Message-ID: <36861asstr$1024517405@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Kenny Gamura" <turtlemeat69@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} Beggars Can't Be... part 15 {Gamera} (MF oral, MF exhib bond)
Date: Wed, 19 Jun 2002 16:10:05 -0400
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                         Disclaimer

This is piece of fiction.  Any imagined resemblance to
people living or deceased is either the result of dementia
on the reader's part or that the reader is, in fact, a
character of this story.   It is assumed that readers of
this story have the permission of the state, mom, dad, and
pastor and are able to tell the difference between real and
make-believe.  Furthermore, the writer is fully aware that
he is bound for hell, but welcomes both praise or/and well
thought out, humourous insults on his writing skill.  Note:
he already knows he cannot spell 'warth shet'.  Special
Thanks go to Pat for helping me stay motivated these last
few months.

The events and descriptions of this story are the sole
property of Kenny N Gamera and should not be recorded,
reposted, or profited from in anyway without express
written permission of the person hiding behind that pen
name. Reposting and free archiving will be tolerated given
the writer's name and address remains attached.  Archiving
by Deja.Com and ASSTR/ASSM is assumed and encouraged.

Thank You and Good Day,
Kenny N Gamera
turtlemeat69@hotmail.com

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gamera
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gamera/Beggars_Can't_Be

                Beggars Can't Be... Part 15
                 A Cop and a Doughnut Shop
                            by
                      Kenny N Gamera

I was between lab and work.  The early afternoon sun hung
still high in a cloudless sky that was filled with a hazy
blue.  My rearview mirror was filled with the blinking red
and blue lights of the local police.  The police car was a
car length and a half behind me going at exactly my speed,
not that much over the limit.  Still, if I were wanted, I
were wanted.

   I pulled to the side of the road and shut the motour
off.  I left my hands at the classic ten and two positions
while I waited.  It wasn't a long wait.  From the edge of
my peripheral vision, I saw the motion of the cop next to
my door.  I reached over to the crank and lowered the
window, feeling like an ass as the process took the
required time.

   "Good afternoon, Mr. Gamera."

   "Good afternoon, Officer," I looked up, "Sherry?"

   If it weren't for the clear effort she was making in
trying not to break out laughing, she would have looked
very official in her crisp blue uniform.  She had her blond
hair stuffed beneath her cap, but her bust was very
apparent beneath her shirt.  The polyester slacks did
nothing much for her ass, but they were after all
polyester.  She gave me a wink with a crystal blue eye.

   "How's it going, Ken?"

   "Surviving."

   "Good."

   "Is it?"

   Sherry sighed and shook her head.  "I think you'll find
so."

   "How are you Sherry," I asked feeling the need to divert
the flow of conversation.

   "Pretty good," she answered.  "Haven't seen you for a
while."

   I shrugged. A flash of her sitting in Charlie's chair
and Jenny crying against my arm floated unwelcome in my
memory.

   "It's been a few months."

   "Yeah," she squirmed a little, "Ken, I get off work at
about five.  Do you want to meet later?"

   "Is this what this is all about?" I said with a laugh.

   "Don't knock it.  I get a lot of my dates this way," she
answered with a grin.  "Where do you want to meet?"

   "The Golden Cafe okay with you?"

   "No sweat.  About eight?"

   "How about six?" I suggested.  "I'm out at five as
well."

   "Ho'kay, doe'kay, Mr. Gamera.  I'll see you at the
Golden Cafe at six."

   We made our farewells before she began the trek back to
her car.  I reached my hand over to the ignition without
watching.  Instead, I looked into the rearview mirror on
the driver's door and watched Sherry walking away.  It was
pleasant enough inspite of the polyester pants.

   Sherry turned an instant before reaching for the door
handle.  She waved at me.  I blushed at being caught.
Deciding not to pretend that I hadn't been watching, I
turned and waved back.

   We have now reached a point in the narrative that
frankly I find difficult.  In short, do I waste all of our
precious time, bandwidth, disk space, and what all with a
boring account of a short drive to work, a descriptive bit
about starting the car, pulling out into traffic, and the
rest of the trivia thus associated?  Or shall I just a say
something such as 'I arrived at work' and continue from
there?  Or do I just babble some humourous babbling (or
something that I hope passes as humourous) to distract you
as I get...there...such...as...I'm...doing...now...

   Um...well...that decided...I...uh...arrived at work.
Mr. Slot's was busy with all the normal inducers of lower
anatomy pain.  Between people looking for romance novels
without the dirty parts (which sort of defeats the purpose,
doesn't it) to the geeks looking for the James Blish
_Starlogs_ (no, I won't explain.  If you don't understand,
bless your ignorance), the time passed with the slowness
that time can only acquire when contained within a period
of work.  I rang up sales.  I smiled and nodded in sympathy
to complaints I had no power to hope to fix.  I watched
Teresa 'sort' through the adult magazines.

   I looked out the open area at the front of the store a
lot, as well.  Girls walked by.  Women walked by.  More
pretty than not.  A young girl walked by holding the hand
of a young boy.  She stopped and waved at me.  I waved
awkwardly back at her.  She turned and marched into the
store, dragging the boy behind her.

   "Hi, Mr. Gamera."

   "Uh."

   "You don't, like, remember me do you?"  She giggled and
continued before I could confirm her guess.  "I'm Lisa.
I'm one of Ms. Smith's cheerleaders.  We met at
MacBurgerSlut's a few, like, months ago."

   "Uh."  I shifted on my feet.  I couldn't remember her,
even though parts of the night were still crystal clear in
my memory.  "Hello.  Again."

   "Rick, go look, like, at the Star Trek novels or
something."

   "I don't like Star..."

   "Now, Rick."

   "Yes, ma'am," answered the boy, who I assumed was named
Rick, before he padded off to the science fiction section.

   "You'll have to excuse him; it's his first year in the
chess club."

   "Uh?"

   "Gosh, Ms. Smith is right.  You are cute when you are
confused."  She continued over my confusion, "I just wanted
to let you know that we all think that it's pretty, you
know, shitty what Ms. Wright made Ms. Smith do to you.
We're all, like, cheering for you," she giggled, "on the
cheerleading squad.  Even Colleen and Kim."

   "How do you know about all that?"

   Looking at me with that look that teenagers save for
brain dead adults, she said with a sigh, "We're young, not
stupid.  Speaking of which, if things don't improve between
you three, I'm, like, all legal and everything in a couple
of years."

   She turned to gather poor Rick from the science fiction
section (where he was staring off into...space).  A few
steps away she looked back to me and added with a wink,
"and if that isn't important to you, it isn't important to
me either."

   Now take a lead weight about the size and shape of a
cider block (which if you don't know looks like the piece
that is used for three armies in Risk and is about thirty-
five centimeters long.  If that doesn't help, well don't
worry about it.  It won't be on the exam). Now, have a
partner hold a mirror up so that you can see your face.
Take the lead weight that I described earlier in the
paragraph and drop it on your foot.  Either one but not
both, as you will need the other foot to limp to hospital.
As the weight lands on top of your foot, look into the
mirror, taking note of your facial expression.

   This was the look on my face.

   "Well, it seems you may have a new girlfriend."

   I swallowed, "did you hear that, Teresa?"

   "Yep," she said from next to me (not pointing out to me
that she must've heard in order to tease me about it).  "A
little young, but very, very cute."

   "Uh."

   "Don't start that shit with me, Kenny.  Besides I'm just
kidding."

   "Still," I said with a glance as the two teenagers
headed out the open area, "it isn't right."

   Teresa shrugged.  "What's right?  I don't know, and I
don't really care.  I just know what I like, which is just
about anything that I can get away with.  Speaking of
which, my husband and I are having a party tonight.  You
can come if you like."

   "I'm afraid that I can't."  She gave me a look that
could be described as 'that sort of.'  "I'm meeting a
friend after work."

   "Ohhhhhh!"

   "She's just a friend, Teresa."

   "So you found someone to replace the bitch."

   "Jenny is not a bitch, Teresa," I all but shouted.  "I
know bitches.  I've been with bitches with a capital 'bee,'
a capital 'aeche', and all capitals in between.  She isn't
one."

   "Sorry, Kenny," she said.  Her voice was meek.  "I just
don't like what she's done to you, that's all.  You're a
sweet guy and you deserve better."

   "No, I'm sorry.  I shouldn't've yelled at you."  I
released a sigh.  "It's been a pretty rough few months."

   "Ken, you only need to relax a little."  A devilish grin
erupted on her face, and she grabbed my hand with both of
hers.  "Come with me to the office."

   "Teresa! We can't..."

   "Sure we can," she said as she pulled against my
resistance to the back.  As we passed one of the regular
perverts at the adult magazines, she told him, "Andy, I'll
get you a copy of Naughty Naked Schoolgirls if you keep an
eye out for shoplifters."

   She didn't wait for the reply, but continued to tug me
through the stock room to the closet that served as a place
to fill out paper work for Bruce and me.  Teresa manhandled
me to the desk and forced me to sit on the edge.  She then
rolled the chair away from the desk and sat down on it,
facing me.  She reached over and began to knead my crotch
through my pants.

   "Kenny, I've been trying to get you to my place forever.
I want to play with you so bad, but you never come over."
She looked up at me with her green eyes.  "Tonight, I'll
get you here."

   She pulled the tongue of my belt through, the belt loop
and undid the buckle.  Letting the belt droop, she reached
up to the button of my chinos and popped it open.  Her free
hand pulled the tab of my zipper down.  I swallowed as I
watched her peel the flaps of my pants from each other.
She giggled as she pulled back the elastic band of my
underwear from my waist and reached inside.  She felt
around for my private parts; her fingers grasped around my
nearly not at all flaccid penis.

   "I can't believe that I am letting you do this," I said
as much to myself as to Teresa.

   "Lift your butt."

   I followed her command, and she slid my pants down to my
ankles.  My underpants found their way there a moment
later.  She rolled the chair forward, trapping my legs
against the desk with her knees in the process.  With
separate hands, she started to gently stroke my penis and
fondle my testicles.

   "Nice."  She looked up at me and smiled.  "Nice and
comfortable."

   With these words, she lowered her head and put her mouth
over my shaft.  She sank down with the ease of much
practice, until I felt her lower lip touch my scrotum.  She
held herself there, and I felt her tongue between my penis
and her lip.  My eyes closed.

   I tossed my head back such that I would have been
staring at the junction of ceiling and wall, except of
course that my eyes were closed.  I saw nothing; I only
felt and at that I felt only through my penis, trapped in
Teresa's mouth.

   Except for her tongue, she remained motionless.  Her
hands kept my legs apart.  Her head remained glued to my
body.  I leaned back on the desk, using my arm to support
my weight.  With my free hand, I reached to her face.  My
fingertips slid against her cheek.

   She started to hum.  I think that it may have been
Betovenen's Fifth based on the rhythm, but I may be wrong.
Anyway, whatever it was, it felt nice.  It just didn't feel
nice enough.

   "Teresa, you better hurry up.  We need to get back to
work."

   She said something that felt like okay around me.  She
lifted her face from my body just as slowly.  Then, we much
quicker but shorter thrusts, she began to nod her head.
Her lips slid along my shaft.  Her tongue stayed in
constant contact with the notch in my head just below the
pisshole.

   With her prior teasing, that was enough; I reached the
point of my orgasm.  With the first pulse, Teresa
maneuvered herself so only my glans filled her mouth.  Each
time my penis jerked and ejaculated into her mouth, she
swallowed hard.  This pressed her tongue against the
underside of my penis, hastening the next spasm of my
orgasm.

   Rolling away from me, she said, "Mmmmm, that was good."

   "Teresa, I..."

   "Ken, can it.  I'm a big girl now, and I enjoy this kind
of thing.  A lot."  She reached down and pulling my clothes
from my ankles, lifted them to my butt.  "Lift yourself up.
My husband doesn't care either.  Heck, he likes the extra
pussy I bring home as much as I like the resulting
creampie.

   "So, if you're not seeing anyone, you have nothing to
feel bad about.  You're alone, and I made you feel good for
a little while.  That's nothing to feel guilty about."

   She slapped my hand from my fly and finished taking care
of the repackaging herself.  When done, she stood from the
chair.  She reached a hand out to me.  I took it and, with
her help, got off the desk, and together, we left the
office.

   "You're a sweet guy," she continued the lecture, "and I
wanted to do this for you.  I've fucked everyone else in
the store except Stumpy, and I like you the best of anyone
here."

   "Speaking of Stumpy, he'll be here soon, so we need to
get back to work."

   I rang up the magazine that Teresa had promised Andy.
She handed it to him and gave him a kiss, which caused him
to turn a couple of interesting shades of red.  The two of
us went back to our various projects for the short time
until Stumpy came to relieve me.  As I finished up and he
began his assigned puttering, Teresa came over to me and
placed a hand on my shoulder.

   "Kenny?"  Her voice was soft but not a whisper.

   "Yeah?"

   "Can you come over tomorrow night?  After close?  I
meant what I said about liking you best, and well..."

   "Uh?"

   "Have you ever been involved in a double penetration
before?"

   "Uh!"

   "It's fun."

   "Uh," I swallowed, hard.  "I'll...uh...think about it."

   "Good."  Teresa looked around and saw no sign of Stumpy.
She reached up and pinched my earlobe with her teeth.
"Tell me tomorrow."

   I beat a quick retreat and rushed from the store to my
car.   I drove straight to the Golden Cafe.  Naturally, I
arrived early so I took a seat on the patio after getting
myself a latte.  I, also, pulled out a copy of "Survival of
cosmic barium isotopes in the Lake Woebegon Quartzite and
pre- Cambrian ocean depths in the north central United
States: Initial results of study."  I spent the next
indeterminate amount of time wondering if a decade should
have resulted in results beyond the initial results.

   This line of thought was interrupted by the sound of a
loud, small engine of the type normally attached to a
motourcylce.  The particular engine was, in fact, attached
to such a contraption.  Attached to the contraption was a
nicely tight pair of Mr. Straus's contribution to western
civilization (and thus for good or ill world civilization).
These encased a pair of long legs that met at a very
pleasantly athletic ass.  This joined onto a torso of
classic shape.  Beneath a denim jacket were a pair of
breasts that only a porn starlet would see need to enhance.
Long blond hair flowed from under a helmet with a heavily
tinted shield.

   She waved over to me.  I waved back as she shed the helmet
and placed it on the back of her cycle.  (If you haven't
guessed that this was Sherry, you're as clueless as I'm
supposed to be).  She walked up the steps and across the
deck to where I was sitting.

   "Hi, Ken.  Wha'chu reading about?"

   "I'm really not sure.  I've been trying to figure it out
since I started grad school without any luck.  I'm not
convinced that the authour knows what's it about either."

   "Oh-kay?"

   "Don't worry about it and grab yourself something to
drink."

   She agreed and disappeared inside.  I took the
opportunity to stuff my boring (okay, shall I?...yes, I
shall) stuff back into my bookbag. As the last piece of
paper went in, Sherry reappeared form the coffee shop,
styrofoam cup in hand.  The paper tab and string of a
teabag dangled from the side.  She spun a chair around and
sat down, leaning forward against the chair's back.

   "So, how is it going, Ken."

   "S'okay."

   "The truth, please."  Her voice was as hard as the
quartzite I had just been reading about.

   "Yes, Mistress."  I replied automatically.  I smiled as
if it were just a joke.  "Shitty."

   She didn't smile back; she frowned.  I took a swallow of
coffee.  Sherry quietly played with her tea bag by slowly
pulling its string, up then down.  I stared at my hands and
waited, but only unsuccessfully.

   "Okay, really shitty."

   The tea bag peaked from the surface of the hot water,
before being allowed to sink back into the scalding liquid.
Sherry sternly watched it go under.

   "Incredibly, really shitty."

   Again the tea bag broke the surface.  It twisted a half-
turn on its string.  Sherry lowered her hand.  The tea bag
disappeared.

   "Super, incredibly, really..."

   "Can it, Ken."  I canned it, and she smiled.  "If you
can crack wise you can't be doing too bad."

   "I've been worse."

   "I know."

   I looked at her.  The frequency of dunk for her tea bag
increased more than just slightly, going from a slow,
steady, and measured rate to a quick, jerky bounce that
whipped up small waves in surface of the tea.

   "Have you heard of bad cops?"  She didn't wait for an
answer.  "I'm a not very good one.  I've done nothing
major, mind you, but I have traded sex for looking the
other way.  You know, traffic tickets and the like.  I've
even used the computer system for personal stuff, like
doing background checks on people who..."

   She looked away from her tea and looked towards me.

   "I ran one on you.  That first day we met at Jenny and
Kimmy's.  I know about Gina."

   "Sherry, I..."

   "I told you, Jenny is very special, and she is extremely
important to me.  I had to find out about you, to see if
were safe.  I mean, you seemed okay, but I needed to be
sure.  I didn't expect to find..."

   "Sherry, I don't want to talk about it."  I kept my
voice down.  The deck may have been empty except for us,
but it was still public.  "She's gone and far away, and I
need to forget it."

   "Ken?"

   "It never happened, okay?"

   "Yeah, sure," she looked back at her tea.

   "So, you abuse your police powers," I asked with a fair
imitation of the casualness that I had used when she
arrived.

   Sherry took my lead and said, "Like I told you when I
had you pulled over, I get a lot of dates that way.  Not
that it's all beer and skittles being a cop."

   "It isn't?"

   "Nope."  She giggled, "I miss doughnuts."

   "Doughnuts?"

   "I haven't had a doughnut since two days after I
declared a CJ major in college.  I don't like teasing..." I
held back a snort and covered my smirk with a hand
"...being teased and cops plus doughnuts equal teasing.
I'd sneak one, but everyone in town seems to know me so..."

   "You doing anything tonight?"

   She raised her head away from her tea and looked at me.
"Nope, Kim and Jenny are busy, and I'm not planning on
seeing any clients."

   "Clients?"

   "A nice way of saying slaves.  I'm a semi-professional
dom.  That's how I met Jenny and Kim.  Jenny brought me
into the relationship because she didn't do bondage, and
Kim needs it."  She shrugged.  "Anyway, I'm free."

   "Good, let's have a little field trip."

   "Field trip?"

   "Field trip."

   "Where?"

   "Someplace," I answered with my most evil of evil grins.
"It's a surprise."

   Sherry shrugged.  "Okay, let's go."

   "What about your motourcycle? can you leave it?"

   "Sure, if anyone stole my bike, they'll get their legs
broke by the gang I ride with."

   I stood up and so did she.  I grabbed my bag and she
followed me to my car, stopping at her motourcycle to get
her helmet.  I unlocked her side first and opened the door
for her.  After she had dumped her helmet on the back seat
and got in, I walked around to my side.  She had the door
unlocked, so I soon was seated and starting up the car.  In
a moment, we were on the highway heading south from Isle du
Monstre.

   "You belong to a motourcycle gang?"

   "Yep."

   "How does a cop join a motourcycle gang?"

   Sherry lifted her leg up and pulled it beneath her.  She
turned to face me and leaned against the passenger door.
She lifted the other leg so her foot rested on the seat.
Wrapping her arms around her bent leg, she rested her chin
on her knee.

   "It was the other way around."

   "Wha?"  I partially didn't understand and partially
hadn't been listening.

   "I joined the gang first and then became a cop."

   "Oh."

   I drove; Her blue eyes studied me.  The both of us did
our chosen tasks with a further word.  The only sound was
the radio playing music from "another classic rock block,"
and the noise of the wind sliding around the car carriage.
I tried to think of things to say but successfully avoided
coming up with ways to phrase the questions I wanted to
ask.  Sherry just sat next to me, Buddha-like with a very
un-Buddha-like smile.

   "I used to dance," Sherry said in the middle of
something by someone.

   "Huh?" I attempted to return from whence road, music,
and unsettling thoughts conspired to carry me.

   "I used to dance," she repeated.  "Well, not really
'dance' but I didn't really strip either.  I kinda took my
top off and jiggled on stage."

   "Oh-kay?"

   "I was riding with the gang at the time.  I got to dom
the wimp husbands of the women the guys would rape.  Then,
I realized that there had to be more to life then rubbing
my tits in guys' faces for tips and making other guys dress
in the underwear their wives weren't allowed to wear
anymore.

   "I got my GED and started college.  I went into Criminal
Justice.  My father had been a police officer."

   "I imagine he is proud of you."

   "So do I."  Answering my questioning look, she
continued, "he died when I was nine."

   "Oh, I'm sorry."

   "Cancer.  Three packs a day of Camel unfiltered will do
that."

   "Oh."

   "Don't worry.  Everyone thinks the same thing."

   "What?"

   "What else?  My father, the police officer, died when I
was a little girl.  It had to have been in the line of
duty. Right?"

   "Well, I..."

   "Wrong.  He did himself in.  And he did it the hard
way."

   What could I say?  Nope, not that: nothing, which is
exactly what I said.  I switched on the cruise control and
took my foot off the gas while Heart played on the radio.
ZZ Top came on next.  I let the cruise control continue its
fine job and stared down the road.

   The drive continued like this for something in the
neighborhood of an hour, about the time we reached an exit
that I turned onto.  After this, we drove down a two-lane
country road.  Bright green maples mixed with an infrequent
oak as a lining along both sides.  Within them, lay a
tangled jungle of temperate vegetation: small poplars,
ferns, sumacs, and the like, fighting for the limited light
coming through the gaps in the canopy along the road.

   Sometimes, a cornfield with waist high stalks, would
show through the gaps of the trunks.  Near each field would
be a tall, thin, two or three story, white farmhouse, maybe
with or maybe without a dirty pickup truck parked outside.

   Sherry moved from her previously described position,
which she had remained in for the entire highway trip.  She
watched the scenery go past just as I did.  Only more so,
as she could devote attention to the task that I had to
give to the road as we drove through the flat plains and
the roller coaster mounds that lay between them.

   At a point the music on the radio gave in to the static
on the radio.  I pulled the tape of the EZ Riter novel I
had been listening to from the cassette deck.  I replaced
it with a tape of Simon and possibly but necessarily
Garfunkle I had assembled from various albums (real ones:
flat, black, vinyl with little grooves in them).

   "Good choice," murmured Sherry to the window.

   We drove down the road, just enjoying the sights of the
dying day. Whether Sherry noticed the occasional sign that
announced our destination and the shortening distance
between it and us, I do not know.

   At last, the trees grew further apart, the buildings
grew closer together, and a proud sign of the local Lion's
Club proclaimed that we were where I had intending us to
be.  The houses were quickly replaced by small businesses,
and the road terminated in front of a red brick building,
standing very official in a well kept green lawn surrounded
by metered parking spaces. In its center was a white
steeple with a clock.

   I turned right (my only choice), then turned left, then
left again.  Traveling half way around the block and turned
one more right.  Soon, we were traveling through the
reverse progression of our trip in.

   One last building came up to our left.  I slowed and hit
the blinker control down.  An approaching car drove past as
I came to an easy stop.  Once it was by, I made the turn to
the left.  Gravel crunched under the tires as I pulled into
the lot in front of the building.

   We closed our doors almost together with the familiar
double thunk sound from countless old cop shows.  We
stepped around to the front of the car; she waited for me
by the front bumper on her side.  I held the store's front
door open for her.  It opened with the jingle of a real
metal bell mounted to the top.  She stepped in.  I followed
when she had cleared the frame.

   She stood in front of the counter.  There were many,
many empty places behind some of the labels.  Other labels
had just a few left, but there were plenty of selections
left considering the time of day.  A bored teenaged girl
with overdone make-up looked up from a magazine that she
had lying on the counter top next to the cash register.

   "I won't tell if you won't," I said as I took a place
next to Sherry.

   She turned to me, her mouth opened, mostly because her
lower jaw had dropped.

   "Go ahead.  Get one.  Get two."  I held up a couple of
fingers to make my point.  "No one should know you here,
and as I said, I won't tell."

   Sherry turned back to the display of doughnuts.  She
stepped forward to the register and the teen.  The girl
sighed, pushed her magazine away, and got off the tall-
legged stool that she had been seated on.  Sherry pointed
out her selections (both plain), which the girl picked up
with a sheet of waxed paper.  She also poured a cup of
coffee into a styrofoam cup.

   Sherry waited with her tray as I got a powder sugar
covered doughnut and a cup of coffee for myself and paid
for us both.  Together, we walked to a booth.  She again
waited until after I had sat down.  She surprised me by
sitting next to me and, I will now note, trapping me in the
booth.

   "You know, Ken," said she finally, "I could have been
kidding about the doughnut thing."

   "Yep," I answered before a bite into mine.  "But
sometimes, we joke to hide the truth."

   "Amen."  She lifted her coffee.  "A toast."

   I held mine up towards her.

   "To good friends."

   She tapped my cup with hers.  A little coffee splashed
out of each, running down the side.  I touched hers.

   "To bad friends."

   She laughed.  We drank.  We ate.

   "Ken," Sherry said after a doughnut had disappeared.
"Jenny misses you."

   I winced and held a sip of coffee in my mouth.

   "She cries a lot over you."

   "Sherry, I..."

   Sherry lifted a finger and placed it against my lips.
"Ken, let me speak.  I know that you think that she has
left you, but...well...I don't think she has.  She told me
that soon you would all be together: you, her, and Kim.
She wants you both, and I'm beginning to think she can pull
it off.

   "She knew that I was planning on talking with you.  She
asked me to pass you her love."  She lowered her hand to my
thigh.  "Now, I need to give you mine as well."

   "Wha?"

   She moved her hand up my thigh to my crotch.  With a
sure grip, she grabbed my penis.  She kneaded it through my
pants as if it were a chunk of bread dough.  I looked up at
the girl at the counter.  She just sat, flipping pages of
her magazine without the least attention to either it or to
us.

   Sherry moved her mouth to my ear and whispered

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