                     Grabbing the Brass Ring
                         An Erotic Story

     I always thought of myself as unlucky.  Maybe what 
constitutes "being lucky" is more your perception of what's 
happening to you and how you react to it, than external things.  
I still thank David for showing me that if you take what 
opportunities you are given, recognize them for what they are, 
and GRAB them before they're gone, then you CAN grab the brass 
ring.  It turns out there are many brass rings . . . you just 
have to recognize them when the carousel goes by.
     Brass rings . . . I don't think they use them any more . . . 
perhaps for safety reasons.  They were one of the greatest 
gimmicks and tricks of salesmanship ever invented.  I remember 
vividly the very first time . . . .
     When I was 11, during the summertime, a carnival came to 
town.  Cheap food, cheap rides, and more ways to separate kids 
and adults from their money almost painlessly.  One of these 
rides and ways was the carousel or merry-go-round, as us kids 
called it.  Gaily painted horses going up and down to cheesy 
music.  Just round and round.  How could even a carny hope to 
sell tickets to something as boring as that?  But somebody 
somewhere was a salesman.
     I watched for a while; trying to figure where to spend my 
meager supply of tickets that my parents being farmers could 
afford to buy for me and my brother.  It was then that I noticed 
all the kids on the merry-go-round leaning WAY out each time they 
came around and passed a pole that held a stack of rings like 
mini-donuts in some kind of dispenser.
     "What," I asked, "is going on?"
     My father told me that it was the "brass ring"; and if you 
managed to shag one from one of the ponies and held onto it, then 
the carny operator would let you ride "for free" as long as you 
wanted.  Here I thought you just got a free ride.
     I spent all 6 tickets trying to get that brass ring.  It 
wasn't out THAT far.  But each time I'd think I almost had it, 
the horse I was on would go up or down just enough to make me 
miss.  Once (about the third ride or ticket) I actually touched 
one of the rings.
     The ride operator was smart.  By letting a few kids ride for 
free, he kept a merry-go-round (basically the most boring ride at 
the carny) full of kids trying to get the brass ring for 
hours . . . this on a ride they probably wouldn't have otherwise 
ridden more than once, if they got all the rides "for free".
     I never did catch the brass ring; though I had a lot of fun 
trying; and the kids in town talked about 'Catching the Brass 
Ring' for weeks.  I never saw that done on a carny again.
     For years, I felt like I did that one time I ALMOST grabbed 
the brass ring . . . unlucky; not like those lucky kids who did.  
I never saw that I probably had more fun reaching for the ring, 
than they did sitting bored going round and round and round 
and . . .





                                1


     I always kept wondering, "Why me?"  Why did OTHER girls get 
the brass ring, the handsome guy, the beautiful face and gorgeous 
body; while I got stuck with a handicap that didn't even show so 
other people could feel sympathy?
     Life, love, and the luck of catching the brass ring was for 
me to see others do; never something for me.  I never realized 
how lucky I was, until that day I went shopping . . .
                       . . . . . . . . . .
     The pain slashed across me like a sharp knife cutting my 
heart out; leaving me with a dull aching emptiness where it had 
been.
     "Oh no, not again!" I told myself; silently hoping that THIS 
pain would leave like these emotions sometimes did.  Only the 
empty ache continued and grew stronger.  Oh shit.  This was the 
very reason I came into town at night . . . to the one 
convenience store that remained open until midnight.  Long ago 
the city had grown far to much for me to bear; and the 
conflicting needs of almost a million people tearing me apart.  
Here in the country, if I avoided going past the Morton place, I 
was able to live with a life almost my own.  Nothing had bothered 
me this much in almost a year since Mike, the last of the 
Daldridge twins, had finally gotten a girlfriend of his own, 
under my tutelage.  The aching needs of two excruciatingly horny 
and somewhat jealous twins had almost torn me apart in the nine 
and a half months it took to teach the two teenagers about sex 
and how to attract a decent girl, instead of frightening her off 
with the sheer intensity of their need for raw sex.  It was a 
wonder I hadn't gotten knocked-up in those first three weeks 
before I brought the raging inferno of the two 13-year-old boys 
down to the steady flame that would probably keep the Martin 
girls happy and sexually satisfied for years.  With that behind 
me, I had HOPED to live MY life for at least a few months.
     As another ache swept across my mind, I almost fainted from 
the wordless aching, wanting, NEEDING, and yes (as usual) 
unfulfilled sexual desire.  I figured it was the latter that 
probably woke the poor guy up and made him realize his loss again 
in the middle of the night.  Knowing this was small comfort 
against the aching void that seemed to swell up until the room 
started to fade, and I almost dropped the few necessities I had 
gathered.
     "Are you OK, Lady?"  The warm worried care about ME brought 
a measure of sanity back.  Earlier I had only been peripherally 
aware of the warm bumbling boredom of the clerk; slightly 
intermixed with the normal teenaged horniness and a faint wish 
hovering in the background that had to do with some kind of 
erotic fantasy . . . probably having to do with either his 
current girlfriend, or possibly an erotic book he read whenever 
he was alone in the store.  When I first arrived, I had been 
tempted to ferret out the boy's secret stash by the old "hot and 
cold" method I was so used to . . . only feeling the hot blush of 
embarrassment of a teenager was NOT the sort of thing I usually 
sought out . . . unless I was screamingly horny myself.  The 
affair with the twins had taken so much out of me, it would 
probably be another week or two before my body insisted on its 
needs instead of somebody else's.


                                2


     "No . . . It's OK," I gasped; staggering upright.  Somehow 
it was refreshing to feel somebody else worrying about ME for a 
change.  I resolved to come back some night and help the kid 
relieve the aching horniness that at present was just a pleasant 
reminder of how good sex usually was.  The next time I needed it, 
and IF the kid was still working that night.  He deserved a 
reward for caring like that.  I felt the worried bubble shrink a 
little as I "put my face back on" and tried desperately to NOT 
let the kid see the aching loneliness that swept over me like a 
wave.  "No . . . thanks anyway.  I'll be all right in just a 
second," I said; while fighting desperately to form my face into 
the warm pleasant smile that I knew reassured others.  If I 
hadn't learned this by the time I was 10, the worries of my 
family and yes even friends would have overwhelmed me.  Yes, I 
had friends.  I HAD to have friends; learning early what made 
people around me happy; from getting good grades for my mother, 
looking sexy yet innocent for my father, (being his "little 
princess") and being my big brother's "little sister" who he 
could always count on to take HIS side; even taking his 
punishments on occasion; with the happiness of my brother getting 
out of some feared punishment battling with the sad letdown of my 
father or mother, when once again I disappointed them.
     I don't know if they found out what I was doing or not; but 
one day when I claimed responsibility for another of my brother's 
goofs, their sorrow at what I did seemed to grow almost without 
bounds until I was weeping in a huddle in the middle of the 
floor.  I never got punished for that transgression; and never 
again did my brother use me for a scapegoat; seeming to ache for 
me almost as much as my parents did.  Nobody in the family ever 
either asked me or told me what happened that day, and I never 
asked either of my parents until the day they died; leaving me 
and Tom to ache together through almost a week of loss and pain.  
The memory of HOW the two of us had helped each other over the 
loss was the small comfort that was a barrier to the pain of 
losing our parents.  Thankfully my brother was a happily married 
man; worried about his wife while he was away at the funeral, or 
who knows what might have happened to the two of us.  As it was, 
I had been immeasurably relieved when my period came around three 
days after Tom left me alone on the farm.
     All this ran through my mind in far less time than it takes 
to tell it; while I put on the happy laughing face that so 
soothed other people's worries.  I felt the boy's concern fade, 
and his arousal rise, as a pretty girl smiled at him in a manner 
that looked as if she enjoyed his company.  Well, I DID; and if 
that aching loneliness tearing my soul apart hadn't ripped 
through my body again, I would almost have been tempted to take 
the kid in the back room and . . . . shit.  There I was doing it 
again . . . letting some teenager's horny hormones get MY juices 
flowing.  What was really sad was that if I hadn't had more 
urgent problems, he and I WOULD have made use of that back room, 
and we BOTH would have had a good time.






                                3


     Still, I managed to give the kid a smile that was almost 
erotic; and licked my lips in a manner that genuinely was, before 
I left; with a silent promise that I could tell he felt, from the 
unexpected hope that swelled up in his chest; almost washing away 
the boy's arousal in the sudden hope that a girl (woman) as 
pretty as I am, would possibly NOT be turned off by his advances.
     (OK . . . I'm not THAT pretty, slightly overweight and a big 
nose.  To a horny teenaged kid, anything in short skirts and a 
female body was pretty.)
     How I made it out to the car without slipping my mask, or 
giving the kid a kiss that would have led inevitably to sex, I'll 
never know; but the aching void in my heart that swept through me 
managed to bring a measure of sanity through my lust-induced haze 
from the feedback of horny teenager next to equally horny girl.  
Damn.  I guess I was missing the almost continuous orgy the twins 
and I had, far sooner than I had expected.  Oh well, at least 
THIS kid wasn't a virgin; and had a girlfriend I could return him 
to . . . once I taught him a few things that said girlfriend 
would forever appreciate.
     It was only after I dropped the bags in the car, and the boy 
returned inside after "helping me" put them there, that his 
diminishing closeness and weakening erection allowed me to pull 
myself out of my lust-induced haze before I pulled the boy's 
pants down, right there in the parking lot.
     Only the sweeping loss and pain of incredible sorrow 
reminded me that I had another problem . . . far more serious 
than the unresolved horniness of a teenager.  The kid would be 
all right once I got myself away from him and tomorrow it would 
be his girlfriend's "problem."
     As I started to pull out, I felt the sensation in my groin 
swell momentarily; and knew the boy had found his stash of porno-
mags, and was now busy trying to relieve himself, since he was 
alone in the store.  I almost felt guilty at leaving him like 
that; but firmly reminded myself that the boy had been partially 
in that state already, before I entered the store.
     The aching void almost caused me to lose control of the 
small station-wagon; even though the pain was weaker this time, 
it was no less poignant.  Shit . . . I was going the wrong 
direction!
     God, was I tempted to keep on driving to the house; letting 
distance take me far away from the horrible hurt I felt.  It was 
for that very reason I had remained on the farm after Mom and Dad 
died; ignoring my brother's pleas to come with him and spend time 
with his wife and family.  (No, I KNEW I could have made things 
work out there; getting Becky to accept me as a partner in bed 
with my big brother; while Marci already loved me.  By now I had 
become an expert at managing far more difficult situations than a 
loving menage-a-troi with my sister-in-law.  No . . . I just 
couldn't stand to be that close to town and the problems and 
aches and pains of several hundred people NEEDING help that only 
I could give.  It is too much.  I had tried it once, and only my 
desperate pleas to my brother had gotten Tom to rescue me from 
the hospital where I ended up; as the hurts of people watching 
others hurt almost killed me.



                                4


     Never again would I visit a hospital . . . even if I cut my 
arm off.  The pain alone of worried nurses and doctors about ME 
had been almost unbearable; let alone the pain of feeling 
somebody lose a lifelong companion of years.  No, I would sooner 
die in pain myself, than feel others lose friends and loved ones 
over and over again.  God, I was SO tempted to keep on driving 
until the ache in my soul faded to just background loss, and 
eventually got lost in the 10 miles or so to the farm.  Only I 
couldn't.
     I know this is hard to understand . . . but have you ever 
had a scab you just HAD to pick?  It hurt like Billy-Oh; and you 
could feel the pain of the sore opening up to reveal an open welt 
that was as bad or worse than the original.  But you just HAD to 
continue; knowing that if you didn't, the scab would just fester 
and bother you forever.  Far better to open it up, than let it 
alone.  This was something like that, only far worse.  Only once 
had I run away from helping somebody in pain like that . . . 
never again.  The guilt I felt afterwards was almost enough to 
drive ME to the despairing solution the young girl had chosen.  
It was only my grandfather who had recognized my problem and who 
had the ability and knowledge to rescue me . . . finally 
returning the debt he felt he owed me for crawling naked into his 
bed that night after Grandma's death, when nothing but a female 
body sleeping next to him could bring any comfort at all.  Two 
days later I had smiled up at the old man; fighting desperately 
to keep him from knowing the incredible pain I felt at losing my 
virginity; striving with all my might to make it seem like it was 
ME wanting him inside my body, not just a girl reacting to the 
horniness the man felt at being denied sex for over two months, 
after having it almost every day for 40 years.
     After that, it had been almost as hard to comfort Grandpa, 
when he felt the incredible guilt at taking his own 6-year-old 
granddaughter's virginity.  It had taken everything I had to 
smile at my grandfather, and lie with my entire body and soul; 
reassuring the man that it was I who wanted sex far more than he 
had; not his weakness in defiling an innocent little girl.  Only 
I really had no choice in the matter.  Just knowing and feeling 
how much Grandpa needed real sex that night, with his prick 
buried to the hilt in a vagina and his arms holding and cuddling 
someone he loved, left me no choice but to offer my body for him 
to use.  He never asked; in fact objecting to the very idea; but 
I can be VERY persistent and quite effective at getting my way.  
Knowing how the person you're talking to feels at every instant 
can give you incredible leverage at getting what you want.  And 
at that time what I wanted . . . no, what I NEEDED, was to have 
my grandfather feeling good about life again.  Like always I 
succeeded; though (also like almost always) at considerable cost 
to myself.  I didn't care.  By the time six weeks had passed 
Grandpa was feeling like a man again; seeming to think his little 
granddaughter was just losing interest in sex, not in him, as our 
relationship slowly tapered off into a more normal 
grandparent/grandchild affair.





                                5


     After two months, we never had sex together again; and 
strangely Grandpa never missed it; having started three new 
friendships with older women, while I seethed internally as my 
body ached for the pleasures I had finally gotten to receive out 
of sex just barely before it became time to stop.  I knew that if 
I HAD continued our relationship as lovers, guilt at fucking his 
own granddaughter would have finally overwhelmed both of us . . . 
no matter how good it felt physically.
     This time it was Grandpa who crawled into MY bed; holding 
and cuddling me through the whimpers and tears of losing someone 
I knew I could have saved . . .
     Grandpa never said a word, and never condemned me; just 
providing warmth, comfort, and reassurance that I was NOT evil 
for letting Karen take her own life, when she would have fought 
me tooth and nail to get away.  Having that pain of her misery in 
my head was NOT something I was obligated to feel.
     By the time I recovered after being wrapped in the warm 
understanding of my grandfather, I knew that while he was right, 
and it was NOT my fault Karen died, that never again would I be 
able to walk away from helping somebody in so much pain . . . no 
matter how much it hurt me to be there.  Grandpa (as far as I 
know) was the only person who ever understood what was going on.  
I guess that's why we did NOT have sex that night; even though 
both his body and mine reacted to the naked feel of his skin 
against mine, and his swollen erection poking between my legs.  
It would have been OH so easy to relieve the sexual tension we 
both felt by scootching just a little forward, so his prick would 
slide into my (by then) 13 year old cunny and slide up and down 
until we both got the release our bodies craved.  Only my mind 
didn't really crave sex . . . only cuddling and comfort; and I 
knew how guilty Grandpa would feel in the morning if we had.  
That was the last time we ever shared a bed together; and Grandpa 
died peacefully in his sleep almost 10 years after that; barely 
two years before my parents did.  I guess we both knew the 
trouble a 60+ year old man and a 13 year old girl could get into 
by having unprotected intercourse when the girl was between 
periods.  But it STILL was oh so tempting.  Later it had been 
Grandpa who had supplied prophylactics, when he found me and Tom 
two years later sleeping in together, with my brother's thick 
prick buried to the hilt in my body; holding in the sperm the 
older boy had ejaculated inside me while I relieved the 
teenager's aching horniness so he could learn to approach girls 
without being so achingly horny he made a complete ass out of 
himself like most teenagers do at that age.  For three years my 
brother used my body to relieve his sexual tensions, while I 
pretended it was only sex to me, and thus nothing wrong for him 
to ejaculate his seed in his own sister . . . as long as we 
didn't get emotionally involved.  One of the hardest things I 
ever did was to wish my brother happiness on his wedding night to 
my best friend; pretending that I was only losing a bed-partner, 
not the man I loved.  Still, the joy those two shared, both at 
the wedding and years later, made the pretense well worth the 
slight ache in MY heart.




                                6


     Many times since then, both Tom and Janet had invited me to 
join them, the way we had so many times as teenagers.  I'm proud 
to say I only gave into the temptation three times.  Any more and 
I would have become a permanent fixture at my brother's house; 
and he already had a loving wife and two daughters.  He didn't 
need the extra burden of a horny sister who lived other people's 
nightmares waking him and the others up with the screams and 
fears of the 200+ people who lived near enough for me to 
empathize with.  I couldn't do that to the family I loved so much 
I almost thought of it as my own.  Oh to have the freedom to love 
and be loved . . . to have just one man to care for instead of 
every poor soul with a "need" that happened by.  To feel MY 
husband's seed squirting wildly into my womb, getting me pregnant 
with my lover's baby, instead of cheating nature by taking the 
despised birth-control pills that kept me from conceiving with a 
man I couldn't love . . . who would only be a "charity case" to 
me; barely remembered two days after I sent the poor slob on 
sexually satisfied and more able to face the world of women who 
didn't feel men's NEED for sex the way I did.  Thank goodness my 
techniques for dropping men gracefully had developed as fully as 
my teaching techniques for showing men how to interest women.  
Several times I've been tempted to write the definitive book on 
how to seduce and how to gain and retain a woman.  Only I'm too 
busy giving hands-on lessons to ever write it down.  Besides, a 
considerable part of it is in body-language which must be almost 
felt and physically shown personally to be truly effective.  By 
now I could have a man panting after my body in 10 seconds after 
meeting him (if I so wished) and studiously ignoring me, with sex 
the last thing on his mine 20 seconds after that . . . just by 
body language, and how I reacted to him.  Without my "talent" men 
rarely even half succeeded the way I could; but were usually able 
to succeed far better after only one or two subliminal messages 
of me leading him through the motions.
     "Talent" huh?  I smiled bitterly as I spun the car around; 
barely missing the honking sedan that whizzed by seconds later.  
I knew I was cutting it fine; but my reflexes at 26 are still 
good enough that I knew it would be OK.  The blaring red anger 
from the woman in the maroon car momentarily overrode the sick 
queasy feeling in my stomach that was fighting my sadness and 
sorrow at an uncontrollable loss.
     Queasy feeling in my stomach?  Oh God!  I had thought I had 
hours to spare . . . many minutes at least.  Shit!
     Cursing madly, I raced the car back the way I came; fighting 
the despair that made me want to pull over and just STOP 
feeling . . . like I had with Karen so many years earlier.  Only 
now, not being a just barely teenaged girl, I knew it was HIS 
despair I was fighting, not my own.  I grit my teeth and drove 
until the pain started getting weaker again; then ignoring the 
rubber-loss on my tires I executed yet another illegal U-turn.  
Back to the intersection and turn right; only knowing I had a 
50/50 chance.  Wrong way!






                                7


     This was the third time in two years I had performed this 
life or death game of "hot and cold".  I was getting pretty good 
at it by now.  Leaving streaks of rubber that I would regret 
later across some poor woman's flower bed, I performed an up-one-
curb, down-and-up-the-other U-turn; and proceeded back the other 
way.  Close now . . . very close.  The knot in my stomach was 
getting tighter . . . whether from excitement, fear, or . . . I 
didn't dare let that notion creep into the despair I felt; almost 
forcing myself to be angry at people who took the easy way out.  
Only it was SO tempting to do just that . . . to let go . . . let 
the man die.  He didn't want to live; why should I force him to?  
It would be SO easy to just lie here and let him sleep . . . 
sleep, SO peaceful . . . why worry about a man you didn't even 
know?
     Damnit!  Grabbing a hatpin I had put into my purse two 
months ago, I jabbed myself right in the thigh.  Right where it 
hurt like Billy-Oh, but where the meat of the thigh would take 
minimal damage.  I would NOT fall asleep.  I would NOT give up!  
Weeping, I almost crawled to the door of the small house, almost 
a trailer, and pounded on the door.  The misery was so close I 
had no doubt this WAS the correct one.  "Open up," I begged.  
"Help me . . . Please!"
     There is one thing that even men in the depths of despair 
will hear; and that's a woman pleading for help.  If this had 
been a woman, I would have had to try a crueler attack; banking 
on a woman's need to protect a child.
     "Please," I whimpered.  I could feel the man's worry inside; 
and knew I wouldn't have to resort to sterner physical methods.  
Once he answered the door, it would be all over.
     "Please," I sobbed, "help me please."
     The door opened a crack; and a young man peered out.  I 
should have known.  The man didn't do justice to the pictures of 
the young couple shown in the newspapers; as his eyes were black 
and bruised; red nose and eyes just showed that the man had been 
crying for what must have been days; while his hair obviously 
hadn't been combed in a week.  He looked almost as bad as I felt.
     "PLEASE let me in," I ignored his, "Sorry Miss, I just can't 
help right now," and glanced over my shoulder as if a gang of 
bikers were after me.  No living man could have resisted that 
plea.  "I'm sorry Miss," he said, "but you'll just have to get 
somebody else to help and go.  I can't help you right now."
     "YES YOU CAN," I said fiercely; catching a glimpse of the 
same paper I had seen two days earlier, showing, "Young newlywed 
killed in violent accident.  Cindy Marin, was traveling I-90 this 
morning, with her husband David, when their car collided with a 
semi that was stopped at an intersection in the fog."
     Enough information to help!
     "Cindy would never forgive you," I said.  "Now come here!"
     David looked at me with first shock; then tears started 
streaming down his face in streams that matched many that had 
obviously run there many times earlier.  "How do YOU know what 
Cindy would say," he mumbled.  I could feel anger at me for 
interfering, replacing the misery.  "It's MY life," he said, "and 
she's DEAD!"



                                8


     I ignored his protests.  "Where's the ipecac?" I asked.  
Somehow I knew he had it.  If not, then there were other 
alternatives . . . none of which were as satisfactory.  "In the 
closet," he said; collapsing back into despair.  If I was going 
to save him, David no longer had the will to fight me.
     "Where?" I asked; almost forcing the man along, as I grabbed 
a bottle of milk on the way past the refrigerator.  By now I was 
an accomplished practitioner of poison-control.  After Karen, I 
had forced myself to learn.  My bag in the car was packed with 
many things (like ipecac) but the time had been too short to grab 
it out of the rear.  NEXT time it would be on the front seat with 
me.
     Syrup of ipecac is VERY messy in its results.  Especially if 
followed with the almost half a gallon of milk I forced the man 
to swallow afterwards.  Milk all over the floor, the seat, the 
throw-rug . . . very little actually went into the toilet itself; 
as he was throwing up before we reached it.  Still, far better 
than having his stomach pumped and explaining THAT to the 
neighbors.  I vomited in the sink myself in sympathy; forcing 
myself to swallow gulp after gulp of milk, just to have something 
to throw up each time his stomach gave another heave.  By the 
time my stomach stopped doing the flip-flops, I knew the man 
wasn't going to die.
     Grabbing a towel, I wiped him up; fighting the incredible 
drowsiness that stole over me.  I figured about three sleeping 
pills had dissolved before I managed to get the rest of the 20 or 
30 he had swallowed out.  In 10 minutes you wouldn't be able to 
wake him with a brass band.  Ten minutes later I would have had 
to call the police and ambulance to save him . . . risking his 
reputation and privacy, and my secret.  I still felt guilty I 
hadn't acted sooner.
     David collapsed on the bed and managed to get the shirt off.  
I was left managing his pants and shoes.  It was like undressing 
a log; but finally I finished with him completely naked before I 
pulled the covers over him and left.  By now I knew the drill 
completely.
     I was just heading out the bedroom door when the pain and 
misery and sleepiness shut off like a light; and I only felt 
slightly miserable and a headache that wouldn't go away.  David 
was asleep.
     I grabbed a handful of aspirin from the medicine cabinet 
where the syrup of ipecac had resided; and downed three of them 
with the last of the milk.  At 160 pounds, I knew that an extra 
aspirin wouldn't hurt over the recommended dosage of two for a 
woman of 90 pounds.  Yes, I'm slightly overweight.
     Aw, who am I kidding?  I'm a fat hog, and know it.  I 
stopped to look at the picture of the beautiful bride David had 
married; and almost cried with envy.  Almost.  SHE was dead; and 
would never, ever again, know David's loving arms around her; 
while I . . . I had David for the night.







                                9


     I went out to the car, picked up my bag, and returned; 
locking both car and house doors.  Then, taking great care to 
brush, gargle, and straighten my hair, I returned to the bedroom 
and climbed in with the handsome young man.  I figured two hours 
at the most, from previous experience.  Might as well get some 
sleep myself.
     I was wrong.  It was over three.  The combination of 
sleeping pills and lack of sleep kept the memory of his loss out 
of the man's head for a blessedly long time, before he suddenly 
started sniffling, and I felt my stomach drop with the knowledge 
of irreparable loss.
     "Cindy," he sobbed into the shoulder I turned into his; 
adjusting my body automatically to his.  "Oh Cindy, Cindy, Cindy, 
I love you so."
     "Shhh," I hushed him.  "Cindy knows that.  You told her many 
times before she died, didn't you?"
     I felt the sorrow rise and then break; as he realized I was 
there; clutching my body to his in a hug that felt like it would 
break my back; while an almost snapping sensation of release told 
me he realized he was NOT alone but had somebody to share the 
misery with.  Somebody to hold and cuddle in the lonely night, 
somebody who CARED for Cindy and him too.  I let my tears join 
his, as we hugged and cuddled close, while he wet my shoulder and 
the pillow beneath it.  For once he did NOT have the emptiness of 
sleeping alone that had driven him to the despair of the sleeping 
pills.  I knew that if I left now, David would make it somehow.  
Still, I wouldn't be happy until the primary treatment was 
complete.  Besides, I had MY needs too; and I wasn't about to 
miss out on the fun part.  David fell asleep about 10 minutes 
later; still face-to-face and cuddling.
     About two hours after that, we both woke up for a second, I 
gave him a loving kiss, and we both slid back to sleep; this time 
in "spoon fashion" with his arms cupped comfortably around mine.  
I was tempted to slide down a little and fit his slightly swollen 
prick into my hot little hole; but knew better.  Time enough for 
that later.  As I said earlier, I knew the drill by heart now.
     It was about 4:00 in the morning; and the sun was just 
barely beginning to brighten the sky, when I felt the stirring of 
a penis between my legs and automatically adjusted myself so we 
were both fucking in that dreaming half-awake state you get when 
you first wake up.
     It was only after almost 10 minutes of delicious sex, that 
David became aware that he was fucking a woman whom he had barely 
met the night before, without even knowing her name.  "Ohmigod!"  
I could feel the embarrassment washing over him in waves.  Still 
he didn't pull out; just pushing in hard so his prick didn't 
spasm out of control and fill my body with sperm.
     "Uh . . . I'm sorry," he mumbled apologetically.  I could 
tell he wasn't really,
     "It's OK, I don't mind," I reassured him.  I could feel his 
relief wash over him in a wave, as he believed me.  (I can be 
VERY convincing.)





                                10


     "I'm going to cum . . .," he warned me.  I could tell he was 
close.  While I could feel his excitement; it was STILL a great 
disappointment to me that I couldn't FEEL what he felt . . . only 
his emotions.  The tight feel of a woman's vagina sucking your 
peter would be forever just out of my grasp.  On the other hand, 
the feel of a MAN inside me, probably felt as good to me as it 
did to him.
     "It's OK, I'm no the pill," I reassured him, while rolling 
over on my back in the classical missionary invitation to fuck.  
"You can cum in me all you want to."  With this I reached down; 
and with a gasp we both felt the man's prick sheathe itself into 
my body.  God did that feel good.  It was rare that I got to fuck 
a man as handsome as David; the men needing help at sex not 
usually being your average dream-boat.  Shortly we were doing the 
classical missionary "bump and grind" while I encouraged David to 
let himself go . . . to not worry about me; as I would cum when 
he did.
     I could feel David's disbelief; as he tried to hold off long 
enough for me to climax.  Only *I* knew I couldn't until he did.  
"Please," I whimpered, "cum in me . . . please.  I need your cum 
in me so bad."
     I've never had a man able to resist that "little girl" 
pleading for him to cum inside me combined with the pleading look 
and clasping cunny, what man COULD resist?
     "Oh God, I can't help it," he moaned; sinking into me to the 
hilt.
     It wasn't the physical stimulation that got me off (it 
almost never is).  It was feeling HIM tense up; then the 
involuntary spasms of his body that started mine in sympathy.  
Knowing my handsome young lover was cumming inside me, squirting 
his potent seed in thick white jets against my womb, was what I 
needed to get ME off.  While I understand that most couples very 
rarely if ever have simultaneous orgasms, it's almost as rare for 
me NOT too.  Feeling my lover climax inside me both with my body 
and his is too erotic for mine to resist.  I came noisily; 
milking each precious drop of my lover's seed into my body where 
it belonged.  God did that feel good.  For the first time in 
almost a week I came properly . . . with a real MAN belching his 
potent seed at my womb where it belonged.  When the person was a 
man like David though, I almost wished I wasn't on the pill.  
Still, for a fat old broad to steal a handsome young man like 
David, by carrying his baby, just wasn't fair.  I knew I could 
even trap him into thinking he loved me with other methods.  Only 
then I wouldn't be honest with myself.  I told myself to enjoy 
what I was getting, and not worry about what was coming.  The 
thick white spurts of a man's seed in my body was something I 
could enjoy for now, as David really did need this sex from me, 
almost as much as I needed it from him.
     "Oh Cindy, Cindy, Cindy," he moaned in my ear during the 
final jerks, "I'm SO sorry."
     "It's OK," I soothed him.  "Cindy understands."






                                11


     I felt the final release inside him, as David believed me, 
and let his wife's ghost finally go.  "Thanks, uh . . . ."  I 
felt his embarrassment at not knowing my name.  "You don't HAVE 
to know my name," I told him.  "I'll be gone shortly; and you 
won't have to remember me at all, if you don't want to."  I knew 
that now that he had spent himself inside me, and the terrible 
need of missing not only his wife, but the wonderful sex with her 
was relieved, he could now see the woman he had just made love 
to.  I am NOT a beauty-queen.  No, I'm not exactly ugly; but I'm 
far from being the "dish" that Cindy had been.  With slightly 
buck-teeth, an oversized nose, and over 40 pounds overweight, the 
only men who would be interested in having sex with me are either 
teenagers with hormones giving them redundant overflow of the 
hornies . . . or men like David who were suffering from neglect.  
While in either case, both the man and I could have fun without 
either regretting it, neither case was the basis for building a 
long-term relationship, or even more than a one-night stand.  I 
could feel the gratitude welling within David's mind and body; 
and the satiated feel of his sexual completion.  Better to go now 
while he still felt grateful; and thus remain a fond but fading 
memory.  Men as handsome or well off as HIM just didn't fall for 
girls like me.  I had found that out painfully many years ago.  
Feeling disgust after this wonderful interlude would forever 
spoil the small pleasure that was my reward for the pain I had 
felt the night before.  Even now, I could feel a small ache of 
missing something precious pushing delicately at the back of my 
mind; and knew that David would later remember and miss his 
bride . . . though never again with the ache and sorrow that had 
driven him over the edge this time.  From past experience I knew 
that within a year, or two at most, David would be proudly 
squiring around a girl probably at least as pretty and vivacious 
as his dead Cindy; and possibly even prettier.  Girls like me 
need not apply.  On the other hand, if he really WANTED to know 
(and it seems he did) then no reason to be rude.  David WAS a 
nice guy, too.  I could see why a looker like Cindy had latched 
onto him.
     "Marcia," I said.  "Marcia Bainbridge.  You've probably 
heard of me in town."  An easy guess, in a town of barely over 
3000.  Who knows?  Maybe we could even be friends after 
this . . . I would like that, I decided.
     "I'd better be going now," I apologized.  "Sorry for 
disturbing you last night, but I really needed help.  I just had 
to get away.  Everything should be OK now . . . so uh . . . 
thanks . . . for everything."  I looked pointedly at the rumpled 
bed as I said this.
     I could feel the heat of his embarrassment in my ears, even 
before I saw it in his.  "Thank YOU," he replied.  God, even a 
nice guy.  Most men who found a fat ugly broad in their beds 
would just be in a hurry to get them out the door.  David 
actually seemed to WANT me to remain . . . and yes, I could tell 
that he did.  Still, time to go.  If he DID like me, like it 
seems he did, I didn't want either gratitude or sympathy getting 
in the way of our friendship.




                                12


     Maybe in a week or two . . . or possibly in a year or so, 
after he found another wife, we could be friends and remember 
this night with fondness.  In the meantime I'd better go before 
we both got too maudlin.  I could feel a maudlin spell coming 
on . . . whether from me or David I didn't know or care.  
"Uh . . . thanks," I repeated; gathering up my bag and heading 
for the door.  "For everything," I added.
     I could feel the storm brewing . . . Anger?  Frustration?  I 
knew I had better leave quickly before it was too late . . . but 
it already was.
     "So that's the way it is," he said coldly.  My mind was 
swamped with conflicting emotions . . . anger, heat, horniness?, 
aching loss, wild hope, and others I couldn't identify.  Over all 
was a grim determination about something that almost covered 
completely the other emotions.  "You're just going to come in 
here, save my life from misery so profound that it had no bottom, 
give me loving, healing sex, and then leave . . . just like that.  
Is that it?"
     I nodded; crying now.  Damn.  I had HOPED to be gone before 
he could blame me for the misery he had felt the night before and 
worse yet, my seeing him so vulnerable and helpless.  Men are SO 
scared of people, especially women, seeing them helpless.  There 
went my hope of us ever being friends.
     Well, I was right, and I was wrong . . . we never were just 
friends after that.  I know YOU can see what's coming; but for 
all my empathy, I swear I never did.
     "Yes," I said; stumbling almost blindly to the door.  The 
incredible loss I felt at losing his friendship was making me 
weep before I could even get the door open.  Damn.  I had SO 
hoped we could have been friends after that wonderful thing we 
had enjoyed together that morning.  I almost felt my heart break 
like it had with Karen, at once again losing something that had 
become almost impossibly precious to me in only a few hours.  WHY 
or why did it hurt so?
     "You are NOT getting away that easy," he snarled; slapping 
the door shut in my face.  It was then I realized how out-of-
place his words were from the feelings washing over me.  And it 
was then I realized that the intense feeling of loss weren't 
mine, but HIS.  Shit again.  Here I had thought I had eased his 
pain . . . for a little while at least.  Now I was trapped; and 
next time he would see fully just how ugly and fat and miserable 
I was.
     "Please," I whimpered, "let me go . . . before it's too 
late."
     "No," He said firmly; pulling me up and looking me in the 
eye.  "I won't . . . not ever.  Cindy taught me you COULD grab 
the brass-ring, if you just stretched hard enough and far enough, 
and didn't let the chance slip through your fingers.  I'm not 
letting you go unless you can look me in the eye and tell me 
truthfully you don't want me."
     "I . . . I . . . I don't . . ."  I couldn't finish saying 
it.





                                13


     Wordlessly David picked me up and carried me back to bed, 
where we both cuddled and sobbed into each other's arms for what 
must have been hours.  I know part of my sorrow was missing ever 
meeting a girl like Cindy who could help make such a wonderful 
man like this.  She must have been incredible; not only 
beautiful, but loving and smart and truly caring about David.  
How could I ever replace her?  I couldn't.
     After that hug/cuddle/cry, we both got up, washed together 
as if we had been married for years, and went out to eat.  Then 
we went back to bed; and didn't get up for close to two days.  
During that time we mostly slept; sometimes made love, and 
occasionally just cuddled together or watched TV without moving 
from each others' arms.  By the time starvation drove us out to 
eat again (David didn't have a thing left in the house) I knew 
this was NOT just a "one night stand" or even just a fling to 
help David get over the loss of his wife.  By then we were tied 
permanently in a manner it's hard to describe.
     We got married two months later (as soon a Tom could make 
the arrangements; as he wanted to give his little sister away in 
Dad's place).
     Before I could say yes, I had to tell David about the 
terrible handicap I had; and how he might find me some night 
"comforting" a drunken bum who NEEDED me more than he did at that 
moment.  I was scared shitless he would leave when he found out.  
Only it seems my big brother has a big mouth, and had already 
told him; warning David what he was getting into.  Here I hadn't 
even known that Tom even suspected.  No wonder he was always so 
willing to have me join him and Becky in bed.  The pervert.  I 
still get the hots just thinking about what my horny big brother 
had been offering.
     It's been ten years since that day.  Ten wonderful years; 
and we're celebrating our 10th anniversary tomorrow.  Our 6 year 
old daughter and 4 year old son make me realize now that I had 
been missing far more than I thought back in those days.
     The kids?  When I went off the pill about 3 years after we 
got married, David, Tom, Becky and I planned everything for a 
month's vacation out at the farm.  For slightly over three weeks 
I never had to go into town.  Each of the other three took turns 
getting any needed groceries.
     For some reason, Cindy looks just like her namesake; and is 
the light of my life.  A golden-haired, blue-eyed little goddess 
who  brings cheer to any room she is in.  I figure she's an 
angel's gift to both of us.  While David is light-skinned and so 
am I, We're both somewhat green-eyed . . . though my brother has 
blue eyes, and so did my uncle who died before I was born.  
Still, Cindy shows no sign of the big nose her little brother 
has, that's almost a family trademark.  The little girl is going 
to break hearts, just like her stepmother did.  Thomas (named 
after guess who?) not only acts like his namesake; but is almost 
the spitting image of his uncle too; the result of a second 
"vacation" with all four of us holed up on the farm.  I'm back on 
the pill now . . . probably permanently,  When you have 
perfection, why try for more?  Besides, it's hard to keep me away 
permanently from those I know need me . . . even 10 miles out of 
town.


                                14


     The first time David came home and found me "comforting" 
Terry (you remember the kid at the convenience store?) after the 
kid lost his girlfriend to a senior fullback, I was scared the 
roof would fall in.  Only David (true to his word) was more 
worried about ME after he slipped out so he wouldn't be noticed; 
than angry at my "cheating" on him.  When we got up in the middle 
of the night to take little Mandy Peterson to the hospital, when 
none of her family even knew she had any trouble, I guess that 
made a "true believer" out of my husband . . . no, not of my 
star-crossed, almost curse of a "talent"; but of the fact that I 
COULD help those who others couldn't.  He never says a word when 
I get up . . . sometimes in the middle of a meal or even the 
middle of the night.  He always asks if I want him to drive me; 
but never objects on those times when I say I have to go alone.  
Even on the one time I came home almost completely naked, whip 
marks on my body, and cum matting my head, pubic hair, and even 
eyelashes; while a bruise gave me a black eye for a week, he 
never pried; simply holding me as I whimpered and sobbed into his 
arms.  How could I tell him that this was the ONLY way I could 
get the Jacob's boys to let Terry and Sandy go, without anybody 
getting raped or seriously damaged . . . only by volunteering for 
the two boys' need, and to take the place of the two kids who got 
caught where they didn't belong, could I ease the pain of all 
four.  It took me almost two months before I managed to calm down 
the older of the two Jacob's kids to where he could feel enough 
to actually ASK a girl to go out with him, instead of feeling 
like the only way to get in a girl's panties was to rip them off.
     Believe it or not, both boys are happily married; and Mike 
(the older one) is expecting a baby any day now.  How two clods 
like that ever trapped two nice girls like that, I'll never know.  
Once I swear I saw whip marks on one of the girls, but I can't be 
sure.  Somehow I suspect both boys found submissive girls who 
LIKE the sort of treatment I got that night.  Only I've never 
seen any of them with bruises like I had that day.
     Thankfully our town is NOT a constant hotbed of pain and 
need; with teenagers fighting with siblings, while some boys just 
ACHE with the need for sex.  I'm probably responsible for more 
lost virginities in this town than any ten girls in the 
cheerleading squad . . . and I don't just mean boys, either.  
Nowadays my "emergency pack" always contains a full gross of 
prophylactics as you never know when some kids might get too 
carried away.  I've probably been responsible for the prevention 
of as many incestuous pregnancies as I have virginities lost.  
The gross of rubbers rarely last a week without having to be 
replaced.  I wonder what Marge (the druggist) thinks each time I 
pick up another gross or two; as she knows full well I'm on the 
pill.
     Yes, looking at the tables being prepared for our 10th 
anniversary, I guess David's previous wife Cindy was right . . . 
You CAN grab the brass ring . . . if you reach out hard and far 
enough, and don't let it go by when you have it in your hands.






                                15
