Title: "After the Party's Over"
Authors: Angela W. and Melissa
Category: Alternative Universe (MSR/DRR)
Rating: Strong R
Timespan/Spoilers: Anything up through season eight
should be considered fair game, but  few things in
this universe correspond exactly to the "real" XF
world.
Summary: First of all, know that this is a semi-smutty
follow-up to a PG fanfic called "Byers Dreamworld
Revisited". You really should read that one (it's
short) in order to understand this one. Basically,
this is a "blissed out" XF universe where nothing bad,
other than Samantha's abduction, has ever happened to
anyone. Diabetics beware! Told in alternative, first
person POVs.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to us. They
are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 Productons. 
Notes: Angela W. wrote most of this. Melissa gallanty
voluteered to write the DRR part, as I am not a big
fan of those two. For those of you who are fans of my
regular "married" series (the ones where Mulder and
Scully got married in Las Vegas). . .despite the fact
that Mulder and Scully are married in this, it's not
part of that series. I'm almost finished with the next
story in that series, and should be posting it soon.
Feedback: If it's nice or contains *constructive*
criticism, feedback is valued. Melissa doesn't do this
a lot, so be encouraging to her.
Archive: Feel free to archive anywhere!

***

If this party doesn't end soon, I'm going to lose my
mind. 

Kathleen fell asleep about twenty minutes ago and is
cuddled up on a blanket with her cousin Will. As soon
as our baby was asleep, Missy plopped herself down in
my lap. Which would be okay, if she'd just sit still.
But Missy's the biggest flirt to ever walk the face of
the planet. Maggie and Dana have both told me that she
started when she was about 11 and hasn't stopped yet.

You'd think that a beautiful, natural-born flirt
married to a science geek like me would spell trouble,
right? Nope. For some inexplicable reason, which is
beyond even Mulder's ability to postulate a hypothesis
on, Missy is as crazy about me as I am about her. So
she flirts with me. Constantly. She calls me at work
to whisper suggestions of what we can do when I get home.
She sends me e-mails that are eventually going to get
us busted for violating federal indecency laws. She
touches me as much as she can and, whenever possible,
she sits in my lap.

I'm not complaining; I'm bragging. But right now,
considering that all I'm wearing is a pair of swim
trunks, my reaction to my lovely wife's proximity is
going to be blatantly obvious the moment she leaves my
lap.

Missy chooses this moment to lean down and whisper,
"Gee, Sean, did you put your service weapon in your
swim trunks or are you just glad to see me?"

"You're funny, Missy," I snap.

"Are you mad at me?" she asks, drawing her head far
enough back so that she can look into my eyes in the
gathering dusk. Missy hates to fight, hates to have me
mad at her; totally unlike her sister and
brother-in-law, who seem to get off on arguing with
each other.

"No, gorgeous," I reply. "I'm not mad. You know what I
am."

She smiles. "I know. Me, too. Can we leave now?"

"Missy, if I stand up right now, it's going to be
immediately noticeable to everyone here as to exactly
why we're leaving."

She glances at the edge of the pool less than a foot
away from where we're sitting. "When we first stand
up, I'll be in front of you. Then you can stumble into
the pool."

I nod. That'll work. Outside of work and bed, I'm a
complete klutz. That fact long ago ceased to even
bother me. I excel at the two areas of my life that I
give a damn about and pretty much for the same
reasons. Under vastly different circumstances, both
Missy and Dana have commented that they really
appreciate my meticulous attention to even the
smallest details and my refusal to quit until I've got
things done *exactly* right.

So we say something about needing to get home, stand
up and I pretend to lose my footing. Only thing is, as
I go in, I grab Missy's waist and pull her in with me.
We come up gasping for air and, since my back is
turned toward the rest of the party, I shoot her a
grin. Missy can't even say anything. What's she going
to do, accuse me of doing it on purpose?

Once we get dried off, gather up Kathleen and make it
to the car, she turns on me. "You did that on purpose,
Sean!" she says, her voice wavering between amused and
angry.

"Are you mad at me?" I ask, echoing her words of
fifteen minutes earlier. For good measure, I reach
over and trail my fingers along the inside of her
thigh. Missy's inner thighs are very sensitive. Even
through the thick material of her bathing suit, I can
see her nipples immediately pucker in response.

"No," she says slowly, drawing out the word. I
continue to mess with her on the way home -- luckily
it isn't far -- and by the time we arrive she's
whimpering softly. Missy scoops up Kathleen and
hurries into the house with her, while I unload the
baby paraphenelia and then make sure all the doors are
locked and lights are off. 

By the time I get upstairs, Missy has stripped. She
tackles me and knocks me onto the bed, landing
squarely atop my body. Then she dives in for a kiss.
When we finally come up for air, I say. "You know,
Missy, this is a lot of fun. But I think we could have
even more fun if we were *both* naked."

"Yeah," she agrees, rolling to one side long enough
for me to yank off my bathing suit, then straddling me
again. She immediately engulfs me in her body, a
position which puts her gorgeous breasts right at the
level of my mouth. It's not like I need an engraved
invitation. I latch onto one with my mouth, while
using my hand to caress the other one. Missy only
recently weaned Kathleen and,while I did my best to be
supportive of her breastfeeding, I'm quite frankly
glad to be able to do this again without getting a
faceful of milk in the process.

Missy is beginning to quiver and moan above me. I'm
not surprised she's so close; we've basically been
indulging in a muted version of foreplay ever since
Kathleen fell asleep at the party over an hour ago.
Her orgasm is fantastic and I watch it play across her
face while feeling it play out in the pulsating
pressure around my cock.

As soon as she's finished, I roll her on to her back
and begin thrusting into her. It takes only a minute
or two until I come and collapse on top of her
immediately afterwards. I know most men tend to fall
asleep after sex, but I apparently am worse than most.
"Sean, move," Missy says in the tone of a woman has
this particular conversation with her sex-sated
husband on a frequent basis.

I retain just enough consciousness to roll over on my
side and spoon her up next to me. "'night, Missy. Love
you," I murmur. 

"I love you too," she replies. Then I'm out like a
light.


***

If this party doesn't end soon, I'm going to lose my
mind.

Kimberly has lured me into the water and is floating
beside me like some sort of fertility goddess. She
keeps bringing home these books for expectant fathers
that have sections in them about how to assure your
wife that you still find her desirable once her
pregnancy becomes obvious. 

Apparently I'm having some sort of unusual reaction
because lack of desire is not the problem here. I've
never seen anything as erotic as my wife's belly
swollen with our baby in my entire life. She
practically has to use a fire hose to keep me off of
her. My main worry is that I'm going to hurt her.
Being as I'm twice her size -- I'm not even going to
get into the fact that I'm also damned near twice her
age -- that was a concern even before she was
pregnant. She swears I never have, but the intensity
of my desire sometimes frightens me.

The other day, during what was supposed to be a
routine meeting, I began rambling on about her
pregnancy. Finally Mulder -- thank God, he and Scully
were the only ones in the room -- put his hands on
both my shoulders, looked me in the eye and said,
"Skinner. We know she's pregnant. And we're very happy
for you, honestly we are. But we only have a limited
amount of time here. Can we get back to the business
at hand?" You know you've got it bad when Special
Agent Fox Mulder, the FBI's poster boy for
unprofessional behavior, has to remind you to keep
your mind on your job.

Kimberly stands up in the shallow water and smiles at
me. "Come on. Let's go home," she says quietly.

I nod. We dry off and make our goodbyes. As soon as we
pull out of the driveway, Kimberly reaches out and
squeezes my biceps. "Yeah?" I ask, figuring she's
trying to get my attention.

"Nothing," she replies with a shrug and a smile. "I
just like feeling your muscles. It's nice being
married to an iron man."

"Be my guest," I answer.  

We make it home in record time; if I had been stopped
by a local cop, I would have pulled out my FBI
credentials and flashed them. Local cops tend to get
real respectful when the words "Assistant Director for
the FBI" are said, even if the man saying them is
wearing a bathing suit.

We walk straight into the bedroom and Kimberly
immediately peels off her bathing suit. I do the same.
She lets her eyes roam southward and smiles at me with
a teasing glint in her eyes. 

I grin back. From everything I've read and heard, most
50-year-old men need actual sexual touching -- rather
than just visual stimulation -- to achieve a full
erection. Not me. The fact that I'm in top physical
condition probably helps, but my beautiful 34-year-old
wife is undoubtedly the main reason I'm able to spring
to attention just from looking.

I pick her up and place her gently on the middle of
our bed. Then I begin to kiss my way down her body.
I'm careful not to suckle on her breasts, as she's
reached the point in her pregnancy where too much
attention to her that area of her anatomy is painful
rather than pleasureable. Instead, I leave a moist
trail between them and continue along the rounded
swell of her belly. I half-expect a movement in her
womb in response to my touch, but the baby must be
sleeping. So I continue to my goal and slide my tongue
between her legs.

"Mmm! Yeah. More! Oh, yeah!" she moans above me. Her
taste is delicious, even the slight scent of chlorine
from the pool not overriding it. I keep at it until
she climaxes, then I slowly kiss my way back up her
body.

"You're gorgeous when you come," I whisper in her ear
as I spoon her next to me.

"You're so *good*," she replies, her voice admiring.
"How do you want me to. . .?"

"We don't have to do anything else if you're tired," I
say softly. I'll truly be content just to hold her,
knowing I've made her happy.

"Well, I'm not going to attempt to sleep with that,"
she wiggles her bottom against me to indicate the
specific part of my anatomy to which she is referring,
"poking me in the back all night long. Besides, I like
making you happy, too."

"Honey, you make me happy just by being here," I
assure her. She flashes me a look which I've learned
to watch out for. "However, if you want to make me
*extremely* happy," I lift one of her legs over both
of mine and begin to push slowly inside her still wet
body. We both groan soflty.

I keep up the pace for quite a while, kissing her
shoulder and neck, murmuring endearments in her ear.
She mostly replies with soft sighs, but eventually
says, "Wow, you're an iron man in more ways than one,
aren't you?"

While the words are said lightly, I sense an
underlying plea in them. She's tired, she's probably
starting to get sore and she wants to get this show on
the road so we can go to sleep.

Even in my 20s, I never had problems with being
trigger happy, but in this marriage I've experienced a
problem I never had in any of my previous intimate
relationships. It's not impotence -- viagra is the
last thing I need -- it's just an an inablity to
ejaculate until a *long* time after I first get an
erection. The ability to last for quite a while is
supposed to be a good thing, something women crave and
men brag about. However, as Kimberly said once --
after what was supposed to be a "quickie" bout of
morning sex led to both of us being extremely late for
work -- it's possible to have too much of a good
thing.

I'd be willing to pull out and simply let the erection
subside -- it would, sooner or later -- but then she'd
feel bad, as if she'd failed to satisfy me. So I
really try to concentrate. What finally pushes me over
the edge, however, is when the baby kicks against the
palm of my hand that is splayed against Kimberly's
bare belly. The fact that this is the act which
created the life which now thrives inside her triggers
my orgasm.

I pull out and snuggle her against me. I think she may
already be asleep, but I murmur "'night, Kimberly.
Love you."

"I love you, too," she replies. Then I'm out like a
light.

***

If this party doesn't end soon, I'm going to lose my
mind.

I love hanging out with the gang, but it's now more
the gang just hanging out in pairs...among other
things threatening to hang out.

My wife enjoys PDAs as she calls it, or Public
Displays of Affection. All my buddies in college were
into that, apparently it's a guy thing that skipped
past me and landed on her. I'm uncomfortable being
stared at by strangers and I know it makes my friends
awkward when they're around our entwined selves. 

"Mmmmm," Monica purrs as she rubs my chest. 

A pool party? I'm only wearing shorts for cryin' out
loud...and she's in, um, a few triangles of cloth tied
together with string. Why couldn't this have been a
ski-wear party?

Don't think about it, don't think about it. Mind
elsewhere. Think of nothing. Like Monica tells me to
do when she tries to teach me her yoga stuff.

Oh look, pretty flowers! The grass is green. The sky
is blue. Her eyes are brown.

"You're not paying attention to me."

"I don't want to embarrass you if I get too excited."

"Embarrass me! John Doggett you're crazy! I thought
guys always bragged about their "assets." Don't they
like to prove it to show off? 'Cuz you're one big
specimen!"

"Shhhh!" I hush.

"Prude."

She proceeds to grab me by the... "Eeek!" I squeak. 

She giggles. "Who's embarrassed now?"

I slink down farther in the lawnchair, which is
counter-productive since she was sitting on my lap but
can now *lay* on me. 

I notice Luke has suddenly changed his thoughts about
this party. He's certainly not bored. He's apparently
lost interest in football or realized that being
athletic impresses the girls. He's playing with Emily
and the Byers girls now. Mulder's "secret" came 10
years too early. My man! If I were Mulder or Byers,
I'd be interrogating immediately. If I had a girl... 

"I wanna have more babies." 

I gaze into Monica's blank stare. "Huh?" is her reply.


"Huh?" I agree. What did I just say? I put my hand on
her stomach.

"Oh, John!" Teary eyes look back at me. "Really?"

"Really." I always thought we'd just have one, no
favoritism, and our first was a boy to carry on the
Doggett name. But I'm a sap. Monica and I hold each
other for a few minutes observing the children play. 

Wow. My heart is pounding and I can feel hers too.
She's calmed down after crying. "Can we start now?"
Aw, my horny woman. 

"Once we get home, can you wait that long?" She
reluctantly nods.

The drive home was the opposite of the drive over, now
filled with the sounds of a preteen heartthrob. He's
growing up. And his mom and I are on our way to make
more of these expensive noisemakers. 

One step out of the bathroom, I'm attacked by a naked
woman. My shorts disappear and I'm now standing in my
birthday suit.

"My, my, what do we have here?" Monica growls at my
erection.

"Were not going to...aahhhh...this way," I moan.

"You never seem to have trouble with repeat
performances or slow motion replays, John. You better
not tonight." 

And I don't. My thought processes slowed for a while
there, but the memory recorded it all.

I'm now laying in satiated bliss in my lover's arms.
That are now moving all over my body again. "Ready for
more yet? Just one more inning?" she giggles against
me.

Man, she was talkin' bout male bragging earlier. I am
now 'da man, surely, as I married a non-stop orgasm
machine. "One more," I offer.

Afterwards I snuggle up to her with my hand on her
stomach. "I love you."

"I love you too," she replies. Then I'm out like a
light. 


***

If this party doesn't end soon, I'm going to lose my
mind.

For some reason, Scully has decided we should make out
in the deep end of the pool. I'm standing at point
where my chin is just barely above water and she's
floating next to me with her arms wrapped around my
neck and her tongue in my ear. "This is nice," she
whispers. "We can kiss in the water while standing up
without me having to suffer neck strain." She proceeds
to demonstrate and I put my hands on her ass to hold
her.

I feel like pounding my chest in he-man exuberance.
Thank God. . .Scully's libido's finally back!! I knew
what to expect, this time around, so it didn't freak
me out quite as much as it did after Emily's birth.
During the first six months or so after giving birth,
a nursing mother simply doesn't feel much in the way
of sexual desire.

It's not that we haven't been making love; we have,
four or five times a month, ever since the doctor gave
us the okay at the six-weeks postpartum check-up. But
Scully wasn't really into it. I made all the advances
and she simply. . .accepted them. Having sex with me
was a way of meeting *my* needs, much in the same way
that nursing William was a way of meeting his and
reading "Little Critter" books while cuddled on our
bed was a way of meeting Emily's. In one sense, Scully
wanted to have sex, because she loves me and wanted me
to know it. But she didn't crave it for her own
satisfaction. Tonight, unless I'm very much mistaken,
she wants it. Bad.

"Dana," I finally murmur when we come up for air. "I'm
enjoying this immensely but exactly why are we doing
it here and now?" I jerk my head slightly in the
direction of Emily, playing the shallow end of the
pool with the Byers' daughters, to indicate what I
mean. That and the fact that there are several other
adults either supervising the girls or sitting on the
patio near where William is sleeping. It's growing
dark, and our activities probably aren't particularly
apparent to the others, but I really prefer to keep
our private life private.

She sighs and looks -- at least to the extent that I
can tell in the dusk -- a little embarrassed. "It's
just that. . . tonight reminded me of another pool
party Missy and I attended about 20 years ago. In
California, while we were in high school. Missy spent
most of that party making out with a really
good-looking guy in the deep end of the pool, while I
mostly hung around the punch bowl and ate Chex mix.
Tonight, I guess, I just wanted to have a turn to be
the girl enjoying the attentions of the best-looking
guy at the party."

"Um, if the point is to make your sister jealous, I
hate to tell you this, but she's already left."
There's also the minor matter that she probably
wouldn't care, anyway. For some weird reason, Missy is
actually *crazy* about Pendrell, and seems to think
he's sexy. Pendrell seems to simply think he's died
and gone to heaven.

"No, I don't care about Missy, I just want to fool
around with you," she replies.

"Let's go home then," I suggest. She nods and we
quickly gather up our protesting daughter and sleeping
son, make our goodbyes to our hosts, then load
everybody into the minivan. Happily, Emily falls
asleep on the drive home and we managed to get both
her and William unbuckled and into the house without
waking them.

"Where were we?" I ask as soon as Scully and I enter
our bedroom. "Do you want me to give you a big, sloppy
hickey to add to our make out experience?"

"No, I just want you naked and in bed. Now!"

"Yes, ma'am," I reply. This isn't the kind of order
I'd want to ignore. I ease my swimsuit over my raging
erection, pull back the covers and slide into bed.
Scully strips out of her bathing suit and slides in
beside me, giggling and kissing. If I didn't know
better, I'd swear she was drunk; except she's still
nursing William twice a day and I know she didn't have
anything alcoholic at the party. I guess she's just in
a silly mood.

I roll on top of her and kiss her, long and deep. We
most commonly make love with Scully on top; because
she's so tiny, it's the easiest position for us and
the one that's most pleasureable for her. But tonight
I'm in an alpha male mood and want to be the dominant
partner. So I slide her legs up along my back and
hover above her, with my cock just grazing her
entrance. "You ready or you want to play some more?" I
ask.

"Fox, I've been ready since we started fooling around
in the pool an hour ago," she points out.

I nod and slide into her. She wasn't kidding; she's
more than ready for me. I begin a gentle, rollicking
motion, intent on taking things slow. But Scully has
other notions. She tightens her legs around me and
starts lifting her hips up off the bed to meet my
thrusts.  I get the idea and speed things up, sliding
a hand under her ass to tilt her toward me.

 If I time this just right we ought to be able to. .
.yeah, Scully's starting to quiver in a way that six
years of marriage enable me to recognize as a prelude
to her climax. Which is good, because I'm starting to
see the spots before my eyes that are a prelude to
mine. Our climax is virtually simultaneous and we open
our eyes to gaze with wonder at each other.

"I love you, Dana," I whisper as I pull out and spoon
her close to me.

"I love you, too," she replies. Then I'm out like a
light.

***

If this party doesn't end soon, I'm going to lose my
mind.

Yeah, I know. Not much to lose. Unlike most of the men
here, I'm not an intellectual giant. I didn't even
make it all the way through college, dropping out
after my junior year to play third-string pro ball for
a couple of years. Neither Melissa Pendrell nor
Kimberly Skinner is a college graduate, either, but
they're probably smarter than I am. 

However, Yves is wearing a bikini and a policy debate
is not exactly what I have in mind for our activities
one we return home. Yves likes sex. That fact doesn't
surprise me. I'm not egotistical, but I generally
assume a woman will enjoy herself when she's in bed
with me. I've got an athlete's body and a generous
attitude. It surprised the hell out of Yves the first
night we made love, though. She wasn't a virgin, but
she'd apparently never actually experienced an orgasm
before. Now, she keeps wanting to test the theory:
like she has to prove to herself that the first few
hundred times weren't a fluke, that lovemaking really
is everything it's cracked up to be, after all.

So, when she climbs out of the pool, I haul her to me
and whisper, "Let's go home".

"But I'm having fun," she replies.

"You'll have more fun once we get home," I reply.
"Trust me, sweetheart."

She shivers and I don't think it's entirely due to the
cool evening air caressing her wet body. She nods and
we make our goodbyes.

As soon as we get home, I press her up against the
wall and kiss her, long and deep. One of the stupidest
statements I've ever heard -- at least, that I didn't
make myself -- is that British woman lack passion.
Yeah, right. Yves is raking her nails up and down my
back and wiggling herself so ecstatically against me
that I think she's going to come before I even get her
stripped.

"Hold on just a minute, honey," I murmur when we come
up for air. I untie her bikini top with a couple of
quick flicks of my fingers and toss it aside, then
pull down her bottoms with one hand while removing my
own swim trunks with the other, all while continuing
to kiss and nibble along her neck and ear.

"Can we go to bed now?" Yves whimpers as I bring one
of my hands up and begin to gently tweak at her
nipples.

"I thought we'd just stay here, unless you
particularly want to head up to the bedroom," I reply.
I've nailed Yves'  luscious ass in just about every
room of our spacious home -- our bedroom, the guest
room, the study,  both bathrooms and the living room
-- but the kitchen is still uncharted territory.

"On the floor?" she asks hesitantly.

"No, just like this," I answer, continuing to caress
her. "Up against the wall."

"I've heard about -- 0oh, yeah, Jimmy, like that! --
sex standing up, but didn't think it was actually
possible."

"It is, but only for men who have really superb upper
body strength," I assure her. Then I dip my fingers
into her to make sure she's ready. "Do you want to try
it like this or go upstairs?"

"Like this. What do I do?"

"Hook your leg around my waist," I instruct, sliding a
hand up her thigh and lifting it. "Then wrap your arms
around my neck and hold on."

I surge into her and her eyes go wide with wonder.
"Wow!" she says. Then she begins to wiggle and pump
herself enthusiastically against me. I stay still and
let her ride me 'til her orgasm hits. I tend to be a
bit on the trigger happy side and if I moved too much
the game would be over before Yves got her turn at
bat. When she'd done, I give a couple of powerful
thrusts and explode inside her. Then I throw her over
my shoulder and climb the stairs to our room, where I
tumble us both into bed.

"You're a cave man, Jimmy," she says as I spoon her
against me.

"Is that a complaint?" I ask.

"Not at all; it's a compliment," she replies,
snuggling more closely against me.

"Good night, Yves. I love you," I say with a huge
yawn.

"I love you, too," she replies. Then I'm out like a
light.


***

 If this party doesn't end soon, I'm going to lose my
mind.

All the other families have left. . .either because
their kids were tired or because married men are
capable of thinking of more exciting things to do on a
Friday night than sitting around drinking beer and
discussing conspiracy theories.

Alas, Frohike and Langley are still here. It's to the
point where I am *seriously* considering telling them
that Suzanne and I are going to bed now and they can
let themselves out. She came back down after getting
the girls to sleep and snuggled up against me. I
whispered to her that she could go on to bed but she
whispered back that she wanted me in bed with her. I
nodded and smiled and pulled her closer.

My passion for Suzanne surprises me sometimes. I
apparently view sex in a different manner than the
vast majority of the world's male population. For me,
it's an act that arises out of love. I desire Suzanne
because I love her, not the other way around. I'm
capable of appreciating the beauty of other women, but
only in an academic way, the same way I appreciate the
a beautiful painting or sunset. It's only the thought
of my wife that produces a physical reaction.

Finally, Frohike and Langley leave. I wait until their
van has pulled out of the driveway and then turn to
Suzanne. "Bed?" I ask.

"Nope. Swimming pool. I've been wanting to do you
there since we bought the house back in October, but
this if the first night it's been warm enough."

"Damn, Suzanne," I say, following her back out to the
patio. "You've been thinking about this for seven
months and are just now getting around to sharing it
with me?"

"You would have had me out here in February, Johnny"
she points out.

Probably true enough. We strip off our bathing suits
and step back into the water; it's grown cooler in the
past hour, but whatever negative effect the water has
on my anatomy is more than offset by the sight of my
beautiful, naked wife. She floats up to me and we
kiss, then I lift her; the water makes it easy.

We kiss some more, then I enter her. I send up a slow,
easy pace. I've never been a big fan of quickie sex.
We usually make love at langorous pace -- unless the
girls are banging on our bedroom door. That happened a
couple of mornings ago. It was actually pretty funny;
Suzanne lying beneath me, yelling out things like "Go
watch cartoons" and "I'll get you some cereal in a
minute" alternating with hissing whispers of "harder"
and "yesss!" in my ear.

But, tonight, we're in no hurry. When I sense she's
very, very close, I back up so that we're sitting on
the steps to the pool. Actually climaxing while our
private parts are underwater would be kind of
difficult. She comes and I follow, only moments later.
We kiss once more, softly. Then we climb out of the
pool and wrap up in towels and tiptoe into the house.

"That was fun tonight," she says, as I pull back the
covers of our bed and we snuggle together. "I enjoyed
seeing everybody."

"Having our friends over was nice," I agree, "but, as
far as I'm concerned, the highlight of the evening was
our little private party just now. I love you,
Suzanne. So much."

"I love you, too," she replies. Then I'm out like a
light.


Authors' email addys:  Angela's is tapw63@yahoo.com
             Melissa's is audrey_jay_4x@yahoo.com

audrey_jay_4x@yahoo.com