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From: basmith@newshost.li.net (Brenda Ann Smith)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Kate and Emily:  Walk.
Date: 3 Jun 1996 17:44:03 GMT
Organization: LI Net (Long Island Network)
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                              Walk.
                            (5/11/96)

     I ran down the stairs after you, but when I got to the
street you were already out of sight.  I walked the block to the
subway station but you weren't there either.

     You were gone.

     Back in my loft, Jen was sitting on the sofa, her hands
folded in her lap.  When I came in the door she sprang to her
feet and asked, "Did you find her?"

     "No."  I stood by the door for a few moments, just looking
at her.  Then I went into the kitchen.  She followed me.

     "Do you think she's going to be all right?"

     I opened the cupboard and withdrew a wine glass.  I opened a
bottle of wine from the wood wine rack on the counter and poured
a glassful.  I took a sip, swished it around in my mouth, and
swallowed.  Then I looked at Jen and answered, "I don't know."

     "I'm really sorry."

     I laughed.  "I bet you are."

     "I really am!"

     "Jen," I said.  I took another sip of wine.  "Women like you
are never sorry for things like that.  In fact, you live for
them."

     "Now you hold on a minute--" she began.

     "Do you love me?" I asked suddenly.

     "What?  Do I love you?"  She peered at me.  "What's that got
to do with anything?  Yes, I do."

     I gazed at her and considered what she said.  I shook my
head slowly.  "No.  No, you don't.  You don't love me any more
than you love your boyfriend--and I know that you do have one. 
The only person you love is you, Jen.  Your first--your only
interest is you, and you don't care who you hurt to get it.  And
I just can't, for the life of me, figure out what Molly saw in
you."

     "You're so fucking self-righteous, Kate," Jen seethed.  "You
think you've got everyone pegged and you fucking canonized Molly. 
Let me tell you something about your precious little Molly.  When
she couldn't take any more of your self-importance and your
condemnation, she came to me."

     "Shut your damn mouth," I warned her.

     "She came for my touch, my hugs, my kisses.  Because when it
came down to it, you weren't enough for her.  You're a lousy
girlfriend, and Molly was far from being a saint--"

     "Shut up!"  I hurled my wine glass at her.  It barely missed
her, shattering behind her.  The claret liquid rolled down the
wall.  "Get out of my house."  She turned and stormed out of the
kitchen and a minute later I heard the front door slam.

     At most, I smoked once or twice a year so I had a hell of a
time finding my cigarettes.  I turned the loft upside-down
looking for that pack of Salems.  I even looked in the medicine
cabinet which was when I realized, looking in the mirror, that I
was crying.  I sat down on the toilet lid and sobbed.  I covered
my face with my hands but my tears still seeped between my
fingers and soaked into my jeans.

     Molly and I had a lot of fights.  Our relationship began
about the same time my art was making its debut.  After a few
months of dating she moved in with me at my request, but I'd
never lived with anyone before and that dynamic added to my
stress.  Add that I was a pretty temperamental person to begin
with...we had a lot of fights.

     She had her share of problems as well.  She was estranged
from her family.  They were devout Catholics and when they
learned she was a lesbian, they didn't want anything to do with
her.  Not her mother or her father or any of her five brothers
and sisters.  It was a constant source of anguish to her.

     I came home one evening and found her lying face down on the
bed.  I sat next to her and stroked her hair gently.  "What's
wrong, baby?"

     "I called my mother to wish her happy birthday," came her
muffled reply.  Oh Lord, I thought to myself.  "She hung up on
me."

     "Did you expect any differently?"  She shook her head
beneath my hand.  "Then why do you do it?  Why do you hurt
yourself like this when you know they don't care about you?"

     She turned her head and looked at me, her face aghast. 
"That's not true.  They do care about me."

     "I've got news for you:  they haven't been a part of your
life for over a year now.  You're a lesbian, and they don't like
it."

     "Maybe it would be better if..."

     "If what?" I asked bitterly.  "If you weren't dating me?"

     She looked away, ashamed for thinking it.  I stood up and
turned away to look out the window.  "I'm going out."

     "Where are you going?" she asked softly.

     "I don't know.  I'll be back."  

     When I got back, she wasn't there.  She returned later that
night, but I never asked where she had gone.

     Now I knew.

     I got up and washed my face with cold water.  It didn't make
me look a lot better but it made me feel better.  I hoped things
would be better in the morning so I stripped off my clothes and
went to bed.

     I didn't wake up until Sunday morning.  I realized it when I
turned on the television for the news and found a church program
instead.  I looked at my alarm clock, at the calendar on the
wall, and at the television.  It had been a long time since I'd
had such a refreshing sleep.  

     After breakfast I took the subway to Penn Station where I
got on a train for Long Island.  I bought a bouquet of flowers in
the station and they lay on my lap during the train ride.  When
the conductor announced that the stop was Pinelawn I got off the
train and walked into the cemetery.

     The first year after Molly died, I visited her grave every
week.  I still visited every month.  My feet seemed to know
automatically where her plot was.  I knelt down in the soft
earth, still wet from the previous day's rain, and laid the
flowers on her marker.

     "Hi, Molly," I said softly.  "It's me."

     I wasn't sure what to say, so I looked up at the sky, maybe
for some inspiration.  Dense grey rain clouds still hung in the
sky, threatening to burst open.

     "I came here to ask for your forgiveness.  There were a lot
of things I wanted to say to you before you died but I couldn't
work up the courage to do it.  And when I did...I didn't have the
chance anymore.  

     "I think I've fallen in love with someone.  At least I want
to fall in love with her.  She's not really anything like you but
I think you'd like her all the same.  Thing is, I know I can't be
in a relationship with her until I've straightened things out
between you and me.  If I don't then you'll always be looming
over us, especially her, and that's not fair.  

     "So here it is.  I'm sorry for all the times my work drove
me away from you because I needed solitude.  Although I didn't
always tell you, you were the most important thing in my life and
I would have gladly given my art for you.

     "I'm sorry I could never understand how you clung to a
family that had no regard for you.  I didn't grasp their
importance; or maybe I did and I was envious of their hold on
you.

     "I'm sorry I didn't have a more patient ear or a more
available shoulder to cry on and you had to turn elsewhere for
it.  I would give anything now to wipe a tear from your cheek or
to stroke your hair.

     "I'm sorry it took me so long to say I'm sorry because I
know how much you needed to hear it when you were alive, and I
never gave it to you.  You bore it all with the patience and
grace that was the essence of your nature and you gave me the
three best years of my life.  Thank you."  

     I bowed my head and my lips kissed the cool marble of her
marker.  I wrapped my arms around it and closed my eyes and
pressed my cheek against it.  "And I'm sorry that I was never
able to forgive you.  I forgive you now," I whispered.

     It began to rain on the train ride back.  It was raining in
the city, too, and I was glad that I lived close to the subway
station.  I dashed to my loft but got soaked anyway.  I took off
all my wet clothes and wrapped myself in my thick white
terrycloth bathrobe.  I wrapped my hair in a towel and then went
into the kitchen to fix myself some lunch.  It was almost two
o'clock.

     I sat down on the sofa with a bowl of tomato soup and a
grilled cheese sandwich.  I grabbed the remote control, turned on
the television, and began to flip through the channels.  9 1/2
Weeks was showing on one of the premium channels; I put down the
remote control and began to watch.

     As I watched Mickey Rourke feed Kim Basinger, my thoughts
began to wander.  I remembered what it was like to feel your kiss
on my lips, your caress on my breasts.  I slid down in my seat so
I could prop my heels on the coffee table.  I closed my eyes and
breathed deeply as I ran my hands up and down my body over the
robe.  I imagined they were your hands pausing briefly over my
breasts, kneading them gently.  Your hands untied the belt at my
waist and drew open the garment....

     You touched my breasts again and caused me to tremble at the
feel of your warm palms against my cool skin.  You took the
nipples between your thumbs and forefingers and squeezed them,
rolled them, and they quickly grew erect.  You wet your
fingertips and then rubbed them oh-so-lightly.  I shuddered.

     You moved your hands up to my shoulders and began to massage
them.  The muscles felt like liquid.  Your fingernails dug
lightly into my flesh and you gently raked them down my breasts
and my belly and then your hands were stroking the tops of my
thighs.

     I thought that I would orgasm as soon as your fingers
touched my labia.  You traced your finger up one lip and down the
other and then you dipped the tip into my vagina.  You were
teasing me.  The next thing I knew you'd pushed two fingers into
me and slowly slid them in and out while your thumb brushed my
clitoris.

     "Another finger, please," I whispered.

     You complied, slipping a third finger into my vagina.  Then
you surprised me by inserting your pinky into my anus.  I moaned
with pleasure.

     "I love it, baby," I said hoarsely.  "Fuck me.  Yes."

     My hips rushed to meet your fingers, which had begun to
thrust more vigorously into my orifices.  With your free hand you
took my right breast and squeezed it, occasionally rubbing the
nipple roughly with your fingers.

     "Emily, I'm close.  I'm going to cum--"

     And I did.  My muscles seized as the orgasm washed over my
body.  My vagina and anus clenched around your fingers, and my
legs almost pushed the table from under my feet.  A low,
trembling moan arose from my throat.  My body relaxed and I sank
down into the couch, your hand still inside me.

     I knew then that I had to see you again, to try once to
reconcile things.  I couldn't live my life wondering if things
might have been different.  I thought about calling you but
decided against it.  I wanted to see you, and since I didn't know
where you lived, I'd have to go to the studio.  I knew you'd be
there on Monday; it gave me the rest of the day to think about
what I could possibly say to make you understand that I was
sincere.

     I went to your office before noon, hoping to catch you
before you left for lunch.  You were sitting at your desk
flipping through a stack of papers.  I crept over, trying to
think of something charming to say, but all I could come up with
was a meek "Hi."

     You looked up and your mouth opened slightly. "Uhhh...
hello, Kate," you managed to say.  "What are you doing here?"

     You weren't angry though.  "I came to say that I'm sorry." 
I looked down at my shoes and then back up again, meeting your
questioning gaze.  "And I want things to work out between us."

     "Oh God."  You sighed.  "Kate, this is really a bad time. 
My boyfriend--"

     "Your boyfriend?"  I repeated.

     "--is going to be here in a few minutes."  You stood up
quickly.  "Shit.  He's here.  Look, I can't talk to you about
this now.  Can I call you tonight or something?"
     
     "Your boyfriend," I said again.  I turned my head to the
elevator and saw a tall, handsome man heading our way.  He smiled
broadly at the sight of you.

     I turned to you again.  "Emily, I love you.  I love you, but
I can live without you.  All I want to know is whether I'll have
to."  You looked at me and said nothing.  
     
     I brushed past your boyfriend on my way to the elevator.  I
pressed the button repeatedly, angrily.  The lift didn't arrive. 
I kicked the doors and headed for the stairwell.

     Stupid.  I never took chances when I didn't have the feeling
that something good might come from it.  This time, I didn't
know.  The sound of my heels clacking against the stone and steel
steps reverberated in the stone stairwell: stupidstupid-
stupidstupidstupidstupidstupid.

     I reached the lobby and strode swiftly across the forest
green carpet to the revolving doors.  I had to get out of that
building.  I thought I heard someone call "Kate" but I didn't
look back.  I made my way onto the sidewalk and stood for a
moment, trying to orient myself and find the subway.

     I was out of tokens and out of change, so I had to stand in
line at the booth.  Again I thought I heard someone call my name. 
I turned my head and saw you as you reached the last step and
rushed over to me.  "Kate," you repeated breathlessly, grabbing
my hand and pulling me away from the queue.

     We stood next to a wall.  You wrapped your arms around my
neck, pressing your face into my shoulder.  I was unsure what to
do.  Finally I brought my arms up and embraced you tightly and
buried my face in your soft hair.

     "Kate," you said, laughing, "you're squishing me."

     I realized that I had lifted you off the ground.  I set you
down gently and released my grip.  I lifted a finger to your
cheek and stroked it down the length of your jaw to your chin. 
"I'm so sorry," I said softly.

     "I know."

     Then you kissed me, your lips eager but tender against mine. 
You pulled away and smiled at me.  "So...do you feel like lunch
or something?  I'm kinda hungry."

     "Yeah.  Okay."  

     It was beautiful, dream-like, as we walked hand-in-hand up
the steps out of the subway station.  I felt the way I'd felt
when I first met Molly.  No, I felt better than that.  

     I glanced at you as we stood on the corner waiting for the
"walk" sign to come up.  You still held my hand and I looked down
at our intertwined fingers:  they fit.  I looked up again as the
wind blew wisps of your hair into your eyes.  With your free hand
you brushed them back behind your ear and gave me a curious grin. 
"What?"

     I lifted my shoulders in a small shrug.  "I don't know. 
It's just...you.  You're wonderful."  Smiling, you squeezed my
hand.  The sign changed.

     Walk.