I stepped away from the door and went to the front wall. I leaned my forehead against the screen, thought about having waffle imprints on my forehead, and moved over to lean my head against the wooden brace instead. Then I thumped it. *What am I doing, worrying about waffle marks?* I heard the door behind me open. *Oh yeah--him.*

Lawrence crossed over to stand beside me. I didn't look directly at him, just cutting my eyes sideways. Lawrence had his hands clasped behind his back and was staring out at the waves, smiling slightly. I looked back out and said, "Tell me someone threw a leash on Charlie, so I don't have to barricade the door."

"He was considering following me out. I asked him if he was really that anxious to experience an attempt at manual castration. He saw the light." We were quiet for a moment. "He asked me to bring his camera, but I declined."

"You're a gentleman, Lawrence." I turned my back to the wall, leaning against it.

Lawrence turned, too, setting his shoulder against the same wall, folding his arms over his chest, and looked down at me. He was one of the few people I'd ever met who could almost make me feel dainty. He was wearing a dark T-shirt, and his eyes had decided to be blue. He was smiling slightly, and he said, "Did I assume too much, coming out here?"

"I can't say that. After all, I did everything but grab you by the belt, didn't I?"

"Yes, but you were performing most of the time. If we took everything a performer did at face value, all of Madonna and J Lo's concerts would end in orgies, wouldn't they? And I'm not wearing a belt." He hooked a finger in his waistband and tugged, stretching the elastic. "Sweat shorts."

I sighed. "I'll have to check statutes, but I'm pretty sure it's against the laws of the universe for anyone to look that good in loose stretch shorts."

"Sweet talker."

I looked up at him. He was smiling, but there was a question in his eyes. I was trying to decide whether I should kiss him, or whether I should do the close the eyes and lean-tilt the head-c'mon and kiss me bit. That's when I heard the suspicious noise. I looked over quickly; in time to see a head framed by the glass set in the door drop quickly out of sight. "We have an audience."

"Jesus!" Lawrence started for the door. The kitchen was dark, so I couldn't exactly see what was going on inside, but from the thunder of footsteps, banging, and startled cursing, there was way more than one of them. Lawrence opened the door and hollered, "I swear, it's like junior high summer camp! No peeping, you pervs! Male, female, co-worker, or boss--I'll do some fancy butt kicking on anyone I catch sneaking around here before daylight." He shut the door, muttering, "Damn, I wish I could lock this sucker from this side." He dug in his duffle bag, pulling out a towel. He opened the door again, flipped the end of the towel over the top, and shut the door again. The towel dangled, creating a makeshift, but effective, curtain. "There." He looked back at me, raising his eyebrows.

I sighed. "Martha Stewart wouldn't approve, but since when have I cared what she thinks?" I went and sat on my cot.

He came over and stood before me, looking down. He said quietly, "Do you need me to go sleep inside tonight?"

I reached up and took hold of his hand, pulling him down to sit beside me. "Lawrence, I'm forty years old..."

"We've been over this before."

"Shut up, kiddo, and let me talk. I'm forty. You're what--twenty-one?"

"Almost twenty-two."

"That's a significant gap."

"I don't care..."

I laid a fingertip against his lips, and he hushed. "No, you really don't care. You really want to be with me, I can tell. Charlie wants to be with me, too."

Lawrence's expression tightened. "It's not the same thing. He only wants to sleep with you because he found out you're a virgin."

"You don't?"

"We went over this before, too. That's part of it; I'd be lying if I said it wasn't. But I've been interested in you for a long time. I've been trying to figure out how to approach you. If you'll recall, I've asked you out to lunch a couple of times."

"Lawrence, I just went along with you and a few others of the staff."

"Wrong. If you'll think back you'll remember that I was asking YOU, and they came along and invited themselves, just assuming it was a group thing. I'd have said something, but you just assumed I was asking everyone, and... Hell, I'll admit it. I was too nervous to say I just wanted to be alone with you, because what if YOU weren't interested? It's a major embarrassment to be shot down in front of your co-workers."

"Look, Laurie..."

"You know, I like it when you call me that. Anyone else, I'd feel insulted and girlie. From you--it's nice."

"Believe me, I do not associate the concept of 'girlie' with you. Lawrence this is a week, then we're going back to working together."

He regarded me quietly. "Are you saying you only want a brief fling?"

I stared at him. I had been going to discuss how I'd hate to see him avoiding me, because he was afraid I'd push for more intimacy. Then I thought, *I have analyzed and analyzed everything, all my life. That's why I'm sitting here a forty-year-old virgin. Maybe it's time for a little impulsiveness.*

I hooked an arm around his neck, pulled down and raised up at the same time, and kissed him. I managed not to bump noses. Aside from that, I'm not sure how good it was from his perspective. I kind of enjoyed it--even if his mouth did stay closed. I pulled back. "Do you just not know how to kiss, or do you not like me?"

"I like you, all right." He reached up, cupping my cheek, and kissed me back. I parted my lips invitingly, and I got tongue this time. N-i-c-e. He pulled back a little. I waited for some sort of sweet nothing, perhaps a mildly obscene statement of what he wanted to do to me. What I got was, "You taste like a Vodka Collins."

I pulled back a little. I know there was a touch of coolness in my voice as I said, "Shall I get my toothbrush and hit the bathroom?"

"Hey, don't get me wrong. It's sort of an appropriate taste for you--sweet and tart at the same time, with a little oomph to it."

"Thank you, I think."

"What I mean is... how drunk are you?"

"Lawrence," I said patiently, "a woman doesn't get too drunk to have sex--not as long as the guy isn't too drunk. Are you? You don't seem like it. I wouldn't hold it against you if you are, but we ought to get this straight."

"No, I'm not that drunk. I'm scarcely buzzed. But you, on the other hand, seem to be pretty well sloshed."

"I wouldn't try driving," I admitted. "In fact, I wouldn't try any stairs right now."

"Thought so." He sighed. "Damn."

"Look, if you're worried that I'll wake up and start whimpering "I didn't know what I was doing', it's not going to happen."

"No, it's not. Because we're going to wait."

"Say what?"

"You heard me. We're not going to have sex tonight."

"Damn, I knew I was drunk, but I'm not, like, drooling on myself, am I?"

He kissed me again. "No. It's just..." he sighed. "I want you to be absolutely sure about this."

"Let me get this straight. You're turning down sex, because you want to be sure that it's meaningful for me?"

"That's pretty much it."

"Which planet are you from again?"

"Scribe..."

"Yes, sorry. I'm not really making fun of you. It's just an odd concept--the guy being the party more concerned that the sex shouldn't be frivolous."

"It's not an insult."

"I know that. If you wanted to insult me, there have been numerous opportunities." I thought about it for a moment, studying him, then nodded. "Thanks."

"That doesn't mean I'm giving up on the idea. We're just postponing it a little while, right?"

"Definitely." I reached up and pushed some of his hair off his forehead. "But Lawrence, there's a lot that can be done short of intercourse."

His voice lifted in interest. "Oh, really, now?"

"I know. I've read books. And besides, it would probably be a good thing if I did at least a little working up, instead of just diving off into the deep end, as it were. Now, I know the classic theme is that it's rotten for a guy to get worked up, then have the girl draw up short. But supposing the girl was perfectly willing to see that the guy had a good time, just not the full Monty."

"I'd say that sounded fine to me."

I batted my eyelashes at him. "Wanna make out? I could use demonstrations on necking and petting."

His eyes were glinting. "You know about dry humping?"

"Lawrence? Erotic magazine staff?"

"Right, dumb question."

"Your belief in my innocence outside the physical realm is touching. I have a dirty mind, remember?"

"And a creative one. I read your article on comparative styles of erotica through history. Your original examples..." He fanned himself. "Let's say I had to buy a second copy because the first one was... marred by recreational activities." I couldn't help it--I laughed. "So I know you're not ignorant--you're just inexperienced--but you have ideas."

"I have an idea right now."

"That would be?"

"I want to see what you feel like." He smiled slowly. "Yeah, that. But Lawrence, I've never really touched a guy except to, like, shake hands. I haven't done that with a woman, either, for that matter, but since I'm a woman and I can touch myself... Stop grinning, you hyena. You know what I mean." He nodded. "It's just that I know that it has to be a whole different experience, touching another human being intimately--especially the opposite sex. Muscle density, skin texture, body hair. I'm curious."

Lawrence sat back a little, spreading his arms wide. "Go for it."

My hands sort of hovered, as if trying to decide where to land. "I'll be careful."

"I know you will. But remember--I'm not fragile. There are only a few areas where you'll need to be more careful, and you know what they are. Believe me, if you get too rough, I'll tell you, and I feel a little weird, because usually that's what I'm promising to do."

"Speaking as a future non-virgin, I'm glad to hear that."

"Let's set one fast rule, just so that neither of us gets carried away. Underwear stays on, and private parts do not invade the territory usually covered by underwear."

"That sounds a little elaborate."

"That's because underwear can stretch."

"Right. Sounds very sensible to me."

"Where do you want to start?"

I reached out and buried both of my hands in his hair. He didn't move his head, but rolled his eyes up to look at my hands, then caught my gaze. "You didn't say I couldn't."

"I'm not complaining. In fact, I hope I can talk you into washing my hair sometime. Hair is very sensual."

I continued running my fingers through his hair. What a cliché--but it was nice. The strands were soft and silky, and I was right--he was already getting sun streaks. My hands drifted down gradually till I found his ears, and I traced the curves, learning every curl, tugging gently on his lobes. I rubbed one lobe between my fingers. "You had an earring, didn't you?"

"I haven't worn it for a couple of years. How did you know?"

"Teeny-weeny little bumps on each side, marking where the piercing was done. I have the same on mine."

"I bet no one else in the office has ever noticed that."

"Getting to know you," I sang softly. "Getting to know all about you..." I mapped his face with my fingertips, barely skimming--forehead, brows, cheekbones... He closed his eyes, and I lightly skimmed his eyelids, feeling the tremble beneath the crepey skin, and a whisper brush of eyelashes. I couldn't resist. I pulled him closer, leaned in, and ghosted my lips over the path that my fingers had taken. He drew in a deep breath, and I whispered, "The lips are one of the most sensitive areas on the body. I think that's one reason why babies put everything in their mouth. They're learning about the world." I continued, learning the slight rasp of stubble on his cheeks and the minute flex of muscle in his jaw.

The next kiss was very slow, thoughtful, and deep. I slid my tongue into his mouth and explored, tasting. He sucked on my tongue softly, and I pulled back a little, breaking the kiss. There was a wet sound as we came apart, and I could tell that his breathing had deepened. He started to reach for me, and I said, "Nuh-uh--not yet. This is my time, Laurie." I leaned forward and licked his lips quickly.

He groaned. "Damn, woman. I'm starting to get hard already."

"Ah, a man who appreciates foreplay." I tilted his head away, to give myself better access to his neck and throat. I nuzzled. I snuggled. I licked, sucked, and nibbled. I was glad he'd taken a shower that evening. I was learning that the taste of skin, at least Lawrence's skin, was addicting.

I paused, saying, "Um..."

"What?" His voice was hoarse.

"I... uh... I think I gave you a hickey."

"I know you did. That puppy aches. Were you a vampire in a former life?"

"Sorry."

"Fuck, don't apologize. You're right about this group having adolescent mentalities. Charlie is going to turn pea green. I'm not trying to rush you, but do you intend to go below the neck tonight?"

"Oh, yeah." I wrapped my hands around his upper arm, squeezing. "Make a muscle."

"That wasn't exactly what I meant." He flexed obligingly.

"I know, but I told you, I'm getting to know you." I tickled him under the armpits. "Doesn't having hair under there itch?" He chuckled. "Hey, women think things like this--we just don't usually admit it to you guys."

"It only itches if I sweat, then don't shower for a while."

I'd slid my hands down his forearm, ruffling the light dusting of golden hair, then took his hand in both of mine. I spent a little while flexing each knuckle, watching the subtle shift of tendons under the skin. He'd gotten quiet, watching my absorption. Finally I turned his hand over in mine and studied his palm, tracing the lines. Then I just stroked his palm.

He shifted a little. His hand drifted down, pressing into his lap. "Stop that," I said quietly.

"Are you going to move on to an erogenous zone soon?"

I cocked my head and said, "Sweetie, judging from the front of your shorts, I've been to a few erogenous zones." I reached out and drew one fingertip down the length of the (may I say) impressive bulge.

He groaned. "You're trying to kill me, right? The cops will never figure out how you did it."

"I'll be merciful. I won't work my way up from the toes--this time." I grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, pulling it up, and laid my hands flat on his abdomen. He inhaled sharply, and I could feel his belly twitching. I slid my hands up his torso slowly, pushing the material before me till it was bunched up near his throat. "Grab that for me, would you?" He took hold of the fabric, holding it up. "Thank you. I need a little room, here." I bent quickly and nipped one pebbled nipple.

"God damn!" he yelped. I looked up sharply, and he quickly said, "No! That's a good thing. A really good thing. Moremoremore!"

I couldn't resist. I sang, "How d'ya like it, how d'ya like your looove?"

It didn't put him off, or break the mood, or whatever, because he sang right back, "You... you make lovin' fun." Then his voice dropped back to speaking tone, and he said, "Is this doing anything for you?."

"Most definitely. I never realized what a turn on it could be to get someone turned on." I pinched his nipples, just hard enough to feel how firm they were. "How about getting rid of the shir..." He had it whisked over his head before I could finish the sentence.

"Can I make a request?" I kept rubbing, but nodded. "Oh, geez. Look, could we get in my sleeping bag? I really, really, really need to hold you." He said quickly, "I'll keep my underwear on, but..."

"What sort of underwear are you wearing?"

"Huh? Boxers."

"Better keep the shorts on, too. From what I've seen, the comfort slit on boxers is a little too convenient." He made a muttering sound, and I stroked his cheek. "But you said something about humping?"

He stood up quickly, grabbed my hand, and tugged me over to where his sleeping bag was spread out. He pulled me into an embrace, kissing me firmly, and kicked the bag open while he was busy slipping his tongue into my mouth. I had a feeling I was going to be breathless in very short order.

I'm not really clear on how I got down to the floor, but I found myself stretched out on the open bag, with Lawrence sort of half-crouched beside me. He reached for my shirt, and I said, "Lawrence? I'm not wearing a bra."

He bit his lip. "Okay, maybe the shirt should stay on." He lay down beside me, drawing me once again into his arms. I learned why the British sometimes talked about 'a bit of a cuddle'. Damn, it was nice. Things were getting very warm and humid south of my waistband.

Lawrence kept his hands on top of the shirt, but my lord, that boy had clever hands, and before the night was over, he wasn't going to be the only one with a hickey. He hooked one leg over both of mine. His calf slid against my calf, and his big hands stroked my thighs. I was suddenly glad that I'd chosen to wear shorts--and that I'd shaved my legs recently.

I felt his hands on my waistband, and I whispered, "Laurie? I'm not wearing any panties, either."

His head shot up, and he stared down at me. I wiggled, reached up, and gave his butt a squeeze. He grunted, then pushed my legs apart, watching my expression carefully. I smiled at him, and he shifted over and settled into the space till our cloth-covered crotches met. I could feel my eyes widening as I felt a firm, warm nudge. He noticed, and began to rock against me slowly, his hips undulating.

I slid my hands up his back, whispering, "Is this how you do it? I mean, aside from the not being inside me?"

"Hush, and let a man concentrate," he rasped.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" I arched beneath him and gave a breathy moan, then crooned, "Ooh, Laurie..."

"Damn." He speeded up, moving against me strongly.

I held on. To tell the truth, it was inspiring a little awe. Lawrence was just so big, strong, young, healthy, and alive! And it all seemed to be concentrated on me. Consequently, I'd never felt so alive, so real.

I knew he was enjoying himself (hell, I had irrefutable physical proof jabbing against my crotch and thighs), but I wanted to do more for him. I let my hands trail down his sides, scratching lightly, then wormed them between our bodies. Then I slid them under his shorts. I didn't go inside his boxers, but suddenly there was only a thin layer of slightly damp cotton between my hands, and his flesh. I found, squeezed, and quickly stroked several times. Lawrence shuddered, making a sound that was somewhere between a plea and a curse. Suddenly my palms were moist.

Lawrence, face flushed, pushed himself up a little, braced on his hands, and gazed down at me silently for a moment. I smiled, then crossed my eyes. He laughed, and bent down to kiss the tip of my nose, then my lips. Finally he rolled off me, but put an arm around me, pulling me close against his side. He nuzzled my ear. "I never thought I'd have a woman make me come in my pants, and be happy about it."

After a moment he got up, and I said, "Where are you going?"

"Nowhere, but if you don't want to see a recently spent, naked man, you'd better close your eyes. If I sleep in these boxers, I'll need a solvent to get them off tomorrow." I just propped myself up on my elbow, waiting. He smirked. "Suit yourself." He got a fresh pair of underwear and a box of Wet Naps out of his duffle. He skinned off his soiled boxers and cleaned himself, quickly but thoroughly.

"Were you in the Boy Scouts? You seem to be awfully well prepared," I said as he stepped into the boxers.

"You have no idea." He reached in the duffle again, then showed me a flat, shiny square of plastic.

"You mean you had protection right within reach, and you didn't go for it?"

"We decided to wait, right?" He tucked it into the duffle again, the lay down beside me and flipped the bag closed. Pulling me into his arms again he said, "Besides, it isn't as if it has a short shelf life."

As he drifted off to sleep, I thought, *Unlike my virginity, halleluja.*