Thursday, February 21, 2008

Phone call.

His was the last number I called from the airport.

"I'm here."

"Where is 'here'?"

"I'm walking up the ramp from my plane."

"Oh good! You're close."

"I am?"

"Yes, I'm at the marina, just put the boat back in the water."

"I thought you were keeping it in dry-dock til next year."

"Meet me here?"

"I'm tired, Kurt."

"I know, but I want to see you, see how you are doing."

"I'm tired, its after 10. How about I see you tomorrow morning?"

"Good idea. You can sleep here on the boat and I'll see you when we wake up."

"You're so bad..." I chuckled tiredly.

"I'll hold you, and the boat can rock you to sleep. I know you like that."

"I do..."

I stopped by the escalator. I was so tired that I swayed under the weight of my briefbag.

Kurt gave me directions from the airport to the marina, the rich timbre of his voice flowing through me. Potent, it was like a caress down my spine. I felt his large hands scoop my ass and pull me close to him.

"See you in what--half an hour?"

I was too tired to argue, and his boathouse was much closer than my place.

"Sooner than that. I left my luggage in San Francisco."

"You're going back?" Kurt sounded cautious. He accepted my relationships with the other men in my life, but he was concerned about the one in San Francisco.

"Yes. My sister..." My throat tightened and tears welled up.

"Ah. Poor Kay. Come here and let me pamper you."


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