It was dark down there and the wind was quieter, although I could still hear things crashing in it. He released me carefully and I took a deep breath. He moved away and I heard a match strike.

Soft golden lantern light lit the cellar. It both softened and emphasized his face's harshness and reminded me of how the green light had outlined the washing hung out to dry before the storm.

I stared at him, seeing an attractive man but not one that my family would ever approve of. He watched me with equal intensity and I began to feel enticing, as long-dormant emotions began to stir. His eyes were a mite reserved though, like clouds in a blue sky that hint of a storm but cause no problems for the moment. A coil of heat flickered in my belly. The cellar doors rattled but I paid little heed.

I blinked at my own thoughts. Then I looked at him again, openly studying his magnificent body under the fine clothing. My stomach clenched again and I felt a little damp between my legs.

His nostrils flared and heat burned in his eyes under my stare. He looked at me as if I were the most desirable woman he had ever seen. I ran my tongue over my lips, moistening them. His dark gaze followed the movement and I became wetter.

He walked toward me slowly, the beams brushing his hair. He glided like a cougar, arrogant in his own masculinity and confident of his welcome. I trembled before his strut but lifted my chin proudly, my eyes locked to his.

I put out a hand to him and he took it. He lifted it slowly to his mouth. He kissed each finger and then the back of my hand. Then his fingers shifted and his mouth tasted my palm. I could feel his lips caressing me before his tongue moved to the pulse in my wrist. My hand stroked his scarred cheek and I moaned. He smiled slightly and repeated the caress on my other hand. The wind outside howled louder and my blood raced faster.

He fondled my cheek with his other hand and I rubbed against it, treasuring the touch. My nipples hardened like rose buds as I shivered. His hand slipped under my chin and lifted my head. I felt like a moonflower seed, buried in the earth but waiting for the first touch of rain to start sprouting.

Then his mouth touched mine. I opened my mouth and his tongue took advantage of the opportunity. He tasted sweet, like fresh water from a deep well. Our mouths explored each other slowly, gradually moving closer and closer, until finally our tongues were entwined like sweet pea vines.

His hands slipped over my shoulders and down my arms, smoothing away my clothes. I trembled and leaned into his touch, enjoying the damp air on my skin. Then he leaned back and looked at me. I stood proud and tall under his hot gaze, like a sunflower reaching for the sky. He smiled at me and traced my nipple. He murmured something about honey before his lips took possession of my breast. A jolt of fire ran through my body and I arched back against his arm.

Somewhere the wind was shrieking beyond the cellar. I was hot and wet at the same time, shuddering as life flowed through my body in response to him...

Sorry, honey. I guess I must have lost track of my story for a moment.

That man's touch sent devils dancing through my body like the tornado whipping the earth beyond the doors. I burst into life like the first green plants in spring. He brought sounds out of me to match the wind's voice-low moans, solid groans, even shrieks of astonishment. I could feel my blood surging through my veins, like sap rising through a tree in the spring. The man built my excitement and yet I felt safe. I could laugh at the storm pounding outside while the dance of life raged behind the cellar doors, sheltering us from the tempest.

He fed my pleasure for a long time, there in the dark. His hands were magical, coaxing and urging me onwards, while his voice crooned of the delights offered by my body. He said I was fairer than lilies, sweeter than roses, softer than camellias. I tumbled time and time again into rapture.

I could sense his excitement as his voice became uneven and his hands harsher. I could barely hear him over the wind's noise, thundering like a freight train above us. But I was braver now, anxious to taste a stronger possession, like a summer thunderstorm after the gentle rains of spring. I begged him to give us both completion.

Finally his mouth moved over my neck and he drank my blood, as the life he'd given me flowed back into him. My cries of rapture were drowned by the tornado above us, as it burst from earth to sky...

The two women sat silently on the porch together, watching the rain fall softly from the afternoon storm.

"Would you like some more coffee, Gran?" Mary asked, finally breaking the quiet.

"Thank you, Mary. A little warm-up for my coffee would be nice." Elizabeth studied Mary's face before asking her question. "Did I scandalize you, honey? The story is a mite racy."

Mary smiled, her face settling awkwardly but willingly into the almost forgotten expression. "Oh no, Gran, you didn't upset me. I think I feel more jealous than embarra.s.sed." She gave Elizabeth a quick hug and the two women clung to each other briefly.

"And I do enjoy your stories, whether or not they're perfectly true," Mary whispered against Elizabeth's hair before going inside, whistling a radio tune.

Elizabeth heard the timer ring, followed by the smell of fresh peach pies set out to cool. Mary returned with fresh coffee for both of them, which the women settled back into the rockers to enjoy.

"What happened after that, Gran?"

"Ma and Pa found me the next morning, asleep in the storm cellar. We laughed and cried together, the tears flowing freely in the joy of reunion. We didn't say much though, especially not with so much work to be done helping the neighbors rebuild. The tornado had turned away from our place at the last minute, just before our storm cellar. The two red marks on my neck were gone within a couple days."

Elizabeth touched the place where the marks had once shown, her eyes absent. She didn't notice Mary's eyes widen at the confirming gesture. Elizabeth shook herself briefly to come back to the present and went on.

"I met your great-grandfather at church the following Sunday. You know that part of the story, how he'd come down to help his cousin rebuild, how I walked out with him as soon as he asked. I knew what I wanted as soon as I saw him. I knew he brought the deep springs of life to set roots in."

The phone's peremptory squall broke their peace. Mary bolted upright and then froze. She stared at Elizabeth, frozen by equal parts of hope and doubt. Elizabeth released her to act.

"Would you answer that for me, honey? It might be a call for you..."

Mary ran inside, slamming the door against the wall in her haste. Elizabeth listened unabashedly to the one-sided conversation, which quickly brought her hands up in gladness.

"Joe's alive! Thanks be to the Almighty, he's coming back to Mary," Elizabeth praised and bent her head to give thanks.

Mary came out of the house a few minutes after she'd hung up. Her face was streaming with tears, shining like the roses in the garden under the storm.

"Did you hear, Gran? Joe's coming home," Mary whispered, her voice breaking on the words. She gulped and then dropped to her knees in front of Elizabeth.

Elizabeth stroked the shining hair lovingly.

"That's all right, Mary; you just go ahead and cry. Sometimes it's good to remember how life can come back from where it's hiding in the dark."

PEPPERMINT CANDY A Tale Of Jean-Marie St. Just It feels so good to be back at your house, Joan! I know these banquets are important but high heels always kill my feet. Thanks for the wine; I really appreciate you taking the time to find me some pink wine.

You're right: I don't know who shot J.R. Ewing and I don't care. Even if that does make me the most out-of-touch person in America! My daughters watch that show every week, which gives me time to read cases.

Yup, I do like being a judge and I do like reading the law... And I don't like giving speeches any more than I ever did, although it's easier when it's for a gaggle of female law students.

Yes, I'm stalling! But I'll tell you the real story of how I fell in love with the law.

It was back when I first came to Austin from West Texas. I'd grown up in a one-horse town where everyone was either a rancher or the wife, daughter, mother-whatever of a rancher. I was absolutely determined that I wasn't going to spend the rest of my life on a ranch. After some effort, I managed to persuade my Pa to let me go to college if I paid for it. You've met him; you can imagine how much persuasion that took!

Anyway, I got a scholarship and made it to the University three days after my eighteenth birthday. The scholarship didn't cover everything so I found myself a very cheap boarding house within sight of the Tower. I saved even more money by doing housework for my landlady. There was a lot of work she wanted done, needed to have done.

Then I started cla.s.ses and found out very quickly that my little high school in West Texas might have produced good football players but didn't begin to provide enough education to keep up with the rest of my cla.s.s. I began to spend every spare moment at the library, studying like I never had before. Between studying and working for the Landlady From h.e.l.l, I barely had time to eat and sleep.

By the time finals came, I was exhausted and desperate. I had to get an "A" on the final for American history just to pa.s.s the cla.s.s and stay in school. I was at the library so often that it's a wonder n.o.body mistook me for a bookcase.

I met a really nice guy in the stacks one night when I was looking for a book on the Const.i.tution. He didn't look like anyone my Pa would object to: my height (yes, that short!), brown hair, blue eyes, slender and taut as a sword, pretty as a girl. He looked only a few years older than me, possibly old enough to be a grad student. He had a French name, Jean-Marie something.

We got to talking about my history cla.s.s and he was able to offer me all sorts of tips, which I just tried to soak up. I was upset when the closing bell rang. I didn't want to let go of the best talk I'd had on history since arriving at school. He teased me about my disappointment and offered to help me study the next night, just before my final.

I wanted to say yes but I knew that my landlady would never consent to a man visiting me after hours. She had standards that would put the minister's wife back home to shame. I tried to explain this to Jean-Marie. He just smiled at me and told me not to be surprised if I had a visitor the next evening.

The next day was awful. My landlady had a list of ch.o.r.es for me that would amaze Cinderella's stepmother. I didn't even start scrubbing the oven until after doing the supper dishes. So there I was, newspapers spread over the floor and windows wide open to the cold winter air. Even with wearing an enormous ap.r.o.n over my faded pink dress and heavy rubber gloves, I still had smudges on my face. My hair was escaping from the bandanna like rats off a sinking ship.

You know, Joan, you really don't have to laugh quite that hard! Why do you think I have a maid now?

So, that's when my landlady came to tell me that a lady had come to call on me. I didn't want to see anyone and told her to say no. But she kept insisting and finally I had to go see the person who'd managed to get the Landlady From h.e.l.l to carry a message.

You can imagine my surprise to see the most picture perfect lady waiting in the front parlor. She was wearing a peppermint pink suit with its full skirt carefully laid out over the sofa. Her outfit was complete down to matching hat, gloves, purse and shoes. Then she turned her head and I saw... Jean-Marie.

My mouth dropped open. I swear that he made a prettier girl than I ever have. Even his voice was gorgeous-like Ava Gardner with a French accent. I wanted to scream that it wasn't fair. I wanted to ask him how he got his makeup to look that good. And I was suddenly miserably conscious of just how much I looked like Cinderella's poor relation.

I was angry and upset that he was wearing a dress. I started to yell at him but realized quickly that my landlady would be furious. She'd probably throw me out if she knew that a man was visiting me in her house, a man who wore women's clothes to make things even worse. I bit my lip, not knowing what to do or say.

Jean-Marie caught my eyes then. He looked tense, which didn't match the self-confident student who'd aided me in the library's stacks. He silently urged me to calm down.

I took a deep breath and sat down. I looked at everything in that over-crowded room except Jean-Marie.

Then I heard my landlady offering to finish in the kitchen so I could visit with Miss Marie for as long as I liked. Jean-Marie accepted that offer promptly, watching the woman serenely. He reminded me of our barn cats back home: they always presented themselves at the side door at the same time every day for their saucer of food. They never bothered asking for it; they simply expected you to provide it as soon as they appeared. Jean-Marie had the same overwhelming confidence that my landlady would provide what was necessary, just because he wanted it.

I studied Jean-Marie then, trying to see how he did it. How could he look so absolutely confident in a dress? He had been so masculine in the library.

My brother and I had lots of arguments about peppermint candy when we were children. You know, the red and white striped kind? We argued endlessly about whether it was a red candy or a white candy. I started to wonder whether Jean-Marie was masculine or feminine. I started to look for signs of him being a man, under all the stripes of women's clothing.

I could see his shoulders, layered with muscle where a woman's would be fragile bones and smooth skin under the dress. I noticed his wrists, rich with tendons and veins, unlike a woman's delicacy. In fact, his hands reminded me of Errol Flynn in the old movies my mother loves: a swordsman's hands, as quick to caress as to kill. His legs were an athlete's legs, showing corded muscle rather than a woman's sleek lines.

He sat on the boarding house sofa like a soldier waiting for a call to arms, ready to move in any direction at a moment's notice. A lady would have alighted on the sofa, relaxing as if in her own home.

I saw more and more of the man as I stared at him: the strong neck, the hard lines of cheek and jaw, the eyes...

I swallowed hard when I looked into his eyes fully. He looked at me as if I were the most beautiful woman in the world. I blushed and looked down at my hands. Then my eyes returned to him.

Jean-Marie stood up with a rustle of petticoats, collected me with a glance, and moved smoothly upstairs. I followed, jealous of how much easier he walked in high-heel shoes than I ever had. He glided through the house like the cat he reminded me of. He made going up those steep narrow stairs look like the simplest thing anyone ever had to do.

I cast a quick glance back downstairs but couldn't see That Woman. I took a deep breath and kept going.

My room was upstairs in the attic and looked like a disaster. Books and dirty clothes were scattered around until you could hardly find the furniture. Not that the furniture was much to look at but...

Anyway, I gestured helplessly for him to sit down. Jean-Marie sat down on the narrow bed like Grace Kelly and folded his hands. I started to ask questions but he held up one finger. I fell silent and waited too.

Then I heard my landlady huffing up the stairs. It was the first time I'd ever heard her climb the stairs. My jaw dropped when she appeared at my door, carrying coffee and cookies for two. I had no idea she owned a fancy coffeepot. Jean-Marie, of course, accepted the refreshments as a natural part of everyday life and then got the woman out of there. I shut the door after her and looked at Jean-Marie.

He began to chuckle at the look on my face. I started to laugh too. We laughed together until tears ran down my face and I couldn't stand up straight. I collapsed onto the bed against Jean-Marie and hugged him. He kissed the top of my head and held me until I was calmer.

We had coffee after that and talked about history. Jean-Marie had some great stories about the Founding Fathers, stories that made them real people but that I've never found in a book. He made the Const.i.tution come alive for me as the work of individual men trying to make a better life for their children. I fell in love with those men and their work that night.

Then he started quizzing me. He asked me all of the exam questions, plus a few more that were harder than anything the professor thought of. We worked on those questions until I was word perfect...

No more wine please, Joan. What with the banquet, I've had too much already!

When we finished, it was after midnight and you could see the full moon through the window. We were sitting on the bed together-well, it was the only place to sit in the room. Jean-Marie had his arm around me. His body was as hot and strong as a sports car on an August day but I could feel his underthings' lace beneath the pink wool. His mascara still looked good even from that close. I could smell his cologne, something spicy and masculine.

I asked him who taught him how to wear pink wool and high heels like that. He smirked and told me that he'd learned from the Sun King.

I laughed at that. I know the men back then were fancy dressers but still! Then I leaned up and kissed him on the mouth. Well, he'd been so sweet, even if he did stretch the truth, and I had to do something to ruin that lipstick! His feminine disguise was driving me crazy and I wanted to see more of the man.

Jean-Marie promptly kissed me back. He kissed like an angel, as if he could spend hours and hours making love to my mouth. I figured out real fast that he was a far better kisser than Jerry Black, second-string tackle on my high school's football team and the only fellow I'd ever kissed before.

I enjoyed his kisses and after a while, I started to do some of the kissing myself. Jean-Marie encouraged me to experiment and, well, time flew by.

Somehow we managed to lie down on the bed, both of our skirts sliding up to our waists. Jean-Marie got my dress open and started fondling my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Pretty soon he had his hand between my legs and I lost all power of rational thought. I felt dizzy; my head was spinning as if peppermint candy's red and white stripes were swirling around me.

When he moved his mouth back up from my b.r.e.a.s.t.s to my mouth, I just grabbed his head and kissed him hard. He gave a satisfied grunt and kissed me as if he couldn't get enough. Mercifully, he was still kissing me when his finger slipped inside me. I screamed when he took me over the edge for the first time in my life but his mouth swallowed the sound.

When I calmed down a bit, he was lying between my legs. He'd put the pillow under my hips and his arms were under my thighs, lifting them up. He'd set aside that pink hat earlier but he still had the wig with its long brown ringlets flowing over his shoulders. His peppermint pink skirts rubbed my ankles. But somehow, he didn't look feminine at all.

Then he took off the wig and dropped it onto the floor. His eyes scorched me. He looked like a pirate who'd just found buried treasure.

I swallowed, nervous but not ready to run. His finger stroked down my belly, then further until it started teasing that little part of me that he'd pleasured so well before. I melted for him.

The last thing I remember is the gleam in his eyes before his head bent down to me. His tongue started playing with me down there, spending more time and energy than he had on my mouth. I felt a sharp bite on my thigh just before I climaxed yet again...

Later that night, he taught me a few more things, such as how to suck a man like a candy cane. It was fun, like finding peppermint candy, hot and red and spicy, under those fancy skirts of his...

What do you mean, how do you suck a man like that? Lordy, Joan, I thought you've tried almost everything by now. Let's see now; how can I explain it?

Jean-Marie and I were lying on the bed together, with his arms wrapped around me. We'd gotten rid of the peppermint pink dress because the wool rubbed my skin. Now his petticoat's crinolines scratched my legs. I twitched restlessly and tried to move away. Then I just sat up and told him to take it off. His mouth quirked at my tone but he stood up and stripped the wretched thing over his head. My jaw dropped as I looked at my first naked man.

Do you remember that statue of David that we saw in Florence? Not the big marble one by Michelangelo but the elegant bronze one? David as a beautiful youth, with a winged helmet? Recall how you teased me for staring at it for so long and coming back the next day to see it again? Jean-Marie's body was like that, slim and muscular. Creamy white, unlike the bronze, but deep red where his c.o.c.k jutted towards me.

I touched it carefully with just the tip of my finger. He jerked slightly and hissed softly but didn't step away. I swirled my finger around the tip, which was an even darker shade of scarlet, and felt its wetness. I tasted my finger and he groaned my name.

I wanted to sample more of him so I leaned forward and licked up the thick hard shaft. My tongue bobbed as it came to the fat head and I twisted slightly so I could explore the other side, before returning to the start. Jean-Marie said my name again hoa.r.s.ely and his hands gripped my hair.

I did it again but this time, Jean-Marie's hands directed my head as I swirled my tongue over him. Another time came under Jean-Marie's guidance, curving my tongue around, over and down his scarlet shaft. I remembered sucking candy canes, how I followed a red stripe around the long shaft, then up and over the top, before sweeping back around to the base. I tried that motion on him and he growled approval, his hands tightening in my hair.

I did it again and again, enjoying how he began to rock under my mouth. My hands came up and echoed my tongue's movements. Heat built under my attentions and I tasted his own sweet spice, better than anything I'd ever found under in a Christmas stocking.

His body jerked harder and faster as I sucked him. The rhythm reminded me of how my hips danced beneath his tongue. Then he tensed and shuddered. I lifted my head and watched thick white drops pulse out from the head of his c.o.c.k. His cream flowed down his crimson shaft, red and white together like peppermint candy...

Well, what else do you want to know, Joan?

That night was when I fell in love with the law and the people who'd made it. The final went well, even though I was still bleeding a bit from that bite on my thigh. I found a new boarding house for the second semester and things got better at the University.

Occasionally, my thigh will start burning under a full moon and I'll feel a little trickle of blood running down. Then I'll go to the library and browse through the stacks, hoping to hear a French voice talking about the Founding Fathers...

THIRTIETH BIRTHDAY.

A Tale Of Ethan Templeton I've been working on a grandfather's book of memories, which makes me feel ancient. The cowboy told me that I would remember but I could only speak of it once. So I am writing this now, while I still recall the details, just to prove to myself that even a tenured professor of mathematics and his wife were young and crazy once.

I was on sabbatical in Austin for my thirtieth birthday. Carol and the kids were doing well there but I felt old. Carol still looked like the crazy blonde I'd fallen in love with but I looked much the same then as I do now, as I did when I was eighteen: a nerd. Brown eyes, brown hair going bald, gla.s.ses. At least I still swam enough to have a decent build.

Carol really surprised me that year for my birthday. She gave me a certificate good for one fantasy of my choice. We'd talked about it long enough that she knew which one I'd choose: seeing another man make love to her. I wanted John Travolta in "Urban Cowboy;" she wanted Frank Langella in "Dracula."

Carol found a baby-sitter for my birthday weekend and we were free.

We drove around that Sat.u.r.day to a lot of different roadhouses, looking for just the right cowboy. We started at the trendy roadhouses and watched dozens of urban cowboys two-step across the floor.

Too fake, said Carol.