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"Martha! good morning!"

"Up all night, I see!"

"Yes, what gave me away?" he asked, chewing on the bagel the housekeeper had
brought in.

"Your hair is sticking straight up and you look really awful."

"Great. Where is my jacket? Have you seen my jacket?"

"It's on the back of the chair."

"Oh, thanks. Look, I have an appointment in three minutes to meet with my
publicist. If she calls, don't answer the phone. I am on my way. Did you see
the car on the way in?"

"Yes."

"Great. Bye."

He raced down six flights of stairs to the ground floor. He dashed through
the lobby and skidded on the marble tiles, stopping just short of the door.
The car was parked in the drive, its driver standing next to it waiting for
him as he opened the door and stepped outside.

And there she was--the young woman from the window. She was walking in front
of his building with a stack of books. She turned her face to him as if she
had heard him thinking. But she did not recognize him and he felt relieved.
She did not know him. Fabulous. He motioned the driver to follow him. The
limousine blocked a full lane of traffic. Five car horns protested all at
once.

New York. He couldn't just jog up and introduce himself. He couldn't. He
pondered the other option of not meeting her at all. He'd been slapped
before. He could take it again.

His mouth went dry and acidic. He turned and backed into her. She dropped
all the books she was carrying. Children's stories on the pavement. Mike
Mulligan, The Little Prince. All the really good ones. He tried to think of
what to say. All that came out was, "Oh no."

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I am very sorry." He was picking up the books and stacking them again. "I
don't usually bump into people just so I can introduce myself."

"You bumped into me so you could talk to me?"

"Yes. It was a dreadful strategy and I'd like to try something different."

She looked at him in disbelief, unable to decide if he was a good guy with a
bad strategy or a creep. She turned away from him and began walking. She
spoke to him over her shoulder. He was unable to see her face when she said,
"Okay. If I gave you a second chance how would you do it?"

"I would buy your aunt's favor and beg her to introduce me." "You would have
to go to Egypt."

"Your aunt lives in Egypt?" "Yes. And she speaks no English."

"I am in terrible trouble here." "Oh? I'm being followed by a unkempt man
who bears a resemblance to a homeless man and YOU think YOU'RE in trouble?"

"You think I am a jerk, don't you?" "No. I simply do not know you."

"My name is Thomas Morganstern. I play piano."

"My name is Magda. I am pleased to meet you."

His face was filled with unspeakable gratitude. "I am very pleased to meet
you, Magda."

"My friends call me Maggie."

"Wonderful. Uh, listen, I have to go to work now. That Viking long car that
has been following us belongs to my employer. I bet the driver would take
you to wherever it is you wish to go."

"Oh, no, I'll walk the extra fifty feet. I teach at the nursery school up
here on the left. You go play nice with other children."

He stared at her mutely. The driver was shouting at him and cars were
honking behind them. Only after she told him, "Go. Go," did he move at all.

Needless to say, his meeting was a complete loss.

He watched her window for days after that but she did not leave up her
bedroom blinds. He stopped shutting his.

. The tunes were like children; they demanded attention. They would awaken
him in the night and wait for him to write them down. Tonight the little
tune was really loud. It had created its own bridge and backup. He teetered
on the edge of obsession. This was the frustration that had ruined him. It
had been a long day, but he got up anyway and began writing. It came slowly
at first. Then it began to move. It was as if he had never felt the
mind-numbing anguish of the loss of his wife, the searing anger of betrayal,
the deep pain of resentment. An obstruction was lifted. He was happy and
able to write again. Maybe this grouping would get the attention of the
critics, maybe not. The band would like it. The fans would like it. The
label would like it. The lawyers would like it. But more importantly, HE
liked it. He liked the new little creation he had given life. It made him
happy. He was sitting in his bed and had a few more lyrics to work on; then
he noticed that she was standing in her window looking at him through his.
She was standing there staring at him. Once she knew she had his attention
she wrote her apartment number on the window backwards so he could read it.
He got dressed and headed over.

As he entered, the man at the desk asked, "Are you Thom?"

"Yes. I am Thom."

"Maggie said you might come over. She said to let you up."

He went to the landing. There was a strange man in the elevator and it did
not look safe to him, so he took the stairs--four flights. He knocked on the
door, and she opened it. Her house was neat and simply furnished. It was
tidy and smelled of baking. Chocolate chip cookies--he knew the smell. He
also recognized her taste in music. She was listening to Handel's Water
Music. She was a classical music fanatic. He instantly knew the type. She
would listen to either Classical or Middle Eastern music. She had never
heard of his band.

"Thom, why do you leave your blinds up after dark?" she questioned, after
letting him in.

"Why do you invite strange men over after dark?" he countered.

"You are not so strange," she replied. "I have been watching you for days.
Why did you not tell me you were a were a neighbor?"

"I was going to, but I have a limit as to how many times I senselessly
harass women. Why did you summon me over here?"

"I need your help."

"You want me to change a light bulb?"

"Maintenance does that." "Really? I'd better move; they don't do that in my
building."

"I made cookies for my class and I want you to try them." She pulled a chair
out for him. The table was already set and he got the impression that she
had planned the whole thing. The cookies were still warm as he ate them.

He was much older than she. He was much taller. She was half his size, half
his age, and twice as educated. Sometimes he wondered what he was doing with
his life. Tonight he would eat cookies. Tomorrow he would reassess his life.
"These are very good," he pronounced.

She sat on the table and gave him one of those unintentional "fuck me" looks
that modern women had perfected to an art. He hated that. All the body
language said, "force me," but nothing was said verbally. He could bring a
stadium to its knees, but here he sat in her kitchen, helpless under her
gaze.

"Magda," he began suspiciously. "Did you have something in mind when you
invited me over here?"

"You seem so smooth. You get a lot of girls, don't you?"

"I really couldn't tell you why but sometimes I do, yeah."

"Why? Are you one of those guys that use women?" "Well, no. Actually I think
that they use me usually."

"So, why are you so slick?"

"I get rejected a lot. Rejection means I get a lot of practice. I only get
the girls who want me."

"Are you a drug dealer?"

"No. I told you I am a musician. I play piano. Look, why are you doing
this?" He softly touched her shoulder, and she touched his.

"Because I really like you, and I want don't want to screw my life up by
getting involved with a loser again."

"Oh. Well. I know what that feels like. That happened to me too."

She felt really nervous at this point and stared down at the floor. She
refused to look him in the eye anymore. She traced a pattern on his shoulder
and asked, "So what do you do when that happens to you?"

"I get right back in and keep trying. It's like falling off a horse."

He kissed her then. It was a really strange kiss that caused him to reassess
whether or not he knew how to kiss. He would hold her head and caress it
carefully. He wanted to slip his tongue into her mouth but he wasn't sure
what she wanted. The kissing became more passionate and more intense and her
nervousness slipped away from her and she became more aggressive. She began
to kiss his neck and suck the little flesh that hung from his ear into her
warm mouth. Her breathing quickened. Experience allowed him to remain calm
and he was very patient with her. She would not have to work until Monday.
They had all kinds of time. He allowed her to explore the scar on his back
where he was stabbed in '77. She undressed him slowly. She kissed him
everywhere that his clothes used to be.

Eventually, when she discovered that he did not wear briefs she sucked his
cock while he stood. He had been hard for half an hour when she finally took
it into her mouth. It was almost a relief to feel it inside her mouth. She
sucked along its length. She sucked the head into her mouth as she caressed
his balls with her cool brown hands. Her fingers were so long. She had
beautiful hands. The feel of them caressing him could have sent him over the
edge if he had not been so diligent on his part. Her sucking increased and
her throat opened. He was impressed as his penis slipped back into her inner
crevice. So few women could really deep throat him, as his dick was rather
long and thin. The boiling in his balls began to build. Her sucking
increased and she moved her head back and forth along its length, causing
him to breathe in heavy sighs. He began to thrust gently into her mouth and
she sucked it eagerly. He would come soon. All he could think about was
spilling into her mouth, about the jizz all over her face or rocketing down
her throat, watching her swallow. He pumped into her harder and she took it
carefully. Finally he said, "Maggie, I don't want to come yet."

She sucked harder and pumped him faster enjoying the power she had over him.
"Maggie, please?"

She did not stop. She sucked faster and harder, working her tongue on his
balls, taking the head deep in her hot throat, making the sucking noises he
found so arousing. When he couldn't help himself or hold off any longer he
felt the come rise up his dick and fountain into her mouth. She sucked it
out as if it were the only food she had ever wanted to eat. The come spurted
down her throat. It came in long hard spasms that made his whole body lurch
into her waiting mouth. "Oh, God. Maggie. Your mouth is so hot. I am coming.
Hunghh."

It lasted much longer than most of his orgasms and he felt like he would
never make come again when he withdrew. She licked it carefully and he wiped
her face with a napkin that she had left sitting on the table.

He offered his glass of milk and she drank from the glass as he held it for
her. With his face close to hers he said, "Are you wanting?"

She thought about her answer while staring at the floor and then she
answered, "I am."

"Then undress for me. All I want are your pants."

She unbuttoned her blue jeans with little frustration. Maggie favored a pair
of black cotton panties with lace and sequins. It hurt him to watch her take
them off. She was completely shaven. There was no hair in her pelvic region.
No stubble. It was as if she had never had any hair. She laid back on her
kitchen table and he sat in he chair at the end of her body. A feast. He
touched her delta for a moment, then opened her legs further to examine the
deep rose of her cunt. She was so clean and wet. His mouth watered. He
thought only of her and the pleasing of her. She was still nervous and tense
even though it was obvious that she wanted him to take her in badly. He
loved this. He loved to be in control. He loved the feeling it gave him to
breathe on her crevice and to see her open herself a little wider to him. He
touched her lips with his sensitive hands. The first thing she noticed was
that his hands were soft. When he touched the folds of her sex she moaned
softly. He slipped a finger in carefully and felt the tension caused by her
nervousness. She was still tight, but since he would not fuck her tonight,
it would not matter.

"I am not going to fuck you right now, unless you really want me to."

"Actually, I am kind of tired and I think it might be a good idea if we
called this off."

"Actually, you're a little nervous and are scared to death of what is about
to happen."

He put his hand on her stomach and brought his face to hers. He looked at
her for a long time, simply staring into her eyes and establishing
dominance. "You are sound. Stay on the table and I will please you."

He went back to the juncture of her legs. He felt like he was in his
element, in control. He sat back down in the chair and conjured up the
remembered images of how she had pleased herself before. Magda was quiet and
she held very still, yet she was not docile. He placed his arms underneath
her backside pulling her cup upward, opening it still further. The pelvic
hug would immobilize her to some extent and give him access to the deepest
parts of her vagina. It was obvious that she had not experienced this
technique before, and she squirmed against his arms. He kissed the inside of
her thighs and then gently sucked the puckered hole beneath the dripping
fissure. This apparently was not something she thought people should do and
she acted very surprised and reared up, crying, "Don't do that! Oh, God, how
can you do that?" She was still quite within his control despite her upset
and as he sucked her anal opening she relaxed a bit. He moved upward to the
perineum. He licked it with a stiff tongue preparing her for his onslaught.

He kept his lips open in the beginning and kept the tongue soft and relaxed.
She would sigh heavily and her legs relaxed further. The tension finally
left her and her muscles began to yield where once they had fought. She
settled into his gentle kisses, and when he began suckling the opening
softly, she gave a pensive upward thrust. He led to her and gently kissed
her clitoris. "How is that? Does that hurt?" he asked, raising his head up
so that she could feel his breath in her crotch. "Oh," she sighed, "Oh, God,
that feels so good. Fuck me. Please fuck me."

He smiled to himself. "Maybe, if, you give me what I want." "Anything. Just
give me your cock. I want it inside me."

"Let me hear you come this way." "I can't come like this. I can't come
without a cock."

"Nonsense. Close your mouth and open your mind." He took the whole area into
his mouth and drew it in. She reared up as if he were sucking up her soul.
He delved his tongue in further, fucking her with his tongue while
manipulating her love bud with his lip. She let out a wild intense sigh,
followed by "Oh, God, oh God." She was raising her hips up to his mouth and
crying out with every thrust. The table would sway a bit but he held her
steady. He increased the tempo of his tongue thrashing, leading her to a
higher threshold. Maggie's cries became more insistent and finally she made
deep guttural cries as he brought her to the edge and pushed her over. "No,
you can't do this! Oh, God, I am coming. Oh! Oh! Please more. More!"

Finally she was still again and he released her from his arms. She lay on
the table staring at the lamp that hung from the ceiling, breathing deeply.
She did not move or speak until she could breathe calmly again. "You aren't
like other men, are you?"

"I try not to be," he replied softly. "Do you still want me to fuck you?"

"You aren't tired?"

"Uh, no. Actually I am a night person."

"But it isn't night anymore," she retorted. "The sun has risen. It is
morning."

He looked around and noticed for the first time the clear winter light that
infused the room. He had been so focused on her that he had not noticed it.
She sat up on the table and looked down into his face. "Are you certain,"
she asked finally, "that you are not tired?"

"I could do it. I have done it before, but you are tired," he realized.
"That is why you are stalling. How about if I make breakfast for you and
feed it to you until you fall asleep?"

She yawned and said, "I am not tired."

"You are also lying."

"Yes. I am lying. Does that make me an honest woman?"

He stood then and said, "I am going to pack your things now." He went to her
room and pulled clean underwear from her drawer, then a clean white bra that
matched the lace panties. He drew a forest green woolen sweater, a white
T-shirt, and a pair of brown pants from her closet. He folded them carefully
and placed them in her bag. She threw in her toothbrush and hairbrush.

"You are cordially invited to spend the weekend at my house." he said.
"You're just going to love it!"