Re: *Winter's Present* - serialized

On 2/17/2026 5:15 PM, Bryan Simmons wrote:
> 
> 
>              Winter’s Present
>                     .
>                Bryan Simmons
> 
>      Table of Contents
> 
> Silver    9
> Winter    23
> Fast    29
> Wearing White    49
> Sex Kitten    59
> The Party    73
> Turkey Claus    101
> Boy Talk    121
> Scorpions    131
> Ann    147
> Lady Bear    173
> Cinnamon Buns    189
> Sandy Beach    205
> Our Tricycle    235
> Queen of Love    249
> Art    279
> Pillow Talk    291
> A Pink Line to Burritos    297
> Making Love    309
> Solomon    317
> Wearing White Again    323
> Change is Hard    333
> The Letter    337
> The Vapors    365
> Performance Issues    373
> Somebody Else's Daughter    391
> Love Kiss    399
> Bigamy    411
> Equality    425
> Anniversary    439
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> Copyright 2014, 2025 by Bryan Simmons
> 
> 
> This book is dedicated to my wife, Betsy, and to my muse, who shall 
> remain nameless.
> 
                        The Party

Winter had pondered on how she could bring this disparate group 
together, and Ian's pool table seemed ideal.  Certainly, it would 
exclude a few from the actual playing, but only because of their lack of 
interest.  The casualness, and more than that, her own focused attention 
on something other than her own personal situation would avoid awkward 
questions and silences, and the telling of less than the whole truth.

The large dining room table was set, and Julia was taking care of the 
asparagus, beans, corn, and spinach, and would handle the serving. 
Winter was confident that Ian would handle his end, and that Eric and 
Chloe would stay on script, or at least improvise well enough.  They'd 
arrived with little fanfare, and Chloe had given her a thumbs up, as 
she'd said, "We're ready."

There was also the fact that the basement, the billiard table, had never 
been a location for a sexual encounter.  In the basement, alone, a place 
where she'd never had a reason to feel unsafe, she remembered a scene of 
a woman being abused on a pool table, and understood why Ian had never 
made sexual overtures in the basement.  He'd had no idea whether she had 
seen those scenes, but she was sure that he had, and rape wasn't a 
component of his sexuality.  He got off on making a woman feel secure. 
It wasn't just that he was a good guy, but that was something that 
turned him on.

As Winter ascended the stairs, she heard a knock at the door that 
signaled the first guests arriving, and hurried her steps.  Maryl was 
expected, but she hadn't brought her boyfriend, or even her parents, but 
Delia, Delia without Brenda.  Eric hugged Maryl, and then gave Delia a 
slight embrace, during which she made eye contact with Winter in a way 
that suggested a blush.  Winter knew it was time to lighten up.

"See what Eric found?"  She pointed in the direction of Chloe, who was 
setting the table.  Then she turned to Eric, and said with obviously 
fake disgust, "Overachiever."

Chloe, who had been walking their direction to greet the newly arrived 
guests, heard what Winter said, and burst into laughter."

"Hmmph,” said Winter.  “She even has a great sense of humor."

"By great sense of humor, she means that I laugh at her jokes.  Hi, I'm 
Chloe, the one that Eric found.  He had to go all the way to California 
to find me."  Chloe shook hands with Maryl and Delia, then went into 
musical theater form, singing to Winter, "You wish they all could be 
Mi-i-sour-ah girls."

They'd all descended to the basement, other than Eric, who'd stayed 
upstairs to answer the door, and were all immersed in laughter when Ian 
made his appearance.  He had been in the kitchen, taking care of last 
hour food preparations.  Winter introduced him.  "This, ladies, is my 
employer, and the master of this estate.  His name is Mr. Meadows, but 
his given name is Ian, and that is what he wishes to be called."  Ian 
smiled, and let Winter have her fun.  "He is a very erudite man, with 
refined tastes, but also quite eccentric, with a droll appreciation of 
life's absurdities."

Chloe had turned away in cooperation with Winter, knowing her face would 
have spoiled Winter's ridiculous characterization of Ian, but finally 
started laughing uncontrollably.  Winter and Ian both laughed too, and 
Winter explained that Ian was really just a recently widowed former 
librarian who had hired her to help him with his memoirs.  Ian shook 
hands with Winter's friends.  "Like Winter said, my name is Ian, and I'm 
pleased to meet you both.  I'm sure you're more used to my new girl 
Friday's craziness that I am.  Excuse me, *woman* Friday."

Winter wasn't quite finished, "Back in Ian's day, they used to call 
grown women, "Girl," and he's having some trouble making the 
adjustment."  Now, Winter felt that she'd set them all at ease with each 
other, and excused herself to greet new arrivals.

Ian asked, "So, do you want to play pool."

Delia answered, "Sure.  Can Maryl be on my team?"

"Of course," said Ian.  He knew that Chloe hadn't played much, and 
Winter had told him that she and her friends had played a lot when they 
were in high school.  "Nine-ball?"

Delia's replied, "Absolutely."

"You sound confident," and Ian noted that while she looked much younger 
than the others, she had an air of confidence, a brashness, and he 
suggested lagging for the break.  Delia said that she wasn't used to a 
full size table, and requested that she be allowed a few practice shots 
to get the feel of the table, and Ian told her to take as long as she 
wanted.  While she practiced, Ian shared an experience from his youth.

"When I was, I think, 14, I stayed for a few days at my grandmother's 
house in a small town, and there's only so many things that a grandson, 
and grandmother whom he's not particularly close to, have to talk about 
and do together, so I went out to explore the town.  When I saw a pool 
hall, I thought that I could keep myself amused for an hour or two, so I 
went in.  There were pay tables, and you had to put in two quarters to 
release the balls, and so I wasn't trying to pocket shots.  I was 
practicing caroms, and combinations, and the two other guys who were 
there were noticing that I was missing, but not watching closely enough 
to understand the difficulty of my attempts, and one of them approached 
me and asked me if I'd like to play him."

"I said that I would, and suggested that the loser could buy the next 
set of balls, but he told me that it wasn't any fun if there wasn't any 
money on the line, and I thought that these guys were intending to try 
to take money from a kid, and that was shitty.  It was even worse than 
what my father had done, which was to invite over his coworkers, and 
have them play for money against me and my older brother, and I won 
pretty consistently.  I think I did it mostly out of indignation that 
the assholes were trying to take my money, but I agreed, and asked, 
'What do you want to play, 8-ball?'"

"I knew full well that the game everyone gambled on was 9-ball. 
Predictably, the guy said, 'We usually play 9-ball.'"

"That's when I had them.  9-ball was my game, and I asked, 'Is that 
anything like 8-ball?'  I made them explain the rules of the game, and 
finally asked, 'So it's just like rotation, but the only thing that 
matters is making the 9-ball?"

"I hustled them.  I didn't lose one game, and they kept insisting that I 
play double-or-nothing. At first, I won in quirky ways, looking like I'd 
just gotten lucky.  I kept saying that I had to get back to my 
grandmother's house, but they kept insisting, and I kept winning.  By 
the time that I left with $27 dollars more than I'd arrived with, they 
were aware that they'd been hustled, and all the way back to my Bobo's 
house, I prayed, “God, please let me get back without them jumping me, 
and I'll never gamble again.'  I've never played even penny poker since, 
but years later I thought it was safe to spend a dollar, or two on a 
lottery ticket when the jackpot was really high, and I, as they say, hit 
the jackpot."

Maryl knew he'd won the lottery, and of course, Chloe did, but Delia, 
who had heard every word, miscued, and blurted, "You've got to be 
fucking kidding."

Maryl answered, "He's not, Dee."

Delia locked eyes with Ian, "So what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to try my ass off to beat you at pool, but if your aim is 
anything like your touch on the cue, that'll be pretty challenging."

Delia won the lag, but that was mostly a matter of pride.  She broke, 
and though the 5 was pocketed, and she got another shot there wasn't 
much she could do with the 1.  Chloe took the next turn, and Delia gave 
a knowing look to Ian.  It was obvious that he preferred the lay that 
Maryl might leave him, and knowing that was a respect for her 
demonstrated skill, she was pleased.  Ian advised Chloe to hit the 1 
hard, freeing it from its position along the rail, where Delia had 
deliberately placed it, thinking it unlikely that Maryl could use it to 
pocket the 9, which was blocked in an awkward way by the 3.

Upstairs, there was no competition.  Winter and Eric got out plates, and 
she reminded him again of his essential role in making Ian seem 
harmless. "I know you have this silly feeling of obligation about my 
birthday."

"You did a very generous thing."

"No, Eric, I didn't.  Get it through that thick head of yours.  Maryl 
was never my girlfriend.  It was a small favor that cost me nothing, and 
I did it as much for Maryl as for you, and I got all the thanks I needed 
just by knowing that my two best friends were happier.  You just help me 
keep my secret, and keep helping our parents be cool about Ian, and I 
assure you that we're more than even.  OK?"

"I still want you to have a great birthday."

"As well you should.  You want every day of my life to be happy, and I 
want the same for you.  Hey, is it hot to see Chloe and Maryl in the 
same room?"

Eric looked down, and snickered, then glanced up with his head still 
lowered, "Yeah."

"Not awkward?"

"No."

"Good man."  Winter had considered, "Good boy," but thought that might 
be demeaning.  She'd used the phrase once or twice with Ian, but Eric 
was still too close to boyhood, whereas Ian just found it playful, and 
it wouldn't have been funny because Eric had been absent when Ian had 
made his, “woman Friday," comment.   When they heard the knock on the 
front door, Winter dispatched Eric to let in the only other invited 
guests, their parents.  Winter surmised that Eric's opening of Ian's 
door furthered the feeling of trust and normalcy.

Natalie Williamson was toting a large plastic cake carrier, and Winter 
knew what it contained.  She set it on the table, and after warm 
greetings, and happy birthdays, Richard asked, "Where's Ian?"

Winter answered, "He's in the basement with Maryl and Delia, but don't 
worry, Chloe's chaperoning."  Her parents both laughed, and Winter felt 
confident that the evening would go well.  The four descended the 
stairs, and Delia acknowledged them, but was obviously concentrating on 
her impending shot, and Ian put his finger to his lips to silence them. 
Richard understood why.  The only balls left were the 5, 6 and 9, and a 
5-6 combination was almost impossible.  The five was reasonably easy, 
but leaving herself on a good lay for the six was iffy, and there was a 
makeable, though difficult, 5-9 combination off one rail that could have 
pocketed the 9.

She tried it and missed, and cried, "Damn!"  Now, Ian was left with a 
similar shot, off the same rail, and he finished the game.

Delia shook his hand with admiration, "Good game."

"I'd say.  Do you have a table at home?"

"No, but I've played at Winter's house."

Natalie laughed, "She's probably used that table more than any of us, 
“and turning to Delia, asked,  “Where's Brenda?"

Delia was stiff upper lipped as she answered, "She had to move," but 
Natalie could see that the lightness had passed from her face.

"I'm sorry, sweetie, where?"

"Cape.  Her mom got offered tenure track at Southeast."

"Well that's not so far."

"Far enough.  We've been meeting at state parks, Hawn, St. Joe, but the 
next two years are going to be rough, and with those two gone," she 
motioned to Winter and Maryl, "I don't really have any school friends."

Maryl interjected, "We're still friends."

Delia smiled, "We are, but I was talking about school."

The older folks didn't migrate away from the conversation, not so much 
out of curiosity, but because the young woman who was speaking kept them 
there by her frankness, and her extroversion, just enough eye contact 
with everyone to want them to understand and feel her plight.

"Hey," said Winter.  "Think about it this way, you get to have a long 
distance romance, and the kids at school aren't shit if they don't like 
you.  I like you, and I have very high standards."

"Thanks."

"I'm not finished.  When you sit alone, be proud, and self assured, and 
so glad that you have this kickass love situation in your life that 
isn't about anyone else, and you'll only attract the attentions of high 
quality persons."

Winter suddenly thought about her own situation.  She'd thought about 
telling Delia that no one is attracted to despair, but she, herself, was 
besotted with a girl whom she'd once seen crying, and more than once 
seeming in pain.

Winter raised her voice, "Speaking of high quality persons, I am 
fortunate to be in the company of all of you, none of whom fails to meet 
that description, and I am the birthday girl.  Let us ascend yon stairs, 
and," Winter said as she grabbed Delia's hand and walked hurriedly, "get 
to the food."  Ian bounded behind them, not worrying about how goofy it 
looked, because he felt responsible for the quality of the provisions, 
and he headed for the kitchen.

Julia could tell that he was nervous, and said, "Don't worry, *Señor*. 
I've got everything under control.  Should I start the *espárragos*?"

"*Si*."  Ian removed the large Corning Ware casserole with the spinach 
from the oven, and took it to the table.  Winter returned to the kitchen 
with him to help him bring the rest.

"*Feliz cumpleaños, señorita*."
Winter correctly deduced that feliz cumpleaños meant happy birthday, and 
replied, "*Gracias, señora*."  Julia was busy sautéing the asparagus in 
clarified butter, and the timing was nearly perfect.  As Ian and Winter 
lay the last of the other components on the table, Julia poured he 
asparagus into a large serving dish, and brought it to the table, and 
Winter announced, "Dinner."

Julia then returned to the kitchen, and fetched three large squirt 
bottles, with green and red salsas, and Ian's sour cream concoction.  As 
she set them down in front of the guests who were gathering around the 
table she said, "The colors of the Mexican flag.  A *gran comida*," and 
smiled warmly at several of the guests.

When her eyes fell on Chloe, the young woman returned her affection, 
"*Gracias, Señora Muller. Todo es perfecto*," and Julia was obviously 
pleased.  Earlier in the day, Chloe had insisted on helping her with the 
prep work, thinking it might be fun, since Chloe was fluent in Spanish, 
and Julia had given her another reason to respect Ian.

“Señor Meadows, as part of my compensation, is paying my tuition.  I was 
a teacher in Mexico, and when he learned that, he encouraged me to to 
get my teaching credentials.  I begin classes in January.  In two years, 
I will be qualified to teach both Art and Spanish, and he only asked for 
one favor, that I continue to prepare my salsas for him.”

Ian hadn't participated in any of the cooking other than the beef for 
the fajitas, which was thinly sliced strip loin, and in a separate dish, 
the onion and bell pepper accompaniment, both done on his indoor grill 
over shagbark hickory.  Ian informed Maryl that the vegetables, and in 
fact, everything other than the meat itself, was strictly vegetarian.

Winter realized that passing items around the table was impractical, and 
suggested that they rotate, buffet style, before settling themselves 
into their chairs, and she reminded them to save room for cake, "Even 
you, Ian."

The meal went as expected, and the real hit was the cheesy spinach. 
Eric doused his with green salsa, and Winter joked, "Spinach not green 
enough for you?"

The highlight of the meal, other than the food, was when Winter started 
feeding Maryl, who was seated to her left, asparagus spears, and when 
Maryl returned the gesture, Winter received hers with an over the top 
sexiness.

Her mother laughed nervously, "Winter!"

"Oh, Mom, I'm the birthday girl.  I claim privilege."

Natalie regarded Ian, because he was really the only person there who 
might have been taken aback, and Ian laughed, as did the rest of them.

After dinner, they had the cake, accompanied by fresh whole milk, the 
good, organic kind that required shaking.  There were no candles, and no 
"Happy Birthday" song, as Winter had insisted, along with no presents, 
and Winter thanked them for their compliance, saying, "Obligatory gifts 
are just awkward.  I love every one of you, and just your being here 
makes me so happy, and thank you too, Ian."

Ian approached her, and in a business-like fashion, shook her hand, 
"You're very welcome, and deserving."  Ian addressed both Natalie and 
Richard seriously.  "Your daughter is a very good writer, I'd even say 
gifted.  My memoir would be quite dry without her assistance, and she's 
a hard worker.  You should be proud."

Winter rose, and curtseyed with pretend skirt.  "Ian's life is 
interesting and funny.  He just doesn't quite know how to get that 
across on the page.  I'm his ghost writer."  Winter made spooky ghost 
sounds and gestures, and didn't stop until she'd gotten laughs from the 
whole crowd, wiggling her fingers threateningly to the few who had been 
resistant.  Everyone was still laughing when Maryl's phone rang, and she 
politely absented herself from the room to take the call.

It was her boyfriend, and when she returned, she told Delia that she had 
to go as soon as the meal was finished.

Delia wasn't ready to leave, and Winter figured that she wanted a 
rematch.  Delia asked Natalie, "Can you give me a ride?"

"Sure, but we're not staying late either."

Eric said, "We can drive you home, no biggie."

After dinner and cake, Winter walked Maryl to the door, and kissed her 
goodbye.

Ian engaged Richard, offering to show him his indoor smoker.  Natalie 
followed, and Winter was left alone with Delia, who asked, "Can I stay 
with you tonight?"

"I guess so, why?"

"You know why."

"Girl, you know I never say, 'No.'  We can stay here, and before you 
ask, Ian's cool."

"He knows?"

"Delia, everybody knows.  Even your parents might assume, but what about 
Brenda?"

"What about her?  If it were some girl I'd just met, yeah, she might be 
freaked, but it's you, and it's just sex."

"Call your parents."

Delia's dad was fine with her, "...spending the night with Winter."

After the others had been shown the barbecue arrangement, and rejoined 
them, Natalie and Richard said that they were ready to leave as well, 
and Winter informed them that she and Delia were having a sleepover. 
Natalie asked Ian, "Is that OK with you?"

"Of course.  This place is huge.  The rest of you are welcome to stay 
the night as well."  As expected, they declined the offer.  Ian added a 
flourish, "You two, behave," pointing at the girls, "no pillow fights. 
I'm fine with slumber parties, but the feathers stay in the pillows."

"We promise," said Winter, exhibiting crossed fingers.

Richard laughed, "They've always been well behaved."

"What my father means is that the pillows stayed reasonably intact."

Winter hugged each person closely before allowing them to leave, and 
after they drove away, she suggested more billiards.  Ian's heart 
pounded as he agreed.  There was sexual energy present, but he could 
sense that none of it involved him.  Anyway, this day belonged to 
Winter, and she asserted herself by insisting, "No 9 ball.  A few 
friendly games of 8 ball."

In the first game, Winter got beaten handily by Ian, but in the second, 
Delia was in command from the break.  Two stripes had gone in, and she 
put in three more before missing a nearly impossible shot.  Ian was left 
with no shot at all, and elected to send many balls flying, mostly 
solids, but knew that he was probably merely hurrying his defeat, and 
that is what happened.  Delia ran the table.  This time, Ian offered his 
hand and repeated her words from earlier, "Good game," and excused 
himself, feigning sleepiness.  "Goodnight, ladies."

Delia waited until Ian was all the way upstairs before asking Winter, 
"He isn't really sleepy, is he?"

"That's very unlikely.  We work way later than this all the time."

"So he knows why I'm staying?"

"He doesn't know, but he's not stupid.  We've told each other a lot of 
personal things.  He has to, because of his memoir, and when a person is 
that open with me, it makes me want to share too, so he knows I have sex 
with women.  In fact, he assumes that I only do girls, and that's 
convenient.  But he's totally cool.  It's very likely that he assumes 
we're going to do more than sleep, but I do really want to make sure 
about Brenda."

"Winter, like I said, it's you.  You're not going to steal me away from 
her, and I don't know where we'd even be without you.  You've been like 
our guru, our teacher, and I wouldn't be surprised if I learned 
something tonight that I could take back to her.  Winter, I love her. 
I've always loved her, since we were little kids."

"I know, and she's so darling.  Do your parents know yet?"

"Mine do, but we've followed your example and hers just think we're best 
friends.  They know we fool around, of course, but not that we're in 
love.  I told Dad, and he was really positive, but Brenda figures her 
folks might think she's too young, and I guess she knows best."

Winter said, as dryly as she could, "I think I'm in love too."

Delia seemed surprised, "A guy, right?"

"No, a girl."

Now she was thoroughly intrigued.  "What's her name?"

Winter answered, "I don't know."

"You what?"

"A girl at school.  I'm as shocked as you.  I've seen her a few times, 
and I don't know what happened.  It just kinda did.  I love really 
easily, but I've never felt...well, I've never felt this thing before. 
When did it happen with you?"

"When I learned she was leaving.  Winter, I love everything about her, 
and since you and Maryl moved on, it was just us, and we were fine.  I 
guess it didn't make sense that I had so little to do with you and Maryl 
last summer, and I'm sorry, but my whole life became about trying to be 
with her.  You really don't have to do anything with me tonight."

Winter thought that was the worst idea, and crafted a reply.  "Bite your 
tongue, girl.  No don't, because after I give you kisses, you can do 
me."  Winter bit her bottom lip, and offered her hand.  "It's lesson 
time."  As they made their way to the bedroom, Winter shared an 
observation, "Sweetie, everyone loves being on the receiving end of oral 
sex.  It feels so good, but giving is wonderful too.  It's about 
emotional connection; you can feel what the other person is 
experiencing.  Take that back to Brenda, and give her my love.  Make it 
as much as you can like she was the one who'd been with me, hearing me 
say those words, and feeling these kisses."

Winter went into male mode.  Ian had given her insights into the placing 
of hands, a higher level of sophistication, and she used her left hand 
to simulate those first naughty reachings, Delia's thighs on her 
shoulders.  The distinction between giving and getting blurred deliciously.
.....
When Delia awoke, it took her a moment to remember where she was. 
Winter was still sleeping, and the memory of their first interaction, 
how she had admired her and decided to make the overture, made her 
happy.  She'd put her hand into the tiger's mouth, and hadn't been 
bitten.   Brenda had thought she was out of her mind.  No one would walk 
up to Winter, especially when she was with Maryl, and challenge her, and 
they were two years younger; Winter could tear a person a new one with 
just a look, and her words were fierce.  The incident in the hall where 
she'd kissed Maryl was legendary, and they'd never been seen kissing 
anywhere again.

When she'd walked up to them and told Winter that she wanted to be her 
friend, Winter had burst into laughter, but Delia hadn't sensed any 
contempt, and stood her ground.  Finally, Winter's laughter subsided, 
and looking puzzled, she asked, "Why?"  Delia replayed her memories in 
her head.

"Because you seem nice."  Now Winter and Maryl were both laughing, and 
as Winter recovered, she saw Brenda, who was looking at the ground, beet 
red with embarrassment.

"You two are freshmen, right?"

Delia nodded affirmatively.

"And you two," Winter's fingers were in the victory position, and she 
used them to gesture, her index finger pointed to Delia, and her middle 
to her friend,  "you want to be friends with we two," making the same 
gesture to indicate herself and Maryl, "because you think we're nice?"

Delia said, matter-of-factly, "Yes."

Winter laughed again, then smiled and said, "You know what?  We are 
nice, and you have a Hell of a lotta guts.  You're not doing this on a 
dare either."

"Of course not.  I'm not insane."

"Go console your friend.  We'll be over in a minute."

Winter and Maryl had taken a moment, then walked over and stood next to 
her and Brenda, and asked seriously, "Are you two lesbian?"

Delia had looked her straight in the face, and giving her what was 
almost a dirty look, asked, "Does it matter?"

Winter had smiled at Maryl, then Delia, and bit her lip before she said, 
"Right answer."

Delia examined Winter's face as she slept.  Two years older, and she was 
even more beautiful.  The gentle kiss on her forehead wasn't intended to 
wake her, but it did.  Winter stretched, then smiled as she said, "Good 
morning."

Delia returned the good morning, then said, "I was watching you sleep, 
and I was thinking again about where I'd be right now if it wasn't for 
you."  With little pause, Winter answered, "Right now?  Probably West 
County," and added, "and I would be too."  Winter had woken up happy. 
Sex with Ian was good, often great--if sometimes excessive--but Delia's 
body had been refreshing, and she'd felt in control.  "Ian will be pleased."

"With what?" asked Delia.

"The condition of the pillows, of course."

They both laughed, and Winter said they should get dressed, because even 
through the closed door, she could smell bacon.  "Bacon."

Once Winter called attention to it, Delia noticed as well.  "He's making 
us breakfast?"

"Certainly.  He's a gentleman, and you're a guest in his home.  Like I 
told you, he's cool, and nice, and he's filthy rich.  If you wanted 
caviar, he'd make every effort to find it."

"Who eats caviar for breakfast?"

"Well, lox, then."

"What's lox?"

"Just put your shirt on.  I need coffee," said Winter, as she opened the 
door.

"I have to use the bathroom.

"You know where it is, and you know where the dining room is.  Like I 
said, I need coffee."  Winter left hurriedly, and gave Ian, who was on 
the couch, engrossed in the newspaper, only a perfunctory, "Hi," on the 
way to the kitchen.

He followed her, and asked, "Did you have a pleasurable night?"

Winter could tell that Delia wasn't near, because she'd have heard the 
creaking of the floor boards.  "Very pleasurable," and she kissed him. 
"Thank you."

"I like seeing you happy."  He held her close, and the embrace was only 
cut short by the sound of Delia's footfalls on the hardwood floor.  They 
entered the dining room and Ian greeted Delia by asking if she'd like a 
coffee.

She said, "Yes, please."

Winter asked, "Cafe au lait?"

"Um, sure."

Ian went to prepare her coffee, and Winter seated her.   When he was out 
of earshot, Delia remarked in an almost whisper, "Some gig."

"You always knew I was destined for greatness," then shot out her hand 
and tickled Delia's ribs just enough to elicit a squirm and a giggle.

Ian, hearing the playfulness, called from the kitchen, "How do you want 
your eggs?"  Getting no response, he brought his guest her coffee, and 
re-asked."

"Scrambled is fine."

While Ian finished preparing breakfast, Winter asked about how Brenda 
was doing.

"Except for missing me, fine.  She's pretty, and from St. Louis, so 
she's automatically popular, and next year, she's planning on moving 
back.  We'll be OK."

"Moving back where?"

"My parents' house.  Can you imagine my dad saying no?"

"What about Brenda's folks?"

"They're past the, 'She might grow out of it' stage, but they aren't 
ready to let go, or at least she thinks they're not.  I'm sure if we 
spelled it out to them, they'd be glad for us, but she wants to wait, 
and it's less than a year.  I'll wait, but I hope to fuck she doesn't 
meet someone else."

Ian brought the eggs, and bacon, along with buttered cracked wheatberry 
toast to the table, and apologized for the lean offerings with, "I 
hadn't planned for guests."

During the meal, Ian didn't ask questions, having been admonished not to 
do so.  Delia ate heartily, and thanked him for what he'd provided.  Ian 
just shrugged, and Winter said, "We had some time for girl talk."

Those words hurt Ian.  Winter should have known better than to utter 
them, and he spoke sternly,   "There shouldn't be girl talk or boy talk. 
  I'm not saying that sharing private thought between friends is in any 
way wrong, but to suggest that anyone be excluded because of their 
plumbing offends me, and I'm sorry Delia.  Winter understands my 
feelings on this, and it's not about me.  I'm not feeling left out 
because of me, but I know in my heart, and in my mind, that 
in-group/out-group secrecy results in hostility, and historically, women 
end up losing."

Before Winter could come up with a reply, Delia said, "You sound like a 
radical lesbian."

"But obviously I'm not.  I'm fine with my body, and there's no 
self-loathing.  People just need to get their shit together."

"Ian has had a chip on his shoulder since sixth grade, when they 
separated the boys and the girls for sex-ed.  He wanted to go with the 
girls."

"Miss Williamson, your girlfriend will have to wait for the book, just 
like everyone else."

"Sir," said Delia, "We're not girlfriends, just friends."

"Dee, Ian was using the word in the old-fashioned sense.  He's older 
than he looks, and he's a Marxian, you know."  She wanted to turn the 
subject away from sexuality.

Delia laughed nervously, "You're a Communist?"

"He's a conflict theorist."

"Well phrased, Winter.  Succinct.  Delia, I feel that it's time for a 
female revolution.   I may have been on the receiving end of male 
privilege in some small sense, but I've always loved women, and 
preferred them to males.  I would have made a very good, as you say, 
'radical lesbian,' because I'm certainly a radical feminist, and 
understand the need to bring an end to patriarchy, but I'm at home in 
this male body, and have no patience for bigotry.  In fact, the few 
lesbian women I know,” his eyes flitting to Winter, “are less 
distrustful of me than most straight women.  That made Winter a good 
choice for helping me with my memoir.  I can tell her my most private 
thoughts without her thinking that I have nefarious motives for doing 
so, and she goads me in a way that I can't imagine a fellow male would 
be capable of."

"You're an odd man, Ian," said Delia, narrowing her eyes, but with 
curiosity rather than suspicion, "and that's not an insult."

"No offense taken."

Winter started laughing, and when Delia said, "What?"  Winter just waved 
her off.  It had occurred to her that Delia could have used queer 
instead of odd, and with the whole girlfriend thing, Winter couldn't resist.

"He's queer as folk."  Winter said it while still laughing, and Delia 
heard it as "queer as fuck."

Ian busted up, and high-fived Winter hard enough that she said, "Ow," 
though she was still laughing.

"Was that an inside joke?" Delia asked.

Ian started laughing harder, but managed to say to Winter, "The things 
that come out of your mouth."

If they'd been alone, Winter would have hugged him.  Instead she 
endeavored to explain her "queer as folk" joke, knowing that a dry 
explanation of it wouldn't be funny, but Delia was curious, and had 
never been shy about her fascination with Winter's mind--her thought 
processes--and she'd always been just enough younger that it wasn't 
awkward, the mentoring.  Winter took the time to explain every nuance of 
her quip, and Delia listened, genuinely interested.

When the lesson concluded, Delia asked, "And he got that?"

Ian answered, "I did."  What wasn't shared was the history behind Ian's 
retort about Winter's mouth.

Delia's time to leave had come.  Winter was driving her home, and she 
thanked Ian for his hospitality.  On the way out the door, Delia said, 
looking backward, "You know, if she ever quits, or dies or something," 
Winter was pushing her out the door as she yelled over her shoulder, 
"I'm a good writer too."

Winter opted to drive her friend home in her own car, and once inside, 
unlocked the passenger side door.  When Delia clicked her seat belt, 
Winter said, "You see what I meant.  He's cool, but as you said, I've 
got a good gig, and I'm not on death's door."


"It was funny, right?"
"Hilarious.  I'm so glad Maryl brought you, and not just for last night. 
  You're a dear friend, and you contributed so much to the party, just 
by being you."

"I wouldn't be me if it weren't for you."

"And I can say the same.  You've made me more brave."

"With Ian?"

"In general, and you stay that way."  Winter referenced the speedometer, 
and slowed the car.  "Brenda needs you.  You're a lifeline.  I know you 
say she's popular, but if those kids ever figure it out, you know, that 
she's--Winter thought about saying queer--it's not going to stay that 
way.  And don't worry about her meeting someone else, at least another 
girl, and in the unlikely event that it's a guy, well, you know, you 
just have to accept that, but that's not going to happen either."

"I guess it's just that I'll be missing her over break.  Her family is 
going to Pennsylvania until after New Year's, and then school starts back."

"You're not out, are you?  I mean at school."

"We never were, Winter."

"Sure, but that was different, and it seemed right at the time.  We had 
each other.  Why don't you hang with the gay kids?  They're not going to 
hold it against you.  Jeez.  That was my thing, and we were never 
outright rude to them, just distant, our own little clique.  This should 
have occurred to you by now.  You can be the new girl too."

"With a mysterious past."

"Think about this," said Winter.  "When Brenda moves back, there won't 
be any doubts.  You'll be heroes, heroes for love; Juliet and Juliet who 
didn't have a tragic end.  You two never were a younger version of Maryl 
and me.  Hey, before I forget, does Dan still sell weed?"

"You get high now?"

"No, it's for my parents.  Now that I have a job, I'd like to buy them 
some for Christmas."

“I'll give him your number.  He's got some serious shit.”

No more words were spoken until they pulled into Delia's driveway.  "You 
take care," said Winter, and they clasped hands, all four hands in a 
gesture of bondedness.

As Delia opened the car door, and when her foot hit the pavement of 
home, she felt like balling her hand in a fist of solidarity, but 
instead, leaning back into the car, used it to softly stroke Winter's 
face.  Delia remembered that Winter had told her that she felt her face 
to be the most personal part of her body.  "Bye."

Winter replied, "Bye you," her lips twisted with nostalgia that was 
real, but she understood that she'd moved on.  Delia, and indeed Maryl, 
were part of her past.  There was another girl who had replaced them, 
one she felt needed her, and she felt love sick, anticipating the 
possibility of heartbreak.  It wasn't a sure thing that she'd give her 
the chance.  Carnality was easy.  One kiss and she was certain she'd 
have an inroad; Winter's kisses were perfect, irresistible.  Even the 
half-assed ones she gave to Ian, and every other object of her desires, 
were prized, but now she craved something more.

On the drive back, she indulged herself by kissing her own hand, in 
practicing mode, taking care that the other drivers didn't see.  This 
was beyond what she felt comfortable sharing with anyone, even Ian, whom 
she knew would understand.  Practice kissing was so immature, and it 
made her feel weak, but she was feeling just that, weak, vulnerable.

Sex would distract her, and she presumed she'd be getting that, and she 
could share her feelings with Ian, leaving out the part about physical 
auto-romanticism.  She'd crossed a line with herself, and needed time to 
digest before disclosing.  She had briefly considered driving home, but 
decided against that.  Ian was the safer choice.

It came to pass that there was none of the diversion of Ian's desires. 
He seemed to sense her mood, and said he wanted to cuddle her.  After a 
few moments she said, "I see why Delia likes you."

"She likes me?  Why?"

"Because you're a good person.  You were completely not bullshit with 
her, and you seemed like a kindred spirit."

"How so?"

"Because you're not afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Yourself."

Ian didn't want to dispute Winter's characterization.  He wished that 
her words were true.  "Can we just go back to sleep?"

"You were awake most of the night too, I gather."

"Yeah."

Winter took his hand, and walked him to his bedroom.  They each removed 
their clothes, and it occurred to Winter that she could double dip, 
losing herself in the perfecting of her kisses, while also performing 
her duties for Ian, and she tried to find a reason not to explain the 
whole business, and failing, told Ian that his back was going to be used 
for practice kissing, and that if he got too turned on, he should feel 
free to have his way with her.

Ian kissed her briefly, and said, "I won't interrupt your studies." 
Then, after however many moments asked,  "Winter?"

"Yeah?"

"This is the kind of novelty that only you, only you," and he craned his 
neck to give her another small kiss.

"I'm glad to hear that.  I was just trying to be efficient."

Ian lie fetal on his side, and Winter conformed her body to his, and 
used his skin the same way she'd used her own, as a canvas, and she 
imagined bringing another dimension to the plane, creating the 
perception of depth, without even the slightest penetration, and the 
limitations seemed ideal.  She didn't want to dig into this girl's 
mouth, but to kiss her with every bit of love she had, the nerve endings 
on their lips connecting, electricity, connection, and she understood 
the line from the song that Ian had inflicted on her at the club.  He'd 
played it for her a few times since then, and she understood the lyrics.

*Touch me electric, and I melt*.

It was good that Ian had showered while she was away, because there was 
no scent of male to interfere with her suspension of disbelief, nothing 
but the gender neutral fragrance of cinnamon buns.  Winter painted with 
her mouth, layers of oil laid down in the most subtle brush strokes, 
bringing lips into relief, re-creating in her mind the one physical 
feature that had most stricken her, a mouth, contorted and pleading.

She took Ian at his word, and didn't reach around to check on his 
condition, but held him close in her love sickness, knowing that he'd 
felt these same pains and longings.  Maybe, like he, she'd build up 
immunities, but she sensed that this was a virus that could never be 
excised.   It would always be there, lurking, waiting for its moment. 
She almost wished to be slapped across her face, but the man next to her 
could never do that, and he was the last person she'd choose anyway. 
That pondering gave her release. Eric was a newlywed, and a murder 
charge would play Hell with his conjugal bliss.

Ian really had intended to fall asleep, but Winter kept on-and-off 
kissing his back, and he rolled over and asked, "Can we go to your 
room?"  She looked at him and smiled.  As they walked down the hall, Ian 
said, "You know why I couldn't sleep last night."

"Well, duh.  What I want to know is, how many times?"

Ian laughed, "Probably seven, maybe eight.  Hey, I am what I am."

Remembering the earlier conversation, Winter wondered if he knew about 
the song.  She asked, and he had.  "Ian you're fun, and you're about to 
get funner.  I mean for me, but especially for you.  You, Ian.  You 
don't get used up, do you?"

"My interest?  No.  There's some latency, and I'm not unidimensional, 
but you are awfully yummy."  They'd gone down the hall hand-in-hand, and 
bumped shoulders against walls, drunk with lack of sleep.  Entering 
Winter's bedroom, Ian sensed unfamiliar pheromones, the traces he'd 
hoped to find.  Julia had changed Ian's sheets the previous day, and he 
assumed Winter's as well, a fresh palate, and Ian unembarassedly asked 
which side Delia had slept on.

"That one, but I'm going to do you one better.  I'm going to tell you 
everything we did, and show you approximately where we were positioned 
while we were doing it."

"Not to discourage you, but do you think that's fair?"

"There's no way she'll ever know, and Delia owes me a lot of favors. 
I'd say she even owes you.  You had to forego your nite-nite.  Just 
enjoy.  I'm good at this."

She was.


-- 
--Bryan https://www.instagram.com/bryangsimmons/

For your safety and protection, this sig. has been thoroughly
tested on laboratory animals.

"Most of the food described here is nauseating.
We're just too courteous to say so."
-- Cindy Hamilton