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Archive-name: Series/seasons7.txt

Archive-author: Hawkeye

Archive-title: Seasons- A Time to Cast Away Stones

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance between the

characters herein, and any real people living or dead, is purely

because I draw from many sources, real and imaginary.  Chew on that.

(c) 1993 Pure Blue Enterprises.  All rights reserved.  Explicit permission

granted for electronic re-distribution, without changes.


                    A Time to Cast Away Stones                          

                      (part 7 of 'Seasons')

                           by Hawkeye

  The summer went pretty fast, as they all seemed to.  In September,

the company picked up a big contract that they had been angling for

since the previous January.  We suddenly had more work than we could

reasonably do.  They extended our hours, and the pressure at the

office started to become uncomfortable, and then unbearable.  I was

constantly in a foul mood, and Jen and I started to fight.

  Or I should say, we started to fight more often.  We'd had a somewhat

rocky relationship right from the start.  I had always been pretty

easy going, but she had a way of pressuring me -- by insisting that

nothing was wrong -- which for some reason infuriated me.  This began

to happen more and more often as the problems at work frayed my


  In December, the merry season of Christmas rolled around, bringing a

stocking full of aggravation for me.  Jen and I had vastly different

religious backgrounds.  For all her kinkiness and easy attitude

towards sin, she still had the remnants of a Catholic upbringing, and

she took Christmas, both the religious and secular aspects, quite

seriously.  I didn't, plus I was going mad at work, and didn't care

to be nagged about my lack of interest. 

  The last straw came one friday night, when she was putting together

an artificial tree in the living room.  She had the top-piece in her

hand, and asked me to put it on the tree, so she wouldn't have to

fetch the ladder.  I frowned at being interrupted out of my reverie,

in which I was tearing apart the customer liaison who seemed to shift

every complaint about my department right onto me. 

  I grumbled something about "why could anybody care about putting a

plastic tree in the living room".  She said, in a sullen voice, that I

_would_ care about it, if I cared about her, but since I obviously

didn't...  well.  That was what finally shorted my fuse.  I blasted

out a lengthy tirade about "god-damned feminine illogic", and topped

it off with an exhortation to take her Christmas tree and all her

other "stupid fucking pagan idolatry", and shove it up her ass. 

  She stared open-mouthed at me, too aghast to say anything.  Then she

erupted with hurt and fury, and she hit me across the side of the head

with the top-piece of the tree.  The "needles" stung my skin, enraging

me.  I smacked her open-handed, knocking her back onto the couch.

Then I got on top of her, pinning her throat with one hand, and

raising the other to strike.  She closed her eyes and tried to turn

her head away, her face contorted in a grimace of fear. 

  I stopped, my heart pounding furiously, and my breath hissing

dangerously between my clenched teeth.  Suddenly, my eyes were hot and

burning.  I let go of her throat, and slumped against the far armrest

of the couch, sobbing and squeezing my eyes shut to try and stop the

tears.  I heard her get up and run out of the room.  I didn't care

if she called the cops on me, or went and got a gun to blow my head

off.  I sat there, wallowing in misery and belated regret.  The front

door slammed.


  Several hours later, I was drunk for the first time in months.  Not

really stinking rotten drunk.  I'd learned that lesson all too well in

college.  But just wasted enough so that I didn't care that my life

was a fucked up mess again, or that everyone at the company was going

to hear about what an asshole I was, or that I thought they probably

ought to.

  I heard the front door open, quietly, and close the same way.  I had

some moody music playing on the stereo, and all the lights were out in

the apartment.  There was still enough illumination coming from the 

street lamps outside that you could see your way around. 

  I heard her come down to the end of the foyer, which left her

standing in the entrance of the living room, right behind me.  If I

turned down the stereo, I would be able to hear her breathing.  I

would have liked that.  But it would mean moving, and I had decided

that I was never going to move again.  At least, not until I needed

another beer. 

  "Sam?" she said.

  I took another swig of beer, as my way of saying, "I hear ya, babe."

  She walked over, and stood beside my chair.  I guess she was looking

down at me.  I didn't know; I had my eyes closed, and was rocking my

head slowly side to side with the music.

  "Sam?"  A little pause.  "Are you sober enough to talk?"

  I opened my eyes and looked up at her.  Her hair was glistening with

flakes of melting snow.  God she was lovely.  I cleared my throat.

"Hi there." She looked pained. 

  "Sam, I--," she started.  She glanced out the window, and looked back

at me.  "I want you to move out."

  I knew that was coming, but my heart still fell, like a stone into a

bottomless well.  "I know." I said.  I closed my eyes and leaned my head

against the back of the chair.

  "I'm sorry, Sam.  I don't mean it the way you think."  She paused again.

"I want to keep seeing you, but we're going to tear each other apart if

we stay in this apartment together."

  I don't think most of that registered with me.  There was a really good

eerie guitar passage in the music, and I was following the notes like

colored points of light in my head.

  She sat down on the armrest of the chair, and pushed my unruly hair

away from my face.  "Sam... I love you.  I don't know what the problem

is between us.  But we need to be able to get away from each other

while we figure it out."

  "Sam?" she asked quietly.  "Are you listening?"

  I put an arm around her waist, and pulled her off the chair's armrest,

into my lap.  I hugged her close to me, and buried my face in her sweet

smelling, and slightly damp hair.  I kissed her ear.

  "Sam..." she murmured, and slid her arms around my neck.

  I hadn't intended to start anything.  But somehow the smell of her

skin, and the nearness and warmth of her body got past my alcoholic

depression.  Without really realizing how we had gotten that far, we

were kissing tenderly, like we were discovering each other for the

first time. 

  I sort of felt that we shouldn't be doing this, since it was apparent

that we both had to do some thinking.  I thought that really, we should

talk about the future, and how we were going to work things out between

us.  But her lips were warm and soft against mine, and I decided that

maybe just kissing for a while was a decent compromise with my principles.

  I wasn't very happy with myself when, about 10 minutes later, I

wanted to feel her breasts.  I realized that my compromise was caving

in rapidly.  I mentally sorted through the different outcomes of this.

I knew damn well that if I put my hands on her breasts, I'd end up

wanting to take her to bed and make love all night.  In fact, I

realized, it was too late.  I already wanted to do that. 

  Jen felt the change in me, as my kisses turned from a tender display

of affection, into a hungry effort to devour her.  She responded with

a hot ardor of her own that made my already unsteady brain feel

positively dizzy.  When she whispered "Let's go to bed," I put one arm

under her knees, and another around her torso, and lurched to my feet.

  Of course, I only fell back again.  I'm a fairly husky guy -- I can

carry Jen pretty easily.  But it was my balance, not my strength, that

failed me.  Standing up made me realize that I had drunk more than I

thought.  Jen got out of my lap, and helpfully pulled me to my feet.

"C'mon, you wino, you're not getting off that easy."  I followed her,

feeling alert but wobbly.

  We went into the bedroom, and took off our clothes.  By the time I

fumbled my way out of my pants and socks, Jen was already huddled

under the giant comforter.  Instead of getting in beside her, I

crawled under the blanket at the foot of the bed, and used her legs

to navigate towards the headboard. 

  I got distracted by sightseeing along the way, though.  I bumped

into Jen's thigh, and decided that as long as there were such nice

warm, pleasant legs down here, what was the big hurry?  I scooted 

underneath them, and came up between her thighs.  I bumped my head

against her groin as I got my bearings, and she laughed.

  I found the insides of her thighs, and kissed and licked at the

tender skin there.  Jen ran her toes along my back as I nibbled on

her legs.  She giggled when I tickled her bottom.  

  Finally, using my hands to guide me in the darkness, I lowered my

mouth towards the thick patch of hair where her thighs met.  The

warm odor of her skin filled my senses.  I lowered my mouth until

my lips were brushed by the curls of her hair.  

  I extended my tongue slowly, and touched her with the tip of it.

Her lips were warm and slightly musky, but she wasn't really aroused

yet.  Well.  I couldn't possibly let _that_ continue.  I drew back my

tongue, and breathed out, slowly and deliberately, onto her -- letting

the hot air saturate the curls of her hair, and flow across her skin.

Jen moaned complainingly, and wrapped her legs around my neck, using

her heels to pull me against her. 

  I kissed the still-sealed lips of her cunt, and slid my tongue along

the crease between them.  I nuzzled her, torn between a desire to

tease, and a desire to open her and touch her soft inner flesh.  I

decided, and pushed my tongue through the folds of her skin.  I kissed

and pulled at her with my lips, licking the depths of her crease and

plying at her with my fingers and tongue. 

  Jen always took a while to warm up, but I had more than enough

patience.  I stroked and lapped at her endlessly, leaving no part of

her untouched, until her moans finally turned from being just a polite

recognition of my efforts into a genuine plea for release.  The

familiar scent of her body rose in my nostrils, as her lips slowly

pouted open and her arousal became something that was hot, and musky,

and wet. 

  She began to writhe her hips under me, rubbing her wet pubic hair on

my face, and pushing her engorged lips against my mouth.  I slid a

finger into her vagina, then another, and began to rub the inside of

her as well.  My face and hands, and the insides of her thighs were

slick with the evidence of her arousal.

  She wound her fingers into my hair, trying to pull me more

intimately against her, softly repeating my name over and over, with

small moans of pleasure.  We found an almost coital rhythm, as I used

my fingers and tongue ever more roughly, trying to push her towards a

climax.  She became incoherent, crying out "yes, yes" repeatedly as

she stroked my hair with her hands. 

  Finally, I felt the trembling in her legs and torso reach a

crescendo.  I all but attacked her then with my fingers and tongue,

stroking her vigorously as she thrashed and bucked her hips, and her

cries turned into a half-suppressed scream.  I continued to work at

her slick flesh as hard as I could, until my tongue gave out.  Then I

masturbated her with my fingers, until she finally went limp under me,

exhausted and gasping for breath. 

  I wiped my face in the sheets, and crawled out from under the

comforter.  I lay beside her, and looked at her face in the half dark.

  Jen looked back for a moment, then moved up next to me and kissed me.

Her skin had a sweet smelling sheen of sweat on it.  She ran her hand

sensuously over my belly.  "So," she said.  "Do you want to be on top

or underneath?" Then she ran her tongue along the edge of my shoulder,

watching me out of the corner of her eye.  "Or should I suck you?"

  She slid her hand under my shorts.  I couldn't help feeling a 

little amused at her look of puzzled disappointment.  

  "Sorry, hon," I apologized.  "I'm still half plastered.  I'll never

make it past half-mast." I grinned -- a little sheepishly -- as I

added, "Or even if I did, I'd never manage to get off."

  She gave me a cross look.  "Oh, yes you will, you sot."

  It turned out, she was right on both counts.


  The next day, we were more at ease with each other than we had been

for the last couple months.  We had been up half the night making

love, and we were feeling sleepy and languorous.  We stayed in bed

all morning, just chatting and laughing quietly.  Neither of us 

wanted to break the mood by bringing up the subject of our fight

the day before.

  Finally, I asked her, "So, what do you think of our chances?  I

mean, in the long run?"  She shook her head, as if she wanted to

bury her head in the pillow.  "I don't know!  I just don't know."

  It was arduous to discuss it, because neither of us really wanted

to.  But finally, we decided that I wouldn't move out after all.

I would try not to carry the baggage from work home with me, and she

would try not to ruffle me when I was obviously in a short temper.

  We both knew it was a risky compromise, but somehow our fight had

served to focus us on just what was wrong between us, and we decided 

to give it another try.

  It worked out pretty well, actually.  I wasn't naturally an angry

person, and having it all out in the open made me feel a lot better.

The problems at work seemed to just roll off my shoulders; they

weren't really my personal problems, and that perspective seemed to

really set me free from their reign of terror over me. 

  By the following June, our chief engineer recommended me for promotion 

to project leader, and I got the job in July.  The responsibility was

greater, but I felt almost cocky, and capable of anything.  I was still

the lucky charm of the company softball team, too, and there were times

when I thought that Jerry, the general manager, was going to adopt me. 

  Jen and I carried on with almost frightening ease.  We had a near

panic fit once, when she thought she had missed her period, but it

turned out to be a false alarm.  It got us to thinking a lot more

seriously, though.

  In late July, a little over a year after we met, we surprised 

everyone -- or maybe no one -- by announcing our engagement.  I felt 

like I had  never been happier. 


  When school opened in the fall, I went with a couple of people from

my project team to assist in the company's recruitment booth at the job

fair.  Jerry said that it was no good sending just personnel people

there; the graduating engineers at the fair would want to talk to 

somebody who actually worked in the field.

  So, there we were, handing out brochures and talking to people 

about how it was hard-but-rewarding to work with us, and all that 

spiel.  I fetched another batch of brochures out of the van, and came

back to the booth.  I was getting out some papers which extolled the

virtues of our company health plan, when I looked up into the face 

of Lisa Bradley. 

  My heart stopped in my chest.

  "Lisa." I managed to say, when I finally found my tongue.


  She looked beautiful.  More so than ever, despite some lines in her

face that suggested old worries, gone but not forgotten.  Her hair

was done up in a professional looking style.  I was thankful for that,

because if it had bounced, or if she had flipped it out of her eyes,

I know I would have broken down in tears.

  "So, how have you been?" she asked.

  I didn't know where to begin.



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