~~~~~~~~ this section contains even more graphic sexual detail ~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~ the above is an inside joke between myself and Isaeri ~~~~~~

      This is a continuation of the story "A'Frayed" © 7/98 David 
Farrar and Renee Jaskulek Dickson. These characters have been created 
by our collaboration of hearts. I don't know how else to say it. It 
means a great deal to me to be working on this story with her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Previously, in "A'Frayed"

                      "A'Frayed" (continued)

   "Frankie! Where the hell are  my fucking cigarettes? I told you to 
ask me. Not take the whole God-damn box! You took the whole box you 
prick!"

  Grabbing a half melted thick candle from the dresser, she hurled the
waxed object, full force into his head.

  "Ahhh!" Frankie hollered, pain smashing across his skull. "You 
bitch!" 

   He threw off the covers, stumbled, naked, grabbing her right wrist 
in  the hand that was not tending to the rising welt on his forehead. 
He twisted her arm. "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU???" He screamed.  
Her green eyes, soft last night for Doug, now glared with burning 
hate at this cigarette stealing scum.  With venom she spat.
 
  " I told you that you had to ask me..."

   "ASK YOU WHAT????" He was in her face now, twisting her arm hard
enough that her small knees began to buckle under the pain though she
gritted her teeth 

  "Frankie, I told you that you had to..." He shoved her against the
dresser, yanked her arm above her head, pressing his body into her 
small frame.  His mouth was pressed against her ear as he freed his 
hand to grab her  other arm, pinning it against the drawer. 

   " I don't ever have to ask you for anything Nikki." And she could
feel his erection unfold, excited by his ability to physically subdue
her. "None of us do. Not Grahm...not Jason...not even  that horny ole
guy you went out with last night whose eyes were popping out of his 
head every time you raised your arms  and that piece of cloth you wear let
you show off  your beautiful nipples. Your nipples are beautiful 
Nikki and the guy doesn't even know  he don't have to ask your 
permission to taste them.  ..Should I tell him Nikki? Should I tell 
him? 

   "Frankies mouth was pressed against the corners of hers, his 
tongue now licking her lips..." Should I tell him how easy you are
...how easy to take things from you?"  

   "Jesus Frankie, will ya get off Nikki! Shit...let her go man."  
Jason stood in the doorway of the small room rubbing his eyes with 
one hand, his crotch, with the other."For Christ sakes...I wish 
you'd stop fucking each other, cause you two are always a disaster in 
the morning. Frankie, your cock looks like its going to plunge into 
the dresser drawer instead of Nikki. "

      "This bitch bashed me in the head while I was sleeping!" 
Frankie offered. And Jason could easily see the bruised,  swollen  
flesh injury. He had a couple himself over the past year from Nikki. 
Wild kitten.

     "She threw the God-damn candle at me. Like she was some rocket
going to the moon." 

         It had been almost two months ago when Jason  had made her 
angry himself over finishing the last beer.They were both plastered, 
twenty sheets to the wind for sure. Dancing their hearts out to some 
old blues band it was three in the morning when she  in anger began 
emptying the closet of hangers boomaranging  them into his body. That 
is, until he wrestled her to the floor and stripped off her pants.

        "He took my cigarettes without asking." Nikki snarled, pulling 
away from the pressure of Frankies face.
  Jason laughed then. Low, subtle. " We all take your cigarettes
Nikki...without asking" He grinned.

         And while Frankie held her still against the dresser, Jason's 
own hand began to explore the  dark hair found between her thin legs.

         And she knew, crossing her heart and hoping to die as she 
closed her eyes and let the boys take her...she would make Doug ask.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ the Demon in the west ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

         Scott knew he was dreaming. Or...thought he knew. This was 
unlike any dream he could remember. Oh, he could remember the "wet 
dreams" he had as a boy. They hadn't been all that imaginative, he 
supposed...just enough to stimulate that part of the endocrine system
that was awakening him to manhood.

         His...partner? in this dream was heart-stoppingly beautiful.
But...the wings? What was that? Or, what were they? While he was 
holding her against him by her shoulders, very lightly, and her arms
were wrapped about his shoulders as she moved her breasts against him,
the wings were doing something else -- they were arousing him, 
reaching for certain spots that further aroused him, as though she (?)
knew him as well as he knew himself...or better...

         Whatever else was going on, one thing was clear. He was 
absolutely naked, and there was more than a little sense of helpless-
ness in that. It was okay -- it heightened his arousal. He felt as
though his erection would never stop increasing. His groin was 
throbbing with the containment of what felt like a growing fire.

         He felt a tip of the multi-colored, diaphonous membranes 
caressing the lower part of his back. At the same time, a tip of one 
of them was holding him, gently, but holding him by one ankle. The 
two of them were atop a windy crag in some mountain range he had never
seen. He seemed somehow certain that it was not on earth. 

         Then, location became less and less important. Who or what
his partner was became less and less important. What was important was
the touch, the silky touch of the wing against his back, as its tip
began to explore and move against his buttocks, then slipped lower, 
between his legs. He shuddered as it slid between them, and coiled 
around the roundness of his balls (the "mound", as Rae called that 
part of him). He gasped, involuntarily. The tension of his excitement
was becoming nearly unbearable. 

         Now, still cupping that "mound", the wing-tip seemed to 
reach further, and slipped around the shaft itself. Scott was no 
longer aware of anything but this partner's face, and his own need to
release the furiously building energy down there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ashrawi ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        "Trying to turn some heads?" Ashrawi didn't  move  from her 
reflection in the mirror, but Jasmine could see the lifted eyebrow of 
subtle delight.

        "Jasmine, what makes you think I'm trying to turn heads?" 
Ashrawi asked, continuing to brush back her short cropped thick blonde 
hair.

        " You're wearing your 'attention jeans'." Jasmine crooned 
moving from the bed to Ashrawi's back, slipping her arms around 
Ashrawi's tiny waist.  " These are the jeans you wore that caught my 
attention." 

        Ashrawi turned, took Jasmine's olive face into her hands, 
kissed her lips...deep and long. Jasmine's hands  in reponse to the  
stirring, slipped under Ashrawi's thin t-shirt, where she wore no bra, 
finding the  small, supple breasts. She felt them respond, hardening
into ripe buds, like..."Summer strawberries," she whispered.

        "Don't worry, Jasmine," Ashrawi whispered. "Only men will pay
attention. And...yes, they do feel like that, don't they?"

         The two women had been lovers now for almost two years. 
Reeling from the combination of her parents roller coaster divorce and 
her hostile "first lesbian relationship," Ashrawi needed the safe 
haven of a kind lover when Jasmine had arrived on the scene like the 
Lone Ranger...

         That didn't mean that she was melba toast or dependent or 
that Jasmine was Mary Poppins gone dyke...On the contrary, they were 
both strong young women who knew how to survive. They had to know...
espeically in such a homophobic society. A social activist, Jasmine 
had even been arrested in Washington D.C. for baring her chest in a 
Gay liberation protest. Ashrawi had to laugh at the indignation and 
embarrassment of some family members. "They should only know," she had 
laughed with Jasmine, "that I'm an exotic dancer." They had roared 
with laughter that night, pressed warmly against each others naked 
bodies.  

         With Native American blood, and coloring, Jasmine was built 
with a tailored thickness. Dark straight hair, cut almost crew cut, 
she was a wonderful contrast to Ashrawi's yellow coloring. They knew 
enough about each other's beauty to enjoy mirrors...photography...
painting. Ashrawi loved to paint Jasmine -- there were more than forty
nudes in their apartment, alone.

        Jasmine gently pushed Ashrawi away. "Now that I am assured of 
your continued fidelity," both laughed, "You need to finish getting 
ready to catch the hopflight to Denver." 

        "Yeah, yeah." Ashrawi smiled, brushing her shoulder against
Jasmine's as she  grabbed her toothbrush to throw into her bag.
"Yeah...got to get ready to catch that plane." Ashrawi moved back to 
the mirror for one last look, pausing silently at her reflection.
        

        Her face was beautiful. She knew it. Most people thought she 
looked like her mother, but she felt when you really took her apart, 
genetic trait by genetic trait, she had more of her dad. Or at least 
when the two of them were conversing on Socrates and Plato. She knew 
her eyes lit up just like his when in a deep discussion. She also 
knew that her eyes could become fire or stone, just like his too when 
he was angry...or cold. And she had seen him both ways. She had lived 
through the chill in the house between her parents. She had once 
thought alcohol was to warm the blood. So she couldn't understand a 
house full of icicles.

        "Ashrawi? Are you o.k? Are you o.k. about going to Denver?" 
Jasmine madly in love with Ashrawi, like radar could sense any 
deviation of her lover's emotions. Ashrawi still gazed into the 
mirror.

        "I'm supposed to meet Rae."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Rae goe west ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        Rae held the small black electric shaver in her hand. "Are you 
sure about this?"  Scott nodded in affirmation opening his legs a bit 
wider, an invitation for her to proceed. "Do you think I cut enough 
with the scissors? I mean will I hurt you doing this?" she asked him. 
Her tone, embarrassed and nervous.

        "I want you to be able to see me Rae," Scott murmured.. "Just 
like I'm able to see you."

        His voice was soft, sensual.   He lay against his huntergreen 
pillow, in the flickering candlelight. His long hair,  in the breeze 
of the whirring fan, moved in lazy whisps against his forehead and 
cheeks. Both naked, she thought they should each be cold from the 
manmade wind. But there was only great heat between them. One night, 
in the midst of one of their phone conversations where all they could 
concentrate on were  the senstations of each others bodies and Scott 
was thanking her over and over again for "clearing the garden," he 
told her what he wanted.

        Now she was here with him after weeks of waiting to come to 
Denver and she would grant this fantasy for she wanted to see and 
touch him  just as he did her. She had with lips and tongue nestled 
into his round, firm mound many times before. But she had not yet had 
the sensation of clear warm flesh, the vision of every curve of his 
shape. She wanted to see the soil from which the seed orginated, 
wanted to feel through the moistness of her own mouth, the movement 
of  his energy through his shaft.She wanted to be able to trace the 
fiery flow  with her tongue. 

        When he would sit astride her...she wanted to be able to see 
all of him enter her, for she wanted to be conscious of every part of 
him that was able to intertwine with her body....her soul.

        "I really want you to do this Rae."

          Gently, Rae placed her left hand between Scott's legs, her
fingers lightly finding a place to begin.With her right, she turned 
on the razor, letting its charged current fill her in anticipation,  
as she carefully began to clear the way.

        Scott began to...moan? no...he began to croon...that was how
she thought of his sighs of pleasure -- it was a kind of singing. She 
felt damp in her own...ahhh...flower, Scott called it. It felt like
a flower, unfolding to meet some song from the sky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 12/1898 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His hair lay on the pillow, catching the sunlight creating
multi-hues of brown and soft grey. His back was turned toward her, 
andshe lightly let fingers trace the patterns of the raised freckled 
spotsthat danced across his back . "Stars", she called them. "Connect 
thedots," he would chuckle, explaining in detail each time, the  
childhood game he played with his daughters. They would both laugh, 
and then often she would begin her descent along his body...following 
the stars around to  the deep breaths of his chest.  She (sighed) 
rested her cheek against the flesh of his shoulder, letting her hand 
move along his nakedness until it deliberately rested, very gently 
between his legs. "Ahh, good man," she whispered. 
    They had made wonderful love that night. She had not been sure 
they would be able too. Not because of lack of ability or desire, but 
because of a preoccupation with other things. 
      Scott's daughter was coming into town. This would be Rae's first
meeting with her in the capacity of being the woman her father loved. 
And she knew as she thought those words herself....loving the sound 
ofthem, they had a very  different feel for "Ashrawi". And how could 
they not?  Rae had thought it was hard enough when she was six, having 
her father move out and spending the next ten years watching her 
mother search for a father for her. But in truth, she never had time 
to watch a relationship between her parents. They were her parents but 
she was too little to appreciate them as this unit that raised her.  
She didn't see that until her own divorce. Jalel was almost 16 when 
Rae and Kent separated for the third time. It took almost two years 
for the marriage to legally end. But she saw a pain in Jalel that she 
could not relate to when Kent began to seriously date a woman with her 
own small children. 

Jalel had trouble understanding how her father could exist in any 
other possible family unit but the one created by herself and her 
parents. And she struggled, for she knew the reality of that "family 
life"was anything but loving and caring and yet, it is the only family 
she knew and it was hers.   Ashrawi was no different despite a 
difference in ages. Perhaps it was even more of a struggle for her 
because despite Scott's divorce, he and his ex-wife never really 
"acted" divorced by conventional standards of distance and dislike. 

The discovery that her father was caring deeply for this stranger to 
her family, was difficult to accept. 

And Rae knew too...it was not only Ashrawi struggling, Scott was also.  
Good, bad or indifferent, he had loved this family unit with great 
depth.  That is why the divorce was so bitter. So painful for him and 
so hard, even after these years to still accept.

    He stirred beneath her gentle fingers. She laughed softley. "Why,
you men, when that blood begins to flow, you remind me of one of those
unrolling party blowers," she teased.

        "Hmmmmmmmmmmmm" Scott murmmured, low, guttural. His hand 
reached back behind him, seeking any part of Rae's nakedness that was 
available.  She pressed closer to him, letting him feel her nipples 
on his back, her right hand now, beginning to massage with greater 
movment, his unfolding shaft.  His own hand moved eagerly between her 
legs, his fingers, expertly coaxing  morning blossoming....."So you 
like party blowers huh?" his words were teasing, seductive.  

Rae laughed. "Oh, very much..." she responded by gathering his warm 
mound in the palm of her  hand...

His back arched. He turned.  It was morning but his eyes were brightly
intense. His other hand was now upon her breast..."Would you like me 
to show you my party blower?"

        "I'm holding it." Rae giggled as she did just that with firm 
fingers.        

        " Oh, but Rae....I have another party blower  to show you..." and
before she could say another word, his mouth was over her naked tummy,
blowing as hard as he could into her belly button, filling the room 
with the sound of vibrating lips and Rae's exploding laughter.....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ somewhere in the west ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Your turn!" Rae called. They would need to leave for the airport
soon to pick up Ashwari. Perhaps they should have showered together to
save time.  Rae laughed. No. Despite the fact that they had been
passionately making love inbetween interrupted hours of sleep, and 
were both drained from the wonderous sharing, she knew, still, once 
she saw Scott's body, wet, hair clinging to his warm flesh, she would 
linger.

    Opening the small dresser drawer, Rae reached for  a pair of white
lace bikini panties, deliberetly selected to delight Scott anytime of
the day he chose to pull off her jeans. Taking them out,  she  found his
pictures. Well...their pictures. Eighteen  polaroids taken with sensual
mischief. 

    "We'll tell the clerk the camera is for our teenage daughter," he
had whispered in her ear as they approached the Target clerk with the
Spice Girl Polaroid Camera. Rae had  to stifle giggles as they very
parentally and professionally discussed film and loading procedures with 
the salesgirl.

    Once in the bedroom, with the fumbling fingers of teenagers
unfastoning buttons for the first time  in the back seat of a car, they
ripped open box, instructions and cartridges. They laughed at their
clumsiness. 

   Rae sat on the bed with the first picture he took of her. She had
worn the long black stockings, the black lace one piece. But what she
remembered was not the pose of her, but Scott taking the photograph. She
had been uneasy, unsure, shy. For the first time in all their time
together, she felt naked. This was new to pose. To try and convey the
sensuality she  knew she was capable of his feeling through her touch.
But this was different. And she wondered at what kind of "woman" she was
to pose for this man. And  her body  felt  foreign to her. She was forty
nine, a very middle aged woman  They had exchanged so many pictures
between each other of beautiful women..."I know I don't look like this
but ..."

        But in his eyes, she could see, as he held the camera, as he asked her
to drop a strap, turn her head, move her leg, smile...  she was no  less
beautiful than these other  women. He was making love to her. He was
dressing her. Not in clothes but in what he knew about her. And Rae
understood immediately what he wanted in the pictures. It was there in
the ones she had taken of him. He had posed too, letting down his long
hair so it hung loosley over his bare shoulders as he unbuttoned his
jeans. A series of pictures, slow undoing, seductive eyes, until finally
the shaft, strong and inviting is revealed. She wanted the viewer of the
films to see what she knew...what she felt from being with this man. And
she wanted to see his love of his own body and his willingness to share
it.

      There had been another time. And the photographs were bolder. Rae
lay comfortably on the bed, arms stretched over head. Scott had posed
her so that he could see the dark tuft above the garden. And when she
opened her legs to the soft urging of his directions, she was opening
them to the memory of his moist fingers and tongue.

      And now she could hear him in the shower. She closed her
eyes...imagining the hot water running down his face, his chest, his
thighs. His head would be thrown back to rinse his long hair...his eyes
closed as he savored the heated water....oooohhhhh  to softly step 
naked into the mist,  and  taste the cleaning water 
along the heart shape between his legs...

        Undoing her robe, Rae headed back to the bathroom.