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anything you like. And no burnouts or hangovers or heart attacks." She toked
again. "No regrets."
"Why do you need the drugs? Can't you just wish for the effect?"
"Tradition," she said, and when she rested one hand on his thigh, he did not
protest. Nor did he protest when Lisa's nowempty cup slid away from the bed
and she tugged one of his hands toward her breast. She did not seem to care
that Anton and Lingko had still not left the room.
Obediently, accepting her attitude that the servants were no more mindful of
what they did than furniture, he circled her erect nipple with a fingertip.
"Do you remember?" she said. "How we met? You and Rose were so thick, and then
you couldn't take your eyes off me." She covered his hand with her own and
pressed it tightly against her flesh. She giggled. "Just like now. Did the two
of you ever get it on?"
"No." He exhaled noisily. The drug had permeated his system, stretching his
time sense, sharpening his senses, focusing his concentration on the scent of
her body, the warmth and softness of her skin, the heavy swell of his own
eagerness. "You came along just a little bit too soon." At the time, at their
level of society, it had not been at all unusual for kids their age to go to
bed together. Parents might not approve, but they knew that it was normal,
that there was no stopping it, that indeed it was inevitable. His father had
taught him how to use a condom the year before. Yet kids of his time and class
had rarely leaped into bed the very first chance they got. He and Rose had
been tentative, aware of the commitments that were involved, perhaps a little
scared. He supposed
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that must always have been the pattern, that the generations renowned for
instant sex, like that of the 1960s, were rare, that affection, even love, was
far more the norm. Certainly that had been what was building between him and
Rose. It was not at all the sparky thing that had erupted so quickly between
him and Lisa, that blazed anew so quickly now, that in fact he suspected she
had spent all her life learning how to ignite at will. Yet that suspicion was
no protection. He could feel his vulnerability in the way he licked his lips
and his breath grew short and his heart accelerated. Not to mention ... She
giggled. "Soon,"
she said. One hand fell against his groin as if by accident, but it was no
accident at all when she squeezed him. "Dear man, don't get impatient."
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He licked his lips as her panties melted away. "It's been a long, long time."
"And you're just as eager as you were then."
"You're an exciting woman."
Her cheeks glowed at the words. "But you're no virgin. How many wives?"
He didn't say. "You were the first."
"Almost the first." Neither said that the reason they had never erased that
"almost" was quite simply that she had spurned him. As soon as he and Rose had
been beyond all reconciliation, she had left. "You're no virgin either."
"But I could be one, just for you. Do you want to hurt me?
Make me bleed?" When he said nothing, she handed him the remnants of the
cojuana joint and squirmed away from his hand. He sucked in the last tendrils
of smoke. She faced him now, spread her legs, and used her fingers to draw the
lips of her vulva apart. "Watch."
He obeyed, and a ring of hymeneal flesh formed, extended, nearly blocked the
deeper opening. "Perfect control," Lisa said. "And that's only the beginning
of it." She winked. "Reality is what you make it." # Later, she lay curled
against his side, half asleep, in her throat a murmur that was almost a purr.
One breast was soft against his ribs, one leg lay over his still sticky groin.
Michael looked toward the door. Anton and Ling-ko were still there, standing
stiffly erect, their eyes dark and hot. Had he really thought they did not
care what he and Lisa did?
He looked away, unable to bear what he thought he could see of despair and
hatred and jealousy, what he now imagined he himself must feel if he were in
their situation. For the merest instant, he remembered the pity he had
glimpsed before, but then Lisa stirred and the memory vanished.
Really, he told himself, it had been all his fault, hadn't it? He hadn't told
Rose it was over when he started dating Lisa. He had thought of it, but--he
had to face the past--he hadn't had the nerve. He had imagined that she would
be hurt, outraged. Perhaps she would scream. Or she and
Lisa would fight. So he had said nothing. And then she had found them.
And she had been hurt and outraged anyway. He'd had it coming, hadn't he?
Everything that happened?
Losing Rose? Even losing his chance with Lisa? But now, after so long, so many
years, he had that back again. He sighed, and Lisa murmured.
"Remembering," he said. "What we missed when we were kids."
She giggled throatily. "It's a miracle," he said. "That we ever met again.
That we can be young again. A second chance."
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