Micky tiptoed into the bedroom quietly and shut the door, careful not to make a sound. Nicole was drying off her soaked hair with a towel. She'd already changed into a pair of flannel pajamas and was sitting, her back facing the door, on her bed, looking out the window as she dried her hair.
Slowly, Micky tiptoed across the room and sat down on the bed behind her. He reached up, barely able to control himself, and stroked her hair. Would she notice? She didn't. He pulled his arm back for a second and then tentatively touched her hair. He stroked it, admiring it. It was straight, the complete opposite of his, and dark. Smooth, shiny, and about shoulder length, he found himself admiring her hair as the light reflected off its wet tendrils. They flowed like a waterfall from the top of her head. He touched the top of her head and slowly ran his finger down the length of her hair. Oh, how smooth. And beautiful.
She didn't seem to notice him, or else she thought he was Peter, and just sat there as he ran his fingers down her hair, immersing himself in every detail. He pushed some of the wet tendrils off of her neck and, leaning forward, gently kissed her neck, tasting it and feeling it.
"Peter?" she asked. He didn't respond, he couldn't, he was too busy immersing himself in the lucious taste of her neck.
Micky knew that he couldn't, he knew that he shouldn't, he knew it was a mistake, but the raging hormones and the passion inside of him pushed aside all doubts he had and made him go still further. He grabbed her around her waist, still immersing himself in her neck.
"Oh, Peter," Nicole moaned, still thinking he was Peter. Despite the mistaken identity, he still was happy to have pleased her, and decided to push farther. With his mouth still immersed in her neck, he reached forward and began to slowly unbutton the top of her flannel pajamas, caressing her gently as he went. He backed up, slipping it off of her and, while keeping his face in her neck, pulled off his own shirt. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't stem the passion, and he wanted her more than anything.
Then, he grabbed her shoulder and moved her down, laying her on the bed. Her eyes opened wide as she recognized him, but didn't resist. He began to kiss her neck, moving slowly down her chest while at the same time using one arm to hold himself up and one to remove his pants. He lowered hers and continued... Oh, the passion, he thought. He'd never wanted anyone so much in his whole life....
When all was finally over, Micky rolled on to his back, panting. Oh, that was heaven, he thought. Nicole, next to him, was thinking conflicting thoughts. At first, she could only think of how incredible that was. But then, she remembered who it was. She sat up in bed and turned to look at him. "What did you think you were doing?" she asked, pulling the sheet up to her to cover her naked body.
He blinked. "Well, I...," he began.
"No, I don't want to hear it," she said. "Just get out."
He got out of the bed. "Listen, I," he began again.
"Out," she said firmly. "Just put on your clothes and get out." Obeying, he pulled on his pants and shirt and left, still protesting. He tried to say something, but she just pointed at the door, and the look on her face told him that she meant business. For the first time, he realized what he'd done, and felt another feeling wash over him. But this time it wasn't a wave of pleasure. This wave was of guilt.
Micky left the downstairs bedroom feeling very guilty and depressed. He headed out to the porch and sat down. It was still raining, and thunder clapped loudly. He was too depressed to care. Then, he thought of something. Hadn't Peter been out here? Now Peter was nowhere to be seen.
Peter headed to the basement, tiptoeing quietly so that none of the others would hear him. He needed some advice, and he certainly couldn't ask Mike about this. That left only one other person. He reached the bottom of the stairs and saw her. She was standing on the other side of the room, looking at a book and a shelf on the wall. She seemed to be looking for some ingredients. Her long, blond hair hung in her face and got on the book. She tossed her head and shoved the hair out of her way.
Peter watched her for a few moments. She was immersed in her work, and didn't seem to notice him. He cleared his throat, and she looked up to see him standing on the bottom step.
"Hi Peter," she said absently. "What can I do for you?" She looked back at her book and then at the flask she held in her hand.
"I'm not bothering you, am I?" he asked. "I need some advice. "
She looked up and then shut the book. "Sure, Pete, what's the problem?" she asked, putting the flask back on the shelf behind her.
"Well," he said, not sure where to begin. "I've got this problem. I'm starting to feel like Davy."
She didn't get it. "You're what?" she asked. He nodded.
"See, every time I see a girl, I get this feeling," he began. "I feel an incredible urge to...make love."
She opened her mouth to say something. He held up a hand to silence her. "I know, it's a side effect," he said. "But I can't be in the same room with a girl for more than a few seconds before I get this feeling."
She nodded. "Yeah, that's the side effect. There's nothing to worry about. It should wear off in a day or so," she said. He shook his head.
"That's not my problem," he said. "See, I'm feeling really guilty about this," he explained. "Toward Nicole and all. I've been avoiding her because I don't want her to see me like this."
Fiona was confused. "She knows that it's not your fault," she began.
"Yeah, I know, but I still feel guilty." Peter took a step towards her. "I don't know if I'll be able to control myself much longer," he said, reaching out a hand to push her hair out of her face. He leaned over a little and kissed her. "See, I'm afraid of that," he said. Then he kissed her again.
She opened her mouth to say something but again he silenced her, this time with a kiss.
"I'm gonna hate myself in the morning," he muttered to himself, "but I don't care."
"Well, it's twelve o clock," I heard Mike say. "I suppose we should go to sleep."
I was half-asleep already. "Bed?" I yawned. "I'm not tired." Mike flashed a skeptical look and shut off the TV. "Hey! I was watching that!" I said, indignantly.
"No you weren't, you were sleepin'," Mike said, amusement creeping into his face. "C'mon, let's go to bed."
I was so tired that I fell into bed without even changing into a pair of pajamas. And Mike was, too, though he managed to change first. So neither of us noticed when Micky came in the door quietly, so as not to disturb us, a half-hour later.
