Message-ID: <44904asstr$1066857008@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Vulgar Argot" <VulgarArgotREMOVEALL@CAPSinsidejoke.tv>
Subject: {ASSM} Best and Brightest, Part 3 (slow. additional keywords at bottom to avoid spoilerage)
Date: Wed, 22 Oct 2003 17:10:08 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Best and Brightest, Part 3
by Vular Argot
(slow, additional keywords at bottom to avoid spoilerage)

All the way home, Nuria was suffused with a warm glow that even the cold
January wind could not entirely break through. She hugged Sean's manuscript
to her chest while she walked the three blocks from the subway station to
her apartment. The sky was a matte gray, threatening snow, the sidewalk
still slushy from the snow and freezing rain of a few days before. The sun
was only a white blur against the gray, hovering just over the skyline.

She hummed a wordless, little tune to herself in the elevator, reveling in
the pinched stare of the other passenger, a wiry, stern-looking old woman
she dimly recognized as living on one of the higher floors. Despite the fact
that they had spoken on maybe a half dozen occasions, Nuria didn't know the
woman's name. She was familiar with the look on the older woman's face,
though. It was the one she gave Nuria whenever anything she disapproved of
came up in conversation or into her line of sight. She wore it most of the
time. Strangely, she had always smiled at Nuria and generally presumed her
to be a co-conspirator in disapproval.

Today, though, she frowned at Nuria and didn't speak. Nuria glanced at
herself in the reflecting surface of the elevator doors. She was still
dressed respectably enough for the first day at a new office. She'd even put
her hose back on, even though Sean had snagged them in his ardor and they
were almost certainly damaged beyond repair. But, the snag wasn't anywhere
old pruneface could see.

Then, she saw her hair. She had tied it back by feel into an uneven
ponytail, but a half dozen wisps had conspired to escape and make it clear
to anyone looking at her what Nuria had been up to.

Nuria shrugged and smiled at the old woman. Let her get a good look. Nuria
had nothing to be ashamed of.

When she opened the door to her apartment, Nuria thought for a moment she'd
walked in on a seduction. Carla was kneeling on the couch next to a man,
staring at him in rapt attention. Pearl was curled up in the overstuffed
chair, chin on one hand, similarly attentive. Nuria almost excused herself
and went to her room before she realized that the man they were fawning over
was Quentin.

He rose to greet her, smiling, "Nuria." His arms started to go out to hug
her, then stopped for a moment as he got a good look at her. It was only
momentary and, if not accompanied by a deep frown, Nuria might have thought
she imagined it.

Still, the frown disappeared as quickly as the pause and he hugged her
warmly, "I brought you the latest complete draft of my novel. I've made some
extensive changes since this one was written, but I thought you would want
to see the shape of it."

"Great," said Nuria, putting down the box she was carrying to take off her
coat.

"Oh," said Quentin, "I see that Sean got to you first."

Nuria had already spun to face him, her heart sinking, unsure of how to
respond when she realized he had only been speaking about the manuscript.
Honest confusion was replaced with dawning realization on Quentin's face. He
said, "You'll probably want to get to his first. It's far more polished and
closer to publishable. Mine's just a rough cut."

Nuria said, "Everyone at Aqueduct is anxious to see what you've written."

Quentin winced, "I hope you won't show them that. It's really just a first
draft that Mayumi has gone through and pointed out some grammatical and
continuity issues. I normally wouldn't show it to anyone, but you've seen me
write far worse."

"I'm looking forward to reading it," said Nuria. "I won't show it to anyone
until you say so."

Quentin looked back at Carla's pleading eyes and laughed, "You'd better let
Carla and Pearl read it too or you'll never hear the end of it." He pointed
a stern finger at Carla, "Just don't tell anybody what it's about. It's
supposed to be a secret."

Carla nodded eagerly, "I won't tell nobo...anybody anything."

Quentin said, "Well, I really should be going. I just came over to drop that
off. Nuria, will I still see you tomorrow night?"

Nuria nodded and said earnestly, "I would like that."

Quentin nodded again, taking his coat off of the coat rack, "I have tickets
to Tosca at eight and dinner reservations at Cafe des Artistes. I'll pick
you up at seven thirty."

Impulsively, Nuria hugged him fiercely. He hugged her back with one arm,
kissing the top of her head, gave her a somewhat melancholy smile, and left.
Nuria leaned back against the door. Suddenly, her knees seemed a bit wobbly
and she wasn't sure if they would hold her up.

Pearl was up and walking towards her. Carla asked, "Oh my God, Miss D. What
did you do?"

"Let her sit down and catch her breath," said Pearl, leading Nuria to where
Quentin had been sitting.

When Nuria had sat down, but not caught her breath, Pearl asked, "Miss
Delgado, you didn't already...at the office?"

In spite of herself, Nuria laughed, "No. No. After I left the office, I had
lunch with Sean, my other student. I did not expect...things to progress the
way they did."

Pearl sat down next to her, leaning in, "Maybe he didn't notice. Men aren't
always as observant as..."

"He noticed," said Nuria. "I saw it in his face."

"Well," said Pearl, "he still wants to see you tomorrow. That's good.
Right?"

Nuria nodded, "I hope so. But, he and Sean were inseparable when I knew them
in school. I have a hard time seeing Quentin seeing me as available if he
thinks I'm with Sean."

"So, are you with Sean?" asked Pearl, "What exactly happened?"

Nuria gave them the short version. Then, to Carla she said, "He mentioned
that he'd worked with you. I saw a photograph he'd taken. You photograph
very well."

"This wouldn't be Sean Riley, would it?" Carla asked.

Nuria nodded. Carla gave her a sidelong glance, "He was a student of yours?"

"Yes," said Nuria, "why?"

Carla shook her head, "Never mind. I didn't know him very long. He just
seemed kind of freaky, you know, like intense."

"Well," said Nuria, "he was always very intense, even in the eighth grade.
Is there something bad you need to tell me?"

"No," said Carla, "Like I said, I only knew him for like a week or two. We
worked together on a single project. I haven't seen him since. Have you
thought about what you're going to wear tomorrow?"

Nuria sat back, sighing, "I have no idea."

"I've got just the dress," said Carla.

"I..." said Nuria.

Pearl gave a warning glance to Carla, then turned to Nuria, "What do you
want the dress to say?"

"I don't know," said Nuria.

"All right," said Pearl. "I want you to answer a question without agonizing
over it. Are you ready?"

Nuria nodded.

"Do you want Quentin?"

Nuria opened her mouth to speak. Then, she caught herself, paused, started
to say something else, then said weakly, "I...don't know."

"Yes you do. What were you going to say first?"

Nuria lowered her head in embarrassment, "I was going to say, 'Hell, yes.'"
She looked up at her roommates' grins, "But, it's not that simple."

Pearl cut her off, "Does he want you?"

"I don't know..." Nuria felt frustration rising in a tight knot in her
chest.

"Yes you do," said Pearl emphatically. "Don't think about the externalities
yet. Just answer the question at hand or you get blocked up and can't solve
your problems."

Nuria nodded, feeling like a chastised student.

"Does he want you?"

"He must," said Nuria.

"Are you in a relationship with Sean?"

Nuria shook her head in the negative. Pearl watched her, not speaking.
Finally, Nuria said, "No."

"Do you have any other interpersonal obligations that preclude a
relationship with Quentin?"

"Da-a-amn," said Carla, making it three syllables. "Lissen to the perfesser
here."

"You hush," said Pearl gently. "Miss D, do you have..."

"No," Nuria said, shaking her head.

"So, tell me why this problem is complicated."

Nuria looked up. The pressure in her chest seemed to have gone away. In
fact, the warm afterglow that she'd felt on her way home seemed to be
suffusing her again. When she spoke, her voice was clear and even.

"It isn't."

"So, what do you want the dress to say?"

Nuria smiled, then flushed, then lowered her head and put her hand over her
mouth.

Pearl reached over and rubbed Nuria's shoulder affectionately, "Go ahead,
Miss D. You can say it. You're not going to shock me or Carla and we're the
only ones here."

This time, Nuria's voice was barely above a whisper, but she managed to get
out, "I want it to say, 'fuck me.'"

Pearl grinned widely, "Carla has plenty of dresses that say that."

                                   -=-

As it turned out, Carla had a lot of dresses that said that. Unfortunately,
they also tended to say, "I have bigger breasts than Nuria." Even the bra
she'd borrowed previously didn't help.

"There's no help for it," said Pearl. "We're going to have to get you
something new."

"Not bad," said Nuria. "I almost believe that you're remorseful."

Pearl ignored the comment, jumping up from her place on Carla's bed, "Come
on. Get your coat. We want to get there before the nine-to-fivers start
showing up in droves."

                                   -=-

"You know," said Nuria as their cab pulled away from the curb, "you really
seem to have your head together. How did you figure all that out so young?"

Pearl laughed, "Truth?"

Nuria nodded. Pearl leaned in conspiratorially, "I joined a cult."

Nuria furrowed her brows in puzzlement. Pearl laughed and clapped her hands,
"I love that reaction."

"What do you mean you joined a cult?"

"I know this guy, Doug Fischer," said Pearl. "We used to temp together. He
was the guy everybody asked for first when they called the agencies. I was
the one the agencies sent when the client said, 'Just send somebody over.'"

Nuria smiled at how animated Pearl was getting over the subject. Pearl went
on, "Just so you understand, I was not the confident, well put-together
young woman you see before you today. I'd just finished high school, dropped
out of community college after one semester, and was only able to temp like
two or three days a week because I was out partying constantly."

"Anyway, I'm temping with Doug and he's a great guy. Everybody likes him. He
picks his assignments. He tells clients which temps they should bring on to
work with him. The clients are working him hard because they know there's no
way he's staying a temp for very long. It seems like once a week, he's
turning down permanent job offers. Even though my work isn't great and I
know he could say one word and the agency would tell me not to come in the
next day, he keeps me on this huge document conversion project that's got
like twenty temps working at any time of the day or night."

Pearl took a deep breath, "For some reason, this drives me absolutely
insane. Every time he smiles at me, I want to claw this little fucker's eyes
out."

Nuria tried to stifle a laugh, but it escaped before she could.

"It's all right," said Pearl. "I'd laugh too if it weren't me. But, at the
time, all I can think is that this guy is showing up at work on time,
getting along with everyone, and doing a great job just to show me up--just
to demonstrate what a fuck-up I am."

"This goes on for about two months. The bank puts him in charge of the whole
project, allegedly so that the doc-proc manager can focus on new document
creation, but really because everyone knows that Doug is doing her job for
her on the conversion. I can't take it anymore. So, I start taunting him,
trying to find a niche in his armor. He never rises to the bait. As far as
his behavior indicates, we're just exchanging pleasantries. I escalate.
Nothing. I start leading him on, trying to get him to be inappropriate in
the workplace. I get nothing. It's like he's dead, gay, or made of stone.
One day, I corner him in the copy room. We're alone and anything that
happens is his word against mine. I lay it on super-thick. Nothing."

The taxi stopped. Pearl paid the fare and got out. Nuria followed her. They
were on a street full of boutiques somewhere below Houston Street.

"This is the shop," said Pearl, pointing. She took a step forward.

"Wait," said Nuria, grabbing her arm. "Finish the story."

Pearl grinned, "So, I'm finally incensed. The more he resists me, the more I
want a rise. So, I reach down next to the copier and I grab it."

"You grab what?" Nuria asked. Even as the last word was out of her mouth,
she knew the answer and flushed beet red.

Pearl nodded slowly. "Yup. And it's rock hard--so hard I'm surprised it's
not peeking out of his pants. When I grab it, he looks down, looks at me,
and says, 'Pearl, this is not the time for that,' takes my wrist, and
removes my hand from his crotch."

Nuria laughed, "What did you do?"

Pearl chuckled uneasily, "Strangely, it got through to me. In that moment, I
knew how fucked up my behavior was. I didn't know why, but I knew something
was wrong. But, this is when the weird part happens."

"That's not the weird part?"

Pearl shook her head, "No. We go through the rest of our shift that day and
I just feel like shit. I want to quit or apologize or....something. We get
to the end of the shift and we still haven't said a word to each other.
We're getting our coats and he gets just close enough to me so no one can
hear and says, 'Pearl, I want you to come home with me today,' like he was
saying, 'Pearl, I want you to make fifty copies of this,' or 'Pearl, I want
you to convert this to HTML.'"

Despite the fact that it was cold out, darkness was falling, and it was
starting to snow again, Nuria made no indication that she intended to go
into the store. Instead, she asked, "So, what did you say?"

"I said, 'okay.'"

"And what happened?"

"We got in a cab. It took us to his apartment. We went upstairs. And, he
fucked the shit out of me."

Nuria stood, stunned. She tried to formulate a question. Nothing came to
mind. Pearl seemed to pick one of the possible questions and answer it, "It
was amazing. In some ways, it was like a continuation of the way we were in
the office. He was completely in control and I was refusing to relax or
surrender even a hint of my autonomy. And, it made no difference. It was
amazing."

"I don't go in to work the next three days. I go out and party more or less
seventy-two hours straight. I sleep with five people in that time, including
my best friend and her fiancee. But, I need money, so I go back to work."

"The next time I do, it gets to the end of the day and he says to me, 'I
want you to come home with me tonight.' And, I say, 'No,' like I'm angry,
which maybe I am."

Pearl looked up like she'd completely forgotten where they were and said,
"We should get inside. People will be running over with their paychecks any
minute." Before Nuria could protest, Pearl was dragging her inside.

Nuria thought she understood the game. She didn't get the rest of the story
until she found something to try on. Impulsively, she pulled a few dressed
off the rack. Pearl vetoed a few out of hand. Eventually, Nuria had three
over her arm and was headed back to the dressing room.

As soon as they got into a private area, Pearl continued the story as if she
hadn't been interrupted.

"So, he gets a disappointed look for a second, but then it's gone. And, he
says, 'okay.' I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but for the next
two weeks, I party as hard as I ever did. But, I'm also coming in to work
five days a week for the first time. Doug continues to talk to me like a
coworker, making no mention of anything that happened. For some reason, I
can't talk about it either. Finally, Friday of the second week, he calls me
into his office at the end of the shift. I'm sure this is the big blow-off
or confrontation, but I don't know which."

She looked over Nuria's shoulder at the first dress, "Nice lines, classical.
Probably too conservative. It says, 'respect me.' Wrong message."

Nuria sighed in agreement and began to strip out of the dress. Pearl went
on, "So, we're sitting across his desk from each other and he's got one of
the documents I checked off earlier in the day and there are a half-dozen
red marks on it from the proofreader. He turns it towards me so that I can
see it. I figure this is going to be his excuse for getting rid of me.
Instead, he looks me right in the eye and says, 'Pearl, you can't keep
living your life like this.' And, for a half-second, I'm furious. How dare
he judge me? Then, a second later, I've got my head in my hands and I start
crying like a baby."

Nuria looked up from her dress, "What? Why?"

"Because he was absolutely right. And, he had been for a long time. Some
time around sixteen, I'd decided that I wasn't going to college, I wasn't
going to amount to anything, and I might as well party until it killed me.
 From that point on, I worked hard on letting it."

"Doug and I had never talked about it. We'd never discussed what I did when
I wasn't at work, never discussed anything but work. And, he knew. As soon
as I started crying, he was hugging me and kissing away my tears, and
comforting me. I didn't need to explain. He took me home with him again and
we stayed up all night talking. And he knew things that I'd never told him.
Once I got over being freaked out about it, it was amazing. He was telling
me everything I needed to hear. After that, we were inseparable. I became
like an entirely different person with him."

"What happened to him?"

Pearl shrugged, "Somehow, it was great, but I always knew it was temporary.
Eventually, it was just over. It's more complicated than that, but that's
the gist of it. Now, we're just friends."

Nuria stood in front of the mirror, "What do you think?"

Pearl looked her over. The dress was a silky material a shade darker than
primary blue with a deep decolletage and a slit up one leg. She frowned,
"It's probably too cold to go backless, huh?"

Nuria shrugged, "The dress I borrowed from Carla was backless."

Pearl nodded, "But, you'll probably be waiting around outside Lincoln Center
for a while looking for a cab afterwards. You don't want to expose more skin
than you have to in order to get the message across, even under your coat."

Nuria frowned, "You're probably right."

"It's too bad. You have an amazingly sexy back."

"I..." said Nuria. "Wait a second! You're trying to distract me. You never
explained how you wound up out of all of this joining a cult."

"Oh," said Pearl. "After he quit temping, he started teaching a class at the
Learning Center called the Cult of Success. It's got a huge underground
following and a lot of graduates have gone on to big things. There's going
to be a big write-up on it in a couple of weeks in the New York Press. We
always joke that I was his first cult member."

Nuria laughed, "I can't imagine he uses the same method on all of his
students, though. What's his shtick?"

Pearl counted off on her fingers, "The first class, he says, 'Accept what
is. Know what you want. Do what you want.' Then, he spends the rest of the
classes explaining what those three rules mean. In my case, he explained
that it would have been easy to delude himself into thinking that he wanted
to drag me across his desk and fuck me. But, that was only if he denied the
truth of the situation, which was that he would probably get us both fired.
I would probably fight him off. And, then, he would never see me again. What
he really wanted was to get me outside of work so that he could fuck me.
Once he came to terms with that, he did what he wanted to do."

Nuria looked at the third dress, "I think we have a winner. Do I even need
to try this one on?"

Pearl shook her head, "No. You've been very well-behaved. If you don't want
to, you don't have to."

                                    -=-

Nuria stayed up late into the night reading Sean's manuscript. The next
morning, she woke up with a stomach ache.

"I can't be sick," she moaned over a breakfast of toast and tea. "Not today.
I can't cancel on Quentin."

"It's probably just tension," said Pearl. "You're so conflicted, you don't
know whether to look forward to this date or dread it."

Nuria knew Pearl was right, "Was Doug as annoying as you are when he came up
with stuff like that?"

"She finally told you the Doug story?" asked Carla. Nuria nodded.

"Good. Now you know why she's crazy."

Pearl stuck out her tongue. Carla leaned over and licked her, which led to
Pearl making a great show of wiping herself off as if repulsed.

As it turned out, Pearl was right. Nuria was feeling much better after her
shower. After that, Pearl insisted on rubbing her down. Nuria didn't protest
much. By the time Pearl's hands had finished their work on her, she felt
better than she had for a long time.

"Feeling better?" Pearl asked.

"I think you made me drool," said Nuria drowsily.

"Involuntary and embarassing physical responses are what make this job
worthwhile," said Pearl. "Now, let's get you in the kitchen so that Carla
can do your hair."

"Mmmmm...what?"

"C'mon. Up."

Nuria looked up through slitted eyes, "What's wrong with my hair?"

"Nothing, sweetie. It's beautiful. Carla just wants to give it a little bit
of oomph."

Nuria considered Pearl's hair, which Carla cut on a fairly regular basis.
Pearl smiled at the scrutiny, "Trust Carla. Ever since I let her start
cutting my hair, guys have noticed and my tips have gone way up."

"Their eyes go that high?"

"You wouldn't think so, but apparently they do."

Nuria wrapped herself in her robe, "Actually, a new haircut would be
perfect."

They exited the bedroom. Carla was sitting at her desk, typing away at the
computer. "Hey, C," said Pearl. "Nuria wants a haircut."

Carla's eyes got wide with excitement, "Oh. I've been waiting for this. Miss
D, have a seat in the kitchen. I'll go get my tools."

Nuria shot a nervous glance at Pearl, "What you gotten me into?" Pearl just
smiled and guided her to the kitchen chair.

Carla emerged with a plastic tackle box and a barbershop drape, "I been
wantin' to get at that hair ever since you moved in."

"You used to do this professionally, right?" Nuria asked.

"Yeah," said Carla, affecting a low-class Southern accent. "But, I ain't
done it since I started gettin' the shakes. Fortunately, the drinkin' cuts
them way down."

"Very funny," said Nuria.

"Don't worry, Miss D. I take my work seriously. I won't make any radical
changes."

"Actually," said Nuria. "I think something radical might be just the thing."

"Really?" asked Carla. Her eyes lit up, "Please tell me you're not just
saying that so you can crush my dreams when you sit down."

"No," said Nuria, sitting down. "I think it's time for a change."

Carla opened her tackle box, revealing a bewildering array of tools of the
trade, "So, what do you want me to do?"

"I want something that would look out of place on a schoolteacher," said
Nuria. "But, not on a sophisticated New York City editor."

Carla thought for a minute, walking around Nuria and looking at her hair.

"Miss D, do you trust me?"

Nuria laughed nervously, "Not entirely. But, I'm in your hands."

"Fair enough," said Carla. "I want to do a cut that you can wear to work,
but also out on a date. The way I would do it today would never do for the
office, but you can wash it, blow dry it, and wear it differently at the
office and no one would ever guess what it looked like on the weekend."

"Sounds high-maintenance," said Nuria.

"It is," said Carla. "On the dating side. But, it shouldn't take you any
longer to get ready in the morning than it would now."

"All right," said Nuria, sitting back and relaxing. "I'm in your hands."

Carla went to work. There were no mirrors in the kitchen, so Nuria had to
judge the progress of the haircut by what wound up on the drape. She did her
best to keep up a light chatter with Pearl, but couldn't keep a note of
concern out of her voice.

"Okay," said Carla, producing a mirror from her tackle box. "This is what
we're starting with. From this point on, I won't cut more than maybe an
eighth of an inch in places."

Nuria looked in the mirror. Her hair was wet and straight. Carla had trimmed
about an inch off of the length of it and given it some layering, but there
was nothing radical about it."

"Well," said Nuria, letting out a sigh of relief. "It's lovely. I don't know
why I was concerned."

"Now," said Carla, brandishing a comb and a water bottle, "we style."

Styling took significantly longer than cutting. By the end, Nuria just sat
silently, praying that her roommate knew what she was doing.

"Fini," said Carla finally. With a flourish, she handed Nuria the mirror.

Nuria had once circled the phrase, "didn't recognize herself," in a
student's story and labeled it trite. What she had meant was that it was
overused and, besides that, ridiculous. How could a person not recognize
themself from something as simple as a haircut.

She regretted the criticism now. The transformation was truly stunning. It
seemed ridiculous that this glamorous, sexy head should be poking out of her
ratty, old terrycloth bathrobe.

With only a tiny amount of product, Carla had parted Nuria's hair on the
left, then drawn the top, shorter layer of her hair forward on the right at
an acute angle with the line of the part so that it covered her eye when she
leaned forward. On the left side, she'd drawn the top layer forward too, but
at a much larger angle, so that it framed the shape of her face.

Nuria sat, stunned. Carla said, "I know it's kind of a younger cut that
you're used to. I hope I didn't overdo it. I just..."

"Carla," said Nuria slowly. "I could kiss you. I look like a fashion model."

Carla smiled, "Tips are always appreciated, but I don't know if you want to
start down that road today."

Nuria stood up and hugged Carla fiercely, "It's wonderful. Thank you."

"I'm glad you like it, Miss D," said Carla, catching her breath. "I think it
may be the best I've ever done."

Nuria felt herself misting up. Pearl spotted it, "What's the matter, Miss
D?"

"I just...I'm overwhelmed. I don't know what I did to deserve all this
attention."

Carla hugged her gently, "You're our friend. That's all. You did have
friends growing up, didn't you?"

"Not like you two," said Nuria. "When I consider the sort of girls my mother
wouldn't let me associate with because they were a bad influence, I know you
two would have given her a coronary. And, doing anything to deliberately
make myself pretty would have been a mortal sin somehow. I'm sorry. I don't
mean to gush."

Carla smiled, "That's why we do the makeup last."

Carla and Pearl wouldn't let Nuria go until they had filed and painted her
finger and toenails. As she waited for them to dry, she tried to read Sean's
manuscript, but found that she just couldn't focus on it for more than a few
minutes. Finally, she gave up on it and went out to the living room to see
what her friends were doing.

Carla was back at the computer and Pearl was watching college football on
TV. Nuria flopped down next to Pearl on the couch, "Good game?"

Pearl was almost bouncing, "Yup. Cass is having an amazing game."

"Cass?"

Pearl pointed at the TV, "The quarterback. That's my little brother."

Nuria stared at the screen, "Which one is the quarterback?"

Pearl laughed, "The one in orange that just threw the ball."

"Oh," said Nuria. "I don't know much about football. Is your brother any
good?"

Pearl shrugged, "He'll probably go pro next year. He wants to finish school,
but they're talking big money."

For the next two hours, Nuria tried to follow along with Pearl's narrative
of the football game and the running banter between Pearl and Carla. About
the only thing she was sure of afterwards was that Pearl's brother had won
the game, "without breaking much of a sweat."

By then, Carla and Pearl insisted that it was time to get ready. Nuria
protested that they still had two hours, but her protests were waved away.
The two younger women did her makeup, decided they had overdone it, washed
her face, and did it again.

They wanted to help her dress, but Nuria finally put her foot down and only
finally allowed Pearl to zip her up when it became obvious that she was not
going to be able to reach. Then, Carla insisted on a quick touch-up on the
hair even though Nuria could see no difference from when she'd looked at it
a few hours early.

And then, she was ready. She stood in front of the mirror and stared at
herself, not entirely believing it was an accurate representation.

"Well," opined Carla, standing behind her, "if he's looking for dinner and
the opera with his old teacher, he's going to be disappointed."

Nuria laughed nervously, "If he's looking for dinner and the opera with his
old teacher, I'm going to be disappointed too."

"I was going to say, 'but, I doubt he'll stay disappointed for long.'"

"Thanks, you two," said Nuria, drawing both of her roommates into a hug. "I
owe you big-time."

"No crying now," said Carla. "We'll never reapply your makeup in time."

All three of them went into the living room and sat, facing the door,
waiting silently for Quentin to arrive.

The silence lasted about a minute before Pearl said, "About owing us big
time..."

Nuria raised an eyebrow, "Yes?"

"When you get a chance, I've got an application from Columbia I could use
some help filling out. I've decided I'm ready to go back to school."

Before anyone could ask any questions, the front-door buzzer rang.

It seemed to take forever for Quentin to get from the front door to the
apartment, but it was probably less than two minutes. Nuria turned to say
something to her roommates, but saw only their backs disappearing into their
rooms.

Nuria opened the door. Quentin stood there, a bouquet of purple and red
orchids in hand. He was wearing a suit and slim coat that both seemed
tailored to his figure. Whatever he was going to say, the words died on his
lips.

"Hello, Quentin," said Nuria quietly. "Why don't you come inside while I
find something to put those in?"

Quentin stepped inside and relinquished the flowers. Nuria found a vase and
began filling it with water. When she came back, Quentin finally spoke, "You
look amazing tonight."

"Thank you," said Nuria. "You're cutting a fine figure yourself."

"I feel underdressed. I'm sorry I don't have more than the opera or dinner
planned. By the look of you, we should be going to the Oscars at the very
least."

"You say the sweetest things," said Nuria, feeling a warm flush rise beneath
her skin.

Downstairs, Quentin had a black towncar waiting. The driver seemed to know
him fairly well and greeted Nuria formally.

Nuria had only been to the opera once before, when she'd first moved to New
York City and been determined to take advantage of the culture it presented.
She had enjoyed it well enough, but never gone back.

This was a different experience all together. The previous visit had been
with a colleague and her date. The seats had been high enough that Nuria
felt she was risking a nosebleed. Tonight, they were in the orchestra seats,
and Quentin was an attentive date.

At intermission, they had gone outside by the fountain to share a cigarette.
After they had finished smoking, Quentin said, "I feel like I'm getting away
with something. You're not going to report me, are you, Miss Delgado?"

"Quentin," said Nuria gently, stepping against him to share his warmth and
use him as a shield against the wind, "I haven't been a teacher in a very
long time." As she said it, she tilted her head back and looked him right in
the eyes.

Quentin didn't say anything. Instead, he reached up to cup the back of her
head and came down to kiss her. Nuria's lips parted willingly, her tongue
teasing the tip of his into her mouth.

Quentin let out a groan, "Oh, Nuria."

Nuria gave a throaty sigh, "Quentin."

Their second kiss lasted much longer. Quentin's arms went under her coat,
crushing Nuria to his chest. The third made Nuria's knees weak.

As Nuria leaned against his chest, Quentin looked around, "I think people
are heading back in for Act Three." Nuria just nodded and reluctantly
detached herself from his grip, leading him back inside.

Quentin seemed noticeably more relaxed during the third act. A tension that
Nuria had not even realized was there had melted right out of him. As
charming and entertaining a date he had been up until that point, he was
absolutely engrossing now, whispering little tidbits about the opera, the
company doing it, and differences from previous productions. As a child on
the cusp of becoming a teenager, he had been somewhat awkward. The
awkwardness was gone now.

Outside, the car was waiting for them in the taxi lane. Quentin asked,
"Hungry?"

Nuria nodded, surprised to find that she was, indeed, quite hungry, "Yes."

"Our table awaits, then. The production ran a few minutes long, so we should
hurry. I should warn you, this place is a little pretentious. But, the food
is really excellent and it's...ambient."

Nuria could almost hear him not saying the word "romantic" and smiled.

"You seem to know an awful lot about the opera," she said as the car took
them away from Lincoln Center."

Quentin nodded, "In high school, I joined the choir. I took voice lessons
through most of high school and college. I honestly thought I was more
likely to be a tenor than a writer."

"Really? Will I ever get to hear you sing?"

Quentin smiled, "Not tonight, but some time when I can stand up straight and
project."

Over dinner, they caught up on what had happened in each of their lives
since she'd been his teacher. Nuria started to feel a little bit
intimidated. Quentin had done so much in such a short time. She started to
wonder if he could really possibly be interested in her.

At the door, as he helped her into her coat, Nuria leaned back against him,
gently pressing her whole body against his. She trembled a little, knowing
that she was on the cusp of a critical moment. How Quentin reacted to her
now would tell her if anything more than a long and frustrating friendship
was possible between them.

Quentin took her shoulder and turned her in the circle of his arms. There
was an urgency in his kiss this time, a sense of expectation. Nuria felt
herself melting, a small part of her mind embarrassed by how demonstrative
she was being in public, but a somewhat larger part wishing he would have
her right there.

When he held the car door for her, Nuria noticed that Quentin's hands were
trembling. Somehow, knowing that he was as nervous as she was made Nuria
relax a little.

"Where to, Mr. Edwards?"

The question hung in the air. Quentin looked at Nuria, who abruptly realized
there was a question in his eyes that she thought she'd already answered.
She said, "Why don't you show me your place, Quentin?"

Quentin sighed and sat back, "Home, Jack."

"Yessir."

The car tracked its way downtown in relative silence. Quentin reached over
and took Nuria's hand in his own. Nuria held onto it, part for intimacy,
part for comfort. Now that she was committed to going home with Quentin, the
enormity of the decision made her tremble.

"I'm having a wonderful evening, Quentin," she said, giving faint emphasis
to the present tense.

"I'm glad," Quentin said. "I can't tell you how good it's been to see you
again."

Quentin's doorman welcomed him by name. Inside, his building looked more
like a hotel than an apartment building--the lobby done in marble, glass,
and brass. The elevator was huge and silent and took a key from Quentin to
go up.

"You live in the penthouse?"

Quentin looked abashed, "It's more than I need, but I like the space,
particularly when entertaining."

Nuria gasped, "Is Sean up there?" Once the question was out, she wished she
could take it back. But, Quentin just gave her a sad smile.

"Actually, I helped Sean move into his own place today."

The words hung in the air for a few seconds. Nuria wanted to let it drop,
but found she couldn't, "Quentin, did that have anything to do with me?"

Quentin didn't deny it, "It's been a long time coming. We'd been planning a
move since spring and always finding an excuse for it not to happen. If it
hadn't been today, it still would have happened."

Nuria didn't respond. Quentin said, "I'm sorry. I should have told you
sooner. If you want, I can have Jack drive you home."

Nuria shook her head more violently than she meant to and stepped into the
apartment.

For the first time, she looked around. "Apartment" wasn't really a word for
Quentin's place. It was more like a house placed on top of an apartment
building. The entrance hall rose up two stories to a skylight and was done
in a white and gold art deco style.

Nuria found herself gawking. Quentin said, "Home sweet home."

"Quentin, it's amazing."

Quentin took her coat from her unresisting shoulders, "I let my publisher
talk me into buying it after the third Barrens Princess book. It didn't
occur to me until afterwards that the mortage locked me in to writing at
least two more books. I love the place, but it's sort of a white elephant,
too."

"There are four Barrens Princess books now, aren't there?"

Quentin nodded, "The fourth one came out for Christmas. The fifth is all-but
done. I'm working on a sixth, but it may be the last. I'm tired of the
series in a way I can not fully express. Have you had a chance to look at
the new book?"

"No," admitted Nuria. "You told me to start with Sean's."

Quentin nodded again, "Let me give you the grand tour."

The grand tour turned out to be grand indeed. Nuria was having a bit of a
hard time believing that Quentin lived here and said so.

"I don't really believe it myself," said Quentin. "But, I seem to have the
doormen fooled."

They were on the second floor of the penthouse. Nuria indicated a stairway
going up, "There's another floor?"

Quentin led her to the stairway, "More like a turret, actually."

Nuria laughed, "You're kidding. Like in a castle?"

"I call it the solarium," said Quentin, turning on the light.

The room looked to be the largest in the complex. Quentin had been right in
calling it a turret. It was round and about one hundred feet across, larger
than the apartment she shared with Pearl and Carla. Most of the ceiling was
glass, slanting away on both sides. It was half covered with snow now, but
she could clearly see the gibbous moon through its panes.

In the center of the room was a circular bar. The whole room was arranged to
look like an upscale hotel bar. Each of the wide, round roof supports had a
wide, red couch wrapped around it at the base.

"This is where I hold parties," said Quentin. "That way, if they get out of
hand, the damage is localized."

Nuria walked slowly to the center of the room, taking it all in. Quentin
followed her, standing a few feet behind.

"Quentin," she said, "turn out the lights."

Quentin took a half step towards a table, picked up a remote control and,
with a click, did as he was asked. The room was bathed in moonlight. Nuria
turned to face him. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Nuria barely
breathed. The only sound was the light tap of snow hitting the glass roof.

Nuria watched Quentin. Seeing the conflict arise in his face, she said a
quick prayer to a God she didn't believe in that he wouldn't lose his nerve,
that he would instead do exactly what they both wanted him to do.

He opened his mouth to say something. Nuria cringed inwardly, knowing he was
going to say something to break the mood. Instead of letting him speak, she
said his name, making it clear that she was imploring him to go forward.

He stared at her across the gulf of a foot or two. When he opened his mouth
again, he said, "Nuria, I want to touch you so badly."

Nuria's resolve solidified. This was not going to be some long yearning,
some unfulfilled relationship she always regretted missing out on. Even if
she ruined everything, she was going to have this one night. She stepped
forward so that she was in his arms, put her lips to his ear, and whispered
throatily, "Quentin, we have all night. Touch me as badly as you want."

Then, she was off her feet, the breath being crushed out of her as he kissed
her. The kiss was not at all gentle this time, but almost punishing. Nuria
reveled in it. There was no trepidation in this kiss, no misplaced respect.
It was a kiss that spoke of pure longing, finally released. She returned it
wholly, wrapping her hands around the back of his head, feeling his hands
move under her bottom.

Somehow, he carried her over to one of the wide couches and lay her down,
kneeling next to her on the seat. He kissed her again, his hands roaming all
over her body, exploring it, learning its curves. Nuria wanted desperately
to be rid of her clothes. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of Quentin's
shirt. She kissed his chest, his shoulders, any part of him she could reach.

Quentin had parted her dress at the side to reveal the tops of her
stockings, the garters that held them up. He moaned appreciatively. Nuria
smiled. This was the one part of her outfit tonight that had been entirely
hers. Her roommates had nothing to do with them, didn't even know she was
wearing them. Quentin leaned down and kissed one garter, then another, then
the flesh of her inner thigh. Nuria found herself moaning out loud at the
attention.

Nuria's other decision had been to wear nothing else with the garters. She
quivered at how close Quentin's lips and tongue came to being inside of her.
Quentin seemed to sense that and teased his way around her thighs until
Nuria was holding the back of his head and whimpering in frustration.

Even after he slid his tongue inside of her, he teased. Nuria bucked up
against his face, but he placed only feather-light kisses on her clit at
first. Nuria thought she would go insane with anticipation.

Then, all at once, Quentin took her clit between his lips and sucked on it.
Nuria immediately felt herself coming with shocking intensity. He was gentle
at first, but soon sucked vigorously on it while running the tip of his
tongue over it from one end to the other.

Nuria was glad to know that Quentin had no neighbors for two floors down,
but worried that they would hear her anyway. The sounds of pleasure Quentin
ripped from her came out as sobs.

Abruptly, Quentin stopped and lifted himself up over her so that he could
grip her shoulders. Nuria looked up questioning as he gripped her shoulders
and turned her over. His hands were impatient as the undid her zipper,
exposing her back.

As he slid her out of her dress, he rained kisses on her back. He couldn't
seem to keep his hands off of her long enough to get it all the way off, so
she helped him, reaching down and sliding it free of her hips.

His hands kneaded and stroked her flesh, the motions remarkably similar to
what Pearl had done earlier today to relax her. Now, the same motions
inflamed her. Nuria was still orgasmic and the touch was driving her close
to another climax.

She felt Quentin undo her bra and felt a moment of trepidation. The bra
she'd chosen to wear came close to being a violation of truth in advertising
laws. She worried that Quentin would be disappointed with the truth. By the
way his hands massaged her, she needn't have worried. He lay atop her, the
hair of his chest rubbing against her back, his cock hard and insistent
against her thigh, stroking her and whispering her name over and over again
in her ear.

Nuria tried to position herself to be impaled by him, but found she had no
leverage. So, she said for herself what her dress could no longer say for
her.

"God, Quentin. Fuck me." It came out a growl.

Quentin let one hand fall to her belly, pulling her up to her knees. He
moved his own knees between her legs, forcing them apart. Nuria felt so
wonderfully exposed that it started to send her over the edge of pleasure
again.

And then, he was inside of her. There was nothing awkward or gentle about
him. His need was primal and obvious. It matched Nuria's own. As he drove
into her, she drove back against him, taking him all the way inside of her
each time. Her cries were not sobs, but growls now, like a she-wolf being
taken by her mate. It was more than Nuria was willing to have hoped.

Seeking better purchase, Quentin turned her so that she lay against the
inclined back of the couch. The back was high enough that her face was
pressed against the velvet cover. Quentin never came out of her while
positioning her body. Nuria loved the feeling of his against her back,
dominating her.

Then, he caught her wrists, gathered them together, and pinned them in one
hand over her head against the cool upright behind the couch. Having her
wrists constrained drove Nuria to even greater heights of pleasure than
before. She hadn't felt this good since she'd been a new bride. She wept
with the pleasure of it.

"Oh, God, Quentin," she cried out. "Don't stop. Don't ever stop."

Quentin chuckled in her ear, "Eventually, that won't be my choice to make."

Nuria nodded in acknowledgement, "I love this. Just like this."

Quentin nodded, his free hand snaking around to knead her right breast.
Then, wordlessly, he pounded even harder into her. Their bodies were
starting to get slick from the effort, but Nuria secretly elt like he might
be able to do as she asked, to never stop.

Wordlessly, he claimed her. For a while, the whole world receded to where
they touched--his hands on her wrists, his chest on her back, his cock
inside of her. There was only pleasure in the world.

Then, Nuria felt Quentin's own release building inside of him. It built up a
little at a time and Nuria could sense that he was holding back, not wanting
it to end. She leaned her head back so she could be closer to his ear.

"Do it," she growled. "Inside of me. I want it."

The last word wasn't even out of her mouth when Quentin gave a strangled cry
of pleasure and exploded inside of her. In spite of her own insistence, she
whimpered at knowing it was over while clenching around him, trying to keep
him inside a few seconds longer.

They lay there panting, listening to the snow, as he slowly shrank out of
her. She was wrapped in his arms, her back to him, her head resting on his
arm. At that moment, for the first time in a long time, Nuria felt
completely safe.

As she felt herself dozing, Nuria forced herself to wake up enough to ask,
"Quentin?"

He kissed the back of her head, "Yes, Nuria?"

"Why me?" She cuddled into his arms, "I mean, you're on top of the world
here. You could have any woman you wanted. Why your o...former English
teacher from the eighth grade?"

Quentin laughed gently, "You know, nobody really gets that deal."

"What deal?"

"Any woman you want," said Quentin. "What it really means is, 'Most women
think they would sleep with you, given the chance. And, you never have to be
alone if you don't want to.' Of all people, Brad Pitt told me that."

"Oh..." said Nuria. "But, why me?"

"Because, at some point, you start to think, 'What if I really could have
any woman I ever wanted? Who would I want? And, if it's not the person
you're with at the time, you hold that answer secret in your heart and try
to forget it."

"I..." Nuria felt overwhelmed by what she thought he was saying.

"I thought you were a married woman," said Quentin. "I thought you were off
teaching somewhere halfway across the country and wouldn't remember me if I
reintroduced myself. If I'd known you were right here in New York, I would
have showed up at your door the day I found out where you lived."

"How impulsive," she said, laughing.

"Are you suggesting I'm not impulsive?" Quentin asked, the self-mockery
obvious in his voice.

Nuria turned in his arms, sliding one hand around him to press their bodies
closer together, and kissed his chest, "I think you can be...eventually."

Best and Brightest, Part 3
by Vular Argot
(MF, slow, rom, oral)

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+