Valentine's Tears

After she had watched his departing back disappear across the road to his hotel, Miranda rose from her bench and walked across the Common in a daze, mulling over what had just happened.

A highly successful, handsome businessman had seen beyond the scarecrow clothes and tear-stained, Goth-like face and -- and seen a human being. She cried aloud again; a torment of want, expectation and paranoiac fear coursing within her.

Her mind in a total whirl, she found her car, carelessly stuffed the parking ticket in her puffer-coat pocket and drove home. Nothing was going to rain -- or more likely, snow -- on her parade today, she told herself.

She didn't know wrong she could be.

* * * *

By the time the entry phone buzzed that evening, Miranda had run the full gamut of emotions, from A to Z and back, a thousand times over.

The disembodied voice was a bit hesitant. "Hi, it's Tom. Err, if you've been having second thoughts about tonight, just say. I'll understand and won't be offended if you don't want to go through with all this."

The guy being so darned understanding made Miranda cross with herself for being such a klutz.

"Huh. If you think you're getting out of trying my cooking that easily, you've got another think coming," she said, pressing the open door button. "Just get your butt up here, pronto."

The grin was still on Tom's face as he rang the bell of Miranda's apartment but it disappeared instantly as the door opened.

Miranda suddenly realized what the expression 'a deer caught in headlights' really meant as she smiled at the wide-eyed handsome man standing in front of her with his lower jaw trying to touch the ground.

She knew she had scrubbed herself up well. Over an hour in the bathroom with potions and lotions and serious body grooming had had the effect and she stood in front of her guest in a figure-hugging sleeveless black dress with silver piping across the very low neckline.

After seeing him on the common, she had wanted to make an effort to look more than a bookish English Literature college lecturer or a black stained Goth on Boston Common.

She smiled as Tom dragged his eyes away from the expansive cleavage displayed in front of him and thrust his arm out.

"These are, err, these are for you." As he uttered the words, he realized what a fool he was making of himself. If you turn up at a single woman's apartment for a quiet dinner, who else is the bunch of flowers for; her cat?

"Why, Tom, what a lovely gesture, you didn't have to," said Miranda taking the bouquet. "Yellow roses, too; that means friendship."

"Yeah, I didn't think red was appropriate, even if it is Valentine's, just in case you thought I'd got the wrong idea about tonight."

The tension was broken and, as Tom clumsily stuck out his arm to shake hands. Miranda ignored it, leaned into him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Thank you so much, lovely man."

As she spoke the words, Tom felt her warm breath tickle his ear. He told himself to watch his step as Miranda stood aside and ushered him into the apartment. The paper sack clinked as he put it down on the kitchen table.

"I got some wine, red and white as I didn't know what you were making. The white's been in the trunk of the cab a while so it's pretty cold already. That is, I mean, we don't need to drink if you're worried..."

Tom finished lamely thinking that he was busy digging another pit for himself. Why was he reverting back to self-conscious adolescence with this woman? She'd asked him round for a meal, simple as that. Two lonely people together so he shouldn't be getting the wrong ideas. Hadn't she told him that clearly?

Why was she looking at him with that big-sister-like expression that said 'boys will be boys'? In the park at lunchtime, she had been the wounded bird, the poor creature in need of a helping hand. What had changed so dramatically?

Now the roles seemed to have reversed completely. Miranda was suavely and elegantly in control, the perfect hostess, whilst he was fumbling, tripping over his words and feeling embarrassed. What was happening to him?

"Here, Tom, take this." Miranda had busied herself in the fridge and thrust a large glass of chilled Chablis in his hand.

"Go and inspect my humble abode, and above all, calm down and stop cluttering up my kitchen. I've got a last few bits of magic to throw in my cauldron then I'm all yours. Err, no!"

Tom laughed, suddenly relieved.

"I know, I know, Miranda. Don't read anything into what you just said."

The scarlet blush that suffused the pretty woman's face and neck settled Tom. They were both struggling being in the presence of the other on a one-to-one basis. He suddenly understood that it wasn't just him. She was as out of practice as he was. They were both acting like retarded high school students. It was ridiculous, sure, but somehow it had got his hormones bubbling.

He had time for a close inspection of the beautiful apartment before she called him to the table. It had put him in a reflective frame of mind. The place oozed style but also had the unmistakable imprimatur of the owner.

The colors, the fabrics, the elegant throws over the lounge sofas, all spoke volumes for the delicate sophistication of his hostess. He loved it all but just wished he had time to do the same in his impossibly cluttered and busy lifestyle. Hell, he wished he stayed in one place long enough to have his own apartment.

"Oh, Tom, I shouldn't have let you loose before I had time to tidy the place up."

Tom looked amazed and Miranda smiled to herself. The sweaty few hours spent frantically cleaning her normally untidy living-space had clearly made the right impression. Even the books that usually cluttered every available surface were neatly regimented like soldiers in the bookcases.

"I hope you didn't find an unwashed coffee cup or an unmade bed."

"Look, Miranda, I was feeling sorry for myself when I bumped into you on the Common. I was out of order so there's no need to be sarcastic."

"I'm sorry Tom. I know you mean well but I guess I'm also out of practice with relationships. I haven't cooked for a man for years and I guess I'm a tad edgy." She saw Tom smile before he gave her a brotherly hug and she felt the tension evaporating.

They sat down at the table and, like the highest rated magician, Miranda weaved her spell effortlessly. Salmon and asparagus mousse segued seamlessly into bœuf en croûte with dauphinoise potatoes. Miranda smiled as she watched Tom devour the caramelized roasted red onions.

She was just glad her guest had not seen the frantic battle in the kitchen as she panicked frantically trying to get the meal together.

"Miranda, this is unbelievable. Where did you learn to cook like this? I've learnt a bit these last few years, in hotels and suchlike, but I'm more of a subscriber to my new boss's view of cooking."

"And what is that, Tom."

"Well, it's a bit rude, really. It was all about steak. Wipe its ass, grill it 'til it stops mooing -- then slap it on the plate."

Miranda giggled and poured more wine. "The Martha Stewart homemaking classes didn't ever cover that."

"Martha Stewart?" Tom looked puzzled.

"Oh, y'know, since my divorce I've had time to learn some skills. Not only can I make curtains now, I'm a dab hand at car mechanics and my French is getting pretty good."

She laughed as she saw his astonished expression. "Well, at least I can change a tire now."

The candles flickered, the two smiling faces glistened and Matilda was lost in soul-searching conversation that was, inch-by-inch, bringing her back from the living dead.

The conversation mellowed with the flow of the wine, and Miranda was entranced by the way the guttering candles were reflected in Tom's sapphire eyes. The music softened to some slow, smoky jazz. Miranda suddenly realized Tom was staring intently into her eyes and had his hand over hers on the table and she pulled away instinctively. Shaking his head as if coming back to reality, the man picked up his cell phone.

"It's getting late. I could sit and chew the fat with you all night -- it's been a fantastic evening -- but I've got an early start tomorrow. I'd better call a cab. Just as long as you promise I can repay the favor. Even if I can't cook for you, I can at least take you out for a meal at the weekend. I'd really like to have the privilege of your company again."

Miranda, a bit disconcerted, began clearing the table as Tom phoned. Wisps of ridiculous and conflicting thoughts were swirling round in her head like colored smoke. It was all too sudden, all too much of a shock. After years of pain and loneliness, she had been bowled over, swept off her feet -- practically seduced -- in the space of a few hours. It just wasn't right.

Slowly, the words Tom was speaking into his cell began permeating her brain.

"What do you mean; you aren't sending any cabs out tonight and just look outside.

"Look, I've got to get back to the Ritz-Carlton. It's impossible that I stay here."

"It's not good enough to say, 'Sorry, all our cabs are grounded for tonight'."

While Tom was spluttering protests down the phone, Miranda walked across to the window and pulled the curtains open. All she could see was a wall of white in the darkness and she waved to get Tom's attention. He finally noticed her and gasped.

When he put the phone down, Tom turned to Miranda with a sheepish expression.

"Seems a real deep depression has swept in and hit the anticyclone. The weather guys are saying it's going to last all night and dump a whole mountain of snow on the city. Logan's already closed and nothing's moving on the streets. An ice storm is coming in and a lot of power lines will be down tomorrow with real outage problems even in the city."

"The travel advisory says only try to travel if it's extremely urgent and you're well prepared. I don't think I fit either requirement.

"I, err, know you've only got one bedroom but, err, would it be all right if I crashed on your couch?"

Miranda's smile was almost ephemeral. St Val's Day, for better or worse, always seemed to have a surprise for her. What was it she had thought earlier about not wanting it to snow on her parade? Silly girl!

As the slow, steamy jazz sax snaked out of the speakers, she knew she had to grab fickle fate by the tail.

"Tom, since it seems you're not going anyplace for quite a while, can I freshen your drink and would you care to dance with a girl?"

The drinks were forgotten as Tom took hold of the pretty woman's trim waist and she slid her arms round his neck. Gently swaying to the music, their bodies came closer and closer as the smoky jazz worked its hypnotizing, romantic effect. Tom let his hands slide down the upper swells of Miranda's pert bottom as he pulled her closer to him and inhaled her magical cologne.

Miranda could have cried with happiness; in fact, she felt her eyes moisten. After all the tears and all the years, by a bizarre set of coincidences, she was held fast in the strong arms of an attractive man she instinctively trusted, for some unknown reason, dancing -- or was it smooching -- through a major New England snowstorm.

She knew he might be gone tomorrow; sent off like a migrating bird to wherever in the world his bosses wanted to send him but she was determined.

There was only one thing that could make it better.

As her slightly flared hips swayed with the man hugging her, she pulled his face down towards her until his mouth was mashed against hers. She kissed and licked; pushed her tongue forward to prise his willing lips apart. She let her tongue dart deep in his mouth until the two of them were engaged in a tongue tango that mixed mouths and saliva in the most sex-laden kiss Miranda had ever experienced.

He nibbled her lips and let his tongue explore her mouth with a passion she had never known before.

They finally broke for air and Miranda felt herself being squeezed tighter against Tom's body until her breasts were crushed against his strong chest. An unmistakable hardness pressed into her lower belly and a shiver of pleasure ran through Miranda at the confirmation that she could still raise desire in a man.

Good sense and thoughts about the past disappeared as she dissolved into the warm, male, tight body holding her intimately.

"Tom, I've only got one bed, but it is a King and I'm sure it's much more comfortable than the couch. Would you like to share? I know you've got no PJ's but I'm broadminded"

"I've got my boxers M, and I'm pretty well house trained. If I promise not to ravage you, I would love to share your king bed."

"Miranda, I'm a bit confused. After what you told me on the Common, I understood you had been hurt badly and just wanted a friendly relationship. Now I don't understand anymore."

"Oh, Tom, you silly man. I was sitting on the Common this morning telling myself I had to get my act together. Now you've arrived like a Brooks Brothers Adonis on Valentine's night and I've gone all gooey and sentimental.

"Just be gentle with me. I'm seriously out of practice."

Before she disappeared into her bedroom, Miranda unzipped her little black dress and let it pool on the floor as she went. She was very scared she might have frightened her Sir Galahad off, but a quick peek in the mirror convinced her that 'deer in headlights' sort of covered that reaction.

She wasn't sure whether taking more clothes off would frighten her new man away. As she turned round in just her underwear, she giggled to see Tom peeping round the door, wide-eyed and mouth gaping open.

He recovered the power of speech. "Miranda, we agreed tonight was just buddies but you seem to be taking everything a lot further.

"I don't want to upset you, so please tell me where we stand"

"Oh, Tom, I'm like a kid with Christmas. I sat on the Common hating Valentine's Day and wishing the world would go away and forget me.

"Then you appeared from nowhere like a romantic hero sent by Eros and chased the misery away."

"But. . . but you told me, 'just friends'."

"That was before you put your hand on mine; before I knew you were staying the night; before I kissed you; before I realized what I really meant by offering to share my bed with you. Yes, I guess I've been trying to seduce you.

"Tom, please, would you take me to bed, make slow and passionate love to me and chase the last of my dark shadows away.

"I always sleep in the nude so I hope you're not going to be prudish about your boxers."

Miranda moved across the bedroom, flicked her bra straps down and placed Tom's hands on her breasts. She smiled as she watched his mouth open and close like a fish. It was clear she had finally made the transition back to human.

She just desperately hoped Tom would now complete her passage to being a sensual woman again.

There was a moment frozen in time. Miranda just stood still whilst Tom's hands seemed glued to her breasts. This was hardly seduction, she thought. Surely he wasn't going to abandon her now and hide on the couch?

Then, like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, Tom seemed to come awake. Miranda shivered as she felt his teeth nibbling her nipples. When he lightly pinched them, she felt a tingle right down to her core.

"Tom, please can we shed the threads and just get horizontal?"

Miranda didn't know where her unaccustomed feelings were coming from but was excited as Tom unclipped her bra. She lost her panties as he stripped.

In bed he was a great lover, thought Miranda. The attention to her pleasure was so much more than her girlfriends complained about their partners.

The gentle stroking, the wicked use of his tongue and, finally, his skill in making the two of them climax together seemed incredible.

****

As she woke up, Miranda stretched a sleepy arm out until she touched warm flesh and was suddenly wide awake. Then the events of the night before came flooding back to her and she sighed contentedly.

She offered silent thanks to Cupid. Probably, this lovely man beside her would disappear into the Boston snow and ice and she would never see him again but, even so, their time together had been so special, so wonderful.

This gorgeous, sexy man had given her the Valentine's gift she had so desperately craved; the ability to close a sadness in her life and finally move on. She leant across and started planting little kisses down his bare chest.

"That's another drawback with hotels."

"Wha'd'ya mean?" said Miranda, startled he was awake.

"All you ever get on your pillow is a little chocolate, never a naked, satiated woman."

"Well," said Miranda, "you haven't even got that here. I may be naked, but I'm certainly not satiated, so I hope you're planning to put that right before you go."

Before Tom could reply, Miranda had taken his soft penis in her hand and started stroking it. She moved the covers back and, sliding around, brought her mouth to his stiffening shaft.

As her tongue licked slowly across the underside of his shaft, Miranda felt a hand between her legs, fingers wickedly tracing her slick labia.

When the fingers grew bolder and started pushing inside her opening, she moved down, taking his now rigid cock deep in her mouth until her nose was pressed in his pubic hair.

She slid up and down the shaft reveling in the groans of pleasure she heard when his cock slid against the back of her throat. The fingers exploring her pussy were sending shockwaves through her lower belly that rippled as far as her tingling, hard nipples. It was so good, but mutual masturbation was not what she wanted now.

The groans stopped as she lifted her head off his cock and threw a leg across his thighs, straddling him. The look of surprise on his face made her smile as she guided his stiff cock deep into her body.

"Never heard of the New England cowgirls, eh? Well, just lie back and enjoy the ride."

Where this raunchy exhibitionism came from was a mystery to Miranda. She just knew that the arrival of Tom had electrified all her emotions. She knew he was going to vanish but wanted to really enjoy a moment out of reality.

As she climaxed, she felt his soft, hot semen explode inside her.

"Well Miranda, you've convinced me. Room service here is streets better than what's offered at the Ritz-Carlton. Does it include breakfast?"

"I'll go and make some coffee but you'll have to wait 'til I'm back to find out what's on the breakfast menu."

She slipped out from under the comforter, glad Tom couldn't see the idiotic smile of happiness on her face.

Miranda had completely forgotten how much she enjoyed walking naked across the bedroom, knowing that a pair of admiring male eyes was glued to her swaying, bare bottom.

It had been so long. She paused at the door; feeling wicked, and flipped her ass cheeks. The hiss of indrawn breath made her smile.

As she padded naked around the kitchen preparing the coffee, she wondered what had come over her. Only yesterday she had been in the depths of despair, actually considering jumping off the faculty building roof. Now, she felt completely transformed into a sexual person with a new life to lead.

When she got back to the bedroom and put the coffee mugs on the nightstands, she was worried by the pensive look on Tom's face. Had she taken him beyond his comfort zone? She tried to lighten the mood.

"It's still snowing heavily and, with the ice, nothing is going to move for a while yet. Perhaps you could have another try at satiating me."

"Miranda," he completely ignored what she had said. "I don't quite know how to put this."

Miranda's heart sank. He was going to say sleeping together had been a mistake; they had let friendliness go too far into intimacy. When he could finally escape, he wouldn't be coming back.

"What's the matter, Tom?"