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The Lab II

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The next morning I woke at dawn, and immediately wished I hadn't. I was scrunched up in the back seat of the Bonneville, with an enormous headache. My whole body ached. I hadn't had a hangover like that for years. I gritted my teeth, got into the front seat of the car, drove home, had a quick shower and got to work only half an hour late, still feeling awful.

Tom rang me about Midday, sounding bright and alert, at least much more so than I felt. Debbie, the receptionist, had been diverting calls from me all morning in deference to the way she knew my head felt. Debbie was inclined to that kind of lifestyle herself from time to time, so she sympathised. But she put Tom's call through, probably on account of Tom sweet talked her or something. Tom was great at that kind of stuff, and shameless about it.

Tom wasn't hungover much at all, and he kidded me about being old and not being able to take it. This was a longstanding routine with him rather than anything serious. I was a whole month older than Tom.

"Hey, big time stuff happening here", Tom said quietly after we'd kidded for a minute or two more. "Whoever that Winters guy was last night, he was important. There have been all sorts of weirdos in suits looking over his lab all day, and they've emptied out the rest of that section while his lab materials are being analysed. I don't know what it was he was working on, but the company sure is making a fuss about salvaging his stuff."

I wondered idly whether Tom should be telling me this stuff on the phone, given the general paranoia that we'd seen exhibited last night by the Dawe security teams. "I guess you're right", said Tom, and I realised I'd been thinking out loud. "Anyway, I'm only telling you because you were there". He changed the subject, and we agreed before he hung up that we'd meet on Sunday and I'd help him with some work on the house he'd bought earlier in the year, a run-down old place 'with character' over in the bad part of Venice.

By Sunday, though, I still felt bad. I'd kept a low profile on Saturday, taking a few aspirin and having a quiet day mostly spent on the couch watching the football. I had planned to go out to dinner with a couple of other friends, Marty and Denise, but I cancelled in the afternoon. By Sunday morning I was convinced I probably had some kind of flu. My headache raged, and my joints ached. I gingerly unwrapped my bandaged thumb, because I was worried the cut might have some kind of infection that was giving me a fever, but it looked fine. Dr Adams had cleaned it thoroughly. I re-wrapped it as best I could, took more aspirin and called Tom to cancel.

He came around that evening with Carol, a girl he'd been dating on and off for the past few weeks. Carol was gorgeous, if a bit vacuous, but she kindly brought along some chicken soup, which I gratefully ate. They didn't stay long as they were headed for the movies, but Tom made me promise to go see a doctor again the next day. I was sceptical. I was never a fan of antibiotics unless I was desperate.

The next morning I was feeling a lot better. Still not one hundred percent, but much, much better than I had been over the weekend. I was relieved. No need to go see the doctor.

Tuesday I was pretty much back to normal. One or two minor aches in my joints, but I figured that was just because I was stiff from laying around the house so much. I jogged a little in the morning and felt even better. So Tuesday night I went to meet the cute doctor. I cleaned out the Bonneville first, getting rid of several months worth of accumulated rubbish. I even had it washed while I was at work.

She looked great when she opened the door. There was that smile of hers again. I was a sucker for it. She was wearing a full white skirt and a coffee-colored silk blouse that draped across her breasts beautifully. It was unbuttoned enough to give a hint of cleavage. I tried not to stare. I didn't usually leer at women, but she was gorgeous. Plus I was a foot taller than her, so it was hard not to look down her blouse.

We headed off for a quick bite to eat, and then a movie. She told me over dinner that she liked to be called Catherine instead of Cathy. "Only my family calls me Cathy, and that's just because my Dad doesn't realise I'm not fifteen any more".

Catherine seemed genuinely interested in me, and I sure was interested in her. There was something about her that kept all my senses attuned. It was almost like the first few dates I'd been on when I was a teenager.

The movie was pretty terrible, but I didn't much care. It was good just being beside her. We went for coffee afterwards and we did the 'getting to know you' conversation. I told her about my childhood as the son of a machinist in Detroit, and she told me about being the daughter of a rich gynaecologist in Beverly Hills. We came from completely different worlds, yet we seemed to have something in common, even if I couldn't quite figure out what it was.

As I drove her home to her apartment up on Doheny I was trying to psych myself up to do the right thing, play it cool, don't rush it. I usually rushed things, it was kind of hard not to.

But I felt like I was onto a good thing with Catherine. So I walked her to the door, like a gentleman would, without crowding her. When we got to her apartment she turned, and raised her head slightly, and I bent down to kiss her goodnight. It was only a brief kiss, but there was definitely electricity there.

Her body was humming. Mmmm. Strangely I got kind of embarrassed after the kiss, and she smiled again. I said goodnight, and drove home, flying.

As I went to bed that night I could do little but think about her. She had me entranced, that was for sure. I hadn't felt that way about a woman, that unconscious connection, since Shelley, and even then it hadn't been this strong. I knew there was still a lot I had to learn about Catherine, but I was looking forward to learning it.

We saw each other again, on the Saturday. I asked her to come to a party at Tom's. She was a big hit with everyone there, and I felt pretty pleased with myself, being able to show off this sexy and smart woman who was with me. There are few feelings quite as good for a man as that.

The week after Tom's party I started to feel tired a lot.

Really tired. I went to bed around nine most nights during the week. Tom and I had taken to playing tennis away from Dawe at a club over on the west side since our little experience a few weeks earlier. On this Thursday night I just felt so weary I had a hard time playing. My control was all over the place, and my concentration was worse. Even Tom noticed it -- that was rare for him considering he had won our match, so he was puffed up about beating me again. He ribbed me about going soft, but then reflected that I really hadn't played at my best. I only had a single beer afterwards at the bar. That was okay with Tom, I think he was embarrassed to see the waitress he'd taken home a few weeks earlier. She looked at him like he was a greasy spot in the booth we were in, and he tried to pretend he didn't know who she was.

After the beer I had a difficult time driving home. It was tough just keeping my eyes focused on the road, I was so tired.

I wound the windows down, even though it was raining, and still found it hard to keep the Bonneville in one lane of the 10. I must have weaved across the road once or twice, because eventually a cop waved me over. That woke me up. He didn't believe I'd only had one beer, but I tested clean enough so he gave me a stern lecture about being careful and let me go. I eventually made it home okay, but I slept in my clothes on top of the bed. I was too tired to take them off.

My tiredness persisted through Friday, and Saturday morning it was all I could do to drag myself from bed at 11.00 am.

Saturday night Catherine and I went out again. This time I took her to a nice restaurant, an upscale place over in Santa Monica.

The food was fantastic, and she was her usual charming self.

She wore a short black dress which showed off her body beautifully without being too revealing -- in fact she was the classiest looking woman in the restaurant. Two small emeralds in her ears and a thin gold bracelet on her arm, no other jewellery -- she almost looked as though she'd never grown up in LA at all. I was entranced, watching the delicacy of her throat as she talked, her hands making small graceful movements from time to time as she illustrated her conversation with them, and the way her eyes sparkled when I managed the odd witty comment.

At about the time dessert was on the way I started to feel myself getting weary again. After dessert I even found myself missing one or two things she said. Eventually I must have given her an inappropriate response to something she'd said, because she said sharply "stop me if I'm boring you or anything".

I was mortified, and I guess the shock on my face must have been apparent to her, because her look of impatience with me changed to one of concern. "Oh, god, Catherine, I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I've just been so incredibly worn out lately. Really. I mean I just don't have any energy lately, and the more sleep I get the more I seem to need. I'm really sorry".

Her expression softened. I paid the bill, and we left.

Catherine offered to drive, but I wasn't sure about that. Part of me told myself to be careful -- although I had only had two glasses of wine with dinner I was very tired again. But I had some doubts Catherine would be able to manage driving the Bonneville, especially since she was so petite and the power steering pump had given up the ghost earlier that day. Still, a few miles along I knew I had to pull over. Catherine took the wheel and started driving. She almost had to stand to turn the wheel a few times.

"What's wrong with me? I'm not usually like this" I mumbled as I was drifting off.

I woke late next morning in my own bed, clad only in my underwear. Catherine had obviously used my keys to let us both in, but there was no sign of her. I grabbed a robe and tousled my hair to try to wake myself up. When I staggered to the kitchen I found her sitting at the kitchen table, wearing an old football jersey of mine which hung on her like a tent. She had made herself some coffee, and when I came in she got up from the table to pour me a cup, too. She set it down in front of me.

"I don't usually sleep at a guy's house this soon in a relationship", she smiled. "But I didn't want to drive that car again, and I figured you were pretty safe last night". I noticed, looking through the doorway into the living room, that she'd made the couch up as a bed, and had obviously slept in it last night.

We talked for a while, and I told her that my tiredness had started the week before, and was definitely not typical. I had always had a lot of energy, and these symptoms were very distressing to me. She told me I should have some tests done, and get another full blood workup and see if there was any kind of viral infection or anything like that. I kept apologising for the night before. What I had planned to be a nice romantic evening had turned into a bit of a disaster. Inside I was also mentally kicking myself -- I'd had this gorgeous woman in my apartment all night and hadn't even tried anything!

I wasn't tired that morning, though. I walked over to Catherine and put my hands on her shoulders, then bent down to kiss her.

She stiffened a little at first, then relaxed. I stood up again, and she got up from her chair. I put my arm around her and bent once again to kiss her. It was intense. She felt warm, and soft, and her skin had a faint muskiness that drove me on. After we'd kissed a few more times I looked deep into her eyes. She met my gaze, then looked down, as though a little shy. Then she tilted her head back to me, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted. I raised my hand to her breast, feeling the nipple respond quickly to my touch as I caressed it. She was breathing more heavily, and brought her hands from around the back of my neck to my shoulders. As I caressed her breasts with both hands she let out a soft moan, and I quickly scooped her up and took her to my bed.

I pulled the football jersey over her head and laid her down on the bed, then slowly dragged her panties down her legs, teasing her with my fingers as I did so. She was gorgeous, soft skin, milky white, not tanned and going-to-be-leathery like all the other Westside women I'd met. The curve of her thighs up over her hips was breathtaking.

I peeled off my robe and could see her taking in my body, too.

I took off my jockey shorts and lay on the bed beside her, stroking my hand over her delicious curves, teasing her nipples gently. As I kissed her I reached into the beside drawer and retrieved a condom, and as I fumbled to put it on while still touching her with my other hand I felt her take it from me and gently stretch it over my shaft for me. From kissing her mouth I moved down to her neck, that beautiful neck, and behind her ears. She let out a deep sigh when I did this, and I noticed her adjust her hips.

I kept kissing her, moving my mouth slowly down her body, over her chest to her breast, to her nipples, which were quite large and a dusky pink, working at them with my tongue while I stroked the inside of her creamy thighs with my hand. I moved my mouth further down, over her belly, her perfectly-formed navel, to the dark, curiously soft down between her legs. She parted her legs and I gently put my tongue into the sweet musk of her, licking gently until I found her clitoris amid the moist delicate folds.

After a few moments she moaned a few more times, quietly, distantly. I intensified my efforts and she began to move her hips. As my tongue was beginning to get weary she bucked a few times, and grasped my shoulders firmly as she came. I kept licking at her, and she kept coming, again and again.

The time seemed right, and I felt like I would burst anyway, so I moved back up the bed, kissing her taut nipples again as I did so, licking the fine sweat that had gathered on her breasts, and came into her, gently at first until I could feel her muscles grasp me, then more firmly. She brought her legs up around my back as I moved inside her, feeling the rhythm of her hips as I plunged deeper, hearing small soft animal sounds from her mouth, thinking I had never felt a woman who seemed so alive, so passionate. I pulled back for a moment, so as not to come too soon, but she tightened her legs around me and pulled me back toward her. I couldn't hold it much longer, and as she tightened her pelvic muscles by moving her legs further toward my shoulders I came, staggeringly, in an enormous spasm that I thought would take everything from me, that would end everything. She clasped me tightly, and shuddered herself, and we collapsed on the bed beside one another.

We lay there for a long time, both cloaked in sweat and one another's scents. I traced gentle patterns on her breasts and throat and drew my fingertips up over her face. After I touched her nipples a few more times she came once more, and begged me to stop. I took her in my arms and held her while the winter sun streamed through the timber venetians, making fabulous patterns on her gorgeous body.

"So much for being tired", she said softly, and smiled.

We didn't leave my apartment till much later that day, having made love several times more and explored one another's bodies in that greedy, hungry way new lovers do, both giddy with the newness of each other and the sweetness of the sex. She surprised me the second time we did it, sitting astride me and bucking like a wild thing when she came, as though she thought the world might end and she needed all of me at once. I hadn't seen that kind of intensity before, and it got me more excited than I'd ever been. I took her again after she came, and thrust myself hard and fast into her, deeper than I'd ever been, until we both came again almost in unison.

Neither of us had eaten all day, so at around 6.00 pm Catherine suggested we should head out for a very late lunch or early dinner. We each showered separately -- having had so much of her already, I thought the least I could do now was offer her a little privacy as she freshened up.

She was dressing as I came out of the shower. "I'm afraid I'll be a little overdressed for anything casual", she said, as she began pulling on the black dress she had worn the night before.

I suggested we swing by her place on the way out to eat and she could change.

Catherine's apartment was much nicer than mine, the result I guess of a superior income. She mentioned casually as we walked in that she had been sharing it until recently with another woman doctor who had recently moved out to work in Wisconsin, and since she had been too choosy about prospective house mates she'd decided to pay the extra rent and live by herself. I was aware that my apartment was kind of grungy by comparison, and hoped Catherine hadn't been put off by the housekeeping standards.

I followed her into her room, and kissed her again. I gently undid the clasp at the back of her dress, and then unzipped it.

It fell to the floor, I started to run my hands over her body and she softened again, then gently pushed me away. "Uh uh", she said, smiling mischievously. "Take it easy, mister. I'm gonna be too sore to walk, soon. Plus", she added more seriously, "I don't have any more protection here. This isn't something that happens too often".

I couldn't believe that a woman as gorgeous as Catherine couldn't get any and every man she wanted, but I shrugged her comment off. She pulled herself free of my arms, and crossed to her closet. She retrieved a clean bra and panties from some drawers, then selected a dark red dress with a low-cut neck that buttoned up the front. She put it on, teasing me all the while with her eyes and her smile, then put on some moisturiser and some mascara and lipstick. She grabbed a little cropped denim jacket, and pronounced herself ready.

I guided the Bonneville over to a little Mexican place on Olympic that Catherine suggested, and we stuffed our bodies full of food and a few beers. All through dinner it was all I could do to keep myself from leaping across the table and putting my head up her dress to taste her again. Her movements and her voice and her eyes all conspired to keep me focused on sex.

On the way back from dinner I asked her if she'd rather be alone that night. I thought perhaps she'd want some more time to herself. But she told me it would be okay for me to stay over, but that she really would be too sore to do much more. She commented with a smile that she'd noticed all my tiredness seemed to have disappeared. "If that was a routine to get me to stay the night it was a pretty good one", she joked.

Before we went to sleep I brought her off once more, just through kissing and licking her, and she we went to sleep promptly after that, her small frame wrapped in my arm.

***

To be continued in Chapter Two...

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