Hamilton Pool free porn video

DISCLAIMER: It's fiction, ladies. That means I made it up in my head. It has no bearing upon and is not drawn from any true events, nor are any of my characters based on actual persons living or dead. COPYRIGHT: I made it. It belongs to me. I'd rather it not be reposted - I wrote it for Fictionmania fans - but if you absolutely must share it, please have the decency to give me proper credit. Thank you! TRIGGER WARNING: Life can be a scary, dangerous place filled with moments of joy. And sex. And in this instance, implied violence. Brace yourself. Hamilton Pool © 2021 by Kate Steele "Ma'am, can I get that for you?" Ma'am? She smiled to herself. Someone is actually saying 'ma'am' to me, and offering assistance on a cold-as-hell windy New York City morning? And in that soft Texas drawl, no less! She turned to answer her gallant, and had to choke back a gasp. Oh, Christ! she thought, panicking, It's him! It's him and he's here! Yes, it was him, and he stood there holding open the heavy glass door of her office building the way no longtime New Yorker ever would. She fearfully scanned his eyes - those soft grey eyes she could never forget - and saw a gleam; a twinkle, even; but no spark of recognition. He just stood there, patient, smiling just the way she often remembered him smiling. He was tall, as always, but fuller-bodied now, more solid- looking, his hair greying at the temples and forelock. He held the door firm against the bitter winter wind, still smiling even as she rabbited up and down the corridors of her mind, scrabbling like a madwoman to steel herself against the shock of seeing him again; of seeing his smiling face here in this alien cityscape. At last, after what surely must have seemed like hours, she was able to offer him a strained smile and a somewhat strangled "Thank you." His smile grew broader. "Texas?" he guessed. She blushed, silently cursing herself. As hard as she worked to suppress the soft Central Texas drawl that was her birthright, to stave off the hectoring of those supercilious bitches in her office, it had popped up at once; some kind of autonomic reaction to hearing her native tongue falling from his lips. She blushed harder. "Austin," she lied. "Ha!" His grin grew even broader - a feat she would have thought impossible - as he said, "I'm from Dripping!" Of course you are, she told herself, as she silently recited his street and house number. She pictured the Hill Country town of Dripping Springs, the rambling fieldstone house where he'd grown up with three brothers and a sister, the rock-strewn soil patch his parents called a front yard, the gnarled live oaks and scrub mesquite and, just beyond their front gate, the buckled, worn, soft grey lanes of U.S. Highway 290. That sun-baked asphalt ribbon was her escape from all the redneck cedar choppers who ran roughshod over her adolescence. It carried her away from the most violent abuse, and ultimately led to her salvation, as well. She followed it first to Austin, where she finally discovered the courage she needed to become her truest self, and then to New York City, where that true self had been allowed to flourish for well over a decade. How pathetic am I, she mused, that I still have all the minutiae of his life committed to memory after eighteen years? Aloud she murmured "Practically neighbors," as she edged through the door, "but I really have to run. I'm sorry, but I'm already late." "Of course, but..." He fell in step beside her as they angled across the marble-lined lobby to the elevator banks and continued, saying, "...us being neighbors and all, might you be willing to help an ol' country boy find his way around the area? I know that sounds like a..." "A cheesy pick-up line?" She smiled. "Yes, yes, it does, but..." "...but I'd really be grateful if..." With a chime the elevator doors slid open, and she deftly inserted herself into the throng of latte-sucking office drones quickly filling the car. Turning to face him, she said, "I'm going to beg off, thanks, but I can give you a few pointers that might help you get by a little better while you're here." The man cocked his head to one side, a curious light in his eyes, so she pressed on. "Lose those boots," she said, pointing at them, "and lose that cornpone accent, and for Pete's sake, never ever call a Yankee woman 'ma'am'! She'll think you're saying that she's 'old' and she'll castrate you!" The other passengers were chuckling as the doors closed with a sigh. The car rose with a hum and a whine, and she took a furtive glance around, terrified she might meet a coworker's smirking eyes. For once being late to work came with a wee dividend - anonymity - and it seemed she would, thank Christ, be spared the inevitable mean-girl asides about 'cow-pokes' and 'eight-second rides'. Grateful, she shook her head; at least the man hadn't recognized her. Then she smiled to herself. Why would he? How could he? It's not as if they'd run in the same circles back then and, Besides, she thought, wryly, a lot more than eighteen years have gone by the wayside since then. He didn't see the Texas girl again the following day or the next, but third time was the charm, and their paths crossed just as she was exiting the subway station located catty-corner from her office building. The man smiled, touched his fingers to the brim of an imaginary Stetson and said, "Good morning, ma'am!" She rolled her eyes and pressed the button for the pedestrian crosswalk. Her well-trained accent firmly in place, she said, "Still going with the boots, I see." "Only 'til I die," he offered. "Well, at least they're Dan Posts," she said, "and not the gaudy, artsy- fartsy crap hipsters around here try to pass off as 'authentic Western wear' but..." She smiled. "You're not in Dallas anymore, Toto. No one in New York wears cowboy boots with business suits." "Ooh, she's a poet, isn't she?" He grinned. "A poet who knows her boot brands, no less, but I gotta tell you, darlin', I don't give a flyin'fu..." He stopped himself with a shake of his head and said, "Sorry. It's just... Well, let's just say I don't give a good goddamn how these Yankees do any damned thing. I'm a Texan, and Texans wear boots." "Texans smell like cowshit, too," she argued, "but that's not going to help you get done whatever you..." She paused, searching her memory, and finally asked "What are you doing in New York?" He chuckled softly. "I'm giving a deposition in a land case." "A land case? What's that?" "How bored do you want to be? I'll tell you everything I know over lunch." She smirked. The pedestrian signal was flashing green and the robotic voice began counting down the seconds as they scurried across the broad avenue. "You're slick," she granted, "but I'm really not interested." "In contract law? Who would be? But relax. Everything I know will only take about five minutes or so, anyway. We can spend the rest of the time talking about Texas." She shook her head. "Forget it, cowboy." She stopped walking and turned to face him. "Look, you seem like a nice enough guy," she offered, briefly laying her hand on his arm and ignoring the thrill that coursed through her, "but A): I do not date. I'm focused on my career and my own needs right now, so I'm not dating anyone. B): I'm not interested in a fling of any duration long or short, with you or anyone else. Finally, C) Even if I were open to a relationship I would definitely not be interested in a long-distance relationship." He listened carefully, nodding as she made her points, and then, after a moment's pause, quietly said, "But you do eat lunch, don't you?" "Jesus! You're not hearing me!" "I am; really, I am," he hastily assured her. "You don't want to date me, and I get that. Still, you're the nicest person I've met since I got to this godforsaken city, and I believe I'd enjoy just hanging out with you, if you can stand it. No strings, no secret schemes to win you over, none of that; just two folks from Texas eating lunch together." He stood with his head tilted expectantly, hopefully, smiling as she studied his face. If it had been any other man she wouldn't even dream of accepting the invitation, but she'd watched this man grow up, and she'd seen his heart in action that searing summer afternoon, in the Hill Country haze atop the cliff at Hamilton Pool, and she felt certain he meant what he said. She searched his eyes, and saw that he still did not recognize her. Maybe it's time, she thought. After a moment she slowly nodded her head, regretting her boldness even in that instant. You're insane! she told herself. At once she began to argue the point. I'm not, really! I'm just homesick and nostalgic, and maybe I'm a little... no; no 'maybe' to it. I am really lonely. Besides, even if I am crazy, it's him! No one else even tried to help me that day. Maybe, just maybe, if I tell him who I really am he can explain it to me: why he stepped up, and all the crap that went down afterward. She shook her head at her own foolishness. She might as well go back out to Hamilton Pool and throw her own self off that cliff. But God, it would be so nice to have someone to talk to about it; about anything from those days! Who else can tell me the truth? And it's him, she reminded herself. It's really him. Aloud, against every ounce of better judgment she had, she asked him to meet her in the lobby at one o'clock, and excused herself just in time to squeeze into another crowded elevator. Damn if she wasn't late again. He was leaning on the reception desk chatting with a security guard when she stepped out of the elevator car. Oh, my, he looks good! she thought, as he straightened up and bade the guard a good afternoon. Gesturing to the entryway, he said, "Shall we?" "We shall," she beamed. "Hi, Nicole," she said to the security guard, who smiled and, behind his back, canted her head toward the man. Wearing a licentious grin, the guard wriggled her eyebrows suggestively and mouthed the words "Oh. My. God!" She smiled, nodding her agreement - he was pretty hot! - and followed the man to the doors. Outside, the wind was still chill and cutting despite the sunny skies, and she clasped her cardigan around her, only to be shocked when he slipped off his suit jacket and carefully draped it over her shoulders. "No, no!" she protested. "Then you'll be cold!" He waved her off. "I'm fine," he assured her as they turned east on the avenue, and when the breeze hit her full-on she acquiesced. "Want your coat back now?" she smiled mischievously. He returned her smile. "I'm fine, really." He struck a pose and said, "Texas tough!" She laughed, delighted. "Is the Greek's okay?" she asked. He shrugged. "Dunno. I'm the new kid, remember?" "Right. Well, it's close, cheap, and by now most of the lunch crowd will be gone." "Sounds good," he drawled. They walked the two blocks in comfortable silence, and he once again held the door for her as she led him past steam-clouded windows into a noisy, shotgun-styled diner. "Hey, Mama," she told the portly woman perched behind an ancient cash register. The man noticed that the woman's pitch- black hair coloring already revealed grey roots, and the flowered dress she wore fit far too tightly over fleshy arms, but the woman's smile was kind, and her welcome seemed genuine. "Booth!" the woman told them, in heavily accented English. She pointed her sausage finger at the corner booth in the far end of the room. "You take the booth!" Laura colored slightly but quietly said, "Thank you, Mama." She led the way, and neither said a word until they were seated on benches upholstered with an oily-feeling metallic red vinyl that squeaked whenever either shifted their weight. "What was that about?" he wondered. "What?" she replied, all innocence. "This booth. She was all 'Take the booth! Take the booth!'" he mimicked, "and you went red as a beet. In fact, you're still blushing." "It's nothing," she said, squirming. "Doesn't seem like nothing." She blushed even harder. "Please! It's embarrassing!" "Well, in that case I just gotta know!" he joked, but when she didn't return his smile he grew somber. "Hey, I was just curious," he offered. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot." She shook her head, but still did not speak, so he plucked a menu from the chromed wire rack that also held salt and pepper and sugar shakers, and squat plastic squeeze bottles spattered with ketchup and mustard. He scanned the menu and then, with a droll smirk, said, "So, I guess this is your first time here, huh?" She laughed then, snorting through her nose as the tension she'd been holding released. "You might say I'm a regular regular." Just then a waitress approached; a teenager with features and a figure almost identical to Mama's, minus at least a hundred and fifty pounds. "Hey, Laura," she said, and the man thought Well, at least I don't have to ask for her name anymore! By then the waitress was eying him with a frank curiosity bordering on rudeness. She finally said, to Laura, "So, who's he?" Caught off-guard, and still flustered by her earlier panic, Laura smiled and started to say "Doreen, this is Ric..." She stopped, horrified, as the man cut a sharp glance in her direction. Oh, Christ! We haven't even been here five minutes and I've already fucked it up! She covered her mouth with a cupped hand, aghast at her own stupidity, thinking My God! He's going to hate me! But the man just smiled genially at the waitress and said, "Hi, Doreen. I'm Rick Turner. Laura and I were neighbors back in Texas." Doreen nodded, but to Laura she leered and said, "'Neighbors', huh? Is that what you told Mama; that you two was just 'neighbors'?" Rick watched as Laura blushed again - What the hell is going on here? he wondered - but Laura whined, in a plaintive tone, "I didn't say anything! She just pointed us over here!" Doreen laughed. "She got an eye for that." Then she noticed Rick's puzzled frown and, with a playfully malicious grin, began to explain. "Y'see, this booth here, it's the date booth..." "Doreen!" Laura desperately tried to drown out the young woman's recitation, crying "Don't, please!" She was waving her arms around like a baseball umpire at home plate, and looked near tears, and to her relief the girl finally shut up. Now the waitress was staring at Laura with a fading grin. "What's a-matter with you, girl?" she demanded. Pointing first to Rick and then herself, Laura said, "This isn't a date. I just... I just don't want to confuse things, okay?" "Okay," Doreen shrugged, doubtful. Turning on her heel, she said, "I guess you guys got some things to talk about. Just hollah at me when you wanna order," but paused when Laura cried "Wait!" Laura looked at Rick and hesitantly asked "Are we still eating?" "Hell, yeah," he laughed. "I'm hungry, and I want to know what's up with this booth!" However, she thought she heard more of an edge to his voice when he added "Besides, it sounds like you might have some things to tell me." Laura bristled, a rush of anger covering her fear. "I don't have to tell you anything!" The waitress started to turn on Rick, who had his hands raised in surrender, but after his initial shock at the vehemence in Laura's voice the man's eyes gentled, and he said, softly, "But you want to, don't you?" Laura paused, taken aback by the shift in mood. Suddenly, to her dismay, tears began cascading down her cheeks. She choked back a sob, shaking her head angrily and wishing she could deny it all. She closed her eyes and wiped away the tears, but when she opened them again Rick was still there, still waiting, still patient and kind. The pain had not passed - neither had her fear - but she found herself nodding. "I do! Oh, God, Rick; I think I have to!" Rick leaned across the table, tenderly taking her hands in his. She marveled at their size, much larger than her own, and the calluses that felt rough and somehow comforting against her smooth, carefully maintained skin. Something about that difference evoked a small whisper of desire deep inside her; a desire Laura had not entertained in years. Unbidden images flashed through her mind; heated, sweaty, and all centered on the man seated across from her. She wanted to yank her hands free. She wanted to sit on them and protect them from that overheated sensation, protect herself from this man. At the same time she wanted to hold on to those hands just as long as he might allow. Oh, girl, she told herself, you are well and truly fucked! More composed now, nodding her head again, she said, "Let's order first, and then I'll tell you everything." Doreen jotted down their orders - a grilled chicken salad and water for her, a cheeseburger and fries and black coffee for him - and left them alone. Rick watched the girl walk away and then turned his expectant eyes to hers. "So-o-o..." he drawled, and then waited. She shook her head. "I don't know where to begin." "Let's start with how you know my name." Laura studied the scarred Formica tabletop. When she spoke, her voice was almost too soft to be heard, her tone defeated. "I guess the first thing you should know is that I lied about being from Austin. I'm actually from Dripping Springs, born and raised." He made no response, but when she glanced up the man had his head cocked to one side, studying her. "Have you figured it out yet?" she inquired, tremulously. He gave a quick sharp shake of his head. "Not a clue," he admitted. "Do you remember Hamilton Pool?" His eyes narrowed as he nodded, and then widened slightly. Oh, God, here it comes, she thought, but he remained silent. "You really don't remember me?" she asked. He raised his chin a bit. "Just tell me," he urged, gently. She sighed softly and took a deep breath, steeling herself. This is it! she told herself, and with a sigh she said, "I was... I was Larry Simmons." Rick's gaze never wavered, his eyes never left hers, and his voice was still soft, still gentle, as he said, "But you're not anymore, are you?" Laura shook her head. "Not for years, now. Eighteen years." Rick nodded. "I wondered what happened to you. I even went around to your place and asked after you but your father, man, he just gave me a world-class eye-fuckin', and your Momma told me you were gone away to school somewhere." He smiled weakly. "They wouldn't tell me anything about where you'd gone. I asked your Momma if she'd be willing to forward you a letter from me, but before she could answer your Dad stood up and told me to get the fuck out of his house and leave his child the fuck alone. I don't even know if he knew who I was, but he wasn't gonna let anybody get close enough to hurt you." Rick chuckled softly as he leaned closer. "Your Momma was busy apologizing for your Dad's language while your Dad was shoving me out the door, still threatening to beat the white off my ass, but they never said a word about where you were, or what you'd been through." "What I'd been through?" Laura smiled at the thought. "They were good parents," she told Rick. "Like everyone else in town they just assumed I was gay, but when I told them the truth they stood up, immediately. My mother became the expert on how to care for a trans child, and my father went and got a second job to help pay for my transition." She paused, and wondered "How many parents would do that?" She took a sugar shaker from the wire rack and poured a few granules on the tabletop, drawing abstract patterns in the grains with her fingers. Then she looked up, resolutely meeting his gaze. "Like most LGBTQI people, Rick, my childhood sucked. I don't know how much you remember, or if you were even aware of it while it was going on, but, being femme like I was, I got bullied a lot." Rick started to respond but she held up a hand and went on, her voice bitter and her eyes red and damp. "I spent my life in Dripping Springs getting the shit kicked out of me, physically and emotionally, all the way from kindergarten through high school. Thirteen years, it never let up! But you know what hurt even worse?" Rick shook his head. "It was those school administrators, those teachers and cops - even the cops! - telling me it was my own fault; that I brought it on myself. How fucked up is that? From the age of five, all I heard from all those people who were supposed to protect children is that it was my fault I got beaten up, cursed at and body-slammed every time one of those fuckers caught me in the hallway alone; that all the bullies would leave me be if I'd just 'man up' and quit being such a fucking sissy. Never a word about the bullies changing their behavior; oh, no! It was all about me and how wrong I was for being a girl." She wiped away her tears and went on. "My parents tried to help. They went down there and raised hell with the school, and the cops... One time it got so heated the cops threatened to arrest my Dad!" She shook her head sadly. "The assholes just gave them the typical small-town runaround: 'Our hands are tied. Boys will be boys. If Larry would at least try to fit in with the other children...' Right?" She rolled her eyes. "Like that was ever gonna happen! "My folks talked about moving, but we didn't have any money, or anywhere to go, and by the time we did I was already halfway through high school. I told my folks to never mind; that I could tough it out another two years. "And through it all... through all that hate and pain and cruelty I never realized - I was too afraid to even dream - that I might one day find a way to be the person I knew I was meant to be!" She straightened in her seat, smiled and said, "Still, in spite of all that shit I was blessed, Rick. So many trans girls get nothing but crap from their natal families; the cold shoulder, verbal and physical abuse... they end up disowned and living on the streets, or even murdered. Instead, I got a scholarship to U.T. and help with my treatments." She glanced over her shoulder at the sunlit street outside and sighed. "I hope I never take any of that for granted," she said. "But you got to graduate from U.T. as Laura Simmons, right? That must've felt pretty good." Laura blanched; yet another secret. "No," she whispered, "No, I didn't." She hung her head, groaning aloud. "Oh, God, this is so humiliating!" "That you didn't graduate?" "Oh, no, I graduated," she said, flashing an ironic smile. "Graduated with honors; Summa cum laude, in fact. Just... just not as Laura Simmons." "A different name? Okay. Why is that so bad?" Laura was still shaking her head, trying to formulate a response, when Doreen, approaching with their orders, saw her tears. She dropped the plates on a nearby table, snatched up a knife from the place setting there, and advanced on Rick with a mad fire in her eyes, the knife rock- steady in her hand. "What'd you do to her?" she demanded. "Malaka, if you hurt her I'll cut your fuckin'...!" "It's okay!" Laura shouted, holding up a hand to ward off the younger woman's attack. "Doreen, it's okay, really! He didn't hurt me." She glanced at Rick, met his eyes and said, softly, "I don't think he would ever hurt me." "You sure?" Doreen barked. "I don' care how big he is; I'll fuck him up." Still staring into Rick's eyes, Laura said, "Really, Doreen, it's okay. He is okay. I'm just upset about something that happened a long time ago." Somewhat mollified, the waitress dropped the knife in her apron pocket, retrieved their lunches from the table behind her and set the plates down in front of Rick and Laura. However, as Laura was adding dressing to her salad the waitress made the two-fingered "I'm watching you" gesture at Rick, and drew an extended finger across her throat. Fighting the urge to laugh at the girl's antics, Rick nodded his understanding and turned to his meal. "Looks tasty," was all he said, until Doreen was well out of earshot. Then he smiled at Laura and said, again, "So, I guess this is your first time here, eh?" Laura laughed nervously, but then fell silent again, pensive. "About my name..." "Yeah?" "You have to understand, Rick, that I... well, I didn't..." She stopped, sighing gustily, and tried again. "The truth is that I never expected to see you again, y'know? and I just... I just..." Her voice trailed off, and she wiped even more tears from her cheeks. "Jesus! Why is this so hard?" Rick watched patiently, silently, until she took a deep breath and said, "My name is Laura Turner." Rick raised one eyebrow, just a notch, but seemed otherwise unaffected as Laura went on. "My parents understood the need to escape my past - to become a new person, in effect - so they were totally cool with me changing my last name at the same time I changed my first, and I... well, you know, I wanted to honor what you did for me that day. Seriously, if you hadn't..." "Hey, I don't..." he began, but Laura cut him off, saying "My story, Rick - this is my story - and in my story you did far more than just save my life that afternoon. Yes, you gave me a chance to get away from those bastards, and everything that came after that - my education, my transition, this career - all of that stems from my surviving that afternoon, but, Rick..." She wagged her head side to side and said, "Oh, Rick, it is so much more..." She found herself reaching for those hands, eager to hold them again, and noticed, pleased, that he did not pull away. "Rick," she echoed softly, "you were the first boy outside my immediate family - the first male, young or old, since childhood - who treated me with kindness and respect. I mean it. If you ever joined in any of the sadistic reindeer games those other kids played I never saw it. If you ever said an unkind word to me or about me I never heard it. Long before that day at Hamilton Pool you were nice to me, Rick, even when people ragged on you about it, and then, that afternoon..." She wheezed, a sob clutching her throat, and sat silent for a moment, swallowing hard. Then she began again. "That afternoon, when it would have been so much easier to walk away and let them do whatever they wanted to me, you didn't hesitate. You stepped in and made them leave me alone." A fat tear dripped from her cheek, landing ignored in her salad plate. "You were my hero, Rick. You still are my hero!" It was Rick's turn to blush, and he did it well, but Laura just bounced their still-entwined hands on the table. "I wanted to honor you, Rick, and what you did, and taking your name was the best way I could think to do that." She lowered her gaze, peering up at him through the dark fringe of her eyelashes. "Are you mad?" He looked at her for a long moment before the shade of a smile twitched his lips. "Laura, I would have to be a major-brand dick to get pissed about something like that, and contrary to rumor I'm really not that much of a dick!" He gently squeezed her hands, held them firm and said, more seriously, "Of course I'm not mad, Laura. I'm amazed. I'm... Geez, Laura, I'm blown away." But as Laura watched he raised an eyebrow and with a wry smirk added "Besides, I see the advantages." Now more familiar with his humor, Laura braced herself and said, "Okay, I give. What advantages?" "Well, for starters," he grinned, "we won't need to change the monograms on the silverware." Laura groaned again. "Shut up and finish your burger, cowboy." She'd taken the afternoon off, so they were able to enjoy a leisurely meal and plenty of conversation. She told him about her parents passing away within six months of each other several years back, and how bereft she'd felt; about her job in an office where no one knew about her past, and how safe that felt. In turn, he talked about his kid sister, the aspiring actress, and the older brother who still worked the family's land, the one still serving with the Marines in Afghanistan and the other, the youngest, who came home from Iraq and opened a diesel repair shop on the highway just west of Dripping Springs. At one point, after a comfortable silence, Laura said, "Can I ask you something?" "Sure," he replied. "What's up?" "Well, two things, really. When we met the other day, did you really not recognize me?" Rick raised his hands, palms out, and said, "First, we're talking, what? Eighteen years since we've seen each other? And then, let's face it, you look a bit different than you did last time we crossed paths, and finally, consider the context. We're in New York City, for fuck's sake!" She nodded. "I get it. I sure recognized you, though. How could I forget?" Rick colored slightly and said, "So, what's the other question?" "Huh? Oh, yeah! I was just wondering. You seem... you seem kind of okay with all of this." She used both hands to indicate herself and asked "Am I just imagining that?" Rick thought for a moment and said, "No, you're not imagining that." He looked down at his hands, folded on the table, and then looked up, steadily holding her gaze. "To tell the truth, Laura, I always wondered about the gay thing, y'know? It's like... I heard what everybody said, but that never felt, um... I don't know... it just didn't feel big enough, I guess, to explain the way you were." She arched an eyebrow. "The way I was?" "Look, Laura, I know all the names people called you back then," he told her, "and I'm so sorry you had to endure that, but... well, when I looked at you I never saw a faggot or a sissy; I never saw a gay man." Laura leaned in, darting her tongue across suddenly dry lips. "What did you see?" He picked up his cheeseburger, and before taking a bite said, "Well, you were feminine without being effeminate, if you know what I mean. You were this kind of... ethereal creature, just sort of floating along..." "Like a fairy?" she interjected, smiling wryly. To her surprise he let the set-up pass. "I guess it doesn't really surprise me that you turned out to be female." He put his sandwich aside, dabbing a smear of mustard from his lips with a paper napkin, and smiled shyly. "But I never would have expected you to be this pretty." Laura's mouth fell open and she stammered "You... you think I'm...?" She couldn't bring herself to say the word, but Rick took her hands in his and said, "Hell, yes, pretty! Have you seen you lately? You're beautiful, Laura, but even better, you're happy. You look exactly like the woman you were born to be, and you look happy. "In fact," he added with a smirk, "if you'd just lose that cornpone accent..." Later that night, after she'd made supper for the two of them, they split a cheap bottle of red wine while seated on the fire escape outside her living room window, and Rick kissed her for the first time. It was sweet - long and deep and everything she'd spent more than eighteen years dreaming of - and she could scarcely catch her breath. "God, Rick, you are..." She paused long enough for Rick to raise his head from its spot in the hinge of her throat. "What's wrong?" he asked, concerned. She was weeping, clutching those marvelous hands of his and saying "Rick, I never... Oh, God, I never ever thought I would get to be with you this way." "Wait. What do you mean: 'this way'?" She turned and looked into his eyes, so soft and grey, dilated by desire even in the vapor glare of the nearby streetlamp. "Rick?" she whispered. "I'm here, Laura." He pulled the blanket they were sharing tighter around her, pulling her closer to him. She inhaled deeply and let out a slow, sad sigh. "Rick, you should know that long before Hamilton Pool I dreamt of you. You were handsome and smart, kind, and... well, damn, Rick: you were it for me! I used to fantasize about being in a place like this someday..." She paused, and glanced around them. "Well," she went on, with a grin, "maybe someplace a little nicer than a scuzzy fourth-floor walkup the size of a goddamn orange crate, but someplace where I could have you by my side, just like this. I always figured that if I ever found that genie's lamp my second wish, even before a billion dollars, the rock star recording contract or whatever, would be to have you here, looking at me..." She glanced down and said, "... just the way you're looking at me now." She leaned in, smiling, and pressed her lips gently to his. "I don't know what any of this means to you, Rick, but to me you're a goddam miracle." He leaned just far enough away from her that he could meet her gaze, and said, "So-o-o, let me get this straight. What you're saying is that I'm a miracle, and that I'm worth more than a billion bucks?" Laura laughed. "I guess so." "Hmm." He nodded, returning her kiss. "I can live with that." A week later, after they'd made love for the first time on the futon in her living room, Laura curled up into Rick's shoulder. She was warm, satisfied, happy in a way she'd never ever experienced, idly combing her fingers through the matted hair on his chest - thick grey hair still dark and clammy with sweat - when she came across the scar. It seemed huge to her - the wound poorly healed - and it still appeared angry, painful, recent. "Does it hurt?" she asked. He was silent, but she could feel him shake his head slowly back and forth. "Was it...?" She winced as she spoke. "Was it bad?" "The pain?" "Prison," she whispered, cringing. She hated to ask, especially in this moment; she was loath to break the magic spell the past week had woven around them by reminding him of the bad things that had happened in those years since Hamilton Pool; but if this were to mean anything, this new good thing growing between them - anything at all - then she had to know. She had no choice but to acknowledge it, to speak of it, to question it. Laura pulled her weight away from him and spoke again, more firmly. "Was it bad, in prison?" She felt his shrug in the dark - No big deal, it lied - but after a long moment his voice, low and raspy, told the truth. "It was a snake pit, Laura; there's no other way to describe it." He took a breath and went on. "It's like a factory; this huge fucked-up factory that runs on hate and fear, and produces nothing but feral dogs and rabid squirrels. If I'm a miracle - Laura, if I am any kind of miracle at all - it's only because I managed to walk out of that hellhole upright and breathing free air, and not owing sweet fuck-all to any of those bastards." Laura took it in, each word a blow to her body, and then rolled back into his embrace, sobbing loudly. Over and over she cried "Rick! I'm so sorry! Oh, God, I am so, so sorry!" He let the woman weep, holding her careful as glass, as strong as stone, gently stroking her hair until her sobs subsided and he could say, at long last, low and soft and sweet, "It was worth it, Laura. You're worth it." The woman coughed and shuddered, clinging hotly to him where he lay, and he smiled in the soft grey predawn light filtering through her curtains, and he kissed her again.