Roads Less Traveled

"That's a switch." She smiled as he put a plate in front of her. His dark curls were wet—he'd obviously taken the time to take a shower and he was still wearing boxers, but they were a different pair.

"I hope it's okay." He nodded at her food, already halfway through his eggs.

"Yummy," she agreed, pouring syrup and licking some off her fingers. His gaze was on her, although his fork didn't stop moving from plate to mouth.

"So why do they call you 'Doc?'"

"Pre-med." He swallowed and then grinned. "And I used to, uh...be the guy you could get stuff from."

She raised her eyebrows. "Used to?"

"Yeah well..." He grabbed a bottle of ketchup and squirted more onto his eggs. "Once you start med school you really get an education about what better living through chemistry can do to you in the long run."

She nodded, making a happy noise when she took a bite of pancakes. "Chocolate chips!"

He smiled. "So what about you? I know you work in the cafeteria. I know you're graduating next year. What's your major?"

"Business administration." She took a sip of orange juice and made a face. Too sour after the sugary sweetness of pancakes.

"Really?" His eyebrows went up. "I didn't figure you for a business major. I thought you'd be into something more creative...art major or something..."

"If I had a choice, I'd be a creative writing major," she admitted, sopping up syrup with the last of her pancakes.

"Don't you?" He frowned. "Have a choice, I mean?" "Not if I want to get a job when I graduate."

He nodded. "Family pressure?"

The silence stretched for a moment and then she said quietly, "I don't have one."

"You don't have a family?"

"My parents and little brother were killed in a car accident when I was sixteen," she explained. She didn't talk about it often, mostly because she hated the sympathy. She hated anyone feeling sorry for her, and of course she knew he was going to say it...

"I'm sorry."

She nodded. "Thanks." She was already used to the awkward pause that followed.

Steve cleared his throat and said, "So tell me about you and Maureen."

"We're roommates." She wiped her mouth on a napkin—linen. "Best friends since freshman year..."

"And lovers," he added.

"Yes," she admitted, flushing.

"But you're not just into women..." He looked at her quizzically. "I mean, unless I'm crazy, I get a pretty strong vibe that you like men, too. At least, some of us..."

She smiled. "I'm an equal opportunity lover." Glancing up at him, she asked, "Does that bother you?"

"Hell no." He gave a short bark of a laugh. "The truth? It's a major turn-on."

She stopped short of rolling her eyes. "Ah, the whole lesbian fantasy thing."

Grinning, Steve leaned back in his chair. "Well come on...I don't know a straight guy who doesn't get off on that."

Carrie wiped her finger around the edge of her plate, capturing the very last of sweetness. "Talk to James."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Well, I meant outside of the puritanical future ministers of the world." "I've never been with a man and a woman at the same time," she murmured speculatively.

He tipped his chair back down, leaning his elbows on the table. "Does the thought turn you on?"

"Yeah." She smiled. "You?"

"Being with two women?" he scoffed. "Like I said, might as well die and go to heaven now."

Carrie frowned. "Don't you think one woman is enough?"

"She could be..." He laced his hands behind his head and looked at her. "If she was the right one."

They were playing a game now, cat and mouse. "How would you know?"

"I'd know."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "So you haven't met her yet...?"

"I didn't say that." He laughed. "Come here." He held a hand out and she took it, letting him pull her toward him. He situated her, standing, between his knees. "Carrie, I have to tell you something."

"Hm?" She was distracted by the way his hands cupped her hips, even through the thickness of the robe.

"But I don't want to scare you away again," he admitted, looking up at her.

"You won't." Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair. Standing so close to him, feeling the flex of his thighs against hers, was making her crazy.

"I can't stop thinking about you." He reached out, playing with the tie on her robe, tugging gently. "And it's taking every ounce of my self-control not to just take you right here, right now."

She swallowed, looking down at the tie in his hand. It was undone, but the robe was still closed. "You don't need to stop."

"Are you sure?" He pressed his index finger to her chest, at the V the close of the robe made, and began to trace down the opening.

"Yes." She shifted, letting the robe fall open for him, seeing his eyes darken with lust. "Please. Don't stop."

He groaned, giving in, and she did, too, drawing his head to her breasts, arching her back. His tongue made fat circles against her nipples, sending sweet pulses through her, straight to her sex.

"God you're gorgeous," he moaned, cupping her breasts and pressing them together, his tongue trying to span the distance between her nipples as quickly as possible, back and forth, making Carrie dizzy with wanting him.

"So wet," she murmured, taking his hand and pressing it between her thighs. He kissed he way down her belly, his fingers moving, parting her swollen pussy lips and exploring.

"Yes you are," he agreed, slipping his fingers from her cleft and sucking them. She grabbed his hand and lifted it to her own mouth, making him moan as she licked her own juices from his fingers. "Oh, god, I'm so fucking hard for you."

"Let's see." She smiled, sinking to her knees before his chair. His boxers were nicely tented and she tugged them down, grasping his length in her hand. Gorgeous, thick and hard—very hard. She leaned in and licked the head of his cock, slowly exploring him with her tongue. His hand moved in her hair, eyes half-closed, watching her take him into her mouth.

"Easy, girl," he murmured as she began to pick up the pace, greedy for him, sucking hungrily. "I want to fuck you."

She moaned at the thought of his cock inside of her, sliding her tongue down his shaft to circle the tightening sac of his balls. His hands moved down to cup her breasts, fingering her nipples, making her wiggle between his thighs.

"Upstairs," he instructed, helping her stand, kissing her deeply before turning and marching her up the stairs.

The bed was a cloud oasis and they both stripped down to nothing before crawling in together, kissing and rolling and groping each other in the early morning light.

She found herself on top of him and turned around to grasp his cock, longing to feel it in her mouth again. He throbbed against her tongue, swollen and thickening in her throat as she began to suck him again. He groaned and his hips moved in time with her motions, his hands moving over her ass, drawing her down to his mouth.

"Mmmm!" was all she could manage when his tongue parted her pussy lips, lapping gently through her wetness. Her hips rolled, giving him better access, a new direction. His tongue found her clit and she gasped, grasping his cock and squeezing it, stroking instead of sucking as he focused his energy on her hot, swollen nub.

"There," she urged, moaning louder as his fingers parted her flesh, plunging inside. She was thinking about his cock, already wishing he was inside of her, but his mouth worked magic against her pussy, drawing every last bit of pleasure from her possible. "Oh my god, yes, yes, please, don't stop!"

He made a noise in his throat, licking her faster, fingering her harder, giving her just what she wanted.

"Oh baby, make me come! I'm gonna come!" She cried out as she hit the point of no return, grinding her hips, mashing her pussy against his face. He grabbed her hips and drank her in, moaning and thrusting up into her fist. She'd almost forgotten about his cock, she was so lost in her own pleasure, shuddering and gasping on top of him.

"Fuck," he murmured, kissing her wet, trembling thighs. "That was incredible."

"Mmm," she murmured, turning around and kissing him, sucking at his tongue, tasting herself. His hands moved down over her curves, rocking her hips, sliding the slit of her pussy up and down against the hard length of his cock. She wanted him inside of her—she had to have him.

"Fuck me," she murmured, reaching for him, guiding him, aiming him. He let her, moaning softly as she slid down the length of his dick, burying him inside of her. "Oh. God." Her eyes flew wide when he was fully into her, pressed as deep as he could go.

"Okay?" His hands gripped her waist, watching her face.

"Oh yes," she whispered, eyes closing again. "Definitely okay."

She began to rock on him, back and forth, round and round, finding an easy rhythm, working her way upward again. He let her lead for a while, biting his lip, but when she got too exuberant, he grabbed her hips, slowing the pace.

"Let me," he said finally, rolling her to her back, his cock working between her thighs, his hips thrusting. She gave herself over, curling herself around him, arms and legs wrapped tight. The feel of him, so thick and hard and pounding into her like that, was more than enough to take her over the edge.

"Ohhh now," she managed to whisper, her pussy clamping down around him, making him gasp and thrust deep, grinding her to another orgasm. Her nails raked down his back and over his shoulders, her teeth raking over his neck, and still he didn't stop, taking her further, deeper, harder.

"Wait," she gasped, using both hands to push him far enough away so she could see his face. "Please...oh god..."

"I have to fuck you." He kissed her mouth, her cheek, her chin. "Please let me..."

"Wait." She moaned softly, reaching down and sliding him out of her. He sighed, but she turned around for him, looking back over her shoulder. "Like this."

"Oh Christ." Steve's eyes moved over her ass and thighs before grabbing her hips and sliding his cock back into her. "You feel so good."

"Yes," she whispered, arching back for him, meeting him. "Fuck me. Oh yes, yes, fuck me hard!"

He grunted, driving in deeper, his thighs spreading hers. There was no stopping him now and she didn't want him to. Her fingers found her clit, rubbing in fast circles as he pounded into her.

"Don't stop," she begged, her cheek pressed against the sheets, eyes closing, feeling the insistent pull of another climax in her lower belly. "Oh please, fuck me until I come all over your cock!"

He groaned and gave in, his swollen length throbbing as he came deep inside of her, still thrusting, grinding, giving her more. Carrie met his final onslaught, shuddering beneath him as his weight collapsed her onto the bed, her pussy spasming around his thick length.

"Holy god," he groaned as he rolled off of her, pulling her into his arms.

"You can say that again," she gasped, sliding a wet thigh up over his.

"Yeah, but can we do it again?" He grinned, tweaking her nipple, making her squeal.

"Give me five minutes," she laughed.

"Ten," he countered, closing his eyes, still smiling.

"Okay," she conceded, letting herself drift to the rise and fall of his breath.

She thought he was sleeping, when he squeezed her close and whispered, "So who's your favorite writer of all time?"

"Hemingway," she said without hesitation.

He snorted. "Hemingway was a giant misogynist."

"I know," she agreed dreamily. "But he could write his ass off."

"Can't argue with that," he replied, smiling and pulling the covers over them both.

* * * *

It was almost dinner time when Carrie's cell rang, waking them both.

"Want me to get it for you?" Steve asked when she gave no indication of moving out of his arms. "Let them leave a message." She knew it was probably Maureen, and when she finally untangled her limbs from Steve's, she discovered her assumption had been correct. "Mo wants me to meet her at Captain Tony's in..." She glanced at the digital clock on the night stand. "An hour."

"Did she say anything else?"

Carrie shook her head.

"Well let's go then. Besides, there's something I want to show you."

Steve insisted on making the something to eat—sandwiches—before they left, and she hadn't brought any extra clothes, so she insisted they stop by her hotel so she could change. Steve flipped through the TV while she fussed in the bathroom, and he gave a low whistle when she came out wearing a white sun dress and sandals.

"Nice." He sat up, admiring her, first with his eyes, and then with his hands, running them up the backs of her bare thighs.

"Let's go before we end up staying..." she murmured as his hands cupped her behind.

"I wouldn't mind..." He tilted his head up and she leaned down to kiss him, briefly, then grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the door.

The bar wasn't too crowded yet. Steve ordered them some "pirate's punch" which proved to be fantastically good and had Carrie relaxed in minutes. They sat at the bar and talked for a while, but every time Steve touched her arm or her hip, she would remember the morning they'd spent together and her whole body felt lit up.

"So, I told you I wanted to show you something." Steve helped her off the bar stool and led her through the bar. There was a tree—a live tree—growing up through the floor. They passed it, coming to a roped-off out of the way corner. "Guess what that is?"

"A bar stool?" She stated the obvious.

"Not just any bar stool." He grinned. "Guess who sat on that bar stool."

"Ernest Hemingway." The deep, booming voice came from behind them and Carrie turned to see a big, gray-bearded man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. "Every day for twelve years. Three o'clock on the nose."

"Hey Cap'n!" Steve exclaimed, clapping the old man on the back. "I was hoping I'd run into you."

"Where's your mom and dad?" the old man inquired.

Steve shook his head. "Just me this time—came with a bunch of friends for summer break."

"And who's this?" The gray-bearded man turned his attention to Carrie.

"I'm Carrie," she replied, holding her hand out.

Steve made introductions. "Carrie, this is Captain Tony."

"The Captain Tony?"

"Yes ma'am." He tipped his white sailor's hat at her as he shook her hand. "Meetcha."

"I can't believe Hemingway actually sat here." Carrie turned her attention back to the vinyl-covered barstool.

"Would you like to sit on it?" Captain Tony asked.

Her eyes lit up. "Could I?"

"Well, you have to make an offering," Steve said, grinning.

She gave him a sideways look, already suspicious. "What kind of offering?"

Captain Tony cleared his throat and pointed at the ceiling. She hadn't noticed before—although how she'd missed it was beyond her—but the entire ceiling was full of bras of all shapes and sizes.

"You're kidding me." She stared at them both, then up at the ceiling, then back to Hemingway's barstool.

"Okay...okay, fine." She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra through her sundress, pulling one strap off, and then the other, slipping the entire thing out through one of the arm holes.

"Here." She held it up, not realizing until that moment that they were being watched. The whole bar cheered and the bartender snapped a Polaroid of her holding up her underthings. Then he hopped over the bar holding a staple gun.

"I'll take that." He stepped up onto one of the stools and stapled her white cotton bra to the ceiling overlapping a leopard print bra and another made of red satin lace.

Captain Tony opened the red velvet rope and waved her through. "Have a seat!"

Carrie wasn't going to give up her prize, and she made sure Steve got the Polaroid camera from behind the bar to take a picture of her on Hemingway's barstool.

"Worth it?" he asked, still grinning.

Carrie glanced up at her bra, up there for all to see. "Totally."

Steve ordered more pirate's punch for them both and then asked, "Shouldn't she be here?"

Carrie sipped her drink and nodded. "She's notoriously late."

"High maintenance sort of girl?"

"I love her, but she's..." Carrie shrugged one shoulder.

"Spoiled?"

She smiled, but she couldn't help but think of her friend fondly anyway. "You could say that."

"But you're not."

"I don't know." Carrie looked thoughtful. "I probably would have been if..." She let the rest of her thought trail off, but Steve filled in the blanks.

"The accident?"

"Foster families don't really spoil their kids," she said. "Especially when they're very...religious. Very fundamentally religious."

"Don't look at me." Steve held his hands up in a warding off gesture when she looked over at him. "My parents are both lapsed Methodists. No fire and brimstone here."

She smiled. "That's good."

"Hey you." Maureen breezed in, all cleaned up, wearing a respectable navy blue sun dress and a matching hat with a little white daisy on the front. "Sorry I'm late."

"That's okay," Carrie waved her apology away as Steve slipped off the barstool beside her.

"I'll be back," he said, excusing himself, and Carrie knew he was just giving them time.

"Guess what, Care-Bear?" Maureen's eyes were over bright, even in the dim bar. Carrie knew, somehow she just knew, but she played dumb.

"What, Mo?"

"He asked me to marry him!" Maureen squealed, holding out her left hand and showing off the biggest diamond Carrie had ever seen.

"I'm so happy for you." Carrie hugged her friend, swallowing hard. What else could she do? "If you're happy...are you happy?"

"Of course I'm happy!" Maureen exclaimed, waving her left hand around again. "He's going to seminary next year, and we'll live in married housing."

"Good thing he's not Catholic," Carrie joked, sipping her pirate's punch. "So I guess we won't be roommates next year."

Maureen's eyes softened and she leaned in, touching her forehead to Carrie's. "Well, we knew that would have to end some time."

"Right." Carrie managed to smile. "Well, I'm happy for you. Really, I am." Who was she trying convince?

"He's waiting for me outside." Maureen waved the bartender—the same one she'd been ogling the night before—away when he asked what she wanted to drink. "I'm leaving with him today. Tonight. We're going to Vegas."

"But your ticket..."

"It's transferable." She shrugged.

"Your parents are going to have a heart attack." Carrie tried to imagine Mrs. Holmes—Maureen's immaculately dressed and coiffed mother—when she discovered her daughter had eloped to Vegas. "And I won't get to be your maid of honor..."

Maureen laughed, putting her arms around Carrie's neck and kissing her cheek. She smelled just of Jovan Musk now—no more tequila. "We'll have a big wedding next year. I just want to seal the deal now. If I don't do it now..." Her voice trailed off and Carrie's thoughts completed the sentence in her head, You'll never do it at all.

Part of her wanted to beg Maureen to reconsider, to stay in Key West, hell, to spend the night with her and Steve for that matter. It felt as if her friend was heading down a road she couldn't travel...and vice versa.

"I promise, you will get to wear a god awful bridesmaid dress." Maureen giggled into Carrie's ear. She pressed her lips there, just behind Carrie's ear, making her shiver.

"Come on, Maureen." It was James, standing tall behind them. "I'm double parked out there."

Maureen slipped off the bar stool, leaning in to whisper, "I love you Care-Bear...I gotta run."

"Love you, too, Mo..." Carrie's words never reached her friend's ears. Maureen was already halfway to the door by the time she got them out.

Then Steve was there, putting his arms around her, holding her up. "Are you okay?"

"She's marrying him. Tonight. They're going to Vegas." The words were a shock, said out loud that way.