave out with a groan. Alan was clearly not making the situation any better with his treatment. Sure enough, I was right, for Marcia, behaving as any drowning woman might, reached up and pulled his head down to receive some mouth to mouth. I remained quiet. I was too close to get up and get away without being seen or heard, and I had disappointed Alan once today already. I wouldn't spoil his fun. I closed my eyes to block out the sight of Marcia, under him, where I should have been, but I couldn't block out the sounds. Alan was as gentle as I'd known he would be and tears rolled down my cheeks unbidden. A gasp and my eyes opened again. Ah, good move, direct pressure to the wound, stop the flow of . . . . He was stroking her lightly, obviously calming an almost hysterical patient. I could hear the hysteria in her moans, her little cries. It wasn't working. Her cries grew louder, more demanding. There was only one thing for it - physical restraint, and Alan moved his body over hers to restrain her with his weight. There was a sharp cry, then the sounds of pleasure as they . . . I couldn't continue with the analogy any longer and I closed my eyes and held my hands over my ears, hoping it would all be over soon, that I would be left alone in my misery. A long time passed, and when I finally opened my eyes I didn't expect them to still be here. "Gwen. I didn't expect you to still be here." Bill came up to me, holding a steaming cup of coffee. He looked from me to the telephone and back again. He set his cup down on a nearby table and pulled his pen and a piece of paper from his shirt pocket. He wrote something on the paper and handed it to me. On the paper was a telephone number. I looked up, wanting to deny that I wanted to use that number, wanting to hand him back the paper. I couldn't, I didn't. "Marcia?" My voice sounded strangled to me. "They split up, six, seven years ago. Very amicably." I hadn't heard that. I had heard that they'd moved in together. The class had formed some very strong bonds in the course of those 10 short weeks, and every now and then information would come to me. I never sought it out, but it would come, nonetheless. "Call." Bill was such a sweet man. I wanted to thank him, but couldn't seem to find my voice. "It's okay, you're welcome." He always knew. Bill was 'kin' too. He smiled at me encouragingly, then turned and left me alone. Alone in front of the telephone, with the paper grasped tightly in my hand. What could I say? Ten years was a long time. Would he even remember? I couldn't do it. Besides, what did it matter? It had long been over. Sometimes I'd go for whole months without thinking of him. If I met him, heard his voice, whatever, it would just be meeting another stranger, hearing another stranger's voice. My hand, of it's own volition, dropped a coin into the slot and began punching in the numbers. I understood. I needed closure. "Hello?" His voice hit me like a fist in the stomach. I couldn't breathe. "Hello?" A little irritation in his voice now. Tears were running from my eyes. A voice from the past, it's only a voice, I tried to tell myself. Silence. Soon there would be that tell-tale click and it would be over. I'd sworn I'd never come back. Never is a long time. Ten years is a long time, but his voice was like yesterday. I wanted to speak, to say anything, but couldn't. My hands were shaking and my eyes were closed tight against the tears. "Gwen?" His voice was soft, questioning, unsure. Then it was strong, sure, more powerful than I had remembered. "Gwen. Don't hang up. Don't hang up. Gwen? I've been waiting." As far back as I can remember I've been able to feel the presence of kin, and I was feeling it here, now. End of Kin, by Delta. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /