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From: Mmtwassel@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} Mat Twassel: The Orange Dress (MF golf)
Date: Sun, 16 Jun 2002 19:10:07 -0400
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<1st attachment, "ORNGDRSS.txt" begin>

In celebration of the final round of the U.S. Open Golf 
Championship, I am reposting a few of my "golf" stories. 
These are "The Open," which was written for the Dulcinea 
Romance Festival of 2001, "The Sarabande and Six Iron," 
and "The Orange Dress," which first appeared in Mark 
Aster's Journal of Desire.  I am also posting a new 
story, "Mashie, Niblick, Spoon, Cleek," which is soon to 
appear as one of the days in Mat Twassel's Calendar 
http://calendar.atEROS.com   Sex excepted, there is no 
activity I prefer to golf.  These stories feature golf 
and sex. Go, Tiger!

For more stories and photographs take a look at my web 
page  http://members.aol.com/mmtwassel/ and visit my 
calendar at http://calendar.atEROS.com


The Orange Dress
by Mat Twassel
================

Neither of us had been to Puerto Rico before, but when 
some encyclopedia publishing company decided at the last 
minute to cancel its yearly outing,  Laura's school 
district managed to pick up a Spring Break Vacation 
Special Package at a price impossible to pass up:  Four 
days in a posh resort at a cost not too much more than a 
week's worth of mortgage payments, air fare included.  
Laura did have some concerns about the flying: this was 
the first time we'd be airborne without our kiddies.  
Three nights prior to our departure she'd watched over my 
shoulder as I sent off an e-mail to my most trustworthy 
brother containing instructions that should anything dire 
happen, we'd expect him to care for our children as if 
they were his own.

Actually, I wouldn't have minded staying home. I'm not a 
comfortable tourist.   "I don't really know any of your 
teacher friends," I'd complained to Laura. "And the few I 
almost know don't seem to like me much."

"Nonsense," Laura had scoffed.  "All the teachers think 
highly of you.  You just don't give anyone a chance.  
Besides, we can be off on our own most of the time. And 
you said that golf course looked really good."

The flight was full.  Laura sat on the aisle, I squeezed 
into the middle, and to my right a thin Puerto Rican boy 
fiddled with a pack of Marlboro Golds.  Not a boy, 
really; he was probably eighteen, but very slight and 
nervous, and he spoke barely any English, just enough to 
ask me every twenty minutes or so if we were almost there 
yet. The rest of the time he played with the cigarette 
pack.  I thought about making some light comment about 
how he shouldn't smoke-not that it was any of my 
business; it just seemed the friendly yet responsible 
thing to do.  "You know smoking is bad for your health."  
Something like that.  The kid just seemed too nice to be 
sucking raw smoke into his youthful lungs.  But I'm not 
the kind to interfere, I've got my own family to care for 
and worry about, and anyway I know fewer than ten words 
of Spanish, none of them cigarettes, bad, or health.  The 
boy caressed the pack of cigarettes as he stared out the 
window, and Laura and I held hands, read from our 
Virginia Woolf and Tom Robbins, and whispered to each 
other what our children might be doing right at that 
instant.  "Obliviously innocent and safe," we reassured 
each other.

Then I made the mistake of telling Laura about my dream 
of the night before: I'd been standing in the doorway of 
a small-town bank building, and an old-fashioned, cream 
colored station wagon had come careening around the 
downhill corner, flipped over, and then, semi-crushed, 
righted itself on the curb. I could see that the station 
wagon was crammed with passengers, but it took me an 
instant to react.  I rushed up to the automobile and 
yanked open the door.  "Get out, get out!" I yelled.  
"She's gonna blow."  

"Did you actually say that?" Laura asked.

"Well, in the dream," I said.  "Though I did feel the 
slightest bit foolish.  Maybe she wasn't going to blow.  
But the thing is, I'd acted courageously.  Do you think 
if someone acts courageously in dreams that means he'll 
be brave in real life?"

"Oh, honey, you're my brave boy," Laura whispered, 
squeezing my hand.  "You're brave and kind."

I didn't tell Laura that one of the passengers in the car 
was a small girl of three or four, and I'd pulled her out 
and held her to my heart, and that there had been no 
driver in the car, and that one of the women passengers 
had scolded me: You should have been more careful!

"Did she blow?" Laura asked.

"I don't know," I answered.  "The dream ended before that 
could happen."

A few minutes later the plane dipped low over San Juan.  
The fidgety boy with the Marlboro Golds yelped, one 
quick, puppy chirp, and then he turned to me.  "Be you 
full?" he asked me.  An anticipatory grin brightened his 
face.  I nodded.  Satisfied, the boy turned to study the 
final descent.

In truth I thought San Juan from the air seemed at best 
ordinary-mundane if not ugly.  The skyscape was a 
hodgepodge of ramshackle buildings, cheap high rises, and 
crude hotels whose architects might have done better 
sticking to edge-of-the-desert gas stations.  The unkempt 
homes and run-down businesses had a dirty, airy 
aimlessness to them which seemed at best a notch or two 
above squalor.  As the airplane made its final rush 
towards the airport I squinted my eyes, and the resulting 
swirl of bright colors mixed with the bleached, earth-
tone buildings to make a milkshake of the city.  I 
thought of the Tori Amos song and of Laura's raspberry 
nipples, and I felt a little better, a little less 
fretful, though clearly this was not an American city-it 
still looked as if it might have been designed by a 
kindergarten class fresh from finger-painting and eager 
to begin recess.


Our resort was a bumpy hour or so outside of the city-
wrought iron gates greeted us, and an immaculately 
groomed golf course, and atop a small hill the sprawling 
upscale hotel of many wings  and multi levels-an uneasy 
cross between fairy tale castle and suburban strip mall. 
While awaiting check-in we were served the smoothest 
possible pina-coladas, peach daiquiris, and tequila 
sunrises.  Opposite the main desk a wall of lobby windows 
afforded us panoramic views of the lovely crescent beach, 
its sunny postcard sand, its almost endless expanse of 
turquoise water, its perfectly cloudless azure sky, its 
palm-tree-swaying tropical breezes.  The lilting winds 
played lightly over the well-oiled, bronze-skinned, 
immodestly  recumbent bodies of half a hundred well-to-do 
college kids or honeymooning movie stars. So relaxed and 
at home they lay, breathing the adventure-laden air, 
drinking in the golden sunshine, listening to the serene 
waves whispering secrets and promises of  sultry nights 
to come, that it almost seemed they weren't alive, that 
they were part of a painting, a novel,  a daydream. Laura 
and I strolled through the elegantly appointed lobby 
until our noses nearly pressed against the spotless 
glass, and we peered out at that different world. "Oh, it 
looks so ..." Laura said, as I slipped my credit card 
into my wallet.  

"Yes," I agreed. "But where are all the ordinary people?"  

"In Orlando standing in line," she laughed, "Or shoveling 
snow and shivering in Chicago."

Then she giggled like a school-girl, and then she kissed 
me-not a school-girl kiss at all but something 
passionate, tropical, and dangerous. I shivered.

One of those long moments later we were still standing 
there holding hands, and my eyes flitted across the 
curves and contours of the sun-bathers.  Surely the 
simple goal of that perfect flesh was to swell at once 
recklessly and artfully into small covers of colorful 
cloth.  Further out, a pair of topless children danced 
and squealed in the slight surf, light tickled small 
waves, a sailboat slipped past the languid bob of a small 
orange buoy, and a pretty woman replaced the strap of her 
barely significant bathing suit.  The man next to her 
touched his finger to her spine.  Perhaps, I thought, 
they'd almost gathered up strength enough to go inside 
for one last earth-shaking fuck before supper.


"There's a dinner reception out by the pool," Laura said. 
We were in our room.  Our luggage had been delivered 
ahead of us. The bed was so wide. A slow ceiling fan spun 
the indoor air, touching it up just right, and Laura, 
wearing naught but panties, stood before the huge mirror 
brushing her hair. "This is going to be so fun," she 
said.

"What should I wear?" I asked. 

"Anything," she said.  "It's casual.  Everything here is 
casual.  Shorts, a shirt.  Sandals.  Whatever you want.  
I'm going to put on my comfy black slacks and that 
sleeveless black top."

"Slacks?" I said.  "Shouldn't you be wearing a colorful 
skirt?  This is an island, after all."

"I didn't pack any skirts," Laura said.

"Oh." I was disappointed.  "I was hoping you'd show off 
your legs," I told her, "Maybe one of your pretty skirts-
with no panties on underneath.  Isn't such attire 
required by the Unofficial Rules of Puerto Rico?"

Laura laughed.  "Puerto Rico has no rules, unofficial or 
otherwise."  She stepped into her slacks and sandals, and 
snugged her tight black top over her bare breasts.  Her 
nipples made lovely little dents which I was about to 
test for resiliency and so on, when there was a soft but 
firm knock at our door.  It was a young woman. Not a 
woman, really-a teen aged girl. 

"Turn down service?" The girl's  whispery voice was 
elegant, clear, breathless, and yet almost bashful. 

"Um, we were just about to leave," I said, charmed and 
flustered by the graceful lilt of her question and the 
hint of amusement in her slight smile.

But Laura said something in quick, graceful Spanish, 
apparently accepting the girl's offer.

We watched the young woman fold down the coverlet. She 
moved with ease and unhurried efficiency.  As she leaned 
forward, the short skirt of her uniform pulled upward, 
showing us the smooth stretch of her long legs, more and 
more coffee-colored skin.  Abruptly she bent over to pick 
up the pillows for plumping, and we saw the beginnings of 
her perfect bottom, the slim crescents of ass, the brief 
panties of deep, dark, rain-soaked red.  Done, she turned 
to us and offered a timid smile.  "Chocolates?" she said, 
holding out the small, silver-foiled box for Laura to 
take.  And then she left.

"Cute girl," Laura said. She handed me the box of 
chocolates.  Inside I saw a square of dark and one of 
light.

"Shall we try them now?" I asked.

"Not now," Laura said.  "Those are for bedtime. Let's get 
out to that reception before all the food is gone. Some 
of those teachers can be real pigs."

My mind dwelled still on the tender curves of that hotel 
maid's bottom, the breezy humidity of her voice. "Do you 
think they have turn down service every night?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Laura said.  "Maybe if I 
weren't here you could ask her if she offered a deluxe 
turn-down service.  'Oh, se or,'" Laura mimicked, mixing 
timidity and tease just right, "'I shall have to turn you 
down, no?'"

I put the box of chocolates on the plumped pillow, and we 
strolled out into the hotel proper, passing the main 
lobby, various lounges, the casino, assorted gift shops.  
"But the question is, would you turn her down?" Laura 
said, and then she stopped at the entrance to a small 
boutique. "Maybe later we can find something in here for 
your mom." She entered the shop.  "A gift for taking care 
of ...." She'd paused to finger the first dress on a 
display rack near the entryway.  

"That's what you should be wearing," I told her.  Bright 
orange swirls of starburst chased each other down this 
slip of a dress.  Sheer and almost strapless, it had a 
playful fringe of orange tassels along the bottom hem.

"Pretty," Laura admitted.  

"Shall I get it for you?  Please?"

"No," Laura decided.  "It's too thin.  I mean I'm not 
thin enough. I wouldn't look good in it.  It's a dress 
for a 15 year old girl."

With that she walked out of the store.  "Come on," she 
said.  "Let's see what they have to eat.  Last one to the 
pool is a rotten egg."

I soon caught up with her.  "I think you'd look great in 
that dress," I told her.

"Thanks for thinking that," she said.

Poolside we found a plethora of food.  Tubs of icy fresh 
shrimp. Plump oysters on their shells.  Huge mushrooms 
stuffed with crab.  We stopped at one of the serving 
tables where a dark man used his wide knife to slice us 
handsome portions of juicy grouper.  We ate with our 
fingers while we watched two spitted piglets, stretched, 
darkened and dripping, rotate over red-hot embers.  

"Poor little piggies," Laura said, "I can't wait to sink 
my teeth into them."

"And look at all that dessert," I pointed out to Laura.  
"Melons and berries, flans and flamb s, scoops of 
luscious ice cream mounded into huge coconut shells."

"That's for after dancing," Laura told me.  "But first 
more of that sublime champagne."  I lifted two more 
goblets from one of the silver trays.  The wine was light 
and elusive, like a pretty woman's perfume.  We sipped 
and smiled, and somehow the sun had set, and Laura's eyes 
twinkled in starlight.  "Dancing," she said.  "Let's be 
wild."

"You know I'm not much of a dancer."

"You'll do fine."

And I did. At least I felt I did. I jounced and swayed 
and let the heart of my body follow the heat of Laura's 
slippery rhythms.  During the fast numbers sweat flew 
like laughter, and her dark hair shouted at the sky, and 
during the slow tunes we moved like a quiet automobile 
parked above the pond at an out-of-the way lover's lane.

"Shall we walk along the water?" Laura asked.

We had the beach to ourselves.  Maybe it was early.  
Maybe it was late.  Maybe it was between time.  The wind 
whispered to the waves. The sand, warm as excited sex 
skin, smoothed our soles.  As if amused at our many stops 
for kisses quick and slow, the stars smiled down at us. 
"We'll show them," we said.  And we did.


By the time we got back to the gathering, the food had 
been cleared away and the musicians had packed up, but a 
few people were still chatting.  "I don't want to go in 
yet," Laura said.  "The night is so young!  I was hoping 
to do more dancing."

"There's always basketball," I said.  We'd come upon an 
outdoor court a shoulder-high hedge removed from the pool 
area, and I'd found a basketball-well, something about 
the size of a basketball, but smooth, whether with use or 
by design it was too dark to tell.  The ball bounced, 
albeit with a wobble.  

"A little one-on-one?"  I suggested. Laura smiled.  I 
dribbled out to the top of the circle and put up my jump 
shot.  I'd played  basketball in high school and some in 
college, and usually I knew right at the instant of 
release whether a shot was going in.  This one felt 
perfect. 

"Forgot to allow for the Puerto Rican moon." I pointed up 
at the slim crescent. "It's more underneath than I'm used 
to."   

Laura chuckled. "More like too much champagne," she said.  
"Flip it here, let me try."

She bounced the ball twice, hopped forward on both feet, 
and pushed the ball two-handed towards the basket.  The 
ball glanced off the backboard straight through the net.  
"See?" Laura said, "I've got basketball in my blood and 
bones. And you've got a P!"

"Huh? No way. You only get a letter for missing someone's 
shot."

"P for pig," Laura insisted, "Don't argue... Puerto Rican 
rules!"

"I thought you said there were no rules."

"I was talking about dress codes," Laura said.

"No fair," I said.

"Fair as it's going to get," Laura countered.

"Okay, but if I beat you will you let me buy you the 
orange dress?"

"You won't beat me."

"But if I do?"

"Shut up and shoot," she said.  "You've got a P, and come 
to think of it, so have I."  With that we set off for the 
hotel to find an indoor bathroom.

We found one just off the casino lobby.  "Ooh, gambling," 
Laura said when she came out of the rest room.  "Come on, 
let's lose our nest eggs."

"You know I'm not much of a gambler."

"Oh, honey... if you gamble as well as you dance we'll be 
rich before bedtime."

"What about the basketball, the game of pig?"

"If you gamble as well as you play basketball, maybe 
you'd better go to bed right now."

"I thought..."

"Just for a few minutes," Laura said.  "I'm going to bet 
everything we own on R. E. D.  To ward off sunburn. Come 
on. It'll be so much fun."  Laura led me past the burly, 
stern-faced guard.  

"He seemed interested in you," I mentioned to Laura when 
we were out of earshot.

"Who?"  Laura asked.

"That guard over there." I motioned with my chin.  "The 
one with all the guns and walkie-talkies on his belt."  
His eyes were still on Laura.

She grinned.  "He probably knows I'm a pro."

"Pro?"

"Professional card  shark, silly.  What did you think I 
meant?"

I grinned. "At least he knows you have nothing up your 
sleeves."  I ran my fingers over the goosebumps which 
freckled her arms. "Are you cold?  Do you want me to get 
you a sweater?"

"I'm okay," Laura said.  I thought her bold little 
nipples looked adorable nosing that black top, and I 
longed to caress her breasts, but the guard was still 
watching us.

"What's his problem, do you think?" I whispered in 
Laura's ear.

"He does have quite the collection of cop hardware," 
Laura said.  "Wonder what happens if he really has to pee 
in a hurry.  By the way, the ladies room is amazing.  
Mirrors everywhere.  If the men's room is anything like 
it, this place must spend a fortune on Windex."

"Maybe I'll check it out after all," I said.  "I'll meet 
you back here in a few minutes, okay?"

"Better hurry," Laura advised. "I've got the lucky fever 
in my fingers."

I didn't really have to go to the bathroom.  Instead I 
slipped into that dress boutique next door.  I figured 
I'd buy the orange dress and surprise Laura with it 
later.  But when I got to the rack, the orange dress 
wasn't there.  I spent some minutes searching the shop. 
There were many similar dresses, blues and greens, reds 
and yellows, but the orange dress was gone.  I didn't 
have the heart to get anything else.

I back-tracked to the casino.  The guard eyed me warily 
as he spoke into his walkie-talkie.  From a distance I 
spotted Laura at a roulette table.  She had her wrists in 
front of her, floating in the air like delicate water 
birds not quite sure whether it was safe to land.  Her 
hands urged the roulette ball as it bumped and bounced 
its way around the wheel. When the ball wobbled into 
place, Laura's fingers stiffened with thrill.

"Oh!" she said.

"Did you win?"

"I lost. I lost it all. Ten dollars.  It feels so good." 
She hugged me. "Do you still love me? Do you forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive."

"Don't be grumpy."

"I'm not grumpy."

"You look grumpy."

"Maybe I'm just tired."

"You do look tired.  Tired and grumpy."

"Really, I'm fine."

"Ten dollars is a small price to pay for sunburn 
protection.  The Sun Gods of Puerto Rico need their 
dollars."

"To pay for the Windex," I said.

"Oh, was the men's all mirrors, too?"

"Even the floors."

We began the long walk back to the room.  "I'm glad you 
saw me lose it all," Laura said.  "You should try it 
sometime.  It makes you feel so free."

"I can't believe you're this happy over losing ten 
dollars."

"I'm easy," Laura said.  "And it's not really the ten 
dollars I'm so happy about.  While you were gone I called 
home.  Everything's okay!"

We hugged in the hotel hallways.  We managed to walk 
while hugging.  "Don't forget that turn-down girl's 
chocolate waiting for us... you want light or dark?"

"I was thinking we'd share," Laura said. "Share and share 
alike-it's a rule of Puerto Rico."

We paused beneath a  painting  of a jungle scene for one 
more kiss.  "I like sharing you," I said.  I couldn't 
wait to get back to our room.  It was going to be so 
good.

"Me too," Laura said.  "You're so sweet to me."  The 
leopard in the painting was poised on the night-smoothed 
limb of a dark tree.   Underneath a pair of frail deer 
grazed serenely on pale, moonlit grass.

"Look, tomorrow you have the Lighthouse Tour, and I'm 
signed up for golfing," I said.  "You're sure you don't 
want me to come with you? I wouldn't mind.  The 
lighthouse sounds good."

"No, I want you to play your golf.  You said it's a nice 
course, right?"

"Yes, but I'd just as soon be with you."

"You're sweet.  But we'll still have the Rain Forest 
together.  Not to mention tonight, and the next night, 
and forever and ever after."

"You're sure?"

"I'm positive."

We were about to turn down the final corridor which led 
to our room.  Music ambled around the adjacent corner-
snazzy sax and snare-probably from one of the out-of-the-
way lounges.  "Sounds yummy," Laura said.  "Shall we see 
what it is?"

"I'm am pretty tired," I said. "It's been a long day."

"Just for awhile," Laura said.

"I just don't feel..."

"Okay," Laura said.  "I can tell you're a sleepy head.  
My dear sweet sleepy head. How about if I just check it 
out.  You go on to the room, and I'll be there in not too 
long.  Okay?"


Back in the room I showered quickly, then I arranged the 
six little votive candles around the room. I'd smuggled 
the candles in my shaving kit, and the frail wicks didn't 
cooperate. Maybe it was that ceiling fan.  It took me six 
matches to light them all.  The small flames danced to 
the fan's easy rhythm; I was sure Laura's skin would look 
especially lovely in this light. My hands tried to 
remember the feel of her, but even the goosebumps of a 
moment ago eluded me. Next I tried to recall the tone and 
timbre of her sighs. Something was wrong with my memory. 
All I could hear was the endless whir of the ceiling fan. 
Three or four times I verged on getting dressed, going 
out and finding her. I had half-dreams of her dancing to 
the flames of my little lights, and somewhere along the 
line, as I lay atop the pulled down bedcovers, the dreams 
turned real.

"You were so soundly asleep, I didn't have the heart to 
wake you," Laura said at breakfast the next morning.

"I had strange dreams, some of them were bad-maybe you 
should have wakened me."

"Not more overturned automobiles?"

"No.  Worse in a way.  At the start you were dancing."

"Do I dance that badly?"  Laura affected a pretend hurt.  
She looked so fresh.  Scrubbed and pink and ready.

"No.  You were beautiful.  You were dancing in golden 
flickers of light.  Your breasts were bare.  Your bottom 
was bare. Round and round you swirled. Golden and 
glorious and beautiful. Your dancing was gloriously 
beautiful.  It must have been the candles I lit."

"Candles?"  Laura poured some more cream in her coffee.  
She glanced  about with uncharacteristic nervousness.  
Maybe she was bothered that the waiters might overhear my 
homage to her bare breasts and bottom.

"This breakfast is really good, isn't it?" I asked.  "Do 
you want some more orange juice?"

"Was I dancing with anyone?  In your dream?"

"I don't know.  Probably.  You seemed to be dancing for 
someone."

"Who?"

"I don't know.  Probably no one I know."

"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to give you bad dreams."

"No, that wasn't the bad part.  At least I don't think 
so.  I liked watching you dance."

"What was the bad part?"

"The bad part was that after the dance you sat at a 
little table off in the corner.  You were sitting with 
someone, with two or three someones.   Guys, I guess, but 
I didn't know who they were. One of them may have nuzzled 
your neck.  But that wasn't the bad thing."

Laura sliced a dark little sausage in half.  The juice 
squirted out.  She giggled.  "These things are really 
good.  Maybe we should have them at home sometime.  
They're probably not too good for you, though, right?  
And cantaloupe.  I love cantaloupe."

"The thing that was bad was that you were smoking.  You 
seemed to take such pleasure in it.  Sucking the smoke so 
deep. It made me feel so bad."

"Oh, honey," Laura said.

"It was just a dream," I answered.  "Probably those silly 
candles. So how was that party or whatever it was last 
night?"

"Oh, nothing much," Laura said.

"Teachers?"

"No, actually it was a mix of other guests and some of 
the hotel staff.  Kind of informal and ad hoc."

"Ad hoc?  Did you dance?"

"Oh, a little. Can you get me some more orange juice 
now?"


The golf was wonderful.  Considering I hadn't played in 
months, I played exceptionally well.  Maybe it was the 
course-the perfect fairways, the smooth but not too 
slippery greens.  Every shot was into a vista. Sometimes 
I think there are no sounds as perfect as those of golf: 
everything from the gentle whipsnap of downswing to the 
click of contact to the satisfying rattle of ball into 
cup.

It helped that my playing partners weren't bad golfers.  
It helped that I was easily the best of our group.  It 
helped that we never had to wait. There was no one in 
front of us, unless one counted the lizards.  Everywhere 
iguanas were sunning themselves; like dour Scottish pros 
they perched on the grassy knolls around the tees and 
greens and at the edges of the long blue lagoons.  Our 
tee shots they surveyed with impassive disdain.  "Those 
lizardy things make me nervous," one of my playing 
partners confessed after we'd finished four holes.  "I'd 
like to slice one open, see what's inside."  

"Third world circuitry," I quipped.  As if he'd overheard 
us, one of the creatures waddled away; he looked like a 
little pig the way his bottom waggled as he walked, and I 
had to laugh.  Relaxed, I ripped a long drive down the 
left side of the fairway to this short par five. The ball 
rolled and rolled, ending up in the crook of the dogleg, 
a four iron or so from the elevated green. I could see 
the corner of a pond guarding the approach, and a cluster 
of trees blocked my view of the flag, but it never really 
occurred to me not to go for it.   My shot took off low 
but climbed enough to clear the trees.  Had it not been 
my first time on the course, had I known that the green 
was so shallow, that the drop-off to the pond in front 
was so severe, and that the fall-away to the left and 
rear were no less steep, maybe I would not have risked 
such a shot.  Maybe I would have played it safe out to 
the right.  But when I climbed the hill, there was my 
ball, sitting up so plump and pretty and proud of itself 
on the edge of the green, gleaming white in the midday 
sun, thirty feet or so from the hole.  My eagle putt 
lipped out, but it didn't matter.  That shot made my day.  
Afterwards I hit every shot almost as well.  Golf in 
heaven couldn't be much better. For the day I ended up 
three over par, easily my best round since college.  I 
couldn't wait to tell Laura.

She wasn't back from the Lighthouse Tour.  Our room had 
been made up.  The silver box of chocolates rested on the 
outer pillow, the two chocolates still snug in their 
sectioning.  I was tempted to try one: on the golf course 
we hadn't stopped for lunch, and I was slightly hungry. 
Going on four-thirty, already.  The lighthouse tour 
should have been back by three.  I took a slow shower, 
then lay down on the made-up bed with Another Roadside 
Attraction for company.  I'd read this novel in college, 
and now I was falling in love with Amanda's clitoris all 
over again.

By six Laura still hadn't returned.  I wasn't hungry 
anymore, just worried.  I put on some clothes.  Better 
leave a little note.

     Dear Laura,

     If I'd known you were going to be this late 
     I'd have considered some golf course lizard 
     for lunch. Are you lost?  I'm going to look 
     for you.  Where are you hiding?  I'll be back 
     here by seven.

     Love,
     Mat

     PS  I had a good time golfing.  Almost got an eagle!

I wasn't very happy with my silly note, but I didn't feel 
like scratching it our or starting another one.  I set it 
on the bed next to the chocolates.  A moment later I 
added a PPS. 

     If you're hungry go ahead and eat the chocolates. 
     It makes me happy to think of you tasting them. 
     Or save them.  We can share. But I warn you  I've 
     been having naughty thoughts about the chocolates.  
     About the best way to share them.  The best places 
     to put them and the best ways to make them melt 
     there.  My prick has two or three brave ideas of 
     his own he'd like to share in his special private 
     way.  As always, he's so hungry for you, for your 
     better-than-chocolate goodness.  Oh, honey, I'm so 
     hot for you.  I think my thoughts alone are enough 
     to melt these chocolates, maybe to melt everybody's
     chocolates.  I can't wait to see you, to hold you, 
     to have you again.  And again and again. Fuck the
     chocolate, let's just love, let's just love and 
     love until  your screams of coming rouse the whole
     hotel.  Wouldn't that be fun? 

     Forgive me for getting carried away. Oh, Laura, 
     I miss you so much.

The concierge thought the Lighthouse Tour had returned on 
time, but she said she'd double check and let me know.  
On my way back to the room, I ran into Ruth Mueller, 
who'd taught my daughter second grade.  "Hey, Mat," she 
said, "Neat trip, huh?"

"Yeah," I said.  "Say, were you on that Lighthouse Tour 
by any chance?"

"Negatory," Ruth said.  "Catamaran.  Snorkeling. 
Fantastic fish colors.  Weren't you and Laura there?"

"No," I said.  "I went golfing.  Laura went to the 
lighthouse.  She's still not..."

"Shoulda gone on the catamaran," Ruth said.  "Fantastic 
fish colors.  And..." she changed to a dramatic whisper, 
"bare titties. Tons of bare titties."

"Well, we're going to the rain forest tomorrow."

"Oh, I heard the rain forest was dreadful.  All the good 
stuff was blown away by some hurricane or other. I think 
you should go on the catamaran.  Herb and I are thinking 
of going again tomorrow.  You sure you and  Laura weren't 
there?  The fish colors were really fantastic, and...."

"I know," I whispered.   "Bare titties.  Tons of them.  
The thing is ..."

"It's been nice talking to you, Mat, but I've got to run.  
Herb is expecting me down by the pool. They're having 
something called an Unwinder.  Say hi to Laura."


When I got back to the room the door was open a crack.  
Laura, I thought at first.  You shouldn't leave the door 
open like this, I was about to say.  Who knows who could 
come in.  She was standing on the far side of the bed, 
facing away from me, wearing the orange dress. So 
beautiful. But she wasn't Laura.  Laura at sixteen, 
maybe, after days and weeks in the sun, her legs and arms 
as dark as rum drizzled chocolate.  It was the turn down 
service girl.  She was reading my note.

"What are you doing here?" I asked foolishly.  "We still 
have the chocolates from yesterday."

"Yes, I see," she said, unperturbed.  "Don't you like 
chocolate?  Your note suggests otherwise."

I blushed.

"These 'screams of coming' are something I might enjoy to 
hear. Does Laura come loud?"

I blushed harder.

"You're wearing her dress," I mumbled.  "The one I wanted 
for  her."  This girl made me say stupid things. I tried 
to correct that.  "She's missing. My wife is missing."

"She's not missing," the woman said.  "She missed the 
lighthouse bus.  It has happened before.  And yes, it is 
a nice dress, isn't it?  Come with me-I've come to take 
you to her."

"Is she all right?"

"Don't worry. She's fine."  She offered me her hand.  Her 
fingers were cool at first, then warm, and then cool 
again, the feel and flavor of night sand.

"But if she's fine, then why...?"

"She's asking for you.  It would be better not to delay."

"Should I bring anything?" I asked.  "Spare clothes?"

"You might bring the chocolates."


The Jaguar was one of those nearly indescribable colors: 
sleek and dark, molten, like the still water from a 
midnight pond or the black iron insides of a Lake 
Superior wave.  The car streamed the back highway as if 
it were born there, nothing like that bumpy airport bus. 
The girl drove with calm intensity as night swallowed 
evening.

"Is this the way to the lighthouse?" I asked.

"Don't worry," she said. "I know my way."

Miles of silence.  I feared the heat of my body might 
melt the chocolates. "Did Laura specifically ask for 
these?"

"Silly question," the girl said, looking at me as she 
drove, and when she refused to remove her eyes from me I 
worried that she might ride us into the roadside jungle.  
But the Jaguar hugged the highway.

At the next stop light she brushed the tassels from the 
orange dress off the top of her knee.  She turned to me 
and saw where I had been looking.  "So you like this 
dress, do you?  It's cute, isn't it?"

I nodded.

"But I think it doesn't really go with underwear.  The 
material is too thin.  What do you think?"

"I don't know," I said.

"Feel," she said.

I didn't know what to do.  We were still at the stop 
light.  It seemed like a long light.  The girl took my 
hand, placed it on her thigh.

"You see," she said.  "Too thin.  The underwear shows 
through.  She moved my fingers up the dress.  I didn't 
know whether to watch our hands or her eyes.  The light 
was green.  She didn't go.  I took my hand away.

"Please," I said, "The light is green." 

"I know," she said.  "It will be green again.  First I 
have to do something."

She shifted slightly in her seat, raised herself.  The 
light was red now.  She twitched the way a fish swims, 
and the underwear were off.  "Hold these," she said.

We shot forward, through the red light, instant cruise, 
gliding above dark asphalt. The road curved through 
jungle, softest hiss.  "That's better," she said. "And 
please do not worry about your wife.  It will not help 
things."  I didn't say anything.  I let her drive. What 
else could I do? In my right hand I had a box of 
chocolates; in my left hand the girl's panties.  I didn't 
know what to do with them.  At their center my thumb 
found a spot of damp.

"Burgundy," she said.  She laughed a whispery laugh.  "I 
like wine. All my panties are the color of wine. Burgundy 
is best because at night it disappears into the dark.  
Like jungle flowers. Chablis makes my ass look like a 
white girl skinny dipping in a moonlit lagoon.  It's 
true.  If you hold still enough the canals can be mirror 
smooth.  What kind of panties does Laura like? Does she 
wet a lot?  Does she wet as much as me?"

We swerved before I could answer.  I had no idea what to 
say.   The girl looked at me, amusement in her eyes.  I 
thought maybe I should bolt from the car.  But where 
would I go?  Or overpower her.  Force her to... to what?  
Suddenly the city came into view.  Jangles of diamond 
light.  "Is the lighthouse there?" I asked.

"What?" she said.

"The lighthouse.  Is it on the other side of the city?"

"Oh, no, se or," the girl said.  "Your wife is not at the 
lighthouse.  She is somewhere much safer.  You will see."

"I thought you said we were going to the lighthouse?"  
Inadvertently I brushed the wisp of underwear near my 
nose.  A hint of sea, of flower, of forest rain.

"The lighthouse is closed.  Too dangerous.  Someone fell 
a few weeks ago.  It is funny. My mother always said to 
stay away.  She was ahead of her time.  Although even 
then at picnics my brother used to sneak inside the 
lighthouse with his girlfriend.  'You stand guard,' Luke 
would tell me.  'If anyone comes looking for us, say 
we're swimming.' I was proud to play in the dirt outside 
the loose window, to be his guard.  Up to then it was the 
most grown-up thing I'd ever done. His girlfriend was so 
pretty.  I was proud of him for being in love with her.  
Sometimes I pretended they were my prisoners, but of 
course I knew they fucked in there, even though I had at 
best an inchoate sense of coitus. Something about the 
situation made me feel so good.  Not just lubriciously 
good. That, but more than that.  My spine firm against 
the warm lighthouse wall, my bottom on the hot stoop, my 
hair blowing in the afternoon breeze,  I'd feel outside 
of my body. Airy and sublime, like sunlight catching the 
sea crests as they strove for shore. In my imagination 
the wave slaps masked Amanda's moans, the spray of surf 
against the rocks stirred secret thrills and desires 
inside me. I'd think of my brother's milky seed spurting 
into Amanda's most intimate clasp, and I'd squirm with 
pleasure."

The girl glanced at me and then concentrated on the road, 
the city traffic.

"You don't like my story?" she said after awhile.

"No, it's not that I don't like it."

"What is it then?"

"I don't think I've ever heard inchoate and coitus in the 
same sentence."

"Did I say them wrong?"

"No, you said them beautifully.  You say everything 
beautifully.  Actually, I'm not sure if I've ever heard 
either word used aloud before."

"Used aloud... you are a strange man."

"I'm a little nervous."

"Does my brashness bother you?"

"Well, it's not what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know.  I wasn't thinking that way."

"Underneath you must have been expecting something."

I didn't answer.

She smiled mysteriously.

The highway tracked a channel of dark, quiet water and 
then crossed it and doubled-back. Tall buildings jutted 
up on both sides of the narrow street.  Few lights. Many 
cars overhanging the curbs.  Young and middle-aged men 
milled about the buildings' shadowy entryways, their 
bellies either huge or drum tight or both, their shirts 
unbuttoned, their neck jewelry glinting raw gold from 
bare bulbs.

"Are we almost there?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, patting my thigh, "almost there."  A 
moment later the Jaguar swung into a small side lot and 
stopped.  The woman, her hands on her knees, absently 
fingered the orange tassels.

"Should we get out?" I asked.

"At University last term I made some money reading 
pronunciations for a very unabridged Spanish-English CD 
dictionary. That's how I know inchoate and coitus. I 
tried to learn all the words."

"You go to a university?"

"Do I appear too stupid?  An illiterate maid?"

"No, no.  Too young."

"Ha! Everyone says I'm precocious.  How old do you think 
I am?"

"Fifteen. Sixteen?"

She laughed.

"I mean your body, not your mind."

She laughed again.

"I'm sorry," I said.  "I'm just worried about Laura."

"Okay, have it your way.  Worry about Laura."

We sat there.

"Please," I said.  "I'm not good at this.  What do you 
want?  Is Laura okay?"

"She's okay."

"And she's here?"

"If you were going to seduce me, how would you go about 
it?"

"Is Laura here?"

"She's here.  I'll take you to her.  First tell me how 
you would seduce me."

"I wouldn't seduce you."

"If you had to."

"I don't know.  I don't want to seduce you."

"You don't?  You don't find me desirable?"

"I do.  You're very desirable.  It's just...."

"When I touch a boy's arm," the girl said, "When I run my 
fingers gently along a boy's arm, he knows my fingers are 
thinking about his cock, about the way his cock is 
growing in his pants.  All during the first kiss I keep 
stroking his arm, my fingers lightly up the whole long 
length, and then down, and then up, tangling them in his 
armpit hair, curling and teasing and pulling just a 
little, which makes him think of my pussy fur, makes him 
wonder whether it's thick or sparse, smooth or curly, 
matted at its nethermost with sex wet, and when I let his 
tongue come into me I 'O' my mouth, and he knows it's the 
way I would 'O' my mouth for his cock, the way I would 
let his cock slide all the way in, slowly but fully, so 
the bulge is against the back of my throat, pulsing there 
even before I start to suck, and as his tongue tries to 
escape I capture it, sucking it and rubbing the underside 
with my own tongue, all the while stroking the boy's arm, 
stroking it slowly from wrist to elbow to armpit and back 
to wrist, and the boy's cock is bursting to come out of 
his pants, and then, still kissing him, I pinch his 
wrist, pinch the little hairs there, pull them up, make 
him think of my groove, make him think of my slick, 
slippery sex place, and how his tongue might feel forcing 
his way in there and whether there are soft little hairs 
or whether it is completely smooth, and whether my 
squeeze and squirt will be sudden and sharp, or slow and 
long, and then I leave his wrist, and still kissing, put 
my fingers behind his head, pull his kiss all the way 
into me, pull it in by pushing my tongue past his into 
the heat of his mouth, and he knows from the tickle on 
the roof of his mouth how my clitoris craves his ... his 
what?"

"What?"

"What's the word for what my clitoris craves?"

"I don't know."

"What does Laura's clitoris crave?"

"I don't know. Love?"

She smiled with her eyes.  "Isn't that a bit prosaic?  
Can't you think of anything more exciting?  More 
succinct?"

"What would you suggest?"

"I suggest that you ask her."

"Ask her?"

"Ask her."  The girl's eyes gave me no choice.

"Okay, I will."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Promise and hope to die?"

"Yes."

"You have to say it. Otherwise it's not official."

"Promise and hope to die."

"Good.  Now that that's settled, how would you seduce 
me?"

I sat there staring at her.

"You're not a quick learner, are you?"

"I guess not."

"Would you like another hint?"

"Okay."

"You might ask me what I study?"

"What do you study?"

"What do you think?"

"Acting?  The theater?"

"Ah.  Good guess. That would be fun.  But no.  
Architecture."

"At the university in San Juan?"

"No, in Indiana."

"Oh," I said.  "I grew up in Indiana."

"I know," she said as she opened the car door.  "So we 
have some stomping grounds in common. Let's go."  For the 
first time I felt we'd almost had a conversation.  I 
almost wished we were still in the car so we could talk 
about Indiana.

She led me to a side entrance.  Inside it was dark. "I 
can't see anything," I confessed.  The dark made me 
whisper.

"It's not a lighthouse," she whispered back.  She took my 
hand, the one which still held her panties.  Still the 
cool touch, almost a caress.  And yet a strong grip. Soft 
but firm squeezes. Her thumb rubbed my wrist.  "Don't 
worry," she said. "Laura will be all right.  You have the 
chocolates?"

I heard a noise, machinery, the elevator coming.  It 
startled me.  It was a quiet sound, as if coming from a 
long way away.  It sounded like an electric can opener.

"Would you like to kiss me before things start?" she 
asked.

"What things?" I asked.

She said something in Spanish.  "It means Mr. Impetuous," 
she laughed, and she pulled me into the elevator, and up 
we went, and as we rose, she kissed me.  More Spanish.  
"It means, 'like a brother,'" and then, before I could 
catch my breath, she kissed me again.  Our tongues 
touched.  Somewhere in the back of my mind I thought 
about the first time I'd kissed Laura.  This kiss wasn't 
like that at all.  Kisses are incomparable. Completely 
different.  Completely the same.  Our tongues touched, 
the girl's fingers were slowly working their way up my 
arm, and suddenly I wanted her, I wanted all of her, 
instantly and forever.  If the elevator never reached 
where ever it was going, it would have been fine with me. 
"Whew," she said. "Like a long lost brother.  You kiss 
good.  I knew you would."

The doors opened into a small vestibule.  My eyes 
adjusted to the meager light.  The room was almost empty, 
an inverted cauldron maybe six feet across.   On the 
opposite wall was a door and next to it a small table and 
above the table a mirror.

"Is Laura here?" I asked.

"Yes," the girl answered.  "She's here."

"In there?" I said, pointing to the door.

"No, in there," the girl said, pointing to the mirror.

"How do you mean?" I asked.

"How do you think I mean?" she said.

"That it's a one-way mirror?  That she can see us?"

"Yes, she can see us."

"And when can we see her?"

"When we make love."  She put her hands on my arms.

"You want me to make love to you, while Laura watches 
through the mirror?"

"Isn't that what you want?"

"What if I won't do it?  What if I refuse?"

"Why would you refuse to do what you want to do?"

"There's Laura to think of."

"We're thinking of her."

"I mean I don't want to; I want her."

"You have her.  Make love to me.  It's what she wants."

"I don't believe that."

"It's true."

"How do you know?"

"Take a look in the mirror.  Take a long hard look."

I looked.

"What do you see?"

"Us."

"What do you see behind the mirror?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Us?"

The girl smiled.  She stood very close to the mirror.  
"Here is what I see," she said.  "I see a large curved 
room.  The outer wall is all window.  It looks out over 
the city.  All those lights.  It looks out over the 
country, and beyond the country, the sea, and above the 
sea, the night, and the night is full of stars.  So many 
stars.  In the room is a woman, a very beautiful woman, 
and she is standing at the curved window looking out at 
the city, the sea, the sky full of stars.  She puts her 
hands up on the glass and presses into the glass, but the 
glass doesn't let her through.  She sighs.  A man gets up 
from the bed behind her.  The man stands behind the 
woman.  He caresses her back and her bottom.  Eventually 
he hoists the woman's dress over the woman's head.  The 
woman, naked now, turns, and she and the man embrace.  
The man pushes her back against the wall of glass.  The 
woman's bare bottom is pressed against the glass, and the 
man's prick enters her effortlessly.  He keeps her 
pressed back against the glass as he fucks her.  He 
raises her hands above her head, holds her wrists.  The 
fucking is slow and steady, one slow hard thrust every 
several seconds.  When the woman begins her quivering, 
the man stops.  He withdraws.  The woman wants him.  She 
wants him back in her, fucking her against the wall of 
glass.  She reaches out, but he has stepped back; he is 
sitting on the bed.  The woman falls to her knees in 
front of him, and immediately takes his erect phallus, 
glistening with sex juice, deep into her mouth.  She 
sucks hard, but only for a moment, and then the man 
forces her away, forces her to turn so she is standing 
between his legs but facing the window.  The man moves 
his legs so now he is between her legs-she is standing, 
straddling him.  He lowers her slowly.  His cock fits not 
into her cunt but presses against her anus.  She pauses 
as the tip nudges her there.  The man's hands on her 
waist urge her down, but it is a question, a request, not 
an order-the woman is in control.  She has one hand 
around his cock to keep it steady, and another hand on 
his knee to keep herself steady as she lowers herself.  
It takes a long time, ten minutes for the head to push 
its way in an inch.  The man has his hands on the woman's 
breasts now.  He caresses the nipples.  In the dark wide 
window the woman can barely make out the reflection of 
herself squatting over the man, his cock still only an 
inch into her asshole.  'Squeeze my nipples very hard,' 
she says.  'Both at once.  Do it now.'  The man does as 
asked.  Shrill feeling jets through her, and the woman 
pushes herself down onto the hard cock.  She screams.  It 
goes all the way in. The woman shudders.  The man wraps 
his arms around her, brings her back against him.  Her 
back is covered with hot sweat.  'It's like having a 
baby,' the woman pants.  'Like having two babies. Don't 
move, okay?  Let me adjust.'  She bends forward, putting 
both hands on the man's knees.  'I feel so full,' she 
says. 'I feel like I've come out all over your balls.'  
The man lets her rest like this for a minute, and then he 
holds her under her arms and stands.  'Oh,' the woman 
says. 'Oh, God.'  The woman is still bent forward, but 
the man brings her up.  He nips her ear and then her 
neck.  Meanwhile the other man rubs the woman's pussy.  
He puts two fingers into her and circles them, stretching 
the channel, feeling the other man's cock through the 
membranes.  The other man withdraws his fingers, places 
both of them in the woman's mouth, lets her suck them for 
a few seconds, then places them in the man's mouth.  Then 
he kisses the woman's eyelids.  Then he kisses the 
woman's lips.  He takes her tongue gently into his mouth 
as his cock eases into the opened slot of her sex.  She 
is so sopping wet his penis buries itself without 
difficulty.  The ecstasy of having two men inside her is 
nearly impossible for the woman to bear.  As the cocks 
brush each other through the inner skin, she gasps, and 
then she comes.  The men don't let her stop coming until 
she is completely melted with pleasure."

The girl turned from the mirror.  Her eyes gleamed.  "You 
see?"

"The woman is Laura?"

"Who else?"

"And the men?"

"Shall we go in and find out? Don't you think we've 
waited long enough?  They've been practicing all evening.  
Waiting for you.  Waiting for the chocolates."

"Let me think," I said.  "I don't believe any of this."

"Sometimes I think you think too much," the girl said.  
"Why don't you just slip this orange dress over my head 
and fuck me. You won't be sorry."

"No," I said.  

"You're sure a strange fish," she said. "Oh, well, I 
tried."  Her hands were on her hips.  "May I have my 
panties and chocolates?" she asked.  

I handed them to her.  

"Thank you," she said.  She brought the panties to her 
nose.  "Mm, not too bad.  You don't know what you're 
missing.  Tell me, if this were a dream, would you fuck 
me?"

"I don't know," I admitted.  "I'd like to think so."

"Ah," she said. "Here, why don't you keep the panties... 
a souvenier.  And the dress, too."  And before I could 
blink she had shivered out of the orange dress and handed 
it to me.  And then she stood there for a moment, letting 
me look at her.  Her body was more beautiful than 
anything I could have imagined. 

"Oh," I said.

"You can wait here. It won't be too too long." She 
turned, opened the door next to the mirror and stepped 
through.  The door snapped shut, and I was alone.


I waited.  A minute or so later I could hear muffled 
sounds, machinery, I thought at first, another kind of 
elevator, or possibly something else, some mix of 
basketball on television, vacuum cleaners gobbling 
chicken bones, washing machines polishing stones, bacon 
frying, and the squeak of stains being rubbed off window 
glass.  Whatever it was it went on and on, and I had to 
admit to myself that the sounds were probably those of 
sex, of bodies brushing each other, moving against each 
other, into each other, the moans and sighs and strains 
of passion seeking satisfaction, of inexorable desire 
feasting on release, of steadfast fucking quenching 
itself but refusing to quit, continuing until all is 
nothing but utter bliss, endless orgasm, oblivious 
ecstasy.  I turned from the mirror so my erection would 
be less obvious, but that too was embarrassing, so I 
simply stood there and listened, and closed my eyes so I 
wouldn't see myself.  At one point I stepped up to the 
door, thinking I might enter after all.  I touched the 
simple knob.  I turned it, but I didn't open the door.  I 
went back to waiting.  The sounds ebbed but then grew 
stronger.  I waited them out, as if it were a 
thunderstorm and I a small child cowering under the 
bedcovers.  The sounds subsided, and all was silent for a 
moment, but then they resumed, and I was sure I heard 
someone gasp, "Please," the first nearly intelligible 
utterance, or maybe it was just the squeak of some 
strange machinery in need of oil.

Perhaps forty minutes later the door next to the mirror 
opened, and the security guard from the hotel and the 
Marlboro Gold boy from the airplane stepped into the 
room.  "We'll take you back now," the security guard 
said.

"What about Laura?" I asked.

"Amanda's taking her," he said.  He gestured with his 
chin towards the mirror.

"Amanda's taking Laura?" I said stupidly, looking at the 
mirror.  We were all looking at the mirror.

"She be you full, no?" said the boy.

I nodded.

We all went down in the dark elevator.

The Jaguar wasn't there.  We rode in an old pickup, the 
security guard driving, me in the middle, the boy on my 
right looking out the window, smoking.  The pickup 
bounced mercilessly.  When the boy lit up his third 
cigarette, I told him he shouldn't smoke. "Cigarettes are 
bad for your health," I said.

The security guard said something in Spanish, and the boy 
and the driver both chuckled.  "I told Luke what you 
say," the driver told me.  "Good advice, if you ask me, 
but you know kids these days."  They left me off at the 
main entrance.


By the time I got to my room, Laura was asleep.  She 
seemed to be sleeping so contentedly that I hadn't the 
heart to wake her.  Or at least that's what I told 
myself.  The next day we went on the rain forest tour.  A 
lot of the foliage had been damaged, and we saw few signs 
of animal life, but it seemed to suit our mood.  Several 
times I was on the verge of asking her about the 
lighthouse, but I couldn't bring myself to form the 
words.  I told her about almost making an eagle, and 
about how the lizards walked like pigs, and we held 
hands.  Sometimes I had the feeling she wanted me to ask 
her about the lighthouse, and sometimes I had the feeling 
that she was praying I wouldn't.

After dinner we strolled along the beach. The waves were 
negligible. Laura took off her shoes and waded.  "Not 
many stars out tonight," I said.

"Nope," she said.  "But the water feels warm and good."  
She splashed a little as she walked, and for a moment I 
thought she might splash some water my way, or ask me to 
come in.

Back in the room we got ready for bed.  "I really wanted 
to get you that orange dress," I told her.

"I know," she said.  "I wanted it, too.  But some things 
are better as ideas.  Even if inchoate."  She gave me a 
wan smile.

"And it looks like there's no turn down service tonight," 
I said.

"Well, we can always do it ourselves," Laura said.  "Or, 
if you called housekeeping, I bet they'd send someone."  
For the first time all day she grinned.

"You think so?"

"Sure, why don't you ring them up?"

It took me a moment to make my decision.


================
The Orange Dress
Mat Twassel


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