Touch me there

by

Phaedra Weldon

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Caldwell Press on Smashwords

Touch Me There

Copyright © 2010 by Phaedra Weldon

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Touch me there

by

Phaedra Weldon

My best friend was Gary Herndon, a gay male of thirty-five, who wrote a popular daily sex-advice column entitled Touch Me There, under the pseudonym Sally Forth. I loved Gary till the day he died. What I didn't know was that he loved me as well. All he ever wanted for me was happiness, health, and a good lay.

Gary never really knew how his sex-pert advice changed the life of a bitter, thirty-four year old woman who had given up on finding love. But I owe him my happiness.

My life opened up wide one night when an on-line friend asked me a very strange question. Hey Andrea, have you ever had cyber-sex?

I reeled back from the computer in my bedroom. I had taken a late night break from my reading for this? The garlic aroma of pizza still clung to the air. My cat curled on the edge of the bed, her green eyes half closed in contentment. The only light came from my desk lamp.

The chatter's name was Eric Cook, a young man I'd spoken with several times over the phone. He worked for the company's New Zealand division as a stable artist.

We corresponded by email for months before we progressed into a daily chat on Skype. I saw his picture on his web site and drooled. Dark, smoky eyes, long dark hair and a face that spoke to my wildest dreams. We shared so many of the same likes and dislikes, had much to talk about during the wee hours of the night, mid-afternoon the next day for him in New Zealand.

I found myself enjoying his company more than that of the friends I interacted with physically. I thought about him, wrote him emails about my day which he read when he got in. His responses were silly most of the time, but on serious questions, he gave me the best advice. He in turn asked me questions, mostly about issues he had with the company politics, and about his dating life.

Not long before the cybersex question, I received a long email inquiring on my age. Eric pleaded with me not to be mad, but he really wanted to know how old I was. He'd guessed I was his age.

For two nights I danced around the issue, believing this man would stop emailing me or worse, Skyping with me or being my friend, if he knew my age. He admitted to being 29. I was older. Over the hill. Middle-aged.

I scolded myself on the third night, wondering what I was afraid of, and typed in, I'm 34, Eric. An older woman. If you want to discontinue our late night talks, I'll understand.

The response took longer than usual, and I feared my worst nightmare was true. My age had revolted him. He had hoped I was a young thing.

I also knew Skype could be unpredictable, and there could be something happening there at work to prevent him from answering me. Yep, keep up the excuses there. You're old. And he knows it now.

After an hour I gave up, and was resigned to the fact that I had lost my nightly buddy.

Until the response came.

Sorry for the delay. System backlog. It's that Vista mentality, right? LOL. 34, huh? Why would I want to stop talking to you? Do you really think I'm some git that would judge someone by their age? Talk to me. What's up?

I blinked at the screen, feeling very small and self-centered. I had offered him a way out of the on-line correspondence and succeeded in insulting him instead. I vowed never to do that again, and we continued our cyber-bouts for two more weeks.

Then came the cyber-sex question.

I took in a deep breath and typed, Cyber-sex? Why did you ask me that?

Eric responded quickly. Just curious. You mentioned the batteries and vibrator thing in your last message, and I just wondered. :)

Oh great. The possible caving in of my dream man visions would be my fault, due to my twisted, sick sense of humor. I really needed to stop hanging out with Gary on a regular basis. I had to remember Eric was a straight man.

Obviously a horny, straight, young man.

I sipped my soda. My nose wrinkled at the flat taste. The outside aluminum of the can was greasy from the pizza. I wiped my fingers on my jeans and typed.

/me rolls her eyes. Have you ever had cybersex?

I wanted his answer to be no. I demanded in my subconscious his answer had to be no. I realized I had placed Eric on some vaulted pedestal, higher than the meager horde of male cattle I worked with in the corporate world. Those mindless assholes, bent on subduing the female race.

I sat back. The old wooden chair creaked beneath me as I folded my arms over my chest and noticed my jeans were a bit tighter than they had been a few months ago. The room felt stuffy so I rose and opened the window. Rain fell in clicking noises on the magnolia outside as a cool breeze brought goose bumps to my arms.

The speakers on my computer pinged. The signal of his Skype response downloaded from the server to my hard drive.

It was Eric.

Oh please say no.

He had to say no.

Mmmhmm. I've done it twice. It's a bit like verbal masturbation, only without the fulfillment for obvious reasons :) I really can't bring myself to...you know, at work. Though I'm sure my coworkers would get a show! LOL!

The sound of one's expectations crashing heavily over one's head is deafening, and damned painful, much like having a six-tiered parking garage land on top of your car.

With you inside.

I sat there stunned. My perfect man actually participated in this vile act of perversion and obviously thought nothing about it.

The act of cybersex sounded so...pornographic to me.

I received a second response before I could bounce my own.

Gotta cut the day short! A meeting in two minutes. I'll just have to leave you with thoughts of sex for the weekend! LOL! Talk about your coitus interrupt us, huh? 'Nighters.

He was gone. And I hadn't responded. Stunned, I shut down the computer and went to bed.

I couldn't sleep. I decided at four a.m. I needed some advice, and who else to go to about sex, but my best friend, the sex-pert.

* * *

Saturday Gary met me at Murphy's Restaurant, a brunch place in the middle of downtown. It was a converted house with marred hard wood floors, mix and match tables more suited for a kindergarten class, and a patio in the back. We asked for a patio table so Gary could enjoy the sun.

Gary needed the sun in those days. After being diagnosed as HIV positive, the disease given to him by a bad blood transfusion after a car accident ten years earlier, he took every opportunity he could to be outside.

Mid-morning was crisp, the bright sun already burning away the dew. I had goose-bumps on my arms. A small barrel of colorful pansies in Easter colors waved beside us in the breeze.

I liked pansies. I was saddened they only grew in the cold and would be gone soon with the coming of summer.

Gary and I had known each other since our first jobs at PowerBank, Inc. He'd been in the mail-room pushing a cart and spreading gossip. I'd been a new low-level techie working on database entry.

Our first encounter was over a piece of mail he'd tossed at me. It was a ceramic trinket for Easter from my mother. It broke when he tossed it at me and I yelled at him. He pounced back in full drama-queen mode, then surprised me the next day by replacing the little obnoxious ceramic rabbit with a bigger one the size of my 27" monitor.

We'd been the best of buds ever since.

Which was why he knew immediately there was something wrong.

Dogwoods bloomed across the way, along the roadsides, and in my sinuses. Sunlight bounced off a nearby Mercedes' windshield and I noticed where a bird had deposited its baggage on the glass. My runny nose and itchy eyes didn't hide my internal turmoil from Gary.

"What the hell is up with you?" His voice was deep and attention catching when he wanted it to be. His appearance had always turned heads.

Until the diagnosis.

His short brown hair looked flat, whereas before he kept it highlighted in golds and yellows. His usually olive, smooth complexion reminded me of onion skin. His blue eyes glowed in the sunlight, powered by an inner strength I envied all of the time. Today he adorned his once muscled body in a white golf shirt and baggy khakis.

That was the first instant I knew I was going to loose my best friend very soon. Too soon. Panic seized me. A small knot formed in my throat, worked its way up to some strange place behind my eyes. Tears welled up. I forced them back down.

Gary would always be beautiful. To me. And perhaps, if he'd been born straight, we might have been a couple. Happily married with kids.

Get it together girl. Don't let him see you sad.

He was staring at me. "What?"

"Did you know you've got two lines etched into that dinkly little space between your oh-so-in-need-of-a-tweezing eyebrows?" He pointed to the unibrow he himself had.

But of course, it looked great on him. "I'm pondering the course of my life."

"Careful. You know it's dangerous embarking on long journeys like that without a rope strapped to your ass."

I raised my eyebrow at him in Spock fashion. He hated that. He hated Star Trek, Star Wars, as well as most things Science Fiction. Gary was a total drama buff; independent films only. No special effects allowed.

Except those he made himself, of course.

I stuck my tongue out at him and then leaned forward on the sticky green table covering with my elbows. The waiter had taken our order and returned with a sparkling apple juice for Gary and a Café Mocha for me. "Have you ever had cyber sex?"

He didn't miss a beat. I don't even think he blinked. "Hell yes. What a relief it is too. There's no messy commitments, no fussing with who gets the wet spot." He frowned at me. "Are we considering something very outside the realms of Andrea's Prude Ride?"

"I am not a prude."

"I wouldn't try and shove a vibrator up your snatch, chickie. You're wound so tight, even the man of steel would get his chubbie squeezed off...if," Gary leaned forward and pumped his eyebrows up and down, "he could get it in. Now," he sat back, "what are we talking about here? Has someone offered it to you?"

"In a way." I considered his earlier remark about me being a prude. "Gary, I'm not a virgin. I've had sex."

"Ah, but not good sex."

"There's no such thing." I sighed. "Sex is for men, not women. He gets it in, pumps a while, gets off, then it's out the door and I'm sore as hell for a day. That last lover made it impossible to for me to even ride my bike. He was insatiable."

Gary's eyes widened. "Really? He bi?"

"Knock it off, silly. I'm serious here."

"What about oral sex? Most women get off better to oral sex since a man's mighty sword doesn't quite hit all the right spots. A little tongue action?"

I considered my past two lovers. "No. Most of the time I'd see them doing disgusting things with their mouths and not want it anywhere near my stuff."

"Here, here." He lifted his apple juice. A nice looking man in green shorts walked by. "Oh...my...god."

"Down boy." I was used to Gary's sordid comments, though most of my straight friends didn't know how to take him at times. "With a grain of salt tossed offhandedly over your shoulder," was always my advice. "What is the allure of cyber-sex?"

Gary kept his gaze focused on green shorts, who, I noticed, had acknowledged Gary scoping him. "Haven't you ever read my sex column? Any Erotica?"

"No and you know that."

That response tore his gaze away and he tilted his head down and looked up at me through brown eyebrows. "No, I didn't know that. You're kidding me."

"No, I'm not kidding. Why write and email sex? Sex is physical."

Gary shook his head quickly. "No dear. Let me explain. Sex is based on communication and imagination. Why do you think I named the column Touch Me There? Statistics show that sex is over forty percent mental, thirty percent verbal and then there's the rest."

Now that was not the kind of answer I expected from someone like Gary. He loved the physical act of relationships like holding hands in public, kissing in the grocery store, then the things he did in his condo, which, after a late night gutter-crawl through the clubs of the city, I had been party to hearing about.

All freaking night.

The waiter brought our brunches then. Gary had eggs benedict. I had a Texas omelet, no meat, heavy on the tomatoes.

I opened the ketchup bottle and poured a healthy amount over my omelet. "Mental and verbal?"

Gary stopped his dissection of his eggs and glared at the ketchup bottle. "That is so gross. Looks like you've gutted something." He shook his head and poked a knife in the eggs that bled yellow over his plate. "The mind is a powerful tool over the body. Okay, let me take this further. Listen carefully."

I screwed the top of the bottle back on and glared at him.

"When we're out at a club and you see a nice looking young thing, what happens?"

"Nothing. They're usually gay."

Gary gave me a long, harried sigh. "Work with me here, wench. In your mind, what are you thinking?"

I pulled myself back to the last time Gary and I went out. There had been a guy in a red tartan kilt, Doc Martin boots, and fish-net shirt. A black pony-tail had whipped nicely down his back. "I fantasized what it would be like to run my hands over his naked body."

"Really?" The level of surprise in his voice keyed me to the fact Gary did not consider me a sexual creature. "Sorry. But in that image, did anything happen to you physically? Did your body react?"

I leaned forward, my hands in my lap. "Well duh, yeah."

"And if that person had've walked up to you and said something like, 'touch me here', what would have happened?"

I chuckled with the visual in my head of my pounding on that poor guy. "A rape."

He clapped his hands together and sat back. A couple at the table to the right glanced at us. "There, you see? Sex is mental. Sex is verbal."

Oh god he could be loud at times.

Embarrassingly loud.

"Who is this vermin that threatens to rock your world with verbal masturbation anyway?"

I smiled. "Remember Eric? The guy in New Zealand?"

"Him? My, my, my. As I recall, he was nice looking piece. He still in the same department down there?"

"Yeah."
"Andrea," Gary smiled at me. "Go for it. It's a clean, non-disease carrying way to enjoy each other." Gary stuffed a fork full of eggs and toast in his mouth and then mumbled around his food, "And besides, it's not like you guys will ever meet IRL."

IRL.

In Real Life.

Hell no.

* * *

Andy, are you mad at me? I mean, it's been two days and I haven't gotten an email. :( I'm sorry if I've offended you in some way. Was it the question about cybersex?

I stared at the message from Eric. A cup of tea sat beside my monitor. A wisp of steam rose from it. The cat perched on the monitor again as Stagga Lee's "Roc Ya body, mic check 1, 2" thumped softly from the computer's speakers. It was nearing midnight.

Should I answer him?

Why was I hesitating? Because the perfect man was sullied, right? Eric wasn't the fresh, innocent I thought he was. No, he was a mad pervert that had cyber-sex with women he'd never met.

Women he didn't, nor wouldn't care about.

Then why was I caring?

I sighed and tapped out a reply. Hi Eric. Sorry I've been away. I've been thinking about the Cybersex question.

I moved the cursor over send and pressed the enter button.

I received several more messages from friends before Eric replied.

Ta for the response, Andy. I was afraid I'd really upset you. We don't have to go into the cybersex thing again, if you don't want too. It was just something to talk about. Really. :D

His willingness to just drop the subject pulled me in deeper. What would cyber-sex be like with Eric? What would sex be like with his body? The very thought caused my heart to skip a much needed beat.

I typed in, Actually...you've got me curious. I paused before I hit return. With a tiny, plastic click, my life changed forever.

Eric's response, nearly thirty minutes later, made heat rise to my face. I blinked at the monitor. Had he actually done those things to someone? Just how long had the doctors worked to get the smile off her face if he had?

I became aware real fast-like that the corners of my mouth were stretched to their ultimate limits.

Not to mention my body reacted with my first read, and my second read of the email.

I hadn't had this sort of reaction in the presence of a real, physical man.

I typed, I'm blushing, Eric. Really. Let's see, what can I do in return for you...

I sat back in my chair, listened to it creak. The cat moved her head, blinked at me with green spotlights and purred. The tragic vocals of Jem's "24" thumped from the speakers.

What could I do? How was I going to surprise Eric just as he'd surprised me? I wanted him to blush just as I had. I wanted him to get excited. And it was even better for me because he was at work. I was alone.

Think girl. I considered all the fantasies some of my straight male friends told me about, as well as the complaints I'd heard from Gary all these years, then mixed in all of what I thought was the best combination. When I was finished, the email spanned two pages.

Eric's response was instantaneous. Damn! You're a natural. I actually got hard. Keep that up girl and I'll be winging my way to the States as soon as possible!

Yeah. Right.

But I knew that was never going to happen. Unless one of us won the lottery.

And I didn't play.

* * *

The cyber-sex continued for two months. I was on-line every chance I got, checking for any late night messages I might have missed as my time-line neared midnight and his the end of the day. I read them in rapt excitement.

I looked forward to our sexual bouts and innuendoes. We'd taken them into private emails—so we could go longer—and I could get as descriptive as I wanted.

And Gary had been right.

The more I thought about sex with this person, the more my body reacted to a point where I had to relieve tensions in a way I never considered. Even Eric admitted, though at the time I didn't believe him, he had to escape to the men's room at work on occasion.

I was always thinking about what my next email would be.

I made sure I was on-line at five o'clock everyday. Eric got into work at nine a.m. his time. And like clockwork I received my first text of the day at five ten. Two weeks passed and I hadn't called Gary, nor had I returned his phone-calls. I was on-line at home all the time, and busy at work, my mind filled with night-time fantasies.

I knew somewhere I had become obsessed with this imaginary man. And he was just that. Unreal. Someone I would never meet.

This attention to texting on Skype did waste on my personal life. I stopped going out regularly with Gary, but I think at the time he knew what I was doing, and knew I had to go through it. Gary was my best friend. He'd understand.

I had to find a way to limit myself. Get away from having an "Eric" fix.

One day the opportunity presented itself.

Hiya, babe. Been wondering as of late. I don't know what you look like. I need a face to my fantasies, don't you think? You know what I look like. Can you send me a pic? Please? Eric.

He wanted a picture of me?

Me?

No. I didn't want him to see a picture of me. If he did, the messages and emails would stop. I had visions of him reeling back from his computer at work, the force of his disgust sending his chair tumbling back where he'd hit his head and be in a coma for years. All because of my face.

Why did he have to see my pic? Damn it.

What was I going to do? Send him a pic of someone else?

I called Gary.

Good old sex-pert.

* * *

The next day after work, Gary and I met at Ru Sun's, a popular sushi restaurant across from Ansley Mall. The evening crowd hadn't made it in yet, so we had relatively good breathing room for dinner.

The restaurant was located upstairs in a concrete building filled with eating establishments. Glass doors opened up on a small chest high desk of white Formica where a smiling Asian gestured for us to choose a seat. Seating progressed in an in-the-round fashion. White table and black seat booths formed the outer circle, then tables seating four to six people made up the middle, and the sushi bar itself took up the center.

Brightly colored Kimonos and Japanese watercolors adorned the walls. Gary chose a nice booth in the farthest corner and slid in slowly. Today he wore a charcoal gray suit, white shirt and red Snoopy tie.

A blonde young man, probably half Gary's age, sauntered up and smiled at him. As for me, I could have been the side-garnish on one of the appetizers.

When he left, Gary looked at me and winked. "Dated him a month ago. Nice little boy."

"Pervert."

"And your point is?" He gave me a serious expression. He looked pale. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes and he looked thinner somehow, as if a little of the air had been leaked out of him.

Something pulled at my heart, tugged it back. Gary wasn't doing so well, and I'd not been around. Guilt as sharp as a ginsu knife sliced through my thoughts.

"Now, little Andrea. What is your problem? Chip your tooth on the vibrator again?"

In order for me to explain my immediate torture, I knew I'd have to tell him what I had been doing since we last spoke. I didn't want too. Was I ashamed? Maybe. Of all the people populating my life, Gary's opinion, his assessment of me, mattered to me the most.

I told him.

Gary's reaction was not what I had expected. "Andrea, what the hell are you doing?"

I put my hands on the table, palms down. "I'm doing exactly what you told me to do. I'm having cyber-sex."

"That wasn't what I meant. He's asking for your picture?" Gary tapped a finger on the table. I stared at it. It was so thin I could see the bones through the onionskin; see the blue veins like the spider web of mold in a slice of blue cheese.

Oh god.

"Andrea, what are you feeling for this person? This is someone you've never met in the flesh."

His fingers were so thin. The reality was too much. I was going to loose my best friend. The gods on high had deemed him worthy of taking, and I had been wasting my time with some geek in New Zealand.

My friend had needed me and I wasn't there. What the hell kind of friend was I?

Blinking back tears, and hoping I was successful at it, I fixed Gary with a hard smile. "I…I don't know."

He nodded. "This kid's half a world away. Don't get hung up things you can't have, or you know you'll never have."

I knew he was speaking from his own personal experiences. Gary, for all his slick talk and bawdy jokes, was a tender man. In need of love and affection like most of the human race struggling to fit in on this cruel ball of rock.

He had always been a practioner of safe sex, purported it to over 65,000 readers, and yet he'd been stricken with a disease associated with sex. A disease that carried a stigma he'd had to deal with and a life-style change that left him isolated from everyone he held dear.

I wanted to cry.

But I didn't. I couldn't. Not in front of him.

I smiled instead. "You're right. This has to stop." I couldn't bring myself to look at Gary then. It was too painful. All I did know was that I had to spend as much time with him as possible. Eric could wait.

Gary couldn't. Not anymore.

"I'll end it tonight. In fact, I'll send him a picture. I'm so sure he'll be disgusted enough that he'll stop the emailing himself and that will be easier."

Gary frowned at me. He sat back and folded his thin arms over his even thinner chest. My god he looked so sick. How had I been so insensitive?

"Andrea...I'm not sure if you're aware of it, but I think you've come down with cyber-love."

"What?"

"You're in love with this person, aren't you?"

The sushi arrived at that moment, tiny works of art on black plates. I smiled at the waiter, unwrapped my chop-sticks and began mixing my wisabi with soy sauce.

In love? Impossible.

Not me.

Not with someone I'd never met.

But through his emails, through his text messages, I did feel as if I knew Eric in ways more intimate than anyone. And he knew me. He knew what I did in my spare time, he knew what I hated, what I liked. He knew what to do with me in bed.

And this was terrifying.

I felt very naked at that moment, sitting in that booth.

"So..." Gary began. I looked up. He was toying with a tuna roll with his chopsticks. "You think sending him a pic of you is going to scare him off?"

"Yes."

"It won't work."

"Why not?"

Gary gently laid his chopsticks on the plate and leaned forward. "Because you're a beautiful woman, Andrea. A stunning piece of art. And I know you've never believed it. If he sees a picture of you, I wouldn't be surprised if he found some way to hold you in his arms.

"If I had been a straight man, I would have."

I sat in a stunned silence. No words came to me, other than, "Holy shit," but that didn't seem appropriate to say.

A gay man thought I was beautiful.

If I were any real kind of human being, I would have accepted that compliment for the beautiful thing it was. Instead my mind was full of thoughts of discouragement during dinner. A gay man thought I was beautiful. A gay man

Not a straight man.

That night I scanned in the ugliest picture of me I could find. I saved it as small as possible and sent it to him.

I debated whether or not I should stay up and see if he responded or not. Then thought better of it, since if he didn't respond, I'd be up all night feeling miserable about myself because I grossed out some good looking man in New Zealand.

I went to bed, confident in the knowledge that when I checked my email at work tomorrow, there would be no reply. Well, maybe a polite backing out letter. Eric was still a nice guy. Of that I was sure.

Once that was done, I'd devote all my time to Gary.

The message from Eric the next morning blew my plans right out of the water. Kaboom.

Andy! Ta! You're a babe! I'm stunned! I can't believe you're so gorgeous! I don't really know what I thought you'd look like, but you should see the smile on my face right now. I mean, I opened up the attachment and gasped. I am so flattered you've been telling me your fantasies, and I plan on honoring all my promises one day :)

Oh shit.

Now what do I do?

The phone rang. I picked it up, my gaze still fixed on my computer monitor.

It was Gary's mother. He was in the hospital.

He was dying.

But I knew that.

And it hurt like hell.

I sent Eric a note, quickly explaining what was happening and that I'd probably not be on-line for a while. Then I shut my office, told my secretary which hospital I'd be at, and tore around Interstate 285 to Northside Hospital.

"If I had been a straight man, I would have."

* * *

My brave facade cracked the minute I saw Gary in the bed. His body was thinner than I'd realized. He was the color of the white starched sheets. The acidic smell of antiseptic and urine was heavy in the room. His mother was there and greeted me with a hug.

Two of Gary's old lovers were also there and the room began filling with flowers as the day progressed. All the doctor would tell us was that he wouldn't make it through the night.

Gary was leaving me.

I would be alone.

"If I had been a straight man, I would have."

I slipped out into the corridor and slid down the wall and pulled my knees close to me and buried my face.

We were supposed to stay friends forever.

We were supposed to grow old together. That was the plan. Had been the plan since the beginning.

The women and men at the nurse's station watched me for a while, and I knew they saw this kind of reaction to death all the time. They left me alone for a while and let me exorcise everything I could. Then one tall male nurse with a face like George Michael came to me and handed me a tissue and helped me remake myself from the mess I'd become and took me to an empty room. He gave me something to calm me and I slept.

I missed Gary's death.

I woke up and he was gone.

Slipped out the back.

My best friend, my confidant, my sex-pert, was gone.

* * *

Once I could form coherent sentences again, I worked with Gary's mother to get the funeral arrangements together. Three days later, we had everything done. It was up to me to give the eulogy. Gary had requested it. He'd also left instructions on what he wanted me to say.

Creep.

But I did it. I stood in front of that casket, that metal box where my friend lay and I spoke the words of D.H. Lawrence. And when I was done, I couldn't remember what it was I'd said. I couldn't remember the church or the people.

Even my name was hazy.

I sat on the couch in Gary's house, a nice Tudor on Collier drive in Buckhead. I hadn't been there often in the past months, and was surprised to see how the place had fallen into disrepair. Gary had always kept a neat home, and it had taken his mother and I a day to get it ready for the wake.

People, all garbed in black, ambled about. They said things to me. I smiled. Nodded. Many of his friends approached me first, knowing how close we were. I felt like the grieving widow.

I was.

Gary had been the best thing in my life.

Conversation became a buzzing in my ear. Gary's attorney, an older gentlemen with a waxed, black mustache, accompanied by Gary's mother, approached me while I sat in my funk and handed me an envelope.

"Gary wanted you to have this. It seemed important to him."

I stared at the piece of parchment. Gary had scrawled my name on the front. Seeing his hand-writing was a slap at my face, him knocking me into shape from the grave. His way of saying, "I'm not gone yet, wench."

I waited until the attorney left. Gary's mother remained standing there, her hands clasped in front of her. A serene smiled filled her face. When I stood on wobbly legs, she turned and disappeared through the sea of people. I found a nice little quiet spot in the kitchen, near Gary's pride and joy steel fridge.

My hands shook and I cursed as I read his simple note, scrawled with a weakened hand.

Go After Your Dreams, Never Go For Second Best. If You Really Feel This Way About This Kid, I Give You This Opportunity for Happiness. Explore It, Live Life. That's An Order, Chickie. All I've Ever Wanted Was For You To Be Happy. You Are The Best Thing In My Life. Gary

The kitchen smells of day old garbage and guest perfume turned my stomach. I couldn't stay there, in this house, surrounded by Gary another minute. I slipped out the back and walked quickly to my car. It was near six o'clock and the air still had the bite of winter in it. Blooming cherry trees in pink and white lined the street, and kids played in a neighbor's yard.

My car, a late model Mustang, black and in desperate need of a bath, was parked along the left side, two houses up from Gary's. Magnolias and oaks shaded it. I heard their leaves rustling in the breeze overhead.

Digging in my purse to find my keys, I never heard his footsteps behind me.

"You're much lovelier in person, Andy."

I froze. An accented, deep voice. No one called me Andy, except...

I turned, slammed my back against the door of my car.

He was there, standing in front of me, larger than life. And behind him, a few feet away, was Gary's mother, her smile wide but sad.

He was taller than me, his long hair pulled back from his face. He wore a dark suit and white tie. A suitcase sat on the asphalt by his feet like an obedient dog.

His face was different somehow. His features not as I had exactly pictured them from the photo. But his eyes were the same, and they were staring at me.

"Eric?"

He smiled.

It was an awkward moment. Do I kiss him? Run in terror?

Break out into some show tunes?

I looked down at Gary's letter, still clutched in my hand. Gary would've chosen the show tunes.

Go after him.

He was right in front of you.

All the way from across the world.

"If I had been a straight man, I would have."

Eric took a step forward and held out his hand. In it was another note. Same paper, same weakened handwriting.

"I got this in the mail a week ago, from your friend Gary. It had a plane ticket in it for next week." He glanced back at Gary's mother. "But Mrs. Herndon called me a day ago, and said Gary had died, and that his last wish had been that I come to see you, so I bumped up the flight."

Gary had brought him here.

Eric opened his arms. "It's okay. Mrs. Herndon's going to be our chaperone." He smiled. "One of Gary's requests."

I actually laughed. There was nothing stopping me from walking into those arms. Nothing at all. This man knew my wildest fantasies. He knew me better than I knew myself.

He knew me as Gary had known me. If not better.

Eric was warm against me. It had been so long since I'd been held so tight, and with such feeling.

"I'm sorry about Gary. He was a wonderful and loving man."

Those words caught my attention and I pulled back, but didn't let go. "How would you know that from a note? I never talked him to you."

Eric's grin was mischievous, and contagious. "Because he started emailing me a while back. Said you'd spoken to him about me, and he laid down the law, let me tell you."

I stewed. That bastard.

"He also helped me with all those...uhm..." Eric's face blushed scarlet. "Emails."

"You were on-line with Gary at the same time you were on-line with me?" I was angry, but I wasn't angry.

I started laughing at the expression on Eric's face. He looked like a child just caught with his hand in the fish bowl.

He smiled. His front right tooth was capped and a different shade than the rest. "Please don't be angry with me Andrea. Or Gary. We both want you to be happy. And I was so buggered at what to say every night to a point I was afraid I'd screw up."

"So, I'm assuming Gary's sexpert advice will pay off...eventually."

His expression became serious. "Only if you want it too, and when you want it too." He glanced back at Gary's house and the milling mourners. "Should we go back?"

I considered the idea. Glanced down at Gary's note in my hand. I was sure the jerk was laughing at me from where ever he was.

Laughing and perhaps lifting up a glass of Champaign to me.

I looked at Eric. Up at the first man that knew me better than my own best friend. "Yes. I want you to meet Gary's friends."

"I'd love too," he released me and the world of reality reasserted itself as we walked back to the house, Mrs. Herndon trailing behind us.

Once inside the kitchen I spotted Gary's espresso machine.

"Ever had a Mocha Latté?"

"A what?"

I smiled. "Just sit there at the table and let me treat you. We've got a lot to talk about."

As I pulled the small pot from the beneath the spout, I found I still had Gary's note scrunched in my hand.

I love you Gary.

And I'm going to do exactly as you say.

I put a hand to my heart.

Touch me there.

About the Author…

Phaedra Weldon is the author of the Urban Fantasy series, Zoë Martinique Investigation, published by Berkley, available for Kindle. She most recently completed the soon-to-be released Eureka novel, Brain Box Blues. Look for it in stores Winter 2010 under the name Cris Ramsay.

© Copyright 2010, all rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

For more information about the author please her visit website at www.phaedraweldon.com

Read about the further investigations of Zoë and her friends in Wraith, Out of the Dark, Spectre, Phantasm and Revenant, available in bookstores now, as well as Kindle and ebook formats

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Touch Me There